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santacoppelia · 1 year

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Putting the Meta in "Metatron"

(couldn't resist the pun, sorry)

Ok, this has been tickling my brain for a while. I've been thinking about how The Metatron designed his role and discourse specifically to manipulate Aziraphale into the end result we saw in the last minutes of S2. I become obsessed with it because… well, I'm a bit obsessive, but also because there were many really smart writing decisions that I loved (even when I despise The Metatron exactly for the same reasons. Hate the character, love the writer). If you haven't watched Good Omens Season 2, this is the moment to stop reading. Come back later!

We already know that in Book Omens, the role of Gabriel in the ending was occupied by The Metatron. Of course, the series introduced us to Gabriel and we won a lot by that, but I feel that the origins of The Metatron should be considered for any of this. He is not a "sweet old man": he was the one in charge of seeing over the operation of Armageddon; not just a stickler of rules, but the main promoter for it.

However, when he appears in the series finale, we first are primed to almost pass him by. He is in the line for buying coffee, using clothes that are:

obviously not tailored (almost ill fitted)

in dark tones

looking worn and wrinkled

This seems so important to me! All the angels we have seen are so proud of their aspect, wear clear (white or off white) clothes, pressed, impeccable (even Muriel), even when they visit the Earth (which we have already seen on S1 with all the visits to the bookshop). The Metatron chose a worn, comfortable attire, instead. This is a humanized look, something that fools all the angels but which would warm up someone very specific, can you guess?

After making quite a complicated coffee order (with sort of an affable and nervous energy), he makes a question that Crowley had already primed for us when asking Nina about the name of the coffee: having a "predictable" alternative and an unpredictable one.

This creates an interesting parallel with the next scene: Michael is discussing the possibility of erasing Aziraphale from The Book of Life (a punishment even worse than Holy Water on demons, because not having existed at all, EVER is definitely worse than having existed and ceased to exist at some point) when The Metatron arrives, interrupts the moment and signals having brought coffee. Yup, an amicable gesture, but also a "not death" offering that he shows clearly to everyone (even when Michael or Uriel do not understand or care for it. It wasn't meant for them). He even dismisses what Michael was saying as "utter balderdash" and a "complete piffle", which are the kind of outdated terms we have heard Aziraphale use commonly. So, The Metatron has put up this show for a specific audience of one.

The next moment on the script has Metatron asking Crowley for the clarification of his identity. Up to this moment, every angel has been ignoring the sprawled demon in the corner while discussing how to punish Aziraphale… But The Metatron defers to the most unlikely person in the room, and the only one who will push any buttons on Aziraphale: Crowley. After that, Aziraphale can recognize him, and Metatron dismisses the "bad angels" (using Aziraphale's S1 epithet) with another "catchy old phrase", "spit spot", while keeping Muriel at the back and implying that there is a possibility to "check after" if those "bad angels" have done anything wrong.

Up to this moment, he has played it perfectly. The only moment when he loses it is when he calls Muriel "the dim one", which she ignores… probably because that's the usual way they get talked to in Heaven. I'm not sure if Aziraphale or Crowley cared for that small interaction, but it is there for us (the audience) to notice it: the sympathy the character might elicit is built and sought, but he is not that nice.

After that, comes "the chinwag" and the offer of the coffee: the unnecessarily complicated order. It is not Aziraphale's cup of tea (literally), but it is so specific that it creates some semblance of being thought with care, and has a "hefty jigger" of syrup (again with the funny old words). And, as Aziraphale recognizes, it is "very nice!" (as The Metatron "jolly hoped so"), and The Metatron approves of him drinking it by admitting he has "ingested things in my time, you know?". This interaction is absolutely designed to build a bridge of understanding. The Metatron probably knew that the first response he would get was a "no", so he tailored his connection specifically to "mirror" Aziraphale: love of tasty human treats he has also consumed, funny old words like the ones he loves, a very human, worn, well-loved look. That was the bait for "the stroll": the moment when Aziraphale and Crowley get separated, because The Metatron knew that being close to Crowley, Aziraphale would have an hypervigilant soundboard to check the sense of what he was going to get offered. That's what the nasty look The Metatron gives to Crowley while leaving the bookshop builds (and it gets pinpointed by the music, if you were about to miss it).

The next thing we listen from The Metatron is "You don't have to answer immediately, take all the time you need" in such a friendly manner… we can see Aziraphale doubting a little, and then comes the suggestion: "go and tell your friend the good news!". This sounds like encouragement, but is "the reel". He already knows how Crowley would react, and is expecting it (we can infer it by his final reaction after going back for Aziraphale after the break up, but let's not get ahead of ourselves shall we?). He even can work up Muriel to take care of the bookshop while waiting for the catch.

What did he planted in Aziraphale's mind? Well, let's listen to the story he has to tell:

"I don't think he's as bad a fellow… I might have misjudged him!" — not strange in Aziraphale to have such a generous spirit while judging people. He's in a… partnership? relationship? somethingship? with a demon! So maybe first impressions aren't that reliable anyway. The Metatron made an excellent job with this, too.

"Michael was not the obvious candidate, it was me!" — This idea is interesting. Michael has been the stickler, the rule follower, even the snitch. They have been rewarded and recognized by that. Putting Aziraphale before Michael in the line of succession is a way of recognizing not only him, but his system of values, which has always been at odds with the main archangels (even when it was never an open fight).

"Leader, honest, don't tell people what they want to hear" — All these are generic compliments. The Metatron hasn't been that aware of Aziraphale, but are in line with what would have been said of any "rebel leader". They come into context with the next phrase.

"That's why Gabriel came to you, I imagine…" — I'm pretty sure The Metatron didn't imagine this, ha. He is probably imagining that the "institutional problem" is coalescing behind his back, and trying to keep friends close, but enemies closer… while dividing and conquering. If Gabriel rebelled, and then went searching for Aziraphale (and Crowley, they are and item and he knows it), that might mean a true risk for his status quo and future plans.

Heaven has great plans and important projects for you — this is to sweeten the pot: the hefty jigger of almond syrup. You will be able to make changes! You can make a difference from the inside! Working for an old man who feels strangely familiar! And who recognizes your point of view! That sounds like the best job offer of the world, really.

Those, however, are not the main messages (they are still building good will with Aziraphale); they are thought out to build the last, and more important one:

Heaven is well aware of your "de facto partnership" with Crowley…

It would be considered irregular if you wanted to work with him again…

You, and you alone, can bring him to Heaven and restore his full angelic status, so you could keep working together (in very important projects).

Here is the catch. He brought the coffee so he could "offer him coffee", but the implications are quite clear: if you want to continue having a partnership with Crowley, you two must come to Heaven. Anything else would be considered irregular, put them in a worst risk, and maybe, just maybe, make them "institutional enemies". Heaven is more efficient chasing enemies, and they have The Book of Life as a menace.

We already know how scared Aziraphale has always been about upsetting Heaven, but he has learned to "disconnect" from it through the usual "they don't notice". The Metatron came to tell him "I did notice, and it has come back to bite you". The implied counterpart to the offer is "you can always get death". Or even worse, nonexistence (we have already imagined the angst of having one of them condemned to that fate, haven't we?)

When The Metatron arrives, just after seeing Crowley leave the bookshop, distraught, he casually asks "How did he take it?", but he already knows. That was his plan all along: making them break up with an offer Aziraphale could not refuse, but Crowley could not accept. That's why he even takes the license to slightly badmouth Crowley: "Always did want to go his own way, always asking damn fool questions, too". He also arrive with the solution to the only objection Aziraphale would have: Muriel, the happy innocent angel that he received with so much warmth and kindness, is given the opportunity to stay on Earth, taking care of the bookshop. The only thing he would have liked to take with him is not a thing, and has become impossible.

If God is playing poker in a dark room and always smiling, The Metatron is playing chess, and he is quite good at it (that's why he loves everything to be predictable). He is menacing our pieces, and broke our hearts in the process… But I'm pretty sure he is underestimating his opponents. His awful remark of Muriel being "dim"; saying that Crowley "asks damn fool questions", and even believing that Aziraphale is just a softie that can be played like a pipe… That's why telling him the project is "The Second Coming" was an absolute gift for us as an audience, and it prefigures the downfall that is coming — the one Aziraphale, now with nothing to lose, started cooking in his head during that elevator ride (those couple of minutes that Michael Sheen gifted to all of us: the shock, the pain, the fury, and that grin in the end, with the eyes in a completely different emotion). Remember that Aziraphale is intelligent, but also fierce. Guildernstern commited a similar mistake in Hamlet, and it didn't go well:

"Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops, you would pluck out the heart of my mystery, you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass, and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me."

I'm so excited to learn how this is going to unfold!! Because our heroes have always been very enthusiastic at creating plans together, failed miserably at executing them, and even then succeeding… But now they are apart, more frustrated and the stakes are even higher. Excellent scenario for a third act!

*exits, pursued by a bear*

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens spoilers #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #narrative analysis #character analysis #the metatron #and a casual Hamlet quote #just because I love Hamlet

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copperbadge · 7 months

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So the ADHD Handbook post struck a chord with a lot of people...

I don't think I have it in me to write the book I suggested, mainly because most of what I want to write about is variable by situation. I can't actually offer a magic formula for getting a good assessment, all I would be able to do is say "Here are the warning signs, here's my personal story, shit's just rough". Which I could do but it'd be basically an entire book of "shrug emoji". The best possible way would probably be to offer it as a workbook, like "Here is a page for you to record every communication with the clinic doing your testing. Here is a page for you to write down possible other approaches to getting your medication if the pharmacy is out." etc.

I do think I might write it as a novel of some kind. Possibly even a novel about someone writing a handbook, I haven't decided. I had a dream last night about the book, in which I saw a woman watching a revolution taking place in the distance, thinking, "This is not what I intended when I set out to write a self-help book." Baller way to start a novel, honestly.

Anyway there were several suggestions for books in the notes, so I thought I'd compile those here. I have read none of these, so I can't vouch for their contents, but I'm including what my readers said about them.

@blogquantumreality linked to How To ADHD by Jessica McCabe, who is a well-known ADHD youtuber (I haven't found her videos super helpful but they're also not aimed at me). @knitsinweirdplaces added "The last section of the How to ADHD book is literally called 'how to change the world' and exactly points out we can advocate for a more disability friendly world that traumatizes ADHDer less in the first place. It's the only book I've read that hits the balance of 'your brain has immutable challenges' and 'these strats may help' right. Bonus, it is inclusive of people who use adhd meds and those who don't/can't."

@theindefinitearticle mentioned "I read how to keep house while drowning recently and it's been much more practical for me in terms of actual usable advice." This book has also come up numerous times during National Clean Your Home Month as a helpful guide to cleaning.

@buginateacup said "The year I met my brain is the only one I've read that actually felt like it was making useful suggestions for living with ADHD."

@cabloom said "iampayingattention on Instagram wrote How Not To Fit In."

@grison-in-space said "Do you have any idea how over the top excited I was when I found I Overcame My Autism and All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder?"

@doubleminorforroughing wrote "Please read Devon Price. He wants to tear it all down and I love it." I will add that I don't think I've read Laziness Does Not Exist but I have read Price's shortform work extensively and I think he's been very influential in rethinking how we frame laziness and productivity in relation to both work and neurodivergence, so I can second the recommendation.

#sam has adhd #adhd #thebibliosphere #incase you want the follow up

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clonerightsagenda · 6 months

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May I ask what the 'no sex in space' rant is? Zero G sounds like fun :<

The space sex rant is my passion. Possibly because I have no emotional investment in the act so when it gets broken down into weird biology and mechanics by the cruel forces of physics, I find it kind of fascinating.

Sticking this below the cut because it will get long. My primary source is Packing for Mars by Mary Roach, but A City on Mars gets into the same issues. Yes, at least two books have entire chapters devoted to the space sex problem.

Note that this is all assuming microgravity. Many of the problems go away if you have artificial gravity, which we haven't cracked yet beyond building centrifuges. Your Star Trek fanfics are safe. So without further ado, and in no particular order, reasons why you probably shouldn't have sex in zero gravity and it probably wouldn't be that fun if you did:

The infamous 'no boners in space'. Since we're evolved to live in gravity, our bodies compensate for it by putting more effort into getting fluids above our heart. In microgravity, that's unnecessary, so you end up with fluid shift - more fluids, including blood, in the upper body. Your total blood volume also goes down. This would make an erection more difficult, and in fact most astronauts interviewed for whom this would be relevant claimed they didn't get any. The outlier here is Mike Mullane, but having read his memoir, he is the kind of guy who would lie about that. Now, as I touched on while despairingly liveblogging Barrayar, that does not prevent you from having a good time. However less blood flow would presumably mean less sensation in general for anyone below the belt. Or if you stimulated too much blood flow, with the lower total blood volume, perhaps that 'got dizzy because I got horny' joke will actually come true.

In microgravity, body heat and CO2 don't disperse the same way they do in regular atmosphere. Astronauts have to make sure they sleep in well-ventilated areas and are also trained on symptoms of CO2 poisoning. If multiple people are in an area exerting themselves, that buildup will happen faster and would need to be taken into account. It would be super embarrassing to suffocate crammed into a closet for some hanky panky.

The laws of motion are not your friend here. I've seen videos of astronauts pushing themselves across the room with a strand of hair. If you're trying to hold onto someone, you'd either want a relatively small space (maybe not a great idea, see point 2) or hold on really well. One astronaut Mary Roach interviewed suggested duct tape. Perhaps fuzzy handcuffs are critical here. Still you're going to need to put a lot of thought into every move you make.

Space is gross. :( Right now astronauts just wipe themselves down with clothes and dry shampoo. "Skin flakes" is a serious problem. Also we're still not entirely sure why, but astronauts develop awful body odor. According to Mary Roach again, while armpits are famous as a BO source, apparently the crotch is as well, it's just that those regions are typically further from our nose. So idk if anyone's going to want to get that close and personal with anyone else while they're up there. Then again I'm sure people have hooked up in grosser situations.

I'm probably forgetting some tidbits since I just woke up, but in summary, zero gravity sex would need to be carefully choreographed, require some equipment (fan, fasteners), and probably wouldn't even be as enjoyable as its Earthnorm counterpart. It's a good thing that's not what anyone's up there for.

#terrible space facts #does this count as nsfw? idk #talking about sex in a mostly clinical fashion

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ravens-two · 8 months

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PAC: What's Your Planet Archetype?

This reading includes:

your planet archetype

how it affects the way others perceive you

The extended reading includes:

your aesthetic

the best way to work with this planet archetype

a mini-playlist that captures your vibe

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone.

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Ace of Cups, Six of Pentacles, Coming of Winter

"It comes in lullabies deep within your mirrored flesh. Alas, it is time to lay your quivering chest upon the winter's coming."

Moon

Pile 1 your planet archetype is the Moon. In astrology the Moon represents our inner world, that which is hidden, but also comes to the surface in the shape of feelings and emotions. Those who are ruled by the Moon tend to be highly emotional, empathetic and artistic. All of these qualities are shown in your cards here. The Ace of Cups is the overflow of emotion that you feel, even by just watching a film. You feel deeply and sometimes that creates a dissonance with the people around you, as they don't understand things on the same emotional level that you do. This also makes you very intuitive. You are capable of picking up on a lot of information from subtle cues. You might be able to finish other people's sentences or to pick up on things and feelings that they haven't revealed.

Most likely you are more of an introvert, as your inner world is richer than the outer world. You don't get bored easily, because your imagination is incredibly rich. It's easy to create a story in your mind and to feel it deeply. You're also a really good listener. People might have a tendency of just opening up to you, even if they hadn't intended to do so. There's just something about you that makes them feel heard and understood. I also get the feeling that a lot of you also act a bit as therapists or psychoanalysts for yourselves and for friends. You listen to your friends and help them to work through their feelings, thoughts or problems.

How it affects how others perceive you

The first thing I'm getting is that you have a lovely voice, pile 1. People enjoy hearing you talk and you might also like to sing as well. I also get the feeling that people see you as someone who is wise beyond their years, but also as someone who tends to be fair. They know that they can come to you to help mediate a problem, because you'll be kind, but fair at the same time.

Some people see you as being closed off and sometimes even a little bit pretentious. They think that you're faking your sensitivity to get attention. This doesn't reflect the way most people see you though. In general, you're seen as someone who is very empathetic and compassionate. I get the feeling that most people think that you're vegetarian/vegan or that you care a lot about protecting animals. Also, you're seen as someone who "will turn the other cheek". They think that you're more inclined to forgive and forget, rather than to confront someone.

Some people might be a bit wary of approaching you, because they think that you won't be interested in them. Sometimes it seems that you are too deep for others to understand. But, there's also a vibe of mystery and a sharpness in your eyes that makes you very interesting. I also think that you give the vibe of being into spirituality or being very intuitive. Which can be a bit off-putting for some, and attractive to others.

Physical characteristics will be different for everyone of course, but I think that most of you have very intense eyes. It's the type of eyes that it feels like you're staring right into someone's soul. I think that some people are even intimidated about this, because it feels like you're jugdging them. It's like you'll know if they're lying - at least that's their perception.

Pile 2

Ten of Wands, Three of Wands, The Veil

"It's quite possible your eyes have become the fog in which you dwell. A half-swallowed glimpse of all that you truly are or can be, that the tears you bleed are ready for the storms to turn the skies inward."

Pluto

Pile 2 your archetype is Pluto. This is one of the dark planets, it deals with power, destruction and transformation. Scorpio is a zodiac sign that has a similar energy to this planet. You're not scared of change, in fact, I think that you crave it. You're constantly evolving, changing and transforming yourself - I don't think that you have a final shape in mind, it's transformation for its own sake. You remind me of the Ouroboros actually. The snake that eats itself.

Your energy is dark, thick and mysterious. You share some similarities with pile 1, in the sense that you're both very intuitive, mysterious and deep. However, while pile 1 is deep in an emotional sense, you're deep in a more mental sense. What I mean by this is that you are more cerebral. You like to explore what is hidden and taboo. You like to explore topics such as sex, addiction, death, philosophical topics like why are we here, is god real, that sort of thing. You're not really into small talk, and you might start a conversation with a topic that is too deep. As you like to explore what is hidden some of you might have a tendency to try to figure out mysteries. This may mean that you like reading/watching murder mysteries or that you indulge in conspiracy theories. Some of you also like to talk (and act!) about topics that make people uncomfortable like politics and activism.

Something that can't go unmentioned is your interest in the occult. For your oracle card you even got The Veil. You see more than people realize and I mean this in two ways: you might have some sort of psychic powers, or it's just your ability to pick up information that hasn't been revealed. I think that you're quite prone to lightbulb moments, where you suddenly have big epiphanies.

How it affects how others perceive you

Do you know that dark feminine aesthetic that is so trendy right now? This is that exact vibe. Others see you almost like a vampire, something that is dark, mysterious and alluring, with just a hint of dangerous. Even if you're not conventionally beautiful people are attracted to you. It's the way you walk, talk and present yourself. The cool thing here is that this isn't really intentional on your part. Sure, you can amp it up if you want to, but it's just the way that you are naturally.

As we talked about in the previous section you love talking about deep and taboo topics, because of this some people perceive you a bit negatively. They might see you as a contrarian or edgy, it's like you're just talking about these things to rile people up or to be different (this is how they view it, not necessarily how it truly is). Others think that talking with you can be a bit dangerous because you never know what might come up and they may be refuse to engage in certain topics. Other people are put off by the way you eschew cultural norms and just start talking about these taboo topics. While some see this in a negative light, there are also people who admire the way you can just say what you think and bring up these topics without fear. It makes them a little braver themselves.

You might be seen as someone who is very sexual or sensual, or even as someone who is sexually liberated just because you don't conform to the way things have been up until now. This may attract weird people or stalkers. People also see you as someone who works hard, but tends to take on more than what they can chew. Most people think that you're going to go far in life and that you have the potential to be very successful. However, they don't see you being the center of attention.

Pile 3

Three of Pentacles, Hierophant, The Underworld

"Hand over your known, a shift is near. Take a leap, your journey is clear."

Saturn

Pile 3 your planet archetype is Saturn. In astrology this is the planet of time, restriction, order and growth. This isn't an easy planet to deal with, and often it's guilty of presenting us with our most difficult challenges. This shows me that you have already been through a lot, everything that you have achieved has been through blood, sweat and tears. But, it also shows me that you don't shy away from a challenge. You're a strong person, because life has made you so. In your place a lot of people would break.

The Hierophant is a great card to show this Saturn energy as it embodies hierarchy and power struggles. You're someone who doesn't really like change and appreciates the way our society it's constructed. Sure, it has flaws, but it doesn't mean that it's a bad system. With Saturn being your planet archetype you understand that there's a reason for the existence of hierarchies and that power can only be achieved through a combination of effort and experience.

You work really hard, pile 3. You know what you want and how to make it happen, but it doesn't mean that the road to get there is easy. You also know how to work together with others and see the value in cooperation and community. I feel like you're someone who is very active in their community - you might even do some activism work for the betterment of your community. You enjoy taking care of others, and a lot of you are the Mom friend of your respective groups. I also get the feeling that a lot of you are the eldest sibling or, the older daughter.

How it affects how others perceive you

Others see you as someone who tends to stick by the rules and who doesn't think too much outside the box. If things have always worked this way why should you try a new way and waste time and resources? This how others see you. To them you are very non-nonsense. To some people you might come off as someone who is all work and no play.

Most people see you as being very ambitious and someone who will definitely reach high places. People think that you are very respectful and know how to conduct yourself in different places - like adjusting your posture and language in the group you're in. In general, you're seen as being a good communicator and I think that a lot of you have deeper voices. You seem to talk a little bit slower and with good diction. Also, sometimes the way you talk is almost like someone who is giving a speech (in a good way).

When it comes to seduction, people see you as someone who is very classy and most definitely out of their league. Your standards are super high and people think that they would never be good enough for you. Your flirting style is subtle and again, quite classy, a bit old-fashioned even. People expect that you will want to be romanced (if you're a woman) or taking the initiative and do the romancing (if you're a man).

Most people see you as being very traditional, even when it comes to politics and gender roles (again this is just their perspective and not the objective truth). I also get the vibe that some people think that you are very closed off and that they don't get to see the real you, just the persona that you're projecting.

Pile 4

Chariot, Eight of Pentacles, Crystals and Herbs

"Oh what medicine, what sacredness to behold. A dash of healing straight from Mother's home."

Mars

Pile 4, your planet archetype is Mars. Mars is the fiery planet of conflict, passion and drive. Something that I get right away is that you might be very into sports or dance, or that you move in a very graceful way. You're a go getter, pile 4. Differently from pile 3, you're not someone who wants to achieve things for status, but because you love the thrill of going after something. You are passionate and very outspoken. You have strong beliefs and you don't shy away from stating them. I get the vibe that most of you talk quite loudly.

This is a very specific vibe, but I think that most of you prefer to interact with physical things rather than technology. Basically the embodiment of "go touch some grass". You like arguing and play-fighting with your friends. You tend to have touch as love language, rather than talking about your feelings. When it comes to emotions I think that they can be very big and explosive almost.

I also get the vibe that most of you talk quite quickly as well, and sometimes it might be hard for other people to keep up with what you're saying. You're full of enthusiasm most of the time and tend to hype up and motivate your friends when you feel they need an extra push. When you're working on something it's easy for you to be completely focused on that and block everything out.

How it affects how others see you

Other people see you as someone who is very passionate and for some it seems that you would be quick to anger. They tend to see you as being impulsive and someone who acts without thinking. It's interesting because I think that a lot of people tend to underestimate you for some reason. It's like they think that what they see is what they'll get and that you don't have much depth beyond that.

You're also seen as someone who is very driven and very active. People think that you're always doing something and always occupied. I also get the vibe that you're seen as someone who is in shape or who exercises.

When it comes to a more physical side of you I think that your facial expressions are quite intense. If you're happy or sad or confused it can be seen clearly on your face. In general you also seem to move gracefully or if that doesn't apply you move in a very distinctive way.

When it comes to sexuality and seduction people think that you'll take the initiative and just ask someone out. People also tend to think that you're very sexual (I kinda see the Spicy Latina trope here for you guys) and even a bit promiscuous. People are attracted to you and they might project that negatively onto you.

#pac reading #tarot #pick a card #pac #pick a pile #tarot reading

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drchucktingle · 8 months

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Good day Dr. Tingle. I haven't read your stories, but I've known about you from afar in this website for a while. Your recent post about separating Ideas and Message is very similar to how I teach a class. I wanted to ask you, if you could share some of your Messages, in whichever structure/length/complexity you think about them before writing, to have some real world examples to show in class.

Personally I tend to simplify and shorten my messages as much as possible, like "everyone deserves forgiveness" for example, so that I can permeate it throughout the story, and so that anyone experiencing the story can come to a similarish conclusion.

I'm curious as to how your Messages look like inside your head, during the creative process. Not the refined versions used for marketing and sales and stuff.

Thank you!

sure buckaroo.

high concept idea of the book STRAIGHT was this: zombie apocalypse story but the rage only effects straight cis people (there is also a second high concept idea in there which is: what if zombie plague only happened one day a year? how would culture handle this politically and otherwise?)

so i had this idea that i thought was good, but before i can write it i think 'well what do i want to SAY about this? what am i FEELING?'

and i realized that i was a little torn about how to write this story because of the one day a year thing. when is it okay to fight back? can you hurt a zombie if it turns back into a person the next day? is that right or wrong? and WHEN is it right or wrong? what situations?

then i realized that with the metaphor of this story what i was really asking was something bigger: why is it up to the victims (in this case queer buckaroos) to be forced to make these decisions? marginalized groups have TWO kinds of violations done to them, the first is the obvious act of violation, but the second is that they are forced to use their time and mental space and emotional tolerance to learn how to HANDLE the first violation in an 'acceptable way'

so THAT became my message. if you want to know how i feel about these questions you can read STRAIGHT and find out.

CAMP DAMASCUS high concept idea was (SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ CAMP DAMASCUS STOP READING HERE) what if the church really DID decide the ends justify the means and instead of stopping demonic possession they were inflicting demonic possession to counter sinful acts.

but that is not the message of the book. that is just the idea. if i just had that idea i would not write it, but as things evolved i realized WHAT i wanted to say with this story

in this situation WHO is the force of 'evil'? would it be the demons? would it be the possessed? or would it be the SYSTEM AND MENTALITY that was creating this situation in the first place? so the book sets out the answer this question and express the conclusion that ive made for myself

i also noticed that many churches who are anti gay have a sort of infantilizing trot with how they handle their young buckaroos. this idea that gay feelings will just go away if they are ignored and that they can almost keep young queer buckaroos from ever aging into fully realized adults. obviously i think this is WRONG and so fighting back against this mentality became part of the message as well, and that informed most of the metaphor and symbolism in the book.

it is important to keep in mind that sometimes the message can change. as the book trots along i am LEARNING myself, working out these thoughts on the page and coming to a conclusion of my own. this is actually VERY true of BURY YOUR GAYS, which is probably most autobiographical thing i have written. i will save talking about that MESSAGE and HIGH CONCEPT for after book is out though

EDIT FOR CLARITY OF MY WAY:

when i say i write MESSAGE FIRST that does not mean i think of the message first in TIME (although that does happen sometimes) it means the message is the most important thing over plot or characters or anything like that (although those are important too). it means that i write with message as my north star, which is rare, but it is how i make art

#writing #buckaroo lifestyle #chuck tingle

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hauntedwitch04 · 10 months

Text

Just a Mirror

Sam Winchester x plus size!Reader

Words: about 6.3k words

Warning: saddy sadness, and some allusion to sexy time, eating disorder, hating on your own person, please be careful if you sensible about this themes

REQUEST: Hi :) I saw that your requests are open, and I was wondering if you could do a Sam Winchester x plus sized reader; an angsty fluffy friends to lovers that has some smut and reader hating herself in the mirror and possibly problems with eating

Author’s note: Hi love! Thank you @desicroft02 so much for your request. I felt really inspired by your idea love and I hope you like how it came out, if you don't find yourself with what i wrote, feel free to say it to me and I'll write to you a new one !

p.s.I got very caught up in the topic, since it is something I feel very close to. I was never the skinny girl, but with the years I've grown used to feel different to others girls, and even if sometimes I really hate what I see in the mirror, I kinda arrived to the point that I see both the flaws and the strenghts of my body and I love both, but some of my closest friend and this kinda of disorder and I tried to help them the way aI could so this one is for them too.

In case you need someone to talk to, I am always here, don't be afraid to seek help because often having someone close by to remind you that the volume of that evil voice we hear inside can be lowered or eliminated is important.

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Why?

This is the only question that floats in your mind, while, with thick tears in your eyes, you try to read the enormous book about whatever monster you are hunting with your friends in this little city, forgotten by God.

You and your childhood best friends are hunting some monster that you still haven't been able to figure out what it is, despite the fact that you are reading yet another list of monstrous animals in the story, while Dean and Sam are still out at the bar where you had decided to spend the evening, and from which you had decided to escape as quickly as possible, without giving any kind of explanation to the two hunters, holding back tears and trying not to meet their confused gaze

You and the boys have been friends since you were six and they were seven and eleven. You met on a rainy October day when you were still living at Bobby's house, after your father had died in a hunting accident after leaving you with him, and being his friend and seeing him almost as a brother he couldn't help but welcome you and raise you as if you were his own daughter.

Dean and Sam had just been left in the rain on the narrow dirt road by their father when you looked out and saw these two cold, sad, and at the same time angry children. You could see the resentment they felt for the man who looked less and less like a father and more and more like an army general, ready to train soldiers and not raise children. Immediately you went to Bobby and told him of the presence of those two unknown children who were in your driveway. He had immediately run to get them and brought them inside the house, worried that they would get sick from standing in the rain, and wondering why their father had left them there, without saying anything.

"He said he didn't have time to explain and that he had to get there as fast as he could, but that he would call you this evening." Said the older of the two once they were seated on the couch in what must once have been a beautiful dining room, and was now more like an ever-growing mountain of books. It is to your adoptive father that you owe all the culture and ability to read texts on the supernatural that most hunters would not even know how to open.

As he spoke you could see the blond child trying to hold back the sadness within himself and show himself as a big boy, almost pretending to understand why his father abandoned them like that without saying a word; in contrast, the one who was supposed to be the smaller of the two, with unruly brown hair, looked more like a beaten puppy, as he wetly moved his feet lazily on the floor, listening to what his brother had to say, but not hiding his sadness and anger at his daddy's decision.

"Baby, couldn't you get Sammy a glass of water for him while Dean and I go make a call for a minute?" Bobby then asked you suddenly, and you realized that you were lost in thought as you watched and studied those boys. You nodded quickly, trying not to let it show that you had spent all that time staring at them, as you heard Bobby's voice and that of the blond boy, apparently named Dean, drift away, only to hear the front door open and close.

After a few minutes you returned to the living room with a glass in your hand, and walked over to the brown-eyed boy, who was now looking at you and smiling shyly. You handed him the glass with a beaming smile, and he could do nothing but blush a little and retract his body a little, letting shyness take possession of him as he took the glass.

"Thank you." He told you in a faint voice.

"You're welcome." You replied as you sat next to him on the sofa.

"My name is Sam." He said, only to freeze and blush again as he held out a hand for you to shake, just as grown-ups do. You told him your name, and he commented that it was a very nice name, and that he liked it a lot, before going back to being silent and staring into the sad void.

You not being able to see what you considered a new friend feel so bad, you shamelessly asked him why his father had left him there and if that was why he was sad. He turned to look at you, and unknown how, he burst into tears, while with his hands he covered his face, not wanting to be seen as weak with someone he had just met, but you didn't give a damn.

Immediately you hugged him and listened to him talk about how his father was behaving with them, how his brother was struggling more and more to hide that he was tired of his parent's behavior, and how he was lonely and sad, constantly changing towns and seeing nothing but his family. That poor seven-year-old seemed to be thirty years old because of the problems he was telling you about, and as much as you were even younger because you were only six, you felt like you could understand him, because for a while that had also been your life before your father passed away.

You remained thus cuddled on the couch and fell asleep, lulled by the warmth of the fire slightly away from you and the new friendly presence that had entered your lives that afternoon, so much so that when Bobby and Dean returned after trying for a varied amount of time to contact John, and finally once succeeding in being insulted and put down by him, they both smiled at the sight of those two small and defenseless children embracing each other, as if to protect each other from the world. But no one knew that night before you fell asleep you had promised to protect each other forever, no matter how, when or why you would always be there for each other.

That was how you got to know the Winchester brothers, and the hatred for their father also began.

You awaken from your thoughts when you hear the motel door open and close, realizing that another time had gone into the whirlwind of memories and you were lost in remembering again when life was easy. You hear someone coming toward you with heavy footsteps, so you wipe away the tears you didn't know were there on your cheeks, which like small streams had almost made a furrow along your skin by now.

You sense right away who it is, but you don't have the strength to turn around so you continue to cry silently as you feel two arms wrapped around you, and Dean's warm body resting on your back as he leans down so that he can put his head in the crook of your neck and hold you better. Ever since the two of you met it was immediately like big brother and little sister between the two of you, and even now despite the fact that it has been a long time since you were children and in your spare time you enjoyed stealing cherries from the neighbor's tree, there is still that complicity and understanding between the two of you that once existed.

He knows exactly why you escaped so suddenly from the dive bar you were both in a few hours ago. Sam had seen a beautiful girl, the classic cover model of some magazine, slim and with all her shape in the right place, taking a drink at the bar, looking seductively at him as she put the drink straw between her lips. Sam's hormones had not let him repeat twice that clear call to fuck directly in the bar's bathroom, a bathroom from which you were coming out as he was sticking his tongue down the throat of that fake and at the same time perfect babe, who in his arms looked so small and yet in the right place, toned against his strong muscles, as opposed to how you would have looked with your shapely body. You couldn't stand there and watch the boy you love for so long now make out with someone else, so without explanation you left and went back to the motel where you took two bedrooms for the case. Usually you take two rooms only when Dean wanted to find someone to take to bed, unlike Sam who kept his sex life much more private than his brother, but since he and Cas had come out a few months ago you had not taken the second room, having practically grown up together and thus having no problem sharing space. That night, however, when you had arrived in the small town Sam had insisted on taking a second room, and stubbornly had not told his older brother why when he had asked him, and somehow your heart was preparing for what would happen, but in fact nothing would totally prepare you for what you would see in that bar and how your heart would break.

Dean squeezes you tightly, as if he is afraid you will disappear at any moment, and that heartfelt squeeze only makes you break the weak dam you had built when you saw him come in, and you burst into endless weeping.

"I know baby, I know." That's all the blond man can manage to say to you, as he gets you up and carries you toward the bed, so you can lie down and take off your shoes, before coming close to you and holding you in his arms, until exhausted, you fall asleep safe in Dean's strong hold, while he whispers soothing words to you.

The next morning you wake up with the sun gently caressing your face from over Dean's shoulder. You smile for a second, imagining what it would be like to wake up in the other Winchester's arms, and soon after your heart, as if pierced by an arrow, bleeds at the memory of what happened last night. You get up, shifting your friend's arms, and go to the bathroom to wash and freshen up, when you hear the door to your room open, and a male voice, known even too well, shout to your still sleeping friend.

"Dean, wake up!" Sam yells, and you behind the door hold a hand over your heart, just imagining her beauty after her usual morning run to stay in shape. Her long dark hair tied back in a light bun, her forehead sweaty and muscles still tense from exertion.

"I'm awake, you asshole." Dean replies, as you hear him get up and go get some coffee. "You could have deigned to make less noise last damn night, you know there were people here who wanted to sleep."

You hear Sam snort at his brother's words, then respond to him in an aggressive, cold tone.

"Well then there are people who wouldn't want to see you run off to fuck wherever we go, hold hands all the time or make love wherever you are. And you know something else too Dean, I thought you were a better person. Why her? Come on you've had a lot of girls, and it wouldn't cost you anything to find a thousand more, why did you have to choose her!?" Says the younger brother, before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

You close your eyes and try to control your breathing as you feel yourself lacking oxygen. You feel tears coming to your eyes, but you try with all your strength to push them back down. You take a few minutes to control your emotions as all you want to do is fall to the floor on your knees and scream until you can't hear yourself anymore, but you stay strong and open the door to see Dean immediately in front of you, looking pained and guilty, seeing your state.

"You didn't tell him." You say in a calm, quiet voice, not asking, but stating that your best friend had not told about his new relationship with our angel friend.

"I never found the right time." Dean tries to say, then looks down. "I never had the courage, every time I seemed to miss the words."

"Sam would never judge you, and you know that." You say as you feel a pang inside your heart, remembering the words the man you love had used a few minutes earlier. You feel your clothes sticking to your body like glue, too tight, so tight that you feel as if they have pre torn. You feel how the floor gives way under your feet, you feel how a billion eyes are on you ready to judge you, you feel something inside you break, but you can't let anyone but yourself see how mere words have hurt you, so you grit your teeth and continue to look at Dean stoically, as you feel a single and only tear escape down your face.

"I know, but I'm afraid in the same way, I don't want it to end like last time." Dean confesses, still looking at the floor, but crying clearly, as his words take you back to when you were nothing more than kids and he had come crying to you one night, confessing that he had fallen in love with a boy he had met during his last case, and that his father after finding out had beaten him so badly that his scars remained, and had forced him to watch pornographic movies, reminding him how "a real man acts." No one had ever seen you as angry as Dean, and Bobby when he heard you scream and came to watch that night as you swore to heaven that you would kill John Winchester. Dean had never told Sam about that episode, not wanting to worry him since he had just run away to study at Stanford, and asked you to do the same. It has been so long since that night, yet the memory of that pain and that man still frightens the wonderful person in front of you.

"But I swear I will. He has no right to think such things about you! I-I will tell him-" He begins to say, as he tries to wipe away the tears running copiously down his face. You, moved in turn and knowing that like you he too was remembering that fateful evening, take his face in your hands and bring his eyes to gaze fixedly into yours.

"No, you won't do it now, you will do it when you feel like it." You comment chuckling as you caress his face. He looks at you unconvinced and you see his inner battle inside whether to accept your proposal or to be as always too good and allow the world to kick him in the balls.

"Please be selfish for once. And if I serve as your cover, so be it, not that I would have had any chance with him anyway." You continue, smiling at him as you feel your heart slowly shatter. You see Dean ready to retort, but you have already disappeared back into the bathroom, crying silently. Once the bathroom door is closed, you stop to look at yourself in the mirror and realize how disgusted you feel about your body.

There is not a single thing about you that you like: your thighs, your arms, your stomach, your chest.

The more you look at yourself, the more you want to break that all-too-truthful mirror, which tells an unfiltered reality, a sad truth that for so long you had tried to ignore, but which now that Sam had spit it in your face you could no longer pretend not to see. So you decide at this very moment that everything was going to change, you don't know how, but it was going to happen.

So weeks go by, Sam still won't talk to you, and slowly you continue to sink into the stupid realization that he doesn't because only he, like you, can really see your body, and that he hates you for it, so now convinced that you have to change your body to be loved, you begin to eat less and less and more rarely, and what little you put in your mouth to make Dean happy, who sees you getting sadder and more tired, is rejected from your stomach just moments later when no one is looking at you. This situation hurts your body and your heart, but you do it so that you can look at yourself in the mirror without wanting to punch him, but things seem to get worse and worse. You look at yourself and you never fit, before you saw a body you didn't like, now beyond that you see a person you don't like.

Dean is getting more and more worried about you, seeing you getting paler and paler and thinner, but every time he tries to talk to you, you put on a smile and pretend that everything is going well and that the only reason your shirts now look huge on you is that you are working out more, but he knows that you never liked sports and that is why he knows you are lying to him. He tried to talk to Sam about what was going on, but all his brother managed to say by pouting was that if he needed relationship advice to go somewhere else and that he didn't want anything to do with the two of you.

Dean was on the verge of smashing the plate he was holding in his face and yelling at him to open his eyes and see that you love him more than Dean does right now and that he is fucking in love with their favorite angel, but then he had seen Castiel's face and knew he couldn't let him down after he asked him to keep a low profile and let as few people as possible know about their relationship.

Dean had never felt so lousy as deciding between the love of his life and a friend in need, but he knew that if you found out what he had done you would insult him, so he played it cool and moved on, as if nothing had happened, while he continued to try to take care of you, with little success.

It's been almost a month since Sam had said those horrible things, and you're not getting worse and worse, but in order not to show it in front of your friends, you keep doing the same things as before, trying to have the same cheerfulness.

You are now hunting a werewolf in a remote town in a state you don't even remember. Your body is weak, you haven't eaten anything Dean has brought you in the last three days taken at the various fast food restaurants and bars he had found along the way, and what little you had put in your mouth had gone down the drain shortly thereafter, hating yourself just for having the idea that you could eat something. You feel your eyelids as heavy as shutters, the muscles in your body are nonexistent, and what few are left ache from the mere effort of standing and walking, while your head throbs incessantly.

In this you are scouting around where the last victims had been killed, to see if you can find any more information, but so far you have not had much success, so you decided to split up.

You are barely holding the flashlight in your hand, too heavy for you, when you feel a sudden dizziness that forces you to lean against the wall. You stay a few minutes trying to catch your breath, eyes closed, breathing in the cool night air around you, when you hear a noise coming from a short distance away from you, like a dog growling. With difficulty you open your eyes and see before you a sight that is frightening to say the least: the werewolf you were looking for is looking at you ravenously, while a dark laughter rumbles from his belly to his mouth. Quickly you try to pick up the phone to call Dean or Sam, but unfortunately your mind is so clouded that you can't even do simple things like this and the phone slips out of your hands to the monster's feet.

"The Winchesters' little friend!" He says, seeing who you were trying to contact. "I've heard a lot about you, among the monsters you are known as their true weakness: so small and helpless, you wouldn't even survive my bite, I'll do you a favor and eat your miserable heart." He continues as he gets closer, and you do whatever comes to your chin at this moment, as you feel death coming slowly but comfortingly too, like an old friend you haven't seen in a long time. You scream Sam and Dean's name as loud as you can, hoping that at least one of them can hear you, your lungs aching from how much breath you had to use and your throat burning from the effort as you feel your strength failing.

You lean back against the wall again, this time with your back, and let yourself slide down to the floor, as your vision goes completely black and your ears become plugged as when you go too deep underwater, and the world seems more and more distant. You have one last flicker of life before you pass out completely in that dark alley, at the mercy of that monster, and you hear Sam's voice call out your name for a moment.

Your heart loses a beat, and then completely dark.

You awaken with a jump and a gasp as you sit up on the bed on which someone has carried you. Your head immediately begins to spin like a spinning top, and your vision fails again as you feel a warm hand settle on your shoulder and bring you back to lie down.

"Relax, you're safe now. It's okay." Says in a low, soft tone a rough voice, leading back to Sam. You, shocked to know he is there next to you, open your eyes with difficulty and find yourself lying on the bed in your room, in the bunker, as you see him kneeling beside your bed. His face shows the weariness he feels, but in his eyes shines a strange hope as he looks at you mixed with sadness. You place your gaze on the rest of the room and see your favorite chair, where you usually sit to read your books or do your research when you are tired of sitting in the library, covered with blankets and pillows, making you realize that your favorite giant has been sleeping there for what seems to be even more than a couple of days, otherwise everything looks the same, unchanged, and strangely everything now seems to make more sense with the presence of Sam and some of his things in the room. Immediately you slap yourself in the face at that thought, reminding yourself that he hates you, and that the reason he is here is because Dean will have had better things to do than watch you sleep.

You're about to tell him that he can leave, and leave you alone, knowing that he doesn't even want to be in the same room with you, as he has shown recently, and that in case his brother asks you, you won't tell him, but he beats you to the punch and starts talking.

"First of all I want to say I'm sorry, you don't even know how much, and I certainly understand if you never forgave me in your life, because I wouldn't forgive myself." Sam says, as you see tears forming in his eyes. You try to stop him, confused as to why he was making that speech, but he stops you in turn and begs you to let him finish.

"We found you just in time, by "luck," if you can call it that, that asshole had decided to torture you a bit before eating your heart, and we got there before he could do it, but when Cas touched you to treat you he said he didn't know if you would survive anyway because your body was too weak since you hadn't eaten for too many days. Dean insulted me and even beat me up a bit before explaining the matter from his point of view." You can't help but widen your eyes, and Sam chuckles seeing your expression, as two tears run down his face, and he darkens a little again before continuing, without looking you in the eye.

"Yes, he also told me about Cas, and also about that affair with our father to make me understand why you decided to cover for him."

You close your eyes for a moment, expecting a series of insults, but you only feel his lips rest on your hand, so you open them again and see him leaning over the bed, as you feel his tears coming hot to contact your cold hand.

"Thank you." The boy confesses in a whisper. "Thank you for everything you did for Dean, thank you for always taking care of him when I couldn't or was too blind and stupid to, I don't deserve to have you in my life."

You can't find the words, and so you do the only thing you can think of this moment, and you take his hand and squeeze it, while barely smiling at him.

"We will always have helped each other, you remember. Then Dean will be your brother, but it's like he's my brother too." You say as you pull his face up and force him to look into your eyes. You see him cry even harder, a few sobs escaping his lips, as he squeezes your hand even tighter.

"I'm sorry, I promised I would always protect you, and instead I was so stupid and jealous that I didn't realize what I was doing." He tells you again, only to stop for a moment and look at you this time with a resolve he lacked until a few seconds ago. "Why did you stop eating? How come you covered your mirror in the bathroom? Dean found the remains of the one from before in the garage, thought you didn't like it and got a new one, so he changed it for you."

Immediately you remember, one night in a rage after looking at yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, you had started punching it until it had become nothing but stardust under your bleeding fingers, and the next day when you had returned from your walk with the dog, you had found a new one, with a note from Dean who had said that seeing that you had taken it off, thinking that you didn't like it anymore, he had bought a new one, so realizing that you couldn't escape that vicious cycle and knowing that if it happened one more time it would arouse even more suspicion, you had simply covered it up, and hoped that no one would ever learn of that dirty secret, and instead, here it all was for all to see.

You look at Sam in those damned puppy-dog eyes of his, and burst into desperate weeping. He, seeing you in this state, instinctively picks you up and holds you in his arms.

"I disgust myself Sam." You finally manage to utter those damn words, and immediately you feel as if your soul lightens as you feel his arms grip your body even tighter as if you could disappear at any moment, and at the same time he does it with an innate delicacy, as if it were a precious crystal figurine that can be broken under his gaze. "I'm disgusted by my body, I'm disgusted by every single thing about me, and you're disgusted by it too, don't lie to me. I thought if I lost weight things would get better, but they don't, I feel worse and worse." You continue, while somehow trying to get away from him.

"In what sense would you disgust me? When would I have ever said such a thing?" He asks confusedly as he looks at you, tears have dried on his face. His eyes range and seem to want to imprint your every little detail in his memory. His gaze makes you blush as you try to find the words to tell him how his words have done nothing but unleash a storm that had long been locked up somewhere inside you and was just waiting to be released. So you take a deep breath and tell him everything, while he looks at you attentively and astonished, his arms still around his body, as if he needs reminding that you are there beside him, and that you are not just a product of his mind.

You tell him everything, every little thing you had felt hearing his words while you were locked in that damn bathroom, your feelings and emotions in the month to follow, along with all the thoughts and all the actions you had put in place in the hope that he would no longer hate you, and that maybe you would hate yourself less, too. He starts crying again, and hides his face in the crook of your neck.

You stay a few minutes clasped to each other, in silence, after you have poured your heart out in front of him, ready to suffer the consequences, when he takes your face in his hands and stares at you steadily with those chocolate-colored eyes of his, and for a moment you feel your breath short.

"Don't ever think of such a thing again. Never. You are perfect exactly as you are, there is nothing I would change about you, there is nothing I don't love about you." At his words you stand still, as if petrified, afraid that a single movement of yours could mean the breaking of this beautiful illusion. "Yes, I am tired of holding all this in, I love you, I love you so much that I am sick just thinking about not having you near me for a second, I love you so much that I would have been ready to kill my brother for stealing the girl I love all my life, I love you so much that I would be ready to climb the highest mountain in the world and scream it to everyone!" He continues as he stands up on the bed, and begins to move his arms quickly, just enough to make you laugh. At the sound of your laughter he turns to look at you, and smiles even more, to return next to you on his knees and cup your face in his hands. "I love every little, tiny thing about you madly. I'm crazy, crazy in love, and I was a fool because I was so convinced that getting away from you would be better for you, that I didn't realize that you were suffering because of me, and I'm sorry. On the one hand I would like to let you go and make you happy, but on the other hand I am an extremely selfish being and I only want you for myself." He continues as he rests his forehead on yours, whispering the last words. "I love you, and I'm sorry."

You look at him, and not even realizing what you are doing, you take his face in your hands and bring his lips to yours. The kiss you exchange arises as sweet and gentle, like two flames dancing in an elegant dance side by side, testing each other's reaction, in the same way your lips move over each other, slowly tasting that new sensation. You feel her soft lips caressing yours, until neither of you has a single breath left.

"I love you too if you hadn't realized it idiot." You comment making him laugh. "I love you, and for so long I would have preferred not to because it made me sick, yet I could do nothing but love you. The only reason that kept me alive was my love for you, even though it was also my poison." You continue by looking into his eyes, and you see the pain in his.

"If you forgive me, I will do everything to correct what I have done." He looks at you, with a penitent and pleading gaze, as he takes your hands in his, before you release one and place it on his right cheek, and he instinctively leans into your hands, seeking that simple contact.

"I've already forgiven you moron." She laughingly comments, before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him again, but this time the air in the room is different. The atmosphere becomes more erotic and intriguing. You feel his hands carefully explore your body, running his hands down your sides from your breasts to your butt, where he rests his large, warm hands, before slipping them under your T-shirt and caressing the skin of your back, making you shiver. You feel his hand rise higher and higher to the level of your bra and undo the hook that held it, but then he stops. Parting your lips he looks into your eyes for a second.

"If you don't feel up to it it's perfectly fine honey, we can stop here-"Sam says unsure, but you stop him.

"Afraid it's too much for you Winchester?" You ask as you raise your eyebrows, and see him smile, before resting his lips on yours, then creating a trail of kisses from your mouth to the chest exposed by the shirt you are wearing, down your neck.

"God, how I've missed you." He comments between kisses, but then stops again and looks at you seriously. "Anyway, I wasn't kidding myself, if you don't feel comfortable we can stop here."

You look at him, in his eyes only the pure affection and love you feel for him, and then put an end to all his doubts.

"I want to do it Sam." You say in a whisper as you take the bottom of his shirt with your hands and slowly slip it off, thus also dropping the bra he had unfastened a few minutes ago. "I want to do it with you Sam."

He looks at you and doesn't let you tell him twice, and he resumes his attack on your neck, leaving obvious signs of his passage, and then moves on to your breasts.

"God, you're perfect." He whispers before teasing one of your nipples. You moan softly at that sensation, feeling his teeth clench, his lips kiss and his tongue lick every single inch of your body, worshipping you like a goddess, a queen, tasting every inch of your skin.

This wonderful moment is interrupted, however, by the unannounced entrance of Dean, who, seeing the scene of his brother splayed across your body as he kisses your breasts, and with one hand explores the rest of your body, while you clutch his long hair in your hands, moaning his name shamelessly, lets out a small scream, before closing the door again.

"Damn you guys could warn." Comments the older brother, as Sam with speed grabs a blanket to cover you.

"Should we announce? You're the one who entered the room unannounced!" Sam replies in turn, making an expression that makes you laugh. "You can still come in now jerk."

"Bitch." Dean retorts, to open the bedroom door again and have a stupid grin plastered on his face. "So, I see Sam hasn't exactly figured out how to talk and resolve a situation, usually the mouth should be free to talk, not busy sucking-"

"You try to say one more Winchester word and I'll tell everyone about Christmas with Cindy McWood." You threaten him, and see him whiten, before his smile returns to its former self.

"Well what can I say in that case guys, good conversation and be sure to use protection, I'm not ready to be an uncle." He says closing the door behind him, then opening it again. "Not that I wouldn't make a great uncle, but I would say I'm too young and then-"

"Out!" You and Sam scream in unison, and the only thing Dean does is give you the finger before walking away. The two of you stand still for a moment weighing what just happened and burst out laughing, before Sam's lips find yours again.

"Where were we?" He asks you next, and you can't help but smile and moan at feeling his lips on you again.

It's shaping up to be a very interesting night, long but interesting, and you know that in the end maybe by tomorrow morning you can slowly look at yourself in the mirror, seeing the reflection of the man you love behind you supporting you.

TAGLIST

@supernatural-lvr @itzdarling @newtdumbledoorstarksoot @evansstan-akya

#hauntedwitch04's writing #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x plus size reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x plus size reader #dean x castiel #supernatural x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester imagine #becky's favorite #castiel x dean #castiel novak

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nkjemisin · 5 months

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Hey there. I'm writing a story set in New York City and am not American. I have few characters, but most of them are arab or white. I can't help but feel a bit wrong about it, given that America is much more diverse than that, and NYC being an emblem of that. Do you think I should force myself to include more representation or should I just tell my story, and leave that more diverse cast to some other story I could write? I know this is a neverending debate and there are many opinions about it, but I've always agreed with everything you've said in matters of representation in fiction, and so I'd be curious to know your personal answer on it.

I'm a little confused by how you're using "representation," here. It sounds like you think representation = "randomly sticking BIPOC everywhere." I think when most people use that word, it means something more like "create an accurate or at least plausible depiction of a group or place." In actual New York, there are plenty of Middle Easterners and white people who live in relatively homogeneous small communities where they might only see someone of a different ethnicity on the subway. If your story is set in one of those communities -- and you do stick some random BIPOC in that subway scene, because that's plausible -- then it sounds like your characters might be an example of good representation.

(Note: if you're not writing something set in the real world, but it features human beings, it needs to represent humanity as a whole, unless there's a good in-world reason not to. But if it's our world? You can get specific.)

Here's the catch, tho: plausibility is relative. If you've absorbed some biases and haven't done enough research, then you might end up writing something that feels plausible to you, but which isn't actually representative or plausible to anyone else. The way to avoid this is to do the research and check (to the best of your ability) your biases. For example, you aren't American, I assume you've at least visited NYC? If not, you should. You can visit some of the communities I mentioned! You can eat in restaurants, visit mosques, have conversations with actual real people who are living the life you're writing about! If you don't have the time, money, or spoons to do that, there are other ways to do good research -- films and YT/Tiktok videos made by people from the communities in question, for example. But you'd need to watch a lot of them to get a good representative sample.

I recommend this book to all the writing students I've taught at Clarion, and other writer workshops: Writing the Other, by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward. There's a particular part of it that seems relevant here, which is a kind of hierarchy of "appropriate" appropriation, I think first mentioned by Diantha Day Sprouse but included in Writing the Other. Basically it says that if you want to write about a culture that isn't your own, you can learn about that culture in one of several ways: a) You can be an Invader, and just go take whatever intellectual and artistic tidbits from that culture that you want, regardless of how damaging this might be to members of that group. Example: non-Indigenous people who write about actual secret practices, or who encourage the desecration of sacred places. b) You can be a Tourist, in which you're still mooching from that culture, but at least you're figuratively paying someone for it and accepting tidbits that the culture has chosen to sell. Example: getting a sensitivity reader. Or c) you can be an Invited Guest, who brings in as much as they take out, and who has formed relationships that are beneficial to all involved. Example: being part of an exchange program, both as a student and later as a host, and maintaining those friendships outside of the program.

The goal is to be an IG, but that isn't always possible. Tourist is still better than being an Invader. (...I feel like I'm leaving out a category. It's been a while since I read the book; any more recent readers want to check me here?) But the closer you can get to actually participating in that culture, the more your work will be informed by reality instead of biases or misinformation, and the more likely your work will read as plausible not just to you, but to your widest possible audience -- people familiar with the culture and people who aren't.

(I'm a little concerned about your phrasing of "force myself to include more representation," note. Why would that need to be a forced thing? A writer's goal should be to write something that feels lived-in and authentic to [if it's a real place] most people's experience -- not to meet some arbitrary standard, but because that's how you master immersion and characterization. If good immersion and characterization feel forced to you right now, that suggests you need more practice. I recommend writing short stories!)

#answered asks #long #sorry I took a while to reply #some asks require more nuanced replies #and I put this one in drafts because it was so long #then forgot it was there #and yeah I'm aware this might be a disingenuous ask #but I am choosing to treat it as good faith

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housewilson · 4 months

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A MASTERLIST OF ALL THE BOOKS I COULD FIND IN TIM'S BOOKSHELVES

As someone who basically sees Tim Laughlin as my own version of Jesus Christ (I kind of wish I was lying but I have a 'beyond measure' tattoo branding my skin so perhaps I'm entirely serious), I simply needed to know what was on those shelves of his. And this was a hard task to achieve, believe me... but I got much farther than I initially thought I would.

(I've got so much to say about all of these books and how they might string together to create a deeper understanding of Tim as a character but I won't go into it here... maybe in a future post or video essay, who knows).

If you wish to help a girl out and attempt to figure out any of the other books I simply can not crack no matter how I look at the screenshots and mess with the adjustments... here's a folder full of 2k sized screenshots of those shelves.

Before I list the books one by one, I want to make a couple observations:

1) Almost all of the books I was able to pinpoint are non-fiction. The ones that aren't are children's books.

2) Topically, we see an interdisciplinary interest in:

History: from a book on a king in 4BC, to a survey of landholding in England in the 11th century.

Somewhat current historical events: books on World War I and II.

Western Philosophers: specially from the 16th to the 18th century.

Aesthetics: there's at least 2 books on the subject matter, but I couldn't find the second one, sadly.

Spirituality: not only christian/catholic; some of these books touch on Eastern practices such as Buddhism and Hinduism.

Fairy tales / children's books.

Psychology: specially in regards to mysticism and sexuality.

Science and scientific discovery/research.

3) A lot of the history, current events, and spirituality books are autobiographies/memoirs.

4) A lot of books (specially those on sciences and philosophy) tend to be more so anthologies or overviews on a subject matter rather than a book written by one specific author on one very concrete topic.

Overall, this all reflects very well an idea Jonathan Bailey himself expressed in a brilliant interview you can watch here if you haven't yet:

"Tim has buddhist flags in his 1980s flat in San Francisco, he has crystals, he is someone who is always seeking other ways to understand human experience. Which is probably tiring for him. Throughout the decades, he sort of appears as completely different people. At the crux of it there's this extreme grinding, contrasting, aggressive duality between feeling lovable and not feeling lovable. There's such shame in Tim. But it's the push and the pull which keeps him alive.”

This desire to understand human psychology, spirituality, and the ways of the universe through as many diverse lenses as possible, as well as a predilection for non-fiction, expresses very much to me that insatiable thirst for truth that defines his character so strongly.

OKAY, THAT BEING SAID. Here's the list in chronological order of publication.

PS. if you decided to click on any of the following titles it'd definitely not take you to a google drive link of the pdf file where you could download and read these books for yourself. Because that would be illegal and wrong.

Journeys through Bookland by Charles H. Sylvester (1901?) (1922 Edition)

I don't know which specific volume he owns, sorry, I tried my best but the number is not discernible (hell, the title barely is). If anyone wants the download link to these hmu because I'm not about to individually download all 10 right now.

10 volumes of poems, myths, Bible stories, fairy tales, and excerpts from children's novels, as well as a guide to the series. It has been lauded as ‘a new and original plan for reading, applied to the world’s best literature for children.’

Pilgrimage by Graham Seton Hutchison (1936)

This book provides a view of the battlefields of WW I through the eyes of the average fighting man.

One curious thing about this book is that it's author, a British First World War army officer and military theorist, went on to become a fascist activist later in his life. Straight from Wikipedia:

"Seton Hutchison became a celebrated figure in military circles for his tactical innovations during the First World War but would later become associated with a series of fringe fascist movements which failed to capture much support even by the standards of the far right in Britain in the interbellum period." He made a contribution to First World War fiction with his espionage novel, The W Plan."

The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton (1948)

The Seven Storey Mountain tells of the growing restlessness of a brilliant and passionate young man, who at the age of twenty-six, takes vows in one of the most demanding Catholic orders—the Trappist monks. At the Abbey of Gethsemani, "the four walls of my new freedom," Thomas Merton struggles to withdraw from the world, but only after he has fully immersed himself in it. At the abbey, he wrote this extraordinary testament, a unique spiritual autobiography that has been recognized as one of the most influential religious works of our time. Translated into more than twenty languages, it has touched millions of lives.

This book requires no introduction. It's the one he keeps the Fire Island's postcard in and the one we see him re-reading in episode 8 after Hawk brings it to the hospital with him at the end of episode 7.

Just a little detail I noticed:

Apparently he liked the book so much he visited Gethsemani, which was the home of its author all the way up till 1968.

For all we know, he might have even met its author!

Sexual Behavior in the Human Male by Alfred Charles Kinsey, Wardell B. Pomeroy (1948)

When published in 1948 this volume encountered a storm of condemnation and acclaim. It is, however, a milestone on the path toward a scientific approach to the understanding of human sexual behavior. Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey and his fellow researchers sought to accumulate an objective body of facts regarding sex. They employed first hand interviews to gather this data. This volume is based upon histories of approximately 5,300 males which were collected during a fifteen year period. This text describes the methodology, sampling, coding, interviewing, statistical analyses, and then examines factors and sources of sexual outlet.

Yes, Charles Kinsey is indeed behind the Kinsey scale that has done so much for the LGBTQ+ community.

Their Finest Hour (1949), The Grand Alliance (1950), and Closing the Ring (1951) by Winston Churchill

Winston Churchill's six-volume history of the cataclysm that swept the world remains the definitive history of the Second World War. Lucid, dramatic, remarkable both for its breadth and sweep and for its sense of personal involvement, it is universally acknowledged as a magnificent reconstruction and is an enduring, compelling work that led to his being awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1953.

The European Philosophers from Descartes to Nietzsche by Monroe C. Beardsley (1960)

In so far as we reflect upon ourselves and our world, and what we are doing in it, says the editor of this anthology, we are all philosophers. And therefore we are very much concerned with what the twelve men represented in this book--the major philosophers on the Continent of Europe--have to say to us, to help us build our own philosophy, to think things out in our own way. For the issues that we face today are partly determined by the work of thinkers of earlier generations, and no other time is more important to the development of Western thought than is the 250-year period covered by this anthology. Monroe. C. Beardsley, Professor of Philosophy at Swarthmore College, has chosen major works, or large selections from them, by each man, with supplementary passages to amplify or clarify important points. These include: Descartes - Discourse on Method (Descartes), Thoughts (Pascal), The Nature of Evil (Spinoza), The Relation Between Soul and Body (Leibniz), The Social Construct (Rousseau), Critique of Pure Reason (Kant), The Vocation of Man (Fichte), Introducciton to the Philosophy of History (Hegel), The World as Will and Idea (Schopenhauer), A General View of Positivism (Comte), The Analysis of Sensations and the Relation of the Physical to the Psychical (Mach), Beyond Good and Evil (Nietzsche).

The New Intelligent Man's Guide to Science by Isaac Asimov (1965)

Asimov tells the stories behind the science: the men and women who made the important discoveries and how they did it. Ranging from Galilei, Achimedes, Newton and Einstein, he takes the most complex concepts and explains it in such a way that a first-time reader on the subject feels confident on his/her understanding. Assists today's readers in keeping abreast of all recent discoveries and advances in physics, the biological sciences, astronomy, computer technology, artificial intelligence, robotics, and other sciences.

The Heavenly City of the 18th Philosophers by Carl L. Becker (1932) (1962 reprint)

Here a distinguished American historian challenges the belief that the eighteenth century was essentially modern in its temper. In crystalline prose Carl Becker demonstrates that the period commonly described as the Age of Reason was, in fact, very far from that; that Voltaire, Hume, Diderot, and Locke were living in a medieval world, and that these philosophers “demolished the Heavenly City of St. Augustine only to rebuild it with more up-to-date materials.” In a new foreword, Johnson Kent Wright looks at the book’s continuing relevance within the context of current discussion about the Enlightenment.

I find the particular choice of adding this book very curious and on brand, since it explores the idea that philosophers of the Enlightenment very much resembled religious dogma/faith in their structure and purpose. Just... A+ of the props department to not just add any kind of book on philosophy anthology.

Herod The Great by Michael Grant (1971)

The Herod of popular tradition is the tyrannical King of Judaea who ordered the Massacre of the Innocents and died a terrible death in 4 BC as the judgment of God. But this biography paints a much more complex picture of this contemporary of Mark Antony, Cleopatra, and the Emperor Augustus. Herod devoted his life to the task of keeping the Jews prosperous and racially intact. To judge by the two disastrous Jewish rebellions that occurred within a hundred and fifty years of his death -- those the Jews called the First and Second Roman Wars -- he was not, in the long run, completely successful. For forty years Herod walked the most precarious of political tightropes. For he had to be enough of a Jew to retain control of his Jewish subjects, and enough of a pro-Roman to preserve the confidence of Rome, within whose territory his kingdom fell. For more than a quarter of a century he was one of the chief bulwarks of Augustus' empire in the east. He made Judaea a large and prosperous country. He founded cities and built public works on a scale never seen before: of these, recently excavated Masada is a spectacular example. And he did all this in spite of a continuous undercurrent of protest and underground resistance. The numerous illustrations presents portraits and coins, buildings and articles of everyday use, landscapes and fortresses, and subsequent generations' interpretations of the more famous events, actual and mythical, of Herod's career.

Readings in the Philosophy of Art and Aesthetics compiled by Milton Charles Nahm (1975)

A college level comprehensive anthology of essays written on the arts and the field of aesthetic philosophy.

The Mustard Seed: Discourses on the Sayings of Jesus Taken from the Gospel According to Thomas by Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (1975)

This timely book explores the wisdom of the Gnostic Jesus, who challenges our preconceptions about the world and ourselves. Based on the Gospel of Thomas, the book recounts the missing years in Jesus’ life and his time in Egypt and India, learning from Egyptian secret societies, then Buddhist schools, then Hindu Vedanta. Each of Jesus' original sayings is the "seed" for a chapter of the book; each examines one aspect of life — birth, death, love, fear, anger, and more — counterpointed by Osho’s penetrating comments and responses to questions from his audience.

(You don't know how fulfilling it was to find some of these books and just sit there like "oh my god, yessss, he'd SO read that".)

A Third Testament by Malcolm Muggeridge (1976)

A modern pilgrim explores the spiritual wanderings of Augustine, Pascal, Blake, Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Bonhoeffer. A Third Testament brings to life seven men whose names are familiar enough, but whose iconoclastic spiritual wanderings make for unforgettable reading. Muggeridge's concise biographies are an accessible and manageable introduction to these spiritual giants who carried on the testament to the reality of God begun in the Old and New Testaments. - St. Augustine, a headstrong young hedonist and speechwriter who turned his back on money and prestige in order to serve Christ - Blaise Pascal, a brilliant mathematician who pursued scientific knowledge but warned people against thinking they could live without God - William Blake, a magnificent artist-poet who pled passionately for the life of the spirit and warned of the blight that materialism would usher in - Soren Kierkegaard, a renegade philosopher who spent most of his life at odds with the church, and insisted that every person must find his own way to God - Fyodor Dostoevsky, a debt-ridden writer and sometime prisoner who found, in the midst of squalor and political turmoil, the still small voice of God - Leo Tolstoy, a grand old novelist who swung between idealism and depression, loneliness and fame and a duel awareness of his sinfulness and God s grace - Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor whose writings and agonized involvement in a plot to kill Hitler cost him his life, but continue to inspire millions

Portraits: The photography of Carl Van Vechten (1978)

Can't find a file but you can borrow it from archive.com in the link provided.

During his career as a photographer, Carl Van Vechten’s subjects, many of whom were his friends and social acquaintances, included dancers, actors, writers, artists, activists, singers, costumiers, photographers, social critics, educators, journalists, and aesthetes. [...] As a promoter of literary talent and a critic of dance, theater, and opera, Carl Van Vechten was as interested in the cultural margin as he was in the day’s most acclaimed and successful people. His diverse subjects give a sense of both Carl Van Vechten’s interests and his considerable role in defining the cultural landscape of the twentieth century; among his many sitters one finds the leading lights of the Harlem Renaissance, the premier actors and writers of the American stage, the world’s greatest opera stars and ballerinas, the most important and influential writers of the day, among many others.

Report of the Shroud of Turin by John H Heller (1983)

Heller, while a man of science, was nevertheless a devout man (Southern Baptist). He viewed his task concerning The Shroud with great scepticism; there have been far too many hoaxes in the world of religion. The book describes in great detail the events leading up to the team's conviction that the Shroud was genuine; last - not least - being Heller and Adler's verification of "heme" (blood) and the inexplicable "burned image" of the crucified man. Although carbon dating indicates that the image is not 2000 years old and that the cloth is from the Middle Ages, there is not enough evidence to disprove Heller's assertion that the Shroud is indeed genuine.

Context for those who may not know (though I doubt it's necessary): The shroud of Turin "is a length of linen cloth that bears a faint image of the front and back of a man. It has been venerated for centuries, especially by members of the Catholic Church, as the actual burial shroud used to wrap the body of Jesus of Nazareth after his crucifixion, and upon which Jesus's bodily image is miraculously imprinted."

It is a very controversial subject matter and I definitely don't know that from going to an Opus Dei school since the day I was born till the day I graduated high school.

Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus by Israel Regardie (1985)

I've tried my hardest but despite many Israel Regardie books being on the world wide web, I can't find a copy of this specific one.

Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus, from the Small Gems series is one of these mysterious alchemys which Regardie and Spiegelman crafted for the serious student of mysticism. Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus by Dr. Israel Regardie and his friend, world renowned Jungian Psychologist, J. Marvin Spiegelman, Ph.D. was created to reach the serious student at the intersecting paths of magic, mysticism and psychology. While each area of study overlaps they also maintain their own individual paths of truth. One of Regardie’s greatest gifts was his rare ability to combine these difficult and diverse subjects and make them understandable.

Domesday Book Through Nine Centuries by Elizabeth M. Hallam (1986)

In 1086 a great survey of landholding in England was carried out on the orders of William the Conqueror, and its results were recorded in the two volumes, which, within less than a century, were to acquire the name of Domesday, or the Book of Judgment 'because its decisions, like those of the last Judgment, are unalterable'. This detailed survey of the kingdom, unprecedented at that time in its scope, gives us an extraordinarily vivid impression of the life of the eleventh century.

The following two are a fuck up on the props department part because they were published after 1987 but we'll forgive them because they were not expecting for me to do all this to figure out the titles of these books, I'm sure:

The One Who Set Out to Study Fear by Peter Redgrove (1989)

This book barely exists physically, rest assured it does not exist online... LOL.

The author of The Wise Wound presents here a re-telling of Grimm's famous fairy tales, written in a manner and spirit more suited to the present day. Each story is rooted in the original, but cast in an energetic style that is both disrespectful and humorous.

Essential Papers on Masochism by Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Hanly (1995)

The contested psychoanalytic concept of masochism has served to open up pathways into less-explored regions of the human mind and behavior. Here, rituals of pain and sexual abusiveness prevail, and sometimes gruesome details of unconscious fantasies are constructed out of psychological pain, desperate need, and sexually excited, self- destructive violence. In this significant addition to the "Essential Papers in Psychoanalysis" series, Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Hanly presents an anthology of the most outstanding writings in the psychoanalytic study of masochism. In bringing these essays together, Dr. Fitzpatrick Hanly expertly combines classic and contemporary theories by the most respected scholars in the field to create a varied and integrated volume. This collection features papers by S. Nacht, R. Loewenstein, Victor Smirnoff, Sigmund Freud, Jacques Laplanche, Robert Bak, Leonard Shengold, K. Novick, J. Novick, S. Coen, Margaret Brenman, Esther Menaker, S. Lorand, M. Balint, Bernhard Berliner, Charles Brenner, Helene Deutsch, Annie Reich, Marie Bonaparte, Jessica Benjamin, S.L. Olinick, Arnold Modell, Betty Joseph, and Janine Chasseguet-Smirgel.

Let's not forget another book we know has been present in his shelves at some point:

Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe (1929)

It is Wolfe's first novel, and is considered a highly autobiographical American coming-of-age story. The character of Eugene Gant is generally believed to be a depiction of Wolfe himself. The novel briefly recounts Eugene's father's early life, but primarily covers the span of time from Eugene's birth in 1900 to his definitive departure from home at the age of 19. The setting is a fictionalization of his home town of Asheville, North Carolina, called Altamont in the novel.

And Ron Nyswaner mentioned in a podcast (might be this one? I'm not sure) that he scrapped from the script a line where Tim recommends this poem at some point:

He specially emphasized the line "If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me".

And lastly, if anyone wanted to know:

His copy of the bible is the Revised Standard Version by Thomas Nelson from either 1952 or 1953.

Because why the hell not figure out what specific translation of the holy bible a fictional character was basing his beliefs on — as if the set designers cared nearly as much as I do.

#fellow travelers #fellow travelers meta #tim laughlin #fellowtravelersedit #i know it doesnt precisely fit the tag but hey.. theres a gif right there #this is such a jobless thread... but i AM jobless

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inkblot22 · 8 months

Text

Truss

Woohoo Malleus woohoo! I'm making the trigger list a bit bigger because I keep thinking about how people will totally skip reading it if it's too small and then blame the writer for their own mistake. That shit is clown behavior but I don't want to be held responsible for someone else's case of stupid, so sorry to those of you who think this looks clunky. Line divider found here: @/cafekitsune. This is also a fic that is wildly self-indulgent, in that I mean that while writing I visualized my own physical form and quirks.

That being said, this fic is written with afab (assigned female at birth) readers in mind. No pronouns other than you are used for the reader, but the reader does possess a womb. Reader's chest is not described in the least, just the lower bits, and even then it's not at length. Malleus also refers to the reader as "beauty," but masculine people can be beautiful too so idk but here's a warning anyways.

This fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. TW for noncon, fae interaction rules used for said noncon, slight bullying if you squint, one (1) mention of blood (I'm beginning to think I have a problem.) Stay safe while reading. Possible OOC Malleus, I haven't read any of book 7 and if you spoil it I'll block you temporarily.

This is absolutely not your fault, and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. It’s awful. Crewel was for sure his namesake, because this whole thing was a steaming pile of-

Alright, from the top, just to organize your thoughts: you are the only non-magic student in a school of mages. The teachers are mages. Your best friend/roommate/monster friend is a mage. The plants here can do magic, but you? No. Thanks homeworld. Love the gift of nothing.

Thus, the faculty have seemingly created a game of “how to piss off and challenge the magicless student,” in which they give you various tasks to just make you lose sleep. Vargas had you running laps until your legs felt like jelly, doing pushups until your shoulders started sounding like glowsticks. Trein had you learning completely off the wall trivia, such as what type of fabric the Queen of Heart’s favorite bathrobe was made of and why it made her more powerful. That’s nothing, it’s easy because you apparently have so much free time in their eyes. But Crewel? Fuck that man.

When you got the assignment, it sounded fun and exciting. He gave you seeds for a fast-growing rose thing. Honestly you weren’t paying attention to the name of it, but you retained what you needed to know. The plant only grew in moonlight, so you needed to cover it before you went inside at night. It needed a minimum of two hours of moonlight to grow per night. If the basket was overturned and it was exposed to the sun, then the plants would die. Moderate watering, no fertilizer, the usual.

Once the plants bloomed, you were supposed to take the flowers and make some kind of glamour potion, so here you are, failing at doing so. You only had four flowers, and you’re down to the last one. You wasted three tries and you still have no idea what the hell you’re doing wrong and it’s due next alchemy class and you’re breaking curfew on top of all of it. You glare into your cauldron with your latest failed attempt and hunker down to shoulder against the side so you can dump it out and try again.

“Oh, it’s you.”

The voice makes you jump out of your skin. You turn around and you almost want to cry tears of joy, because if anyone can help you, it’s him.

“When I saw a little head duck down, I thought that something strange was happening. A crime, perhaps.” Malleus smiles, and it’s not a kind smile, but you’ll take anything remotely positive at this point, “What are you doing on the floor, child of man?”

“Oh, I have to empty the cauldron.” You puff out, still trying to throw your weight to push the cauldron. You did it twice earlier, so this must be the effects of mental and physical fatigue.

“Oh, that’s right. Allow me.” Rather than waving a hand or anything, Malleus strolls on over and uncrosses his arms, taking one hand and pressing his fingertips against the lip of the cauldron. The whole damn thing tips, the failed mixture pouring out into the nearby drain. With the same ease, he tilts it back and turns to you.

When he looks at you, it’s… weird. You know he’s lizard-like, as dragons evidently are, but even Sebek’s eyes aren’t this jarring. They aren’t soulless or cold or unfeeling, but it feels like he is looking through you. His emotions don’t reflect in his eyes properly. That’s what it feels like. They reflect, but it’s wrong. Fractured. His lips quirk into a smile and you blink.

“Uh… wait, what are you doing out here, Tsunotaro?” You ask, turning to gather more materials, following the transcript of your recording from class.

His smile grows, “Just on a walk. Will you tell me what you’re trying to make?”

“Uh, yeah. This glamour potion? I don’t know. Remember how I was growing those flowers?”

“Of course. And what happened to the rest?”

“I… uh… I messed up the other potions. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong here.”

“No?”

“No. Do… do you think you could maybe… help me?”

“Of course.” Malleus plucks the flower up, twirling it thoughtfully, “Why don’t you gather the other ingredients?”

That was simple enough. Petals from your tediously grown blooms, some kind of floral oil with tiny white flowers inked on the label, a ball of clay no bigger than a pea, something that really resembled a severed finger, something that was hopefully just someone’s baby tooth, a handful of crystals in a rainbow of colors, and water. Lots of water. Malleus watches as you put all your ingredients on the nearby table and hums thoughtfully before dimming the lights and turning back to you.

“And where did you hear that you needed these things?” He asks. It’s not something that he says with any indication that you’re right or wrong. The tone is bland but the words say enough.

He has essentially told you before that he believes you inept, a babe in the woods when it comes to this sort of thing, but it doesn’t stop you from looking as hurt as you feel, “The headmage visited class and gave me some pointers?”

“You personally or the entire class? I don’t personally recall concocting anything like this when I was in your grade.” He says.

You suppose you’re grateful that he’s so blunt, but his flat tone makes the sting of your failure that much sharper. You thought he’d be nicer, since you two are sort of friends, and Lilia has told you that Malleus is fond of you, but it also makes just as much sense for him to refrain from easing up in his flatness because he supposedly thinks so much of you. He thinks you’re an idiot, but he’s not willing to treat you as such.

“The whole class. And no one else in my grade is doing this.” You mutter, staring at your assortment of items on the table.

He approaches the table and plucks up the beaker of water, twisting it in his hand, “Did you distill this?”

“What?”

“Tap water often has various minerals in it. If you haven’t been using distilled water, you’ve been adding an extra ingredient. Typically, most potions are much more forgiving and you can use tap water with little issue, but this particular potion is known to be disagreeable.” He murmurs, crossing the room with your beaker of water and setting it up to distill with a practiced ease. “That’s why it’s typically saved for fourth year students’ aptitude testing.”

The revelation hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d like to protest but it unfortunately makes sense. Malleus looks over at you, somewhat blandly, then turns around to face you, looking half concerned.

You answer his question before he can ask, “I didn’t… know that. I guess it’s my fault for being from a different world…”

His lips twitch into a smile, and for a moment you can see amusement in his eyes, fractured with the underlying coldness, “Oh, it isn’t. It may be your fault for failing to ask questions, but having someone who is unused to this type of work take on an advanced project is cruel.”

“You think so?” You ask, voice lilting with hope.

“Of course I do. Why you’re expected to make a potion of this caliber is beyond me.” Malleus states blankly.

“Uh, yeah. I- I don’t know either. But thank you for helping me!”

His expression flinches. It lasts for less than a second before it smooths into an odd grin. You’re not quite sure what that means, but you’re too happy to stop and think about it. The water finishes distilling and you carefully begin crafting, using the tips Malleus occasionally mumbles towards you. Don’t put that ingredient in yet, stir clockwise, you need to grind that up with the oil, don’t rush you have time, et cetera, et cetera, and then you have a gorgeous violet mixture, glimmering with a pearlescent golden sheen.

Your jaw drops. Somehow the few ingredients you threw together is enough to fill several bottles. Malleus is making a smug face as you rush to the shelves of empty bottles and choose several fluted bottles, quickly using a ladle to deposit the final, successful potion into the bottles. You’re so giddy with your success that you hardly notice as Malleus walks towards the door and locks it. But only hardly.

“What was that for?” You ask, not actually caring. You’re too happy to be worried.

“Oh, we’ll need privacy.” He responds.

That part confuses you enough into caring. You turn around from where you’ve safely wrapped the bottles and slipped them into your bag and shoot Malleus a frown, “Privacy? For what?”

Malleus doesn’t say anything. He walks over to the table and you feel your body stand up, void of your control, and stagger over to stand in front of him. If you were concerned before, you’re frightened now. Malleus looks down at you with his strange gaze and folds his arms.

“Wh-what’s happening?! Why can’t I move?”

“You really don’t know?” He asks. Something about his tone sounds mocking, but you’re certain he doesn’t mean it to be. It’s his version of sarcasm, he’s spoken to you like this before.

Your body hops up on the table, taking a seat, and Malleus turns to stand before you, looking down at you with a soft smile. You shift your hips- what the fuck is going on- and Malleus very gently hooks his hands in the pants of your dorm uniform.

Your dorm uniform is legit whatever the hell you want it to be, so it would change on the daily. Today it was a pair of jeans and a hooded jacket. He kneels to remove your shoes and stands back up, leaning close as he tilts your chin up. His breath fans over your lips.

“You didn’t tell me that you were so lovely beneath your clothes.” His hand on your chin shifted to your cheek, and his other hand laid flat on the table. “And… your smell is much stronger. Are you aroused?”

“You can’t just ask me that! I don’t know what you did but you’ve got to let me go.”

“I didn’t do anything. This is your doing.” He retorts, pecking your lips very chastely.

“What are you talking about?” When he didn’t respond, instead pressing the tips of his hand that was on the table against your exposed sex, your heart jumps but your body doesn’t move. You can’t, “Don’t do that!”

“Lilia informed me that making someone climax is similar to binding someone to you.” He mumbles, kissing you again as his fingers slowly slip inside. “It makes them fall in love with you. Isn’t that the most binding contract of all?”

You don’t know why he isn’t listening, but even less than that, you don’t know why he thought you could handle two fingers, much larger than your own, penetrating you. You squeal, but your body is incapable of tensing. Malleus pulls back, looking at you in a soft confusion.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“With me? What’s wrong with you? That’s too many- it’s uncomfortable!”

He blinks at you and withdraws a finger, which feels much better. You sigh. If you’re going to be forced to do this, you may as well not get hurt in the process. You close your eyes and Malleus hums.

“Is this better? You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t had a dalliance with a human before.”

“I- I don’t think I’ll be able to… to forgive you for this.”

“No?” You can hear his smirk and the squelching noise as he pumps his finger gets louder. He slips the second finger in again and the burn isn’t so bad as last time, “Well, maybe you can decide that for certain after the wedding.”

“The wedd-” You have to bite your tongue to keep from moaning. Your body leans back, laying on the table, and your gentle assailant curls his fingers, leaning forward to mouth at your neck, “There’s not gonna be a motherfucking wedding. You’re-”

You can hear his horn scraping against the table, “Hmm. I didn’t think you were so entitled. You’re squeezing around my fingers. Are you close?”

“No!” You’re a liar. A ragged gasp leaves your throat and you feel the drop in the pit of your stomach, the burst of euphoria traveling up your spine as his thumb presses against your clit.

Malleus laughs, then leans up off of you. The sound of clothing hitting the ground is the first and only warning you get, but you can’t move, so it might as well have been silent. You feel something on your stomach, coming up about a half inch below your belly button. It’s… almost cool to the touch. You would think it would be warmer, but it’s not. Your eyes round as you stare at the ceiling, and Malleus’s face leans into view, his eyes boring into yours as though he’s reading your thoughts.

“You’re very warm. I’ve always thought this. You must be boiling inside.”

“I- what?”

He doesn’t respond, leaning back up. You feel the velvety head of his cock press against your entrance and as much as you want to jolt away, you can’t move your body. You can’t even look down to see what he’s doing. Your lashes flutter as the stretch sets in, the pressure worse than his two fingers. It burns, especially along the bottom, where his weight lays heavy thanks to gravity. You’re capable of wincing and letting out a whine, but nothing else.

“H-hey, that- that hurts.” You babble.

“Does it? You are squeezing me like a vice. I’ll stay still for a moment so you can relax some. Let me know when it stops hurting.” It’s very peculiar. Although he speaks with an animated tone, his voice is often detached. You would think he’d have more emotion since he’s inside of you.

You blink rapidly and decide that now is as good a time as any to ask, “What the hell is happening?”

“Must you tease me so?” He responds, his voice tense.

“What? I’m not teasing you. I can’t move!”

“Of course you can’t. You only just bound yourself to my will.”

“I what?” You shout.

“What, did you think I enslaved you? I could have, when we first met. You’re too free, giving people your name, thanking them, taking gifts freely… it drives me mad.” You feel a flash of heat, something warm rolling against your skin, like standing too close to a gas stove, “And now I find that you didn’t even know? I didn’t think you were such a fool.”

“That’s just called being polite!” You protest. “Oh my god-”

“I suppose I can’t blame you, really. Relax, lest I harm you.” He murmurs, rolling his hips further as though he can slide in deeper.

You squeak, “N-no, that’s-”

“Too much, yes. Tell me, in your world, do faefolk exist?”

“I- I mean, if they do, most people don’t believe in them.” The oddity of the situation felt like a blanket. Having a semi-conversation while your friend- not after this- used you as a dick holster. It was almost comforting. “I don’t- I don’t understand.”

His voice was deeper than normal, an underlying rasp to his voice, as though it was coming from somewhere deep in his throat, “I will explain. I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know. But after I explain, I will begin to move.”

“H-hey, no-”

His voice sounded choked, half strangled as he stifled a groan, “I apologize for not being clear earlier. Among the fae, verbal contracts are common and binding. You do not give someone your name. You wonder why I never directly gave you mine? It is a way to bind someone to your will. You do not accept gifts. Invitations are fine, but a gift is a sign that you owe someone something. My help- a boon- is a gift. Typically it is repaid with another kind turn. And, most importantly, you do not thank someone without the sufficient power to break their hold.”

You felt him draw back, that wave of heat rolling over you again, and then he slammed forward. The slick noise and dull smack were muffled by your squeal, his cockhead punching your cervix like it stole from him.

“Foolish little thing. I suppose it makes you cute.” He sneers, and your body sits up, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

The angle makes his motion a bit less painful. He’s no longer bumping against your cervix, thank the Seven, but the stretch remains. Your eyes flinch shut and Malleus tilts your chin up to kiss you again.

“St-stop- stop!” You whimper, “You’re hurting me!”

“If you would relax, beauty, that would not be a problem.” His chuckle is dark, the squelching from your coupling making a wicked duet that makes you feel dizzy, “And you said it to me so easily as well. Thank me again.”

“Wh-” One of his hands slipped under your hips, holding your bottom just under the split in your cheeks, and nipped your neck as a flat thumping echoed from where your bodies met, your legs bouncing with the motion. His member had gone back to bullying your cervix, and you wailed in the hopes that he would stop, “Thank you!”

“Heh… it escapes your lips so freely. Tell me, beauty-” He cut himself off with a grunt, panting against the column of your throat. “Tell me, what is it that you’d like? I would give you the world on a platter, should you want it.”

“I- ow! Y-you’re hurting me!”

There was a possibility that he was getting off on the pain he was causing you, just as much as there was a possibility of him not understanding that he was hurting you. With every motion of his hips against yours, despite the wicked pain, you felt that ever evil tug in your gut, like a stone growing heavier and heavier.

You tried again, because if this had to happen, if you were under his control now, you may as well not get injured. You would not be pissing blood if you could help it, “It’s too deep!”

He listened. It was odd, but he listened, his voice warming as he slid back a bit and continued ramming into you, but no longer beating the hell out of your internal organs.

“I didn’t realize. Is that better?” His voice sounded warmer, echoey against your shoulder. His teeth grazed over your skin again when you didn’t respond. He choked out your name and you sort of came back to yourself.

“U-uh- I guess?”

“Wonderful.” He mumbled, his free hand reaching between your bodies and slicked with your sweat, to tweak your clit.

It should be embarrassing, how quickly you reached your height. Whoever he had been with in the past couldn’t have been so sensitive, since you felt his body jerk against you, an uncontrolled undercurrent to his motions. You let out a quiet, squealing moan and barely even felt the break when Malleus bit you to muffle his own groan. You didn’t feel him climaxing inside of you. You felt the control return to your body and flopped backward onto the table, your hoodie damp with sweat. Malleus took a step back, then carefully redressed you, then himself. You looked up at him and saw nothing but adoration in his eyes, not the fractured appearance of such. It was like he was actually looking at you.

When he spoke to you, leaning forward to cup your cheek, his voice was warm, warmer than ever, “Now, let’s start planning for the wedding, my beauty.”

#twisted wonderland #tw: dark content #disney twst #tw: dark themes #tw: yandere #twst #malleus draconia #yandere malleus draconia x reader #tw noncon #tw bullying #fair folk #tw blood #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #yandere male x reader #cervix bruising #you cannot convince me that getting your cervix penetrated doesn't hurt like hell #Because getting it touched is just about the worst feeling i can think of next to getting stabbed #equal pain my friend

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welcometothejianghu · 3 months

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Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 山河令/Word of Honor.

Word of Honor is a 2021 adaptation of a novel by priest that tells the story of two beautiful murderers, their three kids, and their collective attempts to ignore the fetchquest madness that has taken over the rest of the jianghu.

Look, you know what Word of Honor is. Doing a rec for this is like doing my rec for Nirvana in Fire -- I am not introducing you to a new concept. Even if you haven't watched it, you've probably osmosed enough through the rest of Tumblr to have an opinion on it. At this point, if you haven't seen Word of Honor, I'm assuming it's for one of two reasons: either you haven't gotten around to it yet, or you haven't been sufficiently moved by what you've seen fandom do with it.

So I'm going to give you five reasons to watch the show, and they're probably not going to be the reasons you've seen already. Not to say that the other reasons are bad, but you've heard them already, right? What I've got for you are five somewhat more unexpected reasons that may just convince the fence-sitters that this nut-flavored morass of toxic relationships is worth your time.

1. No matter how gay you think it is, it's gayer

Okay, sure, you've probably been given the impression that this show is real gay. But I don't know if you know how gay it is. This show is so gay that we still haven't seen many of the other BL-flavored shows filmed around the same time period or since, because Chinese censorship gay-panicked and locked them all away before they could air, because Word of Honor was just too gay.

Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing (L-R above) are in love. The story does not make sense if they're not. There is no story if they're not. Everything else in the show is set dressing to this incredible adventure story of two horrible people who fall for one another.

Oh yeah, did I mention that they're both bad guys? One's a fascist toddler-murderer and the other's a cannibal mob boss. These two deserve one another, in every possible sense of that phrase. In any other property, they'd be the villains -- and even here, they're still kind of the villains! It's just that the heroes are worse.

What's more, their two actors absolutely understood the assignment. They got the memo. They read the book. No one ever had to sit them down midway through shooting and explain their dynamic. They had it from the table read. When given creative freedom, they chose to double down and make the gay shit even gayer.

But the actors weren't the only ones who knew what they were doing! Everybody working on the production was pretty much in full-on Let's Make A BL mode. There are no gay accidents here. It's so gay that it's actually gayer than the version that aired. If you can do a little lip-reading (though beware of spoilers in those links), you can get at the original filmed version, which had a number of lines that were too homo and/or sexual for Chinese television.

No, they don't kiss. They don't have to. This is the TV version of the tweet about, what's gayer, gay sex or whatever these two have going on? The answer is, whatever these two have going on.

It's so gay that they're not the only gays. No, I'm not going to tell you who the other gays are, in part because spoilers. But trust me, they're there. Lesbians too! And a bisexual elderly polycule! And one pair of hets that we love love love, and most other heterosexuals are creepy and gross. And if that's not an accurate representation of how the world looks to queer people, I don't know what to tell you.

2. Go nuts!

You are not prepared for the product placement.

Word of Honor started off having a budget, so they went ahead and started spending that budget in the way you do when you're making a TV show. Unfortunately, circumstances changed, and their budget became much less, which meant they couldn't keep making that TV show unless they got more dollars. But where to get a sponsor for a fairly low-profile wuxia BL property?

Enter our hero: Wolong Nuts.

I have seen actors do bumper ads in costume for products from their various sponsors, and I have seen actors do bumper ads in character for the same. But the feeling of seeing a modern product diegetically hawked mid-scene by ancient fantasy characters is like none other.

Something like 40% of Word of Honor's total budget came from this nut sponsorship. And here the thing: It worked! It sold nuts! Hell, I’d buy them if they were sold anywhere near me; I like nuts in general, and nuts that support the queers in particular.

I'm including this as a selling point because, come on, it's funny as hell. But it's also a good place to warn you that Word of Honor has what we're politely going to call a spotty use of its funds. Some things, like everyone's outfits and the score, are lavish and beautiful. Other things, like some of the sets and a lot of the CG, are janky and sad. Crowd scenes are thirty humans and a bunch of Blender assets. I've never seen so many fake plastic trees together in one place before. There's a lot of visible hairnets. Like, a lot.

The show was originally planned as being 45 episodes long. It wound up being 36 + a tiny epilogue. That's a huge cut! I’ll say to its credit that you mostly can’t feel the seams; the production team did a heroic job killing their darlings (in many senses) while keeping the narrative coherent. If you know about the original vision, though, you can identify pretty quickly where the excised material should have been. Don’t be surprised when the last two episodes in particular smack you like a hit-and-run.

They blew a truly unwise amount of the budget on costumes in general, and Wen Kexing's costumes in particular, and thank goodness. (@canary3d-obsessed has done a noble job of cataloging everyone's wardrobes, and some of the details are just stunning.) See that red outfit he's wearing there, with the elaborate, delicate embroidery? That apparently took two people literal months to hand-sew. It's a terrible use of limited funds, and I am living for it. Even when Wen Kexing looks awful, he looks stunning -- especially when you put him side by side with Zhou Zishu, who is wearing the jianghu equivalent of slutty yoga pants and a thrift-store dollar-bin t-shirt that says IT'S WINE O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE.

So if, while you’re watching, you’re ever disappointed by the quality of the production in front of you, just console yourself by thinking: That’s nut money, baby.

3. The ghosts (and everyone else) doing the mosts

This is a show that somehow managed to accumulate a tremendous supporting cast of actual grown-ass adults, then had the wisdom to make them play a wide variety of balls-to-the-wall bonkers roles.

You can't throw a rock in a crowd scene without hitting a dozen actors with resumes as long as their arms, who have been acting since before you were born. Apparently they poached a couple veteran film and stage actors from other contemporaneous productions and had them come over to film bit parts on their days off. If you see a character played by an older actor who's getting more lines and face time than you think their character strictly deserves relative to their importance to the plot, and you're like, hm, I wonder if this older actor has a career that includes roles in several dozen other shows and/or stage productions, the answer is yes.

I've seen the tone of the show described as melodramatic, but I don't think that's quite it -- it's more operatic. People speak to the middle distance and play to the back row. Several actors have the body language and line delivery that makes it seem like they're always about three words away from breaking into song. Several of my favorites are downright camp. It's magnificent.

Statistically, everyone in this show is a bad guy. There are the respectable people who don't mean to be bad guys, but wind up being bad guys anyway because they support bullshit systems. There are the morally grey folk who are willing to become bad guys because they think they'll be the good guys when all is said and done. And there are the bad guys who know they're bad guys and are going to chew every piece of scenery in the vicinity about it, so watch out.

My favorite collection of scene-stealing weirdos is probably the clutch of freaks that make up the ghosts of Ghost Valley. They're not actual ghosts -- this is not a supernatural show. They are instead living people who call themselves ghosts because they've found themselves on the margins of society for one reason or another, and have created their own little society! With hookers! And blackjack! And also a little murder, as a treat!

These ghosts are so extra that they actually have a Top Ten List, where all the ones that have code names and specific costumes hang out. How do you get on the Top Ten List? By killing one or more of the people already on it, of course! I told you these guys are villains! They're not even the only villains! They're not even the only villain organization! It's wall-to-wall bad guys around here! And oh my goodness, the actors are clearly having a ball with it.

When the screenwriter came to adapt Faraway Wanderers (the novel) into Word of Honor, she realized that there weren't a whole lot of ladies in the book -- so she invented/adapted some for the show and made most of them sinister! (In fact, if you watch Legend of Fei -- and you should watch Legend of Fei -- you can see a lot of the inspiration for said ladies.) Some of the female characters in the show were men in the book, while others weren't even in the book at all. They all feel organic, though, and not like someone was trying to get Strong Female Character Points. It's the good representation you get when there's a lot of representation, so nobody has to be The Girl, and all the girls can just be people.

...Alas that another casualty of the budget cuts is that several of the lady characters did not get to live up to their full ass-kicking potential. But that potential is still there! The badassery may be implicit instead of explicit, but you don't doubt that many of these women would eat your heart at the slightest provocation, and you would thank them while they were doing it.

This show is perfect food if you're the kind of viewer liable to get sucked up into the worlds of villains, NPCs, bit parts, optional side characters, and other narratives going on outside the main storyline. Because there's a lot going on outside the main storyline. I mean, that's kind of the running joke of the whole novel, that there's this whole complicated political plot happening, and yet our dudes are over here studiously trying to not know what the hell is going on. Obviously that's harder to preserve in a show, but it's still a key feature of the narrative. Most of the Big Power Play What-Not is always happening a few towns over from where the main party is at any given moment. I know people who've watched the drama several times and still can't explain whatever's happening with all that. That's fine. You roll with it for the sake of everything else.

So! Do you like gazing upon delightful character actors and having imagination adventures about the unexplored workings of a bunch of tantalizingly mysterious and often very sexy weirdos? Great! This will keep you busy for a good long while.

4. The juciest pining in the jianghu

I said I wasn't going to tell you about all the gay shit going on here, and I'm not. What I do want to cover, however, is how much gay shit isn't going on here -- and by that I mean just how much of the show's gay longing is unrequited. If you like it when the boy yearns for the other boy, friend, you will feast well tonight.

You have likely already, through fandom, been alerted to the existence of the biggest gremlin in the land and an understandable number of people's favorite character, immortal grandpa Ye Baiyi. What may not have been conveyed, however, is just how tragically gay this bitch is. The ultra-condensed, scrubbed-for-spoilers version of his backstory is that he was in love with a guy who got injured because of him, so he decided to stay and live on a mountain with that guy and the guy's wife and coparent their son with them, all the while never once telling the guy how he felt.

This is not me with slash goggles on. This is canon. Well, okay, the "in love with" part is only confirmed in the book, but Huang Youming, Ye Baiyi's equally gremlin-like actor, has also clearly done the reading and understands how to break your heart with it. Ugh, it's so good.

Shidifuckers, rejoice! Zhou Zishu has Han Ying, his devoted little dumpling who would -- and does -- do anything for him. Back in Zhou Zishu's regrettable (but very fashionable) fascist days, he had a bunch of little underlings; one of them was Han Ying, who still works for the same evil empire. Problem is, Han Ying isn't evil. He was never loyal to his job; he was always just loyal to Zhou Zishu. It's cute the way Wen Kexing hisses like a cat upon meeting Han Ying and immediately identifying him as a rival for Zhou Zishu's affections. If you like OTPs that occasionally roll in a service-top third, please consider that adorable muffin boy up there.

And speaking of quitting your job, have you ever had the problem where you had to orchestrate your own death to get away from your toxic boss who won't stop sexually harassing you, and that motherfucker still expects you to show up for your shift next weekend? Meet Prince Jin, who has refused to accept Zhou Zishu's resignation letter with extreme prejudice.

Zhou Zishu isn't even the only ex he's mad he drove off! But that's just a namedrop in the show; see my bonus selling point for instructions on how to get into that whole gay-ass story. [insert obligatory "Prince Jin is not Helian Yi" disclaimer here]

...Nope, uh-uh, we're not going to get into what's going on with Scorpy. Suffice it to say, this is one of those cases where the show can't outright call a thing gay (though uhhhh it sure can imply a lot of it!), but it can set up an unspoken Gay Bad Idea as a direct, textual parallel with a canon Straight Bad Idea and be like, see? see? Anyway, daddy's boy there has deliciously terrible taste. This is the one that'll have you screaming crying throwing up etc.

And then there's this handsome jackass, who isn't doing the pining, but is the unfortunately heterosexual object of the often confused and misdirected longings of his friends. About the first thing you know about Rong Xuan is that he died before the series begins, so you only see him in a few flashbacks. The precious few times you do, though, you're treated to scenes of him holding court among his besties (many of whom are the spectacularly cast younger versions of major older male characters) while they all wrestle with varying degrees of homo longing for his cocky dreamboat self. You ever wanted to fuck a straight guy so bad you got both him and his wife killed about it? Because somebody in this drama sure has!

I sense you think I'm making this all up, that I'm just a fujoshi looking at the world through rainbow-colored glasses and telling you about her favorite slash pairings. Friend, I am not. Okay, I am being a little cheeky about the last one, but I swear that everything else I have listed in this selling point is about as textual as the show could make it, if not outright straight (ha ha) from the books.

(I have a whole separate theory about how priest herself is a real-life queer, based on how basically everyone in her works is either queer-coded or a token straight who's on thin ice, but that's a subject for a completely different Tumblr post no one's ever going to read, so save us both the time and imagine I already wrote it.)

I cannot stress to you enough how much this show knew what it was doing with the queer stuff. I love how amazingly toxic so much of it is, too, because one of the big themes of the show is that secrets will destroy you and everyone you love. If you have gay longing in a society that forces you to hide that gay longing, yeah, you're going to be extra-vulnerable to making some shitty decisions because of it! You're either going to suffocate yourself by keeping silent, or you're going to open yourself to intimate partner abuse you can't reveal to anyone else, or you're going to do some murders about it! Or some combination of the three! Either way, it's not good!

Also, tell your partner about your chronic health conditions, whether they be Can't Remember My Past, Would Eat A Guy If I Had The Opportunity, Stuck Some Nails In My Chest And Am Now Dying And Also Can't Get A Boner, or Whoops Took The Nails Out Of My Chest And Still Can't Get A Boner. Oh, and tell your partner if you're about to run off and go confront your dangerous ex. And absolutely tell your partner if you're about to fake your own death. Just ... learn to have conversations with the people who love you, okay? Avoid huge amounts of narrative suffering with this one weird trick!

5. Putting his whole Zhang Zhehussy into it

See, Gong Jun (playing Wen Kexing) is not what I'd call a great actor. This is more of a case where you take a guy, you cast him as a character whose motivation can be summed up as "I want to fuck that man in half," and then you cast opposite him a man that the guy in question clearly actually wants to fuck in half. And you let the magic work.

Zhang Zhehan (playing Zhou Zishu), however, legitimately knocks it entirely out of the park. Whenever the camera's on him, it's hard to take your eyes off him. He holds his own in a sea of veteran actors. He can do comedy and tragedy with equal panache. It's lucky he's such a beautiful crier, because Zhou Zishu cries so much. I have never seen someone more perfectly portray the mood of "in love and absolutely furious about it."

As the story goes, when he auditioned, he actually wanted to play Wen Kexing -- but the director told him, look, while you'd be great at that, I can find another Wen Kexing, but I'm never going to find another Zhou Zishu.

Zhou Zishu is bad man who has done terrible things and resigned himself to suffering to atone for his crimes, and he is so mad to find himself at the end of his life suddenly having a reason to keep living. Zhang Zhehan does a pitch-perfect tsundere right up to the point where he breaks. I'm not going to call it an understated performance, because nothing in this show is understated, but it is often times subtle and always complex, and fuck does he have a good crazy grin.

One of the first things you find out about Zhou Zishu is that he's got just a couple years left to live, over which time all his senses are going to deteriorate. In fact, they've already started going. And as the show goes on, you can watch Zhang Zhehan play it so you can tell when he's missed something he should otherwise have picked up on, reacting to noises and touches a split-second late. It's a testament to what a thoughtful job Zhang Zhehan's doing, keeping track of how much of Zhou Zishu has already slipped away.

There are, if you've read the book, legitimate complaints to be made about the adaptation's interpretation of Zhou Zishu's character, and I get that. But you can't say that Zhang Zhehan isn't pulling off exactly what he means to here. I say this too as someone who loves the novel: I think it works. Given the constraints of Chinese television in particular and cinematic adaptations in general, the show made the right choices when it came to figuring out what were the more filmable, actable options, and Zhang Zhehan plays every one of those choices within an inch of his life.

Also did I mention he's like the most beautiful man to ever exist? Holy crap. You're going to be so mad about what they do to his face for the first several episodes.

Don't worry, it washes off eventually.

caveat: Kind of a bummer!

You may have been warned that this one's got a sad ending. Well ... yes and no. On the "no" side of things, there's a "secret" mini-episode 37 that rolls back one of the major points of tragedy. (It's also clearly the first version that got shot, and then they shuffled around and redubbed some material to make the aired end of episode 36.)

But oh man, not all of them. Plenty of characters we love do not make it to the end. Like ... kind of a shockingly large number. Some are dispatched offscreen, some have tragic onscreen deaths, some are probably dead given the circumstances we last see them in, and a couple aren't dead yet but are almost certainly going to be soon.

(It's also kind of a meta-bummer! I mean, I don't recommend falling down the rabbit hole of what happened with Zhang Zhehan's career after the show aired, but tl;dr, it's not great.)

So yeah, it's not an outright pain simulator, and if you've got the mettle for Nirvana in Fire or Guardian, you should be okay here. But hoo boy, don't just blunder on in expecting a cheerful romp from start to finish, because ... yeah. I said it before: This is a story about a bunch of bad guys. Bad guys don't live long lives, nor do the good people who get tangled up in their shit. Just be prepared!

bonus selling point: black and white husbands

Okay, I will tell you who one of the other pairs of gays is. You'll see the two of them show up near the tail end of the show, and then you'll decide you want to know more about what their whole deal is, and then you'll read Qi Ye, which is a novel entirely about gay pining, and then it'll be all over for you.

Ready to wander this way?

There's a number of ways to watch this one! Viki, Netflix, YouTube, and Amazon Prime all have you covered -- but Viki's the only one that has the epilogue at the ready, so I'd go there if you can.

And I get it, if you're enough of an aging hipster that you don't want to play in the same sandbox everybody else is playing in. Believe me, I understand that impulse on a visceral level. After all, this is not a small fandom -- 7718 works on AO3 (at time of writing) isn't Untamed levels of content, but it's nothing to sneeze at. Maybe you want to leave this one for a little while longer, until the hubbub dies down a bit more and people's attention is redirected by a different gay and shiny thing. That's valid. I get it.

But if you do, I still encourage you to get around to it someday. For all its flaws -- and yeah, it's got flaws -- it's a good, solid story that makes you feel lots of feelings about some fascinating characters in some beautiful costumes, running around being real queer (and okay, occasionally straight) to beautiful music. This, to me, is television.

Fun fact! There is also a Japanese dub, if you feel like taking it at that speed, and the guy who voices Zhou Zishu is the voice of Kaworu from Evangelion, and the guy who voices Wen Kexing is the voice of Victor Nikiforov from Yuri on Ice. See what I mean???

I'm telling you, everybody ships it.

#word of honor #山河令 #shan he ling #wenzhou #rec post #i made this #tyk

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thirrith · 24 days

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A guide to Dream of the Red Chamber for English speakers

I've been posting about a book called Dream of the Red Chamber for a while. I'm kinda obsessed with it but the tags here on tumblr are pretty much barren. I want to get more people to be interested in it, so here's something more informative with minimal screaming.

Dream of the Red Chamber (紅樓夢) is a 18th century Chinese novel by Cao Xueqin. It isn't very well-known outside of the Sinophone aka the Chinese-speaking world, whereas where I come from it's considered a masterpiece and classic and is so well-known and holds so much cultural significance even the people who haven't necessarily read the book make references to it - like, basically everybody knows about the book. It certainly deserves to be known and loved by more people - that's why I'm making a post about it. This post is NOT going to be an attempt to cover everything, though, because there is just so, so much to the book; instead, I am creating a guide to make it easier for people to get started if they are interested.

What is Dream of the Red Chamber about? Why do people love it?

The best way to sum it up is calling it a family saga mixed with a bit of fantasy. It tells the story of the rise and fall of a big and powerful family, focusing on the story of the young girls, the maid servants, and the wives that all live together and run the household. The only male main character Jia Baoyu is a young heir of the family, who grew up among these women and girls. He loves and understands them, loves being surrounded by them, and deeply identifies with them. My dad, who is also a fan of the book, loves saying that Baoyu 'has the heart of a maiden'.

The book is funny and full of drama, and at the same time it's also poetic, tragic and profound, and the tragedy of the characters is written in such a kind way, as if the author wants you to love them and remember how wonderful and alive they are despite the fact that a gloomy fate will claim them all.

The book is also so queer in a way that no other Ming/Qing dynasty Chinese novels can compare. Obviously there are no modern queer labels because it was written in imperial China, but there are characters who are interested in both men and women, characters who are interested in no one, and affairs between boys and between girls; many main characters have the kind of relationships with their gender that make my Chinese transgender heart sing with empathy.

If you want to hear from English speakers who fell in love with the book and learn more about the context and literary/cultural value of the book, I recommend starting with 'Why is China’s greatest novel virtually unknown in the west?' by Michael Wood on The Guardian and 'Why you should read China’s vast, 18th century novel, Dream of the Red Chamber' by Josh Stenberg on The Conversation.

Dream of the Red Chamber is a long novel with many different versions and possibly hundreds of adaptations. How should I begin?

There are two translations that I know have received good reviews:

A Dream of Red Mansions translated by Yang Hsien-yi and Gladys Yang. My partner is reading this version. It's a very faithful translation with footnotes to make up for the language and cultural barriers. (Note: the Yangs finished their translation in prison in China during the Cultural Revolution.)

The Story of the Stone translated by David Hawkes and John Minford. It's a translation that takes more artistic liberties than the Yangs version. For example it differs in the way it translates character names and its writing style. Hawkes wanted to recreate the experience of reading the novel in Chinese for English speaking readers, but it may also be harder for you to talk to those who read the book in Chinese about certain characters and details.

There is also a public domain translation by H. Bencraft Joly, which was first published in the 19th century, and you can find it on Project Gutenberg.

The 1987 36-episode TV adaptation Dream of the Red Chamber is well-loved and considered by many Chinese people to be the best adaptation of the book. Every later adaptation would be compared with the 1987 one and found lacking. I personally love this adaptation a lot, and I think out of all the adaptations I've seen (including TV series, films and Chinese opera) it has the best interpretations of the book and the characters. It also has the best songs, which were adapted from the poems in the book. You can stream the series with English subtitles on the Internet Archive.

If you want something shorter that covers the main romance plot line and includes a few iconic scenes from the book, I recommend the 1977 film adaptation The Dream of the Red Chamber casting legendary actress Brigitte Lin as Jia Baoyu (she also portrayed an iconic classic wuxia character as a trans woman in another film franchise, but I digress). You can find the film with English subtitles on Youtube.

This is not all, but it's a good start. If you ever decide to give it a go, it doesn't matter if you watch one of the adaptations first or read the book first. Don't stress, take your time, and enjoy the ride!

#dream of the red chamber #紅樓夢posting #mur #紅樓夢 #红楼梦 #stuff i make #i may schedule some reblogs of this post because i want people to see it. the tag to block is as always 'self rb'#by ‘hundreds of adaptations’ i mean including all the chinese operas that have been put on throughout the past few hundred years lol #如果有地方說錯的還請紅學專家不要打我我只是來玩的 #chinese #(?)

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edgeray · 2 months

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HI, first of all, i love your write so much 💕💕💕💕💕, you're so creative, please, as long as you feel good writing, write!!! You are very good at it, and you feed Arle stans so weel.

Second, did you by any chance watched bridgerton ? If not, just ignore it, it's more to give a historical context (and dresses in beautiful scenery, for sure). Bridgerton is a period show (and books) that takes place at the beginning of the 19th century (1810-1820) [Although, I think Arlecchino would fit even more within the context of the Victorian age, but I think it might be an idea saved for another request]. Given the context, I believe my request becomes clearer :

Arlecchino who pretends to be a man (dressing and acting like one) to get married to the reader.

It's not news to anyone that Arlecchino is part of a powerful nobility family and it's also not news to anyone that she hates playing the female role given to her (and I can't imagine her wearing the fluffy dress ever!!!!), so seeing her childhood best friend become the diamond of the season (basically the favorite debutant of the season for both the queen and the suitors, in a very short way) She realizes that she needs to enter the marriage market too, in this case to fight for your hand.

Please feel free to change any part of the order, I don't want this to become boring for you to write.

So thank you for share your works and read it, (can i?) 🪷anon.

Courting a Lie

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N- Of course you can be 🪷 anon! Thank you for your kind words. I aim to feed. Arle for everyone!! Sorry that this is super late… I will assume the reader is female for this because a debutant is a woman. Also didn't know how to make it GN! since there's no gender neutral aristocratic titles as far as I know. Sorry GN! readers :( While I haven't watched Bridgerton, from your description of the era, I've read quite a few manhwas set in a European aristocratic society that sounds just like this. I get the general gist of what you're saying from those manhwas so I drew some inspiration from there. I've never really written for a historical fiction AU so we shall see how this goes. Apologies in advance if it is cringe. I did change a few things for the plot, but not because it was boring, more because of my own plot/backstory building. I actually had a lot of fun researching random bits for this request, and this request is among my most developed and thoughtful works on Tumblr! Still don't know how to dialogue though… I really liked writing this kind of setting so I would be pretty happy if a part 2 of this was requested... how did I do in terms of writing this? hopefully not too far from bridgerton? Content warnings / info - arlecchino is referred to as a man and uses masculine pronouns for a little bit, 2.0k words

You don't quite remember what occasion it was when you first met her. Perhaps it was a charity ball or some celebration. Either way, you were at most eight years of age when you met your first friend, a quiet, petite child hiding in the corner of the Snezhevna Estate's garden, ducked nearby a bush. You wandered away from the garden party, as you couldn't find any other children your age that weren't pestering, so you explored the edges, admiring the flowers.

You stumbled upon a white haired child, with her white dress sullied by her kneeling on the dirt. Similarly, her pale hands were soiled, as if she had dug into the earth with her fingers alone. You nearly gasped at the sight–no lady would ruin their dress so carelessly, especially a dress seemingly adorned as hers. Nevertheless, you were in awe of the courage to do so. Was it possible she wasn't educated well? It'd be damaging to her family's reputation if anyone were to see the condition of her apparel.

You approached her carefully, your voice small in hopes that you wouldn't sound rude.

“Hello,” you greeted first, and the child turned her head over her shoulder, gazing at you.

Your breath hitched as you glanced at her eyes, each black pit filled with a red cross in the center that made you suppose she didn't fit into any aristocratic family. You didn't know of any noble family that had such eyes, and it's only been known from noble families to hold particular sets of eyes. Did this girl really belong to nobility?

“I know I'm not supposed to be in the dirt. Now leave me alone,” she says before turning away, her voice sounding far too monotone and androgynous for you to consider her a young noble lady. Nonetheless, the clear difference between her and the other guests of the function intrigued you. She was educated, or at least it seemed like it, but she had a disregard for creating a good impression. You ignored her request, instead, plopping yourself down beside her to see what it was in the dirt she was so interested in.

“What are you digging in the dirt for?” You asked. She slumped, as if irritated by your persisted presence.

“I'm looking for bugs. So go away, unless you want a spider on you,” she warned without looking at you, with the evident expectation her threat would ward you away.

It did not, in fact, deter you. If anything, you pressed on, your expression contorting to that of fascination. “What kind of bugs?”

That seemed to snatch the young girl's attention as she turned to you, widened eyes as she observed you, searching your face for any lies. She couldn't believe that there was someone else who could be so ‘lady-like.’ Her apathy returns shortly after, and she glances back at the mound of dirt before her.

“Young ladies aren't supposed to be interested in pests or dirtying their hands,” the white-haired child states, but it seems more like a recital of someone else's words.

“Maybe. But it's fun, right?” You replied, offering her a small smile.

Although she still didn't face you, you watched her eyes gleam with life. Your grin grew in accordance.

“So… you like bugs?” She questioned as she cups a worm she managed to uproot.

“No way. Not touching them,” you shutted her down immediately and she pouted as you shook your head vigorously.

“But… I thought you were better company than those other kids. So… I hope you don't mind having me too much?” you sheepishly remarked, wincing a bit at your apparent nervousness. In response, the girl huffed, gracing you with a faint smile. The sight sent flutters through your stomach, filling you with a rush of giddiness you never felt before.

“Just don't scream, okay?” Is all she answered back.

And that was how you befriended the bastard daughter of the Snezhevna family. Since then, the two of you have been exchanging letters, and met each other at every possible social gathering in secret. Although your family discouraged meeting her so often, you ignored them. However, when you had just turned twelve, her letters stopped, as if she disappeared. You asked Marchioness Crucabena about her daughter, and all you received from the matriarch was a cold cut message: Peruere was receiving ‘education’ for indefinitely.

Your heart sunk as you crinkled the letter in your hands, tears welling in your eyes at the thought of never seeing your dear friend again. Where had Peruere gone? You hastily wrote another letter, inquiring more about the education or if Peruere could write you back, but the Marchioness would not indulge you with additional information, essentially telling you to mind your business and to stop writing to her.

You remember weeping into your pillows for the entire night until your eyes dried up, red and puffy from rubbing them constantly. You were haunted by memories of star gazing, of laying on the garden grass, of lounging in one another's arms. Your few moments of bliss were gone forever, stripped away with her absence.

—

Pureure always wished she wasn't born into a noble family. Aristocratic society was tedious and pretentious. Why her father ever chose to engage with something as disgusting as the Marchioness, it most definitely wasn't out of love–a fabled concept among nobles really. Peruere knew little of what happened to the late Marquess–his death was caused by a carriage accident–but she knew her birth father was with the Marchioness after the death.

Regardless, between her and her half-sister Clervie, the Marchioness deemed Peruere better fitted as the heir of the family. In Peruere's opinion, Clervie would have made an impressive matriarch. However, when she inquired Clervie about it, her sister vehemently rejected the notion, wanting to remain carefree as she always was. For as heedless as her older sister was, she would be the model of a noblewoman, the favorite debutante had she wanted to take on the aristocratic responsibilities. In any case, Marchioness Crucabena always had a noticeable distaste for the two of them and Peruere suspected it was because she had no sons and marrying once more would mean losing the inheritance of her late husband.

Peruere soon learned why exactly she was chosen as the next heir. It was easier for her to pose as a male rather than Clervie in order to appease the Marchioness. Added with Peruere's bastard status, few people knew of her existence, or more so, her familial ties with the Marchioness. With the Marchioness’s ‘education’ Peruere, the bastard daughter with a commoner surname, was transformed into Arlecchino Snezhevna, a bastard son with the Snezhevna surname, and so inheritor of the Marquess title. Pereure was erased effectively in the span of six years.

Because Arlecchino was a bastard son, that label would have made it difficult to impose herself among other noblemen, and most especially, marry another powerful family. In that sense, what she could not make up in legitimacy, she had to make up in other qualities as a noble. Her hours, from dawn to dusk, consisted of history, economy, and art lessons, etiquette and mannerisms classes,

and learning various skills such as conversational, dancing, equestrian, fencing, and hunting. Obtaining any length of slumber came few and far, and when rest was finally permitted, her body often ached too much for her to drift.

Instead, she laid conscious at night, her head tilted towards the window, the stars winking back at her. Her thoughts returned to you, as they always have during her respites, and she would wonder again and again if you were looking at the same night sky as she was, reminiscing over memories of stargazing. She often raised her hands to her eyes, the only question lingering in her mind would be if you would recognize these hands if she met you again, the same hands that held you. Alone in her chambers, Arlecchino, no Peruere, promised that she would meet you again, and maybe, this time she would never have to leave your side again.

She only hoped that she would be good enough for you.

—

Your heart is thumping rapidly against your chest while your clammy and fidgety hands grasp onto the gloved hand of your dance partner, maintaining deep breaths and keeping your composure as best as possible. You match the steps of the bachelor gracefully and diligentfully, feeling many spectators’ gazes on your back. It’s both invigorating and exhausting to realize that you are the diamond of the season. Receiving this many dance requests is a good sign, yes, but it only means that you are creeping closer to having to choose a suitor.

And inevitably lose Peruere forever.

You quickly snap out of your thoughts in order to further entertain your dance partner with small talk, and finally the dance ends.

“Thank you, Earl Childe. It was a pleasure dancing with you. You make an excellent dancer,” you offer the young redhead a beaming expression.

“You're quite one yourself. I quite enjoyed our time. Perhaps we could dance more privately at a later date?” The sauve bachelor replies back, matching your practiced smile with a cocky one.

“Perhaps,” is all you say, and thankfully the bachelor walks away.

You let out a sigh of relief, but it seems you thought too soon, as another set of footsteps approach you from behind. Turning around, you’re met with perhaps the most refined and handsome gentleman you've graced your eyes upon. Immediately, you feel your cheeks swell and you feel unnaturally timid. Sincere red-crossed eyes meet yours, and a faint, charming smile stretches on the lips of the nearing bachelor.

“May I have this dance, Lady [F/N]?” He offers his hand gracefully, and you take his.

“I haven't introduced myself, pardon me. I am, Earl Arlecchino, Earl of Snezhevna,” he introduces himself with a knowing smile, or rather, she introduces herself as your face contort to that of shock at the mention of her family name. You halt as she initiates the dance, her grin growing as fondness spreads over her facial expression.

“Peruere?�� You whisper as you reach out, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder, your other gloved hand in hers. Her body warmth bleeds through the contact, and you sense it flow through your entire body.

“It's Arlecchino, for appearances. I trust you won't expose me?” Peruere says, her eyes scanning over your entire form in awe. “You're… I don't quite have enough words to describe you. You're utterly beautiful.”

You flush at the compliment before you forcefully tear yourself away from the bubbling giddiness within you, nodding at her first question. Your face attempts to appear stern and angry, but your eyes sabotage that. “I missed you… dearly. Where have you gone? Why didn't you write to me? I kept waiting for you…”

Peruere's face softens, morphing to one of regret and sympathy. “I haven't stopped thinking of you either. My mother demanded I suddenly take lessons on how to be a nobleman, and with that, I was no longer Peruere, but Arlecchino. During that time, I had to endure everything my mother gave me, and I hardly had time to sleep. I have tried to send you some, but I suspected that the Marchioness meticulously checked what was sent and received. I've kept a pile of letters that I wrote for you, so you would be able to read everything I had to say over the years.”

You inhale slowly before nodding, understanding her words. “You kept plaguing my dreams, Arlecchino. You don't know how long I've wanted to see you. Please… never leave me again. I don't think I can bear being without you again.”

It's Arlecchino's turn to be surprised. “You… Are you asking me what you think you're asking me?” She breathlessly inquires, her voice on the edge of exhilaration, and you give her a hopeful smile.

You nod. “I… I always thought you were the one since we were little. I didn't want to spend my time with anyone else. So… can you be beside me again?”

Peruere nearly melts at your request. “As long as you'll allow me another dance.”

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fics #genshin fanfics #genshin fics #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests #edgeray.🪷anon

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bvidzsoo · 11 months

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Hi! First off I just wanna say how much I love your work! You are such a talented writer🤍 okay okay so for the Halloween prompt request, I was thinking maybe Vampire Seonghwa? (He's been plaguing my mind hella hard) with the prompts 3 and 22? I'm excited to see what you come up with!🤍

Thank you so much!🤍

◆Vampire!Seonghwa◆ (pink haired Seonghwa has me in an unhealthy grip and it will end me one day)

↳3. Well, that didn’t hurt nearly as badly as I was expecting it to.

↳22. Do I look tasty?

A/N: Hii! Thank you for your kind words, it makes me happy to know people like my stories as I place a lot of time in them. I shall say that pink haired Seonghwa has me in a GRIP and I'll NEVER escape it, so uhm, I did a little something here, haha. I hope you enjoy this little one and requests are open until the 1st of November for anyone interested! Before you start the short story, I want to say that this was inspired by Vampire Academy written by Richelle Mead, so here's a little explanation for those who haven't read the books:

1. Moroi-are born vampires, imbued with the magic to have power over the elements;

2. Dhampir-are half-human, half-vampires who are born to protect the Moroi. Don't have elemental magic, but have enhanced strength and senses making them the strongest protection against the Strigoi;

3. Strigoi- are the type of vampires that one would expect from an old horror classic

TW: cussing, blood, very slightly suggestive?

◆Halloween Prompts◆

That damned pink hair could be visible from miles away. If his desperate need to be distinguishable by some feature wasn't enough, then his flamboyant persona certainly was. Park Seonghwa was absolutely detestable. It isn’t enough that he comes from one of the royal moroi families, which makes him incredibly famous, he also makes sure to remind everyone of his high status in the order by looking down on you while flaunting his riches, the arrogant smirk never absent from his face. I truly wish one day I'll be able to punch that perfect nose of his, even if dhampirs weren't allowed to hurt morois. I tried to keep the sneer off my face as I glared at the back of his pink head, a disgusting color if anyone asks me, as his loud laughter carried over the crowd. How was it possible that he could be heard over all the chatter in the auditorium? I felt a nudge to my side and my attention was off Seonghwa as I stared at my best friend, whose eyebrows were raised. She already knew I would be in a sour mood when I realized I was forced to breathe the same air as Seonghwa, but today was also the day we'd be paired up for our field trip. The dreaded field trip. Us, dhampirs, would be assigned to a moroi to protect for a week, totally left alone by our teachers and other guardians. Basically, we were forced to fend for ourselves for a week in order to show how capable we were in completing our duties once we graduated. I, on one hand, was ready. I was born ready; I knew I could do this. The only problem was that I didn't know who I'd be assigned to protect and the thought of having to possibly spend a whole ass week with Seonghwa was giving me a freaking headache.

"I think he can feel your glare, Y/N." Kazuha muttered as I turned to look back towards the front, Seonghwa’s annoying hair bugging my eyes again. I just rolled my eyes and ignored my best friend’s comment, thinking to myself, that it was only good if he felt my glare. Everyone knew I didn’t like Seonghwa, why try and hide it? The head teacher walked in holding a big paper scroll in his hands, stopping in the center of the auditorium.

“Quiet down, everyone.” Despite the authority in his voice, Seonghwa proceeded to finish his joke and laugh loudly as everyone else glanced his way, the teacher sighing before continuing, “I’ll read the dhampir names first and then the moroi they’ll have to protect for the following week. Changing your partners isn’t allowed, and if anyone does so in secret, they’ll be expulsed from the Academy, never to graduate. And then you can try and live a miserable life.”

I don’t think I agree with the teacher. Having to live without being surrounded by some annoying spoiled morois sounded like every dhampirs most secret wish. The teacher opened the scroll and started reading the names, most students looking content and even happy with their partners, but there was one problem. Park Seonghwa’s name hasn’t been read yet, and with my luck…my fate in this whole thing was slowly dying out.

“Lee Y/N.” I stood up straighter in my seat, debating whether to say a quick prayer, but the moroi’s name was already called, “Park Seonghwa.”

Fuck. I hissed and allowed my head to fall against the table, creating a loud bang as I groaned lowly. The people sitting around me chuckled, amused by my reaction, and probably thankful they didn’t get paired with Seonghwa. Lucky bastards. I felt eyes on me before I could lift my head and I braced myself for the conceited smirk on his face as I looked up, eyes connecting with his. Seonghwa was smirking, and as if to make things worse, he winked before turning around and ignoring my existence.

I would’ve done anything to avoid this moment. To avoid sitting in a car as Seonghwa was handed the keys to the Academy’s expensive Mercedes, as if he didn’t own at least two muscle cars back at home. God, I wanted to die. He opened the door and sat inside, head turning to look at me. My jaw was clenched as I looked straight ahead, refusing to look at him, able to see from the corner of my eyes the amusement written all over his features. God, if only I was allowed to punch him.

“Since when are morois allowed to drive?” I snapped as he ignited the engine to life, “You know the dhampirs are the ones supposed to drive around and shit.”

“I know,” Seonghwa shrugged nonchalantly as he backed out of the parking lot of the Academy, our head teacher and the dhampir supervisor watching us with hawk like eyes as I mouthed a small ‘please, save me’ to them, a displeased look crossing their features, “But I don’t trust a woman with driving.”

I scoffed annoyed, my tongue pressing against my cheek as I tried to hold myself back, Kazuha’s words ringing loudly in my head. ‘Ignore him, think of anything else and just stay calm. You can do this.’ In fact, no, I was certain I couldn’t do this, and we have barely left the safety of our Academy.

“Do you even know where we’re supposed to go?” I opted to ask instead, glaring at the radio as Seonghwa turned it on, browsing through the channels.

“To my family’s vacation house?” Seonghwa gave me a look which said, ‘are you crazy for even asking that?’.

“If that’s where you’re taking us, just pull over, and I’ll walk back to the Academy myself and sabotage my own future.” I groaned and allowed my head to fall back against the headrest. Seonghwa scoffed and gave me a quick glance as we turned onto the highway.

“You seriously want to live in a shady neighborhood in a dodgy apartment for a week?” He looked at me as if I was crazy and I closed my eyes, pressing the button to roll down the window. I needed some fresh air. Perhaps that would stop me from wanting to crash our car, which I was supposed to be driving. I’ve never driven such a luxury car, Seonghwa robbed me of another once in a lifetime experience…once again.

“Yes, Seonghwa, because this is a test to what our lives will look like very soon, you conceited idiot!” I snapped, finally breaking as I turned to face Seonghwa, “You might have everything handed to you on a silver plate, but I certainly won’t be living in a mansion or my family’s vacation home once I’ve graduated.”

“If you graduate.” God, I really wanted to punch that arrogant smirk off his face. I didn’t have to be top of my class to graduate. I was one of the best dhampirs at our Academy currently and I was needed as female dhampirs were rare. Unlike him, who was raised on a silver plate, he had no significance whatsoever if he was stripped of his title. He wasn’t even a prince, he was around fifth in line to the throne, so he really was unimportant. His skills were mid and unless he continued his family’s business, he was a no one. That brought a content smile on my lips and Seonghwa threw me an annoyed glance, probably able to sense that my thoughts weren’t the nicest. He didn’t say anything else as he focused on the road, turning up the volume of the radio, making me sigh as I relaxed into the car seat and closed my eyes. It’s not that I trusted him, but I had barely gotten any sleep last night as we threw a secret party before our departure. It was wild.

Four days had gone by and things were going surprisingly well. For me, at least. I quickly got familiar with the area and did my patrols regularly, keeping an eye out for any unwanted danger. I even managed to become friends with our upstairs neighbor, who was a nice old lady. I found mundane tasks quite enjoyable as I walked to the market each morning and bought fresh fruits and vegetables to cook later, and of course, since it was Seonghwa’s money, I enjoyed spending it even more. I finally managed to get that long deserved haircut and all in all, this test turned out to be a lot more manageable than I expected it to be. Living with Seonghwa wasn’t too difficult, surprisingly, as he stayed in his room almost all day, listening to loud music and facetiming with his other moroi friends almost every other hour. Hearing his boisterous laughter and awful jokes through the thin walls was rather depressing, but I managed to block his voice out as I turned on the TV in the living room and turned the volume up, hearing Seonghwa scream at me to be quieter, only to get ignored. Of course, things weren’t going constantly smoothly as he always found something to start a petty fight based on, but after realizing that my anger was only bringing him enjoyment, I stopped showing my emotions. That didn’t mean that I didn’t want to bash his head against the wall at times, I was just smarter and started hiding it. However, despite me living my best life for the past four days, Seonghwa seemed to hate it here. He would jump at the slightest sound coming from outside and the curtains would have to be drawn almost all day as his skin was specifically sensitive to sunlight. That was a thing I didn’t believe, but I didn’t want to try my luck and actually set him on fire, that wouldn’t only get me expelled from the Academy, it would earn me the death penalty too. I preferred staying away from that one if possible. It was one of those serene nights, where I almost couldn’t tell if Seonghwa and I were living together, but my heightened senses could pick up on his breathing, a thing which annoyed me, but normally was very good as I could protect the morois in case of danger. Earlier today I bought some red wine and condiments to cook some pasta as I missed the taste of it, the chef’s cooking back at the Academy is rather bland, almost makes you think she’s a moroi. I have prepared everything and threw the ingredients together, letting it boil before pouring the heavy cream over it, letting it simmer for a few more minutes as I stirred it. I was lost in my world, humming a song which Seonghwa had been listening to on repeat, when suddenly I felt warmth behind me and my muscle memory kicked in as I whirled around, grabbing the intruder by the neck and slamming them against the nearest wall. My grip instantly loosened around Seonghwa’s neck when I finally realized it was just him, his normally round eyes wider than I’ve seen them ever before.

“Don’t ever creep up on me again, Seonghwa.” I hissed, eyebrows furrowed, “I could’ve hurt you.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” The stunned look was gone from his face, replaced with an annoying smirk. God, I hated his stupid face.

“Yeah, it is.” I muttered as I released him and went back to stir my sauce before shutting the gas off, taking the pot to the table. Seonghwa followed after me and watched me as I sat at the table, pouring the sauce over my spaghetti. I grabbed my glass of wine and took a sip, humming at the rich taste of it. It was expensive, but then again, Seonghwa was founding me so I only bought the priciest things, hoping to deprive him of all of his money. It was impossible, but it still bought a little satisfaction to my heart.

“You cooked dinner and didn’t even tell me…” Seonghwa trailed off, face falling for a second before it became composed again as he walked to the cupboard, taking out a plate.

“I didn’t know in what mood you were.” It was clear, Seonghwa was struggling without blood. I might’ve hated him, but I knew a moroi, a vampire, couldn’t survive without blood. Yes, they were able to eat normal food, but it could make them sick for days even. Seonghwa hasn’t eaten anything since we left the Academy. Hasn’t fed since we left the Academy. I tried to convince him to come to the hospital with me and I’d take a few blood bags for him, but he refused and said he’d survive without this week. He preferred fresh blood, apparently. And the lack of blood was already showing its first signs, his skin was paler than usual and dark bags were slowly forming underneath his eyes. I noticed his eyes glowing red every now and then, but that wasn’t necessarily a sign of bloodlust.

“I’m starving.” Seonghwa muttered more to himself, forgetting that I could hear him. I paused chewing as he sat down opposite me, surprised that he was willingly sitting at a table with me. He’d never do that at the Academy, but then again, I probably would pour my food all over his head if he did. I pushed the spaghetti and sauce pot towards him as Seonghwa reluctantly leaned forward and inhaled, eyes widening a little.

“Oh, this actually smells really nice.” He muttered absentmindedly and my eyes narrowed as I analyzed him. Was he being sincere? He seemed like he forgot I was even sitting at a table with him.

“I probably won’t be able to eat much, my stomach’s rather weak these days.” He said as he looked up and placed some spaghetti and sauce on his plate. I nodded and continued eating, watching his face for a reaction when he finally took a bite. He chewed slowly on the food and his eyebrows furrowed before he gulped the food down. He just glanced up at me and wordlessly continued to take a few more bites, but stopped at the fifth one. He pushed the plate away and grabbed a stray glass from the table, pouring himself wine.

“That wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected it to be.” I was about to thank him, for the first time in my life, but he had to continue, “I didn’t know dhampirs are now taught how to cook. But then again…you’re a woman, you’re supposed to know how to do that.”

“If you don’t shut up I will push that knife down your heart.” It was an empty threat, but it felt nice saying it as Seonghwa chuckled and took a big gulp of the wine, eyes going to the bottle before settling back on me.

“Are you trying to bereave me of my money, Y/N?” He cocked an eyebrow elegantly and I rolled my eyes, leaning back in my chair as I was finished with dinner too.

“As if you don’t have more than enough already,” I scoffed and took a sip of my wine, “Since I risk my life to protect you, you at least can let me spend as much as I’d like—”

“Yeah, like at the hairdresser.” Seonghwa cut me off with a scoff, eyes narrowing, “Who even charges that much?”

“I might’ve left a bigger tip than necessary.” I replied nonchalantly and hid my smirk behind my glass as I took another sip, Seonghwa scoffing as he drank the contents of his own glass before pouring some more wine for himself.

A few hours later, the lights seemed to dance around me as I sat in the chair, leaned back and one leg brought up on the chair, hair pulled in a low ponytail as I was feeling hot. It was from the wine, I knew that, but I couldn’t help fan myself as Seonghwa placed another card on the table. It was red. I didn’t have any red cards, so I had to pick up one from the deck. If anyone told me four days ago that I would be playing some silly card games with Seonghwa while the both of us were tipsy, I would’ve laughed in their face and asked them to walk to the psychic ward. But it was happening right now and Seonghwa was winning, for the fifth time. I was getting fed up.

“You’re cheating, okay?!” I exclaimed and slammed my cards on the table as Seonghwa placed his last one down, winning again. He just chuckled and took another sip of his wine, cheeks slightly flushed. One would say he looked like a living creature for once. It was late in the night and we were supposed to be sleeping, but I haven’t done my patrolling duty yet and it was cold outside, I really didn’t want to go. Besides, I was tipsy, my reflexes were dull, and if a strigoi were to attack me, I probably wouldn’t get very far, let alone be able protect Seonghwa.

“I’m not cheating,” He scoffed, looking offended, “I’m just really good at this game.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed and rolled my eyes, “Like you are at everything else.”

“Of course, I am.” He smirked and flicked a stray pink strand out of his eyes.

“Then why do you refuse to go to the hospital and steal one or two blood bags with me?” I raised my eyebrows challengingly, crossing my arms in front of my chest. Seonghwa stiffened for a second before he leaned forward, placing his interlaced hands on the table and his chin on them.

“Because,” His voice lowered, as if he was scared someone was eavesdropping on us, “I only drink fresh blood.”

I scoffed, of course he did, he had the circumstances to, he was rich, “And why is that? Did mommy and daddy spoil you that much?”

That annoying smirk was back on his lips, “Yes, they did. I can’t stand the stale taste of blood; it makes me throw up. I like drinking it from the source, when it’s still warm and gushing, thick and rich and full of aroma.”

His eyes flashed red again and I watched as he licked his lips, suddenly the bloodlust obvious on his face. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up this topic, but I wanted to know the real reason. A vampire who was thirsty shouldn’t be challenged, but I was safe. It was strictly forbidden for morois to drink blood from dhampirs. And it would make me seem like a whore. But the alcohol was hitting hard and I was genuinely curious, never having talked to a moroi about this before, almost wanting to experience the euphoric feeling it’s said a vampire’s bite gives you.

“Do I look tasty?” The words left my lips before I could think much as Seonghwa and I made eye contact. I knew my eyes were glazed over with intoxication from the alcohol, but suddenly Seonghwa’s pupils grew in size as his eyes flashed red and remained like that. The ceiling lamp’s light falling on him made his eyes seem a deep red, swirling around almost in his round eyes.

“You or your blood?” Seonghwa’s voice was low and a strand of pink hair fell into his eyes as he stared me down. Suddenly, I felt glued to my place. He looked like a predator ready to pounce on its pray.

“Both.” I answered breathless, taken aback by Seonghwa’s sudden change of character. He was always so arrogant, so uncaring and so irritating, you’d never think he was capable of looking at you with such danger written all over his face and body. A vein in his neck was visibly pulsing and his hands tightened around each other, knuckles turning white as he inhaled deeply, eyes slightly fluttering closed.

“You smell like flowers, but it’s so—sweet.” His voice was strained as he blinked his eyes open, red glinting back at me as I straightened up in my chair, body suddenly flushing at his words. It was most certainly the alcohol making me feel like this, but I pushed my ponytail behind my shoulders, and I didn’t miss Seonghwa’s eyes focusing on my neck as I cleared my throat.

“Have you tasted sweet blood before?” I whispered, Seonghwa’s jaw clenching and unclenching as if he was fighting back his demons. He said nothing as he shook his head no and I sucked in a deep breath, making eye contact with him, “Would you like to?”

Before I could blink, Seonghwa was up on his feet and next to me, sending his chair to the floor with a loud clank, and I was hauled up by a grip around my bicep. Seonghwa’s long fingers dug into my skin with a bruising force as he sneered down at me, our height difference very obvious. He’s never stood so close to me before.

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N, stop.” He warned, voice deep and eyes flickering from red back to its brown color to red again. I bit my lower lip and stood on my tip toes, lips barely brushing against his earlobe.

“I know you want to bite me, Seonghwa, suck my blood—” What was the reason of my taunting? Probably nothing more than wanting to fuck with him. To finally see him so out of control and desperate, anything like the Seonghwa he always presented himself to be. And it was the alcohol, of course, because I would’ve never asked such thing of him sober. I was ruining my dignity at the moment.

“If anyone finds out…” His voice was horse as he slightly pulled me back, looking down at me, eyes trained on the smooth skin of my neck.

“Nobody will,” I smirked at him, barring my neck more for him as his eyes flicked back to red, “But you have to swear you will keep your mouth shut, Seonghwa.”

“Will you become my supplier, then?” That annoying smirk was back on his lips and I hissed at him, glaring fiercely.

“Don’t overstep your boundaries, asshole.”

“As if you aren’t the one begging me to bite you.”

“As if you aren’t the one desperate to bite me.”

That’s all it took for Seonghwa to finally give in, lips parting and fangs shirking as he opened his mouth more, locking eyes with me. I nodded subtly and my body tensed as Seonghwa slowly leaned down, closer to my neck. My breath caught in my throat as Seonghwa’s plush lips pressed softly against my neck in a small kiss before I felt them retreating and instead two sharp fangs poked against my skin. Before I could have time to rethink my poor choices, the sharp fangs pressed hard into my skin, making me gasp loudly and grasp onto Seonghwa’s shoulders as his teeth tore through my untouched skin, sharp pain erupting in the area as it traveled towards my shoulder and ear. My grip on Seonghwa turned harsh and suddenly I felt him pulling my body flushed against his as he held my nape, sucking on my blood. As soon as the pain came it was gone, the feeling of his fangs foreign as my eyes started becoming blurry, brain fogged up. My lips fell open as my whole body seemed to tingle, from head to toe, and Seonghwa suddenly moaned, lightly pushing me backwards until my hips were pressing against the table. The euphoria was becoming overwhelming as my breathing stuttered and I whined quietly as my head lulled back, knees feeling faint all of a sudden. Seonghwa moaned again, sending vibrations down my neck, my skin covered in goosebumps as I had to grab onto the table with one hand as the other still held onto Seonghwa. Dark spots started covering my vision, but I was unable to speak, unable to let Seonghwa know that he was probably drinking too much. But he must’ve known as suddenly, his cold fangs were gone from my neck, the cool air hitting the marks as Seonghwa’s nose nuzzled against my jaw, breathing hard. I gasped as my knees bucked for a second, Seonghwa’s arms holding me up as my mind slowly started to clear up. The fog was lifting, but just barely, as I squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly the light too much for them. I took deep breaths, the marks pulsed as I was finally able to close my mouth and swallowed, my throat dry all of a sudden. The dark spots were gone, but a slight headache started overtaking the haze, forehead lightly pulsing rhythmically. As I opened my eyes, I was met with Seonghwa staring down at me with lust coating his whole face, his red eyes shinning as he was breathing hard. Apparently I wasn’t the only one affected as my body continued to tingle, a different kind of want overtaking it. Seonghwa’s hand was still gripping my nape and my eyes fell to his plump lips, the inside of the still bloody. Coated with my blood. Something inside of Seonghwa snapped again as he leaned down, crashing his cherry red lips against mine, tasting like iron, nothing like the sweet taste he described. His lips moved against mine hungrily and I kissed him back with just as much fervor, fingers tangling in his pushed back pink hair, yanking on it when he pushed my lips more open with his tongue. His tongue slipped inside my mouth and lapped at my own, sucking on it hard, making me moan involuntarily. Seonghwa’s hands gripped my cheeks hard as my lungs screamed for air, but I was drunk on his warmth and passion, teeth clanking against the other. I bit his lower lip hard, making Seonghwa hiss before I released it, licking the saliva off my lips. Seonghwa went and clipped my lower lip with his suddenly shirked fangs. His breath was fanning my face, quick and hot, and all I could do was look up in his brown eyes and chuckle, pulling my head back slightly to free my lip from his assaults.

“Well, that didn’t hurt nearly as badly as I was expecting it to.” I muttered and Seonghwa smirked, leaning close again that his lips were brushing against mine.

“If you think you’ll ever get away from me after this,” He chuckled and shook his head, “you’re very wrong. Once we have graduated I will request for you to be my guardian.”

“Fuck you.” I snapped, suddenly glaring at him as Seonghwa smirked viciously, “You’ll never have me.”

“Oh, but don’t I already?” He taunted and pressed a soft kiss against my lips mockingly, making me wrestle out of his grip as he just laughed, “I always get what I want.”

“If you tell anyone that I—” Suddenly I felt too sober, suddenly I realized the weight of my actions.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want anyone to know about our dirty little secret, love.” Seonghwa chuckled as I walked away from him, needing to put distance between our bodies, “I hope you do know vampire venom is addictive—”

“Of course, I know!” My voice raised as I whirled around to glare at him, “One bite won’t make me addicted, though.”

“One or two won’t, indeed.” I didn’t like the glint in his eyes nor the promise in his voice. Something told me that this wasn’t the last time he’d come to me to drink my blood. Fuck, I just fucked myself over for a lifetime. Park Seonghwa always gets what he wants, and if he requests for me to be his guardian after graduation, he would get just that. It’s true what they say after all, curiosity killed the cat.

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