#there is a reason it is called shame central

[firstkanaphans]

Is Only Friends Slut-Shaming Boston?

I’m going to be real honest here. When this idea first started making the rounds, I just thought it was a bad take, but then so many people were saying it that I started to wonder if I had missed something. So, I rewatched the finale and now can confidently say…it’s a bad take.

Do I think the narrative is punishing Boston? Abso-fucking-lutely! But is it because he’s a slut? No, of course not. (All of these assholes are sluts!) Boston is being punished because he slept with his best friend’s boyfriend. And—hot take—but I don’t think that’s an unfair reason for the narrative to punish someone. Even sluts need to have boundaries sometimes. 

The first major complaint I’ve seen is that the narrative is slut-shaming Boston by making him the only character who ends up alone (which is categorically untrue because Nick also ends up alone, but that is neither here nor there.) This story only had two possible endings: either Boston ended up alone or he ended up with Nick. And I think, if given the choice, this is the ending Boston would have chosen for himself. This isn’t a sad ending for him. He’s unhappy being in a monogamous relationship. This is what he wants. 

This is also just a ridiculous argument altogether because if you think Only Friends is slut-shaming its characters, the last thing you should want is for one of your sluts to suddenly decide not to be a slut because of the healing power of love. I would argue that forcing a polyamorous man into a monogamous relationship would be even more sex negative than what happened in canon. 

And for those saying polyamory should have been considered, I would just like to remind you that there are two people in Boston and Nick’s relationship and they both deserve a say. That is, very literally, what ethical non-monogamy is. It has to be consensual. 

From day one, Nick has wanted to be in a monogamous relationship with Boston. That’s what their arc is all about. And when they finally get together in episode eleven, Boston makes it explicitly clear that monogamy is one of the terms he’s offering. So while I think it’s perfectly valid for Boston to want a polyamorous relationship, I don’t think it’s fair to expect Nick to just accept that when he was promised differently. The central conflict here is not Boston’s promiscuousness. It’s that Nick wants a monogamous relationship and Boston doesn’t. And that’s okay! Boston is free to live his “fun and sassy” life as Nick calls it (with no judgment whatsoever), but Nick is also free to live his. 

People have been dragging Sand for telling Nick not to “lower his bar” for Boston, insinuating that this is slut-shaming language, but I actually think the conversation between him and Nick perfectly illustrates why this whole situation with Boston is not slut-shaming. Sand spells it out clearly: “People have different ideas about this,” i.e. “You and Boston have different ideas about this. He wants one thing, you want another. Don’t change for him.” He never suggests that Boston’s way of living is bad, he is simply saying that it’s not compatible with Nick’s.

The only argument I have heard in favor of Only Friends slut-shaming its characters that I feel holds any water is that Boston never received a proper apology for any of the horrible things that were done to him—but then again, neither did Top. Now this could certainly be because Top is a slut, too, and therefore doesn't deserve apologies, but I think it’s far more likely that the directors were simply running out of available screen time. 

Boston ends the series having re-kindled his friendship with Ray and Chuem. He has moved to New York to live out his dream. He is single—which is what he wants. I don’t think this is a bad ending for him.  Boston’s biggest slut-shamer has always been Mew and him sleeping with Top only reinforced that idea. If you think the narrative is slut-shaming Boston, I think you’re only seeing things from Mew’s perspective. Mew is slut-shaming Boston. Mew is punishing Boston. The narrative remains neutral.

TL;DR: No. Boston is a slut and he is being shamed, but the two are unrelated.

[dorims]

What kinks do u think Roman has?

I just know they’re weird (and I’d still be into them)

so if i have to be honest, ive never really thought about roman's kinks 🥲 HOWEVER you know how he shamed tom for swallowing back his cum after tabs sucked him off?? yeah he's definitely into that and you can't tell me otherwise.

and without further ado! a little brainstorm under the cut <3

tags. VERY SUGGESTIVE, MDNI, an overall masochistic vibe, degradation/praise, allusions to cheating, impact play, mentions of roman's low self-esteem

a/n. psa im not familiar with writing smut and if i gotta be honest im pretty vanilla myself so...do with that what you will LMFAO

masochism

hes a masochist, we been knew

its pretty much the central theme of these hcs too

degradation/praise

so definitely degradation bc its roman, cmon. but for some reason i cant help but think that he's really into being praised too?

could be wrong but i feel like he'd only let himself be praised after he's developed a solid bond with his partner, and it'd probably go from being degraded to a mix of degradation and praise to full praise in some occasions.

if theres not a smooth transition i feel like he would panic and shut himself out. like it feels too intimate or smth.

cuckolding (controversial)

i think he would like it bc it hurts. like his partner sleeping with someone else is kind of like a slap to the face

a situation that has him constantly thinking 'I'm not enough' and that kind of hurt i think he gets off on bc masochism <3

but thats only maybe with the condition he somehow gets the chance to prove to himself and to you that he is better than the person you're sleeping with

OR he's into 'pseudo-cuckolding' so he likes the idea that you COULD go and sleep with someone but you dont, kinda like what happened with grace and the server

SO MAYBE IM WRONG and he would actually hate this but you know, im trynna brainstorm

phone sex (is this even a kink?)

only the sound of your voice and his,

kinda like the romangerri situation LMFAO

because think about it, this way you dont have to actually see him. that would comfort him in some way because of his low self-esteem and self-image issues. that way you can picture anything you want and not be disappointed with the real thing, you know?

i also think that phone sex (or bathroom door sex????) would help him open up until he grows comfortable enough in the intimacy the two of you are building

love how this are supposed to be smut hcs yet im making them slightly angsty

impact play

i think this might be a little self-explanatory, but yes, getting hit in a sexual context turns him on

only when he is receiving ofc

dom/sub dynamics

he's a massive sub and no one can tell me otherwise

its literally on the show TT

ANYWAY, he's probably bratty at first but then just gives in to your every demand because he aims to please

still likes to get on your nerves though, like a lot and i think thats because even when he's been an annoying piece of shit in bed you still take care of him and that reinforces, in his head, that, sure he's being unbearable but that doesn't take away the fact that you care for him and love him, ya know?

also, he would probably call you mommy/daddy at first jokingly but the it kinda sticks??

freud would have a field day with roman roy

OOC BUT FUN TO THINK ABOUT: vanilla sex

hear me out, ik roman's character is pretty much the personification of the words 'kinky mf' but idk

i think vanilla sex would suit roman SOO much. i think for roman to reach the point of having sex with ANYONE there needs to be a established foundation of trust and respect and perhaps love too

and i know sex doesn't necessarily mean love, but we are talking about a man who's definition of love is pain - like love HAS to hurt for it to be love - and undoubtedly he would twist his perception of sex to fit that same definition of love because love is a branch of intimacy and so is sex, you feel me?

i just feel like it would show roman another side of intimacy. all gentle and kind and giggly sex and intimacy doesn't necessarily have to hurt for it to feel good.

like imagine just plain vanilla sex and its banter and laughter and quips and help me lol

vanilla sex and aftercare would solve all his problems, i said what i said /hj

[wisteriagoesvroom]

promptfill for @clearlyclairesblog!

P.s. I don’t know if this is the direction you wanted, but here is what I ran with…

++

Mercado lestappen Rated G for general audience vibes (and a bit of angst) Minor mentions of drinking 1.2k words (Also readable on ao3)

The supermarket is playing a mariachi cover of a radio song that Charles doesn’t know the name of, nor does he particularly care to. In the last year since he’s been to Central America he’s been racing in what the newspapers would call “beautifully”, “at a level that hasn’t been seen in over seven years” — and if the Twittersphere is also to be believed, “b for big slay”. But apparently it still, still! isn’t enough to beat the number one two nights ago at the Autódromo.

Charles swats away the thoughts. This is not time to dwell on the bad race. He is here to try and forget the bad race. He rubs his eyes and holds a bottle of what he thinks is tequila, the words abstract on the amber bottle. The lights are too bright in here, and the aisles too colourful. Driving on the track suits Charles because he can expend his energy hyper focused on what he needs to do, where he needs to go. It gives his anxiety a channel of relief, where high octane and being rabbit-quick serves a glorious purpose.

Here, in the real world, sometimes he is not so sure.

There are too many soda options that could go with the bottle that he's holding. (It behooves him, a son of Monaco, to at least have some kind of chaser. To keep this nominally classy, to make this self-pity show not entirely pathetic. Even Charles when sad has standards. Maybe grapefruit jarritos would make a good accompaniment for tequila and depression?)

Andrea would probably kill him, but whatever. There’s a reason Charles left the whole team at the hotel, wandered off with a cap and big hoodie in search of quiet time. Besides, abstinence from indulgence, in all its forms still hasn’t gotten Charles any further in the standings compared to last year. So he deserves a little boozy soda, non?

Of course, to add insult to injury, Max Verstappen’s face stares at him from a can of Red Bull. And of course Charles can’t help but laugh. Of all the endorsements in the world, of all the people to see now, it is the cause of his despair, Satan on hot wheels himself who deigns to make an appearance to haunt him in the Fresko.

That is what breaks him. It starts as a giggle, ends with his face buried in his hands, and Charles wonders what the world would make of him having un petit meltdown in the middle of a suburban supermarket.

“What the hell?”

The voice knocks him right off kilter. He would know that voice anywhere. No, it could not be.

But when Charles looks up, there he is. His rival, in the flesh. Equally in a cap and dark hoodie, holding a loaf of bread and a six-pack of Corona under one arm.

“Is that bread?” Charles says. He doesn’t know what to say, really. They do not share much off the track, him and Max. They live in the same city, but don’t cross paths. They are born sixteen days apart, but besides racing have almost nothing in common. They carted together for over a decade, fought in F1 together for almost another more and somehow Max has over quadruple the WCs and Charles has nothing to show for it except a couple of podiums, and maybe a lot of shame. (He tries not to think too much about the shame.)

Max, to his credit, doesn’t seem particularly ruffled about any of this. These days, Max has mellowed out, grown from defensive boy to assertive man, relaxed in his shoulders, laughs a little more easily. In contrast Charles finds himself trying not to sink into his car, to tell himself to smile more genuinely for the cameras that are now starting to feel more and more like a burden rather than anything fun, because years of expectation and being told you’re a winner, and for it to never be true, can gnaw at your self-esteem like that.

Slightly further down the aisle from him, Max tilts his head. “I was hungry.”

“That’s fair.”

“And thirsty.”

“Me too.”

Charles doesn’t miss the way Max’s eyes flick down to the shopping basket and back up.

“That bad, huh?”

That bad? Charles fumes to himself. Max doesn’t know what it’s like, he couldn’t possibly imagine what it’s like, to always be second, to aim for something and fight for it so hard, only for it to still fall out of reach—

“You raced really well.” Max says, factually. As if the sky were blue, as if the supermarket did not at all intellectually or spiritually affect his cognitive functions like it already has thrown Charles for a loop. Max pronounces his assessment as if it were an absolute, which is Max’s power, you see. To take destiny by it’s teeth and force it to heel.

“Evidently, what I did was not enough.” Charles says.

“You took every line that was needed.”

“I did.”

“Your tyre management has been the best I’ve ever seen it.”

“Thanks. But you were better.”

“Yes. I’m not going to apologise for that. You know well, how it is.”

Charles laughs, low, a little bitter. Yes, he does know well, how it is. “The rest of us are mice. Scrambling around the ankles of an elephant.”

Max, for his part, seems to chew on this. Shifting the bread a little higher in the crook of his elbow, eyes glancing but not really looking at the cans in the aisle. The music plays on for a few moments in the background, a cheery tune with lots of fast strumming. It’s a minor miracle that they’ve not been spotted, but this late at night, it seems the only person around is the disinterested cashier who is filing her nails at the checkout.

Somewhere in the distance the cashier coughs. Max taps the side of his thigh with his index finger, once, twice. Neither of them seems to know what to say.

Finally, Max yanks a Red Bull can off the shelf, closes the distance, and drops it right into Charles’s basket. This close, Charles can see the proud tilt of Max’s chin, the brown flecks in the other man’s eyes.

“A chaser.” Max says. Both of them aware of the double meaning. The drinks, their history.

Charles swallows. So fine, maybe it because it’s 2am, or maybe it’s the desperation. Here, face to face with Max, away from the cameras and the rest of the world, they can slow their strange dance, and Charles is able to say what he has really wanted to say. He wills it into his mind with more iron and fury than he truly feels.

“I will beat you one day, you know.”

His blood swims with it. He wills it to settle, to become familiar with the feeling, asserting himself in this way, speaking what he really means.

In turn, Max smiles. Genuine, this time, crinkling to the corner of his eyes. The rare ones he grants to the rest of the competitors on the couch after a good race, when he’s come off the track with fantastic pace. The one he has when he waves to his nephews.

Max doesn’t back off at all. He leans even closer. (Charles could count every lash. Tucks it away somewhere secret, somewhere with sharp edges that he can’t look too closely at, yet.)

“Absolutely, Charles.” Max says, all conspiratorial. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

[sophieinwonderland]

do you have any tips on writing a plural kid character?

Ghost: I'm taking this one.

I'll assume that you mean kid-bodied rather than writing littles.

The first thing you want to do is learn how to write good children.

The second thing is to learn a bit about child psychology. Not every kid is the same and different ages will act differently. A good place to start is Piaget's Theory of Cognitive Development.

Sprouts is a fantastic Youtube channel with tons of informative videos on psychology, especially child psychology, that break things down simply for audiences.

I couldn't recommend it enough as a starting place for research into writing children if you want to go a realistic route.

Or, you know... want to be a parent. But who wants to do that?

Now, after you've researched some child psychology and gotten advice on writing child characters in general, we can talk about plural children.

Their Plurality Will Probably Seem Normal

The main thing you need to keep in mind is that children aren't overly introspective creatures. They're incredibly intelligent and quick learners, but they tend to assume everybody thinks the same way they do.

A plural child won't usually realize they're plural.

From their perspective, it will be normal to have "imaginary friends" they talk to. It may seem normal to have selves they speak to in their heads. After all, everyone talks to themselves. And cartoons like Inside Out show them that it's normal to have emotions that are personified. (It's not, but a child will believe it is.)

And adults will probably think the same. Even witnessing a switch will be brushed off as the kid playing pretend because that's a thing normal children do.

An imaginary friend approach has a lot of potential for creating conflict. Young kids may not embarrass as easily. Shame typically really starts developing later. They may talk about their "imaginary friends" to other people. My mom as a kid told me how she used to play with her imaginary friends with her physical friends at the same time. (She also called them "invisible friends" instead of imaginary. She didn't like calling them imaginary and thought it would offend them.)

Supportive parents or role models might speak to imaginary friends to support the child, not realizing they're headmates. Others in the family could see this as harmful or encouraging delusions, and criticize them. Friends might play with them. Bullies could make fun of the host child for having imaginary friends, making the host child feel ashamed of them for the first time.

Play with how everyone reacts to them child's plurality. Keep the reactions different to keep the character dynamics interesting.

With negative reactions, the host child might be pushed into feeling like they're too old for imaginary friends and need to move on. This can lead to conflict between them and their headmates.

Or in a slight twist, an "imaginary friend" believes the child is too old for them and that it's time to leave while the host child urges them to stay.

One thing the video on Piaget's theory mentions is how young children might see everything as being alive and personified. It stands to reason that some headmates could be interpreted as the thoughts of other things. Maybe the child's headmates are perceived through the lens of talking toys or other personified objects.

Only when they're older would they realize that they might have been wrong. That things they thought were normal as a child aren't things everybody goes through.

Self-Discovery Should Be A Central Theme

The realization that they're different from other people as their cognition expands and they become more introspective can be a major catalyst for your characters' growth.

In most stories with children, self-discovery is a huge part of the characters' journeys. This is because children are in a state of constant growth and change.

Plural characters are no different. Most plural children will have lived a life thinking that their headmates were normal. The realization that they're different can be a huge revelation that drives the story.

And this isn't just true of the host. The other headmates who might have always viewed themselves as imaginary may have to grapple with being more. Or maybe the headmate who thought it was literally a teddy bear for all those years is realizing it's part of the child's system and isn't separate at all.

An existential crisis always makes for quality drama.

Adult Headmates

One other tip is to remember that adult headmates in child bodies aren't actually adults. They're a child's idea of an adult.

A real adult is good at projecting confidence and giving the illusion they know what they're doing to children all the time. A real adult does this while having no idea what the fuck they're doing, being insecure about everything, and falling apart on the inside where nobody can see them.

An adult headmate isn't going to magically skip the stages of development. They won't have more experience than a child. They won't have an adult brain.

What they probably will have is confidence. More confidence than even a real adult, because this adult headmate was created from the child's concept of what an adult is. The adult headmate may take on a parental role to the host child, but they won't actually have the experience of a parent, and won't have the same self-doubt that plagues many adults... in the beginning.

As a writer, I believe it's your job to look for ways to break your characters. A headmate who is the embodiment of unearned confidence with no life experience to back it up?

Have their advice lead the child or someone they care about to some sort of harm. That unearned confidence is something you can shatter, along with the character's entire self-concept. You can make them confront the fact that they aren't as all-knowing as they believed themselves to be. Then you can build them back up, learning from their mistakes.

For more tips on writing plural characters, you should check out @writing-plurals.

[bri-the-nautilus]

Elphael: What's In a Name?

Earlier today, my esteemed comrade @the-unkindled-queen made a post wondering about the etymology of Elphael, Brace of the Haligtree. My initial digging turned up a few Reddit comments where the general consensus was that Elphael has its roots (ha) in Hebrew linguistics, with one interpretation being "Family of God" and another being "Work of God":

Now as a linguist and Bible scholar, I think these are awesome. I love seeing all the languages and cultures that these games draw inspiration from, and the Hebrew connection is a neat contrast with the Haligtree itself, which is linguistically Welsh. Additionally, the connection to Abrahamic faith and Hebrew words for people and acts of God is a nice throughline for the way the game portrays Miquella and St Trina as Messianic protectors of the sick and poor. Add in the spiritual atmosphere of Elphael and the Haligtree (prayer rooms, mausoleums, and altar-like statues of Miquella and Malenia abound), and it's a very pleasing little theory.

Soulsborne and especially Elden Ring borrow heavily from Welsh for names and whatnot (like the aforementioned Haligtree), and out of idle curiosity I began to wonder if there was any basis whatsoever for an alternative theory linking Elphael's name to Welsh. My only reasons for going down this path were the vaguely Celtic sound of the name and the fact that the Haligtree proper has a Welsh name. I didn't find anything like this during the search that led me to the Hebrew theories, and plugging various fragmentations of "Elphael" into a Welsh->English translator didn't spit out anything of value. I was about to throw in the towel when I did what I probably should have done before faffing about with the translator and just searched "Elphael Welsh."

And oh golly do we have ourselves an Elphael. Or an Elfael.

Welcome to the infinitely confusing world of medieval Welsh history.

Medieval Wales was divided into several regions, called cantrefi. Each cantref was further divided into several territories called commotes. The cantrefi are pictured below. We're mostly concerned with the central yellow one, Rhwng Gwy a Hafren, but also remember Gwynedd. It's in orange up top.

But that's for later. What we care about right now is the cantref of Rhwng Gwy a Hafren, which lies between the rivers Wye and Severn. This cantref is shown in detail below and is home to the commote of Elfael, shown in green. Also take note of Maelienydd and Buellt. They're light blue and yellow respectively, and we're going to need them later.

The history of Elfael is short and confusing, as one can expect from a fiefdom straddling the English-Welsh border during the post-Roman and post-Norman Conquest years. It didn't exist as a political entity for very long (it was only independent from 1155ish to about 1215 before dissolving completely in 1309), and changed hands often during its lifetime.

Our story begins with a man named Elystan Glodrydd, Prince of Buellt. He lived from 950 to 1010 CE, and at some point during his later life he conquered a territory called Ferlix, which was composed of Elfael and Maelienydd. When Elystan died, rulership of Buellt (Ferlix included) passed to his son Cadwgan, and then to Cadwgan's son Idnerth when he died.

Idnerth's reign is remarkable because he's the guy who lost Buellt. An Anglo-Norman noble, Philip De Braose, had conquered basically all the land between the Wye and Severn, which of course included Buellt. For some reason, at the conclusion of his conquest De Braose gave Ferlix back to Idnerth, but kept Buellt for himself. The end result being that Idnerth had gotten kicked out of his grandpa's commote and into what had originally been a conquered vassal territory. Once Idnerth died (presumably in shame), Ferlix went to his son, a man with the astoundingly awesome name of Madog. During this time, the Anarchy was starting.

The Anarchy was a civil war in Britain from 1138 to 1153. King Henry I died in 1135, and his heiress, the Empress Matilda, had many enemies who didn't want her to take the throne. In 1130, a castle had been built in southern Ferlix by one of these enemies, an Anglo-Norman named Pain FitzJohn, Sheriff of Hereford. This is the actual best name in this story. Pain FitzJohn is a fucking badass name. This castle, which was of course called Pain's Castle, was acquired by Madog in 1135 under foggy pretenses. It's likely that Pain wanted Madog's protection from Matilda, but we're not sure.

Old Madog knew that getting a castle called Pain's Castle was an achievement that couldn't be topped, and proceeded to die at age 65 in 1140, secure in the knowledge that he was better than Idnerth. He left five sons, who bucked the trend of going to war for their dead dad's land by dividing Ferlix amongst themselves. Unfortunately for them, this is when the Anarchy caught up with them. Another Norman lord, Hugh De Mortimer, invaded Ferlix in 1142. Two of Madog's sons (Hywel and another Cadwgan) were killed, and in 1146 De Mortimer killed a third son, Maredudd, in the process of capturing Pain's Castle. In 1155, Matilda's son Henry II took the throne of England, and when Hugh De Mortimer protested, Henry kicked him out of Ferlix. This left Madog's two surviving sons, Einion Clud and Cadwallon, to pick up the pieces. These guys hated each other, and neither brother could stomach ruling in consort with the other. But for some reason, they didn't kill each other, instead dividing Ferlix again in two. Cadwallon got the northern part, which came to be called Maelienydd, and Einion Clud got the southern part, which was called Elfael.

Einion Clud and Cadwallon still hated each other, and their realms were openly hostile, each brother still believing he was entitled to sole rule of all that had once been Ferlix. (Again, why didn't they just fight to the death like every other medieval family?) Things came to a head in 1160, when Cadwallon kidnapped Einion Clud and sent him in chains to Owain Gwynedd, the aptly-named King of Gwynedd, who in turn pawned him off on King Henry II. Eventually, Einion Clud either escaped or was released. It's not certain which of these occurred, but what is certain is that by 1165, Einion Clud was once again ruling Elfael, and at the Battle of Corwen the two brothers fought together against King Henry under the leadership of Owain Gwynedd. Politics are fucking weird.

There would be no happy ending, however. Hugh De Mortimer's son Roger was swearing revenge on his father's enemies. You might take this to mean King Henry, who kicked Hugh De Mortimer out of Ferlix in 1155, but no, Roger was actually a big fan of Henry II and had fought for the King during the Revolt of 1173. No, Roger wanted revenge on the guys who ruled Ferlix after his dad got yanked. The timeline here is a bit weird, but what's certain is that Roger De Mortimer killed Cadwallon in 1179. He also killed Einion Clud, but I wasn't able to find out when. I found a source saying that Roger killed Einion Clud after his father died, but Hugh De Mortimer died in 1181 and my reading on Cadwallon says that he was the prince of both Maelienydd and Elfael at the time of his death, which would only be possible if Einion Clud died before 1179. In fact, Cadwallon is said to have been ambushed by Roger's men in Elfael.

Anyway, that's all the history we care about for our purposes. Maybe I'm reading too much into things, but the fact that medieval Wales has the Lord of Elfael getting kidnapped by his brother seems a bit on the nose.

In Welsh history, the Anarchy leaves three of Madog's sons dead and the survivors are on opposing feudal factions. The Lord of Elfael is kidnapped by his brother.

In Elden Ring, the death of Marika's son sparks the Shattering, turning every remaining demigod against each other. The Lord of Elphael is kidnapped by his brother.

Either Miyazaki and Germ are fucking Super Saiyan level Welsh history scholars, or this is just an absurd coincidence. Either way, it's cool.

(tiny sidenote: this part is DEFINITELY conspiracy, but isn't it funny that our kidnapped lord has a sibling who rules Maelienydd??? Doesn't that sound a bit like... Malenia??? Obviously Malenia doesn't do the kidnapping in ER, but the names line up a bit too well...)

Sorry Niko, this is way more than you bargained for.

[chickenparm]

Where You Willed The Moon - Part 3/End

happy scara-release-day, here's the ending of this little goofy thing as a celebration. mind the chapter tags for specific warnings :^) can you tell this chapter is just a love letter to scaramouche? is it that obvious?

---

AO3 Link Prev Part

Scaramouche/Reader (reader is the traveler) reader in prev parts is F but this part can be read as GN 3,119 Words - NSFW Chapter Tags: Blowjobs, Crying, Confessions, minor Overstimulation Story Tags: Unhealthy Codependence, Enemies to Lovers, P in V, f!Receiving Oral, Thigh Riding, Mentions of m!Losing Virginity, Pining, Bullshit Sereniteapot Magic, sub-ish Scara when it counts :^)

Spoilers for the Sumeru story, disregards anything post-boss-fight.

---

“You could try to be a little civil.”

“And you could find a hole to stuff her in and we could leave her.”

…

“Why do you need her, anyway? You’ve got me now. Surely I’d be a better guide than a flying lavender melon.”

“Well, for starters, Paimon isn’t a wanted criminal.”

“I doubt I’m wanted. The sages are unlikely to admit their folly, and the Fatui aren’t necessarily on anyone’s good side, even on their best days.”

“Paimon is my best friend. I think that’s a good enough reason to not leave her in a ditch somewhere.”

“And I’m your-”

“My what?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Think about it. We’ll talk about it tonight-”

—

Wangshu Inn is deceptively quiet. Such a central location, popular with travelers and merchants alike, should be far more bustling than it currently is. But the weather is balmy and warm, the sky is clear, the roads have been safer, so it’s no wonder if there are more campfires dotted on the horizon than usual. 

It leaves you in blissful quiet, only the occasional conversation drifting from the walkways above and below, too muffled to really eavesdrop on anything of importance. That’s well enough for you - you’re alone, leaning on the window, breathing in of the slightly humid air that’s tinged with the dinner that’s being made in the kitchens below. 

Scaramouche will be back soon - it’s hard to break the habit of calling him that, when you’ve gone so long. You’d never use it to his face, but you’ve given up on trying to push that away for now. It’s not a terrible name, the connotations having been changed in your heart the moment your consciousness touched his own. 

With him comes Paimon - they’ve been arguing again, you can tell with how Paimon takes her food and disappears in a shower of sparks. She’s been doing that more often, her distaste for him well known despite your assurances that he’s not the same man that had been so hostile before. Conflicting personalities, you supposed. Like two pieces of sandpaper. 

“You’re thinking hard.”

“I’m not thinking at all.” Your counter comes over your shoulder, given with a lazy smile and a shrug of your shoulder. The skin of your cheek sticks to your shoulder with how thick the air feels, Liyue’s Summer has been particularly unforgiving this year, so you’ve heard. 

“Oh, so your head is just as empty as I thought it was.”

“You looked into it, remember? Saw my every thought?” Your lower back presses against the window frame as you turn to lean against it, watching as he settles at the low table and portions out food for himself. It’s unnecessary for him - food doesn’t provide him with anything other than an interesting pastime. Yet he participates anyway, and you’re not about to shame him for finding enjoyment in something so trivial.

At your questions, he lifts his gaze, unable to block his expressions with the hat that was thrown haphazardly on the bed you’ll share this evening. Without it, he seems almost vulnerable - like he’s lost a shield that protects him. The answer lingers for a moment, before he nods in an effort to forego something verbal. Your silence in return urges him to backtrack on that. 

“I did. Everything - likely as much as you’ve seen about me, I’d say.” Violet eyes turn to his bowl, filled with only rice for the moment. He takes a second to mix it around aimlessly, steam rolling once his chopsticks break the surface. “I wouldn’t have killed you, you know. In our fight.”

“One hundred and sixty-eight times grows a little fuzzy, but… I believe you.”

The amusement in your tone seems to annoy him, and he fixes you with an unconvincing glare and a sharp exhale. “I mean it. When we connected, I saw your life. Where you’ve been, what you’ve gone through. You aren’t human - you’re immortal. You won’t-”

Leave me. 

He doesn’t need to finish the thought, that mere insinuation making his cheeks color slightly as he looks you in the eye with all the bravery he can muster when he clearly wants to shy away. “I was confused but… a part of me believed you, when you brought up the prospect of losing myself. When you made it seem like you cared.”

“I did care. I do care.”

“I know that now,” he mumbles under his breath before righting himself, “but at the time, my thoughts were in the wrong place. I still wasn’t going to kill you, I wanted to-... to convince you to stay, I think. To convince you that if you joined me, I could help you look for your twin. As the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom, maybe I could offer enough to keep you.”

The leaves of Wangshu Inn’s tree rustle with the coming wind, filling the space with natural white noise and drowning out the sound of your heart breaking. He avoids you in favor of looking out the window over your shoulder, a stubborn set to his jaw as he cuts off anything further he might say to incriminate himself. 

Unable to allow a declaration like that to rest, you push off the window to cross the room, only a few short steps bringing you to his side where you kneel close enough for your knees to brush his thigh. He flinches when you reach for him, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, soft as ever. 

“If only you could’ve known that it was what came before that which brought me to you, hm?” Playing with the ends of his hair, you twist them loosely around your fingers before letting that hand slide down his shoulder, then to his arm, then to his elbow where his skin is barely covered between his arm guard and sleeve. “Well you have me now. Everything happens for a reason, I guess. Maybe all of that was just a convoluted way to bring us together.”

Scaramouche’s head turns so quickly that it startles you, his face dangerously close to your own, his nose just barely brushing against yours. His voice wavers, his question is one you can almost taste on your lips if you were to run your tongue out to catch it. 

“What am I to you?”

And the answer is so simple, so obvious that you wonder why he needed to ask it at all. But you’ve felt the need for reassurance more times than you can remember, and perhaps the situation with Paimon earlier had shaken his resolve in your dedication to him. Even after you’d given him everything, he greedily asked for more. As long as it was in your power to give…

“Everything.” A small smile from you, a look of astonishment from him that’s wiped away when you lean forward to kiss him gently. The featherlight touch lingers, leaving your skin tingling as you pull away just enough to watch the way his eyes snap shut to stem the shine of tears beginning to gather at the corners.

Scaramouche’s lip quivers, just before he draws it between his teeth to hide the motion. Giving him a small bit of privacy, you lean in to wrap your arms around his body, pulling him to lean on you. It’s a familiar motion, one that you’ve indulged in with him an innumerable amount of times. It’s as easy as breathing, as familiar as gliding had felt the first time you’d soared over Mondstadt. 

Fingers dig into your back, clutching you as he seeks all the comfort you’re offering him. He nearly bowls you over with how he leans into you, selfishly accepting everything on display until his face is buried into your shoulder and his body shakes with the effort of holding back the emotions that want to run free. 

“Don’t ever doubt how much you mean to me, alright? No one else can occupy the same space in my heart as you.” Gently, you kiss the exposed skin of his shoulder, lingering at your leisure as you watch a shiver raise bumps along his skin. Dragging your lips up to his neck, mouthing at the point of his pulse through the sheer fabric of his undershirt, you relish how he’s gone from limp in your arms to stunned tension. Anticipation colors him, even if you can no longer see his face. 

“Can I tell you something? Something you didn’t get to see in my mind, something you haven’t learned yet?”

As if he would say no, but it’s not often you get to tease him without getting a taste of his barbed responses. Instead of his sharp tongue, you receive a nod that’s deceptively demure, his hair brushing along your cheek smoothly with the motion. Kissing further up his neck, along the soft skin beneath his ear, and finally to his earlobe, you murmur your secret just loud enough that only he could ever hear its first manifestation into reality.

“I love you.”

Everything falls silent. The heartbeat in your ears, the leaves whispering in the tree, the conversations that flutter in from outside. For the briefest time, you’re almost convinced that perhaps you’ve spoken some code words that cease the world from spinning altogether. 

If you did nothing, said nothing further, would you be allowed to stay in this single moment until the end of time? Would that ending even come, so long as you kept so very still, your knees beginning to ache from the hardwood flooring? It’s a simple pain to bear in exchange for holding him like this, the burden on your heart lifted with the proclamation that’s been clawing to release itself from the very moment he’d crashed to the floor in that workshop so far below the city of Sumeru.

It’s not your doing that time begins to slip forward again. It’s his, where his shaking hands grow lax against you, barely hanging on with the friction between his fabric-covered palm and the back of your shirt. “Do you mean that?”

Scaramouche’s doubt hurts. Not because he second-guesses what you’ve said, but the entire reason he feels the need to do so in the first place. He’s been lied to, scorned, pushed away so many times that he can’t help but feel wary. So, you decide perhaps it’s best to show him. To ingrain it in his heart and his mind so thoroughly that he’ll never doubt your conviction ever again.

He doesn’t even fight you when you give him a push, pulling away enough that you can watch as he allows you to lean him back, further and further until he has to shift his legs to cage you in as his back hits the floor. The lanterns in the room set his face alight, showing the rose color of his cheeks and the wetness that begins to well up in his eyes once more. 

One swipe of your thumb isn’t enough to wipe them away, but it leads him to lean into your palm that conforms to his cheek so perfectly. Like he was made for you to hold him in the sweetest ways, some divine form created for you to love as surely as you do in this moment. 

The lithe muscles of his abdomen jump as your hands slide beneath the parted fabric of his kimono, warm palms pressing against his skin as you explore planes you haven’t given yourself nearly enough opportunities to indulge in. Beneath you, a shaking breath leaves him, catching in his throat as you untuck his clothing from his belt, then work at the knot keeping the remainder of his clothing cinched securely. 

“What are you-”

“Showing you. Making sure you don’t forget, that you never question for a single moment ever again what sort of meaning you have to me.” He tenses as you continue to tug at fabric, untucking and parting until he’s just indecent enough for you to wrap your hand around his half-hard arousal. All it takes is that single touch for him to moan low and slow, appreciative enough for his head to roll back to rest on the floor with a dull thud. Any apprehension leaves him with a gentle stroke of your hand. 

Leaning closer, enough that your intentions are obvious even as he can’t look anywhere but the ceiling rafters above, you speak close enough to his cock that your warm breath washes over it. He tenses, hardening in your palm as you hum, “I want to make you feel so good that every time you wonder how I might feel, you’ll remember this moment and your problems will go away.”

And the response in his throat dies as his cock finds a home on your tongue, from base to tip, dipping into the slit and tasting the beginnings of his release with a saltiness on your tongue. It’s far from unpleasant, and you find your lips wrapping around the head in search of more. There’s a scraping sound, grating in its insistence as his nails dig into the hardwood flooring. Both hands are straining, fingers shaking with the effort of keeping still for no real reason. 

Scaramouche resists for only a moment as you use your free hand to reach for his, squeezing it once before guiding him into resting his palm on your head. An open invitation, one that he doesn’t quite grasp yet as your tongue swirls circles that leave his breath ragged and hitching. It takes a single bob of your head, a taste of what he could demand from you, before he puts pressure against your scalp in encouragement. 

“Please…”

As if he would need to beg. All he’d need to do is say the word, make the motion, quietly demand anything from you and it would be his without complaint. It takes nothing more than that little push for you to follow his demands, the flat of your tongue dragging along skin that draws a high-pitched, needy groan from him that feeds the odd hunger you’re feeling. But you want more - need it - and let him set the pace of his cock feeding past your lips and over your tongue. 

Deeper and deeper, until your nose is brushing his pelvis and his fingernails are dangerously close to drawing blood against your scalp. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and when it does it’s with both hands on you - the one on your head, the other curled against your cheek. Craning his head, he looks down his body at you with a startling amount of reverence in his eyes, lips parted with the anticipation of words you’re certain you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear.

“I-I love you. I love you. So much-... ngh-... so much it hurts. I love you. So perfect, so beautiful, e-everything I’ve-” his words cut off sharply as his back arches, hips jerking enough that he buries himself to the hilt before letting you pull away. Every muscle in his body seems to shake with the effort of containing himself, the sensations manifesting as uncontrollable tears in his eyes that trail down his temples into his hair, matting it against itself. 

“Pleasepleaseplease-”

Both hands are what you need to hold him still, pressing down on his hips until he can’t roll himself upwards into the warmth of your mouth, the softness of your cheeks and tongue in search of the pleasure you’re offering him. There’ll be more time for him to be greedy later, to use you in whichever way he pleases. For now, there’s a point to be made, and that’s only done by you holding him still and worshipping him like he demanded be done not so long ago. 

“I-I’m going-... I can’t-”

Scaramouche throbs in your mouth, teetering on the edge physically and verbally. If he were any louder, you’re certain anyone would be able to hear him beyond these four walls. As the thought crosses your mind, so too does it strike him, as the hand on your cheek rips away in favor of slapping over his mouth to muffle the moan that accompanies him falling to pieces. 

Holding your breath and pushing yourself to your own limit, you take him whole and feel his release hit the back of your throat in a handful of steady bursts that come in time with him bucking against your iron-tight hold. Even muffled, the sounds that leave him are akin to some celestial song, ragged in its desperation and beckoning you to suck him further. Moans turn to groans turn to whimpers, hand falling away as he all but begs you to stop. 

You only do so when he grows soft on your tongue, his thighs shaking next to your head as his knees bend to curl in on himself. If you could get away with it, you’d hold him there and do it all over again, but a single glance at his face tells you that he’s spent. Red-cheeked, hair ruined, lashes thick with tears as he blinks toward the middle-distance lazily. 

He barely flinches as you tuck him away, righting his clothes enough that he’s decent. Even as you crawl up his body, settling yourself between his thighs and resting your cheek on his sternum. On anyone else, there’d be a heartbeat thudding in your ears - but all you hear is the remnants of his labored breathing, your head moving with the rise and fall of his chest. 

In a vain hope for the world to stop in its tracks, to give you a little longer in this moment, you murmur those magic words again. “I love you.”

Scaramouche doesn’t answer right away, though his hand does come up to curl around the back of your neck. He holds you there, fingers pressing gently against the muscles there, thumb moving in concentric circles that grow larger, then smaller. There’s no expectation for him to speak it again - once was enough. Once was all you’d need to hold on to for the sake of bringing yourself comfort. 

But despite his greed, Scaramouche can be rather generous when he wants to be. His own proclamation flutters over you like dandelion seeds, like sakura petals, like crystalflies that dance along your skin. 

“I love you. Centuries of life, and I’m convinced it was all meant for you.”

The years you’ve lived have been lost to time, their number far beyond your memory, especially after the tampering that happened while you slept for so long. But as he cranes his neck to press a kiss to the crown of your head, a subtle show of affection that holds immeasurable meaning, you can’t help but share the sentiment wholeheartedly. 

[dameronology]

champagne problems [e.m]

summary: after three years away from hawkins, things are falling into place for you. it's a shame that everything is not what it seems (based on the t swift song, of course)

warnings: mentions of cheating, language, she/her pronouns so this is fem reader

this started as a steve fic but it felt more natural to be eddie. but i promise i don't have a favourite. probably. maybe. we'll see. i hope u enjoy.

-jazz

You’d gotten the first train you could from Grand Central Station. Rain had started falling uncontrollably by that point, layering the morning remains of Manhattan in grey clouds; it was welcome after such a long summer. There had been a drought - the streets were dry and the plants on your balcony had died from the heat. At least that’s what you had blamed it on. Eddie had always teased you for your inability to keep a plant alive. No, you’re not babysitting Dustin, he’d said, you can’t look after a cactus, let alone a kid. 

It was hard not to smile at the thought of him. Back in Hawkins, still working at the record store and writing shitty songs about shitty things. Not much had changed for him; he was doing community college, trying to save up enough to get his own place. That had always been the plan back in high school, when you and him had dated. It only lasted two years - might as well have been a million when you were that young - but you’d been best friends even after you broke up. You’d barely left each other's side, right from your sophomore year separation, to walking the graduation stage together, to him driving you twelve-hours to New York in his van when you went to college. 

He’d made a joke then about waiting for you. It was his attempt at telling you that he was cripplingly in love with you - for real now, not just in I’ll meet you by your locker at lunch way. 

You’d met George exactly a week after that. A Columbia law-student a few years older than you with a kind smile and a flashy car, he was almost everything you could have asked for. And the difference between him and Eddie Munson was that he’d actually tried to get you; he’d brought you flowers and asked you out and been open about his feelings for you every day since. It had been hard not to fall in love with him and even harder to find a reason to break up with him. 

New York passed you in a flash as the train gained speed. Everyone else around you was asleep by that point - it was 4AM after all. They were either teenagers returning from a night out in the city or businessmen catching up on sleep before a long day at work. Either way, none of them gave you a second look; none of them noticed the glittery dress you wore under the stolen tuxedo jacket, or the discarded heels on the seat beside you. None of them knew what was going on in your life. 

Pulling a piece of scrap paper out your bag, you grabbed a pen and began to scrawl.

Dear Eddie, 

Sorry I haven’t written for a while. Things have been crazy here. 

Your friendship with Eddie had dwindled, undoubtedly. You used to call every day, then a few times a week, and then a few times a month. That was every three months now, save for the post-cards you sent each other every time you travelled - a tradition since you were twelve years old -  or the occasional letter when you just couldn’t verbalise what you really needed to say. He knew about George. He knew that he made you happy. And he hated him for it, 

Tonight was meant to be a big night. It was your third anniversary and you’d both planned big things - a fancy dinner, with a town car and a hotel for afterwards. George still tried after three years to make you happy and you hated that his efforts had been in vain. You could still recall his face as you’d walked away, sadness captured between the smell of Dom Perignon and the waiting breaths of his family in the moments leading up to what was going to be the most important question of his life. 

I handed in my last assignment a few days ago. There’s been a few offers of graduate jobs from places in Manhattan but I don’t really know what I’m doing at this point. I miss Hawkins a lot at the moment. Maybe not the town itself, or all the crazy shit that came with it, but I miss how simple things used to be. When we all used to hang out, me, you, Robin, Nancy and Steve, and just be. I didn’t have to worry about much back then, and knowing you’re all still there and life goes on without me gets to me for some reason. 

You paused for a moment, dropping your pen and staring out the window. 

You’d last seen Eddie the Christmas before the one upcoming. It had just been you travelling back for the holidays; George was busy with work, which meant keeping to yourself in your childhood bedroom for a few weeks. It was the first time in almost two years that you’d been home for Christmas without him - that meant it was the first time in two years that you and Eddie had been alone in the environment where your love had first developed.

Maybe that had been the catalyst. You could probably blame the wine too, but the blame fell on you both for that kiss. Everything that happened after was worth the guilt you felt for it; the clashing teeth, hands all over each other, bed sheets thrown aside as you pulled Eddie impossibly closer and felt at home for the first time in years. 

I think about last Christmas all the time. I think about how I should have known then that George isn’t the one for me. That was the first since I’d left Hawkins that I actually felt something again. And I’m not saying he’s bad in bed And I'm not saying I don't love him but I don't think I love him in the right way.

Coming back to New York with the shame weighing on your shoulders had been almost unbearable. Telling George was even worse; you weren't a cheater, you never had been, but it was a cold, hard fact now that you were. And he'd taken it in his stride - admitted to having his own moments of weakness early in the relationship, but it didn't matter if it doesn't mean anything, right? We'll just commit to each other from now on.

So, you'd smiled. You'd said it with your whole chest: that Eddie Munson meant nothing to you. It had just been a fling. There was no underlying feelings. No harm, no foul.

There had been whispers amongst New York's elite in the following days. Gossip spread around like wildfire.

Did you hear what she did to George? Once a cheater, always a cheater and yeah, maybe he'd done it too, but it was way before they were serious and she's crazy to risk it all for somebody Indiana nobody. Worst of all: hopefully things will change when they get married.

Marriage was the next, natural step. It had been on your mind since George's sister had told you that he'd asked for his mother's ring. It would be a big affair - his family did come from money. Like everything in New York, it was going to be structured and put together; you were going to be a puppet in the social scene's theatre. Maybe you'd get a mention in a magazine if you were lucky. It was the kind of shit that Eddie would scoff and roll his eyes at. He had done exactly that when you'd told him over the phone.

I think you knew when I told you about his mum's ring that this was all some stupid, elaborate, fucked up affair. It's my fault for letting it go on for this long. I should have told him a long time ago that I'm not cut out for this. i don't want to be a rich housewife. I don't want to spend my days worrying about what everyone else thinks of me.

You knew where you wanted to be - you knew the exact address, in fact. It was in Eddie Munson's trailer, watching some shitty movie and smoking weed and not giving a fuck about anything. That was exactly how you'd spent your last summer in Hawkins before college; that should have been the natural point for you to finally get together, but he'd been too chicken. He hated himself for it now but you knew in your hearts that the way you'd existed then was how it was supposed to be.

Breaking that reality to George had been had. It was your own fault - your own doing, courtesy of the fact you hadn't backed out years ago. Had you lead him on? Yeah, maybe. It wasn't intentional but it sometimes it was hard to know the answer to such a big question til you could see the outline of the ring in his pocket. Leaving him broken hearted in the hallway of the Waldorf Astoria wasn't how you'd wanted things to go but not much mattered when you needed things to end.

I miss you. I miss Hawkins. I'll be there sooner than you think.

You slept the rest of the journey, guilt barely subsiding even when you were miles away. America passed you by, each second bringing you closer to where you were supposed to be. Not necessarily Hawkins, but wherever Eddie Munson was.

About three stops away from yours, you made your way to the bathroom and rifled through your bag for some clean clothes. You didn't have much, given that you'd left in such a rush. Just a few shirts and loose sweatpants. One shirt in particular caught your eye; it was baggy and black, a faded Aerosmith logo on the front. It was one that Eddie had left at your house almost seven years ago. It fit you like a glove now.

You posted the letter as soon as you stepped off the train in New Jersey. It wasn't your permanent stop, but your old college room-mate had offered you a place on her couch with open arms. Just somewhere to stay for the next two days whilst you got your shit together and waited for your mum to wire you the money the ticket back to Hawkins.

The main thing was getting away from New York. There was nothing there for you anymore. Maybe there never had been.

--

The rain was still coming down when you reached Hawkins the following Thursday morning. You weren't surprised - fall was passing now into winter, bringing with it cold and wet and months of dark afternoons and grey mornings. Still, there was something fresh in the air. Probably the feeling of being away from the city after months of recycled Manhattan subway-and-hot-dogs air.

You'd taken the night train again - mostly because it was half the price, but you hadn't accounted for the fact that your quiet hometown would still be dead to the world when you arrived. The only tiny piece of hope you had was the pay-phone across the road from the station.

The dial tone only rang three times before someone answered.

"Who is this and why the fuck are you calling me at five-"

"- hey, Eddie."

There was the rustling of sheets - presumably the poor boy suddenly sitting up in bed. "Hey. Hi. Wow, I didn't expect to hear from you."

"Don't s'pose you've checked the mail recently?"

"Uh, yeah...yeah I have," he said. "I got your letter last night. I smoked a joint and was going to work out what to write back but then I fell asleep and - well, now I'm here. So I still haven't worked out what I was going to say-"

"- it's okay," you murmured. "You don't have to say anything. It was stupid. I'm gonna stay at my parents for the foreseeable future, so you don't have to like...talk to me."

"Wait, you're in Hawkins now? At the station?"

"Yeah."

"At six in the morning? In the rain?"

"It's basic geography, Eds. If it's raining there, it's also raining here."

"I'll be ten minutes."

Eddie Munson was nothing if not a man of his word, because eight minute and forty three seconds after he hung up, his van screeched to a halt outside the station. There was a thud as his boots hit the ground, paddles splashing up around his feet as he crossed the road to where you were stood by the pay-phone.

He had his arms around you in seconds, large hands splayed out on your back as he pulled you into his chest. Eddie was warm - like always - he gave the best fucking hugs. He always knew exactly what you needed.

"You're an idiot," he said. He pulled back from the hug and took your face in his hands. "You're cold and wet and I've missed you but most of all, you are an idiot."

"That's the nicest thing that's been said about me in the last four days."

He gave you a pained look. "So you broke up with George?"

"Yeah. He tried to propose to me and I dumped him."

"Why? I thought you were happy-"

"- Eds, I was never happy," you cut him off. "Especially not since last Christmas."

"Ah," he grimaced. "So I'm something to do with it?"

"Only if you want to be."

"Always," he gave you a little smile. "Look, we don't have to make any grand declarations of love right now, okay?"

You frowned.

"Wait, not like that," Eddie quickly said. "I mean...what do you think I've wanted to hear for the last three years, huh? I'm just not sure outside the train station at 5AM when we're both sleep deprived is-"

"- I love you," you said. It was firm; with your entire chest, despite the guilt weighing on it. "I'll say it again when we wake up too if you want."

"You can say it then, for sure. And the evening, and then maybe around lunch time too, and then the morning after that, and..." he trailed off, pausing. "I love you too."

"You do?"

"I do. I always have," he replied. "Even though you're keeping me stood here in the rain."

"Okay, let's go," you took Eddie's hand in yours. "You can drop me at my parents, or I can get a taxi, or-"

"- or you can just stop dancing round the question and come back to the trailer?"

The journey home was quiet and content. Nothing but the rain on the ceiling and the dulcet tones of Black Sabbath playing lowly in the background. Neither of you had much to say - it had already been said, after all. There was a lot more to talk about but just for now, you were happy.

The gratified silence continued at the trailer. Eddie moved with ease, finding you clean, dry clothes and discarding yours into the laundry. His hands felt natural on your skin; a welcome warmth after a few moments in the rain and three years in the cold. Three years. Was that really how long it had taken?

Eddie made a few quiet jokes here and there as you bumbled about him. It wasn't until you climbed underneath the covers next to him that he pulled you into his chest and finally spoke properly. He still wasn't quite sure what to say - mostly because he was certain this was a dream - but the thing with Edward Munson was that he started ninety-percent of his sentences not entirely sure where they were going.

"Are you sure you want to leave everything behind in New York?"

"There's nothing for me to leave," you replied, glancing up at him. "I've never had anything there. It's always been here."

"I always figured that what happened last Christmas was just a goodbye," he continued. "A...sorry I love someone else sort of thing, you know?"

"That's not it at all, I promise," you said. "That wasn't a goodbye at all. It was...I don't know. I don't know what I thought it was going to be in the moment either but I know now it was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"For real?"

"Yeah," you affirmed. "It made me realise what I actually wanted."

"Me?"

"Yes, Eddie," you couldn't help but smile. "It's you. It's always been you."

[thetrashbagswasteland]

Hi.

Are you willing to ramble to me about Saren's spectre training shenanigans and how Nihlus and Avi were different.

Thank you 😊😊😊

Apologies for the delay there's a chronic shortage at the spoon factory here BUT (obligatory disclaimer here: some of this is based off canon, the rest is headcanon central) Basically in my verse(s), Avitus came first. There's varying reasons for this but basically, if we go off the timeline as provided by bioware, Saren had been a spectre for 10 years at the time he recommends Avitus to the council (as per their official timeline stating he was hired in 2158 and Avitus himself saying he'd been a spectre for 15 years aka if he quit in 2183 after the battle of the citadel he was hired in 2168). My personal feeling is that, no matter how much trust the council had in Saren and how comfortable he was in his position, that first choice of student is going to be heavily scrutinised with some real pressure placed on him to pick someone who is comfortingly loyal to the hierarchy and the way the system is. Ergo, he knows that as much as soldiers don't necessarily make the best spectres, picking one is very good for optics and confidence in him. But... the lists he's given, full of recommendations for good, dutiful lifelong military people don't cut it; where's the spark? where's the strength of personality needed to be alright with working alone and under extreme pressure? where's the confidence and harshness to make hard calls without a chain of command to hold their hand? And then he finds out about Avitus Rix, who's in the middle of being court martialed for blowing up a mining colony against his superior's orders. How he finds out varies; in the yes-reapers verse he finds out due to the fact that the reasons giving for destroying the colony sound like the arca monolith and he's curious enough to interrogate him, only to feel sorry for him. In the no-reapers verse though, it's Desolas, on the board for that trial, who goes "hey, you might like this one" and encourages him to see if he's got what it takes. Either way, he saves this man from what'll surely be a death sentence and decides to give him a fair shot at it. The first few weeks are... rough on the both of them. Avitus is pretty certain he's going to die regardless, Saren's got no idea how to handle training someone. Empathy is what he picks, in the end, deciding that empathy and respect will go a long way into building a ruined man into a useful asset. And... he's not wrong! With Avitus, respect is the crucial thing for earning his loyalty and he sure gets that in spades. He's firm but tries to be encouraging whenever possible and treats him like a person. For either verse, Avitus has a ton of respect/hero-worship for Desolas and that translates into respect for Saren with surprisingly little work. But... the problem with him is that he's fundamentally limited by years of being told to shut up and listen to orders. Maybe he's unflinchingly barbaric when called for, but he's most comfortable as a follower, not a leader, and that's really quite a shame.

Then Saren gets the call to go pick a new student. Again, lists of nominations from the great, the good and the hopeful pour in. Fuck that, fuck the lot of them, he wants to do better this time and... the way he sees to do better is to find someone who's not a good little citizen. Look, he's proven he can pick good little turian citizens, but he doesn't want good, he wants great. And that's what leads him to go searching for a mercenary; someone who's far more comfortable with working independently and who's got a mind of their own. Still, can't get away with a barefaced merc, no matter how much he'd like one. So... he goes looking for what the hierarchy does with mercenaries, the dead-end soul-destroying postings in the middle of the shittiest environment possible, and there he finds Nihlus Kryik. Young, intelligent and violently disinterested in doing as he's told. He's perfect. So he spirits him away and realises within about 10 minutes flat that respect and kindness won't cut it with him; Nihlus has no desire to listen to him and even less to be told what to do. They fight. A lot. Dawn wakeups for endurance runs, repetitive ass-kickings until Nihlus is debating between murdering him in his sleep and running away to never return - it's an exercise in psychological warfare until he finds exactly what makes him tick and perfects the right combination of praise and ass-kicking to get what he wants out of him. And then he's just... superb. Within very little time, he's as close to a household name as a spectre can be, darling in the council's eyes and scourge of everyone who comes up against him, highly successful and justifiably decorated as a result of that. Exactly what Saren had hoped he had the potential to be from the start, now if only the bastard hadn't driven him halfway insane on the journey to get there! Together, the three of them are a force to be reckoned with; one spectre alone is a one-man-army and the three of them are damned near unstoppable for how they work together and play off one another. Plus they're just... feral as a group. As for shenanigans, well, I'm in the process of writing my version of Saren recruiting Avitus (to be called: The Student) and can offer this fic (Like Dogs In Elk), which is a training mission fic set midway through Nihlus' training. I really want to write more of these when I get a chance but I have SO MANY WIPS as it is 😅

[fritextramole]

Could you love this?

part 4 of a Blair Waldorf playlist - best heard in order

tracklist and quotes under the cut

Coin de rue ~ Juliette Gréco

Je me souviens d'un triste soir Où le cœur sans espoir ~ I remember a sad evening When my heart despaired

It’s Nice To Have A Friend ~ Taylor Swift

Something gave you the nerve To touch my hand It’s nice to have a friend

Needle In A Haystack ~ The Velvelettes

Still water sometimes runs very deep You'll be sorry when you just jump

Ready Now ~ dodie

Oh, it suits me To feel strong You said, "I will listen Tell me it all You don't like the ending Then we'll find one that's yours"

Autumn In New York ~ Jo Stafford

You'll need no castles in Spain Yes, lovers that bless the dark On the benches in central park Greet autumn in New York

You Can’t Hurry Love ~ The Supremes

You gotta trust, give it time No matter how long it takes But how many heartaches must I stand Before I find a love to let me live again

The Gentleman Is A Dope ~ BLOSSOM DEARIE

He's somebody else's problem She's welcome to the guy! She'll never understand him Half as well as I

You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To ~ Helen Merrill

Under stars chilled by the winter Under an August moon burning above You'd be so nice, you'd be paradise To come home to and love

I'm Not In Love ~ Kelsey Lu

I keep your picture up on the wall It hides a nasty stain that's lying there So don't you ask me to give it back I know you know it doesn't mean that much to me

ivy ~ Taylor Swift

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Taking mine, but it's been promised to another

distance ~ Christina Perri

I'll give you everything I am All my broken heartbeats Until I know you'll understand

Stupid Cupid ~ Connie Francis

I'm in love and it's a crying shame And I know that you're the one to blame

Sixteen Reasons ~ Connie Stevens

the way you comb your hair (Six) your freckled nose (Seven) the way you say you care (Eight) your crazy clothes

I’m Not Calling You A Liar ~ Florence + The Machine

There's a ghost in my mouth And it talks in my sleep Wraps itself around my tongue

Andante, Andante ~ Lily James

Let your body be the velvet of the night Touch my soul, you know how Andante, Andante Go slowly with me now

Moodswings (To Come At Me Like That) ~ Charlotte Church

You just want to see, see the other side of me

long story short ~ Taylor Swift

No more tug of war now I just know there's more

Jackie Onassis ~ ELIO

We can go to dinner in Paris and spend our advances Who cares about money and finances? I'll keep taking antidepressants and count my blessings I've learnt my lesson

You’ve Got What Gets Me ~ Ella Fitzgerald

But when you smile on me I get prouder and prouder My heart goes on a spree Beating louder and louder

pov ~ Ariana Grande

How you touch my soul from the outside? Permeate my ego and my pride I wanna love me The way that you love me

Sick of Losing Soulmates ~ dodie

God knows where I would be if you hadn't found me Sitting all alone in the dark

Crépuscule ~ Cœur De Pirate

À vif, nos vies, ne laissaient que nos cris Au loin, crédules, nos peaux au crépuscule Et pourtant, j'espère encore Que l'enfant que j'étais Retrouve enfin, une parcelle de paix ~ Raw, our lives, left only our cries In the distance, gullible, our skins at dusk And yet, I still hope That the child that I was Finally found a piece of peace

cardigan ~ Taylor Swift

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young

There’ll Be Some Changes Made ~ Peggy Lee

My walk will be different, my talk and my name Nothin' about me is gonna be the same

Our Lips Are Sealed ~ The Go-Go’s

When you look at them Look right through them That's when they'll disappear That's when we'll be feared

Bags ~ Clairo

Savor this with everything I have inside of me I'm not the type to run, I know that we're having fun But what's the rush? Kissing, then my cheeks are so flushed

Le Printemps A Paris ~ Jacqueline Taieb

Entre tes doigts Qu’il est joli, cet accord J’aime ta voix Chante donc un peu plus fort ~ Between your fingers That is pretty this chord I love your voice Sing a little louder

My Baby Just Cares for Me ~ Nina Simone

Baby, my baby don't care for shows And he don't even care for clothes He cares for me

Love Is Here To Stay ~ BLOSSOM DEARIE

Together we're going a long, long way In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble They're only made of clay But our love is here to stay

If I’m Being Honest ~ dodie

All of my best bits pulled forward, collected, displayed Sadly, I just think that I was disgusting today You blew me up like a big balloon far too soon I'm left a stuttering teen

arms ~ Christina Perri

How many times will let you me change my mind and turn around I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown I hope that you see right through my walls I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling

Il Est Parti Comme Il Etait Venu ~ Zouzou

Il a fui sans savoir où aller Tout simplement pour oublier Que sa vie s'est juste un peu brisée ~ He walked away without knowing where to go In order to forget That his life has just been a little bit broken

Nicest Thing ~ Kate Nash

I wish I was your favorite girl I wish you thought I was the reason you are in the world I wish my smile was your favorite kind of smile I wish the way that I dressed was your favorite kind of style

Perfect ~ Selena Gomez

How does she touch you? Can I try it, too? I know you're twisted, but baby, I'm twisted, too I wanna know how she could make a man lose his mind

Sorry ~ Halsey

Don't realize how mean I can be 'Cause I can sometimes treat the people That I love like jewelry

[putuponpercy]

Hi I haven't written a fic for this fandom in over a year but I saw the first couple paragraphs in my drafts last night and went in a trance at 1am finishing it anyways here's a little snippet from The Early Days section of my They're Just People AU enjoy

-

Thomas glared at the small flock of seagulls a short distance away, fighting over the small scraps of food Edward threw in their direction. "You shouldn't feed them.”

His colleague merely shrugged. "A little won't do too much harm," he said, chucking another scrap towards the hungry birds.

"Nasty things," grumbled Thomas, shaking his head. "Lost many a decent meal to them back when I was on the streets.”

"Well you needn't have to worry about that now. You're plenty fed.”

A tut and an eye roll was Thomas' only response.

Come to think of it, the young’un had been in a particularly sour mood for the majority of the day. More so than usual. Reaching into his lunchbox, Edward pulled out half a sandwich then held it out to his companion. “Sarnie for your thoughts?”

Thomas wrinkled his nose. “Ain't tuna is it?”

“Chicken and sweetcorn.”

Satisfied Thomas plucked the sandwich from Edward’s grasp, wasting no time in scarfing it down while Edward waited patiently for his colleague to spill the beans. He didn't pressure Thomas, even after the young lad had finished eating and opted for fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater in silence. He knew Thomas would speak up in his own time. For whatever reason, ever since that fateful night the pair crossed paths at Barrow Central Thomas had chosen to put his full unwavering trust in Edward, although Edward wasn't exactly sure why. All he did was offer the lad a hot meal in exchange for getting him and his engine across the bridge.

“Reggie and Bart returned to the Main Land this morning.”

Speaking of.

Edward's brow raised in surprise. “Have they? Huh… that's the first I've heard of it.”

“And Alfie and Raymond are leaving this evening,” continued Thomas. “Isaac and Harry too.”

Humming, Edward grabbed the flask sitting next to his lunchbox. He unscrewed the cap and took a small sip of his tea. “Seems more and more are heading back by the day.” After another sip he gave a reassuring smile. “Worry not, I'm sure it'll be us soon.”

“And then what? What happens after we leave here?”

“Well… I suppose it's back to passenger trains and goods runs across the Furness line. Shame really. Not that I'm complaining, no. But Sodor’s been a breath of fresh air I suppose. Nice to feel useful after…” Edward trailed off, trying to shake off the memories of how his coworkers back on the Main Land often spoke down or belittled him. “Still, the Furness Railway is my home.”

The two lapsed into silence, though it wasn't comfortable, the air still felt as if something was left unsaid. Taking a quick peek at his pocket watch, Edward wasted no more time in packing up his lunchbox. “Right, come along you. Sir Topham Hatt wanted to see us before our goods train this afternoon.”

“Is’at right? What could the Fat Controller want to see us for?”

Edward tsked. “I do wish you wouldn't entertain the other's idea of such a demeaning nickname.”

Thomas waved him off. “Shove off will ya, it's not like we call him that to his face.”

“I dare wonder if that makes it even worse.” Shaking his head, Edward continued, “Regardless, we should make haste. Who knows, perhaps he'll tell us our loan period is up ‘an all. That this time tomorrow we'll be the ones crossing that bridge back to the Main Land!”

“Back to Furness Railway, you mean?” Thomas asked quietly, expression unreadable.

“Precisely.” Tilting his head to one side, Edward frowned. “Hadn't we just gone over that?”

Abruptly, Thomas stood, balling his fists at his sides. “But Edward- I don't work for Furness Railway, remember? You picked me up off the streets because you didn't have a fireman. What's going to happen to me once we go back? They'll kick me out the moment they realise I'm not one of them! I can't go back to living on the streets, Edward - I can't go - I don't want to go back there! I-”

Two warm hands gently clasped Thomas’ own that had found their way up to gripping his hair somewhere amidst his panic. “Thomas, I need you to breathe for me. Deep breaths now, in - and out. Good lad, and again.”

Thomas followed suit, taking a few shaky breaths. When had his breathing gotten out of control? When did he start crying for Christ's sake? His hands slowly lowered from his head, feeling Edward give them one last reassuring squeeze before pulling away. “...sorry,” he said pathetically.

“Don't be daft, you've got nothing to be sorry for,” Edward replied without a beat. His gaze softened. “I should apologise. I had no idea how distraught you had been feeling about all this. I just wished you had brought it up sooner rather than letting it build up like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said again. “It's just that, coming here - to Sodor - has been the best thing to ever happen to me, least from what I remember. I have a roof over me head, I don't have to worry about when my next meal will be, I have a job, and you- Edward you've been ever such a good friend to me.” He paused, batting a hand across his damp cheek. “I'm terrified to lose it all.”

Edward swallowed a lump in his throat at being called ‘friend’. He never had quite gotten along with his coworkers back home, so in a sense, Thomas was his first real friend since joining the railway. He placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “I wouldn't be such a good friend if I allowed you to go back to living on the streets, would I?”

Confused, Thomas asked, “But where else would I go?”

Edward shrugged. “Well, while my flat isn’t exactly grand in size I'm sure there's some room to squeeze you in.”

Blue eyes widened. “What? You're saying I can come live with you?”

“I mean- only if you'd like to-”

“Of course!” Thomas cried, leaping over to squeeze the other in a hug. “Thank Edward, thank you! I won't cause no bother I swear!”

Edward grinned. “No bother? That doesn't sound quite like you,” he teased, giving the other lad a pat on the back.

Pulling away, Thomas matched him with a cheeky smile of his own. “Well- within reason, of course.”

“Of course. And I'm sure we can try and get you work on their railway, although the chances are it won't be as my fireman, there are still plenty of opportunities. Even if it's something as giving Old Coppernob’s engine a good polish.”

“As long as it's nothing to do with stinky fish I'm up for anything!”

Chuckling at his enthusiasm, Edward took another glance at his pocket watch and almost gawked at the time. “Right, come along you, we're running late! Don't want to keep the Fat - I mean - Sir Topham Hatt waiting.”

Renewed with energy and anticipation for the future the pair climbed aboard their engine together ready to tackle the rest of the day ahead, unbeknownst to them that the Fat Controller was about to drop the bombshell that Furness Railway had expressed that they now had zero interest in having Edward, nor his engine, return home to them.

[volturialice]

Do you have any dark gothic/horror book recs? I’m trying to get out of thrillers at the moment. also looking for some dark classics. any ideas?

I was waiting to answer this until after the Bella's Book Club summer reading reclist went live and now it's live!! and I must say, full of some Choice gothic recs. But I'll list my personal faves here!

Dark™ things from my part of the BBC reclist:

Jamaica Inn (and My Cousin Rachel) by Daphne du Maurier - iirc I described Jamaica Inn as gothic + adventure in my recs, and yep, that's what it is. definitely part of the specific "the book cover shows a woman in a nightgown running from a scary building" gothic heroine tradition. I also gave a brief nod to My Cousin Rachel because it's another of du Maurier's works which I think is underrated (that one's more of a slow-burning gothic mystery featuring a hero of the 'little wet babygirl' variety.)

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno Garcia - Also as I said in my recs, it's very like Jamaica Inn in structure and genre, though of course the writing, the specific characters, and the central mysteries are different. But MG is (of course) Mexican and has more fun Get Out/Ready or Not vibes with its themes of class and ethnicity.

Girls Running from Houses by tanaudel on redbubble

Perfume: the Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind - Villain protagonist villain protagonist! This one I love mostly for its flowery prose and sheer aesthetic commitment. You're telling me this 18th-century French serial killer turns his victims into perfume?? Say more

The Monstrumologist by Rick Yancey - Seriously the most underrated YA series of all time. Also so gory and terrifying I sometimes cannot believe it's YA. To this day some of the scariest written horror my eyes have beheld, not to mention it's got banger prose. Most people know Rick Yancey from The 5th Wave which is such bland cookiecutter 2010s YA dystopia love triangle nonsense that I just want to shake everyone and go NO, READ THIS BRILLIANCE INSTEAD! ngl the last book in the series is Not Good (you can 100% tell he had switched all his energies to 5th Wave, which is a shame) but the first 3 are absolutely good enough to make up for it.

Other people's reclist recs that I too have read and enjoyed: Rebecca (Daphne du Maurier), We Have Always Lived in the Castle (Shirley Jackson), Dracula (Bram Stoker), Frankenstein (Mary Shelley)

More classics: The Turn of the Screw by Henry James (short and easy read!), The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde (a must-read for aesthete gays everywhere. I mean cmon it's Oscar)

Extremely melodramatic "classics:' I loved reading Louisa May Alcott's little known "flops" A Long Fatal Love Chase and Behind a Mask (short story collection.) I might make Book Club read Love Chase at some point because I think we'd have way too much fun with it. We'll see.

My personal favorite that I think everyone should read: The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter (short story collection of gothic fairytale retellings!)

Not exactly what you think of when you hear 'gothic' per se but definitely Dark and it's my OTHER favorite: Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer (I never shut up about this book and it's for a reason. Very different from the movie, which I also love!)

My favorite gothic/horror authors:

Shirley Jackson - I've definitely talked about her before but both The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle are straight bangers (and short, easy reads to boot!) Do NOT think you can watch the Mike Fl*nagan Hill House show of the same name and call it a day—they're completely different stories. (also let the record show I'm censoring his name out of personal dislike he hasn't done anything 'problematic' afaik calm down)

Stephen Graham Jones - Insanely good writing oh my god. I have so far only read the My Heart is a Chainsaw books but his entire oeuvre is on my TBR because he cannot lose. Also he lives in my town and I'm starstruck just knowing this fact. Indigenous (Blackfoot) author who writes about indigenous characters!

Kelly Link - Writer of banger short fiction. I particularly enjoy Pretty Monsters because it's 100% written for the Twilight girlies and clearly made with love and silliness

Grady Hendrix - I didn't loooove Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires, but I adored Hörrorstör and especially My Best Friend's Exorcism, which is a total masterpiece IMO. Another writer whose entire oeuvre is on my TBR.

[majorbaby]

Can you elaborate on your personal gripes for how mulcahy is used in the narrative? I have seen people talking about not liking him but I think it was more disliking him as a guy, so I would like to hear your thoughts

okay well, first i'd just like to say that nobody is a bad person for liking mulcahy and i have less of an issue with HIM as a guy (his thoughts, feelings, wishes, his favourite colour, his favourite food, his relationships with others) as i have with how he is positioned by the narrative. you seem to get this, but i still want to make it clear. if anything i'm all for mulcahy getting it on with whoever because it would undermine his vocation as a celibate priest.

long explanation under the cut but TL;DR: mulcahy is positioned as being a morally upright person. this is dangerous because apart from his being a character on the show, he is also representative of the catholic church. moreover, positioning the church this way severely undermines the show's central, anti-establishment, anti-war messaging.

there's lots to love about MASH, but the way it deals with religion and the church is a major weakness. the show wants me to accept that patriarchy, militarism, imperialism, social conservatism are bad, but draws the line at critiquing religion, by positioning its chief representative in positive light. it's a big oversight.

let me try this a new way compared to how i've done it in the past and start with the military:

fuck the military, right? we agree that it is bad? and we agree that MASH came out swinging against the army and that that is part of the central messaging of the show? and we agree that one of the best things about MASH is that it took such a hard line against the military? cool.

why do we hate the military? it's violent, it's paternalistic, it eats up public money that could otherwise be spent on making peoples lives better, it influences public policy in a negative way, it's hostile to equity-seeking people (racialized people, lgbtq+ people, women, people with mental and physical disabilities), it is also hostile to even the most privileged in our society. MASH specifically took aim at the draft, which still functionally exists in US law.

basically, it is overwhelmingly oppressive and does far more harm than good, if you can even make a case for what good it does.

the catholic church is bad for all the same reasons. most catholics are born into the church, assigned catholic at baptism, which occurs when you are a baby and which cannot consent to. its ranks are overwhelmingly male and priests are literally called "Fathers".

your mileage may vary when it comes to the separation of church and state but...

where i live, the catholic school system is funded by tax dollars - technically any child can attend a catholic school even if they aren't catholic, but say, idk, want some free indoctrination. but you must be catholic to teach in catholic schools, so half of all these 'public service jobs' which are unionized, pay well and difficult to secure are only available to catholics. you can go to catholic school yet grow up and be unable to teach in one, like, currently, in 2023, in Canada which has some fucking nerve to be still upholding this archaic system. people aren't born pro-life or homophobic or believing that sex should be between a man and a woman and purely for procreation, or that masturbation is a sin... these are all things we see in policy, in education, in medicine, in media, as a result of the influence of christianity. what flavour of christanity varies based on where you live but in many instances, it's catholicism. you could extend some of these critiques to organized religion in general but i'm not doing that right now because mulcahy is catholic specifically.

like... purity culture didn't just pop out of nowhere. you may not be christian but sex shaming and the elevated ideal of marriage and the gender binary and the idea that we need to be 'civilized' in a certain way are all christian values that were spread violently across the globe, often hand-in-hand with military exploits. not only are the military and the church similar, they're often indistinguishable and they very much need one another.

MASH was trying very hard to say, originally at least, that there are no good military brass. even henry gets the piss taken out of him whenever he tries to be a 'colonel' to hawkeye and trapper. so why henry, and not mulcahy? (also why not potter but like, that was a different era and potter is a character i actually do proper hate)

if there can be no good army officers, then there can be no good priests. and mulcahy was both.

[quercus-queer]

More absurd stranger things “hot takes” from tiktok that I know the intellectuals on tumblr will chuckle at followed by homophobia:

Steve was framed as an asshole in s1 for no reason: he was a douche bag… he used queer as a slur to Jonathan, brought up his abusive father and missing brother as well as his mothers mental health, he was extremely insensitive about Barb, self centered, and slut shamed Nancy for the whole town to see… this starting point is why his development is so good and why everyone is surprised he’s actually a nice person every season afterwards. He wasn’t even right to break the camera, Nancy has agency and the ability to fight her own battles, Steve doesn’t own her. Jonathon and Steve were both assholes and treated as such by the narrative.

Barb gets brought up for no reason and was a bad friend to Nancy: Literally what??? She gets brought up because of Nancy’s guilt for getting her best friend killed??? Barb was a good friend to Nancy. She didn’t want to go to the party but did after Nancy pressured her and told her to “make sure I don’t do anything stupid.” Nancy pressured her to drink, which resulted in her cutting her hand which is why she died. When Barb tried to make sure Nancy didn’t do anything stupid like sleeping with a guy after she’s been drinking, Nancy told her to go home… but she DIDNT. She stayed there to make sure Nancy was okay afterwards and drive her home and ended up dead. Also she wasn’t being clingy because Nancy was “branching out.” Steve was a dick! He was a fucking douchebag hanging around absolute assholes that mocked Barb at every opportunity!!!

Steve’s reaction to Robin coming out was unrealistic: I’ve been seeing comments practically fantasizing about hatecriming gay characters like straight up saying Steve would’ve hit Robin or sneered at her… not even citing the fact Steve used queer as a slur in s1… just wanting homophobia for the vibes… like fuck off it’s not realistic nor is it even in character, Steve’s development includes not being a dick to people different from him

Homophobic reactions to Will and/or Robin coming out: NO CENTRAL CHARACTER IN THE SHOW WOULD HATECRIME OR CALL ANYONE A SLUR. Or even be that weird about it, literally no one. This includes Hopper actually. Joyce, Jonathon, and Hopper have KNOWN Will is gay since s1. Mike, Lucas, and Dustin are Will’s friends and have been dealing with the slurs and bullying Will has faced… they wouldn’t do the same. Robin already came out to Steve. El literally does not know what gay people nor homophobia are unless Jonathon decided to tell her. Nancy is the most likely but she is also too smart for that and rebelling against conformity and her parents lifestyle is her thing. Gay people existed in the 80s!!! And the defining trait of all the characters in the show is that they don’t fit in with society and are outcasts (except for Nancy and Steve… and Hopper) the main theme of the show is unconformity or whatever.

The fucking pronouns thing: They’d just be confused or think you’re stupid, Nancy would probably tell you to get a tutor. Also it is a tv show with monsters who CARES if someone makes a stupid video for the trend. Also again since people forgot, GAY PEOPLE EXISTED IN THE 80s JESUS CHRIST THIS INCLUDES TRANS PEOPLE

Eddie’s bandana means nothing: Nah, the duffers know. Forgetting wills birthday? Bad. However, will also had august 28th as a bday pre-s2 and no other birthdays are ever relevant or even mentioned except for the offhand thing from Suzie. They don’t care about birthdays, character design though? They very much care about that. Eddie is an entirely new character that requires zero continuity… plus he has handcuffs in his room… the show runners know lol. Definitely won’t say anything though because Eddie is gonna die and they don’t want that backlash

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

i don't wanna pile on on the parent in this post because, well, they are so wrong and making bad choices but either tumblr shaming has gotten them to rethink by now or not and either way their life is harder than mine because they have a kid. but first of all as you beautiful geniuses know, it is totally, wildly untrue that newbery medals are synonymous with misery - there are tons of non miserable and even straight up fun novels that have won the newbery. (the view from saturday won! a novel about a trivia team that basically invented slumdog millionaire! konigsburg also won for from the mixed up files of mrs basil e frankweiler, a book that is only depressing when you're old enough to understand about how rich people don't love their kids. okay looking at this list is making me nostalgic. so many bangers! who would call a wrinkle in time miserable) like, it's not the oscars.

second of all it is also in fact true that children's literature never reaches the depths of misery general literature can sometimes reach, and even stories that are in fact about death etc. will also to some degree be about how to live with it.

third of all i found bridge to terabithia corny as a kid (much preferred paterson's jacob have i loved & great gilly hopkins), but i think it's really important for kids to be able to read it if they want so they can learn that aslan is just jesus.

fourth of all i never had the problem about dead dogs on the cover because i never read books with dogs on the cover because i assumed they would be about dogs and therefore boring. the exception was shiloh which was assigned to me as summer reading at some point, in which the dog iirc does not die, and which was, indeed: boring as fuck. (i never read hatchet actually for basically the same reason, which is that i was and remain uninterested in any book where the central relationship in it is between something other than two human beings.)

fifth of all some of the notes in that post mention because of winn dixie, which i keep meaning to tell you all about but am forbidding myself from doing right now because i have GOT to clean my room today for reasons of mental health. but i will say that while the dog does not die in because of winn dixie it is one of very few children's books i have ever read and been like "we have got to get this the fuck out of classrooms and maybe out of the entire country. book banning is bad but please ban this book." i found out recently the author put out a new edition i assume because someone was like "this is a cancellation time bomb waiting to go the fuck off" which like ameliorated the situation but did not in my view totally fix it and also it is not recuperable to me personally because of how traumatizing i found the experience of reading it. anyway like i said i can't go into it now. but i saw that name and could not resist sharing that that book more than any in the world truly haunts me in like the worst way possible and sent me into a crisis of professional ethics that i was guiltily grateful to be spared from dealing with via covid.

[skaldish]

There is something that has been bugging me a lot and I find myself a little alone in this. I honor/worship Loki and their family. I feel particularly close to Sigyn.

This is where I hope I dont get too incoherent. I have had some heathen "friends" I guess if that is what I can call them. Have been pressuring me into honoring/worshipping Freya and I don't really have any interest in doing so. I mean regularly like I do for Loki and their family. I mean I have absolute respect for Freya and how she is just amazing warrior goddess and all but I just dont feel any sort of connection with her. I've tried doing things for Freya but I just dont feel the same like when I do for Sigyn, or even Loki ect.

Their reasoning is that Freya is a goddess that is/was worshipped and that she does or is capable of more than Sigyn. One "friend" even went as far as saying that Sigyn is a "domesticated" goddess and is basically a servant for Loki, holding the bowl, having children ect. and that Freya was a better choice. I won't lie this hurt me a lot I love Sigyn.

So is it wrong to not worship a deity that is a big part of Norse heathenry... I guess? I've even been shamed in a group for not worshipping Freya on a few occasions. Is it ok to just not be interested in a goddess like Freya? I feel kind of guilty sometimes.

If you take/took the time to read this, I'm saying thanks in advance. I've followed your blog for a while and I trust your level headed opinion.

Sorry this took me a while to get to. I wanted to get into the right frame of mind for this one.

Short answer:

You can work with whoever you please, because the only "right" way to be Heathen is to do what feels right for you. No one else can be the judge of that.

Long answer:

The big thing to keep in mind as you explore Heathenry is the fact that it's decentralized, which means it has no central authority or universal doctrines. This is why we see tons of regional differences between practices and even myths, both within the past and in the present.

However, the idea of "no governing authority" can be tricky to navigate and uncomfortable to deal with, so a lot of people latch onto "Reconstructionism" as a way to guide them.

Here's the catch though: Any authentic attempt at reconstruction requires us to narrow down a specific time and place to reconstruct from, because, again, Heathenry has always been decentralized. What's true in one place and time is false in another place and time.

For example: We know for a fact there was a time when Freyja and Frigg were actually the same goddess! I could make the argument that everyone is wrong for viewing them as separate, because this split happened in the late Nordic Iron Age and contact with the Romans changed everything, blah, blah, blah.

(I actually have no clue when the split happened or why, but you get my point.)

Most people don't do this, however. Instead we see a lot of patchwork reconstruction that involves interpreting the deeper meaning behind entirely political 13th-century Icelandic texts. While this is a very Christian way to go about it, people often take this approach because it's all they know.

This leads to arguments like the ones you've experienced, and from what I see, they were made out of a place of insecurity rather than a place of actual knowledge...and definitely not from a place of wisdom.

I've talked to Swedes whose families have passed down their Heathen oral traditions for gods know how many generations. Sigyn is associated with children, child-rearing, and general domestic life, but definitely not in the "50's housewife" kind of way. She's spicy, witty enough to keep up with Loki, and will absolutely wreck the idiot that dares to mess with her charges. She's a woman who does things of her own free will, including marrying her wacky spouse, having kids, holding the bowl, etc. At no point does anyone view her as a "servant."

Do your "friends" want to argue with those who grew up with the surviving oral traditions?

I say all this because I think it's important for you to think about what's informing these criticisms, and at what point they stop holding any weight. Reconstructionism can only go so far before it fails to provide useful religious data, and trying to stick with it results in fantastical interpretation or historical reenactment. Wisdom is knowing where to draw that line.

You don't have to work with a major deity if you don't want to. I promise Freyja won't take offense (and tbh she'd, probably point you back in Sigyn's direction anyway, because your private bonds are far more important than "playing a role" in your community. You're a person, not a prop.)

I'll also advise that, rather than spending energy trying to change people's minds, you should instead use that energy to seek out a better crowd. If people are going to insult your practice and your goddess, they don't deserve to have you in their community.

I strongly recommend looking into Heathen Women United for a good facebook group, if you're in the market for one.

[lowcallyfruity]

you should tell me some things about sebepel like headcannons!! If it’s not a bother of an ask, I’d like to know the ship more :3

HIII ANON HIII OMG I GOT THIS ASK AND STARTED GOING INSANE I LOVE SEBEPEL ARHFHFHFHFFBFBFB

UM!!! So!!! Me personally!!! If you want some Sebepel content Epels school uniform vignette is a good place to start!! It’s soooo cute <3 like EEKSIES <3 it drives me insane when I read it be because it’s SO sweet and ARYRUFFHFHHFHFUFUFH. then there’s the Harveston event!!! It’s Sebepel central!!! GRGRGRGRGR they’re so cute in the event!!!

OKAY. So. I’m probably gonna post my sebepel hcs tommorow or like. In the next few days (I just need to figure out how to format it) BUT ILL GIVE YOU SOME OF MY HCS FROM IT TEEHEE <3333

Sebek calls Epel by his name often instead of human. Hecalls him human sometimes but not as much as the others. People start noticing this and go “huh. Strange”

Sebek loves talking about his lovely boyfriend who is the coolest guy to ever exist!!! (He might even surpass Malleus. Sebek is very conflicted) boasting about how amazing and strong he is for a human!!! How he’s very talented and skillfull.

Epel starts speaking less formally with Sebek and occasionally going full blown with his Dialect. Sebek wants to learn more of Epel’s dialect. And Epel gladly teaches him. ARGHHHH Sebek loves Epel’s accent so much.

UGH I HAVE THIS WHOLE THING WHERE LIKE. EPEL IS ONE OF THE REASONS WHY SEBEKS HATRED FOR HUMANS STARTS CHIPPING AWAY SLOWLY. LIKE “wow. This human is so very cool. Wow. He’s so talented and amazing. Wow” AND IS LIKE ONE OF THE FEW HUMANS HE TREATS WITH RESPECT AND NICELY AND ARHFGHGHFHF BUT IT DRIVES HIM INSNAE BE AUSE “HOW COULD HE FEEL THIS WAY FOR A HUMAN?!??” AND HES SO CONFLICTED AND ARGHHHH AND WHEN SEBEK FINALLY GETS OVER HIS HATRED FOR HUMANS HE CAN FINALLY LOVE EPEL TO THE FULLEST AND WITHOUT SHAME AND CAN START TO PROCESS HIS FEELINGS AND AHRBFHFDHJDJDJSJSJSJSJSHS AND EPEL IS JUST SO KIND AND CARING AND UNDERSTANDING AND ARFHHFHFJFNFNFBFJ

Also not a hc I think? But one of the reasons why I love sebepel so much bc I think Epel is one of the few characters that doesn’t treat Sebek like shit (at least from what I remember???)

When it comes to Sebek, I think a lot characters are like “ugh! Sebek is so annoying I hope he DIES” (okay I’m being dramatic but they don’t like him and they tend to express that) but I’ve never seen that with Epel? Epel doesn’t say anything bad about Sebek (from what I remember) he’s always pretty neutral when it comes to Sebek and doesn’t really talk bad about him the way others do. He’s kinda just like “oh. That’s Sebek. He is. Talking about malleus.” Maybe even sometimes like “he’s a bit strange but whatever :)” AND THATS JUST SOOOO ARHFHFHHFHFHF TO ME LIKE SAUSUDHDHJSAISUHSHSJ SOBBING CRYING

Okay so this is where I start yapping EVEN MORE. Basically I just talk about how I personally view their relationship and what it would be like pre-relationship and during relationship. I’m putting this here bc it’s long and I don’t want to make anyone feel obligated to read all of this.

UGH SORRY I JUST TALK SO MUCH. I didn’t mean to make it this long but I just love them SO MUCH. To me they’re a very loving and caring relationship…. Who help each other grow and just care about each-other so much. They’re both so patient with eachother and AUFHFHFJFFH WHICH LIKE MEANS SO MUXH TO ME BC LIKE. Sebek is neurodivergent and Epel isn’t but even still I like to think that Epel tries so very hard to make Sebek happy and like let him know he’s cared for and loved. And It’s just ifhhhh I could talk about them and how they handle Sebeks neurodivergence forever but I won’t 😭😭😭

BUT EVEN WITH ALL OF THEIR WHOLESOME PATIENCE AND I GUESS “MATURITY” THEYRE STILL JUST SILLY TEENS AND YEAH AUGHGHFH. They are SUCH a power couple to me!!!! Like “hell yeah that’s my bf!!!!” And they get so super silly together!!!! They goof around and act ‘cringey’ and hype each other up!!!!

Idk in my head it’s just. They make it work. They are overall healthy to me and hehehe they’re the couple that stays together forever after highschool and everyone is like “WHAT?!?!??” But also not surprised (especially those close to them they’re like “yeah ofc”

I was trying to think of situations that like. That would be angsty or like. Smth. But. I really can’t see it with them? I can’t see them having like. Big serious fights. Maybe like silly play fights that get taken a bit seriously and end up hurting eachother, but, I also think they can end up solving those,, maybe a bit quick? Idk they just seem like the type to understand eachother. Or at least try their best.

Hmmm I think I guess sometimes they have moments when they don’t see eye to eye and they are stubborn and don’t agree,,,,, but again. I think they can get solved easily….

Like idk I guess I see them more having bursts of like “idk man :/“ but they easily go back to like “oh it’s okay :)”

I think on Sebek’s part there is insecurity that Epel will stop loving him because he finally has someone that CARES about him. That pays ATTENTION to him. And he’s so scared of losing that. He’s scared to be annoying he’s scared to be loud he’s scared to talk so much because he doesn’t want to lose Epel. That’s his friend. And eventually his boyfriend. He doesn’t want to loose this person that finally actually SEES him.

But, Epel is always there to reassure him that he will ALWAYS love him. He will always be there for him. Epel will always be there to support Sebek,,, and Epel is willing to learn ways to make him happy and comfortable. Epel will be patient….. and he will listen…..

OH NY GOD THIS ID GETTING SO LONG BUT SIGH OKAY.

I think pre-relationship, Sebek would be mic to Epel!! Bc like!! Wow!! This is such a cool guy!!! And Epel would be like “huh. Weird” at first because like “I don’t think Sebek is like this? People tell me things that don’t match this at all????” So he finds it strange at first. But eventually grow to like it (for a lack of a better word ig) and finds it endearing. He thinks it’s cool!! I mean Sebek is a nice guy!! He’s glad he can learn about him and hang out!!!

AUGH IDK I JUST LOVE THEM SO MUCH I COULD TALK ANOUT THEM PRE- RELATIONSHIP AND HOW THEY BOTH VIEW EACH OTHER AND DEVELOP THEIR RELATIONSHIP SHIP FOREVER. LIKE UAH. THEY MEAN THE WORLD TO ME OKAY?????????

IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO FUCKING LONG. THIS GENUINELY WASNT MEANT TO BE THIS LONG- I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY 😭😭😭😭😭 AOUGH I JUST STARTED TALKING BC SUHDDHDJDJSJJSJSJZJZKSJZ DRIVES ME INSANE.

YOU JUST ASKED FOR SOME THINGS AND I GAVE YOU A WHOLE ESSAY HELP

UGH. They’re just stupid teens what more can I say 😭 they’re so dorky and gay for each other your honor 😢 they drive everyone insane 😢😢😢😢