#in my experience straight men just don’t have the same ability’s when it comes to making a woman come so easily

[antaripirate]

bro took “how do you know when The Sarows is coming?” to a whole new level

(this is how you know that The Sarows is coming)

(is coming, is coming, is coming aboard)

[thefawnfallacy]

The way that Hannibal and Will are never referred to as being queer is interesting. It’s not like sexuality never comes up, it does, predominantly with Margot who openly admits to being lesbian and talks about it often as a part of her character but I think that the way sexuality is framed is another mask.

Margot openly wants to kill her brother, so her sexuality is on display, she is a character that the viewer can “see”. The audience knows that Hannibal is queer — he doesn’t say it but it is shown through numerous other characters, predominantly through Will. Will is the filter in which the viewer “sees” Hannibal and so we know and acknowledge that he is a queer character.

Will is the blurriest and this is interesting in a variety of ways to me. Why does the viewer never have a clear sense of sexuality from Will? To start, Will is an unreliable narrator, we cannot explicitly trust the truth of what Will tells us about anything because it’s always just slightly shifted. He doesn’t victimise himself but he does elevate himself, just slightly, based on his current concept of morality. He was guilty when he killed Hobbes so we see him as guilty and unsteady, he was righteous when he killed Tier, so we see him through a lens of righteousness. No-one else can see him clearly and therefore, neither can we. He is not hidden in plain sight the same way as Hannibal and in doing so, makes himself very confusing to properly understand while also being exceedingly easy to pick apart.

Will is multifaceted and shifts the way he’s perceived a number of times throughout the series, while always giving the impression that he is completely unaware of it.

(side note: this doesn’t properly fit but I think it’s worth mentioning the “Will Graham is not a lesbian” line because there’s an undertone of stubborn curiosity there — is Will Graham a lesbian? Hannibal doesn’t know and Margot is quite smug about it, but that’s more gender based than anything).

Because of the ability to “chameleon” himself for any situation, he leaves a lot open to interpretation. Will Graham could be queer, he could be straight, he could a lot of things. It’s also worth noting that Will Graham experiences attraction in very different ways when it comes to men vs women based on the characters we see. With Matthew (and I’m using the definition of attraction very loosely here) as well as Hannibal, he is incredibly manipulative, like he can’t imagine being genuine with these men in the biblical sense but with Alana he is more open to being perceived and received a certain way. Molly is a more hollow imitation of Alana — he acts the way he thinks love should be but it’s hollow.

Hannibal, of course, is a curious show of attraction. He expresses a wide range of emotions towards him but never stereotypical feelings, if anything, he seems to take a sharp left when it comes to Hannibal but at the same time, he is very obviously more gentle and honest with him, like he’s trying to “show”the viewer what’s underneath. (meaning he does carry about Hannibal, we know he does, he simply shows a wrestling with these emotions that often come across as more violent or unrefined).

*this is just my interpretation, please don’t take it as gospel 🙂.

[nervousladytraveler]

Smutty one-liners:

“Don’t act innocent when we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.” 🙈

Ah @veryflowerobservation my dear friend, you probably thought I'd forgotten this (but like Ross, I forget nothing). I do apologize for the delay. Untitled, but on the theme of quick learners, this is roughly from The Shift universe (but only barely).

---

Ross squinted into the sun as Demelza, dripping and shimmering, emerged from the sea. 

Aphrodite, subtle of soul and deathless,

Daughter of God, weaver of wiles, I pray thee

Neither with care, dread Mistress, nor with anguish,

            Slay thou my spirit!

“Ha!” Demelza cried. “The water is brilliant!”

“Is it then?” Ross managed to reply. He suddenly felt as though he’d never really seen her before.

Where had those lines even come from? Classic verse forced upon him in school stored out of reach--In the head? In the heart?--until such moments when it could be properly applied. 

Yes, Demelza was something like a proper goddess, wasn’t she? Although less ruthless than Aphrodite and hopefully less vengeful as well. Perhaps there was some other mythological being who controlled the tides and men’s hearts in equal measure.

Her face was serene--muscles relaxed, eyes fixed forward in a soft focus. Eyes the same blue-green as the sea. Her usually spirited curls had temporarily been pulled straight by the water but a single jerk of her head put things right. She strode slowly and purposefully forward as though she belonged there, on that beach. And always had.

Demelza was good that way. A quick learner but also someone who’d early on come to understand--as a means of survival--that people had a tendency to take you at your own valuation so poise, or faking it, could carry you quite far.

Ross admired her for this. He knew that In fact, she’d come rather late to swimming altogether. While so many Cornish natives claim to have the sea in their blood, Demelza’s upbringing in Illogan had been a somewhat landlocked one. 

“First time I ever swam wasn’t by choice,” she’d once explained. “At my mate Tamsin’s 14th, her brother threw me into the pool--he was having a laugh and didn't mean any harm--but I figured I'd better sort it out or drown then and there.”

“I'm quite glad for your sake that you’re a quick learner,” Ross had replied.

“Oh no, it wasn't for my sake at all. It just didn't seem fair to ruin Tam’s party since she was having a rough go anyway. Her parents had just split and her dad was living at a hotel for the time being--which is why there was even a pool. Maybe your set had pools of their own but mine most certainly did not.”

“No, not my friends. Francis, my late cousin--he went to pool parties quite regularly as a teen but I just swam here at the beach with the village kids,” Ross had explained. One wouldn't suspect now that Demelza hadn’t been one of those village kids, let loose on the strand as soon as they could walk. 

She was a quick learner.

In the few years that he’d known her, he’d watched her quietly and casually collect new skills time and again, often to his benefit. On her first attempt at making a pie, she’d gotten it nearly right--but the second time, she’d absolutely nailed it. Since then, without any great fuss, she did most of the baking for the cafe. 

Of course, recently there was another domain where Demelza had honed new abilities. When they first slept together, she’d openly admitted to not having much prior experience but her sharp instincts--and eagerness to practise had taken her far.

Now, five weeks into their romance, there were times he felt she was the master and he the apprentice. She certainly had bolder inclinations than Ross did when it came to where they made love. The cafe storage room was an early favourite, as was his car after hours. On those rare occasions when she mustered enough patience til they got to his, even before they made their way to the bedroom, she often first required a dalliance in the kitchen, the sitting room, or on the hall stairs.

Today had been no exception. Before they’d had their swim, they’d been exploring one of the many caves carved in the rockface long ago. 

“Come, Ross…” Two words but he knew what she meant.

“Demelza,” he’d said weakly as she deftly undid the front of his swim shorts. 

“No one is here,” she’d assured him. “Just a few odd gulls.”

“But your knees…the rocks are so sharp…” 

Her fingers were cool but her mouth was smooth and warm and he quickly forgot his objections. Their exclamations no matter how quiet and muffled they aimed to be, still echoed in the empty darkness, and afterwards they stood breathless for what seemed like hours, until they made their way back out into the warm sunshine.

She’d stayed in to swim longer than he had. Content, in more ways than one, he sat on the soft sand and watched while her body glided through both air and water. Around them all was dazzled by that particular light only found by the sea in summer.

Dipping vibrant wings down the azure distance, through the mid- ether…

“Right ho! Hullo!” An unfamiliar--and unwelcome--voice now called down the beach from the north.

Ross pulled his gaze away from his beloved damsel emerging from her seashell and saw the Reverend Mister Odgers walking towards them. A wet black dog ran circles at his heels.

“Good day to you, sir,” Demelza returned the salute with a wave. She was wiping herself off using Ross’s shirt--they’d forgotten to bring towels--and though still clad in only her swimsuit, she’d suddenly transformed herself into the model of demure respectability.

“I say,” Odgers went on after a cursory nod to Ross. “Have you seen a dog round here?”

“You mean that one?” Ross asked sarcastically. He would have been considered the one with the ill manners had the beast not taken that very moment to shake his wet fur in Ross’s general direction.

“No, not our Daniel. Another one--a buff sort of colour, quite a bit like sand!” The man laughed and tugged irritatingly at his collar.

Like sand? That’s fucking helpful at a beach. Ross let out an exhale and grit his teeth, resenting that his intimate moment had so abruptly been intruded upon--and by a pompous man of god, no less.  

“Oh?” Demelza immediately began to scan the horizon. With hand raised shading her eyes, her present posture seemed to accentuate her lovely bust line. Then she licked her lip, presumably to taste the salt from the sea, but it reminded Ross how she’s done the same thing earlier in the cave to signal a job well done. This did little to assuage Ross’s annoyance.

“He couldn't have gone far…” Odgers fretted.

“Oh there he is!” Demelza laughed and pointed to a very small creature, barely noticeable amongst the sharp dune grass behind them. 

“Mufasa! Come, boy!” Odgers pleaded but the dog in question lifted his hind leg in defiance, ignoring his master’s calls. The man took a few steps and the little devil immediately scurried off in the opposite direction.

“Oh dear!” Odgers began to run in an inefficient arc to catch the errant Mufasa. The black spaniel barked great editorials at his heels then abandoned the scene entirely to chase a gull at the water’s edge. “Thank you, miss--and God bless!” Odgers called over his shoulder to Demelza, failing to acknowledge Ross was also present.

“Good lord!” Demelza laughed and took Ross’s hand in hers.

“The man's a fool,” Ross grumbled.

“In more ways than one.” She wove his fingers through hers, then raised their joined hand to admire her work. “First of all, Daniel? Daniel, the spaniel?” She rolled her eyes playfully and Ross found himself smiling. “And the other one? Oh you didn't catch it? No, you wouldn’t, would you. Our dear Reverend Mister Odgers thinks he’s so very clever. Mufasa is a lion from The Lion King. So Daniel and the…?” She danced on one foot waiting for Ross to catch the vicar’s Old Testament joke.

“Is that what passes for humour at the vicarage these days? Or for dog training?” Ross was someone who tended to like dogs but the Odgers pack had gotten under his skin.

“I think the small one is what’s known as a Chiweenie--dachshund and chihuahua mix.”

“Well, the man’s giving him exactly what he wants. A game of chase.”

“Then we should admire the little fella for being such a quick learner,” she said, then read his mood and softened her tone. “Oh Ross, forget Odgers. He’s long gone now. It's just us and the gulls again.”

“Yes, of course,” Ross said and watched her lick her salty lips again. 

Come to me now thus, Goddess, and release me

From distress and pain…

“Demelza,” he teased, ”Tell me, when did you get so friendly with clergymen? Is this one of your newly learned devices?”

“Are you suggesting that somehow I shouldn’t be polite to him of all people? That I should quiver in his very reverent presence--and that of his sacred dogs?” She dropped his hand in mock alarm and raised a brow. Then she smiled to show she was teasing back. “Truly, Ross, I was no more neighbourly to Odgers than I would be to any other passersby,” she added. 

Still, she’d managed the scene so well. And once again Ross was impressed at her poise, her own valuation of herself--and her deceit.

“Demelza,” he laughed. “You may very well act innocent but we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.”

“Hmmn…” She played along. “I seem to recall something vaguely entertaining occurred between us this afternoon but that was far more than two minutes ago. In fact, it has already faded from my mind. Or maybe it just wasn't so memorable?”

“Oh, you are a little devil,” he said and pulled her close for a kiss. “Perhaps you need a fresh lesson to remind you.”

“Yes, Ross,” she said, “Perhaps I do.”

----

Notes: Verse Ross quotes come from Sappho’s “Ode to Aphrodite”. Read it here.  Do I think Ross would have read A level Classics and Sappho at school? No, I do not. But I liked the poem so let's just tuck that away under “artistic licence.” Also, line borrowed from Demelza’s first Trenwith Christmas visit in Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall: “But she was learning fast that people, even well-bred people like those, had a surprising tendency to take you at your own valuation.”

[cowboyjen68]

I think I'm mostly just venting about this but I also feel like you have some amazing sage wisdom just like you do for everyone.

My best friend of 10 years (highschool onward) and the last friend I have who is cis just dropped me out of nowhere. He claimed it was because I moved and we were "already growing apart" but I can't help but think it was my queerness.

I recently came out to friends and family as a lesbian (about 3 years ago) and came out to friends only as not cis around the same time. It was after this that he stopped talking to me as much and just generally treated me weird.

I've since moved away and we stayed friends until he dropped me out of the blue. I have no more long-term friends now. Nobody from my hometown talks to me after that as all of our mutual acquaintances dropped me too after he did.

I'm sure it's for the best in the end but I feel so lost not having a best friend, a person who knows who I am, around. Especially with how scared I feel to be in queer spaces with rising tensions, I guess I'm just feeling lost.

I am going to come at this from my experience. High school is such a time of growth and change, friendships from that time in our life can be hard to hold on to, especially with a connection as strong as you feel when you are growing up and experiencing things together in similar circumstances. 

Maintaining a friendship between young men and women can be incredibly different as they start to reach maturity since they receive different socialization and information from both the outside world and from the inside changes their bodies are experiencing as puberty does its job.  

It is possibly just a matter of you growing apart as humans and not necessarily due to some judgment of your sexuality on his part. He perhaps just feels less of an ability to connect with you as time has gone on and even because, as a straight man, he just doesn’t have as much in common with you. When we are younger those differences are less important but as we age and have more access to a wider variety of people those differences can be more pronounced. 

I have kept in FB contact with many high school friends and my best friend and I communicate once in a while but in all reality, we rarely see each other, our lives are very different and we don’t share the connection we once had. I will always call her “my best friend” because she was my first best friend and we shared so many life changing moments together. She will always be special to me. When I came out she accepted me and was not surprised because she knew me better than anyone. The fact is, time has made us less close. And that is okay. We had a wonderful childhood together and spent many years making memories. We haven't lost any of those even as our connection faded and we went in separate directions. 

Even IF your friend (friends) have walked away from you because you are a lesbian, maybe because they feel uncomfortable with you know, or maybe because they don’t know how to relate to you or just because life is moving on the end result is the same. 

You might never know and, frankly, it does not matter. It is pretty common for us to find new friends in each stage of life. HIgh school, college, career, middle age, marriage, retirement, or whatever place we are at. Sometimes we hang on to a few over a lifetime but even those friendships can ebb and flow with time. 

You will find new friends who share more in common with you. You will discover others who are a better fit in your life as you are right now. Let those old friendships organically fade and put your energy into finding new people who are worthy of your time and energy. Right now the change is scary and feeling alone is a terrifying feeling. Look for those who share your values and ideas. It is better to be on your own for a while than compromise who you are. 

I often suggest that we seek other lesbians to befriend because they share so much of the same experiences and foundations we have in our lives. Remember, not all lesbians are a good fit. Being a lesbian does not preclude people from being jerks or from being vastly different from you. Don’t discount a friend because she does not share your sexuality. Judge others on how you enjoy their friendship and how they enjoy yours. But seeking lesbian/bi women circles can be a good focus. When you know  2 lesbians they each know 2 more and on and on. You don’t need to go to larger mixed spaces like bars and pride events to meet each other. Look for local zines published by lesbians, FB spaces, meetup app or dating apps with “friendship” options can be a help. Try your library and see if they have lesbian book clubs and if not, start one. Be creative and keep searching.

[nicromancytarot]

Reading the awakenings/fs post was fascinating! Mainly cause it always interests me how readers can see/hear/hallucinate anything + being able to make out facial features/moodboards/have vivid dreams

I have aphantasia (inability to visualize) and SDAM (lack of episodic memories). Perpetually, I'm always in the present, *always*. I guess it has served me well in some regards, like if someone hurt me, they get kicked out of my system and memory with minimal impact on myself negatively. I cannot remember why I cried for 6 months straight about Mr. ?, nor the feeling, nor my anger, nor the specific events - just I know I dislike him (factually), have a vague recollection of why, and my need to avoid him

My friends are at the age of situationships. Unfortunately I can't join the party cause I would literally forget the person if they tried to do on agains off agains lmao

When I do readings for myself. Only words pop in my head - and if I ask for my fs - a ghosting of feeling around my body. Other than that, readings are difficult to do 😔 sadge (just expends a shi ton of energy)

For spiritual encounters - funnily enough, the only time I've heard a voice in my head + my life was once I was fighting for dear life on the toliet at 3AM. A whisper of my name and then a sense of a very disgruntled "really? You're going to die to diarrhea?"

TMI; but continue writing gurl, would love to read more about your journey and your reading methodologies 👀

Honestly my abilities always confuse me, when it comes to visualising I’ve found that I do much better when I have my eyes open. I like to imagine scenarios before I sleep lmao, and have been doing so for many years and I remember constantly having to remind myself to close my eyes half way through because I wouldn’t even realise that I opened them, but it definitely helps to visualise.

For readings I feel like I’m being given information through my head lol, it’s kinda like someone is actively just shoving stuff in there and I’m like “oh yeah, that makes sense” all while I didn’t know of that idea or answer before.

I struggle with the hearing and seeing stuff when it comes to physicals. I don’t hear some other voice telling me an answer, it’s more like my internal narrator without any effort from me. As for seeing, the best way I can describe that is with paranormal experiences.

I was working on my spiritual abilities at the beginning of last year and I watched a bunch of Sam and Colby ghost hunting videos, there was one where I just kept staring at a chair behind them and in my minds eye I could see a man in a dark suit sat staring back at me, and he then proceeded to cross his legs, but I couldn’t see it physically. I thought nothing of it and moved on, the guide showed the boys a picture of the owner of the place when he was alive and I was like “nope, that’s not him”, but then they showed a picture someone caught of his ghost and I freaked since it was literally the exact same. They then went back into the room with the guide and a machine which detects energy fields and makes out stick men to show you on the screen, the guide told them to point it at the chair that I was fixated on, and funnily enough their was a stick man that showed. So that’s the best way to describe my abilities with visualisation and mediumship (I don’t class myself a medium)

Definitely work on your ability to hear or feel things, when you do readings you should focus on what you feel emotionally rather than what you can’t see, perhaps that will help.

LMAO WHAT??? Your higher self was fr making fun of you there.

I do have a post about my method in which I do readings, you can find on my masterlist under the about me section!

[moviesessionwithmyhubby]

The jigsaw puzzle pieces - Part3

#notamovieexplanation Part 3: The sun and the moon Upon the commencement of my relationship with my husband, I told him that I experience mood swings and exhibit unpleasant behavior during my menstrual cycle. However, when the "bloodbath” actually happened, my husband was still surprised by my reaction. On some days, I am filled with joy and contentment, easily accepting whatever words may come my way. However, on other days, even the slightest occurrence, such as a falling leaf, can bring me to tears. And during times of "bloodbath”, the mere sound of someone's breath can cause me to feel irritable and explosive.

Let me tell you something funny. Sometimes, I can't even understand why I tear up and get emotion when my husband just simply asks me, "Hey baby, what's the problem?". You guys can imagine the confusion that my husband experienced during the early stages of our romantic relationship right. But don’t worry, he is improving. Now whenever I show an excessive emotional response, comparing my behavior to my daily life, my husband usually asks me if my menstrual cycle is approaching. And then I realized that, Oh! “bloodbath” would commence in a mere ten days, and that explained everything.

My husband told me the same thing. At the start of our relationship, my husband acknowledged my limited experience with romantic relationships and advised me to bear in mind that there are inherent differences between males and females. He mentioned that men and women have distinct thought processes. For example, men tend to take a direct approach, going straight from point A to point Z. Women, on the other hand, tend to take a zigzag, they need maps or GPS to navigate their way from point A to point Z. But despite my husband's prior explanation about the inherent differences between males and females, I occasionally found myself confused. At first, I didn’t understand the passionate fascination and energy that men exhibit towards kinky and erotic desire, as for me, such a passion does not pique my interest. I would rather take a sleep or food, or shopping. In the same way that my husband can barely understand why I get emotional from something very little, or understand the pains that I go through every month, like the menstrual cramps, the constant migraines, or the uncontrolled mood swings.

However, my husband has the ability to comprehend my irritable attitude and mood swing, and he is able to adjust and adapt to it with ease. Unlike him, it has taken me quite a time and lot of conversations to comprehend and come to terms with my husband's masculine characteristics. Because initially, I had doubts when my husband claimed that all males have these similar characteristics, that all men have the passionate fascination and energy toward kinky and sexual desire, I thought that it was solely his personality. But you know, one of my natural characteristics is to go deep into the underlying causes in order to comprehend the differences or to seek clarification. Then upon running research, it appears that men can be linked to the sun, while women can be compared to the moon.

The sun is likened to the male gender through metaphor, as it follows a 24-hour cycle that mirrors the hormonal cycle of men. During the morning hours, the levels of testosterone in the body are at their peak. As the day progresses, these levels gradually decrease and reach their lowest point at night. In fact, the change in hormone levels is so little that it is very possible for it to pass undetected. The feeling of exhaustion won't start to overtake them until the evening, but fortunately, that's when everyone else goes to bed as well.  Do you realize that the typical workday and the job require people to maintain a consistent level of energy throughout the day, which just so happens to be in sync with the male hormone cycle.

The moon, on the other hand, is often linked to femininity due to its apparent shifting mood as it goes through phases of transformation and shifts. While the sun adheres to a 24-hour cycle similar to that of men, the moon follows a 29-day cycle, much like the hormonal cycle of women which spans approximately 25-30 days (or roughly 4 weeks).  So, we have:

the first week - the season of spring brings about a sense of freshness and happiness. 

the second week - the summer season brings with it an energetic mood, particularly during the ovulation phase.

the third week - the autumn season brings a slower energy and an onset of heightened emotions.

the fourth week - the winter season arrives and brings with it a challenging time, often referred to as a "bloodbath."

However, in contrast to males, fluctuations in hormone levels in women are more noticeable. As a result, the people around her and even the woman herself might get confused when she moves from an active and productive mood one week to a lazy and depressed mood the next week. Now that I have gained clarity on the differences of males and females, everything has become more apparent.

The moon and sun may appear dissimilar at first glance, but they are in fact harmoniously aligned with each other. As it is commonly understood, the moon does not generate its own illumination, but rather it obtains and mirrors the radiance emanating from the sun. The above scenario is a representation of how a man expresses his love towards a woman, and how the woman reciprocates his feelings. We, females, have the ability to receive and enhance what is given to us by males (When a gentleman showers his lady with affection and admiration, he shall be reciprocated with love and appreciation.), much like the moon absorbs the sun's light after it has set and proceeds to intensify it. Just like me and my husband, we are on the emotional surface are different, and it took us time and discussion to come to understand each other’s nature, and to adjust ourselves, sharpen our rough-edge jigsaw puzzle piece to fit with each other. And this is what my husband tells me the majority of the time, that if he's feeling bad, he has a tendency to drag me down with him, even though he doesn't intend to. But when I'm having a terrible day, my hubby always manages to brighten things up with his cheerful mode and pulls me out of the darkness. And that is the precise way in which the moon reflects the light of the sun.

[crazy-dog-lady-81]

Let's Talk about Sex

“When did you know that you were bi-sexual?” Kai asked. It was rainy Saturday in Seattle. The Sister House was unusually quiet. Meredith had taken the kids to the movies and it was Link's weekend with Scout. The couple was cuddled up together cozily on the couch, watching Friend’s reruns and eating ice-cream.

“Wow! That’s a big question, Bartley,” Amelia smirked at Kai, a quizzical look on her face.

“You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable. I guess I’m just curious is all. I mean, I’ve always known that I am a lesbian. When my friends would stand around gossiping about the size of boys penises, I would be bored senseless. I wanted to talk about the size of girls boobs.”

Amelia chuckled. “I can relate. To both of those examples. I was one of those girls who were fixated by Penis size, naively relating its size to the boy’s ability in the bedroom. Spoiler alert: It’s not!”

That got a perfectly toothy smile from Kai. “I’ll have to take your word on it.”

“Hmmm. Well, to answer your question. When I was ten or maybe eleven, my mom took my siblings and I to Coney Island. It was a beautiful sunny day, hot and on the shore, everyone had pretty much stripped down to their swimsuits. I couldn’t help but see the girls in their bikinis, breasts barely concealed and my eyes found their way to their chests. I gotta admit, it filled me with a sort of salacious delight. It was my very own naughty secret.”

“If you knew that you had attractions to girls at that age, how come you never had a “girlfriend” before me?” Kai wondered.

“It’s not like I didn’t experiment with girls. In college, I kissed a few. Heavy petting. It was nice, good but I wasn’t into these girls enough to take it any further. So, after that, it just happened that my relationships were hetero. They were with men and involved straight sex. I got married, had Scout. Yeah, I lived a straight life I guess. To an outsiders eye at least.

“My attraction to women, to other genders didn’t stop and I didn’t repress myself in anyway. I just never met anyone I wanted to have a relationship with until you.”

She raised her hand and traced Kai’s jawline with her fingertips tenderly. They leaned into her touch, a smile lighting up their face.

“Thank you for choosing me, Shepherd.”

“I’m not sure that’s what happened. Me choosing you. I’m not sure I had a choice. To quote Jerry Maguire, you had me at hello, Bartley.”

“Me too.”

“Then the sex! Absolutely mind-blowing!! I guess nobody knows the female body better than, well, a woman. I know that’s not technically right in our case, but you’ll take my point?”

“Yeah. I get what you’re saying. I have the same anatomy and I know how to make it sing.” They winked suggestively.

“That you do! Plus, with you, sex is more intimate and erotic. Men are always in a rush to get to their happy ending. You, Bartley, make it feel special. Every time. You’re soft and sexy and handsome and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone before.”

Kai reached for her then. They pulled her into their arms and held her. “I love you too. So very much.” They dropped their mouth to whisper in their ear. “Now, would you like me to make your body sing?” Amelia didn’t need to be asked twice.

[justapillowpetpanda]

ADHD & Imposter Syndrome: The Inner Critic Is Loud Today

There's something wicked in the way my inner critic speaks to me through my ADHD. A taunting voice, a belief in the worst, and the perfect opportunity for imposter syndrome to invade my every thought. This often teams up with a dip in my self-esteem and the evolving deconstruction of a childhood led by puritanical ideology. My wave of emotions only help deepen the twisted perspective the inner critic tries desperately to get me to believe. I've tried to ignore it in the past, believing that distraction was a way for me to "feel better." Life and joy don't work that way, not really anything does.

Original digital artwork by Britt Bender

ADHD & The Inner Child

The world can be a capitalist hell and it often preys upon my ability to care. To care about art, life, accomplishments, and almost everything else. Somedays I can't give a single sh*t about the art surrounding me in my studio. That simply sucks. I'm a fantastic artist, a good friend, and a loving partner, and even though it's hard to say it, I'm a good writer. Because of a society that praises the neurotypical, my own ex-evangelical trauma, and the fear of joy in something not producing monetary gain, It can be hard to think I'm anything worthy of praise at all. Imposter syndrome is masterful in the worst ways but can be pushed and reframed. Reframing or taking a break from my mind can feel impossible sometimes. There's a lot of fear and "what if?" talk surrounding this experience. Doubt becomes a present enemy and anxiety tags along as a sort of sidekick. My inner child doesn't scream at me, instead there's an upsetting solemness in the voice that brings up a necessary inner guilt. Part of me looks at the accomplishments and joy in my life with a sincere amount of admiration. In the past it's been much harder to even acknowledge that voice over the loudness coming from the questions and doubt put forth by imposter syndrome. Nowadays, it's not at a place I'd hope for it to be, but I've found myself stopping and addressing the inner critic more than I have in the past.

Facing Imposter Syndrome

Picking at every little detail, second guessing your own intelligence, and most any other road block can come with imposter syndrome. It's typically worse for anyone not a straight, able-bodied, white, cis-gender man. Being someone whose external aesthetic leans towards the feminine (even though I would identify as gender-fluid), discussing anything or being talented in an area dominated by men can be a horrible experience. I still experience a deep uncomfortable fear when needing to address concerns or ask for what is rightfully mine. It's not something new for me, but it has changed its appearance based on where I am in my career and/or stage of life. ADHD contains layers. The layers of skill regression, hyper focus, and more have served to only help my imposter syndrome. It becomes easier to explain potential mistakes or the validity of "what if?" moments in my mind. Doubt shakes hands with my mind, inviting in the false narratives placed in front of me. "I'm not meant to write about horror" "I don't want to come across as..." "Maybe I should stick to writing about..." "Do you work as hard as__?" "You're not keeping up with the latest news" "You know you have to work at this harder than him" "Maybe it's ok I wasn't considered for this" "Does your background in film even matter?" "It's not worth the inevitable argument" "Best to just ignore it" "Stick to your area of coverage" "I don't want to write right now and that breaks my heart" "My studio is a mess again" "I used to be able to..." These aren't statements from some TV villain or from an online troll...these are my own thoughts. They are ones I have had in the past or recent ones that have come up time and time again. I don't want them. It would be great to ignore them, same as I do with the daily instances in which my potential is fucked over by a man's decision or a "good guy" and his indecisive self-protection. My mind can often regard my ADHD as the enemy. In many of my symptoms and breakdowns, that's very plausible. But there's a relief in writing down those inner thoughts and messages. It's easier to take down something negative in your own mind when it's written plainly in front of you. When it comes to dealing with things outside of my ADHD, there's a level of difficulty that becomes a special kind of hell because of my inner critic and subtle (or not so subtle) sexism playing out day to day for me. Writing about my experiences has definitely helped, but I am also lucky enough and privileged to have access to therapy. I try my best to work through my fears when it comes to standing up for myself or acknowledging what I deserve. It's something that truly is work each and every day, but it doesn't drain me. Reminding myself the worth that my inner critic and imposter syndrome ignore is what counts. I can't continue to be my own enemy. Otherwise, I'd be joining a select few and society in creating my narrative. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9cZu-4esvRY Read the full article

[charlotteiscrying]

you turned my entire existence into waiting. i was your rapunzel, sitting here 3,000 miles away from you, locked inside my own prison since im not allowed to leave the state since im on probation. “if you love me, when i come back, you’ll still be waiting for me. i might come back tomorrow. maybe next year. maybe 10 years from now. if you love me, you’ll wait. n you won’t complain.”

do you not see how manipulative that is ? how straight damaging that is ? i couldn’t see it was manipulation. i had to experience it, i had to feel how it felt when i caught you cheating on me. i had to feel how it felt when i realized i was waiting for a man who was never going to come back for me. i had to feel how it felt when you told me “i just moved on.” you just moved on, meanwhile you forgot you had locked your rapunzel in her castle, n you left with the key.

you told me i hallucinated us. you told me you broke up w me that day you left for rehab. i just hallunicated us. and you just moved on. seems so simple when it’s phrased like that. it’s been a couple months now, it genuinely feels like i hallucinated your very existence on this planet. my brain has blacked you out more than any other part of my life. i rememeber more from the day my dad died than i do from the day you said “i just moved on.”

there’s so many parts of my brain that you caught onto before even i did. you used to call me autistic. “you just have a lil touch of the tism.” you know, i am autistic ? i didn’t know that. you obviously picked up on that. you chose to hide behind my misperceptions, my unknowing, behind my “insanity,” to make me seem like the problem. to never once take accountability for anything. to blame everything on me. to make it all my fault. to make me calm down n stop trying to piece those pieces together that you so desperately needed me to keep separate.

you knew you didn’t love me bc you don’t treat someone you love how you treated me. i know i didn’t love you. i loved the idea of you that you placed in my head. the nate in my head and the nate in my reality were always two different men.

i don’t think you understand the lasting damage you’ve done to my brain. i will never be able to date again. to trust again. to be vulnerable again. to even let my guard down the 1% it takes to be able to be intimate with another human. to trust my friend. to believe it when my mom says “i’ll pick you up at 8.” i will never be able to be with a man again. sexually, romantically, anything. you’ve ruined the entire male species for me. i really don’t think im ever even gonna be able to be with a girl sexually, or romantically, ever again. you’ve taken my ability to be with another human being away. even my friends, it’s not the same. i don’t, i can’t, trust that any sentence anybody says is true. you’ve damned me to a life locked up in my castle that my brain has built to protect me from everyone else. every aspect of my life could not be more different than what it was when you n i were together, yet im still condemned to the exact same fate.

before i was locked up in this castle by you, now im locked up in this castle because of you. it feels the fucking same. i miss people. i miss those feelings. but they just are not worth all this aftershock. maybe one day i will want to come out my castle. but even then, things will not be the same. i will never be able to be vulnerable again.

[nothorses]

ayo! i was wondering if u could help me out with a conversation my friend and i were having about transandrophobia?? she was saying that it’s a redundant term because the oppression of transmascs is explained by transmisogyny, and ideas like transmascs are mutilating their bodies/stealing lesbians/just delusional little girls are just regular transphobic things that all trans people experience… and like. somewhat yes. but imo there’s a difference, for example, between “all trans people are delusional” and “transmascs are just confused little girls deluding themselves into thinking they can escape biology”. and i know it’s similar to/mirrors the things people say about transfems, but i don’t see how it’s just transmisogyny when the term is only ever used to talk about the experiences of transfems? and was coined specifically for transfems? anyway, i’m having a hard time putting my reasoning into words, so if u have any ideas for how to counter what she’s saying, i’d really appreciate it!

Sure! I can only really give you my own explanations of the arguments you're describing, but I do wanna say I think you have the right idea here, too.

"The oppression of transmascs is explained by transmisogyny"

So, yes and no: "transmisogyny" on a purely technical level could be argued to just mean "transphobia" + "misogyny", and because transmascs are not actually seen as men (though in many ways we are also not seen as women), we do in fact experience misogyny- and oftentimes that misogyny does come packaged with transphobia.

However, "transmisogyny" was coined by transfems, for transfems, with the intention of describing specifically the type of transphobia that transfems face; which is also informed by misogyny, but in different ways. It can therefore be pretty accurately deconstructed as "trans" + "misogyny", or, "trans" + "women" + [bigotry].

Trying to shoehorn transmascs into the word takes away from that meaning, makes specific discussions of transmisogyny harder, and erases unique transmasc experiences as well. It's trying to replace "transphobia" with "transmisogyny", which is redundant. Why do we need two words for the same thing? We made these words for a reason.

"Ideas like transmascs are mutilating their bodies/stealing lesbians/just delusional little girls are just regular transphobic things that all trans people experience"

"Trans people are mutilating their bodies" is more often levied against transmascs than transfems.

This specific panic of transmascs "mutilating" ourselves stems from the belief that AFAB bodies are obligated to reproduce and be sexually appealing + available. Transmasc transition can altogether remove our ability to get pregnant, and our transitions are seen as making us ugly/undesirable- mostly to straight cis men.

This same rhetoric does not apply to transfems.

"Trans people are stealing gays" is definitely not levied against transfems.

The specific line of rhetoric about "stealing lesbians" comes from:

The radical feminist belief that lesbians are The Most Victims, an Endangered Species Which Must Be Protected- which in turn stems from the misogynistic idea of (white) women as victims/damsels in distress.

The belief that transmascs only transition to "gain male privilege" or "escape misogyny", which feeds into the radical feminist idea of transmascs as Betrayers Of Womanhood.

In combination, transmascs are seen as "stealing lesbians" because we are both betraying and seducing women, and "depleting" the lesbian population and therefore further endangering Lesbians as A Species. (Because even radfems can't help but see lesbians as objects.)

The closest common transfem equivalent would be "transfems are preying on/tricking gay men", which has tones of predatory behavior and sexual deceit that are unique to transmisogyny. Transfems aren't seen as "converting" straight men, but rather "tricking" them into "gay" sex. Because men are viewed as having more autonomy, the "tricked" men in this scenario are given more agency than "stolen" women.

"Trans people are just delusional" is, again, more often levied against transmascs than transfems; specifically because transmascs are seen as lacking in autonomy and agency- while transfems are seen as autonomous and therefore dangerous/deceitful.

Transmascs are "delusional" because we can't possibly know what we really feel, can't make decisions for ourselves, can't think for ourselves or make plans- we aren't tricking people, we honestly believe this silly idea that we're men. We're all little girls, autistic and depressed girls, stupid women who don't know what's best for us and can't be trusted with autonomy. We have to let others make choices for us. (Until, of course, it becomes clear that we're "too far gone", at which point we become The Enemy.)

Transfems are "deceitful" because they know exactly what they're doing, and can only be doing it for nefarious reasons. They're dangerous, they want to hurt and trick people, they want to invade women's spaces to take advantage of them, trick straight men to take advantage of them, satiate their Sexually Aggressive Nature, etc. They have autonomy already- they must be stopped to protect others.

TL;DR:

There is a lot of overlap in trans experiences and trans oppression- that's why the word "transphobia" covers all of this as an umbrella term. But "transmisogyny" and "transandrophobia" exist under that umbrella, as forms of transphobia, in order to describe more specific and unique experiences that aren't the same for every trans person.

Trying to mash it all together makes it harder to talk about the specific issues we face and why we face them, which we need to do in order to solve these problems.

Trying to remove one word in favor of another both makes it harder for one group to talk about their issues, and in many cases dilutes the meaning of the other group's unique term. Not to mention it denies those unique experiences happen at all.

[aminiatureworld]

Enigmatic Feelings

Characters: Albedo, Diluc, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,544

Warnings: None

Premise: Love is a potent force. And sometimes little things take on larger meanings, especially when one party is unaware of them.

In which the reader’s s/o is jealous

Author’s Note: This trope is 100% my guilty pleasure. I hope I did it justice.

I also realized while writing this that all these characters have the emotional understanding of a teaspoon, but they’re trying their best, so that’s what counts.

Albedo

Albedo was many things. A great alchemist, a man of secrets, a weapon with which one might someday bring destruction. He was even a lover, albeit an unpracticed one. But what he was not was emotional. Or so he thought.

Of course Albedo knew what jealousy was, knew the sort of stupidity that people could fall into when altogether too infatuated with their own love. But just because one knows what jealousy is does not mean one must fall prey to such things. Or so Albedo assumed.

It was the fourth day in a row that a knight had approached your door. Friedrich was his name, and he was doing a stellar job at capturing your attention, and pulling on emotions that Albedo had long told himself he didn’t contain.

Today the flower was a Windwheel Aster, swaying this way and that in the pocket of space between your two hands. You were smiling at it, or rather at Friedrich, brightly, fingers mere moments away from Friedrich as you went to claim the fourth flower this week. Though the was nothing necessarily untoward in Friedrich’s movements, and Albedo would much rather a person of integrity be attempting to woo you, even if the idea itself turned knots in his stomach; nevertheless it still left a bad taste in the alchemist’s mouth, and a worry in his heart that he was not so immune to jealousy as he’d previous assumed.

“Thank you!” You spoke to Friedrich, giving one last wave before walking back over to Albedo. “Albedo look! It’s a Windwheel Aster. It’s very nice of Friedrich to give me one, maybe I can use it, or maybe it’ll be helpful for your experiments?”

“Yes, thank you. I, I think you should keep it.”

As much as Albedo wanted to take the flower and throw it in the incinerator, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the smile on your face. No matter how dearly it cost him to see you smile down once more at the delicate red petals. And no matter how much it haunted him the rest of the day to imagine you, face framed by a smile, a bouquet of a random knight’s making in your hands.

That knight as Albedo put away the Bunsen burners and the graduated cylinders he kept his mind preoccupied by thoughts of you. Surely he had to tell you his feelings, for if not they would keep building in his chest; building and building until one day he erupted, with you in the line of fire rather than the knight who was creating this whole dilemma, perhaps even unwittingly. Though Albedo had never been in a relationship before he knew stories. Weren’t books full of those kinds of moments? Men, women, people, all of them running over one another in their misunderstanding, in their overwhelming guilt.

No, he wouldn’t turn out like that, wouldn’t let the two of you be hurt in such a way. He had to tell you. Had to make you understand how much his chest constricted when he saw you carrying the gifts of others, had to let it be known before he lost control of these emotions. After all, wasn’t that what happened with emotions? They grow and grow and one day they spill over. And Albedo never wanted these emotions to spill over. No matter the cost.

“May I tell you something?”

The sunlight was streaming through the laboratory windows, the air warm enough that Sucrose had tied up her hair during her shift. And yet Albedo felt cold, oh so cold. He was going to tell you today. He hadn’t been able to tell you three days ago, nor two days ago, nor yesterday. And now the bouquet of flowers that occupied a tiny glass on the windowsill felt quite large indeed. Today would be day eight if Friedrich showed up at lunchtime, and before that Albedo would tell you.

“Of course you can Albedo, I’m all ears!”

You turned around, a soft smile once more spreading across your face. Putting down the pencil you’d been holding you leaned back against the lab table. Albedo took in a deep breath. He could do this. He would do this. He had to do this. No matter what, today. Today, he would do this.

“I-I’m jealous.” The words hung in the air for a moment, as if not understood.

“Jealous?” You tilted your head slightly, worry making your smile slip. “Albedo, jealous of what?”

“Of Friedrich, of you and Friedrich, or rather, I mean, of Friedrich giving you flowers.” Albedo paused, words tangling in his mouth, tripping on each other in an attempt to be understood. What if this was a mistake.

“Albedo,” you shook you head softly, walking over to cup your partner’s face, “I promise that there’s nothing in it. The flowers are lovely, of course, but nothing in this world could replace or stem my love for you. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” Albedo replied hurriedly, worried still that he might be misunderstood, “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, or say that I doubt you. My love, I will never doubt you. I just, I just feel so uncomfortable when he brings you flowers. It feels like, like I don’t know; it feels like I’m being poisoned, suddenly and all at once. And I don’t want it to affect the way I act towards you. So, so I wanted to tell you. You don’t have to stop, if those flowers make you happy then that’s what matters. But, but I just wanted to tell you.”

You said nothing, staring into Albedo’s eyes, gaze piercing through the alchemist. It was always that way with you. How you managed to destroy the control he thought he had, the wall he’d erected between himself and humanity. How you made him feel unsure and fallible and whole. And, just as before, now your gaze softened and you shook your head, your smile a balm for the raw unfamiliarity of putting together emotions.

“It’s okay Albedo, I’m glad you told me. Just like my emotions matter to you, I’d rather not see you unhappy. To be honest, I just never saw Friedrich’s actions in the way that he probably meant them. We all struggle with our feelings sometimes, I do just like you. Just as long as well tell each other, all will be well. Alright?”

“Yes. Thank you. I don’t know what I do without you.”

“Well you’ll never have to find out, so it doesn’t matter!”

There was no eighth flower that day, at least not one that was successfully given. Albedo supposed that he could pity Friedrich, but in reality he felt nothing but relief. The emotions that had left such a bad taste in his mouth seemed so far away now, for there was you, only you. It would only ever be you for him, and the days in which you said the same thing of him Albedo felt as if he could truly be happy, and truly acknowledge the emotions that swirled inside him, the love for you so great it spilled over into a vast ocean.

 Diluc

Diluc found most merchants loathsome, something perhaps not entirely fair considering his own status as a mover of goods.

Still, merchants in general were an unlikeable bunch. Prone to complacency and greed, this elite circle was comprised of people who thought of little than of ways to line their pockets anew. It disgusted Diluc and as he stood there, watching as a man who had enough jewelry on his body to weigh down a pack mule and a smile that made one want to run in the other direction, throw compliments and boasts your way, the winery owner was reminded about all that was wrong with the world in which he worked.

“So your goal is to attempt to find a route through which we might trade our wine in Inazuma?” You repeated the words the man had just spoken, expression skeptical. “As much as it would mean good business to begin another trade route, I believe the border restrictions will cause no little difficulty.”

“Restrictions such as those are nothing for a man like me.” The merchant smile once more and Diluc felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. “I have the ability to wave past such an issue. Indeed with the right price I believe I could expand your network to include all of the seven major lands, if you haven’t been trading internationally.”

“Thank you for your offer.” You replied, too focused on the work in front of you to notice the merchant’s roving sort of gaze. “I’ll see what Master Diluc has to say. However I warn you, as much as international exports are important for a growing trade, smuggling wine into locked countries will do little good. Especially considering what the damage could do to this winery’s reputation if such a thing was found out.”

“Don’t worry, I assure you my methods are completely secure. In fact, if you’d like to discuss it in more depth, I do believe that I may be able to enlighten you over a meal.”

“Perhaps, although Master Diluc would certainly have to be there.” You smiled slightly, and Diluc wondered for a moment if you were being purposefully oblivious or simply didn’t notice the meaning behind the merchant’s words.

“I will be back tomorrow, perhaps you’ll have an answer then?”

“I’m sure I will.” You replied, smiling as the two of you shook hands. As the merchant walked out of the winery your smile morphed into a sort of smirk and you looked up towards the balcony of the second floor.

“You can come out now Diluc, I know you’re there.”

Diluc couldn’t help but smile at those words, he truly couldn’t get anything past you. Hurrying down the stairs he swept you up in his arms, sighing slightly into your neck as you tightened the embrace.

“Ever so observant, my darling.”

“I know that you’d never let a transaction or a business conversation take place without your knowledge.” There was a playfulness to your voice, coming from the knowledge that you were utterly correct. “Still, you could’ve come downstairs you know. I don’t think that anyone would need to believe that you were going through your ‘very important paperwork, and lurking around is your night job.’”

“It seemed somehow wrong to suddenly appear in front of you two and derail the conversation.” Diluc drew away and placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, chuckling when you immediately wrinkled it. “Especially since you were doing so well on your own.”

“Oh he’s just like the rest of them,” you sighed, “altogether a bit too full of themselves.”

“Especially in this one’s case.” Diluc said, finally letting a scowl cross his face.

“What do you mean?”

The look on your face was one of innocence and confusion, and for a moment Diluc felt his thoughts stammer, as he realized that you truly were unaware of the way that the merchant was looking at you, unaware of the manner which caused Diluc even now to continue to press his hand gently against your lower back. If you didn’t notice it, then surely Diluc was overreacting, surely there was no reason for his heart to stutter and his stomach to drop. Surely there was no reason, and surely he shouldn’t tell you.

“Nothing at all, I just didn’t like his face.” He hurried now to reply, realizing how odd his pause must’ve seemed. “Will you be accepting his proposal for a business dinner?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose it couldn’t hurt. And then it might be a good venue for the two of you to talk. Since you find him especially ghastly, I think a more public meeting might be easier.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think that invitation was meant for me.” Diluc replied, before realizing his gaffe and falling silent.

“What? What do you mean of course it’s meant for you. I mean you are the owner of the Winery. Who else would it be for?”

“For, for you my darling. Why else would he ask you in such a way?” Diluc tried to keep the acid out of his words. It wasn’t your fault after all. It wasn’t your fault that some louche was asking after you.

“But I’m not the one in charge.” You furrowed your brow. “I can’t make the final decision. And I won’t allow him to attempt to bypass getting your permission either.”

“My darling, I, I think he meant it a different way.”

“What way?”

Diluc sighed, capitulating quickly to his want to tell you. Even if it was perhaps selfish of him, he was never truly good at keeping his feelings masked away, at least in a way that didn’t result in him completely shutting down. And you meant to much to him than for Diluc to try and lie to you.

“You see, I think he was attempting to ask you on a more romantic sort of dinner.”

“What?”

Your reaction was immediate, your expression quickly turning into one of shock and then of disgust. Letting out a groan you buried your face into the front of Diluc’s coat, eliciting a short laugh from its owner.

“Why? I… I… Even if I weren’t in love with you I’d never go out to dinner with him.”

“I don’t think he would appreciate the sentiment.”

“Diluc.” You let out another groan, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the thought. “Archons, ugh thank you for telling me. I, disgusting.”

Diluc said nothing, simply tightening the hold of his arms around you. Though your reaction was certainly justifiable he knew there was something more behind them, and he felt grateful for your consideration. Though he knew that would always have been your reaction, it didn’t stop the pressure that ha been building in his chest, the thoughts that screamed what if, what if, what if. What if there is something better than you.

“Hey, are you alright?” You voice drifted up through the fabric of Diluc coat. He smiled, relaxing his grasp around you and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“I will be. May I hold you a little longer?”

“Of course. You’re the only one for me, you know.”

“And you for me. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Those words, though so small, were somehow enough.

 Xiao

The new guest at the inn had been speaking to you for quite some time. That was Xiao’s first observation. The second was that you didn’t seem to mind. The third was that for some reason he suddenly felt incredibly irritated.

It was a beautiful evening, the kind that would’ve normally had you and Xiao sitting on the roof together, fingers entwined, the silence of nature cushioning the two of your from the outside world. It was a ritual, something that Xiao had come to rely on, had come to almost sanctify. Yet here he was, sitting on one of the thicker branches of the trees that dotted the outside of the Inn, trying desperately to quench the anger that bloomed in his chest as he watched you and the guest talk the minutes away.

Perhaps the worst part was that you didn’t seem to mind. Instead of pulling the conversation towards a close, you seemed perfectly content to keep talking, smiling brightly and quickly answering the questions of this uninvited guest. Normally Xiao didn’t care about , or rather didn’t keep track of, the people you spoke to. Of course you would have friends, would have people that mattered to you. Just because Xiao had disconnected himself from humanity didn’t mean that you had to. So why was he so angry?

His patience ran out when the guest reached for your hand. Sidling next to you as fast as he could Xiao peeled off his invisibility, enjoying the shock that registered across the uninvited guest’s face as he moved his hand back. Reaching to entwine his hand with yours Xiao shifted his gaze towards your face. Shock was painted into your expression, but there was also something else, a glimmer of happiness or of satisfaction. Somehow it unnerved Xiao, and he focused instead on the task at hand, whatever that task was.

“It’s getting late.”

“Oh, of course.” Turning back to the guest you smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but perhaps we’ll speak again some other time?”

“Gladly!” The man’s face lit up, before Xiao’s glaring left him scampering down the steps.

“Xiao, is something wrong?” The question was so genuine, without any sense of knowing more than you let. Unfortunately the question was also unanswerable.

“It’s late. We should go.” Xiao gestured towards the roof, hoping the reminder would flush the question out of your head.

“You’re right, I suppose it is getting late. And we wouldn’t want to waste such a wonderful evening.” You smiled. And yet somehow Xiao felt unplacated. He was happy, wasn’t he? So why, why did the question hang in the air, and why did the discontent remain?

The next day was a lazy one, as Xiao waited for you to be done with work. More than usual he missed you, and he wished that the hours would go faster, so he might be able to once more enjoy your presence, to banish the discontent that he still felt, evening after an hour spent wholly in your company.

Eventually the sun made its descent from the heavens, and Xiao pulled himself once more to the perch on the tree he’d taken the night before. Gazing down at the balcony he saw the familiar figure of the unwanted guest, and a stab of anger flashed through him. This was made all the worse by your entrance, and the fact you once more stopped to make time for this intruder.

The man was just as insufferable as before, full of jokes that Xiao didn’t understand and words that though praising of you felt somewhat hollow, almost insulting. You laughed along to these jokes, smiled at these odd compliments. And when the man asked if you might be willing to talk more over some sort of meal you merely smiled.

Xiao, however, found the whole ordeal unbearable. Why should this person be asking all these things, be prying you with words of intimacy and familiarity. Had he not arrived yesterday? Was he not an utter stranger? Confusion mixed with irritation in Xiao’s head, and he found it difficult to hold on to the stony reason he’d built up. What was going on? What was this terrible feeling of anger and want? He couldn’t understand human ways. Less could he understand why they should have any sort of effect on him.

Still he had to do something. Had to do anything. Swooping down once more Xiao began the same charade. This time, however, the man merely jumped, and for all his glaring Xiao couldn’t dislodge the guest from his place on the balcony.

“It’s late.”

“Ah it is. Are you hungry?” He asked, addressing you once more.

“I’m not at all, but Xiao’s right. It is late. If you haven’t eaten yet then perhaps you should. Smiley Yanxiao is quite strict about his rest.”

“Ah, then perhaps you’re right. Still, why not join me? You can tell me your name, and we can talk a little more about the things you do.”

“You don’t even know their name.” Xiao spat out the sentence, barely able to contain the odd sort of irritation that still spun around him. He asked you all those questions, said all those words of praise, all without knowing your name. It felt somehow dehumanizing, somehow… wrong.

“I would be glad to learn it.” The man smiled.

Xiao simply shook his head. He needed to leave. It was becoming too much again, and the last thing Xiao wanted was for a stranger to see him this way, see him unsure and confused and not a little frightened of these alien emotions. Glaring at the man one more time Xiao scooped you up. Ignoring the surprised shriek that you let out he shot up into the sky, moving towards the familiar sanctuary of Jueyen Karst, deeply grateful that the guest, whatever he could do, could never fly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” You asked, barely giving Xiao the time to set you down onto one of Liyue’s sloping peaks before asking him the one question he couldn’t answer.

“Nothing.”

“Well it’s certainly not nothing. You’re being awfully rude to that guest, and I can’t understand why. Usually you don’t really care about those sorts of things. So something must be wrong, and I want to know what it is.”

A pause.

“Please.”

“I can’t.” It was all Xiao could say, the only thing that would truly encompass the truth, because in truth he couldn’t. He himself didn’t understand it.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“My chest hurts.”

“What?” Immediately your face shifted into one of worry, and you placed a soft hand over Xiao’s heart. Somehow the gesture was calming, and Xiao closed his eyes, enjoying the receding of the hot bands that had just been restricting him.

“My chest hurt when I saw you with that, that guest. My chest hurt and I felt angry. That’s what’s wrong. My chest hurt, but now it doesn’t; and I don’t understand it.”

There was a pause, and Xiao studied the expressions on your face, watched as they shifted from worry to confusion to caution.

“Xiao, is it possible you were jealous?”

“No.” The idea was somehow insulting.

“It’s alright to be jealous Xiao. It just means you care about someone very much. You don’t have to just dismiss it like that. I want to make sure that you’re alright, so please be honest. Is it possible you were jealous?”

Xiao let another gap form in the conversation, trying to figure out how to answer. The suggestion felt demeaning, felt as if he somehow had no control over himself, no trust of you. And yet it somehow made sense, and even as he shook his head he found himself letting out a different answer.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay if you don’t. I know that new emotions can be frightening, can be difficult to deal with. But Xiao, I’ll always love you. It doesn’t matter who else I meet or what else happens in my life. I love you the way that a bird loves the sky. You’re a part of my life I could never lose. So even if this isn’t jealousy, even if I’m wrong, I still want to let you know. I love you.”

Xiao sighed, a smile finally gracing his lips, the pain in his chest finally melting away. What did he ever do to deserve such a person as you, he would never know. He wished he could repeat those words back to you word for word, wished that he could explain that his love for you was all encompassing, had seeped through the cracks of his existence and his life. He wished he could form together the words necessary to convey his love for you. Even if it was impossible he still wished it.

So instead he leaned over towards you. Letting out a gentle sigh he brought his lips to yours, reveling in the soft sensation of your mouth against his, reveling in the way you leaned against him, bringing you arm up to his neck, letting out a soft breath of contentment as the two of you disconnected.

You didn’t ask him anything else, and for the rest of the evening you two sat on the grass, watching the fireflies dance around you as you leaned against one another.

Perhaps Xiao didn’t yet understand the extent to which he loved you, the emotions that had now risen up, given life by the love you’d poured into the adeptus. Perhaps he didn’t understand this yet, but he knew that all would be well. For with you all that irritation seemed so far away, as if it belonged to a Xiao of yesterday. Because here and now you two were together, breathing in the same mutual contentment, the same mutual trust, the same mutual love. And that present was more important than any jealousy could be.

 Zhongli

Looking back on the matter Zhongli admitted that maybe pretending the problem didn’t exist was probably not the best solution.

It was only that you two had seemed so oddly content in talking, so, compatible, that Zhongli couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discontent, a tension that spread through his jaw and down to his stomach. He didn’t quite understand the nature of the emotion that now spread over him, but he did understand that it was connected to the bond that was now forming between you and the vendor in front of you.

“Dearest one.” He spoke softly, walking over to where you now stood.

“Oh, Zhongli!” Your face lit up as usual, and the ex-archon felt a piece of him uncoil. At least some things seemed to be unchanging, just as wonderful today as they had been the day before.

“I’ve been looking for you. I know you spoke of wanting to learn more about the nature of Cor Lapis, and the tea shop has been offering a new brew. Perhaps we could share a drink?”

“Oh that sounds lovely!” Turning around towards the vendor you smiled gently. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to try that lovely soup you were speaking of some other time.”

“Not at all!” The vendor’s smile was good natured, and Zhongli didn’t understand why he nevertheless felt a twinge of uncertainty. “I look forward to it. I hope you two have a nice day, and we’ll talk about it more later.”

Though the stall receded into the distance as the two of you turned the corner, Zhongli couldn’t help but let the moment run through his mind once more, finding it as sore to think about as a bruise might be to the touch.

“That vendor? Oh they’re new on the scene.” You smiled, taking a sip of tea.

The tea house was as calming as ever, the noises of the outside a distant song, and the hushed whispers inside adding to the intimate atmosphere. Zhongli normally loved to sit here, drinking cup after cup of tea, watching as the people came and went about their business, immersed in a small fragment of Liyue life. Now, however, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about the vendor. If he closed his eyes he could still remember their face, and the way yours was lit up while they were talking to you.

“Their name is Eli.” You continued on, oblivious to the way Zhongli’s hand tightened around his teacup. “They said that they set up shop maybe… two weeks ago? It hasn’t been a very long time, and they’re still struggling a bit. I hope that they’ll be able to get their business off the ground, who knew that street food was such a cutthroat world.”

“The city of Liyue is full of people who might make their way in the world, doing whatever they can. Perhaps it is unsurprising that competition is second nature to Liyue’s citizens.” Zhongli replied, hoping his tone wasn’t too curt. If it was you didn’t seem to mind, nodding softly in agreement.

“Speaking of Liyue and stories, perhaps you would like to tell me the story you were going to tell? I very much doubt that Cor Lapis is the blood of Morax.”

“How humans love to spin their stories.” Zhongli chuckled.

But even as he began to speak of jewels and pressure and the minerals that lay deep beneath the earth a bit of him was still preoccupied by the vendor’s easy words and your smiling face.

The next time he ran into you with the vendor the pit in his stomach had only gotten heavier. Standing a little ways away he let the conversation between the two of you flow in and out his ear, frown slipping deeper the more he heard.

“I cannot believe that your stall nearly caught fire on your first day! How unlucky.”

“Even worse that I didn’t know who to try and tell about it. If I had known you were part of the Guild then I would’ve asked you.”

“Well next time there are troubles you can just send a message to the Adventurer’s Guild. We can’t have our citizens being injured on our watch.”

“You sound like true heroes. I wish I could do the sorts of things you did. Your commissions sound fascinating! I would love to see how you go about your day some time.”

“Really it’s nothing, most days it’s quite boring really, just like any other job. Still, it’s nice to know that people have an interest in what we do.”

“Oh certainly! I find what you do very interest– ”

“My dearest one!” Zhongli called out, unable to continue listening to the conversation, feeling somewhat guilty and certainly upset. You turned slightly, smile brightening as you saw your partner.

“Zhongli! So sorry that I didn’t meet you outside your office, I must’ve lost track of the time. Eli here was telling me all about their first days at work.”

“I’m sorry that I got out late. I hope that you did not have to wait awhile.”

“Oh not at all Zhongli, like I said I’ve just been standing here. You don’t need to feel bad at all!”

“I’m glad. Perhaps now we can go?”

Zhongli attempted to smile, but it felt a lot more like a grimace. You stared at him, face the picture of confusion. Taking a step forward you glanced one more time at Eli, shrugging apologetically. Before any more words could be passed between the two of you Zhongli grabbed onto your hand. Walking quite quickly he didn’t let go until the two of you were at your apartment and he could finally breathe again.

“Zhongli, what’s the matter with you?” You asked, closing the apartment door behind you. Walking back towards Zhongli, who stood there silently, you let your hands rest lightly on his shoulders. “You can tell me you know, I can tell you’re unhappy.”

“I have a confession.” Zhongli started, feeling somehow compelled to reveal his thoughts, as if keeping them locked away would only be dangerous.

“Yes?”

“I, I did not like the way that the vendor spoke to you.”

“Eli? But they were perfectly nice.”

“I do not mean that they were rude. They were perfectly cordial. I mean, when the two of you were speaking, I, I felt uncomfortable. It was as if there was a barrier between us in that moment. I, I did not like it.”

“Oh Zhongli.” You breathed out, an indulgent smile on your face.

Reaching up you planted fleeting kisses on the archon’s face, peppering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, touch featherlight. It was a familiar gesture, one of comfort, one used in darker nights, when shadows dotted the periphery of Zhongli’s vision.

“Zhongli, I assume you know what jealousy is?”

“I know the term and what it means. I admit I am not personally familiar with the concept.”

“Well I am, so let me tell you. What you experienced, that was jealousy, plain and simple. I know it’s very uncomfortable. Jealousy can be such a messy feeling, it sticks everywhere. But it’s also normal. So you don’t need to worry. I promise that nothing will happen, and I promise that these feelings would go away. I also promise that I love you very much, so even if you feel these emotions, you don’t have to worry.”

“How could I ever worry about you?” Zhongli murmured, wrapping his arms around you, basking in your proximity.

The apology only came in the evening, after words and kisses and love had hung long enough in the air to dull the feelings that Zhongli had been carrying around. Now he lay there next to you, chin resting gently on your head, suddenly realizing that he’d most likely acted quite rudely.

“I’m sorry I ignored Eli.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.” You murmured. “Though I’m not actually sure what got you riled up about them.”

“You are also a bit oblivious dearest one,” Zhongli let out a soft laugh, “it seems they were quite taken with you.”

“Were they?” You asked, tone betraying your surprise. You paused for a moment, as if trying to replay your interactions. “I never noticed. To be honest, I don’t think I could ever notice, not when I have you.”

“Thank you.” Zhongli whispered, oddly overcome by the confession.

As he lay awake, carding gentle fingers through your hair and listening to the even breaths of your sleeping form he pondered just how lucky he was. Precious gems might come from pressure and earth and chance. But you were more precious than all of them. And he’d never forget that.

[rotationalsymmetry]

Just noticing I see a lot of “be gay, do crime” and “queer as in fuck you” here and relatively little “silence is death.”

which prob makes sense given the average age here and how long ago the aids epidemic was, I mean I’m on the older side here and I was a child

but... remember our history.

Silence is death.

What that means is: hiding in the closet won’t keep us safe.* Toning it down to be acceptable to the homophobes doesn’t keep us safe. Respectable gay men who didn’t “flaunt” their gayness died just as easily as the most flamboyant in-your-face queer. Reagan didn’t go “oh, I guess we can research a cure for the nice gays, we’ll just keep it from the bad ones” no, being palatable didn’t give you anything when the ticking time bomb of the HIV virus went off in your body.

“Silence is death” means this deal where we don’t make a big deal of it and you don’t beat us up…didn’t work.

AIDS radicalized the community, politicized things like never before. And all the non-discrimination stuff and marriage rights and yeah rainbow capitalism came on the back of that. We have a Blues Clues viral video about Pride because of in-your-face queers who shouted that they might be dying but they weren’t going quietly. We got to a world where you can just be out and not get fired from normal jobs (I mean, not to speak for everyone, but that’s a much more common experience than it used to be) not because our queer foreparents shrunk themselves down to meet straight homophobes’ standards of acceptability, but because they didn’t.

Because they kept insisting over and over, we’re here and our worth isn’t dependent on our ability, or willingness, to fit in.

*in general — if it is keeping you personally safe that is definitely a thing that happens and you have a right to make that call. And there’s a big difference between “I don’t handle disapproval well” (which, same) and “my parents might not pay for my college education“ or “I’m disabled and can’t afford to lose my support network” or whatever. But I’m not talking about the personal choice to come out. im taking about when people want other people to stay silent, to “tone it down”, etc.

[jodysaywer]

Don’t know how to start this but like I’m kind of tired of staying silent on the Shadow and Bone racism.

I don’t think I would have been as mad had this series not be treated as the pinnacle of representation. While I understand you can’t get it perfect ever, there are lots of parts that I hope we don’t make the same mistakes next time.

I think that the biggest problem about it is that it only caters to ‘diversity’ for white people — it has this sort of version of a commodity activism where white people can see it and be like ‘but the characters are diverse!’ The racism is really obvious so they can say, ‘You shouldn’t call poc slurs!’ And give themselves a pat on the back for supporting the characters and ‘not being racist.’

Just for the record, in the books there are also lots of stereotypes against all the pocs especially Jesper that makes me uncomfortable but I’m not sure if it’s my place to say (but like if anyone wants to go ahead). Here I’m going to talk specifically about the East Asian ones.

SPOILERS AHEAD

First of all the problem in the show is that it’s directed specifically towards East Asians. There were so many wonderful pocs there but Alina was true only one constantly getting attacked. And I’m definitely not saying other pocs should get attack too, I’m saying the opposite. Gonna say this out of experience, racism for me hurts more when it’s coming from another poc bc it’s because I don’t anticipate it like I do with white people so having woc like Zoya being racist to Alina was not only useless to the plot but also extremely damaging.

Alina is also manipulated constantly by a white guy (and shipped with him). Her ability is what makes her stand out against others and she basically went straight to be his favorite to be paraded around. You can see others who have worked hard like Zoya get angry and jealous (rightfully so) this creating a divide between Alina and others. It really made me feel like being the Model Minority where we are the weapon white supremacy use against other minorities to say that they’re not racist but in reality we’re just their pawns. We are constantly paraded by white supremacy to other minorities as an ‘good example’ and white supremacy has constantly belittled the hard work of other pocs blaming everything on them being ‘lazy’ instead of admitting the glaring institutional blocks they put that prevents other pocs to thrive. The addition of the power imbalance of Alina and the Darkling as a ship (and a heavily romanticized ship) is so damaging as an Asian woc who is historically and constantly fetishized by white men too, especially with the Darkling being someone who is cruel and and oppressive to others. It’s not your enemies to lovers trope as I’ve seen people pass it off as.

There are no other East Asians in the background though they’re are a lot of other pocs so intentionally Alina is the only one (She is half Shu so imagine the ramifications of the didn’t have Ravka blood at all and had more prominent East Asian features). This pattern of being the only one there is a constant reminder of feeling like a foreigner and that I don’t belong.

Unfortunately this parallels to the books. In the Shadow and Bones series itself where Alina is white, the two East Asians (who are also half white) are Tamar And Tolya who are basically Alina’s bodyguards. Although they are physically there in the series most of the times you don’t see a lot of their personality expect for one being an LGBT token and the other one reciting poems that no one wants to hear. Alina also casts them aside for whiter characters and is sort of uncomfortable with them? (Also no one in the fandom like talks abt them which kinda hurts but yeah….it’s the same as the books)

This feeling of having Asian characters making others uncomfortable also goes to Six of Crows with Kuwei who is Shu and basically just a money bargain for the Crows. Everyone just assumes he couldn’t speak their language (he can and thats the plot twist) because of where he’s from and they sort of ignore him except for Wylan who is rude to him just because they like the same person. Then Wylan spends almost of all book two borderline yellowfacing (while I understand how uncomfortable it must have felt to have to exist and carry around in a face that’s not yours, the fact that this was a white boy constantly being angry of having an Asian face probably wasnt the best choice). Also Kuwei himself is a little weird too and comes off as uncomfortable to Jesper like the way her pushes himself to Jesper and kisses him without his consent. I’m not excusing Kuwei’s actions at all and I think that what he did was wrong but having him as the only rep there for me doing that made me feel rather icky about myself in a way where I’m like, ‘is this how im perceived to others?’ Kuwei made me feel a bit like a burden and a bit of a creep. (I see some people be like, oh he’s sassy! He’s got like 5 lines! He’s honestly just constantly transported in different places to hide in the book like he’s some repressed cargo, that action itself speaks so loudly about being constantly silenced)

The Shu itself in the books are also like? They do experiments on Grishas which basically feels like the stereotypical sci-fi, dystopian, or whatever genre that squally go ‘Asia experiments on people because they have no humanity’ and etc. (Kuwei’s dad being the scientist who found the drug that basically hurst grishas also isn’t great lol)

Also in the books most pocs chacters have light eyes which is like a small thing but it kind of annoys me in the way we’re so focused on western standards of beauty.

——

The thing is, I’m not saying this out of hate. Leigh is one of my favorite authors and I absolutely love her but I feel like the fandom puts these series on a much bigger pedestal for seemingly being diverse and while it is character race wise, the stereotypes imbedded in these are important too. It really hurts when your favorite books see you as weird and foreign and casts you aside. It hurts when most of the characters that are supposed to look like me makes me feel most uncomfortable. So please keep that in mind.

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 2

Thank you so much for all your reactions to part 1! I hope you enjoy part two just as much :)

CW: mentions of past minor character death (incl. a pregnant woman)

7.3k - masterlist - ao3

--

Her first day of shooting isn’t great. It’s not bad by a long way, but it could have easily been better. They’re on location in a forest somewhere in the outskirts of Rifthold and she didn’t even know there were places in the city like this, she’d assumed it was all the sprawling metropolis of skyscrapers and crowded streets, but apparently not.

She’s cold. There’s a machine beating down torrents of fake rain on her and Fenrys where they stand opposite each other on the muddy path through the trees, they’re filming the scene where their characters first meet. Her feet are soggy inside the canvas trainers she’s wearing and they keep spraying water on her hair to keep the wet look running throughout all of the takes and she hates it. She’s uncomfortable and stiff but she comforts herself with the knowledge that Fenrys is the same if the frown he wears whenever the camera isn’t on him is anything to go by.

It helps, barely.

She keeps having to spit water out of her mouth between lines, she swears it never rains this heavily in real life but who is she to comment, and she watches Rowan’s lips twist in displeasure where he sits behind the camera every time she does it. Aelin’s not sure what else she’s supposed to do, he can sit there out of the line of the water all fine, but she can’t speak with her mouth full.

It can take time to fall into the natural rhythm of shooting a new project, even the shitty ones she’s done in the past have shown her that, but there’s something about the way Rowan watches her that prickles the back of her neck, his stare intense and heavy as he watches, that adds the pressure. She wants to show him that she can do this. She wants his approval.

She ignores the reasons why.

After they finish and Rowan has called cut she sulks back to her trailer, she’s only just managed to change out of her sodden clothes when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Fenrys, warm and dry now in his own change of clothes.

They’ve sort of become friends recently, after swapping numbers after the table read he had texted her first. The studio has put him in the same complex as her and they’ve shared a car back there a couple of times after some of their meetings. She likes him a lot actually, and while she knows his reputation of infamy with the ladies follows him around like a bad smell, she feels comfortable with him.

“That could have gone better,” he tells her as he flops down onto the two-seater sofa at the end of her trailer, the other half has a mound of clothes dumped on it that she hasn’t bothered to sort through yet.

She just shoots him a look that she hopes says tell me about it.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he tells her, reassuringly. He would know she supposes, he has far more experience than her.

“I hope so.”

“How’re you finding it so far, working with Rowan?” he asks, and she frowns, bristling at the fact that he somehow knows the worst question to ask already. Aelin doesn’t think she’s behaved weirdly around Rowan since the day at the table read, in fact she’s tried to avoid him where possible. Maybe that’s it.

“Fine,” she says, but that’s not quite true. It messes with her in a dangerous way every time she knows he’s watching her. She should be able to turn that part of her brain off during a scene, she trained for years to learn how to do that, but he gets to her. She’s working on it.

Fenrys laughs, seeing right through her.

“He’s not bad once you get to know him, the first time we worked together I thought he was a total dick.” She gives him the same look as before as she clears the clothes and sits down next to him.

“I swear he’s not that bad. He’s just-” Fenrys pauses, weighing her up with a look, and something that he takes in from the way she stands, gnawing on her lower lip with her hair still wet, has him saying; “He’s got a lot riding on this.”

“Why?”

It doesn’t feel like he has a lot riding on this, his last piece was nominated for the Oscars, how much higher than that can you get? It’s not like he’s in the same position as her, desperately clawing herself back to a place where she can be cast in a role and it not be followed by a stunned, oh?

She knows there were articles written when her casting was announced that were doubtful of her ability to do this movie, that questioned whether she’s up to the task and whether she’s good enough to be standing next to names like Fenrys and Rowan. Some of the articles were straight up mean, and she only knows that because she searched them up like a masochist when all the ones Elide sent over were far too nice.

A dark part of herself can’t help but fall prey to some of the headlines. The ones that throw around words like nepotism, the ones that question whether Aelin is talented enough to be where she is cut deeper than any knife, and only half of it is because she sometimes wonders the same. She should be better than that, but the reminder catches in her throat that she really does have a lot riding on this.

“It’s not really my place to say.”

That’s a load of shit, and she tells him so. He only shrugs, not willing to so openly gossip about their boss.

“How well do you know him exactly?” She’s fishing for any details, but it definitely could be passed off as casual curiosity.

“He directed my debut, we keep in touch every so often.” He’s nonchalant. “He asked me to audition for this.”

“Nice humble brag.”

Fenrys only flashes her his movie star grin, in combination with the wink he throws at her it’s almost an effort not to blush.

“He wanted you cast, you know?” That she didn’t know, but it’s nice to hear.

“Why? He doesn’t know me.”

“You’re hard work, you know?” He’s joking but it doesn’t sit quite right. She knows it’s true. “Come with us tonight. There's a group of us getting dinner, and you can ask him yourself.”

It’s an olive branch. She knows it’s obvious to everyone that she’s uncomfortable, still hasn’t quite found her feet on set after taking such a break, and it’s one that she’s grateful for. No matter how closed off she knows she still seems to them.

“Okay,” she says and Fenrys’ smile is genuine and a part of her lifts, it’s a start.

They share a car to the restaurant and he fills the journey with easy chatter. She appreciates it because she feels really fucking rusty. It’s been a while since she spoke to anyone outside of her immediate circle of friends and family, and it’s always been easy with them. This is different, but not unwelcome.

Sometimes she worries that, as much as they love her, Aedion, Lysandra and Elide are inclined to tread lightly around her. She’d like to think that she’s not that fragile, that she could take the full front of their humour and teasing like she used to, but then remembers when Fenrys’ joke fell flat for her in the trailer and she thinks again.

Either way, the cast and crew here don’t treat her like she’s broken, or even breakable, and it’s refreshing.

Fenrys leads the way into the restaurant, and there’s definitely paparazzi down the street snapping away at them as they cross the short distance from the car to the door. She tries to ignore it, she’ll text Elide once they’re done here, even though Elide will probably be overjoyed. It’s probably (definitely) easier to publicise your talent when she’s out there doing things with other famous people compared to staying inside her home alone.

Fenrys greets the staff on the door and they lead them through the restaurant to a staircase at the back of the room and it leads up to a private space with only one table. Right, privacy. Some of these guys are proper celebrities.

They’re the last ones there, and there’s two seats left at the table. Manon is here, so is Rowan and one of the executive producers who she thinks is called Gavriel.

“Alright guys, you all know Aelin,” Fenrys says and she smiles as they greet her.

Fenrys holds a chair out for her, the one next to Rowan, and she slides into it as he takes the one on her other side.

Rowan offers her a quirk of his lips, one she returns as she takes him in. He’s wearing short sleeves this time and she gets a good look at the tattoo snaking the whole way down his left arm. It’s in the Old Language and she can’t read it, even though her father had spent hours trying to teach her when she was a kid, but the lettering is beautiful and neat. She wants to reach out and touch, to trace the lines that roll down his golden skin.

She doesn’t. Obviously.

A waiter comes over to take their drink orders, Fenrys gets a beer, Manon and Gavriel opt for wine, but Rowan asks for an orange juice. He’s not drinking either and she wonders if it’s related to the reason he needs this movie to go well. So she’s nosy? So what?

She sits back and observes as the conversation flows, laughing along at the easy banter that flows between the three men and the sarcastic quips Manon throws in. Fenrys clearly understated his relationship with Rowan, they seem tight and have a clear fondness for one another. It’s easy to slot herself in as the night progresses, snarking with Manon and joining in with the general light-hearted mockery of Fenrys.

She thinks maybe so far she’s got Rowan wrong.

Tonight he’s quick-witted and charming, and he makes his best effort to include her in the conversation which she appreciates. It’s a contrast to the dark and teasing side of him she’s seen so far in the hallway and the table read. Maybe he’s decided to just start again, pretend they never met before she was cast, and she can do that too.

“So, Aelin.” Manon turns the spotlight to her after a while. “Tell us the scoop. I’ve not seen you in anything for a while.”

It’s not a nasty question, Aelin can just tell from the way she asks it, nothing more than genuine curiosity lies in her tone even if the phrasing is somewhat harsh. Manon might not be the bubbliest of characters, she’s blunt and doesn’t beat around the bush, but she’s not unkind, and Aelin doubts if she knew the truth she’d ask that question in such a way.

Elide managed to keep the worst of her… career break? One could phrase it more like breakdown, out of the limelight. She somehow managed to keep the worst of it hidden, and Aelin will owe her that for the rest of her life.

All the world knows is that Sam was murdered when they were both still newbies to their respective industries, neither of them had had their big break yet, and after that she took a break. For three years.

She remembers the headlines from the time, most were in smaller magazines, Sam wasn’t famous enough to make the front pages. Her mouth tastes like bile.

Singer-Songwriter Sam Cortland, 20, murdered in random street attack in Orynth, girlfriend Aelin Ashryver unharmed and working with police to identify suspect.

No one knows she knelt there in his blood begging for him to open his eyes, not even Aedion, or Lysandra or Elide, and she blinks back the image now. Her hands are curled into fists below the table and she forces herself to uncurl them and lay them flat against her jeans.

“Yeah,” she says after clearing her throat. “I took a break from it all for a few years, but I’m back now obviously and really excited for it.”

Manon nods and Gavriel raises a glass. He’s been nothing but kind to her all night. He kind of reminds her of her father, though he’s not that old, probably not even forty yet. He’s softly spoken and counters each snarky comment from Fenrys or Manon with something softer but no less amusing.

“Good to hear,” Fenrys says with a grin, clinking his glass against Gavriel’s.

The way Rowan watches her as he raises his own glass in a toast to her, careful and without speaking, tells her he knows. At least the basics about Sam, and it seems like maybe he did google her just like she joked back at the table read.

Their meals arrive then, mercifully taking the attention away from her. She needs to find a better way to deal with the attention than shutting down, especially if this film is going to be as big as everyone thinks it will be. She should call her therapist.

She will.

Eventually.

They leave the restaurant not long after, Fenrys covering the bill, emphasising that this was a celebration and an initiation for Aelin. She almost blushes for some unknown reason at his words, but she likes it. It sounds good. Like she really is back, or at least will be.

They each give her their numbers, and she likes the way he’s in her phone now as Rowan rather than Rowan Whitethorn, it feels like he’s not just someone from work. Not just her boss.

They each say goodbye and share a series of embraces, ignoring the small group of paparazzi that follow, desperate for any kind of incriminating image of any of the five of them. It’s clear that most of them are here for Fenrys, but she still makes sure to keep her expression clear and guarded as Rowan wraps her into a one-armed hug when they leave. It’s not just for the paparazzi.

Back in her apartment, when she’s tucked up in bed knowing she should be asleep, she can’t stop herself from googling him. She’s honestly surprised she’s lasted this long.

The first few news articles to come up are all about the movie and she scrolls past them, instead pulling up his Wikipedia page and scrolling straight to the personal life section. Maybe this is the weirdest way anyone’s ever got to know a friend, but she’s intrigued and still slightly flustered by him so it will do.

The section on his personal life is relatively bare, and it doesn’t surprise her. His Instagram account alone told her pretty explicitly that he’s a private kind of guy. She almost scrolls away after the first few lines, they don’t give her much information other than the college he went to and the languages he speaks, but she reads the final few lines of the section anyway.

In March 2018 Whitethorn’s fiance, Lyria Woods, passed away as the result of a road traffic accident. The driver of the other vehicle was found to be under the influence of alcohol at the time of the accident and was later sentenced to 6 years in prison for death by dangerous driving. Woods was 12 weeks pregnant with their child at the time of the accident.

Only a couple of weeks after the Oscars that she and Lysandra watched. She does the maths and realises this is his first film since then and thinks she knows what Fenrys meant.

Fucking shit.

Her second day of shooting goes better than the first, just as Fenrys said it would.

She’s more relaxed when she crosses the set from her trailer with a coffee in hand and she thinks she knows her place a little better now, even after only one night spent with the others.

She lies back while her make up is done, chatting to the make-up artist instead of sitting silently like the day before, and she’s almost ready for the discomfort that her wet hair will bring. The weather adds to the atmosphere of the film, dark and dreary and moody, and she gets why they’re doing it, but it still sucks.

Fenrys is ready when she gets there, and while she’s not avoiding Rowan today after finding out about his… past, she just finds it difficult to look him in the eye knowing what she does. He probably wouldn’t be surprised that she knew, if it’s on Wikipedia it’s public knowledge and they have made jokes about googling each other, but she feels weird in a way that she didn’t learn it from him. It feels intrusive, or invasive, to find out about something like that through Wikipedia.

But even though they bonded somewhat last night, and he greeted her this morning with an easy hey, they’re still not close. No matter that she thinks she might want them to be. She’s trying again to ignore the way she feels drawn to him, the way her eyes seek him out without her permission.

She knows she kills the take. Knows it from the high five Fenrys slaps against her palm once Rowan’s called cut and from the swift nod he offers her when she glances towards him.

There seem to be two Rowan’s too, there’s the award winning director Rowan Whitethorn, and then just Rowan.

Rowan Whitethorn is cool and calculating and distant, quiet while he watches their scene from his place behind the camera, the big black headphones he uses pushed down around his neck. His eyes are as sharp as a hawk’s while he watches for all the minute details of their expressions and any improvements they could make. He doesn’t give her that many she’s pleased to note.

The way he instructs them is impressive, with clear directions and thoughtful analyses. She’s been here two days and she knows how he got the Oscar nomination, he’s scarily intelligent and seems to know exactly what’s off about a performance before she figures it out herself.

The other side to him, the side that is just Rowan is…

Just Rowan is the one she likes more.

She suspects the smile he gives her later, after they’ve nailed the bulk of the scene in one take and she’s being twirled around by Fenrys, comes from him.

She has two full days off in a row, and she decides the best use of her time is to go and stay with Aedion and Lysandra. Fenrys isn’t free, and the reason she is is that he has a load of solo scenes to shoot, and she doesn’t envy him at all.

Lysandra is ecstatic when she announces via a group text to her and Aedion that she’ll be at their house for lunchtime, and she loves it, but it makes her feel a little guilty. That she’s let it get to the point when her friend reacts like that at her promise of a visit is quite frankly appalling, but she finally feels as if she’s taken the first step. She’s on the bottom rung of the ladder, and it’s taken her a while, but she’s there now.

Aedion and Lysandra live in a disgustingly big house in a gated part of the suburbs, and she knows the house isn’t exactly what they would have chosen in an ideal world, it’s too big and garish and grey, but there are gates by the entrance and 24 hour security.

It still messes with her head that Aedion is that famous. Aedion. Her gangly cousin, always too tall for his own good, who used to pull her hair when they were kids and sneak her extra helpings of cake at family parties before her parents divorced. She doesn’t know that much about football, so little in fact that her dad and Aedion teased her relentlessly for years, but everyone tells her he’s good.

Like really good.

The salary he gets from the Ravens is more than enough proof.

She rings their front door bell and she can hear Lysandra’s quick steps before the big wooden door is pulled open.

Her friend is glowing. Her dark hair falls into waves near the end and her staggeringly beautiful face is free of any make-up and unblemished and dewy. She’s had time to get over the insecurities that come from being friends with Lysandra so it barely phases her as she wraps her arms around her friend.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers into Lysandra’s hair. It smells like coconut and citrus and just Lysandra.

“I missed you too. So much,” Lysandra sighs as she pulls back, dragging Aelin into the house and shutting the door.

Their hallway is grand and open but there’s a pile of their shoes by the wall and a rack of coats that make it feel more homely. There are framed photos carefully arranged on the sideboard in the entry way that show the two of them with their whole family and all of their friends.

There’s one on there of Aelin and Lysandra at eighteen, their arms thrown tightly around each other while they grin massive, excited smiles at the camera, or more likely Elide behind it. She remembers the day it was taken, Lysandra had signed to her first agency and arranged to move to Rifthold, and they had taken her out to celebrate.

It was around the same time she signed for her first movie, a tiny role with two lines and twenty seconds of screen time but it got the ball rolling with her first proper acting credit, and she’ll never forget it.

A head of golden hair pokes around the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall and she lets her cousin sweep her up into a hug, swinging her up and around so her feet dangle above the floor.

“Alien, we’ve missed you.”

A stupid nickname from when they were young, the kind of young where he thought it was hilarious to replace her name with an extraterrestrial, but it only makes her smile now, squeezing her cousin tight before he puts her back down.

“Yeah, I bet you’ve been lost without me.” She beams at them, taking a moment to soak in how it feels to be with them even as Aedion rolls his eyes. “I’ve missed you both too.”

“Lunch is ready, come on,” Aedion tells her as he takes her case and drags it through the house, leaving it by the bottom of the stairs. It’s then that she spots the frilly pink apron tied around his waist.

“Alright,” she laughs. “I can’t wait to try what the domestic goddess has in store for us.”

Peals of laughter burst out of Lysandra and she grins back at her, forever grateful that they managed to keep their relationship with each other from ever impacting on their relationship with Aelin. At first she had been worried that Aedion and Lysandra would become AedionAndLysandra and that she wouldn’t have a place left with them, but she needn’t have worried, and they worked too well together for Aelin to have ever wished for anything different.

“Gods, shut up,” he mutters, slinging an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the kitchen. “So annoying, both of you.”

She grins as she hears Lysandra smack an overly dramatic kiss to his cheek.

Aedion’s a surprisingly good cook, the lunch he’s made is tasty despite being carefully planned to fit into both his and Lysandra’s strict meal plans. If they’re the cost needed to be able to live in a house like this, Aelin doesn’t want it.

“So,” Aedion says after he’s finished chewing a mouthful. “How are things going?”

He asks it with a gentle kind of sensitivity that she understands what he’s really asking. She knows it’s code for are you still sober? but she also knows he hasn’t asked it because he doubts her. Aedion and Lysandra have always been in her corner, even in her darkest moments they were there.

She never wants to put them through anything like that ever again. Never wants them to experience anything as terrifying as the last night she ever touched a drug. That night, almost a year ago now, will forever be the bottom of her pit. She doesn’t remember much of it, other than the devastation on Aedion’s face as he carried her out of the men’s toilets of a seedy nightclub in Perranth. The way he’d bitten his lip as he picked her up off the sticky floor, pulling the hem of her dress down to cover her underwear where it had ridden up.

The thought makes her sick.

He’d had to skip a game, leading to a bollocking from his coach, but he’d done it for her. Had carried her out of the club and into a car, waiting to take them back to his house. Lysandra had stroked her hair where she lay on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor while Aedion called a doctor to the house. Even through his panic he had thought of her and how little she would want it publicised that she’d been pulled out of a club, off her fucking rocker on whatever substance she’d been given by the lowlives she had fallen in with. She’s really, really lucky that for once Aedion hadn’t been followed by paparazzi.

She takes a sip of her sparkling water before she answers, it feels like all she ever drinks these days and it tastes like shit but it’s worth it if she never reverts back to where she was.

“I’m good.” She’s almost surprised to find that it’s true. “I’m feeling much better.”

She can barely look at them, can barely take the level of subdued joy on their faces.

“We’re glad Aelin, really glad.” Lysandra’s voice is sincere.

“So, how’s the new project going?” Aedion asks her, sensing her discomfort almost immediately.

“That’s good too actually.” It is. It feels good to have something positive to focus on, something that she feels is productive and worth doing. “It’s nice to be back and be busy even if the morning shoots begin disgustingly early. It’s good to be on set, surrounded by it all again and to remember that I can actually do this.”

She stabs her fork through a piece of tomato a little aggressively as she finishes and the look Lysandra shoots her tells her she’s not impressed with the self-deprecation but that she’ll let it slide for now.

“And Fenrys Moonbeam, is he really that good looking in real life?”

Aelin laughs. “More actually, sometimes it's too much.”

“Nice,” Lysandra nods appreciatively.

“Is he alright though?” Ever the overprotective older brother figure, she expected some version of this question from Aedion.

“He’s great. He’s hilarious and it really helps on the long days,” she says before taking her next bite.

“And Rowan Whitethorn’s directing isn’t he? What’s he like?”

Aelin blinks and finishes chewing slowly. “He’s… fine.”

She knows she’s fucked it when Aedion and Lysandra share a look, matching smirks beginning on each of their faces.

“Fine,” Lysandra repeats. “What exactly does fine mean Aelin?”

She purses her lips. “He’s a great director.”

Lysandra rolls her eyes. “And?”

She could probably lie here, they’d probably let it slide if she said some bullshit about how they’ve not spoken much and how she barely knows him, but she honestly needs to talk to someone about this. You know, to set her straight.

“And he’s really hot.”

She’s blushing as Lysandra laughs and Aedion chuckles.

“You’ve got a crush,” Lysandra sing-songs, and when she doesn't respond she says, “Have you got a picture of him? I don’t think I actually know what he looks like.”

She can’t blame Lysandra for that, she’s still kicking herself for not recognising him that day in the hallway, but he was only on screen for a few seconds at the Oscars and it wasn’t long after Sam so it wasn’t like she was paying attention in that way. She still thinks she should have noticed.

She pulls her phone out to find the only picture she has on there with Rowan. She had only taken it this week when they were eating breakfast with Fenrys one morning, in one of the tents that had been set up for them to sit in between takes, and Fenrys had pulled his phone out to snap a photo of her for his Instagram story.

She’d been wrapped up in one of the huge parkas they’re given for the times in between scenes holding her croissant high up in the air when he’d taken it. He’d captioned it she could have dropped her croissant and tagged her, and she’d gained a good few thousand followers. She’s almost at a million and they’re only a couple of weeks into shooting.

She had taken one of him in response and then spun around to force Rowan into a selfie with her, he’d protested but she’d pouted until he relented, grumbling something about actors that she knew he didn’t mean. She didn’t post it anywhere, she kept it to herself and she can’t lie, she’s looked at it way too many times since.

She’s smiling a wide smile, cheeks stuffed full of her croissant and it’s really kind of gross, but the small smile on Rowan’s face makes it bearable. More than bearable, she has to resist the temptation to make it her lock screen because that would be weird.

She remembers the heat of his chest where he had stood behind her to lean down so their faces were level, the hand he rested on her shoulder to steady himself and the way his fingers had brushed against her neck in the lightest caress.

She hands the phone over to Lysandra and wants to pull it back almost immediately.

It’s not that she’s embarrassed or whatever, even if they think it’s a bad idea they’d let her down gently, it's just that their opinion matters to her a lot. And while they haven’t exactly approved of her string of random hookups in the years since Sam, they’ve never tried to comment on it other than to check she’s in a good place with it, but she knows they’re waiting for the next person she sees seriously.

There’s a fairly large part of her that thinks her first relationship since Sam shouldn’t be with her boss. And that fucks her up a bit, because since when was she considering a relationship with him?

“Oh yeah,” Lysandra says, scaring away the intrusive thought and raising one perfectly arched eyebrow. “He’s hot alright.”

Aedion nods along, peering over Lysandra’s shoulder. Lysandra’s eyes are far too knowing when she looks back up at Aelin and passes the phone over. She doesn’t say a word before locking the phone and sliding it back into her pocket.

“You’ll have to invite us to set sometime.” Lysandra is sneaky but not subtle.

“I will,” she agrees.

The next week flies by, she shoots every single day but one, and she’s far too exhausted each night to do anything other than scrounge up a measly meal that can be pulled together from her cupboard basics and the limited vegetables in her fridge before falling straight asleep. They’ve made good progress so far, and she knows it's going to be good, but she’s tired.

She’s seen a lot more of the process outside of her own character by now too, and she’s amazed, but not surprised, when she persuades one of the crew to let her watch back one of Fenrys’ solo scenes from the previous week. He’s a phenomenal actor, that much is clear, but she had allowed herself to get caught up in Fenrys as her friend, the happy and funny guy she spends her time with, forgetting the talented and driven lead actor of their movie.

Not that she can forget it in the scenes they share, but she’s mostly concentrating on the emotions her character is going through, and responding to what Fenrys gives her. It almost feels too natural for him, and she forgets that it takes work.

His text meets her at lunchtime on the Sunday they both have off, when she’s still in her pyjamas on the couch, debating whether to start a new series or watch the latest cheesy rom-com that Netflix has released.

She auditioned for one of them a couple of years ago, and she’s far enough past the bitterness that comes with not getting the role that she could enjoy it. Maybe a little, cynical part of herself thinks she’s glad she didn’t get it. What she has now is far better. She’s being a snob, but she straight up doesn’t care. It’s not like anyone else is here to judge her.

Fancy coming to Rowan’s to watch the game? I’m leaving in 20 his text reads.

She didn’t plan on doing anything today, but the invitation sparks something in her, and she’s never been to Rowan’s place before. The studio put him in a house about thirty minutes from set, and she’s curious. How much luxury does the big name director get compared to what she and Fenrys have got? She’s lucky really, that Dorian managed to negotiate the same for her as they offered Fenrys.

rowan’s??? She replies, followed by what game????

She gets up off the couch, putting the lid on the tub of yoghurt she was tucking into with a spoon and walking through to the kitchen to throw it back into the fridge.

Tall, grumpy guy that bosses us around all the time comes through a minute later and she grins at her phone at the description. It’s followed up by Ravens v Panthers.

She taps out, getting changed will be ready in 15 and he replies with three smiling emojis.

She doesn’t think it will be anything fancy if her impromptu invitation is anything to go by so she only swaps her pyjama bottoms with tiny cartoon sheep down the legs for a pair of black leggings and throws a sweatshirt over her oversized t-shirt.

Manon is there when they get there, sprawled across the two seater sofa at the far side of Rowan’s living room, and she gives them both a wave when they enter the room. The house is a pretty modest, two-up two-down in a sweet neighbourhood and it’s cosy inside with relatively modern decor. She doesn’t know for sure whether or not that fits Rowan, but she feels like it does.

He doesn’t let them in, Fenrys swings the door open and marches in like it’s his own place and she wonders how much he and Rowan have hung out, or whether that’s just him. Rowan appears in the doorway about a minute after they come in, a bowl of snacks in his hand that she thinks could be popcorn and he puts it down before coming over to wrap Fenrys in a hug. They slap each other on the back in the way that guys do before pulling back.

Aelin stands at Fenrys’ side watching the exchange, unsure whether to greet Rowan or just take a seat, and once they’re done he seems to regard her with the same sort of uncertainty. Fenrys darts around Rowan to throw himself onto the other sofa and she doesn’t give herself long enough to doubt her decision before she opens her arms and steps towards him.

“Hey,” he says simply as he wraps her into a brief hug. “Thanks for coming.”

She wraps her arms around his own broad shoulders, and it feels nice. He’s warm and strong beneath her hands and the way his arms loop around her waist, so far his hands reach back around to her stomach, gets her in a way that she really doesn’t need to think about. It feels really good pressed up against him like that.

“Hey,” she breathes as he pulls back, and she knows he sees the blush on her cheeks. She’s not fifteen, she really needs to sort herself out. “Thanks for having us.”

“Of course, make yourself at home.” He gives her another half smile, offering a flash of his straight, white teeth, and again she’s struck by him. That his place is behind the camera is a crime. “I’ve got more snacks and drinks in the kitchen if you want.”

“Beer?” Fenrys asks her, already heading to a door that she assumes leads to the kitchen.

She shakes her head, “do you have sparkling water?” She directs the question to Rowan who nods.

He doesn’t have to speak before Fenrys says “on it,” and leaves the room.

She assesses the seating choices left in the room, there’s a cream two-seater sofa opposite where Manon lies, and that’s probably her best bet, but Rowan has already taken his seat on it, an ankle crossed over a knee as he settles into the cushions. There’s plenty of room to sit by him and not touch, and she weighs it up against having to ask Manon to move.

She’s friendly with the girl, but still feels slightly intimidated by the calculating and sarcastic blonde despite the fact that she’s a few years younger than Aelin herself, so maybe Rowan is the safer choice.

Fenrys comes back into the room just as she takes her seat.

“Move your feet, Blackbeak,” he demands as he hands her a glass of sparkling water, it’s chilled with a couple of cubes of ice and she appreciates it.

Manon lifts her legs for Fenrys to sit, but plops her legs back down across his lap immediately and sticks her tongue out at him as she does. Aelin feels herself smile at the display, and the fact that she’s included in this circle of friends. She hasn’t really made an effort with anyone new since Sam, the only people she’s really spoken to are Elide, Lysandra and Aedion, and they were all there for her before Sam. It feels really damn good.

She really, really, doesn’t understand the rules of football, but it’s easy enough to cheer along when the others do and laugh at their outrage when something doesn’t go their way. It’s the most animated she’s seen Rowan so far, and she’s not quite sure which way their allegiances lie, but it’s probably with the Ravens being in Rifthold and all, and she knows her own is.

Everytime Aedion gets the ball or is shown on screen she can’t hold back the cheers. She’s proud of him and she knows how hard he works to be as good as he is, and even knowing as little as she does, it's special to watch him excel.

Rowan and Fenrys both seem a little starstruck that he’s her cousin, to her he’s just Aedion and they’re the real, scary celebrities, but they gush about him like starstruck little boys.

“And you were at his house last weekend?” Fenrys cries, almost outraged that this is the first he’s ever heard of it, but honestly? They’re both Ashryvers; it’s not like it's a secret.

“Yes,” she laughs. “He’s basically like my brother.”

“Gods, Aelin.” He sounds almost pained that she hasn’t brought this up before. “You've been holding out on us! Please give me his number or introduce me or something.”

“Sorry.” She laughs again and throws a smile to Rowan that he returns with another quirk of his lips. “Invite me earlier next time and I’ll ask him to sort a box for us at the stadium.”

“Seriously?” Even Rowan sounds awed now.

“Yeah, just let me know,” she says. “It’s no big deal.”

It really wouldn't be, Aedion has been telling her for years to invite any friends she wants to games, she would just need some friends outside of him, Lysandra and Elide first.

“It’s definitely a big deal,” he says, watching her with a smirk still playing on his lips.

She shrugs. “Just make sure you text me early next time.”

“Oh, I will,” he says, and she has to look away from him. The way his voice curves around the words, all low and intense, is definitely about more than just the game.

She tries to pass it off as just looking to where Fenrys is cheering loudly at the next play, but Manon is there again, looking at her with such a knowing expression that she immediately focuses back on the TV.

At half time she needs to use the bathroom and Rowan gives her a quick rundown of the layout of the house. She’s quick to do her thing and runs by the kitchen afterwards to grab a refill of her drink and find something to eat.

Rowan had told them all to help themselves, explaining that he felt they had as much right as he to poke through the cupboards in the only just filled rental property and she gets it. The places the studio rent out for them are nice enough, and she’s more than grateful that they do, but it’s never quite home. Even if her home is somewhat impersonal, it’s still home.

She’s on her tiptoes, scanning through the relatively well stocked cupboards on the hunt for anything chocolate, when someone enters the kitchen behind her.

“I know I said help yourselves, but you’re going to eat me out of house and home at this rate.”

It’s Rowan, and he leans against the doorframe as he watches her startle and spin to face him, his legs are crossed at the ankles and his arms are folded over his chest. The pose highlights his powerful arms that she wants to be wrapped up in again and he looks really good in the dim lighting of the kitchen. It bounces off the lines of his tattoo, shining and highlighting the swirls that she can barely look away. She wants to ask what it means.

Aelin scoffs and pushes the cupboard door shut gently, they’re not eating that much and if they are it’s definitely not her, Fenrys and Manon are another story.

“There’s nothing stopping you from kicking us all out,” she says and he laughs, shaking his head.

He tilts his head to the side, his gaze picking her apart by the second before he says “maybe not all of you.”

His words and the way he shifts in the doorway as his eyes run her up and down gives her the confidence to bite her lip and look up at him through her lashes. He pushes off the door frame and comes to lean against the counter by her side.

He opens a cupboard door on her other side and rummages through a shelf before handing her a foil packet.

“I have a feeling this is what you were after.”

She accepts the chocolate and tucks it onto the counter at her side as she mirrors him and leans against it too.

“Unsurprisingly, you’d be correct.”

He presses his lips together before his lips twist again, it’s the same expression from before that she knows means he wants to smile but he can’t quite commit, and she feels her body loosen like she wants to lean forward to press into him. She doesn’t though.

What she does instead is take a sharp breath and a step back. “Thanks.” She waves the bar of chocolate in the air before stepping around him and making her way back into the living room, forcing her steps to seem calm and collected as she feels his gaze heavy on her back.

“Anytime.” His words follow her out of the room, they’re a promise.

Luckily, Fenrys and Manon both ignore it when Rowan follows her and retakes his place next to her.

[runephoenix6769]

Why Netflix aging up the Characters could spell disaster.

Ok, so I’ve tried to find confirmation that this is true and kinda found bubkiss so far.  But.... Zuko being aged up by two years does not bode well his motivation or Azula (or Sokka for that matter), narratively speaking and will massively change how their stories/character arcs hit.  It’s my belief that by aging up the characters they’ll kinda lose some of the soul of the show AND the poignancy of just how much pressure has been laid on the shoulders of Gaang and Azula's trio. The nuance of Children fixing a world broken by adults. (I shall preface by saying that anyone under 18 is a child and therefore even joining the military at 16 is still awful, but this post is being written within the context of the avatar universe, its societal norms and customs.)

Hear me out.  Within the show, all the main cast of children are supposed to be outliers and exceptionally skilled, even surpassing many of the adults in that world in terms of mastery of their elements and ability to execute strategy.   At 16/17 Rangi had her first commission after graduating from the Junior Corps in record time, to eventually become one of the youngest Lieutenants in Fire Nation Army service, during peace time.  400 years later we are in the midst of a global war, meaning the goal posts within the various societies would have shifted considerably. (Apart from the Earth Kingdom, they seriously need to get with the times.) Zuko is the heir to the throne of an imperial expansionist country, where military service is expected of many of the aristocracy. (If not every citizen doing something towards the war effort.) And has been since the reign of Sozin.  Being the heir, he would naturally be expected to take a military commission at 16/17, as precedent has been shown to us via Rangi. This would serve to foster loyalty from his soldiers, train him in ways of command to prepare him for taking over the Nation, etc etc.  Lets say that Netflix keep the rest of his story the same, so he is still ousted at 13 sent on a mission of folly as a cruel punishment. Well that just casts his 4 years at sea and his behaviour towards his men in an awful light. In four years he has not learned regard for the safety of his men? It makes the treatment of his men look callous instead of being a child who doesn't quite grasp how much his crew do for him, that they too have been ousted and separated from their loved ones! Four years of shite treatment would surely land a mutiny on his hands?  If anything, it serves to make him look whiny, and incompetently oblivious to the needs of others.  And what does it mean if they move the timeline of the Agni Kai up by two years, to 15?  It doesn't have quite the same impact. Remember what sits at the core of this show. It is ultimately about children trying the fix the world that the adults broke, violence, cruelty, child soldiers and the effects of war upon them, under intense pressure to succeed.  Zuko is supposed to be a child who hasn’t even begun to figure out what he wants.   His character arc in the show is supposed to be that journey!

Which brings me to Azula!  A child prodigy, who took down Ba Sing Se in a relatively bloodless coup at 14! Its meant to be an awe inspiring Herculean feat! A top notch military strategist, she is meant to be unmatched by any of her peers.  Her age in the OG show certainly explains her behavior, her not being developed enough in many ways. This contributes towards the deterioration of her mental health when she cannot reconcile the heavily cultivated sense of self with the reality culminating in the tragic and heart wrenching mental breakdown at 14! At 16/17, it makes it look like a huge ass hissy fit! OG Azula’s inflection moment begins in The Beach episode. She is begins to ask questions of herself in the form of small experiments. It takes the form of her hiding their identities on Ember Island.  It is as if she is trying to feel out if she is as witty and charming as she believes, but she comes to learn that she is woefully socially inept, people don’t like her for her, beginning the spiral of insecurity and self doubt. We are also told that Azula’s mother thought her a monster and she is massively hurt by that, though she plays it off as nothing.  This insecurity is blown wide open on the Boiling Rock cemented by Ty Lee’s betrayal and culminates in Azula, who is truly terrified that he might burn her in a way similar to Zuko, seeing her being sidelined by Ozai.  She takes as a form of punishment for her ‘failure’, a form of banishment, that she has been discarded like Zuko, when she had imagined being by her father’s side as they burned the world in celebration of their mutual victory rather than for what is truly is which is Ozai being a glory hog and reaping all the benefits from Azula’s hard work.  Which brings me to the suggestion by Azula to burn the world in the first place. A child suggesting that you ‘Burn the World’ smacks a whole lot differently when you think of it as a kid not quite grasping/understanding the ramifications of such a suggestion, but a 16 year old? Such a thing tips her from confused mentally unwell child with a crippling fear of failure raised without a lick of compassion to full blown villainy with nothing remotely sympathetic about her! The way the last Agni Kai is framed you are supposed to feel sympathetic towards her! Which makes me wonder if they are gonna paint Azula as unhinged straight from the get go? Her unravelling at the seams is supposed to be her journey!

Sokka.... at 17!  In the OG show, Hakoda does the right thing by telling Sokka to remain behind to look after the village because at 13 he is too young to go to war.  Why leave him behind at 15? Would that not serve to feed into feelings of inadequacy, that he was deemed too weak to leave and fight with the other men and boys of the tribe?  Now, I would argue that Sokka’s OG arc rivals Zuko’s redemption. He does feel inadequate and overcomes it. He also unlearns a shit load of misogyny! What 17 year old doesn’t take responsibility for his own clothes, in a tribe were adults are few and far between? What 17 year old expects his little sister to be his mother and bear the brunt of the domestic? How obtuse and unfeeling would that make Sokka? It would propel him to the side of boorish, lazy and entitled rather than the sweet teenage boy who grows to realise he has a lot to learn.  OG Sokka is humble as hell and not afraid admit when he is lacking! He will go and openly admit his flaws and learn from others who he had previously written off.  Suki gives him a glass of respect women juice and he keeps on chugging, only adding to the Sokka we know and love.  This is supposed to be his journey! 

OG Sokka is just as much of a genius as Azula!  They are both supposed to be exceptional. Having them sit at 16/17 figuring this all out within a war torn world were it would be totally normal for them to participate in the generational war machine kind of robs them of this. Their more child like behaviours, grappling with concepts and truly understanding their consequences is supposed to remind us that they are children, being asked to do something no child ever should! Aging them up casts these things in a whole other light, skewering the what makes this show so beloved!  If you change the core characters to the point their journey’s don’t make sense within the world they inhabit, or they become unrecognisable to the audience you’re trying to milk then really.....what’s the point?  

[theresnosinlondon]

Don’t Do It For Me - h.s. (part 3)

The one where Harry is a friend in need and - can they still be called complications? (1.5k)

I don't even know anymore - is this a short story now? A series of one-shots? All I know is that there will be a part 4.

Part 2

So, you thought you could be back in London and not tell me?

Men can be quite simple creatures sometimes, they really can. I had mostly taken a break from my phone whilst I was away. I favoured taking a camera out and about and kept my phone safe and hidden in my bag. I have gotten notifications of reactions or replies to my Instagram stories but ignored all of them in favour of absorbing the benefits of being away from London, the UK and work.

I had stepped foot back in Heathrow only five hours prior to the text - he really did have eyes everywhere. How he did it was beyond me. A man with a schedule that was so tight it almost overlapped. He has expressed before how the busier he was, the more productive he felt which, was all good and well, until the bags under his eyes were so heavy and sunken that he looked one meeting away from dropping.

I could sympathise - the idea of work being an escape from your life-questioning thoughts is quite appealing when you have a career that resembles your dreams as closely as possible. Throwing myself into a project that gives me freedom of creativity, interactions with interesting characters and puts me behind a camera has a therapeutic effect on my mind. The same must happen for him.

As much of a golden boy and all-around loved guy he was, he certainly had his fatal flaws, one of which was his lack of ability in the prioritising area. He absolutely adores his family and friends, but present the fella with an interesting project and he gets tunnel vision and that is all he can think about. He doesn't just hide behind his job - he becomes his job.

I wasn't aware I had to go through passport control with you too, H. Heathrow was a traumatic enough experience for my little brain. But yeah! Back on British soil!

His call came pretty soon after my text was read - one greeting led to a quick “you need to tell me everything about home” and “I’ll grab some food and come over so we can catch up!” and next thing I knew, I was opening my front door and was greeted with a happy, cheesy face. A one-armed hug and a flick to my chin led him to squeeze past me and towards the living room.

He, as a person, baffled me. The way he so effortlessly made himself at home and started unpacking the food, all the while rambling about the restaurant being skimpy with veggies in their dishes, but the spices blend makes up for it - so he just orders extra greens. Such a boring opinion that still made me smile fondly at his drawled nonsense.

“So! How much did you miss me?” his exaggerated smile was flashed at me. “Must’ve been torture being away from me for such a long time.”

“Barely made it through,” I played along. “The scenery did make up for it, though.”

“Upstaged by a gorgeous view,” he tutted with faux disapproval. “Seriously though, when can I see your pictures?”

“And here I was, thinking you were here to catch up with your dearest friend.” I scoffed with a slight roll of my eyes. He glanced my way, pausing with a spring roll mid-air and just raised his eyebrows, giving me a smug look. He brought the roll to his mouth, maintaining eye contact whilst he crunched his way through a bite.

“And here I was, thinking you would jump my bones the second I walked through your door.” His scoff was playful and the quirk of his lips was an easy hint at his joking mood.

All I could do was smile at him - that man, with his rights and wrongs, with his wit, his cheekiness, his looks, his talent, his moments that warrant wide eyes and a question of “what in the actual hell?”, his soft demeanour contrasted with his “climbing the walls” bouts of uncontainable energy, the plethora of conversations we can carry, his face, his hands, his neck. That man right there, I did want to jump his bones.

“So,” I tried to think of how to word the question I was dying to ask. “How’s Jess?”

“Hm,” He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, interlocking his fingers on his tummy. “Spoke to her the day you left.”

I stayed silent for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate but, ever the tease he was, he kept the momentum going and smiled slightly. “And?”

“And,” He purposefully prolonged the sound, only to spit out the rest of the sentence quickly. “We talked about taking a break to figure things out.”

I have never been known to have a strong poker face but I could usually mask my emotions and reactions to a certain extent - this time I think he could hear my eyes rolling.

“Well, that’s different, isn’t it?” My sentence was heavily accentuated by sarcasm.

“I know you don’t believe in breaks,” He sounded bored and done with the direction the conversation was taking. “And neither do I.” He chose that moment to lull his head to the side and make eye contact with me.

I pursed my lips to the side, feeling the want to wrap myself around him dwindle with each word said out loud. I should’ve seen it coming - he said he was ready to end a seemingly perfect relationship just after he strayed from his path. The fact that I even believed him was quite an insult to my own intelligence.

“I..” Words seemed to fail me in that exact instant, “don’t even know what to say, if I’m being honest.”

“Not much for you to say when that conversation ended with us breaking up.” His monotonous tone was quite disorienting, giving the weight of the words he spoke.

“Huh?”, was all I could come up with.

He heaved a heavy sigh, shuffling on the couch and sitting up straight. “I told you, I didn’t see it working with Jess anymore - I wasn’t going to mess her around any more than I already did.” His pressed lips and frowned eyebrows gave him a gloom look. “I had known, from the moment I met with her to talk, that it was going to end with us breaking up.”

I just kept staring at his profile, not really knowing if it was my place to comfort him or not. The bottom line was, he was my friend before we slept together, we cared for each other and we comforted each other when needed.

I reached out and tugged him by the arm, causing him to lean towards me sideways, with no resistance whatsoever, and his head to fall to my chest. To my surprise, he was quite malleable in my hands and fell into the embrace as if he was expecting it to happen. One arm around his shoulders and the other hand pushing his hair back, so I could kiss the top of his head - he let me cuddle him and let his weight fall onto me.

“I’m sorry, H,” I mumbled against his hair, “I know it’s a decision that you made, but I also know that it hurts all the same.”

“Mh,” he adjusted and held me around the waist, “it’s never easy to go through a breakup, I feel like shit. But you know what?”

I hummed, letting him speak.

“She took it on the chin and called me out on my bullshit,” his chuckle could be felt on my stomach. “When I used the work excuse, she straight up told me to ‘stop fucking around and just get on with it’.”

“Mh, you do like when a partner can put you in your place.”

“Equally as much as I like to put them in their place.” His comment was accompanied by a quick glance up towards me and a squeeze to my middle.

“Alright,” My fingers buried through his strands and gave a tug at his hair. “Let me be a supportive friend and a great host and make you a cuppa.”

“I don’t need your lousy tea,” he mumbled, snuggling his face in my chest, “do you have any nice wine?”

“So that’s why you wanted to come over! Steal all the wine I brought from home?”

“I mean, kind of.” He shrugged and laughed, refusing to let me go. “Seeing your face is also a plus.”

And that is how we ended up with a glass of fine Italian wine each, nibbling on some Chinese food and the pictures I took on my holiday mirrored to my TV. He ooh’d and aah’d at every peak of greenery and blue skies and bright sun he saw, all the while teasing and making jokes to keep the morale up.

His head on my shoulder and his fingers playing with mine were clearly innocent touches - innocent touches that escalated when he turned his face and buried it in my neck when his fingers left mine and took a hold of my nape, when his mouth travelled to my jaw, my cheek. It only took me a split second to sigh at my stupidity and then turn my face, meeting his lips with mine.

And, I suppose he was right - I did end up jumping his bones.