#this is the much abbreviated version

[yzafre]

Still processing my thoughts on tmnt 2012 even though I've moved on to very slowly watching 2003 (which I am enjoying quite a bit); still picking apart the writing to figure out why it hit my brain weird (as mentioned in my last brain dump). So of course I've got thoughts stuck in the brain spin cycle desperate to get out like.

Chewing on the walls thinking about the way the writing started out in the first season absolutely dripping in the attitude of circa 2010 US culture and even as it mellowed out as the show went on it still had an effect on the tone and shaped the eiting over all, and wondering how that might affect the way people perceive the show now. (I binged the show, and I remember about 3 episodes in having the very distinct thought of "oh, god, we really were all just Like That, weren't we?" Jump-scare of your past self.)

Pacing in circles hypothesizing about the way the extremely character-focused writing of cartoons of the past 10 years might have shaped/redefined people's expectations re:character writing and how that might affect interpretations of the show if you're not willing/able to understand the fact that this show isn't really About the character stuff, it's About the plot, and so it's going to be written differently.

Like at this point I feel like I could write mini essays on my thoughts on these even though they're not really important in the long run. And also why am I putting this much thought into this kids show. But. I just have ideas and wonder if there's anything to them so I keep having imaginary conversations with people in my head about them and wow I think I need to go to bed now. So. Goodnight void I'm shouting into. Hopefully my brain will be free in the morning.

[lochee]

HAH you think you can out-do slice of life coming-of-age romance friendship love interrelationships connection warmth people history bonds heartbreak longing range like seasons of blossom? you wish.

[ofcalloways]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

genevieve  lives  in  a  two  bedroom  flat  near  campus.  paid  for  by  her  parents,  her  apartment  takes  up  the  top  floor  of  a  small  but  stunning  building.  the  building  is  old,  built  as  the  university  was  growing,  and  while  the  historic  beauty  of  it  has  been  preserved  the  space  has  been  infused  with  modern  luxury.  the  entryway  features  italian  marble  floors  and  a  stunning  staircase,  and  two  floors  up  (  by  stairs  or  by  small  elevator  )  sits  genevieve’s  apartment . . .

full pinterest

though  the  stunning  historical  architecture  of  the  apartment  has  been  kept  painstakingly  intact,  the  space  has  been  treated  to  many  renewals  and  lots  of  upkeep  over  the  years.  it  was    already  a  high  end  space  geared  towards  the  wealthy  students  of  meraviglia  before  genevieve  ever  stepped  foot  in  it,  but  the  most  recent  work  on  it  was  done  by  her  team.  the  design  of  the  apartment  highlights  its  historic  charm  while  keeping  a  clean,  modern  feel.  think  large  windows  and  wood  floors  with  high  end  fixtures,  white  linen,  and  crisp  lines.  while  genevieve  didn’t  pick  out  a  single  piece  of  furniture  or  design  anything  herself,  everything  has  been  perfectly  tailored  to  her  style,  simple,  elegant,  and  expensive.  

the  upkeep  of  her  apartment  is  also  something  gen  doesn’t  play  a  big  role  in.  while  she  does  generally  keep  her  space  meticulously  tidy,  she  isn’t  someone  that’s  ever  done  her  own  laundry  or  taken  out  the  trash.  the  apartment  is  always  serenely  beautiful  and  impeccably  neat,  exactly  what  you  would  expect  her  space  to  be.  it  generally  smells  of  wood  sage  and  sea  salt  from  her  favourite  jo  malone  candle  mixed  with  a  floral  scent  from  the  flowers  that  are  regularly  refreshed  (again,  taken  care  of  by  someone  else,  genevieve  not  at  all  nurturing  enough  to  change  the  water  in  a  vase).  

her  kitchen  doesn’t  get  used  very  much,  but  it’s  stunning  nonetheless.  her  fridge  is  primarily  stocked  with  meals  from  a  chef  on  the  island  and  bottles  of  expensive  wine.  her  gorgeous,  gas,  unbelievably  expensive  stove  goes  almost  untouched,  as  she  prefers  to  simply  order  in  meals  rather  than  to  cook  —  because  really,  how  could  she  spare  the  time  for  that.  what  she  will  take  the  time  to  make  is  a  cocktail  (  she’s  never  been  the  kind  of  girl  to  go  for  a  vodka  cranberry  ),  everything  needed  to  make  the  perfect  martini  is  available  at  a  moment’s  notice.  she  will  often  use  her  kitchen  to  study,  the  marble  countertop  of  the  island  perfect  for  spreading  out  her  papers  and  books  when  her  desk  feels  too  small.  it’s  perfect,  given  that  she  really  prefers  studying  at  home  to  studying  in  public  where  anybody  can  see  how  hard  she  works  (  and  interrupt  her  ).  she  tends  to  alternate  between  her  bed,  her  desk,  her  counter,  and  on  occasion  a  bubble  bath  for  studying,  schoolwork,  and  planning.

the  apartment  has  one  and  a  half  baths.  the  powder  room  off  of  the  main  entry  way  is  stunning  enough,  beautiful  floral  wallpaper  and  expensive  fixtures  (  and  perfect  lighting  for  moody  mirror  selfies  when  gen  is  ever  hosting  ),  but  the  en  suite  is  truly  gorgeous.  featuring  an  enormous  tub,  bubble  baths  a  favourite  of  gen’s,  and  a  large  shower,  of  course  with  a  rainfall  showerhead  and  a  steam  setting.  essentially,  it’s  an  on  demand  spa  in  her  humble  abode.

the  living  room  rarely  looks  lived  in,  but  it’s  furnishings  are  plush  and  inviting.  incredibly  expensive  couches  upholstered  in  white  fabric  that  brings  a  brightness  to  the  space  and  contrast  the  dark  wood  of  the  coffee  table.  there  always  seems  to  be  a  new  selection  of  coffee  table  books  waiting  to  be  picked  through  by  any  guest,  always  featuring  some  form  of  incredibly  interesting  and  cool  subject  matter,  fashion  and  architecture  and  art  infused  into  her  space  in  the  most  unobtrusive  way.  the  space  also  features  a  gorgeous,  original  fireplace  with  a  large  mirror  resting  above  it.  gen,  not  one  to  watch  tv  often,  instead  has  a  projector  hidden  away  somewhere.  the  living  room  also  opens  up  to  a  small  terrace  which  adjoins  to  her  bedroom,  featuring  a  cafe  set  for  breakfasts  in  the  warm  italian  sun.

the  second  bedroom  in  the  apartment  has  been  converted  into  a  space  that  is  so  specific  to  genevieve  it’s  almost  sickening:  a  combination  walk  in  closet  and  office.  perhaps  it  seems  odd,  but  the  pairing  never  gave  her  pause.  to  genevieve  the  way  she  presents  herself  to  the  world  is  another  piece  of  her  work.  half  of  the  room  is  lined  with  bookshelves,  the  other  half  with  clothing,  shoes,  and  handbags.  if  you’re  lucky  enough  perhaps  you’ll  even  see  the  jewelry  collection  that’s  tucked  away,  filled  with  vintage  diamonds  and  pearls  that  have  been  passed  down  to  her.  

her  bedroom  is,  in  a  word,  luxurious.  in  the  center  of  the  room  sits  a  plush  king  sized  bed,  topped  with  silk  sheets  and  a  down  duvet.  on  her  bed  side  table  you  may  find  the  latest  issue  of  vogue  (  which  she  happily  reads  for  the  fashion  AND  the  articles,  a  girl  shouldn’t  have  to  choose  )  or  a  dense,  unflinchingly  complex  text  on  international  law  or  political  theory.  one  wall  features  large  windows  and  of  course  the  entry  to  the  balcony,  diaphanous  curtains  separating  her  from  the  world  while  greedily  allowing  the  light  into  the  space.  her  vanity  also  resides  in  her  bedroom,  gen  preferring  to  do  her  makeup  and  hair  there  rather  than  anywhere  else.  the  closet  in  the  bedroom  is  heartbreakingly  small,  owing  to  the  old  architecture  of  the  building,  in  it  mostly  nightwear  resides,  silky  nightgowns  and  pajamas  as  well  as  warm  cashmere  for  when  she  feels  cold.  while  her  bedroom  is  gorgeous,  it  perhaps  has  more  in  common  with  a  luxury  hotel  than  someone’s  home.  gen  keeps  little  of  anything  sentimental  in  the  space,  a  firm  believer  that  attachments  only  slow  one  down.  of  course,  there’s  also  the  fact  that  the  only  person  she’s  ever  truly  been  sentimental  about  is  her  brother,  and  reminders  of  him  burn  more  than  they  soothe.

[herisms]

( what i love about thom and merilin is how they're both shaped by the other's belief in them. merilin credits his friendship for keeping her afloat in a terrifying leadership position. she was at one of the lowest points of her life, yet he was so determined to encourage her to think past her self doubt and focus on being as good a leader as she can be.

then suddenly he's the one who is lost, and after his trial she becomes his beacon when he's at his lowest. she shows him the same patience and grace that he once did for her, and she's gone from looking up to him to seeing herself reflected back through him. in him, she recognizes all that loneliness, regret, and self deprecation that she feels constantly, and realizes that they are the same.

that's why she can't help but forgive him, even if it takes a little time for them to rekindle their budding romance. both wounded, but prepared to face the aches of healing together. )

[biophonies]

when I drew this comic 3 years ago I had NO idea how far it would reach. I'm happy to finally share a corrected version with proper abbreviations, and even MORE state names of indigenous origin ♥️

however, the goal of this comic was to inspire people to do your OWN research on indigenous history. To question everything we have been taught, and everything that has been pointedly left out. This erasure, this “forgetting”, of history is not just of the past… it is happening now. - Across so-called Canada, the US, and US-occupied islands, native women are victims of murder at 10-12x the rate of non-native people, and are the most likely to go missing without being searched for by the law. - Native reservations have the highest rates of poverty in the US, with over HALF of tribal homes with no access to clean water (with more joining this list by the year) - Native people are 6-10x more likely to be unhoused than the rest of the population, and native teens suffer suicide rates higher than any other demographic. This list of modern day genocide goes on (thank you for compiling @theindigenousanarchist <3) and yet take a look at those environmental stats!

Native people manage to do SO much for the planet as a whole - thanklessly - and with all this stacked against them. Don't even get me started on kin fighting in south america. Could you imagine if there was help? #landback is resistance to genocide, and it is the key to saving our warming earth.

So look into it and the other hashtags, cuz a cartoon goose ain't a substitute for a proper education. Love to my grandparents who always kept a map of tribal territories of turtle island on their wall, to speaking on our Tsalagi & Saponi heritage. Love & solidarity forever, happy research, and happy #indigenouspeoplesday

LANDBACK.ORG

(Also, if you care to support the artist, I'm publishing a book ! and writing another - a fantastical afroindigenous graphic novel - that I post exclusively about with tons of other art on my patreon.)

[repulsiveliquidation]

Rain || Alexia Putellas

warnings : smut (18+), somnophilia (consensual sex while asleep), anal sex, rimming, strap-on sex, choking, spanking, fingering, rough sex)

a/n : hii! just a little something i whipped up while at work today :)

There was rain pouring down outside, the sun hiding behind dark clouds. The pitter-patter of raindrops slowly begged Alexia to go back to sleep but she fought hard, the warmth beside her was way more tempting than a few more hours of sleep. 

She scooted over, arm slipping under the sheets to pull at the smaller form that was softly snoring beside her. She felt the heat of your skin, chest rising and falling steadily in your sleep. 

Soft kisses along your nape and shoulder lulled you out of your snooze, a grumpy groan already dragging through your voicebox. 

“Ale, it’s Sunday, go back to sleep…”

“Sí, sí, sleep.”

The captain wasn’t going to let you off that easily. She’d gotten back late from Sevilla last night and crashed almost immediately, staying awake just long enough to shovel food into her mouth. Now, with the whole day to waste with you, she didn’t want to miss a second of “personal time.” 

You’re snoring again, this time much louder and much clearer. Alexia sat up looking annoyed, staring at your back that faced her. Her eyes, having the mind of their own, wandered along the shape of you. There was a little skin showing along your back where your shirt was riding up, toned back teasing her intentionally. 

“Fuck mi amor, how am I supposed to resist you?” 

Alexia, in her stroke of genius, pulls the covers off gently and climbs out of bed. She tiptoes to the closet, rummaging quietly for her strap. She finds it and quietly runs back to get it on. 

Alexia stands beside you, clothes stripped off and strap hanging low from her hips. Very carefully, Alexia pulls the blanket off you, the pattering of rain now much softer as it stops. You’ve got the prettiest lace underwear on, a deep maroon that was secretly her favorite. 

You were fully on your stomach now, your snores an abbreviated version of what they were earlier, muffled by your pillows. 

Alexia lifted your matching lace top, the ruffled edges seemingly turned her on even more. There was a pause when you shifted under her and she quickly stood on her knees, taking her weight off you. You simply pushed a leg up towards your chest and sighed, nuzzling your face into the pillow. Alexia gently sat back down, softly kissing your exposed back as she fought to keep her hips from involuntarily grinding into you. 

“Mmh, you’ve always been so fucking beautiful princesa, even when you were sleeping.”

She slowly pulled your panties to the side, exposing your already soaking cunt. Her mouth waters, jaw aching as she scoots down to taste you. 

Her tongue is warm and flat against your pussy, lapping gently at your sticky folds. Her eyes make sure you’re still asleep, fingers very very gently pulling your thick thighs apart. You give Alexia no indication of knowing what she was doing, so she gets a little brave. She spreads your ass and watches your asshole pucker at her, practically asking her to have a taste. 

When she does, she watches as your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. You always were a little anal whore, the feeling of her tongue on your ass never failed to drive your arousal up. 

Alexia spat on your ass, thumb gently rubbing it in. It caught on the edge a few times and Alexia had to stop herself from clenching her own thighs together. Your pussy was dripping, the gentle throb of your heartbeat was delightfully obvious to Alexia. 

“Ale…?” 

“Bon dia, princesa,” Alexia whispered sexily, helping as you gently turned onto your back.

“Más, por favor,” you whined, legs draping wide open over her shoulders. Alexia grinned maniacally, nodding gently at your sexy request. 

A dainty finger slips into Alexia’s mouth, the noisy slurping that reaches your ears only makes the throb between your legs all the more intense.  

She pushes it into your ass gently, gorgeous eyes meeting yours as she gently fingers you open. You feel the stretch just a little more than usual, a pleasant ache plastering a satisfied grin on your face. Alexia pulls away to suck on her fingers a little more, pushing two digits into you when they’re wet enough. Your hips grind down into her slowly, fingers gathering a little spit from your mouth to use to play with your clit. Alexia audibly groans, watching as you double your pleasure. 

She gets that manic smile on her face again, pulling her fingers out of your ass before kneeling between your legs. You’re still playing with your clit when her fingers jam themselves into your mouth. You’re taken aback and gag loudly, Alexia’s eyes rolling into her head when you keen. 

Alexia fingers your mouth while you touch yourself, your fingers aching to slip into your pussy and mimic her fingers in your mouth. You can taste yourself on her fingers and that only spurs you on, your first orgasm building up hard and fast. 

She pulls her fingers away from your lips when you begin to gurgle your warning, soaking wet fingers expertly finding your pussy before slamming in to send you into your first orgasm. 

“Ale!” you moan, muscles spasming in pleasure. 

“Sí, buena chica,” Alexia praises, fingertips jabbing your sweet spot with no mercy. 

Alexia doesn’t bother to give you a little heads up, pulling away for less than a minute to prep her strap. She lubes it up and smears the rest on your asshole, pulling your thighs over hers before she’s pushing into you. 

“Taking me so well, beautiful,” she coos, thumbing softly at your swelling clit. 

“Ale,” you beg, “Ale, por favor.”

“Sí, te lo daré, cariño, I’ll give it to you.”

Give it to you she does. Her hips pound up into you, shoulders barely touching the bed. Your long manicured fingers can’t find material to hold onto. Blood rushes to your head and you can feel the world of pleasure consume you. 

Alexia bends you in half, thighs pressed tight against your chest. Her skin slaps yours, hips thrusting into your ass rough and hard. Her teeth are gritted together, eyes dark and lustrous. 

“Is this what you wanted, cariño?” 

“Fuck, yes!” 

Alexia turns you on your side, pounding right into you deeper this way. She takes a breast in her mouth, suckling hard as she fondles the other. You can barely moan, everytime you relish in a sensation she gives you a new one to drool about. 

“Hold yourself open, my pretty little slut,” Alexia leans by your ear to whisper, watching as you do as she says. She lubes her left fingers up just a touch, warming the gel up before slipping them into your pussy.

Now stuffed in two places, Alexia’s hips thrust in while her fingers pull out, repeating this sequence like a well-oiled machine. It was utterly dizzying; you were seeing stars. 

The captain, seemingly impressed by her own handiwork, now moved her freehand wherever else she could. She dragged her nails along your tummy, kneading your breasts one after the other. She gave them a few love taps that rattled them deliciously, making her eyes roll into her head just a little before they reached their final destination. 

Your neck loved Alexia’s hands. They wrapped around your throat so perfectly. Her thumb and index finger always pressed the right spot to deprive you of just enough air to give your vision a few black spots. 

“Fuck!” you choke, the tug behind your naval intensified as Alexia fucked you harder and faster. 

“Coming, my love?” 

“Can’t Ale, please–”

“Come, slut,” Alexia spat, hips pounding you into the mattress so hard the frame was shaking. 

You come and she lets go of your neck, the breath of fresh air that fills your lungs somehow intensifies your orgasm. You’re shaking and moaning her name, body trembling and twitching from the shocks. 

Alexia draws the hottest bath she can, gently climbing in with you in her arms. The steaming water soothes your aching limbs, bringing relief. 

She holds you close and leaves the softest kisses along your shoulder and neck. You giggle and settle into her arms, feeling safe and sound. 

“I missed you,” you mutter after a while, looking up at her as she smiles.

“I missed you too, princesa,” she whispers, tilting your head a little more to kiss you. It’s soft and tender, filling both your hearts with love. 

“I love you,” she whispers when she pulls away, strong arms wrapping tighter around you as the sound of more rain fills the room. 

[natalieironside]

"To investigators of this sort, recurring similarities seem specially important. So much so that students of folklore are apt to get off their own proper track, or to express themselves in a misleading 'shorthand': misleading in particular if it gets out of their monographs and into books about literature. They are inclined to say that any two stories that are built round the same folklore motif, or are made up of a generally similar combination of such motifs, are 'the same stories'. We read that Beowulf 'is only a version of Dat Erdmanneken'; that 'The Black Bull of Norrroway is Beauty and the Beast', or 'is the same story as Eros and Psyche'; that the Norse Mastermaid (or the Gaelic Battle of the Birds and its many congeners and variants) is 'the same story as the Greek tale of Jason and Medea'. Statements of that kind may express (in undue abbreviation) some element of truth; but they are not true in a fairy-story sense, they are not true in art or literature. It is precisely the colouring, the atmosphere, the unclassifiable individual details of a story, and above all the general purport that informs with life the undissected bones of the plot, that really count."

--J.R.R. Tolkien, On Fairy-Stories

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

Hey, can you write a story about Evan Buckley and Reader announcing that she’s pregnant to the 118 at like a family gathering :)

🍄 Pairing: Evan Buckley x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: At a 118 family gathering, Buck's overprotective nature reveals a little more than the two of you had planned.

🍄 Word Count: 1618

🍄 Abbreviations: N/A

🍄 Warnings: Pregnancy, implied pregnancy complications

🍄 Note: I really liked this request Anon! I hope this is what you were looking for. I thought about this scenario and I instantly imagined Buck accidentally announcing the pregnancy rather than planned. If you would rather a planned version, just pop in another request. A similar request came from @quinnstan247. Enjoy :)

You could feel the eyes following you closely as you slipped into the kitchen to refill your glass of orange cordial. Your overprotective, puppy-dog boyfriend remained outside in the garden of the Nash household along with the rest of the team as they stood around Bobby and the BBQ grill. You knew that Buck was searching for any reason he could to follow you inside, but you met his gaze through the windows and offered him a reassuring smile that seemed to subdue him for the minute.

Since the second you found out, Buck had been glued to your side. It had been three weeks since you took that test, since your doctor had confirmed it and in that time you had, had to convince him every single day that he could leave you and go to work. Every day he fought you, wanting the both of you to stay home so you could rest and he could wait on your every want and need, but you couldn’t do that. You were only thirteen weeks along and there was hardly any reason to be confined to the bed just yet. You knew that he was only concerned about the safety of you and the peach you currently carried in your womb. It was endearing and one of the sweetest things you’d ever seen, you hadn’t thought that Buck could get any sweeter, but here you were one act away from having a mouth full of cavities.

What hadn’t helped was that Buck had been responding to a number of pregnancy calls in the past few weeks a few resulting in sadder endings than anyone wanted. They had definitely struck a chord with Buck and had only made him hover all the more.

Adding the water to your cordial, you took a sip of the orange, a light buzz filling your taste-buds. You had become obsessed with anything orange flavoured since your pregnancy diagnosis. Whether it was orange skittles (which Buck had kindly sat and sorted out for you), or orange flavoured chocolate, or even the orange flavoured cupcakes you had found at the grocery store and ate within an hour of buying, anything orange and you were all for it.

Walking back into the garden, your entire body seemed to clench a little as you stepped back into the gaze of the sun. As much as you were enjoying this down time with the 118, it was so hot. The heatwave had only hit LA in the past few days but already it was in full swing and you were feeling every beam of it.

“Y/n,” you turned over to where Athena was sat with Hen and her daughter May. The three of them were stood around the mini bar that Athena had installed, in direct sunlight. Already hot, you fought down the urge to grimace as you moved to stand by them, the sun glaring on your skin. “We were just telling May about Buck and that kiddie ride at the mall. She doesn’t believe us.” Hen informed and a grin split across your lips, taking your mind off of the sweltering heat.

“Oh my, God. I have a photo, hang on,” You pulled your phone out of your shoulder bag and set your drink on the bar, thumb flicking through the many photos in your gallery in search of the one from the Saturday before. “He thought it was funny and I tried to tell him he wouldn’t fit but he insisted,” You giggled and turned your phone for May to see. “I honestly thought I’d have to call nine-one-one.”

Displayed across your screen was the photo that still had you giggling a week later. There sat Buck, who had squeezed his way into the small metal bus which was obviously aimed for children 7 and under. But Buck had twisted his body at all kinds of angles and had somehow managed to worm his way into the ride. His head was poked out of the door hole, his legs curled up against his chest, unable to stretch out in the tiny space that his body was occupying.

What Athena and the others didn’t know was that Buck wouldn’t have gotten into the ride if it wasn’t for you. That morning your hormones had been playing you like a fiddle and every little thing had upset you, the bin bag had broken when you were trying to change it out for a new one, somehow a red sock had slipped in with your whites and now everything you owned was slightly toned pink and they had shown that advert with the puppy sat in a box, in the rain, on the side of the street with people walking past ignoring it. It seemed, that morning, that everything was stacked against you. Buck had offered to come with you to the mall so you could pick up your clothing order from a store, you had ordered certain items that they didn’t have in stock and they had delivered into the store the day before. You were buzzing to see the new pair of pumps you had ordered. You knew that in a few months if not weeks, the shoes would probably be pressing against the sides of your feet and ankles because of the pregnancy swelling, but that hadn’t stopped you from ordering them in your size. However, like everything else that morning, even that didn’t go as planned. The shoes had been delivered in the wrong colour and in a size smaller than you wanted, making them impossible to wear. Buck had seen how disheartened you had been when you left the store, trying not to cry in frustration. He had wanted to do something to cheer you up and in a joking manner he had made a bet with you that he could fit inside the kiddie bus ride.

It had definitely succeeded in cheering you up, if not from how silly he looked, his large muscular frame curled up inside the ride, from when he got stuck and couldn’t get himself out straight away. You had done what you could to help him out, but you were giggling so hard your entire body went weak. When he had finally gotten out, the two of you had continued to giggle all the way home and your mood had been lifted for the rest of the day.

“Oh, my God,” May giggled. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Please send me that!” she begged.

“Of course,” you agreed with a laugh of your own. “I could never gate keep on a photo like this.”

“What made him get in there?”

“It’s Buck, does he need a reason?” Hen scoffed. As the ladies continued to giggle, the heat seemed to make it’s presence known as it glared down onto you. The side of your temples was beginning to throb and your skin was starting to get slick and sticky, sweat oozing from your pores. You raised a hand to swipe at your brow, glancing around the garden for the closest seat, your legs aching.

As you moved towards one of the sun loungers, your boyfriend’s eyes caught onto your movements, already on high alert.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” he asked, abandoning his drink at the grill and rushing towards you, one arm slipping around your waist to help guide you to the seat.

“Buck, I’m-”

“Dammit, it’s too hot out here for you. We should’ve cancelled,” he began muttering to himself. “Are you dizzy? Do you need a drink of water? What about something to eat? Is your blood sugar low? What if you’re dehydrated?” The only thing making you dizzy was the hurricane of questions Buck was sending your way, not even leaving a chance for you to answer them. One of his hands instinctively came to rest on the front of your stomach.

“Babe? Baby?” You tried to pull Buck out of his panicked rant, his eyes not once meeting yours as he kept scanning you for any visible injuries. Not that there were any, but the paranoia was getting the best of him and the heat probably wasn’t helping.

“We should get you in the shade,” he decided. “Shit, you should’ve stayed inside. You’re carrying precious cargo now, baby. You and peach can’t take this heat. We shouldn’t have come. This is all my fault-”

“Buck!” You pressed your hands to the sides of his face, directing his eyes to yours so you could try and ground him. “Buck, baby, I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m just a little hot and tired that’s all. It’s normal.” He still seemed a little uncertain, and his eyes held a lifetime of worry for you and his unborn child. “We’re okay. I promise.” You offered him a reassuring smile, your thumb coming to brush against his bottom lip rhythmically, giving him something to focus on. His eyelids pressed shut as he breathed slowly for a second.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause we can go home-”

“We’re fine. I just need to sit for a minute that’s all.” You peeked over his shoulder. “While I’m sitting, we should probably talk to the people behind you, they seem a little shocked. You kind of let the cat out of the bag.” Buck twisted his head to look around at the team behind him, everyone stood, jaws dropped and eyes wide. Eddie was the most comical of the bunch, his glass halfway raised to his mouth ready to take a sip but frozen in time with the news that Buck had unintentionally shared.

“H-Hey, guys,” He chuckled awkwardly with a sheepish grin. “I guess we have some news to share.”

[genderkoolaid]

I come late to organizing as a transgender activist. In doing so, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned transgendered people truly are everywhere and not just in New York, San Francisco and Washington D.C. I’ve learned many want to quietly assimilate into the white, heterosexual, middle class status quo that is the dominant culture of our nation. I’ve learned quite a few of us have no wish or desire for such assimilation — that for some of us, our greatest desire is to shake up that dominant culture, to question gender and identity on every level — social, biological, political and personal. I’ve learned that perhaps right at this moment there is a transgendered person — most likely an MTF transsexual or crossdresser, most likely a person of color, being brutally murdered. I’ve learned people much younger than I are coming out as transgendered in ways I never believed possible when I was their age and are challenging not only the status quo, but also calling on “old” activists like me to take another look around and see the world through their eyes. And I’ve learned that, perhaps like all other communities, we love to eat our own. Some of you reading this are aware of the controversies and conflicts swirling within the transgender community, most of which focus upon the organization GenderPAC. For those of you who aren’t up on it, here’s an abbreviated version. A significant number of transgender activists and community organizations have taken issue with GenderPAC’s expansion of its mission and vision to incorporate a larger view of gender rights rather than a specific and focused emphasis upon civil rights advocacy for transgendered people. Depending on whom you ask, this reinventing of GenderPAC is either the logical extension of its organizational vision to secure the rights of all people to free gender expression — or the cold-blooded abandonment of the very community by whom and for which it was created, nurtured and financially supported. Being the baby TG activist I am, I come to this drama late. Long after the battle lines were laid down. Long after sides were chosen, opinions formed and set in stone. Long after wounds (both real and imagined) were inflicted.

I’ve watched carefully for the past couple of years as the battle has played out online, in internet chat rooms, and on mailing lists. I’ve read statements from individuals and organizations that have taken a stand on the issue. I’ve received press releases and announcements from one camp or another; a battle of media propaganda that would make the veterans of the Cold War proud. And through it all, I’ve tried to be a rather casual observer, if one can be casual as they watch some of the best and brightest of their community consumed in an internal battle that threatens to tear the entire community apart. Of course my being a casual observer hasn’t stopped a few folks from demanding to know where I stand. I’ve been pulled aside at conferences and been given “information,” primarily innuendo and accusation, so I am up to speed on the situation. I’ve been directed to websites that were little more than character assassinations in badly laid-out HTML. And I’ve been emailed privately and off-list by those concerned I was going to make the “wrong choice.” Want to know what my answer to these people is? Okay, here it is — I really don’t care. That’s right. I DON’T CARE. You see, I believe almost everyone entangled in this controversy is acting in what they believe are the best interests of the community with which they feel most closely aligned. I believe they’re doing the best they can with what they have. I believe mistakes have been made by everyone involved, that the personal has become political in the most destructive of ways. I also believe in change and evolution; that even organizations that have had to be forced to listen to me and to consider my issues can learn from their mistakes and realize they must make a seat for me at the table if they are to truly realize the dream of civil rights for themselves and for others. But most of all, I believe in hope. I was asked point-blank whose side I was on. This is my answer: I am on the side of whoever has the guts and initiative to end this thing and make a real effort to move our community forward out of this debilitating and destructive conflict. I’m on the side of anyone who is more interested in healing the wounds than in proving who is right. I’m on the side of those who have the ability and the willingness to put aside their personal and political animosities and seek some way to bring together everyone involved to begin a healthy dialogue, one without finger-pointing and name-calling. Until that happens, I guess I’m on the side of those who are the most negatively affected by this dysfunctional family feud. In case anyone needs a refresher course as to who those folks are and the issues they are dealing with, allow me to introduce just a few of them. The transsexual FTM who has lost custody of his child when he began transition; the butch lesbian who lost her job because she refused to wear makeup or shave her legs; the crossdresser whose wife is seeking a divorce and custody of the children he adores; the effeminate gay man beaten to death and crucified on a fence on a lonely Midwestern plain; the 17-year-old MTF doing tricks in the back alleys of San Francisco because her parents kicked her out when they found “him” wearing dresses; the FTM who died of uterine cancer because he couldn’t get insurance approval for a hysterectomy after he had completed sexual reassignment. Ultimately, it is these transgender, transsexual and gender- variant people who have the most to lose if someone doesn’t step up to the plate to end this.

"Gender, Identity Politics, and Eating Our Own" by Alexander John Goodrum (2001)

[leondickrider]

relationship headcanons | leon s kennedy x gn!reader

💭 . . . hiii, so i moved to this account from my old account @movedoopsie so this an updated version of both of my old relationship headcanons posts and nsfw post (with some new bonus headcanons hehe) (‘. • ᵕ •. `)

before reading: fluff, suggestive, nsfw marked, some are sad bc i love making leon suffer ₍ᐡ｡っ ̫-｡ᐡ₎ not proofread | warnings: cursing, substance abuse mentioned | wc 2.1k

love with him kinda gives me and your mama by childish gambino but very much guns and roses by lana del rey 🎀

ONE THING I FORGOT TO MENTION IN MY ORIGINAL POSTS: television heaven by lana del rey is so re2make leon coded !!!! and maybe perhaps starry eyed... just maybe...

it's canon that he listens to rock (refer to re2r opening) but I'm sure he would listen to alternative and hip hop

btw, to the spotify playlist makers, he would never listen to mother mother he is quite literally born in the 70s

also i doubt he would actually listen to lana del rey, but if he did he would listen to ultraviolence ₍ᐢ.”⚇.”ᐢ₎

when he's frustrated, he'll mutter curses under his breath like it's so sexy and hot and pussy soddening or dick hardening (I don't have a dick idk how it works)

he loves when you wear long, flowy dresses or shirts, especially if they are in white. if you get it you get it

he would like white clothes on you since white typically represents like purity and cleanliness. and with all the stuff he's been through and it's just comforting

his favorite colors are blue and green tho

he's a good kisser 10/10

leon definitely replies with the driest things ever over text. like you could say "hey baby I love you <3 be careful at work" and he'll say "Ok love you." and he uses the period too

also replies with 👍, 👎, 😀 and 😍

when you are both going to sleep at the same time, he will scratch your back out of habit, even if he falls asleep you will feel his hand making circular motions on your back

he's the lightest sleeper ever. he wakes up if you shift in bed too fast, if you make any unusual sound, literally wakes up so easily and this leads to him being very sleepy :(

he would want 2 kids so they aren't lonely. he wouldn't ever want his kids to feel the loneliness he felt as an orphan

he's a girl dad but if he had a son then you already know that kid is going to be a carbon copy of his dad

sometimes he comes home really drunk and he leans all over you, kissing you all over and saying how much he loves you and stuff and then he cries and then falls asleep

when he goes fishing or hunting or camping he always drags you along for it even if you complain

he looks like he goes camping like every season as the vacation he so desperately asks for 24/7

he doesn't understand text abbreviations. he's like a victorian child. he says "LOL" and doesn't even know what it means. "leon I'm feeling really sick, bring me some soup please" "Ok LOL."

he also replies really slowly to texts sometimes, it's not even on purpose he is just has no clue how to iphone

during missions, he has those cute lil kitten sneezes (like in re4r) but at home this man forces them to be obnoxiously loud because it always makes you giggle

and his hearts melts a little every time you giggle. your laughter is like his favorite sound in the whole wide world

he gets home at unholy hours of the night usually, so he usually just goes to the bedroom, gives you a kiss on your forehead or cheek while you're asleep and takes a quick shower before sleeping

however on nights where you wait for him to get home he is taken by surprise when you fling yourself into his arms when he enters

when be walks in he'll be like "sono a casa..." really quietly

yeah he learned a little italian bc he's like a mafioso son basically so he decided "why not just learn italian and make my girlfriend swoon over it?" il mio king

he's incredibly insecure in relationships. he thinks you deserve better than him, somebody who can be there for you without fail and isn't heavily traumatized

when you're sick he will literally do everything for you, he doesn't let you do anything until you're better

even when you aren't sick he does everything, he justa bit more lenient

hero complex ofc, he loves being there to 'save you' even if it's just helping you get something off the top shelf or helping you zip up a dress or a shirt

always puts his bed by you in minecraft even tho he has no idea how to play :3

also, loves bear hugging you. but he also does those hugs where he lifts you up completely and spins you around a little

if you where in raccoon city with him he would do the spinning hug the second you were finally safe

when he's feeling really affectionate (usually when he's a lil tipsy) he'll tell you things like "sei tutto il mio mondo" and "sei la metà della mia mela" (this is so cute if you also love apples)

he's a heavyweight this man can handle his alcohol, so if you get drunk easy like me, then yea he's def got you covered

doesn't let anybody he doesn't trust near you when you're drunk

also, even when he's drunk he's very protective. he's actually more protective

he is really good at comforting you when you need it but often pushes you away when you need it :(

sometime he will disappear for long periods of times. and he cuts off all contact. but eventually you will get a call from somebody like chris, claire, etc. that leon was drinking and they were bringing him home

he goes through cycles of highs where he stops drinking and lows where he drinks excessively (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

sometimes he'll send you random selfies when he gets service or random texts like "Hi." and tbh it scared the shit out of you to just get a random Hi when he's in the middle of like the desert a few times

he isn't really good with physical affection, he'll give you awkward hugs and hold your hands but he's just very awkward in general so...

but if we're talking cute re2make leon then omfg hugs 24/7 he will not keep his hands off you

he isn't really into pda bc he's shy about it, he will hold your hand and maybe give you an awkward side hug but that's really it unless it's one of those special occasions lmfao

this is kind of random but when he's alone he likes to look at old pictures of you both and just reminisce on the past ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

re2make leon the typa guy to play just dance with you

maybe re4make if he's in love enough (he is)

his style is actually really good so he ALWAYS looks so good next to you (refer to casual leon model) 🐩

he sings in the shower sometimes

he likes to take showers with you since it's relaxing when you wash his hair since you have like soft hands and not his big thick meaty manly leather beefy hands

falls asleep with light piano music and rain audios in the background 😭

his instagram is basically a fanpage for you. always appreciating you!! "My s/o took this." "Date night night with s/o." "Imagine not having the prettiest bestest amazingest s/o ever."

he and ada are mutuals, this is his revenge for ghosting him lol

takes you on picnic dates a lot

for people with periods, he is like so good with helping you woth getting tampons/pads, getting medicine, etc etc

his ideal house with you would be one of those stereotypical white american family suburb houses (he's so american i'll never let him live down calling luis 'lewis' 😭)

he pledge allegiance to the flag he is a PATRIOT🇺🇸

he spoils the hell out of you !!!! you look at a dress twice? magically in your closet the next day. you look at a pretty necklace that costs more than a car? he already got it

government paycheck

when he was 21 he dreamed of having a really normal life with you. a normal house, normal cars, 2 kids, a dog, all these other totally normal things

he does not get the normal life lol

nsfw

he is very territorial, he definitely marks you up in spots that are very visible and harder to hide

he isn't really picky about what lingerie you wear but if you wear white sets with little blue or pink ribbons then you got your work cut out for you

he's very romantic during sex. on anniversaries he'll even get rose petals and candles in you're into that kinda stuff lol

had to buy a whole different phone just for videos/photos of you both because his phone has a ton of work things and he didn't want to risk accidentally sending the wrong picture to the wrong person

when he gets back from missions that were very stressful and got him pent up then sex is way rougher than usual

he is definitely into worshipping your body. he'll tell you how beautiful you are and kiss every inch if your skin that he can

sometime he'll also say some italian things to you while you do the deed like "sei molto bella"

when he's horny he'll tell you "mi ecciti così tanto"

although, italian bedroom talk is kinda cringe sometimes so he usually sticks to english

he is definitely very experienced, he's been with several women, usually one night stands. but we do also know he had a girlfriend before resi 2 so there's that

he would prefer sex stays in the bedroom, or the house at least

he probably gets pleasure from making you get pleasure. like just from eating you out he will... yea

as i said before, territorial 😊

one of his sexual fantasies is fucking you while he's on a mission but he probably wouldn't want to take that risk bc like zombies

it's not rare to have quickies in the mornings

he's big like maybe 6 or 7 inches? he may not have a könig bulge but he's absolutely packing

dirty talk. says things like "y'like that princess?" "that feel good?" "i know you like it baby" "you feel so girl pretty girl" "look at me lovie" when you close ur eyes

man is a freak (refer to THAT clip from death island)

however, sex with him is usually really vanilla simply because he is too tired from all these missions to be doing all that

when it's not vanilla he's a switch simply bc I know it. he'll let you take the reins from time to time, but he is always the one in control if we're being fr

also i'm pretty sure he's top leaning because like... the shit he's been through?? he'd want a little control over something and having control in bed makes him feel really powerful

he still likes to bottom tho lol

he also calls u mommy or daddy or master or mistress if u a freaky freak lol

loves brat taming!!!!!

he likes to hold your hand while having sex

enjoys morning sex lots, especially the morning after he returns from a mission. he's too exhausted the night of returning, so he wakes up early and fucks you

love love loves missionary bc he gets to look at your face and he can just look down to see him yk thrusting (goodbye i hate this word)

i will say tho sometimes he will say the most outlandish things like "i wanna pump so many babies into you that we repopulate raccoon city" but it's ok bc it's leon

loves white sets on you (refer to 8)

sooo good with after care!!! if you need something he will do it or get it. want a snack? he's grabbing it. want a nice warm bubble bath? he's running the water and grabbing the soap for bubbles

spoils you with aftercare tbh.... after him you really cannot ever get better aftercare

very vocal, lots of whimpers and whines coming from him

really good with his hands, I mean look at the way he handles guns. i'm sure his hands come in handy in more ways than just flipping a gun around

amazing with his tongue and mouth as well 🎀

he love love loves when u sit on his face !!!

when you give him head he likes to rub your scalp and he makes the most attractive noises ever

he owns a couple toys. he def owns a vibrator and a pair of handcuffs

he probably has no preference to if you're shaved or not when he's older

but when he's younger he prefers it shaved or trimmed cuz he lives between your legs and it gets a bit annoying getting hair in his mouth 😭

(i'm sorry if all the nsfw seems aimed towards afab people, I literally have no idea how to write for amab but i'm trying to spoil everybody...)

౨ৎ translations "sono a casa" i'm home; "il mio [re]" my king; "sei tutto il mio mondo" you are my whole world; "sei la metà della mia mela" you are half of my apple; "sei molto bella" you're very beautiful; "mi eciti così tanto" you're turning me on | please correct me if any of this is wrong since i rarely speak to my italian friends and family and i don't say these things to them. i had to research :)

reblogs and replies appreciated always <3

leon kennedy masterlist

[we-stan-cale]

I have enjoyed some of the TCF reaction fics, but I feel like there's a major problem.

Namely, that it's really hard for fic writers to stay motivated for over 700+ chapters, so it feels like they all start off strong for the beginning (especially rescuing Raon) and then peter out. We never get to the really good stuff.

Never reach that flashback when Cale reads the letter from the GoD, or see reactions to Choi Han rushing over to see Kim Rok Soo after getting Choi Jung Soo's records. Never have them see the Sealed God's test, and really... Post-apocalyptic Korea horrified Alberu, for good reason. Not that it's explicitly stated, but when is it ever? He had quite the reaction when he was trying to decide what to tell everyone else.

I've had some thoughts on how I would do it, but fair warning - I'm not much of a writer, and will probably never write it. All my respect for the ones that regularly write fanfic because I have like - less than a handful? Maybe, maybe, if I haven't moved on after finishing this reread, I'll try writing it myself.

The other thing is that I've been reading part 2 - only as far as eatapplepies has translated as I find mtl more confusing than helpful - and I'm really liking the Heavenly Demon. He seems to have fallen for our Cale pretty hard, and I'm interested in seeing how that goes.

So I have been playing around with ideas.

First - Dodam is trying to find 'that terrible bastard', and is dragging around his Choi Han.

He reaches Korea. Og!Cale as KRS, specifically. He has his own attribute, one to help him track down Cale, so he can pull up visions/memories related to that.

He pulls up the dream meeting between Cale and KRS.

There are a few team 1 members present, particularly Kim Minh Ah. Cue a bit of chaos, some 'aha' moments, and the long and the short of it is Dodam is going to pull up some of just what they're team leader is up to. (And if Dodam can figure out exactly which world or dimension to to next, and OG! Cale gets the bittersweet ability to see how his deal with the God of Death prevented the destruction he'd lived through, well... That's fine too)

During that brief moment, the Henituse noticed some strange mana fluctuations and managed to get Rosalyn there. She's basically able to tap into the feed and see and hear what's going on.

And divine intervention (like perhaps a god of love) extends the feed to the Heavenly Demon.

What would follow would be an abbreviated version of the key points. Sure, it loses some of the flavor... But we don't actually need, say, the amusing anecdote where an elf mistook Cale for a dragon.

Anyways, the more I thought about it the more I thought about how team 1 would react.

Because the minute they see those monster statues you know they'll all be going 'what the fuck?!?'

They will probably also nod knowingly at some of Cale's more shocking plans. Like hey, there he goes agreeing to help the Mogoru Empire put out the fire he started with the Whipper kingdom.

Nod, nod

Just like he did when they were dealing with that one corrupt guild

And if they ever get as far as seeing the Heavenly Demon, I'm sure one team member will be like 'Is.. is he flirting with Team Leader-nim?!?'

Cue stories where Team Leader Kim Rok Soo avoided a honeypot - except now they're thinking maybe he was just too dense to notice?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I don’t know if you already wrote about this so forgive me if this is a repeat question but, what do you think about Leona’s depression? I feel it’s pretty obvious in game and yet it’s always glossed over as him being ‘lazy’ idk but I don’t find many talking about his really shitty mental health with any seriousness.

Surprisingly I haven't addressed this (at least not in detail)! So thank you for bringing this to my attention; I definitely feel like I've heard people (especially Leona fans) discuss this quite frequently. If you look in the right places, you’re sure to find insightful commentary on the subject! I know I certainly have, but I've yet to say my own piece on it yet.

Now, before I actually get to actually rambling, I want to preface this post with a few points so we can walk in knowing the perspective I'm coming from. Analysis isn't a "one size fits all"! My experiences and background will color the lenses through which I view Leona’s mental health.

First and foremost, I usually don't go out of my way to claim, "this character has X condition" beyond what is outright stated or implied in canon. That does NOT mean that I disapprove of fans who may have their headcanons that say otherwise or project onto or relate to characters' mental health. You can consume the media you like however you want! I am just saying that I don't have this preference so I feel somewhat uncomfortable speaking on this matter.

Secondly, I am trying to approach this situation from a very clinical viewpoint (as I do have knowledge in this area). This means that when I look for “implications” or read between the lines, I am doing so as objectively as I can. It’s how I choose to process and understand characters from a health angle. This does not mean that my opinion is certain; you could very well find someone else in this area that gives you the opposite opinion. As always, I warn you that my response is for fun, it is NOT meant to be taken as medical advice.

Lastly, PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE POST before you comment or share your own thoughts. I'm up for having a discussion, but I ask that you not do so without getting the full context of my thoughts. It’s a lot of information, and I did my best to break it down in a way that (I hope!!) is easy to understand.

CONTENT WARNING: due to the nature of the question at hand, I will be discussing or mentioning potentially triggering topics such as ***depression, suicidal ideation, dieting, homophobia, and substance abuse.*** Please look away if you are not in the right headspace to read about such topics.

Okay, let's rip the band-aid off now: I don't think Leona is clinically depressed.

Pause. Rewind. Take note of my careful wording there: clinically depressed. I don't think Leona is clinically depressed. What does that mean, and how does that relate to "being depressed"?

I think when people describe Leona as "depressed", they commonly mean that he "has depression", not that he is just feeling sad or has low self-esteem. By "having depression", I'm going to assume they are referring to "major depressive disorder", which is the technical term for the condition.

"It's just an abbreviation of the longer term. What's the issue with using 'depression'?” you're probably wondering. “You understand that we mean major depressive disorder.” Well, equating the two does NOT a diagnosis make.

Mental conditions such as major depressive disorder are documented in a handbook known as the DSM (or the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). The latest version, the DSM-5-TR (5th edition with text revisions), was published in 2022. The DSM is a manual that sets forth criteria for each diagnosis in its pages. Of course, this includes major depressive disorder—and it may surprise you to learn that Leona does not meet its diagnostic criteria.

A diagnosis of "depression" (the term I will henceforth be using as shorthand for the disorder) is much more than having persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness, being unmotivated/lazy, and wanting to sleep often. (I bring up these three things specifically because they are the ones I see being pointed at most frequently to “prove” the diagnosis.)

In order to be formally diagnosed, an individual must be experiencing at least 5 or more of the following symptoms during the same 2-week period:

Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day.

Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day.

Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain, or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day.

A slowing down of thought and a reduction of physical movement (observable by others, not merely subjective feelings of restlessness or being slowed down).

Fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly every day.

Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day.

Recurrent thoughts of death, recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.

At least one of the symptoms should be either 1) depressed mood or 2) loss of interest or pleasure in activities they previously found enjoyable. Furthermore, the symptoms must cause what is known as "clinically significant distress", which is defined by impairment in important areas of functioning. This includes, but is not limited to, socialization, occupation, and/or education. The symptoms must also not be the result of substance abuse or another medical condition, and the individual must ever have experienced mania or hypomania.

Let’s briefly go through each criterion + additional documents and see what evidence there is or isn’t to support it:

We do not have his medical records to cross reference, so for the sake of convenience let’s assume no underlying or additional medical conditions.

We must consider additional context about family, lifestyle, etc. which can confound his symptoms. For example, as a prince, Leona has grown up having most things done for him by servants. This is what he is used to. So when we observe Leona not doing basic things for himself (getting food, doing laundry, making his bed), how much of this can we truly attribute to an underlying condition and how much of this can we attribute to Leona being accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle?

Leona (at least from what we know of) does not experience mania, nor is he depicted as taking mind or behavior altering substances.

Of the first two criteria, Leona must fit into one: either 1) depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, or 2) markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day. These depend on how you interpret his actions and behaviors. Personally, I don’t think Leona strongly fits into 2 because he still has an interest in his hobbies like Magift/Spelldrive and playing chess (though his involvement in it varies depending on the context). I will concede that there is stronger evidence for 1 over 2, as Leona has definitely expressed sadness and despair regarding himself and his future prospects. It is these thoughts that drive him away from home and keep contact with his family at a minimum. It is these thoughts that prevent him from seeing himself as worthy or even capable of change—a sentiment he shares in book 6, when he encourages Jamil but does not grant himself the same kindness or optimism. For this reason, we will go with the first criterion.

He has not experienced notable weight loss nor gain, nor a notable increase or decrease in appetite. Regarding his general diet, Leona has expressed a preference for meat and rejects vegetables. This by itself does not really provide any useful information in of itself; many people have this preference.

Leona does not experience a slowing down of thought. He is still very sharp and quick-witted in responding to his surroundings, especially in potentially dangerous ones, and coming up with an appropriate plan to counter. It can be argued that Leona has had a reduction in physical movement, as many characters often make remarks about how they perceive him as lazy or not doing much. However, this criterion actually refers to the speed at which one completes an activity and as far as I know, Leona is not said to be moving sluggishly, he only conducts himself in a manner that can be described as "lazily elegant". Even if we stretched the definition to encompass long-term goals he is putting off (like graduation), this criteria is still not counted for Leona since the wording used in the DSM-5-TR states “slowing down of thought AND reduction in physical movement” must be present. In other words, both must be true, not just one of them.

Leona does seem to experience some level of fatigue or loss of energy. This could be one way of interpreting his desire to sleep excessively instead of tending to more meaningful matters (like class). Fatigue, in this case, can also refer to emotional or mental fatigue. The sleep, then, can serve as a means of escape from reality for Leona, but it does not indicate actual physical tiredness. Rather, the tiredness can be intangible. This is also a potential explanation for his lack of motivation when it comes to some activities, especially those that demand him to take charge.

Leona does appear to experience feelings of worthlessness, though perhaps not excessive or inappropriate guilt. In fact, I would wager Leona does not demonstrate the latter, although this could be attributed to the fact that we are not in his head and he does not open up to others about his feelings. For example, we still don't know what his feelings are on almost killing Ruggie in a fit of rage. This does not discredit this criterion though, as the wording in the DSM is “feelings of worthlessness OR […] guilt” meaning one or the other suffices. It is no secret that Leona seeks recognition for his skills—something he was denied as a child and even put down for. While he is aware of his strengths, he has moments when he doubts himself (stating that he can’t change, or giving up when he realizes his plans won’t work so what’s the point in trying?), the contributions he can make (even when his older brother reassures him he can help their country), and encouragement from others (Jack telling him his play inspired him).

As I've said before, Leona does not have a diminished ability to think or concentrate. It has been shown to us time and time again that he doesn't do schoolwork not for lack of trying or lack of understanding, but because he thinks of himself as above it. Leona has already been tutored by the finest teachers royal money can buy, so he believes there is not much else for him to learn. He is also not shown to be indecisive--he can make decisions very quickly and can guide others or at least convince them to go along with him.

Leona does not have suicidal ideation or have recurring thoughts of committing suicide/death. While it's true that this is a game rated for ages 4+ (and therefore has restrictions on what content is and is not allowed in it), TWST has demonstrated to us that there are ways to imply suicidal ideation and other dark themes without explicitly saying it. (One notable example is Idia in late book 6, where he drops lines like "I'll go with you" and expresses dissatisfaction with "this world" to Ortho, who is known to be dead. To this, Ortho reassures him and encourages him to keep living. In fact, I could go on a whole tangent about how Idia better fits the criteria for major depressive disorder, but we're not going to get into that here.) The fact that TWST does not really imply this about Leona makes me think this is not true of him.

It can be said that the symptoms Leona does have are clinically significant, as his behavior is shown to have significant impact on his studies to the point where he was held back a grade. This was not because he did not know the material, but because he failed to find the motivation to attend class and to do his assignments. It also appears that Leona didn't really make an effort to work toward his future until book 7, when he actually talks his internship plans and about wanting to graduate.

We may guess that the symptoms persisted for two weeks or more (given Leona’s history and involvement in the main story), but the frequency of the symptoms is unclear since the game controls what we see of Leona and what we don’t.

Taking all of that into consideration, Leona does in fact exhibit depressive symptoms, but only 3 at most (I say “at most” because we have no idea about the true frequency at which some behaviors occur; we aren’t with Leona 24/7, nor has he reported it to us) out of the 8 total criteria. That’s 2 short of a diagnosis.

“But wait, there’s a lot of information missing here! We don’t have medical records, his weight and appetite changes, etc.” That’s true—but see, the main issue I take with diagnosing fictional characters in the first place is that we oftentimes do not know a character in detail enough to understand the full scope of their lives and symptoms. Noticing a few details is one thing and valid to an extent, but to evaluate an individual is not purely observational. This is particularly true for TWST characters, as even though there is plenty of content to refer back to for behavior, there is still a lack of really going into daily activities or deep feelings (beyond the one post-OB flashback for the OB boys). We cannot observe their behavior extensively. Because of this, tons of key criteria may not be visible to us from the audience’s perspective, let alone a medical history or other data to consider for assessment. We will almost always have an incomplete profile of a fictional character. Health is holistic and not entirely based on what we as individuals see or on all anecdotal evidence.

Just as health considers all parts of the individual, we, too, must consider individual cases of depression. It is possible for depression to exist without a diagnosis—many people (especially older adults), unfortunately, go undiagnosed for their condition. At the same time, it is possible for Leona to have depression which manifests in an atypical way. Each person with depression presents differently than the last, so I so not intend to make any blanket statements about the general population with this condition. The only statement I am making here is that based on my own interpretation of the current lore TWST has granted is, Leona Kingscholar does not satisfy the criteria for a formal clinical diagnosis, at least not for major depressive disorder as is defined by the DSM-5-TR.

Interestingly, Leona does fit the diagnostic criteria for a subclinical form of depression in a 1994 version of the DSM (IV). Minor depression or minor depressive disorder, colloquially known as “everyday depression”, is defined as having 2–4 depressive symptoms persisting for more than 2 weeks. One of these symptoms must be either depressed mood or loss of interest. It should be noted that this terminology is no longer recognized, as new information is added and dropped from the manual all the time. The information is flexible based on the consensus of a panel of hundreds of experts. Older versions of the DSM can be horribly outdated and it is not advised to reference them over newer ones. (As an example, "homosexuality" was legitimately listed as a mental illness in the very first version of the DSM. Yikes. Thankfully, this was dropped from the DSM-II. Other conditions like "multiple personality disorder" are granted new names like "dissociative identity disorder" or reworked altogether as our studies and understanding of mental health and science improve. It is important to keep up with the research coming out and update our approaches accordingly.)

We do not currently have a label for Leona’s situation aside from perhaps experiencing depressive episodes (periods of notable sadness lasting under 2 weeks) and exhibiting some depressive symptoms. I must stress that just because we lack a full-blown diagnosis, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t impact his life. Leona is shown to very clearly be struggling with his mental health. He spends a lot of time in bed, typically cannot be motivated to attend class or do complete assignments, and has moments where he thinks very lowly of himself in spite of the confidence he exudes to others. What's more is that because Leona does not speak to others about what he's going through, it comes off as laziness or arrogance to his peers. Think of it this way: if you have a bad day and snap at a stranger or an acquaintance, the stranger/acquaintance is far less likely to grant you grace or forgiveness for your behavior compared to, say, a friend. They are not as familiar with you, so they will have less patience and are less likely to consider what you may be going through on a personal level. This also applies on a fandom level; if a fan is not actively reading between the lines, they, like Leona's peers, may miss the depressive symptoms he is displaying because they aren't looking for it. How many people can we say are close friends with Leona for him to open up to them about his circumstances? I would say Leona barely even lets his own dorm members be intimate enough with him to let them know about this part of himself. He has Savanaclaw backing him, but he probably does not talk to the mobs extensively. Ruggie is his errand boy, but I doubt Leona pours his heart out to him. And Jack is the newbie who did technically betray their dorm, so Leona might not trust him. Forget about people beyond his dorm. Even his family is not much better off; we've seen that Leona tends to brush off his brother's friendliness and attempts to make amends. There is no strong support system in place for him, which is tricky because Leona perpetuates it by keeping others at bay. In the light novel adaptation of book 2, Leona has an inner monologue about how he is afraid of letting others give him hope because it will encourage him to try again, only to fail another time. I imagine similar logic applies here; he is afraid of showing his vulnerable side because it might give him hope for change when he as late as book 6 expresses that he has given up on himself. I think that this is the detail about Leona most look to when they consider his mental health. The hallmark of depression is, after all, the feeling of perpetual sadness and despair itself. Most do not realize that other factors are considered.

From a clinical lens, it is not “obvious" that Leona is depressed. However, I understand why the prevailing sentiment tends to skew in the opposite direction. For the layman, it may be difficult to distinguish what is and is not clinically significant enough to warrant an actual diagnosis. Again, most will cite the same three pieces of information to support the depression reading: Leona's irritability, his unwillingness to participate, and the rejection he experienced as a child (which has now manifested as self-doubt and low self-esteem). Characters are often judged based on fans' own experiences, and this naturally comes with biases and subjectivity. Thus, some fans may project their own understanding or preconceived notions of what the "typical" depressed person acts like in their head onto Leona. This is normal human empathy at play. I believe that other fans see depression in Leona either because they experience it themselves or are familiar with someone in the same shoes. It can be difficult, and at times we can find solace and solidarity in fiction, especially if we find a character that “speaks to us” and seems relatable. That character may be Leona for some people. If you see do see him in this light or relate to his situation, I’m not invalidating your feelings. On the contrary, I'm happy that you were able to find comfort in him and that a piece of media you love can serve as a coping mechanism. You keep on doing you!

It is at this point that I will reiterate what I said at the start with a little extra nuance: I do not think Leona clinically depressed BUT I do believe he has depressive symptoms and poor mental health as the result of his cumulative circumstances. It is possible for him to have major depressive disorder, but we cannot determine this for certain with the information available to us right now. We are still missing several key components that would typically be considered in the evaluation process.

I think it's important to step back from focusing on labels and instead focus on the individual experience, and how you can still grow as a person and not let a perceived label define you. Leona is definitely working on himself! Changing, particularly changing a deeply ingrained mindset, takes much time and effort. We may not see the progress since Leona tends to hide it and/or we have limited intractions with him. We may not always see giant strides because the process is difficult. Even so, Leona is trying to jump over those mental and emotional hurdles. He's putting his all back into Magift/Spelldrive training. He's attending classes and doing the assignments. He's going home for the holidays. He has an internship planned. He wants to graduate. I've enjoyed following Leona's journey of growth and self-development and seeing all the intense discussion surrounding that. It all comes from a place of love and wanting to support the characters we care about, no matter how we may individually view him.

[heimeldat]

I've spent an inordinate amount of time parsing the few examples we have of Old High Gallifreyan text, and here at last is the result of my labors!

The Old Gallifreyan alphabet:

The alternate forms of letters may be used interchangeably with their main forms; the differences are purely cosmetic, much like the difference between cursive and print-style writing.

Now for my analysis of the existing texts. It's rather long, so I've put it below the break!

EXAMPLES OF OLD HIGH GALLIFREYAN TEXT

ITEM ONE

Supposedly from “The Five Doctors,” though I can’t spot this writing anywhere. Translation given in episode.

ORA PSYERPA

O – honorific indicating uniqueness, may be rendered with the definite article “the”

R – combined with the definite honorific, a common abbreviation of Rassilon’s name

A – an alternate version of the possessive “ya,” used only when the possessive noun is already abbreviated

Psyerpa – a general term for harps and other large stringed instruments

Thus, the full text reads:

O-Rassilon-ya psyerpa

The Rassilon’s harp

ITEM TWO

From “The Colony in Space,” across the bottom of the Doctor’s mugshot. No translation given.

QU  ETHOA TRIOUAX BRIA

Qu – This is not a complete word, merely a letter used in this case for alphanumerical file designation: note that it stands alone, separate from the main text.

Ethoa – exile

Triouax – an infinitive verb, “to persist” or “to remain in effect”

Bria – a conditional modifier used exclusively in bureaucratic contexts, implying the need for occasional update of information or policy.

This text is a record of the Doctor’s sentence, and may be rendered something like this: Exile: to remain in effect barring further review.

ITEM THREE

From “The Time of Angels.” Translation given.

JUSYMOU CAIDEU OXA OOYY MAISOM

Jusymou – An archaic greeting, roughly equivalent to “well met” or “hail.”

Caideu – self, soul, or “hearts” in a poetic sense

Oxa – prepositional suffix, “part of”

OOYY – a conceptual abbreviation that combines the two meanings of the solitary letter O (definite article + symbol of individuality) and the mathematical use of the letter Y (usually indicating a dimensional shift). Literally, this means something like the individual, shifted two dimensions. In practice, it refers to a Time Lord’s fifth dimensional aspect.

Maisom – name, designation, identification

Thus, a literal translation would read something like this: Greetings, soul-linked fifth-dimensional name!

Or as the Doctor paraphrases it: Hello, Sweetie.

ITEM FOUR

From “The Five Doctors.” Translation is given, though it’s not specified which face of the obelisk corresponds to which section of the text.

First Face:

RA NASA TO TANA EURIFSTAN OBLR ORE NATA

Ra – where

Nasa – sleep

To – in

Tana – lies, reclines, rests

Eurifstan – eternal, endless, timeless. Here it modifies the verb, so it should be rendered as an adverb.

Oblr – abbreviated form of obelar, tomb or grave

OR – the same abbreviation seen previously, “The One And Only Rassilon.”

E – an alternate version of the possessive “ya,” used only when the possessive noun is already abbreviated

Nata – a basic verb of being, is

This yields the following literal translation: Where sleep-in lies eternally, tomb Rassilon’s is.

Or as the Doctor translates it: This is the Tomb of Rassilon, where Rassilon lies in eternal sleep.

Second Face:

The text on the second face is never seen. The Doctor translates it as: Anyone who's got this far has passed many dangers and shown great courage and determination.

Third Face:

ULIREIF RAENATA TOAAN LAKI FSTA TORARO

Ulireif – to lose everything, to be utterly defeated

Raenata – an emphatic form of the being-verb nata, indicating that something really, truly, permanently is

Toa’an – to win everything, to be crowned victor

Laki – a compound conjunction combining la (so) with ki (and): “and so”

Fsta – an abbreviated form of festoa, a winner or leader

Toraro – future tense of torar, to fail or collapse

Thus: To lose all is truly to win all, and so the winner will fail.

Or as the Doctor puts it: To lose is to win, and he who wins shall lose.

Fourth Face:

KIRA ATOUNA OR TA LIRI EUKI RAATO SUTE ANAAN FEIRLIO REUNT

Kira – takes

Atouna – ring

OR – the same abbreviation seen previously, “The One And Only Rassilon.”

Ta – from

Liri – hand

Euki – a compound conjunction combining eu (then, next, afterward) with ki (and): “and then”

Ra’ato – future tense of ra’at, to wear

Sute – reward, prize, payment

Ana’an – desired, sought-after

Feirlio – future tense of feiril, to get or acquire. Note that this is an irregular verb: the last two letters switch places when adding any tense ending.

Reunt – immortality, eternity

Literally: Takes ring Rassilon-from-hand and then will wear, reward-sought will have: immortality.

Or as the Doctor translates it: Whoever takes the ring from Rassilon's hand and puts it on shall get the reward he seeks: immortality.

[hazyange1s]

Enshrouded

Summary: (abbreviated from the ao3 version because this baby is long enough 😂) MC is an Auror seeking refuge from the arduous nature of her everyday life, and finds it in a secret wizarding club hidden in London; where she has an unforgettable encounter with a strangely familiar, masked man.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC / Reader

Warnings: EXPLICIT 18+ MINORS DNI. — p in v, oral (f and m receiving), drug/alcohol use, semi-public, anonymous, little bit rough but nothing too crazy, mentions of violence/blood (mc just really LOVES her job lmao), lots of adult language oop, aged up characters (everyone is in their early 20’s)

Word count: 7.3k

A/N: this idea came to me in a dream… nah jk it came to me while watching Bridgerton (go figure). Started writing it months ago and after much self-doubt I present baby’s first published filth 💀

read here on Ao3 🌹

It was the mystery. She had long suspected that was what kept her going back for more, time and time again.

The risk of it all was enticing too, of course, but more than anything, she loved a damn good mystery. One complex and intricate, one that took time and effort to unravel. As an Auror, well, her life was chock full of such simple delights.

Regrettably, there wasn’t much joy to be had in solving the cases slapped on her desk by the Chief Auror - any satisfaction in making an arrest was often muddied by the names of the victims left behind. So she often sought out milder (but just as potent) forms of that heady adrenaline rush in order to scratch the itch - and her absolute favorite was Reverie. Unassuming enough as names go, and the facade would lead you to think so, too: its uniform brick painted a dingy gray just like every other shopfront along the shadowed, misty cobblestone of Knockturn Alley.

If any of her coworkers found out she frequented such a spot …oh, she’d never hear the end of it. Worse than that, her Chief might even believe such behavior warranted suspension; as wanton impropriety from a well known Ministry employee would bring her morals into question. Likely, she’d get an earful about the utter shame it would bring upon the Ministry itself if she were spotted.

But that was the glorious thing about Reverie: the moment you stepped through its doors, you became somebody else.

Or, rather, no one at all.

Attendance was by invitation only; delivered anonymously while the recipient slept soundly in their bed (certainly disconcerting, but how could she complain?). No letter, just a silken black mask.

Donning the disguise allowed its wearer to see past the heavy glamor placed on the building and step inside - without being apprehended by one of the black-clad guards on watch. Yet the mask’s hidden talents didn’t end there. It was the club’s signature secret: while it was true they merely framed the eyes, each mask contained a glamor of their own that completely concealed one’s identity - whether or not someone would recognize them without it.

(You could be staring into the face of your best friend and would never know it.)

Which, incidentally, was expressly forbidden inside the club’s boundaries (one of very few rules, mind); as strict anonymity was what kept the underground facility running, despite the fact that the Ministry remained attuned to the whispers of a taboo venue boasting all manners of rampant debauchery right under their noses.

Still, the sorcery that offered Reverie protection had held true for well over five years, and its owners were more than dedicated to ensuring it was always so.

Most well-versed and connected members of English wizarding society had at least indulged in rumors of an alternative establishment hidden in the city. They traded whispers of what horrors may lurk behind those gray walls - dark magic and blatant impropriety and dangerous indulgences…

They couldn’t be more right.

The air was already thick with the tang of whiskey and rank with perspiration by the time she arrived an hour after its Friday opening. With each step she took through the meandering crowd, heels clicking on the marble floors, curling smoke in every shade imaginable wafted around the room and blissfully chased away the odor with frankincense and mallowsweet.

But she hadn’t come for the medicinals tonight, tempting as they were after a week that had left her emptier than the glasses long ago abandoned by drunken patrons. Not even a goblet of Merlot or a shot of coffee liqueur (with a splash of cream) could chase away what ailed her.

No, tonight she sought only one means of release, and needed nothing but the tension simmering in her blood as fuel for the fire driving her to desperation.

Nights at Reverie were not for the faint of heart (or stomach), nor the chaste and mild. While technically not allowed in open spaces, more than half of the attendees usually found themselves with a partner by dawn; in one of the many private back rooms or curtained-off alcoves - or dark corners, even.

After all, what did they have to lose when the strings of your identity weren’t a factor?

Usually she’d been content to let the men and women come to her, and admittedly there hadn’t been a shortage of such… entanglements in the three months since she’d received her own mask.

But the time for coy shyness and drawn out flirtation was long gone. Leaning against one of the wall-to-floor Grecian columns at the edge of the room, she simply tossed back her hair and began to scan it for potential prey.

There was a generous sample size, it was true. A tall, lithe gentleman whose hair shone like spun gold, a flawlessly curved woman with rich brown skin, a broad redhead sporting a wide grin…

No, no, and no… none of them are just right.

She huffed with restrained frustration, tapping her foot to the string music playing a haunting melody that seemed to fill every space in the curved underground.

You know there’s only one person you wanted to find here tonight.

Perhaps she’d have to lower her standards - beggars can’t be choosers, and all that.

“There you are.”

Gasping, she pressed a palm to her satin covered chest, which heaved beneath the boning of her - possibly too tight - corset at the unexpected greeting. But what truly robbed her of breath until she was penniless… oh, gods.

They’d answered her prayers after all: the man standing behind her with a luminous grin was precisely the one she’d been hoping to see.

A regular, as luck would have it. She’d spotted him in attendance more often than not, but had never had the courage to approach (mainly due to the slew of witches and wizards who got to him first).

With her attraction being largely from afar, she’d assumed that his lack of…well, anything - other than a single dance lasting no more than five minutes - had meant he was uninterested. Though the smile he wore was genuine, not like the mask framing his dark eyes, and it sparked in the dim lighting cast from candelabras around the wide room.

“Here I am…?” She quirked a brow questioningly, hand lowering to her hip. “But, er, you must be mistaken. I’m not sure I’m the person you’re looking for.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure you are.” His chuckle was somehow more musical than the quartet filling the air and more rough than smooth, but exquisitely rich - as was the material of his dark vest and the deep gray collared shirt rolled above his elbows.

“On account of the fact that I’d know that particular dress anywhere. We’ve never been properly introduced, as I recall.”

“You recall correctly.” She smiled - maybe coy was still in the cards, if only to spend more time with this handsome stranger.

“I suppose that’s frowned upon here really, so…I believe there’s a better way we could become acquainted, if you’d be amenable.”

She had to be impressed with his wanton confidence, if nothing else…though she got the sense there were many rather impressive things about him. Even more arresting was the boldness of his touch; broad hands reaching for hers to bring to his supple lips, where they lingered for a moment before releasing her gently.

Alright. He knew what he was doing.

But she had to play just a touch hard to get - if only to give him a taste of what he’d been dishing out for months (intentionally or otherwise). He’d been playing coy after their first and only real interaction; shooting her little winks and whispered hellos on random nights - only to disappear again amongst the all-black crowd without giving her a chance to respond.

Likely, he’d been going off to find some other witch or wizard for entertainment.

“I’m sorry,” she said sweetly, a knowing smile playing on her own red-painted lips. “I don’t recall meeting you at all. Your face has a similar quality to many men here, you see.”

“Ah, somehow I doubt that.” Darkness collected in his dimples (how had she not noticed them before?)

“Saturday, precisely two months ago to the day, you were dancing in my arms wearing a red dress like you have on right now.” His voice was like honey and velvet as he spoke. With each word, he seemed to get closer.

And yes, of course she remembered. She was just surprised he still did.

It’s why she’d been stuck with a ridiculous, schoolgirl infatuation for weeks now; why she’d worn red each and every night in the hopes of catching his attention once more.

The brief escapades she’d busied herself with in the meantime had done in a pinch, but there was something about him she was positively dying to unravel. Perhaps it was the spark in those deep brown eyes - like the dark liquor she favored- that spoke of depths hidden far below the playful, self-assured surface.

Or maybe it was how he smelled from mere inches away, as he was now: pine, sandalwood, and a spicy scent akin to the smoke furling around him like a haze of fog.

“You’ve got quite the memory.” She mused, unable to stop her smile from bursting into full bloom. “I suppose that does ring a bell— you trodded on my foot.”

He groaned. “I’d had a lot of whiskey that night. I’m usually much more coordinated when sober. In fact…”

His fingers slid up her wrist, moving with slow caresses up her arm and shoulder until they came to rest beneath her jaw, angling it up to align with his gaze.

“Is it too presumptuous of me to ask…if you’d let me make it up to you?”

For a moment - just a breath, she hesitated. And why? This was exactly what she’d come for tonight, and with the man she’d lusted over for ages now falling right into her lap… what sort of woman would refuse?

It was something unidentifiable, intangible. A tug on her gut. Something that flashed in the white of his smile as it caught the candlelight. Like a sense of deja vu; there one second and gone the next, leaving her with nothing but the old itch crawling beneath her flushed skin.

“Presumptuous, certainly. But not unwelcome. Everyone deserves a second chance.” She purred, squaring her shoulders and allowing him to guide her to the edge of the room with one palm flat on her lower back.

What she’d expected was to be whisked away to one of the rooms tucked away in the back; filled with four poster beds and velvet curtains and enough firelight to be a safety hazard. Instead, he brought her up to the bar, catching the attention of its immaculately suited (and masked) tender with a wave of his finger. The movement distracted her while he ordered Merlin-even-knew what. She found herself watching the way his fingers curled and wrist turned with each gesture made, his palms visibly calloused - perhaps he had seen his fair share of combat, too - and the backs of his knuckles covered in freckles.

She had to wonder what constellations might be found if she dared to uncover the rest of him.

A glint of gold caught the light, mercifully returning her attention on the smiling eyes of the man who had taken to slipping a glass of red wine between her fingers.

“Shall we toast?” He asked, tilting his chin up in the direction of the raised goblet.

“What are we toasting to?”

“To…” his lips pursed thoughtfully. (Another startlingly distracting body part.) How pink and supple they looked, and how good they would taste when stained with burgundy…

“Liberation.“

Fitting, indeed.

“Santé.” She touched her chalice to his without breaking the meeting of their eyes.

“Slainte.”

The cloying bitterness of Merlot coated her tongue, filling her stomach with warmth - a taste she hadn’t encountered for years. One she missed dearly.

“How’d you know I’d like Merlot?” She licked wine from her bottom lip.

He spoke at the same time; thick brows arched high. “You’re French?”

They laughed, the sounds winding together into a hypnotic sort of harmony.

“You first.” He inclined his head.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply fluent in the language.” She couldn’t give away any secrets, not even the place of her birth.

“That accent was flawless. Nobody but a native could articulate like that.”

She shook her head coyly, though not without amusement.

“Fine.” A sigh that seemed almost long-suffering stirred the smoke coiling around them. “I prefer my women with a bit of mystery, anyway. As for your question, darling…”

Oh, he was a rogue through and through. His eyes greedily swept over every inch of her gown to settle on the curves and shapes he seemed to appreciate most before he even deigned to finish.

“It’s… bold. Much like you, if you don’t think me too audacious for saying so.”

He paused to take another sip, savoring the act of licking his lips as she had moments ago, and almost smugly noting her obvious interest. “And I’ve obviously noticed you enjoy the color red, even if that part’s a bit on the nose.”

“You could say that.” Her heart fluttered traitorously into her throat. His undivided and enthusiastic attention was not only a welcome surprise, but a conflicting one. It wouldn’t do to fall for a masked man - in the end, they could never truly know each other beyond the four walls that brought them together.

Reverie. A dream - that’s all. You’ll wake up in the morning.

She straightened her shoulders, resolved and refortified. “And do you? Enjoy the color, that is?”

Her voice was low, only audible due to the minute distance between them, the man tilting his head down towards her as one finger grazed the dip of her neckline.

“What’s not to love?” He mused. “Red represents… vitality. Danger. Passion…”

Her skin prickled in the wake of the trail he drew from collar to shoulder and down her arm, and when it found her free hand, their fingers threaded together with such ease that they could have done it a thousand times before.

He could hear her heart, couldn’t he? With that amount of surety behind his stare, there was no doubt she was being read like an open book.

“That’s why we keep coming back here, isn’t it?” He was near enough now that every word was felt as a cloud of heat gracing her wine-flushed cheeks.

“Because we relish danger, and need passion like air. We all come to feel… alive.”

“Hmm. It’s almost as if you prepared that line beforehand.” She laughed.

His was such a beautiful sound, bubbling like champagne and leaving her with a warm feeling as if she’d tasted it herself.

“Let’s say I did… is it working?”

”Absolutely.”

Whatever spell had allowed them to maintain a sense of decorum shattered after that confirmation, which said so much more than was spoken aloud. The look exchanged between them was another conversation in itself; a volley of traded questions and answers that sent pure lightning skittering up her spine.

“Come with me.” He said abruptly (though not without a dutiful incline of his head; dark hair shining with veins of red in the candlelight) before tugging her away from the bar, where their drinks were hastily abandoned.

It seemed he was just as content to curse restraint, pulling her along with such haste that she tripped on her skirts (more than once) - evidently forgetting his longer legs and her tall heels as she bumped into a distracted patron that was left with a spilled drink, a scowl, and a breathless apology she didn’t quite mean.

They paused at the mouth of the corridor tucked in the back. It was lined with nothing but identical doors of deepest mahogany: some tightly shut, some cracked, and others yet wide open.

The meaning behind each was simple enough: shut meant “do not disturb”, cracked meant “listen or join, if you dare”, and wide open meant “vacant”. The wizard gave her a boyish grin as they all but stumbled to a stop in front of one that remained ajar and beckoned with soft golden light from the candles within.

“What are you waiting for?” She panted.

Without waiting on so much as a blink, her hand fisted in the crisp white of his button down, guiding him through the threshold before the slam of wood against the frame echoed in the empty chamber.

“A witch who knows what she wants, I see.” He chuckled, his hands needing no invitation to wind around her waist until their bodies molded at each curve.

“Well, you’ve been taunting me for a while, haven’t you?”

She took advantage of her hold on his clothes, forgoing the ease of simply waving her wand when she could take the opportunity to feel every inch of skin she revealed by releasing the buttons on his shirt.

Freckled - just as she’d suspected, and with a neat nest of dark hair over the swell of his pectorals that her palms begged to rest on.

“Wait, wait.” He huffed, hands coming to halt hers before they had time to slide the heavy coat from his shoulders.

“No - not wait as in stop -“ he’d seen the crease between her brows. “Wait, as in… slow down.”

”You seemed rather impatient a minute ago when you were dragging me through the place.” She said wryly.

“Impatient to get you alone, yes.” His knuckle grazed her cheek gently, reverently studying what little of her face he was able to see.

“But…” It was as transient as a ghost, at first. A phantom of touch over the swell of her lip, and then firmer as his thumb outlined the shape. “I’d very much like to kiss you first. May I?”

That he even asked such a question - let alone made his intentions to savor the night clear - was enough to poke another hole in her notions of a one-night affair. What if she couldn’t stand to never have this man again when it was over?

Well… there was always the luxury of dreams.

“Yes, of course.” She whispered.

She’d been right earlier - the taste of wine clung to the corners of his mouth, somehow even sweeter when combined with a hint of peppermint cooling the sharp breath he took the moment their lips fit together effortlessly. Her tongue sought to part them in search of the buzz that the alcohol couldn’t take credit for; finding his and groaning with delight as he melted into her.

A soft tug on her scalp announced the presence of his fingers as they threaded through strands of hair with the sole purpose of eliminating any and all space between them. Eagerly he rolled their tongues together, smearing the red painted on her lips across his chin.

They only paused to share a breath that left her dizzy. The sight of his skin stained with rouge was more beautiful than any art piece hanging on the tapestried walls - and there would be more colors adorning it by the end of the night, if she had anything to say about it.

“Now…” The brunet exhaled when they broke apart, lips brushing with each word. “Now, you can take off my clothes.”

No need to tell her twice.

His vest slumped to the floor, giving her leave to continue her work on that long trail of buttons ending at the waist of his trousers. Before long it, too, was little more than a rag at their feet. When she was privy to every square inch of his bare torso, her hands took liberties to caress the panes of his chest, marveling without shame.

“If you’ll allow me the honor, I’d like to even the score.” His voice was near a husk as he watched her intently.

No complaints arose (alright, perhaps one — when he spun her around; effectively depriving her of the ability to keep touching him) as the skilled wizard sought the eye hooks at the back of her bodice, dexterous fingers releasing each one with a snap that seemed to echo. All the while his mouth found her skin - tongue laving over her throat, teeth nipping where it met her shoulder to plant a bloom of deepest red.

“Mmm… keep doing that.” She hummed appreciatively, head lolling to the side.

“You don’t mind if I leave you a few reminders to find in the morning?” He chuckled. By then, he’d succeeded in freeing her of the constricting garment, tossing it to the carpet by the fire before he started to untie her skirt.

“Not at all.”

”Good,” another kiss, just below her ear this time. “Because I want to be able to see that it’s still there next time we meet.”

If he wasn’t careful, she’d start to think he already had plans to do this again.

She didn’t wait for him to move her this time; taking control back once she was only clad in her underthings by going for the buttons holding up his bottoms. Oddly enough, her fingers took on a tremulous quality - one she’d rarely (if ever) experienced in an intimate moment since her very first.

He seemed to adopt a similar growing impatience that made him forgo the back and forth to slip the sleeves of her chemise down, guiding the garment over her figure.

”Gods, you’re a vision.” He groaned and reached for the curve of her waist, feeling out the shape only to travel upwards until he could cup a breast in each hand, thumbs teasing the peaks hardened against the air.

Even as she shivered when he leaned down to bestow a kiss on either one, she managed to get him out of everything but the long undergarments concealing that which she craved most. But when she went for them, he stopped her yet again - catching her wrist only to sweep the startled witch into his awaiting arms with a self-satisfied grin.

The mattress depressed beneath her weight, bouncing back as she blew away a stray lock of hair to look up at him. Watching the way his arms — corded with thick veins — flexed and his eyes narrowed. With barely concealed impatience he climbed onto the bed and wrapped his hands around her thighs.

“Quite the man handler, you are.” She giggled once he’d yanked her towards him so her legs fell open on either side of his knees.

That drew the attention of his wandering eyes.

“Somehow I doubt that was a complaint.” His mouth quirked in earnest. ”Nor do I envision you’ll have any after I’m done with you.”

He began to toy with the idea of removing her drawers - the last thing preventing her from losing her mind, potentially - by sliding his fingers beneath their frilly hems, nails prickling the skin of her thighs as they scratched up and down in a taunting rhythm.

“Tell me something about yourself,” he whispered out of the clear blue. “Anything. The only things I know about you are that you’re French, love the color red and Merlot… oh, and you’re a much better dancer than me.”

Sharing random factoids wasn’t necessarily the foreplay she’d been expecting, nor the kind she was used to, but she couldn’t say she minded when his voice alone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Uhmm…” She had to think of something vague; a throwaway tidbit useless to anyone else.

While he watched, waited with wide and patient eyes, she sighed, “I can’t go a day without coffee. Never quite developed a taste for tea. And I drink it with three sugars.”

He blinked twice in quick succession. All the while he had yet to stop playing with the edges of her knickers, though he gradually let one hand inch up her covered thigh, as if testing the waters. But, she wondered… what was there to test? He had been so self-assured outside this room, yet now there was a hint of nerves beneath the cool exterior.

”So dark and sweet is the way you like it, huh?” He simply couldn’t help himself, it seemed.

The smirk she donned was enough of an answer. “Tell me something about you, then.”

”Me… well.” His mouth quirked before he shifted on the bed - lying on his stomach to greet the center of hers with a kiss. Then each of her hips with a gentle nip.“I love to read. Anything I can get my hands on, really. Fiction, nonfiction, magical and otherwise… I’ll devour it all.”

A slight pinch followed by the softness of his lips alerted her to another cluster of marks he began working onto her lower stomach, covering as much ground as he could on her thighs. His breath, heating her core as it came in little pants, was beginning to become a significant problem - one made her feel warm and heavy. Like sinking into a hot bath, if it were near-boiling.

“In fact, if I had to pick my favorite place in the world, it would be sitting in front of a fire with a good book.” His fingertip ever so slightly grazed the inner curve of her thigh.

“A man of charm and intelligence…how ever did I get so fortunate?”

He chuckled at her teasing lilt, the sound tickling her sensitive skin while he began to make way for the kisses left up the length of her thigh — bunching her drawers up until his fingers just brushed the soft nest of curls at the top.

“Although right now I have to say; I’m very much enjoying this spot, as well.” The wicked man smiled up at her.

“Well, if you’re waiting for an invitation, you’ve got it.” She tried to sound casual about it all, but truth be told, she was fighting every urge to rip his underwear off and throw him onto the bed herself like some sort of madwoman.

He might make her into one before the sun rose, anyway.

She was sure of it when he began pressing tortuously chaste kisses to her other thigh, and when his fingers slid lower to deliver a gentle stroke down the center of her slit had her shuddering with anticipation.

“And how long have you been this wet, love?” His deep rasp was muffled by the fabric of her underwear.

She chuckled. “Hmm…since the moment you took me to the bar, probably.”

He sat up with a distinctly prideful grin, slipping the soft cotton undergarments down her legs, his eyes alight as he settled back between them.

She could almost see the words hanging off his lips as he gazed up at her (that sight was enough to make her hips shift needily), but for whatever reason, they weren’t cut loose. No, he busied his mouth with far more important pursuits. After pausing briefly to indulge his eyes in an appreciative sweep of her naked body, he at last found the perfect spot to make her whine (and on the first try, too) with naught but a languorous sweep of his tongue.

It wasn’t nearly enough to quell any bit of the ache driving her into inevitable madness, but he showed her mercy by flattening the wet muscle against her folds and following a slow trail up until the tip of it lightly flicked her clit.

“Oh, please do that again.” She pleaded (had she been reduced to begging so quickly?), one hand inching towards her breast — seeking any more stimulation she could find — as the other slid through the silken waves atop his head.

He obliged. But with more pressure this time, and so, so slow, observing her reaction as if she were the most scintillating thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

It really was something about those eyes. With such unfairly long lashes that fanned over russet cheeks, and the way the candlelight flickering off the walls would touch them just so to light the near-black irises with a rich gold. His lips stretched against her skin, noticing her attention and giving her an approving hum that was met by the push of her hips towards his tongue.

“Mmmph —“ he grunted when her thighs pressed to his ears, entrapping him between them greedily. “Like that, do you?”

Her answering moan earned another grin followed by a gentle suck on her clit that only brought out another breathy, low sound.

“But gods, you taste so sweet…decadent, just as I’d said.”

Merlin, his voice…the way it rumbled with barely contained desire and pulled obscenities from her own throat was sinful.

Drowning in sin didn’t seem such a bad way to go, at present.

The possibility became reality once he re-added a finger to the mix; curling it beneath his tongue to trace the folds before sinking gradually into her awaiting heat.

“Oh, f—“

One of her own fingers rolled her nipple atop the breast she’d been playing with as she shivered. If he kept this up much longer, she would surely come undone right on his tongue; wrapped around that rough digit gliding in and out of her as it stroked her upper walls.

But that didn’t feel right. As wonderful as the softness of his lips enclosing around her clit was, she couldn’t imagine a proper substitute for the stretch his cock would provide instead.

“I need…” she had been about to voice her request when the tip of his tongue prodded her entrance. Both of her hands now gripped his auburn waves like they were keeping her tethered to earth, legs trembling with the effort to fight off the warmth swelling in her core.

“Need what?” He took an eager breath in, only to release it through pursed lips over the throbbing bud he seemed to adore. “I want to hear it loud and clear, lovely.”

An impatient groan parted her bitten lips. “I need more. I need you inside me when you make me come.”

“There you go. Gods, you sound so pretty when you ask to be fucked…” It took one last excruciating pump of his finger inside of her before he withdrew to push himself up onto his knees with a mess of her own making shining on his clean-shaven chin.

“First, though…” The finger coated with her fluids was sucked between his reddened lips. When it was pulled out with a slick, slow draw, he crooked it in her direction. “Come here. I want you to get a little taste, too.”

Don’t mind if I do.

On trembling hands she raised herself up on wobbly knees pressed into the soft mattress, sucking in a breath when she curled her fingers over the band of his underwear and waited for approval.

“Don’t be shy.” He coaxed gently.

It was difficult not to be at least a little intimidated by the proud shape outlined through his bottoms (and leaving a very telltale wet spot in the light fabric), but she pushed past it with a firm swallow.

Her breath whooshed out without prompting as she rolled them over his hips and the rather shapely swell of his backside. And, as it had before taking a sip of the wine he’d offered earlier, her mouth watered when she was rewarded with the view of his cock as it twitched at the first rush of air over the leaking tip.

Personally, she wasn’t much of an artist. She preferred a wand to a brush and blood over red paint, but there was something about him that begged to be immortalized on canvas. How satisfying it would be to perfectly capture the artful tapering from wide shoulders to a slimmer waist, or even to carve from marble the thickness of his thighs.

She doubted it would do him justice.

“Are you going to paint a portrait?” He teased, as if ripping those very thoughts from her mind.

“Just might. And could you blame me?” She answered with a bite of her lip. But there was too much bloody talk going on. In the spirit of action, she lowered her mouth to meet the curve of his hipbone and began marking a wet trail downwards.

The light scrape of his fingernail over her cheekbone made her lashes flutter as he tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, his breathing growing more labored when her palm slipped over the softness of his length — only to fold her fingers around it with gentle pressure. By the time she brushed her lips over the head — then her tongue to collect the salty fluid now leaking down the shaft — he was keening under his breath.

“Mmhmm…keep going, please.” he murmured.

As if she would stop. On the contrary, she wrapped her mouth around him, making a circle around the ridge of his cockhead with the tip of her tongue only to trace the length of him by following a thick vein. He was thick — stretching her lips wide when she took him in inch by inch, allowing him to prod the back of her throat to moisten her mouth.

“Just like that. You’re doing brilliantly, love; just perfect.” He said breathlessly, scraping her hair back into a haphazard updo with a broad hand.

Spurred on by the praise, she hollowed her cheeks for a better seal, dragged her mouth along his shaft until he rewarded her with a broken, guttural moan. She kept it up until finding a rhythm that his hips desperately pushed forward to match.

“I won’t… fuck, you’re going to make me embarrass myself…” he chuckled weakly.

Well that wouldn’t do at all. As much as the idea of swallowing his seed enticed her, there was a far better option in her mind. Which is why, despite his immediate protest in the form of a low grunt and a harsh tug on her hair, she gave one last slow lick before pulling away.

The increasingly flustered wizard tracked her movements with lust-glazed eyes. “I was hoping to drag this out, but I think you’re proper ready for me, aren’t you?”

Her enthusiastic nod spurred a laugh as he unfolded her legs from beneath her, wasting no time in hooking one around his hips and propping the other up to rest on his shoulder. The view was… magnificent, and he seemed to agree as his tongue darted out to taste her essence on his lips.

She’d expected another round of teasing. How relieved she was when instead, the blunt head of his cock parted her readily, sweeping through the slickness there with a stuttered, needy groan.

And just when she was about to insist —

A gasp tore through her dry throat as he pushed himself inside of her with little resistance. She was suddenly so full; though it wasn’t until he was fully sheathed that she let out a long, breathy sigh.

“Good? You alright?” He murmured, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing circles on the inside of her thighs. When she nodded, his mouth curled into a smile that she felt amidst the kisses left along her calf.

Oh, it was more than good — by the time he dragged his length out just to drive himself forward again, she was positively keening for more; her hands blindly reaching for some part to grab and managing to splay them flat on his lower back to force him deeper. He could hardly fight her, and it seemed like he didn’t want to anyway. The wizard’s eyes had grown hooded with lust, those sumptuous lips parting to make way for a moan that sent a shock down her spine. Her own eyes fluttered shut as he began to glide in and out of her in languid, practiced thrusts.

“Mm mmm,” he hummed chastingly. “I’d like to see those pretty eyes.”

His boldness — so wildly sexy.

Looking at him was almost a taboo in itself. Nine times out of then, her trysts had involved a lot of pleasure-filled sounds and heavy breathing; but conversation? Not so much. Some people didn’t even like to be kissed — and others found a prolonged gaze entirely too intimate.

This man didn’t just fuck. It was a different experience altogether, and it was bloody incredible. So, like the hopelessly besotted witch she was, she met his gaze and responded with a wanton moan at the sight of his head thrown back in pleasure while his hips made wide circles against hers.

“Gods, you fit like a glove,” his body shuddered with a stuttered exhale. “Feel so good…”

She canted her hips up to meet his in protest of his lazy pace, earning a broken chuckle before being rewarded with the head of his cock roughly probing her to its absolute limit.

“Godric…” she whined pathetically. “Again — right there.”

“Is Godric Gryffindor the one providing your pleasure right now?” He mocked. “No, I don’t think so.”

”Well, then tell me your name, and I’ll scream it as much as you want.”

Locks of mussed hair fell over his forehead as the man shook his head, ignoring her small pout, but soothing the disappointment by giving her something else she’d wanted.

Again, he speared himself nice and deep. And again; and again, until her nails were carving crescents into the muscle of his back and he was whispering streams of filth into her ears between husky groans. Just when she was about to warn him of her rapidly approaching release, he had to go and stop — worst of all, he dragged his length out of her.

“You must be joking,” she panted.

A wicked grin told her she was in for it, and her thighs squeezed together in anticipation as he twirled his finger midair. “Oh, we’re not done. Sit up for me, love, and turn around. That’s it… now put your hands on the headboard.”

When her fingers curled around the solid chunk of wood, the bed dipped and creaked as he came up behind her, chest to spine and fingers curling over hers.

“Make sure you’re holding on tight.” Without warning, he ripped a sharp cry from her throat by driving back into her lonely heat until his hip bones dug into her ass and she swore she could see the night sky in that very room.

“Buggering hell —“ she blurted. This new angle was sure to be the end of her, and he was well aware of it from the delighted chuckle he huffed in her ear.

”You’ve got such a mouth on you for a lady… damned if I don’t love it.” The wizard panted with pride.

He wasn’t taking it easy on her any longer. The sheer force of his thrusts was enough to rock the bed frame against the wall; the thuds as the headboard struck exposed brick likely heard by everyone in the surrounding rooms (not that she had any room to care in her sex addled brain). It was enough to wring every last coherent thought from her, rendering her a shaking, mewling mess and unable to do anything but meet each snap of his hips with her own — while holding on for dear life.

“Oh, yes…” he was on his way to leaving bruises on her hip from the force of his steadying grip, but the sparks of pain only led her to greater pleasure.

Well-attuned to the signs of her mounting release as it threatened to overwhelm her for the third time, he released her hand to reach around and find her clit, abandoning the precision and prowess from before. Those dexterous fingers worked tirelessly, and coupled with the uneven little pants warming her neck between his kisses…

“I know you’re close, love,” he shuddered. “Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

He threw every last bit of his energy into shoving her over the edge; and as his cock prodded that spot inside of her once more, she gave in and fell apart under his hands. Every unbridled, broken sound that tumbled out as she rode through her orgasm was met with an encouraging whimper from the wizard. Just when the last bit of pleasure was wrung from her body, he pulled out with a groan, releasing ropes of warm seed over her backside and spine.

There he rested for a moment. While he caught his breath, the man’s hands traced the shape of her body, slipping in the essence coating her with a proud chuckle. “Evanesco.” he murmured, restoring her skin to its unmarred state.

“Are you…” he gulped in a lungful of sex-scented air. “Are you alright?”

“Brilliant.” She panted, letting go of the headboard to turn and rest her back against it instead. “You?”

It was an understatement, really: all that stress pounding between her temples and tension in her shoulders had disappeared. She felt spectacular.

“Never better.”

He sank back to his knees, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he admired her with a lazy grin. How she wished she could peel the satin from his cheeks to see that smile reach his dark eyes…

“Only wanted to make sure. You were getting quite loud.” The question seemed more taunt than anything.

Walking might prove difficult for the next couple of hours (at the least), and her hair was likely in a right state (along with her marked-up skin), but none of that mattered when the lingering rush instilled her with a rare lightness.

“Is that a complaint?”

“Not at all. I was very much enjoying the sounds you made. Means I did my job well.”

She gave him a playful eye roll, rolling onto her side with the intention of returning to the solace of his arms before she realized — pillow talk and cuddling were sort of an unspoken faux pas when it came to casual encounters. Usually, her or her partners would leave the bed before the sweat had dried on their skin, and for once the expectation felt…lonely.

It truly struck her when he cleared his throat a moment later, gingerly untangling their weakened limbs to climb out of the bed seeking the various items of clothing discarded across the room.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, eyes darting to her before he located his pants. “Water, food..? Anything.”

Though appreciative, she waved his offer away with a quiet laugh. “I’ll be just fine. Though I’m sure I’ll need a hot bath at home.”

Sitting idly in bed while he already had a foot out the door picked at her pride, and so the Auror dragged herself out of it on trembling fawn’s legs. She managed to locate her underthings and slip them on before plucking her gown up from the floor.

“Oh,” a flash of gold caught her eye, and she bent to retrieve his trousers — as well as the shiny pocket watch that had evidently fallen out while they were distracted earlier. “Here, you don’t want to lose this.”

He was dragging his shirt over his bed head when she walked over to return it. She couldn’t help but admire the piece’s subtle artistry; the metal so perfectly preserved with intricate curling ivy etched into the rim of the case. Such a unique design…

So unique that she could easily recall seeing one just like it before.

And it, too, had been monogrammed with the letter S.

If he hadn’t snatched the watch out of her hand before the shock hit, she might have dropped and broken one of the last artifacts of the Sallow family.

Merlin, the irony of her asking for his name to say it in bed when she wanted to scream it in outrage now. And of course he had the audacity to take a step towards her, to soften his wide brown eyes (how had she looked into them and not known) and adopt an innocent frown; the one he had always used before begging for forgiveness.

She took a step back in turn and fixed him with a look that could have frozen the fire in the hearth. It was enough to confirm for him exactly what conclusion she’d reached.

“Blast it all, it is you.” He breathed.

“Sebastian?”

[needle-thread-thimble-spear]

Revolutionary Girl Utena and Epistemic Violence

or

Why Anthy is not a trans girl (but she is to me)

~~

Ohtori, as any good setting tends to, carries a lot of thematic weight. It’s a fairy world, where metaphorical illusion blurs personal hopes over a poisoned interior structure, to the point where an outside perspective may struggle to distinguish between what a character is thinking and what is actually happening. Time and memory are suggestions whispered in the ear of its students, a cyclic hell where the same puppets are played in position, memories broken but dreams intact, to test new victims and forge new swords. A kingdom of nowhen, ruled from above by a king that refuses to see that the prison he built cannot ever free him. A hierarchy where the misogyny taught to children to prepare them for the grown up version is baked into the very structure of the world, belying a culture of horrible sexual violence. And at the very bottom of that hierarchy, the victim-witch, is the kings own sister. A sort of broken Omelas, where one girl must suffer forever and ever, not to end the suffering of others, but to keep them in the dark. Especially her brother. What Ohtori is, and the hierarchies that it represents both within the work and outside of it, hinges on the suffering of that girl. And, maybe more importantly, her silence.

~~

Revolutionary Girl Utena changed my life. I’ve been saying this nearly two years now, mostly as a joke, but with distance I can see it really isn’t. When you are in the depths of an abusive relationship, it is extremely difficult to see what’s happening to you. I don’t wish to dwell on my own story here too much, but how can I ignore it? RGU was the language I used to understand what had happened to me. Images from the show flit through my mind as though I were a Tamarian. Utena, in the window. Anthy, with the candelabra. Utena, her hands cut with thorns. Anthy with the white beret. After finishing the show for the first time I felt sickened. Not merely because of the subject matter depicted, raw and horrible as it is, but because I saw myself in it. Why do I feel such a kinship with Anthy?

I think, dear reader, you may be able to imagine the horror inherent to that realization. You might have felt it, you may be feeling it now.

It seemed obvious to me then, for reasons I could not begin to fathom, that Anthy was a trans girl. Reeling from my first watch, this felt like the only conclusion I could draw though I couldn’t tell you why. For years, I have drafted and redrafted essays attempting to justify this feeling. Recently, I posted an reading of Miki as a transfem character, and I don’t feel particularly strongly about that reading! Sure, aspects of his character were relatable to me, I could draw analogies well enough, but that was completely secondary to my actual goal. Practice for the transfem Anthy essay. Looking back on what I’d written now, I don’t. Hate? What I wrote. There’s definitely some aspects I’d repudiate now. If you enjoyed reading it, if it meant something to you, I’m glad. But even as I was writing it it felt incomplete and limited. And I believe I understand why.

What did I get wrong about Miki and Kozue? What lies in Ohtori’s heart? What lies in that bed of rotten rose petals?

We all know what does, but we do not want to see it and certainly don’t want to talk about it.

It’s Nanami’s disgust with Anthy, with herself. It’s Miki and Kozue’s confused but earnest posturing. It’s Utena looking up at Akio, it’s Anthy’s vacant stare.

Even here, I’m speaking in abbreviated reference. But it’s abuse, sexual, at times incestuous abuse, that touches every character in RGU.

I’d recently seen a few posts which I think hit on a really common phenomena among fans of the show. Our own stories, our own disgust, our own fears and our own traumas, sort of get in the way when we talk about RGU. I think it’s a natural consequence. RGU deals with heavy subject matter that is very difficult to sit with. I don’t think it’d be incorrect to say most western fans of RGU are queer in some way. We’re much more likely, as consequence, to suffer from interpersonal abuse. And naturally, we are drawn to these characters since they represent, with so few holds barred, some of our worst experiences. But does that make them like us?

For the record, I think it would be ridiculous to suggest that RGU isn't a queer show and that it isn't filled with queer characters. But, for as obvious a conclusion as this is, a surprising depth of that queerness is veiled in subtext. It’s worth considering, the endless arguments over whether Anthy and Utena are lesbians or bisexual, is sort of inconsequential. The important thing is that they have escaped, together! We could suppose that, were Ohtori a real place, we could go track down the two of them and demand from them an answer. How do you feel, Anthy, about your attraction to Akio? What does that mean to you? Would you please quell that horrible disgust we feel thinking about it? Inquiring readers would like to feel better know!

When one leaves Ohtori, one leaves the view of the audience. Utena and Anthy are in love with one another, but what that means to them (and themselves) is out of our reach.

And yet, I can’t seem to shake my original conclusion, from my first watch. Surely it cannot be intended! Hell, even the fact that Anthy is desi is sort of incidental to any commentary on social injustice, the motivation for depicting her (and Akio) this way was to exoticize them relative to the rest of the school. So is this image of Anthy as a brown trans girl, her position in Ohtori being a result of transmisogyny, some western myopia? Mere projection of the aggrieved self on a character who, by her nature, absorbs the feelings and impressions of those around her?

Sort of?

Revolutionary Girl Utena was created in a Japanese cultural context, to be sure, but it’s worth noting that while the precise execution of (trans)misogyny and other gender injustices may vary from culture to culture, patriarchy isn’t exactly exclusive to the west. There is a lot of different directions we could run in here, but the one I want to focus on is epistemic violence (a good primer linked here if the term is unfamiliar). *

In Ohtori, all girls are like princesses, unless they are like witches. And, sooner or later, all girls are like the rose bride, the doll-witch, the synthesis. This is how patriarchy works. There is a concept of “permissible” femininity, and an “impermissible” feminity. There is the wife, the mother, the domestic servant, who is permitted some limited social power by her utility to a patriarch (primarily as a mother to trueborn children). Then there is, well, everyone else. “Loose” women, sure, but also those who have been damaged by sexual violence. Those who cannot bear children, because of some accident of their physiology. These women are used, for feminized labor, for sex, but because of the stigma associated with them and the issues they present toward patrilineal succession, they are subject to various censure. One does not talk about survivors of sexual violence or sex workers in polite society. It is possible for some to travel between these two categories, although it is far, far easier to go from “type 1” to “type 2” than the other direction. Indeed, for some it is not possible to have ones “virtue” restored. If we aren’t being reduced to predatory inhuman monsters, trans women, both a hypersexualized object of intense fetishization and incapable of bearing children, are placed into the second category automatically. Lots of would be abusers are happy to whisper in our ears, that they will treat us like we are “type 1”, but invariably they do not.**

The most maddening thing to me about being a trans woman is this, inability for anyone to see the violence that happens to you. People don’t believe you can be the subject of (sexual) violence, even though the fact it occurs to you, regularly, should be obvious to anyone who thinks about how we are perceived for just a moment! You cannot speak up without sounding delusional, it can happen right in front of a stranger, your best friend, and they wont bat an eye. That you are so incredibly disgusting, no one would want to hurt you that way.

Anthy isn’t a trans girl. But the system that silences her, treats her like she deserves her victimization, that she is irrevocably tainted by her relationship with Akio, the system that keeps us, the audience, from internalizing the dreadful truth of her character, this veil of silence, of covered ears and closed eyes, is extant in the lives of all misbegotten gender-oppressed rejects. If we are going to draw analogies between ourselves and Anthy, or Utena, or Nanami, or any the rest of them, we need to pull back that veil. Indeed, it's confronting (and then escaping from) that choking, word-stopping bile that sits at the core of RGU's thesis. I don’t think it’s wrong for us to relate to the characters in RGU, and write about that. But we might stop to consider why before we do!

*If you’re curious to read more about patriarchy across cultures, here is a really incisive article on the phenomena of third sexing, the operation of (trans)misogyny and gendered violence in parallel across cultural contexts, and how that relates to the western and desi sphere (but also more broadly).

**It should also be noted that there can be no comparison of suffering of anyone under patriarchy. Even the most vaunted cis man, I suppose. But there can be a comparison of power, and this is why we discuss it rather than throw up our hands.

Thank you for reading, I think this is the last I'm going to write about RGU for a while, though there's quite a bit I want to say about Utena and Anthy's relationship. So someday, I'll get around to more! And a perennial thank you to @empty-movement for the high quality archival images.

[batmanfruitloops]

Happy 1st Anniversary to the Batmanfruitloops!!! 🎉

Whoo! This is such an achievement, but also it's such a crazy thought that it's been a WHOLE YEAR??? It means a lot that so many other people like our au as much as we do, and even more that we've been able to make friends; we want to thank all of you new and old for joining us here to have fun and enjoy the journey of our au!

With that said, I'd like to share some old art that's "behind the scenes" stuff from out time since we started our au.

also if you've been here since these were the profile picture and banner, you're a real one;

Fun fact, I (Sarsee) don't like fruit loops, but it was the first thing I thought of to name the blog, plus it was memorable. The au name being "Batman: A New Gotham" came later! Double plus, the abbreviation is BANG and I find that coincidence just delightful.

One of favorite changes that happened out of nowhere was John's eyes changing from more round to almond. He used to look a lot more like the Telltale Joker, but I feel like his current eyes fit better with his personality in our au. This also isn't going to show up because it's file names, but I had originally wanted to call the Joker "Jbird" like Batman calls him in the Lego Batman movie. (for context, it's the scene where Joker is tied to a bunch of balloons - you know the one - and side note, I want to redraw a screenshot from that with our Joker eventually) I don't have any pictures with a "Jbird" design because I never got the idea to work, I just thought it could have been interesting considering Joker works with Batman in our au and that would put him on theme with the Batfam being flying mammals/avians.

Most of the other original designs aren't too drastic either - or at least it doesn't feel like it to me. Scarecrow and Riddler have changed a lot though. And I think the changes that came about with Fluffy joining on board were much needed (Scarecrow's costume was always done by Fluffy, but I designed him out of costume originally -I was originally making the au myself, but that didn't last long when we started yapping about ideas to one another and never stopped) She also couldn't understand how I stylized his hair, so it became puffy and unruly instead of curly and gelled back. Ed can still gel his hair if he wanted to, just for special occasions.

Some old sillies as well from Fluffy;

we find the contrast between Batman vs. Scarecrow and Joker vs. Riddler very funny because it's so drastically different. The Joker and Riddler never really try to hurt each other, they just like to play into the dramatics and vibe while still on their separate sides. Batman and Scarecrow want to tear one another's throats out and watch them suffer for it because they have no idea what's going on in their heads.

with the villain!joker timeline, there's an alternate version of the Goon squad (Dork Squad + Joker) where it's Harvey instead of the Joker. Or as well, there can be all five of them. Harvey is the only person who can scruff Jo like the gremlin he very much is and he'll just let it happen.

I don't know if this will show up in the comic anymore, but at one point the Joker was going to refer to Scarecrow and the Riddler as Samhain and a leprechaun because they're both partially Irish - couldn't really be that specific with voice claims, and they'd be offended

and lastly, Ed gets cranky when he's tired

Batman and Riddler are the only two to get digital references at the time and man, do I much prefer how streamlined the final ones look. I mean, what was the dingy brown I had behind Batman? For a split second, Ed's coat was almost purple, but thankfully, Fluffy convinced me otherwise and suggested his shoes be purple. This is also before his vest, and now there's an in story reason for why he doesn't have it in the beginning. Also look at how skinny and tall Ed looked!! (he was still short, he's not allowed to be tall in our au)

That's all I have for now, we'd love to hear any thoughts/memories/etc. in the comments!

Love, Sarsee and Fluffy, your batmanfruitloops creatures