#invented love and devotion actually

[iamacolor]

this makes me sick actually this is too much - it's been 1500 years and this is still how he feels

[harmoonix]

🪻👑𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧👑🪻

(Astrology Observations)

👑: Aries Degrees on the Midheaven 1°, 13°, 25°...Babe you know you are born to be up there... to ascend and to be a good leader for others, to lead people on their good path

👑: Leo Degrees 5°, 17° 29° on the Midheaven (MC), you secretly wish people will give you more attention or focus more on you! Just like the royalty you are!! (Or MC in Leo)

👑: Capricorn Degrees 10°, 22° on the Midheaven (MC), you know you are that BISH!! People respect you and your ambitions!! Truly a hardworking person and very devoted (or MC in Capricorn)

👑: Midheaven (MC) with Aquarius Degrees combo 11°, 23° are true influencers, they inspire people, they invent and create new things, they give life and the first breath to everything (or MC in Aquarius)

👑: Speaking about Aquarius, Aquarius Risings have a very big potential to be influencers as well, to inspire people and to create things, what makes them different is that they have an unnatural energy that attracts people, examples: Nicki Minaj, Aaliyah, Orlando Bloom

👑: Cancer/Virgo/Scorpio/Capricorn Moons > They have an easier time to embody their emotional nature, because moon in these signs indicates deep nurturing

👑: Jupiter in Libra/Jupiter in the 7th house: Girl...I love your energy, cus I can relate to it, you definitely have an expansive energy when it comes to romantic relationships and luck

👑: Aries/Venus/Mars/Risings have that leader energy in their chart, and I rarely met people with such placements, but when I do.. they definitely strike people with this big energy

👑: Mercury in the 1st house natives omg I rarely talk about them..let's start it, I love their energy, these natives are so easy to talk with and they can easily express their emotions to the word

👑:I truly believe natives with Neptune or Uranus in the 1st house even Jupiter in the 1st house, have a spiritual path they need to follow or to connect

👑: Leo Moons/Moon in the 5th house have their own pride but they actually have a lot of things to be proud about so is not like they are dramatic about that

👑: Leo Venus/Venus in Leo Degrees 5°, 17°, 29° want to be treated as a royalty by their partners and in their romantic relationships (Sometimes Leo in the 7th house can give the same vibes)

👑: Leo in the 7th house can actually manifest as having also prideful partners but that's not 100% totally bad, some of them just may know their worth and value and that's okay

👑: Virgo in the 7th house/Mercury in the 7th house have a unique connection with their partners, especially at communication topic

👑: Virgo Mars/Mars in the 6th H need a lot of mental stimulation, they're extremely inteligent and have a sharp tongue

👑: Pisces Mars/Mars in the 12th house can manifest, the native is extremely passionate and romantic they're also creative ans often natives with those placements practice a lot of sports

👑: Taurus Risings have their Scorpio in the 7th house which makes them to attract powerful people in their life but also envious about their relationships

👑: Asteroid Destinn (6583) can have the energy similar to the north node, indicating your destiny/life path

In the 7th house - probably getting into a lots of relationships and experiencing marriage

In the 10th house - focusing on your career having a chance to get succesful in this life

In the 12th house - A truly spiritual path, this is not easy but is rewarding along the way, this indicates focusing on healing yourself

In the 4th house - This one is very confusing for me at least (because I have this placement), focusing on the family life or creating your own family/household

*I think for a better explanation try to read your destinn persona chart, I think it will be more helpful*

👑: A Retrogade planet in your chart gives you a chance to "repair" or to "finish" something you couldn't do in a past life

👑: People with lots of placements in the 3rd house can be hella attracted to cars, especially a fire or earth sign in this house

👑: Anyone out there with Vertex in the 8th house?? How you stay with your healing/sexual/rebirthing life cycle?? Like Literally 🫥🫥🫥🫥

👑: Saturn - Mars aspects = They're really ambitious when they have a plan or a strategy, + They may look harsh at first but soft/kind inside

👑: Lilith in the 9th/11th houses, these placements make Lilith to seek for freedom, so try your best to not hang around with people who can take your freedom!!

👑: South Node in the 9th house, they can either be attached or detached for religion, love - hate relationship with the religion thing, religious trauma can occur, try to be open minded as you can

👑: South Node in the 7th house, probably someone who depended a lot on others especially on their partners in a past life, you need to be more independent!!

👑: Lilith/True Lilith (h12 or h13) in the 7th house can attract mischievous partners, the partners can be intense, jealousy and even hate from other people

👑: If you have a bad day talking with someone who has Sagittarius Placements can be the best thing to do since they have the most optimistic mindset ever and a good humour

👑: Jupiter in Sagittarius or in the 9th house is truly an underatted placement, this gives you enough abundance and luck to travel over the seas and to explore more kinds of cultures

👑: Guys trust me is so so hard to figure it when you have a "love asteroid" in the 2nd house imo.. because out of all houses, the 2nd house is mostly related with money,value,food etc..I find it so hard to put things together when it comes to this house I swear 😭 (It is a house ruled by Venus but not indicating beauty or love by 100%}

👑: Pluto in the 11th house have a great status in social media, because they can be pretty powerful in that domain, also attracting people who only want to profit out of you..take care ❤️‍🩹

👑: Pluto in the 6th house don't have it easy, they're really that type of person thatno one truly knows what is going through because they don't like to share such things ❤️‍🩹

👑: Try to hang out with someone with the Moon in fire houses (1st, 5th, 9th) because they really know how to enjoy life and how to have fun

👑; A lot of mutable placements in the chart (Gemini/Sagittarius/Pisces/Virgo) shows a person who is able to change their nature and being able to change different situations

👑: Lilith in earth houses (2nd/6th/10th), Lilith can often question about her worth and value in those houses, they often have a common thing together and is that they give intimidating energy

👑: Some facts about your ascendant sign element:

Water Ascendant - You often have an approach to life that is deeply rooted in your emotional body 💙

Earth Ascendant - You have an inner force that makes you overcome any challenge during stressful and hard times 💚

Air Ascendant - You encounter everything with enthusiasm and curiosity, approaching life with love and an optimistic mindset 🤍

Fire Ascendant - Passion is vital for those natives, you have a great physical power and a great ambition 🧡

👑: Libra Moons/Moon in the 7th house - Your soul is seeking for love and romance even if you try to hide it, is the nature of your soul, and something that cannot be changed

👑: Jupiter aspecting Venus, the native is blessed with beauty and love, they are charming and chatty, in general they're pretty popular

👑: Saturn in the 7th house/Saturn in Libra - Sometimes this placement makes you to realize that is better if you don't rush with love relationships and let everything happen from fate

👑: Taurus Moons/Moon in the 2nd house should value themselves a lot and to make it a top priority!! Especially when it comes to loving yourself

👑: Jupiter aspecting Moon, these natives are full of love towards their passions and desires, Jupiter also makes the Moon to be more spiritual

👑: Moon aspecting ascendant, they have such a pure/feminine/calming energy, you can feel they're kind souls

👑: Jupiter in the 5th house/Jupiter in Leo find joy and happiness in their hobbies and things that make them happy! they're so talented!!

❤️🪻 Happy Women's Day!! To all women. To every girl, princess, queen!! To your mom aswell🪻❤️ 8th of March is a very beautiful day to celebrate ❤️🪻 be all blessed in this beautiful day!

[fatesundress]

⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader

summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.

tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice because lots of heavy jealousy tropes are misogynistic icks fo me, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc

note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.

word count. 4.5k

request. yes!

He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.

He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees? 

He does.

Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.

You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles. 

You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy. 

It’s all just buzz.

Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.

Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.

It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge. 

What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?

It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.

So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.

You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”

Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.

You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.

(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)

With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.

But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs —  and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.

So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.

The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close. 

His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.

The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.

“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.

“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”

“Pleasure.”

You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.

He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.

His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.

They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.

But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.

You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.

In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence. 

Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here. 

No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.

So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay. 

You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest. 

To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.

“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.

“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.

“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”

The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.

“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”

She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.

“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”

You engage with detached interest. “Really?”

And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.

“Do we have any classes together?”

You blink up at him. “No.”

“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.” 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.

You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled. 

“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.

His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.

“Did you hear me?"

“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

You’re not sure you believe that. 

You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —

Tom is gone. 

Your breath is caught.

“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”

You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”

He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.

“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.

“That was talking.”

“But you’re —”

“Belby.”

He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you. 

Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.

Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.

“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”

Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”

Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd. 

The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.

“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"

He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.

“I'm being what?"

“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."

Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"

“Did she?” you hiss.

“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”

“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”

“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”

He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.

Oh.

Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.

“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”

He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

He hums a non-answer.

Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.

Interesting he’s still playing.

You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.

“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.

You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”

His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.

With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.

“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.

The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.

“Tom...”

He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.

Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.

“Tom —”

“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.

His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you? 

One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.

The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there. 

You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.

As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this desperate creature, writhing and panting, trying in vain to satiate herself with a simple finger — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.

Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty. 

And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.

His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.

Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.

You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.

“What… What?”

“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.

And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.

“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”

“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”

Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.

His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”

You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.

“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”

“Please?” he echoes mockingly.

“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.

And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.

He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.

Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.

It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him. 

He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.

When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.

He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.

It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.

His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.

You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.

Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.

Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.

“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.

When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.

He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.

You give them to him.

Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.

The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.

You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.

He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him. 

This time it does.

You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.

You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.

Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.

You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.

He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.

“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”

He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”

He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]

[llamagoddessofficial]

What if the mc was evil, this was ramming my brains and I couldn't get it out, please tell me

I know you probably meant this like she's just a bad person, but I got completely absorbed by the concept of Mc being a supervillainess and the three skeletons are her accomplices. Their love for her means they're her most loyal servants of all.

Sans: Evil scientist time.

His devotion to Mc brought out the darker side of him, he turns into a lab scientist Gaster would've been very proud of- a ruthlessly calm, selectively empathetic, and frighteningly intelligent monster. There's no morals left in this man aside from the ones he thinks Mc will find useful. He enjoys being given the space, equipment and time to create brilliant inventions that push him and will be used to their fullest potential- and he enjoys not having to pretend he cares about moral restrictions, or those that get in the way.

He's a trusted ally, her right hand man, and... honestly? A good friend. She greatly values his opinions and insight and often finds herself just lingering in his lab so they can talk for hours. He knows things about her not many do.

... There's no line he won't cross. For her.

Red: Oh, he loves a beautiful evil woman, sign him the fuck up. Consider him her main enforcer, her top general; his eye for the flashier side of violence makes him perfect for sending a message and keeping lower minions in line (also, he's surprisingly organised when he wants to be). Nobody fucks around with Red, he's the most likely to have a cool cybernetic hand or an eyepatch or something. When she wants something done, and done right, she sends Red. He's the guy she'll send to 'deal with' the heroes when they've defeated too many minions and have started to actually make an impact in her plans.

He isn't subtle about his feelings for her, and she isn't subtle about reciprocating. They're constantly flirting- whether he's kissing her hand and letting the kiss linger just a bit too long or she's reaching out to 're-adjust' something on his shirt and her fingers trace his collarbone, it's clear that he thinks of her as more than just a commander and she thinks of him as more than just her general.

Skull: Her personal bodyguard, her beast. Her shadow. Undyingly loyal, while the others frequently have to go elsewhere to work Skull rarely leaves her side. If anyone gets too close they lose their neck. He's like a beast on a chain, he'll do anything to keep her safe... and he only needs her affection in return.

And... well, there's something to be said about Skull not fearing that she'll hate him because of his violence. His violence is now a key part of their relationship. It's ironic, really, that this Skull is probably one of the most stable Skulls out there- he has an Mc that he knows will love him regardless of how easily bones shatter under his hands. He doesn't fear losing her, not to that side of him.

Nothing scarier than a man with nothing to lose.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Bleach Headcanons : Oddities Part 2

More weird stuff that members of the Gotei 13 do. Part 1 can be found here.

Genryusai Yamamoto

Enjoys knitting and spends his evenings creating intricate scarves and blankets for his squad members. He considers it a form of meditation and finds solace in the rhythmic clicking of the knitting needles.

Has a hidden stash of adorable cat-themed trinkets in his office, gifts from squad members over the years. 

Has a peculiar habit of conducting morning exercises with his subordinates, insisting on leading synchronized stretching sessions that include overly enthusiastic jumping jacks and cartwheels, much to everyone's surprise.

Shunsui Kyoraku 

Composes dramatic, overly poetic love letters to his favorite sake brands, expressing his undying devotion and appreciation for their taste.

Is known to challenge squad members to bizarre competitions, such as a haiku battle or a contest to see who can take the longest nap. He always claims victory, regardless of the actual outcome.

Keeps a stash of disguises in his office and occasionally infiltrates other squads just for fun, but he's always caught due to his distinctively lazy demeanor

Izuru Kira

Has a secret collection of adorable plush toys hidden in his office. Whenever he's stressed, he takes a break with these plushies, assigning different voices and personalities to each one. 

Creates a mini zen garden in his office and spends hours meticulously arranging the sand and tiny rocks, finding solace and inner peace in its careful maintenance.

Collects unusual stationery and spends his downtime experimenting with different types of ink and quills. 

Toshiro Hitsugaya

Develops an unexpected fascination with ice sculpting and spends his free time sculpting intricate, mini ice replicas of notable Seireitei landmarks. He insists they're just practice, but secretly cherishes them in his office. 

Unintentionally is a magnet for lost animals in the Seireitei, and his squad often finds him shooing out stray cats and birds from his office.

 Becomes overly protective of the squad's refrigerator, labeling each item with his name and fiercely defending his snacks from any potential thieves within the squad, even going as far as setting up "ice traps" to catch unauthorized snack bandits

Zaraki Kenpachi

Pretty sure he’s adopted a pet kitten that he secretly dotes on in his spare time. He refuses to acknowledge its existence in front of anyone and grumbles about "just tolerating its presence," but his squad members catch glimpses of him sneaking it bits of fish and milk.

Started a food stall called "Kenpachi's Cooking Corner" where he attempts to teach his squad how to cook. The sessions usually end in chaos and burnt food, but everyone participates out of fear of upsetting him.

Enjoys reading shoujo manga in secret and has a vast collection stashed away in his office, fiercely denying their existence whenever someone accidentally discovers them, insisting that he got them for Yachiru. 

Mayuri Kurotsuchi 

Holds "Bring Your Weirdest Invention to Work" days in his lab, encouraging his subordinates to create the most outlandish and impractical gadgets imaginable. However, he always mysteriously makes his own invention vanish right before the judging, claiming it was too advanced for everyone else to comprehend

Holds a weekly "Fashion Forward Friday" where he experiments with unconventional clothing designs, resulting in outrageous outfits that his squad members struggle to comprehend

Has a peculiar habit of meticulously organizing his lab by arranging test tubes and equipment according to their color gradients, which nobody dares disturb for fear of incurring his wrath

Becomes obsessed with perfecting the art of making perfectly shaped and flavored jelly desserts. His squad members often find themselves unwilling taste-testers for his latest bizarre jelly concoctions

[etirabys]

did you guys know about courtly love??? because I didn't

My introduction to courtly love was reading a Diana Wynne Jones novella that made no sense unless you know what courtly love is. After crawling confusedly through ancient Livejournal reviews to piece together what the story had been about, I took away that it was a weird medieval knight thing where you talk a lot of guff to a (married) woman without ever expecting it to turn into more than what it is.

The first chapter of CS Lewis's The Allegory of Love explains the concept much more thoroughly. His account is pleasantly bonkers. I now relay it to you. (Note: not only am I skeptical of parts of his account, I read it while sleep deprived, so salt liberally.)

First, a sketch of the relationship:

The lover is always abject. Obedience to his lady’s lightest wish, however whimsical, and silent acquiescence in her rebukes, however unjust, are the only virtues he dares to claim. There is a service of love closely modelled on the service which a feudal vassal owes to his lord. The lover is the lady’s ‘man’. He addresses her as midons, which etymologically represents not ‘my lady’ but ‘my lord’. The whole attitude has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love’. This solemn amatory ritual is felt to be part and parcel of the courtly life.

This seems to have been both literary trope and a real-life interaction pattern (of which the former came first). A specific example in Arthuriana:

It is only later that [Lancelot] learns the cause of all this cruelty. The Queen has heard of his momentary hesitation in stepping on to the tumbril[, a humiliating cart he rode into the city where she was held captive, to rescue her], and this lukewarmness in the service of love has been held by her sufficient to annihilate all the merit of his subsequent labours and humiliations. Even when he is forgiven, his trials are not yet at an end. The tournament at the close of the poem gives Guinevere another opportunity of exercising her power. When he has already entered the lists, in disguise, and all, as usual, is going down before him, she sends him a message ordering him to do his poorest. Lancelot obediently lets himself be unhorsed by the next knight that comes against him, and then takes to his heels, feigning terror of every combatant that passes near him. The herald mocks him for a coward and the whole field takes up the laugh against him: the Queen looks on delighted. Next morning the same command is repeated, and he answers, ‘My thanks to her, if she will so’. This time, however, the restriction is withdrawn before the fighting actually begins.

So, huh. How did this cultural script come to be?

Courtly love as a literary trope began in 11th century Provence. Here's Lewis's sketch of that time and place:

We must picture a castle which is a little island of comparative leisure and luxury, and therefore at least of possible refinement, in a barbarous country-side. There are many men in it, and very few women—the lady, and her damsels. Around these throng the whole male meiny [i.e. attendants], the inferior nobles, the landless knights, the squires, and the pages—haughty creatures enough in relation to the peasantry beyond the walls, but feudally inferior to the lady as to her lord—her ‘men’ as feudal language had it. Whatever ‘courtesy’ is in the place flows from her: all female charm from her and her damsels. There is no question of marriage for most of the court. All these circumstances together come very near to being a ‘cause’; but they do not explain why very similar conditions elsewhere had to wait for Provençal example before they produced like results. Some part of the mystery remains inviolate.

So that's the material background – a lopsided gender balance. But more fascinating is the cultural background where the passion and devotion of romantic love – a passion/devotion Lewis claims simply did not exist as a mode for men to treat women in Europe before courtly love was invented – could not be channeled into marriage because such a stance is incompatible with the social role of a husband:

The same woman who was the lady and ‘the dearest dread’ of her vassals was often little better than a piece of property to her husband. He was master in his own house. So far from being a natural channel for the new kind of love, marriage was rather the drab background against which that love stood out in all the contrast of its new tenderness and delicacy. The situation is indeed a very simple one, and not peculiar to the Middle Ages. Any idealization of sexual love, in a society where marriage is purely utilitarian, must begin by being an idealization of adultery.

In fact, courtly love's rightful predecessor is not heterosexual love but the love of a vassal for his lord. (I am quite skeptical of this as a claim about reality, but less skeptical of it as a claim about literature.) Reiterating a sentence from the first quote in this post:

The whole attitude [of a knight in courtly love with his lady] has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love’.

CS Lewis on that feudal relationship:

We shall never understand [the affection between vassal and lord], if we think of it in the light of our own moderated and impersonal loyalties. We must not think of officers drinking the king’s health: we must think rather of a small boy’s feeling for some hero in the sixth form. There is no harm in the analogy, for the good vassal is to the good citizen very much as a boy is to a man. ... He loves and reverences only what he can touch and see; but he loves it with an intensity which our tradition is loath to allow except to sexual love.

So it's that relationship that courtly love remixes into heterosexual romance. Courtly love ennobles the lover – there's a religious parallel here for sure. And it is necessarily adulterous because marriage is not a matter of personal passion, because distance is conducive to recreational idealization, because the lack of potential sexual consummation is pleasantly purity-coded in a Christian society, and because a wife, being a knight's inferior, cannot ennoble him. So, finally, Lewis says bluntly:

The love which is to be the source of all that is beautiful in life and manners must be the reward freely given by the lady, and only our superiors can reward. But a wife is not a superior.

Coming back briefly to Diana Wynne Jones's The True State of Affairs: I understand much better now the behavior of the protagonist's love interest. He's a bored would-be king in captivity who decides to make the other visible prisoner his midons. He expects her to understand the convention he's following. Why shouldn't he take her on as a concept like this? She, also bored and deprived, benefits from his gifts and minor heroics. He wants an ennobling influence. And besides, isn't idealizing a beautiful woman you never intend to make a move on fun?

[sugaldean]

Super hot take. None of the Bad kids should be president and if one of them was to be it should be Fig. Actually no. Fig should be president.

Gorgug

I don't think I have to explain why Gorgug shouldn't be president? He has absolutely none of the wishes or motivations or skills associated with student president (Gorgug is my favorite don't come for me). He work on the shadow, like give revolutionary ideas out of nowhere and have iconic moment (pig cop) and inventions. But he is not head of the movement.

Adaine

Adaine would be kinda good but I don't think her anxiety would let her be that much of a public presence, also she changes things in other ways. She is thoughtful and helpful but isn't the type to make huge speeches and actions for everyday. She's part of the advisors with Riz but I don't think she would enjoy the president position.

Fabian

Fabian is party popular boy. Which is so important in your campaign to bring people's attention at first but he is not the one who make decisions. This man is incapable of memorizing a single important thought, let him be.

Riz

Riz would be good. But Riz tend to push his ideals on other people, they are amazing for him and I love him more than anything but I feel like he would push and push kids who just don't want to do good in school or succeed you know? Also I think Riz is perfect for advising/managing, he is smart, not so good with people even if he loves clubs, strategic, etc

Now. My top two candidates mostly because of how fucking interesting being president would be for their personal arc

Kristen

Yeah she's a mess, yeah she has no planning skills. But. Helio doesn't make mistake. She was the chosen one, she wanted to bring people in the light. Was she wrong then? Yes of course.

But Kristen has that power to rally people, she is kind beyond limit, she is impulsive in a way that is so original, she see things people don't see and her mind twist things in new ways.

This is why she could be good. Because if chaos is sometimes too much, knowing how to take a problem and make a solutions by looking at it through the complete opposite way can help people go through more things than they ever thought.

Fig

Now. There's a fricking president. Always thinks about other people's need. Listen to her advisors. Isn't scare to take the fall. Good time and stress management. She knows basically every class and their issues.

Does she like school? No. But she likes students. Is she an anarchist? Yeah but basically everyone is at Aguefort so she's even more perfect.

Does Fig wants the spotlight? Yes. She's scared of it, probably in a way scared of steeling it and being too much. But she deserves it. She deserves to scream her ideas and to be listened. Fig Faeth, paladin of students. Devoted to her friends, fighting for the greater good.

[justcressida]

Hello! I love your work, may i ask for a Navier Trovi/Cayena Hill x Record of Ragnarok. Thank you so much.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- DEAR PRİNCESS

"That girl is the Emperor's sister. No matter how beautiful she is, beauty cannot be a true power."

Record Of Ragnarok X Cayena Hill! Reader

Beelzebub

Beelzebub was always cold and gloomy, with a heart made of a wall of stone.

You came across him while isolating himself from everyone, aware of his curse, while deep inside he was mourning his past.

No, it wasn't your beauty that impressed him. You... you looked like Lilith.

The same audacity, the same look. How could you, a weak person, look so much like Lilith?

The way you treat him makes him feel like crying. Partly like your domesticated, loyal dog.

He tries to deny it, but he likes the ways you don't resemble Lilith. You are spiteful, you have a strong will to live.You didn't want to be a puppet, you wanted to be the ruler, not the ruled, and you were.

Beelzebub knows you're using him, he's still a God after all, his Godly intelligence can't be underestimated, but sometimes he can't read you. You are so... Divine. At least Beelzebub thinks so.

Your desire for life next to his desire for death. You shattered all the walls he built around his heart in one go and he couldn't even stop it.

He is so helplessly afraid. One day, he may rip out your heart without even realizing it.

Please don't leave him. His sun, his moon, his love, his soul, his heart... Everything belongs to you.

Nikola Tesla

Nikola is a man deeply devoted to his work, it can be said that most of the time his eyes see nothing but science.

But every once in a while, after the protests of those around him or a failed invention, he has the grace to go out and realize the beauties he was unaware of until now.

You were just passing by him and he looked at you exactly like this ^°^

Actually, he thought you were a Goddess, but you didn't hear it from me, okay?

He is always enterprising in the things he is interested in, and you have risen to the top among the topics he is interested in.

The first thing he does to meet you is awkwardly follow you because he doesn't know exactly how to approach a woman like you...

He gave up asking Marie for advice because she was laughing when she told Nikola he had no chance.

Okay, maybe Marie was partially right because you were more beautiful than 97.5% of the beauty standards of Goddesses and human women.

Still, it is unknown why, you were the first person to talk to Nikola, you asked him his name (He grins whenever he thinks about it during sleepless nights, and it's been 6 months since then)

He's definitely a weird lover. In the end, you will either find him cute and take care of him, or you will run away from him to death. His puppy dog eyes are so cute though-

You weren't just beautiful either! You were strong, you were good at intrigue, you were smart, you could get what you wanted. You were exactly the type of woman he was interested in.

Maybe one day you'll love it too. Because according to Nikola's calculation, it's not that impossible.

[stuckinapril]

Do you have any poetry recommendations? The poem poll made me realize that I like. ONLY know Iraqi poets. Like the only non-Iraqi poet I can name off the top of my head is Robert Frost

i'm literally hooked on poetry. even on days where i can't sit down to read a book, i try to consume at least one poem a day bc it keeps me sane. it actually does. i recommend signing up to one poem a day newsletters--those have been a game changer for me. as for recommendations, my favorite poems change every week, but current faves (whose authors i regularly go back to/are a good starting point) would be:

elegy for my sadness - chen chen (Who invented the word / “ennui”? A sad Frenchman? / A centipede? They should’ve never / been born. They should’ve seen me / in Paris, a sad teenage / exchange student. I was so sad / & so teenaged, one day my host sister / gripped my hand hard & even harder / said, SOIS HEUREUX. / BE HAPPY. & miraculously, / I wasn’t sad anymore. / All I felt was the desire to slap my host sister. / See, I was angry in Paris, which is clearly / not allowed. One can be sad in Paris (I was) / & one can be in love in Paris (I was not), / but angry? Angry in Paris?")

a pity, we were such a good invention - yehuda amichal ( "A pity / We were such a good / And loving invention / An aeroplane made from a man and wife / Wings and everything / We hovered a little above the earth")

like a small cafe, that's love - mahmoud darwish ("I say to myself at last / Perhaps she who I was waiting for / was waiting for me, or was waiting for some other man / or was waiting for us, and did not find him/me.")

bible study - tony hoagland ("Who knows, this might be the last good night of summer / My broken nose is forming an idea of what’s for supper / Hard to believe that death is just around the corner / What kind of idiot would think he even had a destiny?")

mother and child - louise gluck ("Why do I suffer? Why am I ignorant? / Cells in a great darkness. Some machine made us; / it is your turn to address it, to go back asking / what am I for? What am I for?")

america, america - saadi youssef ("We are not hostages, America, / and your soldiers are not God's soldiers... / We are the poor ones, ours is the earth of the drowned gods, / the gods of bulls, / the gods of fires, / the gods of sorrows that intertwine clay and blood in a song... / We are the poor, ours is the god of the poor, / who emerges out of farmers' ribs, / hungry / and bright, / and raises heads up high...")

the duino elegies (seventh elegy respectively) - rainer maria rilke ("Not only the devotion of these unfolded forces, / not only the paths, not only the evening fields, / not only, after a late storm, the breathing freshness, / not only approaching sleep and a premonition, evenings... / also the nights! Also the high summer nights / also the stars, the stars of this Earth! / O to be dead at last and know them eternally, / all the stars: for how, how, how to forget them!")

the endlessness - ada limon ("How was i supposed to feel then? About moving in the world? How could I touch anything or anyone without the weight of all of time shifting through us?")

psalm - adonis ("Open my memory and study my face beneath its words, learn my alphabet. When you see foam weaving my flesh and stone flowing in my blood, you will see me. I am closed like a tree trunk, present and ungraspable like air. Thus I cannot surrender to you.")

the war works hard - dunya mikhail ("The war continues working, / day and night. / It inspires tyrants / to deliver long speeches / awards medals to generals / and themes to poets / it contributes/ to the industry / of artificial limbs / provides food for flies / adds pages to the history books / achieves equality / between killer and killed / teaches lovers to write letters / accustoms young women to waiting / fills the newspapers / with articles and pictures / builds new houses / for the orphans / invigorates the coffin makers / gives grave diggers / a pat on the back / and paints a smile on the leader's face.")

[icouldhyperfixatehim]

wow, i don't think i actually realised how worn out i was feeling on the amount of clangers, flops, and disappointments i've watched lately. love for love's sake is such a proficient and moving piece of storytelling, which leaves gaps to interpret and play in that aren't holes - they're there by design. it's a complete work, start to finish, devoted to its theme and inventive, loyal to character-moves-plot once the central premise is set up. the game elements (sound effects, pop up boxes) weren't gimmicky, they were used so atmospherically, like music score, tapping into that piece of us that is always so attuned to the sound of a notification or electronic buzz, our brain's invisible limb. performances: incredible. some of the best character work i've seen in ages, delivering "real" in a speculative genre format.

tell you what, watching this has sharpened my critical eye again - 2024 i'm expecting more from the genre. it can be done, love for love's sake just came in and proved it can be done. to me, one of the greatest advantages of watching these asia-sourced shows has been that their production and distribution models mean you don't get invested in something that is left unfinished, with a higher corporate power swinging the cancellation axe after a season or two. they complete their stories, whether it's an 8, 12, 50 episode drama, it is typically: one whole drama. a lot of the things i've been watching lately have had a quality slippage that forgoes that advantage, but no more! no more putting up with it, i will not be accepting any more quick turnover first drafts! we are making and devouring whole this year, and it must be a full, nourishing, serving!!

[isa-beenme]

Solo Dad Rhys!!!! Fluff piece!!!

AHAHAJAJAJSKSKAKAIAIA I LOVE RHYSAND SO MUCH

I'm sorry for giving a villain arc to Feyre but HEY history needs to happen okay?

Nyxie baby cutie boo making his first appearance in my blog, welcome babyyyy

My mind just went FUOOOOOON once I imagined the story, I SWEAR I was riding my bike when I thought of this and had to stop middle way to my house just to think it better

Yes I changed the lyrics of Wait For It to fit the history, and yes I invented a whole bunch of shit about velaris WHO CARES

KEEP SENDING REQUESTS I LOVE DOING THIS

Wait For It

In the breathtaking realm of the Night Court, the stars gleamed like diamonds in the obsidian sky, casting their ethereal glow upon the majestic city of Velaris below. Amidst the grandeur of the court, Nyx, a cherubic young boy of ten, with unruly dark curls and captivating violet eyes, eagerly awaited his Wednesday night escapade.

Nyx's parents were once deeply in love, but Feyre, burdened by a restless heart, had returned to her once fiancee, Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court, after giving birth. In the aftermath of her choices, she had bitterly slandered Rhysand and his family, a web of lies that entangled them in trouble. Despite the turmoil, Rhysand only devoted himself to raising Nyx, juggling the responsibilities of both a powerful High Lord and a dedicated father.

But Nyx had a little secret, a sanctuary that filled his heart with joy amidst the chaos. Every Wednesday night, he would give his father an innocent lie, claiming to attend "extra classes" while secretly venturing to the grand theater of Velaris in the bursting heart of music and arts of the Rainbow.

The first time it happened was pure coincidence. The grand theater of Velaris hummed with the anticipation of the evening's performance. Nyx had just learned how to winnow and having his father's mischievous spirit, he went after the wave of emotion that spread everywhere he went, sneaking into an empty booth Nyx sat in awe, waiting to witness the lady everyone affectionately called "Starlight" take the stage once more. He wore a dashing little suit, feeling every inch a proper gentleman as he eagerly anticipated the show.

As the curtains rose, Nyx's eyes widened in wonderment as "Miss Starlight" appeared, bathed in the spotlight's embrace. Her voice, like a thousand twinkling stars, filled the theater, capturing hearts with its enchanting melody. She actually portrayed a character named Starlight, who reunited the story of Velaris and told it in a song, bringing the city to life and giving it a soul she shared with on stage.

When the final notes of the performance echoed through the theater, the audience erupted in thunderous applause. Nyx, who had been clapping with glee, could hardly contain his excitement as he jumped up from his seat. He knew that he had to speak to her, to let her know how much he adored her singing. With determination in his heart, Nyx slipped away from the public side, weaving through the crowd until he reached the backstage area. His little heart pounded with nervous excitement, but he couldn't let fear hold him back, he knew this was his chance to talk to the performer.

Peeking around the corner, he spotted her, still dressed in her celestial attire, chatting with some of the crew. Nyx took a deep breath, mustering all the bravery a seven-year-old could have, and stepped forward, clutching a small bouquet of flowers he had summoned from his auntie Elain's garden.

- Um, excuse me, miss Starlight? - He called out softly, a touch of shyness evident in his voice. The lady turned, and a radiant smile graced her features as she noticed the adorable little boy approaching her.

- Why, hello there - She said warmly, going down on her knees to meet his eyes. Her sparkling dress made a pool of diamonds shine around her, making her look even more like an angel - And who are you, young man?

- I'm a big fan - He whispered in shyness, hands sweating as he offered her the bouquet and she took it.

- Is my big fan's name Nyx, I suppose? - She asked as if it was a secret, Nyx's eyes widened in surprise.

- You know my name? - She chuckled gently and offered him a hand, one he gladly took in.

- Of course, I remember you. You've been coming here with your father to see the renewal, haven't you? - Nyx's cheeks flushed with delight, feeling like he was known and seen by someone special.

- Yes! I love music, and I loved, even more, your singing, Miss Starlight. It's like true magic! - She laughed, even then she sounded like she was made of music.

- Well, thank you, Nyx. That's such a lovely compliment - She replied, touched by his sincerity. Nyx pointed to her bouquet, a bit shy when she held it close to her heart.

- These are for you. They're from the Night Court's garden - He proudly said and she smiled even more.

- Thank you, sweetheart - She said, looking at the flowers with gratitude - They're beautiful, just like you - His heart swelled with joy at the praise, and a wide grin spread across his face.

- Can I, um, watch all your performances, Miss Starlight? - Her eyes sparkled with warmth and affection.

- Oh, absolutely! I would be delighted to have my biggest fan in the audience at every show - Nyx beamed, feeling like the luckiest boy in all of Prythian.

- Yay! Thank you! - He ran to hug her, taking care to not step in her dress or ruin her hair which had sparkles that shined like the stars he loved to see. As their conversation continued, Nyx's initial shyness faded away, replaced by a blossoming friendship. The lady shared stories of her love for music and the theater, and Nyx listened with rapt attention, hanging on to her every word.

From that day forward, Nyx became a regular presence at her performances. He would sit in the front row or in the same booth when he didn't feel like gaining attention from the citizens, his eyes alight with wonder, as "Miss Starlight" sang and danced with grace and passion. And each time the curtains fell, she would come to greet him, and they would share heartwarming conversations that left Nyx feeling like he had found a kindred spirit.

Their bond grew stronger with each passing performance, and Nyx's admiration for "Miss Starlight" only deepened as the years passed. Their friendship was a radiant star in the young boy's life, casting a luminous glow on his days in the Night Court. And every time he watched her on that mesmerizing stage, he couldn't help but feel that he was in the presence of true magic. There, he would be enchanted over and over again by a sweet and lovely lady, her voice as mellifluous as the Night Court's nocturnal symphony.

It took years for Nyx to finally come up with a good and durable excuse for his lack of presence every Wednesday night, sometimes even missing dinner with his family when his favorite singer invited him to dine with the rest of the cast that presented the show. Unknown to Nyx, in one of his hidden escapes, his father was making his way across the city. Under the veil of night, the streets of Velaris were bathed in a silvery glow. High Lord Rhysand, cloaked in shadows, followed the path toward one of his favorite restaurants.

While he passed through some of the streets he met Nyx's teacher walking next to the River. Curious as to why she was there he trailed her discreetly, observing her every move with a mixture of concern and curiosity. As the lady entered a quaint restaurant, Rhysand waited a moment before stepping inside. He chose a discreet corner, keeping his features hidden from curious gazes. The restaurant hummed with soft conversation and the clinking of glasses, creating a cozy ambiance.

After what felt like an eternity, the lady emerged from the restroom, looking elegant and serene. Rhysand steadied himself, deciding it was time to confront her.

- Excuse me, miss - As she walked past his table, he spoke in a low, steady voice. She turned, her eyes meeting Rhysand's, and for a moment, he saw a glimmer of recognition. However, she quickly masked it with a polite smile.

- Yes, can I help you, my Lord? - Her face was calm, too calm for someone that was supposed to be with somebody else's son and not at a restaurant having a date.

- I believe you've been teaching my son, Nyx, for the past few years - Rhysand began, maintaining an air of formality.

- Oh, Nyx - She replied, her eyes brightening with fondness - Such a charming and talented young boy. He's been attending my classes for a while now, yes.

- I must apologize for any misunderstanding, but I can't seem to understand why you are here if he was supposed to be in class right now - The lady's expression faltered, and she seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

- I... I don't have formal classes with him on Wednesdays, per se. Nyx has been coming every Saturday afternoon for his lessons - Rhysand became desperate for a second, and his heart clenched with worry for his son's safety.

- So he's been lying to me - He said, his voice tinged with disappointment. The lady's eyes softened with understanding.

- I'm sorry if I inadvertently became part of his secret. I never knew he was hiding the truth from you - His ears pricked at her words, curious as to why she didn't seem any sort of nervous

- What do you mean by "hiding the truth from me"? Do you know where he is? - She seemed confused for a second, before a smile plastered on her face.

- Everyone in the streets of the Rainbow knows where the little prince goes on Wednesdays, we all assumed you and your family knew too. It's not uncommon to find him walking down the city with the actors that play in the theater - His eyes softened at hearing his son was safe and his citizens were somehow taking care of him - I'm sorry for not noticing your lack of knowledge on his where being.

- You have nothing to apologize for - Rhysand replied, his tone gentler now - I appreciate your honesty. I was just worried for his safety once I saw you here.

- He's safe with the crew, they are lovely people to be around, I actually befriended some of them, there's nothing to fear - the lady assured him, her sincerity evident - He's such a joy around them, and he's genuinely passionate about music and theater. You need to listen to him talk about his "Miss Starlight" and detail every new performance of hers - Rhysand couldn't help but feel a hint of gratitude toward the lady for cherishing his son's company. A smile graced the lady's lips, and a sparkle danced in her eyes - He's a remarkable young boy, and it's been so sweet to hear him talk about this lady, you should probably meet her and thank this female for making him so happy. He's always so enthusiastic.

- I'm planning to talk to him about this - Rhysand said, his voice tinged with gratitude, though - But I would like to be informed of any action by him, apparently there are a lot of things I don't know about. Thank you once again - As she nodded with a small smile Rhysand quickly winnowed to the Town House, calling an urgent meeting with his family.

The Night Court's Inner Circle gathered in a quiet corner of the luxurious house, their faces reflecting concern and curiosity. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, his heart heavy with worry for his young son, Nyx. He had discovered Nyx's secret escapades to watch "Miss Starlight," the lady whose performances had captured his son's heart, and now he needed advice on how to handle the situation. Mor leaned forward, her brows furrowed with worry.

- So, he's been going to watch performances instead of attending classes, is that what you just said? - She asked, concern lacing her voice.

- Yes, and he's been lying about it for a while now, years probably. I didn't find out until this night when I found his teacher in a restaurant, and I'm not sure how to address it without making him feel ashamed - Rhysand nodded, his voice tinged with regret.

- He's a curious child, Rhysand. He probably felt the need to hide it because he thought you'd disapprove - Amren, always the pragmatic one, spoke up.

- I can understand why he'd be drawn to her performances. She's a true star on that stage - Cassian chimed in, his face thoughtful.

- And she's been wonderful with Nyx - Azriel added quietly - I've seen her interact with him after her shows, and the way he lights up in her presence is undeniable.

- Wait, wait, wait, both knew he was going to her performances and none of you thought about telling me? - His brother's expression fell at their mistake, slowly looking at each other before looking at their High Lord again.

- Maybe? I mean, we saw him on the front row once and when we made sure he was safe we left him there - Cassian explained first, exchanging looks with the shadowsinger.

- We were waiting for him to tell you - Azriel closed the conversation, looking at the ground in shame.

- Hold on, the actress we are talking about is the one who played Edwina in "Whimsical Serenade"? - As Cassian and Azriel eagerly agreed, their faces lighting up, Morrigan laughs hard, finally understanding the whole situation - Of course! It all makes sense now! Even I lied to you once to go watch her performance with Elain. I didn't notice Nyx there, though.

- Isn't she the one who plays Rhysand in "A High Lord's Duel"? - Amren jumps in the conversation, and Nestha's eyes widened at the mention - Holy shit, she is amazing. It actually scared me how well she incorporates Rhysand in the scenes with Tamlin.

- If so she is the one who plays Eliza in "A Heartfelt Symphony" - All of them agreed to her statement, starting a discussion about her talent and performances.

- Let me get this straight, all of you watched her at least once? - As the Inner Circle discussed Nyx's infatuation with "Miss Starlight", as well as their experiences with her, unbeknownst to them, the young boy himself stood at the doorway, eavesdropping on the conversation with a mix of fear and guilt. He knew he had let his father down, and he dreaded facing the consequences of his actions.

Before Nyx could retreat, Mor's keen senses detected his presence. She glanced towards the door and smiled warmly at him.

- Nyx, come on in. We were just discussing your little adventures - His little heart pounded in his chest, but he knew he couldn't hide anymore. Nyx took a deep breath and stepped into the room, his violet eyes meeting his father's concerned gaze.

- Nyx - Rhysand began gently - We know about your visits to watch the shows at the theater. Why didn't you tell me the truth?

- I didn't want you to be angry with me, Papa. I love her singing, and I didn't think you'd let me go if you knew - Nyx's shoulders slumped, his voice small.

- Nyx, I'm not angry with you. I just want to know the truth. You don't have to hide anything from me - Rhysand softened, understanding his son's fear.

- Plus, we all know about her. You're not the only one who's watched her perform, little one - Mor grinned, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Nyx's eyes widened in surprise, and he looked around at the Inner Circle, finding nods of agreement from each of them. The knowledge that everyone knew and still supported him brought a smile to his face.

- You guys have seen her too? - Nyx asked in awe.

- Of course! We had to make sure you weren't getting into any trouble, boo - Cassian chuckled.

- Papa, please come with me to the next show. She's amazing, and I think you'll like her too - Nyx turned back to his father, his eyes earnest.

- Yes, Daddy, Miss Starlight is the best in the whole wide world - Nestha chuckled before earning a warning glare from the High Lord.

- All right, Nyx. I'll go with you, and we can enjoy her performance together - Rhysand's heart swelled with love for his son and his genuine enthusiasm.

Nyx beamed, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He knew he could trust his father, and having him there by his side meant the world to him. And so, with the support of the Inner Circle and his loving father, Nyx felt a newfound sense of confidence. He had learned that honesty and trust were the building blocks of their family, and he was eager to share the magic of "Miss Starlight" with the one person he loved most in the world – his Papa, the High Lord of the Night Court.

As fate would have it, one week later they arrived at the theater, Rhysand's heart pounding in his chest with a nervousness he hadn't felt for years. He let Nyx guide them to one of the booths that held an upper vision of the scenario, his son kept gazing at the stage with an enchantment that seemed to hold a spell over him. The performance began, and a whole bunch of songs were being presented that night. The musical was called "The Whole World of the Night Court", each actor portraying a different city of his territory, telling its story in the form of a song.

The lights turned off again, and Nyx started to shake completely in his chair with excitement. As the grand theater's velvet curtains parted, a hushed anticipation swept through the audience. A spotlight illuminated the stage, and there she stood, "Miss Starlight," bathed in a celestial aura, ready to weave her magic once more. Rhysand sat straighter in his seat, his heart fluttering with both curiosity and the enchantment that surrounded the mysterious lady, a sudden uneasiness taking his body.

As for Nyx, his wide violet eyes were shimmering with excitement, his small hands gripping the edge of the plush seat. He was eager to share this moment with his Papa, to introduce him to the magic that had captured his young heart. Her, interpreting once again her character Starlight, began to tell Velaris stories to the public as if it was her own, eyes shimmering at each word. Suddenly the orchestra began to play a mesmerizing melody, and the lady took a deep breath, her voice tinged with emotion as she began to sing. The soulful notes of the piano accompanied her melodic voice, setting the stage for the tale she was about to tell.

- Theodosia writes me a letter every day; I'm keeping the bed warm while her father is away, He's on the human side in Prythian; He's trying to keep the colonies in line; But he can keep all of Prythian; Theodosia, she's mine - She sang, making a clear reference to the firstly High Lord that idealized Velaris as a gift to his wife, Theodosia. This fact made Rhysand even more aware of the spectacle.

- Love doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; And we keep loving anyway; We laugh, and we cry, and we break, and we make our mistakes; And if there's a reason I'm by her side; When so many have tried; Then I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it.

With a glance at Nyx, who was completely enthralled by the performance, Rhysand knew that this lady had the power to touch hearts and ignite imaginations.

- My grandfather was a fire and brimstone preacher; But there are things that the homilies and hymns won't teach ya; My mother was a genius; My father commanded respect; When they died, they left no instructions; Just a legacy to protect - At that she clearly meant the legacy every High Lord had to carry to protect the city, himself being one of the many that had to sacrifice a lot to keep the secret - Death doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; And we keep living anyway; We rise, and we fall, and we break, and we make our mistakes; And if there's a reason I'm still alive; When everyone who loves me has died; I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it.

As the chorus echoed through the theater, Rhysand felt a connection to the song's message. He understood the yearning for something that might be just out of reach, and it resonated deep within his soul.

- Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, wait - The quiet intensity in her expression held the audience captive while the back vocals reached their peak, and Rhysand found himself captivated as well, unable to look away.

Her voice rose, reaching heights that seemed to touch the very stars, and as the orchestra swelled around her, Rhysand could feel the passion in every word she sang.

- I am the one thing in life I can control; I am inimitable, I am an original; I'm not falling behind or running late; I'm not standing still, I am lying in wait - He understood it as a way of saying how every city thrived and Velaris kept being a hidden city towards the other courts - Nightmare's face is an endless uphill climb; He has something to prove; He has nothing to lose; Nightmare's pace is relentless, he wastes no time; What is it like in his shoes?

Nightmare was one of the characters previously introduced in the show, representing the Hewn City and their politics of participating in every decision, especially by being the formal representation and the known image of the Night Court.

- Nightmare doesn't hesitate; He exhibits no restraint; He takes, and he takes, and he takes; And he keeps winning anyway; He changes the game; He plays and he raises the stakes; And if there's a reason he seems to thrive when so few survive; Then, goddammit, I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it - Her voice went to a soft breeze, tickling Rhysand's soul as she rose her voice again for the final chorus - Life doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; We rise, and we fall; And if there's a reason I'm still alive; When so many have died; Then I'm willing to - Her eyes met his in the middle of the public, a sense of understanding passing through them, an unspoken love for their court and the child both of them unknowingly raised together. She was still looking him deep in his eyes as she smiled and repeated the final phrase - Wait for it.

The final verse carried an air of determination, of embracing the journey and whatever it may bring. As the last notes reverberated through the theater, the audience erupted in applause, their hearts touched by the lady's stirring performance. Rhysand glanced at Nyx, whose eyes shone with a mixture of awe and admiration.

- That was amazing, Papa! Did you like it? - Nyx asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

- Yes, my star, I loved it. And I'm glad you brought me here to experience it with you - Rhysand smiled, his heart full of love for his young son and the lady who had brought so much joy into their lives.

Amid the ending performance with a song that reunited all of the cast together, the lady glanced up and met Rhysand's intense stare once again, singing some of the parts to him, in that fleeting moment the music seemed to draw them closer, and when she smiled bright and big and bowed to him in the end, his heart skipped a beat.

The final notes of the fun goodbye to the cast proportionate filled the air as the audience erupted into thunderous applause again. Nyx's heart swelled with pride, knowing that his Papa, the High Lord of the Night Court, had enjoyed the mesmerizing magic of "Miss Starlight's" song, just as he had. He couldn't wait to introduce them properly. As the crew took their final bow and the curtain fell, Nyx tugged on his father's hand, his excitement evident in his wide, sparkling eyes.

- Papa, come on! Let's go meet her! - He exclaimed, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. Rhysand chuckled at his son's exuberance, happy to see him so thrilled.

- All right, lead the way, little star - He said, following Nyx as they made their way backstage.

Behind the curtain, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement as the crew congratulated the lady on her outstanding performance. Nyx's eyes searched for her, and when he finally spotted her amidst the commotion, he pulled his father towards her.

- Miss Starlight! - Nyx called out, his voice filled with adoration. The lady turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw Nyx approaching with Rhysand in tow. She smiled warmly, her gaze moving from Nyx to Rhysand.

- Hello there, both of you - She greeted them, her voice as sweet as a lullaby. Nyx beamed, proud to have his father by his side.

- This is my Papa, the High Lord Rhysand. Papa, this is Lady Starlight, High Lady of the musical theater - he said, introducing them with a touch of pride.

- It's a pleasure to meet you, My Lord - The lady said, offering a graceful curtsy - Nyx has spoken very highly of you. I couldn't wait to finally meet the father of my biggest fan - Rhysand couldn't help but feel a hint of curiosity as he looked at the lady before him.

- Likewise - He replied with a genuine smile - Your performance was extraordinary. I've never heard such a captivating voice. And please, call me Rhysand, or Rhys - Her cheeks flushed with a blush of delight, and she bowed her head slightly

- Thank you, Rhysand. I'm honored that you enjoyed it - Before Nyx could contain his excitement, he interjected.

- Papa, you should ask her out on a date! - He shouted to his father, jumping up and down in place as he looked at both of the people he loved the most in the world (not that he would ever admit it next to the rest of his family). Rhysand blinked, surprised by Nyx's candid suggestion. He exchanged a glance with the lady, and a soft smile played on her lips.

- Is that so? - He asked, humor dancing in his eyes. Nyx nodded enthusiastically.

- Yes! She's really nice, and I know you'll like her. And I really want to call her mommy. And I'll change my name to Nyxie Starlight, and we'll be a family - Rhysand couldn't help but chuckle at his son's matchmaking efforts. Nyx, in his characteristic innocence, suggested they should marry soon so that Rhysand could be Mister Starlight, Nyx's mind forever intertwining her character's name with her true identity.

- Well, if it's alright with you, Miss Starlight, I'd love to take you out for a date - The lady's smile grew, her eyes shining with amusement.

- I'd be delighted, Rhys - The blush that covered her cheeks made Rhysand's heart flutter in a way he hadn't felt, even when he was with Feyre.

Nyx reveled in having both his beloved daddy and his adored Starlight in his life, and Rhysand found solace and bliss in a love he thought he would never experience again.

As they exchanged information and chose a day and place, Nyx couldn't contain his excitement, thrilled that his plan had worked. He knew that this lady had brought so much joy into his life, and he wanted nothing more than to see his Papa happy as well.

As they bid their farewells and left the theater, Rhysand felt a sense of warmth in his heart, grateful for the magical night he had shared with his son and the enchanting lady they now knew as "Miss Mommy Starlight." And as they looked up at the starlit sky above the Night Court, Rhysand knew that the adventure they had embarked upon was just beginning, an adventure filled with love, music, and the serendipitous magic of young hearts.

They embraced the magic of their fate, as their lives intertwined like a dance, creating a tale of love that would be whispered through the ages in the immortal lands of Prythian as the most magically musical love story that ever ran through history. Or the most disgustingly cute, as Nyx would proclaim, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

[least-carpet]

For the shipping ask game, Xicheng and Chengxian?

Hello, anon! This got wildly out of hand, so it's all going under a cut.

Xicheng: Could Ship It

Borrowing this additional option I saw floating around!

I'm not strongly opposed to it, but it's hard for me to see them making it work in a canon universe. The fanart is very cute, though! And I've read some AUs that I thought made a good case, but they involved some thoughtful interventions.

What potential do you see in the ship?

Honestly, like, I just want them to both have something nice, they've had such a hard time. They both understand the hard work and sacrifices involved in sect leadership. I think the argument for it goes something like Jiang Cheng gets a person on his side who is kind to him, and Lan Xichen gets someone who's very reliable and also pretty direct, to heal his presumed post-canon trust issues.

What aspect makes you hesitant?

It just doesn't seem to me that they really enjoy each other? Like I believe they get along just fine and have a comfortable working relationship. I don't think they dislike each other, even. But they don't seem particularly close, even though they're of a rank and have been working with each other for years and years. I want my blorbo (Jiang Cheng) to be loved for his bad personality, not in spite of it!

I also think they would really struggle to communicate—Lan Xichen prefers to smooth things over, but Jiang Cheng reads too much reserve or politeness as rejection and, uh, gets reactive (thank you Jiang Fengmian for giving him the MOST deranged daddy issues, for real). Actually, I think Lan Xichen has a lot of potential to push a lot of Jiang Cheng's dad-related buttons just because of his temperament. (Maybe that's a plus? CRUNCHY.)

It also has the potential to cause some new and exciting political problems for them, which they both prefer to avoid.

Chengxian: Ship It

[lies face-down on the floor and starts hollering]

These two make me fuckin' insane!

What made you ship it?

Two things:

Their mutually happy childhood relationship, their initially compatible dysfunctions (Jiang Cheng is easily embarrassed but secretly wants affection, Wei Wuxian is bad at boundaries and WILL die if you don't pay attention to him -> Wei Wuxian touching Jiang Cheng all the time and receiving his attention, making both of them happy). Their enjoyment of each other. I love a badly-boundaried and devoted teenage relationship, it's delightful. Even before chengxian completely rotted my brain out, there was something specifically appealing about the Lan summer camp era.

The double golden core reveal took me out. I found Wei Wuxian's decision completely appalling to begin with, like viscerally disgusting. (I find it interesting when antis accuse Jiang Cheng of pretending to be upset when he finds out, or of not caring where the new core came from, because I, reader who did not get nonconsensual magic surgery, profoundly Did Not Like It. If it was my own body, I would freak out.) It's a fascinating combination of obsessive devotion and total denial of agency. Wei Wuxian is just like, "Don't worry, I will invent new and unheard of methods of violation for your own good because I can't cope with your despair." That's deranged, my dude. That is Not Normal. And then you find out that Jiang Cheng lost the core saving Wei Wuxian, and he plans to NEVER TELL HIM ABOUT IT. God damn it.

I don't even really care if they kiss, although it's fun when they do. Just reconcile! Reconcile!

What are your favourite things about the ship?

In no particular order:

In a text that is largely pro-Wei Wuxian—not in the sense that everything he does is moral, but in the sense that he's the cool protagonist, and he gets to kick ass and solve mysteries and have a happy ending—this relationship is one that highlights his weaknesses and failures in a very humanizing way. And in order to reconcile, he would actually really have to challenge himself and grow as a person, which I love for him. (I also think Jiang Cheng would have to struggle for it, but, like, dude has demonstrated the capacity to do hard and terrible things even when confronted with his own weaknesses. He's not gonna be cool about it, and he's going to cry and bitch the whole time, but if he thinks it needs to be done and it can be done, he'll do it.)

The lack of boundaries within the relationship, which is a product of the lack of clarity of the type of relation to each other. Are they friends? Are they martial brothers or real brothers? If Wei Wuxian is Jiang Cheng's shixiong, but Jiang Cheng is also Wei Wuxian's sect leader, which takes precedence? (It's clear what should take precedence, but Wei Wuxian just straight-up does not Respect His Authority, even though—by all available evidence—Jiang Cheng is a really good leader. But that lack of respect is also a form of intimacy.) It's super, super messy.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

By lying to him so extensively, and then by failing to show up for any of his commitments without any explanation, Wei Wuxian really did betray Jiang Cheng a whole bunch of times, and Jiang Cheng's resulting betrayal trauma really is his fault.

You break it, you bought it, coward! Stop running away! (For legal purposes, this is a joke.)

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

I`ve wanted to write this post about the deleted scene for quite some time. So, in this essay (accompanied, as usual, with self-made sorry ass visuals) I will expand on why I believe Wylan actually knew what Jesper made for him and why he acted like he didn`t (this is going to be a long one, I can feel it in my bones, so I`ll break the post in parts).

When presented with the key, Wylan appears way too shocked for it to be just a reaction to Jesper using his abilities (IMO he is impressed and wants to cheer Jesper on, as I mentioned in one of my previous posts, but I also think there`s more to it). Just look at him:

It`s like he`s seen a ghost! Or, more likely, as if he`s seen something he never expected to see - a token of care and devotion. Besides, if you look closer, his surprise is a bit delayed - as if he goes: *presented with a weirdish key-shaped object* 'Oh, okay, this looks like a key' *realizes that it IS a key and Jesper is giving it to him* 'Oh, Ghezen!' And then Wylan takes a quick glance at Jesper`s face, looking away as soon as Jesper turns to him - as if he subconsciously asks for confirmation: 'Do you mean what I think you mean?' but then goes 'Oh no, don`t answer, don`t break my heart'.

Next, Wylan keeps looking at the key with shining eyes, then takes it for closer examination - and his expression starts to change, going from this (happy-startled, lit up from the inside, accompanied with "Oh, it`s good"):

to this (grim, full of sad determination, followed by "Is it like a coat hook?"):

Jack Wolfe is literally acting his eyes off here - the subtlety and emotional depth are breathtaking.

It`s like Wylan lets himself be happy for a single moment, but then his past full of abuse, neglect and humiliation catches up to him - and he immediately starts looking for reasons for Jesper`s gesture to be something different than what he initially thought it to be.

The thing is, Wylan Van Eck is a tender-hearted and kind person with a bottomless well of love inside of him - and at the same time he is a creature of logic and reasoning. The way I see it, Wylans analytical mind, just like Grisha powers, could be both a blessing and a curse. During the time he spent with Van Eck Sr he might have used it to distract himself from all the emotional hurt inflicted on him. But then, after years and years of being shamed and degraded by his own father, it turned against him - the thought of being a useless, pathetic disgrace has been drilled into him so deeply that his mind has started having trouble processing compliments, affirmation, affection - any sign of kindness. And given how brilliant and inventive Wylan`s mind is, he`s become quite adept at finding explanations to these signs that fit his perception of himself as lacking and not destined for happiness. Thank God for Jesper and the Crows, who are now helping Wylan (with visible results) to break free from the cage of doubt and self-loathing.

Well, this has got long enough:) If you are still not bored to death, here`s part 2😜

Tagging @eggrollofchaos01 (just as promised😊), @guillermosfamiliar (we discussed it a little bit, thought you might be interested😉), @agreysexualromantic (the topic of Wylan`s treacherous mind came up again🧐)

[agentrouka-blog]

Targaryens were not magically attracted to each other, it was social conditioning that made it ok for them to be so. Cultures where cousin marriage is allowed, cousins do feel attraction and love towards each other. Cultures where its seen as taboo, no one would even think like that. Its the same for sibling incest. No normal person wakes up one day and gets attracted to their sibling or someone they think of as a sibling, there are always some influencing external factors. You can say Jaime/Cersei but they were influenced by Tywin's ambition of wanting to be like Targaryens. His mentality that Lannister are superior to other lesser mortals is exactly that of Targaryens and this reasoning is what Jaehaerys used to justify sibling incest. So Jaime and Cersei literally grew up hearing this, why won't they think its okay for them to love each other like Targaryens, after all their father wanted to be like them in all other aspects? This is why I think its impossible for Jon to ever feel attraction towards Arya and vice versa, because they wholeheartedly think of each other as siblings and they have grown up without any conditioning that makes sibling incest okay, meanwhile with Sansa there is always the added factor of them considering the other 'half' sibling, its not always spelled out but they are written in such a way that we do get the gist they love each other but its not the same as with their other 'actual' siblings. George has really done his best to lay the ground to make any romantic relationship between digestible lmao.

(post referenced)

Hi anon!

Ah yes, that non-existent magical Targ attraction that is invoked to cover up the level of generational trauma and legacy of abuse and indoctrination that informs these "choices".

I mean, this sure as hell is not meant to be viewed with alarm, I suppose:

Daenerys said nothing. She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian. (AGOT, Daenerys I)

If he had been nicer to her, would Dany have coped with this expectation by talking herself into a devoted attraction to her heroic older brother who protected her all her life? Much like Sansa invented a palatable reality with Joffrey after the Trident?

And the thing is, never mind Cersei and Jaime those two warped Targ-cosplayers, even relationship between Jon and Sansa is absolutely due to a traumatic fracture within the Stark family dynamic.

Ned's claimed infidelity, Jon's resulting bastardy, and most of all the patriarchic power Ned had, to place Jon into the rest of their family without any explanation or any consent from Catelyn... that's a massive ripple in what otherwise masquerades as harmonious and respectful mutual treatment. It introduces the brutal power differential between men and women, between upper and lower classes right into the middle of their childhood home.

For most of the siblings this is a thing they block out enough to foster a close relationship with Jon - and they ignore or cannot yet grasp what this truly means for him, for Catelyn, for society in general. But they do know, from Bran to Arya to Robb, they know.

And so does Sansa, and her comparative isolation from the boys and identification with Cat's role makes her perhaps the most aware of what Jon represents, for himself and for her. Double realities and denial are a defensive trait she develops. As is her idealisation of romance.

His identity and the way he grows up privileged but without permanence - it others Jon. Not only to his family, but also to himself, who grows up with (to him) shameful longings for unattainable things, and a fear of the social prejudices against his core character. He has no normal relationship with himself, with his desires, with his identity.

The mix of distance and closeness, the discomfiting breach of a social boundary in the pursuit of a deep-seated longing for repair... that's definitely a part of Jonsa. They are receptive to each other in a way they normally would not be. They are a bit wonky that way. But unlike with the Targaryren practice of incest, theirs is a voluntary, spontaneous attraction they will freely struggle with or act upon at their own volition.

Basically, while the relationship becomes "magically" okay through the surprise revelation of RLJ, we are still talking about an attraction and romance that would not be happening if they had not also grown up warped at their core.

Luckily for them, there is that escape clause.

You did it to yourself, Ned.

[baiwu-jinji]

I think your comparisons of Ximang to Hualian/Wangxian are so interesting. When I first started reading 2ha, I felt like it was a much grimmer take svss (mostly bc I didn’t realize how big of a genre uh…”shizun-fucking” was at the time) so much that I felt like svsss and 2ha were two works in conversation with each other. Each felt like a parody of the other. Yuwu also reminded of Wangxian. Gu Mang and Wei Wuxian have many similarities. Their mischievous and laid back natures, their impressive genius, their lower-class status (although wwx doesn’t face discrimination on the scale that Gu Mang does), and obviously their eventual fall from grace. Mo Xi actually feels like a mixture of Lan Wangi and Jiang Cheng to me. He posses that cold countenance but also that terrible temper. His regret that he didn’t stay by Gu Mang’s when he was suffering but also his intense hatred at his betrayal. All this is to say, at times meatbun’s novels feel much more realistic and tragic compared to mxtx’s but they often share similar themes and it’s interesting how their two of the most popular danmei authors (at least in the western fandom). I never thought comparing Ximang to Hualian though, and it’s very interesting. Compared to Mo Xi and Lan Wangi, Hua Cheng is less concerned with certain societal and moral viewpoints, so he’s able to devote himself to Xie Lian entirely not matter what path Xie Lian walks. Obviously, the fact that they didn’t support the one they love in their time of need is something that Mo Xi and Lan Wangi both regret later on…but I think that Mo Xi and Lan Wangi’s upper class status compared to Hua Cheng’s lower class status plays a role in how they react to their beloved, for lack of a better term, going ape-shit.

Hi! :) Thank you for sharing you thoughts, and you certainly formed some interesting connections between novels and characters that I never thought of. It never occurred to me to compare 2ha with svsss because of their entirely different tones, like the former is all about shoving the depth and magnitude of the sufferings in your face while the latter is about hiding the tears and blood with irreverent humour.

As for Mo Xi, I keep thinking about him in comparison with Chu Wanning - not least because they both have a temper, and that's because they don't know how to express their emotions so every emotion comes out in the form of anger. But Chu Wanning has led a much more sheltered life than Mo Xi because of his extraordinary talent, which secured for him an untouchable position in the cultivation sect so he can just focus on his geeky inventions. Whereas Mo Xi had to fight through his family's downfall, start from the bottom, and survive the cut-throat palace intrigues etc.

The comparison between Ximang and Hualian that anon mentioned refers to this post I wrote - and I agree that with the romance side of things, meatbun's couples feel more realistic and tragic compared to mxtx’s. I think mxtx's strength is in exploring broader moral questions and philosophical themes, and she could do it in a natural, nuanced, and engaging way. Meatbun's attempts in this regard feels somewhat forced and meagre in comparison.

[wibble-wobbegong]

dustin is actually so fucking funny for having one of the gayest friend groups of all time and having the world’s worst gaydar. he’s painfully straight too

in s1 he thinks that lucas and mike are the best friends of the group and s3 and 4 are him really genuinely thinking robin is straight. robin.

he loves women and is a devoted boyfriend to suzie and gets so uncomfortable when eddie is in his personal bubble (compared to mike leaning in and staring). he respects women above all else, too. he has never said one bad word about a woman ever

when he learns about how many fruits there are in the group he’s gonna be like &$,$,$:!$.92)/7:@/????⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ … OHHHHHH that makes way more sense. afterwards he tries to invent an actual gaydar for himself so this never happens again