#with love and adoration and passion and hunger for knowledge about something so beautiful and mysterious!!!!!!!!!

[bugmistake]

thinking about marine life and getting so excited i have to remind myself to breathe

[cafedanslanuit]

[ k i n k t o b e r ]  d a y   11    -   masterlist

↪ character: oikawa tooru [haikyuu!!]

↪ tags/warnings: +18, female!reader, make-up sex, oral sex (receiving), sex on the kitchen counter, established relationship, porn with plot.

Oikawa Tooru wasn’t one to get afraid.

He had faced numerous challenges and had both won and lost enough to not be afraid when the next one came.

But when he saw his girlfriend standing by the gym door wearing a fancy dress with her arms crossed and glaring at him, he felt true terror. You didn’t say a thing, but as soon as you saw him looking back at you, you turned on your heel and left the gym.

Ten minutes later, he was running to her parked car, hair still wet from the shower as he tried to button up his white shirt. You started the car without a word and drove to the restaurant, with the intent to enjoy what little time you had left of your first year anniversary. Oikawa thought that if maybe he would try to take you for a walk around town, maybe go to the park where you used to sit and talk for hours when you were first getting to know each other. That would certainly make that frown on your face disappear.

Things didn’t work out the way he expected them to. And he guessed you felt the same when you threw your keys angrily to the kitchen counter as soon as you got back to your shared apartment. You had been way too late and had lost your reservation at the restaurant. Oikawa had offered to look for another place, but you had already started the car before he could keep talking. He had tried talking to you on the way home, but you kept silent and somehow it was worse than when you actually yelled at him.

“Maybe I can cook something,” Oikawa offered, following you to the kitchen. “Just because we were late doesn’t mean we--”

“We were late?” you retaliated, raising your voice. “We!?”

Oikawa looked at you, fists clenched as you trembled with rage. You walked to him and he took a few steps back.

“You were late because you forgot about our date. Again!” you complained, hands on your hips.

“I lost track of time, I knew it was our anniversary, I did! But when I’m training I don’t know if it’s morning or night anymore,” he tried to explain, raising his hands. “But I didn’t mean to, we can still--”

“Tooru, I--,” you sighed. “I know volleyball it’s more important than me. I have made peace with that,��� you shrugged. “So I always take your training into consideration when picking a date night and I’ve never asked you to skip practice. But you can’t keep doing this to me, you can’t keep bailing on me. I was waiting for you here for an hour before I drove to the gym. We lost the reservations because you were late, because you didn’t think about me, because you decided training was more important,” you said, emphasizing every ‘you’ with a poke on his chest. You felt a tear running down your left cheek but paid no attention to it. “Volleyball may be your top priority now, Tooru, but volleyball won’t put a blanket over you when you fall asleep on the couch or prepare you some food when you have to train all day. One day you’re going to stare at the audience and see I’m not there anymore,” you sentenced. “I just--”

Oikawa interrupted you with a strong kiss. You hummed in discomfort but as soon as you felt his hands on your waist, you felt yourself melting under his touch. The magnetic pull he always had on you was as strong as the first day you laid your eyes on him and even if you had been angry enough to cry just a few seconds ago, the way he was kissing you was making you see stars.

It was your turn to take a few steps backwards as he guided you to the kitchen counter. His body felt warm against you, the bulge between his legs hard against your thigh. Oikawa lowered his lips to your neck, his tongue going straight to your pulse point as his hand traveled over your clothed thigh. You let out a shaky breath, hating the way he knew your body so well, and how easily he could make you fall apart on his touch. Biting your lip, you started unbuttoning his dress shirt, the item falling carelessly on the floor as you immediately touched his toned abs. He bucked his hips against yours, making you let out a small moan as you scratched his biceps.

Oikawa’s lips travelled down to your shoulder, leaving small marks as he unzipped the back of your dress. It fell on the floor and you stepped away from it, kicking it along with your boyfriend’s shirt. His eyes widened when he noticed you weren’t wearing a bra underneath, but he immediately replaced his expression with a smirk as he bent down and put one of your nipples on his mouth. Holding it softly with his teeth, he flicked his tongue over it, adoring the newls escaping from your mouth as he did so. He kneaded your other breast with his hand, taking his time to make you feel good. He changed positions after a few moments and wasn’t surprised when he felt your hands messing with his belt, trying to get his pants off. Oikawa went back to kissing you as he took them off, pushing them away as soon as they hit the floor. He took off your underwear and your eyes immediately looked for his, the yearning and hunger in his making your heart skip a beat.

The next thing you knew, he was holding you up by the back of your thighs and sitting you down on the counter. He spent no time getting on his knees, opening your legs and burying his face on your core. The year you had spent together had made him a master of knowledge around every corner of your body, and he knew just what to do to make you squirm and tremble under his tongue. He started with a long lick with the flat part of his tongue, humming at all the wetness around. The tip of his tongue circled your clit, so slowly that it was almost teasing. You had to refrain yourself from pushing the back of his head closer to you.

“Please, Tooru, p-please,” you moaned, your fingers traveling to his hair and twirling it. He 

looked up to you, his big brown eyes looking cloudy with desire.

He set his lips around your clit and started sucking on it gently, making you tug on his hair as you moaned loudly. His tongue darted over your clit just with the pressure you loved, knowing when to go faster and when to slow down. His hands were gripping on your thighs, keeping them in place as you couldn’t help but squirm on your seat as he had his way with you. It didn’t take long for you to feel your stomach tightening, your release announcing itself as he kept lapping at your core. Even though it was enough to make your eyes go blank, it wasn’t the way you wanted to come undone.

“Tooru, fuck me, please, just fuck me…” you whined, tugging on his hair once more. “I want to come around your cock, please.”

Obediently, he pulled away from you, half on his face glistening from your wetness. If he felt the smallest bit flustered by your bold words, you didn’t notice it, instead focusing on him taking off his underwear and pumping his length a couple of times, the tip already wet with precum. Your mouth watered at the sight, even more when he came closer to you again, putting one of your legs around his waist, spreading the other one as he took a look at your pussy clenching over nothing in excitement.

The way his cock stretched you as he pushed him inside almost made you come right in that instant. Your nails dug into Oikawa’s shoulder, your forehead falling on his chest. He grunted deliciously as your pussy swallowed him.

“So fucking tight, baby,” he muttered against his hair, pressing a small kiss right after. Once he was fully inside, he started thrusting against you, a slow but firm pace that made your shoulders tremble every time the tip of his cock hit the back of your cervix.

Oikawa gently pulled you away from his chest, making you look at him as he rocked his hips against yours. Your parted lips grazed against each other, drinking the moans the other one was making. He cupped your face and kissed you passionately, your arms immediately circling his neck and pulling him even closer.

“I love you so much,” he groaned, quickening the pace of his thrusts. “So fucking much, baby.”

It was a bit surprising to you how quickly your orgasm hit after hearing him profess his love for you. The strength of your release hit you like a wave, but Oikawa held your head in place, kissing you as you moaned inside his mouth. He watched you intently as you broke apart, your eyes unfocused and your lips parted as you kept whimpering in front of him. You looked so beautiful, so incredibly beautiful and you were his, all your love and all your thoughts had him in the spotlight and he kicked himself if he ever took it for granted, even if it was for a second.

His thrusts became erratic, as he kept himself getting closer and closer to his own release. His moans also became louder and as you rode out your orgams, you set your eyes on your boyfriend, feeling every inch of your body falling for him once again. Oikawa’s moans were sent from heaven. You always loved how he seemed to lose every piece of restrain he had when he was about to come undone, his body trembling as his lips opened to let out high-pitched sounds of pleasure each time his cock hit the back of your cervix.

“I love you, Tooru,” you whispered against his lips, his eyes focusing on yours as soon as he heard your voice. “Come for me, baby.”

Not even two seconds later, you felt his body tensing and his cock twitching inside of you as he let out his release inside of you. He whimpered and you captured his lips in a kiss, holding him as his orgasm ended.

Oikawa opened his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering as he did so. You smiled at him and caressed his cheek with your thumb, pressing a kiss on the top of his nose. He chuckled at your gesture and peppered your face with kisses, making you laugh with him.

“By the way,” he said, pulling away for a moment. You looked at him with curiosity, as he pushed a strand of your hair to the back of your ear. “You are equally important to volleyball for me. And I’m going to make sure my actions show exactly that.”

Your smile widened at his words and you leaned over to kiss him again, feeling your heart fill with joy as he kissed you back.

Needless to say, from that day on Oikawa made sure to set the loudest alarm whenever training was over and he was supposed to meet you after. It may have been a pain to the other players who had already figured whose phone was beeping loudly inside a locker, but having them dragging him back to the locker room so he could silence it was enough for him to remember now he had a home to go back to.

[lespritdekin]

gone with the wind.

heeseung wasn't the creator of the universe, but he was your entire world, and you were willing to turn a blind eye to his disloyalty if it meant that he'd stay with you.

pairingㅡ heeseung x fem!reader (ft. jay).

genreㅡ angst, fluff.

warningsㅡ heeseung is an asshole, and a fuckboy.

word countㅡ 2.6k

disclaimerㅡ I am not knowledgeable within the business world, and i certainly am not a witness of how employers promote their employees.

The shadows that followed your form like a Pied Piper produced a wary rhythm that scattered across every corridor of your veins, the nightly breeze that stung your face held your heart in its grasp, squeezing, extracting your sense of pugnacity, forcing you on your knees, calling, whispering in your ears,

Why do you desire what you cannot acquire?

Why do you long for someone's touch? Someone that only desires himself?

It wasn't your first encounter with Ethan's straying eyes. Beautiful orbs as dark as ebony, gaze as sharp as tungsten, behind the curtains that dangle from his sinful truth, there lies a hunger that can never reach satisfaction, yearning for the taste of one more kiss for the night, one more body to hold in his sheets.

The number of opportunities the world gave you in order to keep your head straight, keep your chin held high, mind persistent on your own necessities, like your career that recently had been at the top of the pedestal, your home that had become a penthouse suite a week ago because of your intelligent hardwork.

At the back of your mind, you chose to discard these thoughts. Everyday, you could achieve another line of recognition in your work, the field you were most passionate about. The royal blue mermaid gown didn't entice Ethan enough to form a song with solely the thought of you. No lingering lips from another woman, no repeated amounts of second chances, just you and your sweet melodies. None of that occured.

That apex of the night, you shone brighter than the stars, glowed stronger than the moon.

You were dazzling.

Your skin could rival the smoothest gold, the details of your dress twinkling under the large chandeliers that hung atop your silky, beautiful hair. The Sapphire jewelry set you had just bought with full paper the day before brought out the alluring beauty of your eyes, the most tantalizing part of you, according to Ethan.

But, not even your most desirable features could bring the source of your pain on his knees. The dysphoria that etched itself onto your face magnetized his eyes for a split second.

Was it that difficult to properly look you in the eye?

You were beautiful, of course. Albeit, the most beautiful goddess that Ethan ever held. The confidence that ambushed your throat vanished as Ethan's arm snuck around the woman's waist, his lips that was once kissing your ear last night were now on the woman stuck to his form, well aware of your eyes on him, well aware of the hurt that formed in your chest, well aware that the tears you have been holding back the entire event would come crashing down any minute soon.

"I love you, [Name]." He used to say after spending the night in your bed. You were too naive to care, too timid to dig deeper into the honesty of his words. To you, he was flawed, but never in your favor. He was the ice cream that encircled around your tongue whenever you felt conflicted, the peaceful serenity that embraced your ears when your world was close to collapsing. That was your biggest mistake.

Ethan was a jerk. A bastard that continued to disregard your feelings, a monster that claws at your emotions until you fall into an abyss of darkness, shrouding over you until you suffocate.

You closed the door to your penthouse, your tall shoes thumping across the polished marble floor, tears now cascading down your pretty pink cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, Jake was right. You were a fool for wanting Ethan. You were a fool for allowing another fool to brush you off his shoulder. He was a puzzle you were never meant to fix, a maze you were never destined to enter. You were now nearing the end, your tiny feet scrambling to leave this labyrinth you've been caging yourself in.

Ethan wasn't the only man on Earth.

And, you bet he wasn't the only man you'll ever love.

"How was the ball, cupcake?" The man within your pallet had asked, voice deep and raspy, but still curious and soulful. He was rubbing his eyes, ripped muscles and evident veins littering his skin, eyebrows scrunched up as he forces himself awake. You wiped your tears away, taking your heels off as you allowed the coat to slip past your shoulders.

You sat in front of your looking glass, gentle fingertips removing your earrings. Two large, calloused hands slipped around your shoulders, kissing the exposed skin before disassembling the lock in your necklace.

"It was, hmm, how do I say this... Quite eventful?" You chuckled softly, fingers coming up to rub the hand resting on your shoulder. He bent down to kiss your cheeks, mumbling about how courageous and strong you were for facing the most afflictive quandary in your life. All alone, you've watched Ethan kiss another girl, make love to another girl, all alone in your little daydream of pursuing yourself that Ethan was a man that has been damaged, a man that needed another person's warmth.

Fully aware that you were deteriorating slowly, fully aware that you chose to ignore it, so long as Ethan still came home to you.

"Thank you, Jongseong." You sighed, the kisses that were scattered on your neck lulling you into sleep.

"Princess, don't sleep on me. We still need to take your makeup off, and take a bath." He warned you gently, applying micellar water on your face with a cotton pad. You smiled, your heart swelling from the undivided attention, something Ethan couldn't give you. After he had finished wiping off the last bit of your lipstick, he pulled you up and unzipped your dress, allowing you to step out of it. He gawked at you, eyes ogling up and down your figure.

You were marvelous.

The faint dimples on the small of your back, the little lovehandles you had, the cellulite that cluttered on your thighs, the little stretchmarks that had formed on the sides of your tummy. They were all so gorgeous, so, so breathtaking in the eyes of the man before you, eyes twinkling with unrealistic amounts of love. "All for me?" He asked cheekily, causing you to slap his chest lightly. You sweet laugh grazed his earlobes, kissing him, shrouding him.

"You're so beautiful. I hope you know that." He spoke, hands rubbing up and down your arms. You looked up and smiled at him, your cheeks heating up from the confession. "I know, you remind me everyday."

The morning came and greeted the both of you like a happy little kid, it reminded you of Sunoo. Bright, innocent, and hard-working. He was the sweetest little angel, so pure that you were almost fooled he was your long lost little brother. "Good morning, beautiful." A groggy, raspy, deep voice resounded from behind you, muscular arms wrapping tighter around your chest, nose shoved at the nape of your neck, inhaling your sweet, mature scent.

"Good morning to you, too, handsome." He sighed exasperatedly, nuzzling the tip of his nose into your scalp. "I adore the aroma of your shampoo."

You pushed his shoulder away, opting to turn around and face him. You gave his nose a kiss, your thumb rubbing smooth lines across his cheekbone. "Let's get up, big boy, work starts in an hour and a half."

After finishing your breakfast, which was done by the both of you (of course, your pancakes were with maple syrup and his with an entire jar of honeyㅡ) got dressed, but not after a quick occurrence of love making in the bathroom. For the first time in your entire being, someone brought you to work. Jongseong himself let himself in despite the rivalry between your companies, greeting the workers and staff as they pass by.

He brought you to your office, kissing you tenderly before leaving shortly, engaging in a little warfare of who could declare their love the deepest.

Of course, your competitive boyfriend won.

You could still feel the delicious warmth of his lips on your as he says "I love you more than Heroes of Storm." You could still feel his hands on your waist as he sits you down your desk, his tongue prying.

Lost in your little daydream, your secretary knocked on the door, informing you that the Chief Executive Officer longed for your presence in the conference and room. You arrived shortly, all eyes on your gorgeous figure and miniscule, flawless face as your PA closed the door in your tow. Expectedly, the man of your nightmares was equally as daunting in the presence of the room, the gentle humming of the air-conditioner reminding you that you were in a place of professionalism, not your personal escapade.

You sat in the only seat available, parallel to the CEO, right next to the left of Ethan. Your PA stood behind you, fiddling with the folders and papers in her hand. You tugged at the ends of your maroon blazer, your skirt the same color. Your pencil skirt and tall heels were black, pearl earrings a bright contrast to the black onyx of your designer shoes. Your cheeks were pink, lips adorning the same color, eyes sparkling with casual confidence, causing Ethan's eyebrows to furrow.

Weren't you just on the brim of crying your eyes out yesterday?

Why the fuck were you glowing?

"Good morning, ladies. Good morning, gentlemen." A series of polite responses welcomed the ears of the chairman, standing up with his hands clasped together. "The following six months were quite the effort, weren't they? The panel and I have discussed the possibility of a President, soon to replace the retiring Mrs. Min."

Murmurs of who they wanted to lead them hollered around the crisp air of the alcove. Your name came in the picture of gossiping workers, but the smile on your face soon turned sour after hearing Ethan's name in the air. Your smile could have faltered if it weren't for your newfound strength to face challenges head on, to face the fresh antagonism between you and Ethan.

A sly smirk graced Ethan's unbelievably handsome face. You've missed the cheeky quirk of his eyebrow, the serrated glint in his eyes, the burning touch of his fingertips, and his gorgeous face. You've craved for them more than anything in the world these past few days, but not even Ethan's remorseless persistence could govern Jay's latency in your life. Ethan was a pest, Jay was a miracle that was given to you.

The exemplification was enough.

The Jay Park, the CEO and President of Park Enterprises was the one that held your heart.

Not even your past with Ethan could compare to that.

"We have come to a conclusion. It was quite the handful to decide, but our verdict was unanimous." The chairman concluded, causing everyone's blood to stiffen, curious, biting, curiously waiting, demanding for the designated name to be called in their seats, eyes boring into the man in front of them. "We have decided, that, from this day on, Ms. [Name] Yang will be your latest luminary."

The crowd squealed in delight, inappropriate within the occasion, but appreciated, nevertheless. You stood up to bow to the chairman, your new position in the company greatly satisfying, justifying your hardwork. The image of vengeance never crossed your mind, but with Ethan, dumbfounded and in disbelief of your success, being here, on the time of your prosperity, was breathtaking, to say the least.

The gentle monikers you've given him proved worthless as you bowed in front of him, the red that clouded his vision powerful enough to physically manhandle you, force you into submission, force you below him. His hands itched to paint your skin red, stain your mind with him and his rough palms, make you feel the anger and dissatisfaction you've caused him. His head was in a swirl, the radiance of your skin and your smile pushing him off a cliff, your elegance draping him with your beauty.

But, why?

Why was he feeling this way? You were just another whore that fell in his mousetrap.

Why were you suddenly the only prize he wanted to win?

As soon as you informed Jongseong through the phone at lunch time, he swore he could make love to you then and there. He was more than gleeful for you and the steadfast dedication you had in your field. All the nights you spent at the office in your home, all the coffee lattes that you would open the door to, all the fast-food meals you would consume just to finish your line of work finally paid off. To celebrate, Jay booked a dinner reservation in one of the 7-star hotels him and his father owned.

That night, Ethan's very own eyes discovered Jay Park's form, leaning against his black Mercedes, seemingly waiting for someone. His speculation that it was you soon pummeled him in the face as your little arms wrapped around Park Ent's CEO, shoving your tongue down his throat out in the open. The moment you entered Jongseong's car, he slammed his beer glass on his desk and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt past his elbows, the veins and muscles that flourish his arms more enticing under the moonlight.

Ethan's plan was meant to be successful. You were his opponent. Opponents of that of Lee Heeseung deserved to be humiliated, emotionally distraught. His loving past with his object of rivalry is all but impractical. The voice that called him in that dark night, your voice that felt like an early summer sunshine was valueless. The love that you so willingly gave dripped down his face. He licensed them to fall. Everything you shared with him, all of them were mere acts of kindness.

So, why were the veins in his temples protruding from under his skin?

Why did his eyes burn when your lips kissed Jay's?

Why did something in his guts wreathe when he reminded himself that you weren't his anymore?

Why were you such a bitch in the first place?

Of all the queries, the interrogations, the questions, and all the answers, responses, replies, all of the truth Ethan indulged in, it was always you that burglarized his mind. The most horrifying part was, he was in pain. His hands itched to be on yours, entangle your fingertips, kiss your palms, he wanted your lips on his fingertips, like you used to do when he was in distress.

He felt like he was granted to finally grasp the moonlight in his arms, cradle it until his retinas burn with luminescence, listen to your soft, breathy voice, telling him, urging him, singing him lullabies, moaning for him, whining, whimpering, shuddering, trembling for him.

Classical music devoured his sour ambience, the bitter taste of your dispossession of him made Ethan's chest tighten, lungs burning, limbs numbing. His mind was in a whirlpool of your graceful exorcism, your deportation like a gun against his head. His palms met the glass wall where he witnessed your happy smiles and soft giggles, the ones you used to make whenever you were with him.

The classical music that you used to listen to kissed his ears, and for once in his life, he cried and longed for someone. He would soar through the stormy clouds if it meant to have one more minute with you in an apocalypse of pandemonium.

That was Ethan's mistake. The long yesterday was the last time he could ever feel your skin on his. Your kisses would be nothing but a dream, your words nothing but a song he used to sing, your laugh nothing but a faint melody, your love nothing but whispers in the air.

Ethan was the one who left, but he wasn't the one who disappeared. He was left high and dry.

And you?

You were simply gone with the wind.

[angelicichor]

I don’t know if request are open, but if they are, can I request the slasher with an actress s/o? For musical theater and the big screen(movies/shows)?

I don’t really take requests anymore, because I’ve mostly lost my passion for writing after the last few months, but honestly, sure, I’ll try. Sorry if those are not the boys you were hoping for 💔

Slashers (Brahms, Billy Lenz, Jason) with an actress s/o.

Brahms (Big Screen - Horror):

It was a bizarre thing, the way you met, most of all. After what happened with Greta his house was set for sale and Brahms was getting ready for the worst - rotting in this mansion alone after starving to death. He had no way to reclaim the property - after all, Brahms Heelshire was considered dead for ages now and with his parents’ suicide, the family’s fortune was gone as well. There was really no hope for him, it was a matter of days, weeks, months at best. You can only survive on rotting leftovers and attic rats for so long, but luckily a week was all that he needed for a young woman to come visit his old house, alongside a home agent. 

The moment she stepped in his eyes were glued to her, following the best that he could inside the old mansion’s walls. He saw her smile at the old furniture, smiled himself when she started adoring the library and when she sat down on the bed upstairs, looking around hopefully, he could barely contain his breath of relief, knowing that she was in love with the place. And so, with the papers signed the very next day, he had a new hope enter his life. A beautiful woman named [Y/N] [L/N].

This time - he told himself - he would take things slower, he’d be more careful. No stealing clothes, no misplacing things, no heavy walking in the attic at night. The news about the “murder” in the house were still fresh and he knew that it would make any new resident suspicious, even if the body was never found.

Brahms wanted to be careful, but unfortunately hunger didn’t make things easy. Climbing the walls was harder with his muscles fading, he’d stumble ever so often, getting dizzy and his breathing became louder as his usual activities would become more and more straining with what little food he was getting. The girl started getting wary and called the police more than once, but they couldn’t find anything, he still had enough knowledge of the house to disappear when he needed to.

He put the doll out for a while, hoping she would fall for it, like Greta did, believing that it was haunted, but she only picked it up once, letting a small smile grow on her face, then put it down, never to touch it again. Something seemed off ever since then. She’d walk around a bit more relaxed, take longer making breakfast and left more on the plate, as if she was leaving it for him, but who knew, really. It wasn’t that hard to get the food, since most of the days she’d be gone, usually right after a call on her personal phone from someone she addressed extremely politely. An Employer, from what Brahms could tell. He didn’t like it when she was gone, but in his current state there was nothing he could do about it. She was the only reason he was still alive, after all.

And he was grateful for it. To the point where he’d seek out precious item in the house, leaving it in places he knew she’d look. Pearls and diamonds from his mother’s jewelry box. Old porcelain figurines, anything to show her that the “spirit” inside the house was not wishing her any harm and she seemed to be more than pleased with them.

Then one day she seemed very upset, almost out of nowhere, just came back to the house like that, then quickly broke down in tears and through the crack in one of the walls he could see a tear in her shirt, almost as if somebody tried to tear it open. He didn’t like that. Not one bit. And soon enough he managed to connect the dots, with her phone calls concerning a “man that attacked her” and the weird hooded character that was stalking outside the mansion. Well, he didn’t stalk there for too long. The Stalker was much smaller than him, it was so easy to pin him to the ground and choke the lights out of him, in a grip that bruised and left very little for the man in the struggling department. It was over, quickly and almost completely without any noise. A good job, if Brahms were the type to praise himself.

He was about to dispose of the corpse, but a click and a swish stopped him, as the back door opened rather quickly and his beautiful, terrified [y/n] stepped out of the house, looking around scared, with a kitchen knife in one hand and her phone in the other, flashing a light... right at Brahms and his new victim. 

For a moment time stopped as they both looked at eachother, her eyes wide in shock - face losing all color from fear, and him in his porcelain mask, with bloody scratches on his forearms from the stalker’s futile struggles. He was the first to move, rising slowly, carefully, putting his hands up, trying to shrink his arms in a failed attempt to make himself seem smaller, but from the way her body trembled he could tell that it wasn’t working, so with a gulp and an ache in his throat he spoke to her: “P-please, don’t panic. Please.”  His voice was cracking between his childish illusion and his real voice, terrified, but assertive.  “Who-- Who the hell--?” she tried to speak, backing off slowly as he stepped forward, trying to get closer. “He was-- That man was watching you, he-- you were attacked and he--” he tried explaining, not knowing how to form his words without admitting that he’s been stalking her as well, just... with much less violent intent. “You’re that think, right? You’re the one who’s been leaving me things, right? WHO ARE YOU?” she yelled, coming back into the house and almost closing the back door, but Brahms’ hand caught it fast enough to pull it back, coming in after her, making the girl yelp at the sheer force he possesed, even being as malnourished as he was. “Brahms... my name’s Brahms, please, don’t run. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” 

And with that you two connected, learning about eachother, about what happened to Brahms and why he hid from you, a tale tragic enough for you to trust him and give him a proper home, even if feeding him was an absolute nightmare in the beginning, as he was starving, literally.

He quickly learned that you’re a horror actress, a real-life “scream queen”, but you and your manager were fighting for a bigger role - as a killer, not the one constantly having to run from the killer. It was going to be amazing, something to finally turn your career around and the filming was going WONDERFUL so far, but the stress WAS getting to you, so when he first started leaving you gifts, you were kind of happy that some weird spirit in this house was trying to cheer you up. Little did you know that in reality it was just a very smelly wall man, with a huge crush on you. Life is surprising like that.

♥ Brahms will be extremely supportive of your career, as he saw that all this time when you’d leave, you’d always come back, so he wasn’t as anxious about you running away as he’d usually be.

♥ Being a horror actress helps not freak out with him always sneaking up on you (unintentional as it might be). It’s a real life saver.

♥ Once your movie comes out, he might be excited enough to go out to the theater and watch it with you. You assure him that his mask won’t be a problem, since a lot of horror nerds dress up for new movie screenings. 

♥ If you ask him, he’ll be more than happy to rehearse with you and act some scenes out, but if there’s any romance in the script, expect to have to sit down with him for a very, VERY long talk about how screen romance is just a job and there are no real emotions involved.

♥ He’ll beg you to watch EVERY single thing you’ve ever been in. Yes, even the commercials. 

Billy (Big Screen):

There are not a lot of consistent thoughts that pop into Billy’s head, but the moment he saw you, there was one and a very clear one at that - “I know her.”

And yes, he did, even if the memory was hazy. He remembered a little girl on his mother’s TV screen, during Christmas, sitting on the floor with the dumbest, cutest smile, unpacking her presents as her mom and dad watched. He remembered how beautiful that girl seemed to him and how jealous he felt seeing her this happy. The boy pouted then, something he didn’t do often, as well as huffing in anger, but not loud enough for him mom to hear him, no, he was supposed to be a good boy and stay upstairs, but the music from the TV and that beautiful voice of this girl lead him downstairs, to peek at the snowy screen, adoring that creature.

But this girl was a bit different. Sure, he would still recognize her beautiful eyes and that hair that he loved so much, but she was bigger. Not a girl anymore, no, a woman, a stunning, gorgeous woman that his whole body burned for from the moment he saw her. A bold, burning emotion running through his body - “Mine. Mine, MINE!” and that was something you couldn’t really run from, he wouldn’t let you. 

One night, one murder, then two, a man and a girl and then you were faced with a man who was willing to do ANYTHING to keep you. Thankfully, you were smart enough to make compromise with him, knowing that if you even tried to call the police (again, that is, and the first time made him very, VERY angry), he’d make sure that you’re his forever.

Part of it could’ve been Stockholm Syndrome, but Billy quickly grew on you. Bold, loud, perverted, but also passionate and caring, as long as you wouldn’t overstep your boundaries with him. Every day he’d appear out of nowhere and just linger close to you, wanting to touch you, but not doing that, clearly afraid you would run. You weren’t something he wanted to play with, no, you were his person, the only person he didn’t want to hurt and when the impulses came, he’d run off to contain them. The wailing let you know how hard was he trying, just so he wouldn’t lose your beauty, his precious Christmas Angel. His gorgeous [y/n].

He was a mess, but a beautiful one to you, adoring every part of your body, every part of you, listening, learning, absorbing all of you as well as he could and the gifts he would leave at your bedroom door ever so often proved just how good of a listener he really was. The new book that you wanted, a dress almost the same as you had described to him, baskets of your favorite fruit... anything you’d ask for and he wished you’d ask for more, but you were too concerned about where his gifts are coming from to give him more ideas. Especially since that one sunhat you wanted came with a splatter of blood on the blue ribbon...

Either way, you were happy with your new “housemate” and you gladly stayed.

♥ Billy will get anxious whenever you have to leave to film anything. Expect messy calls from him every half an hour or so, probably less and if you don’t answer even one of them, the next one will be even more frantic than the other ones. He’ll cling to you like hell every time you come back home.

♥ He found a dress that looked a bit like the one you’ve worn as a child to that one Christmas movie. He asked you to wear it for him and sit down, then smile at him. You never saw a man pop a boner as fast as he did when you did that.

♥ This man will literally worship you and you know that when he swears he’d kill for you, he means it. When you mention that you’ve starred in other movies, his eyes pretty much started sparkling with joy. Congratulations, your movies are his new hyperfixiation.

♥ NEVER show him any kissing or sex scenes in your movies. Just don’t. He won’t be able to comprehend that they were done in the past or that they mean nothing. Seeing them would break his heart.

♥ Once he realizes you have your own camera he asks if you could star in your own movie... Located wholly in your bedroom, on your bed, with him pounding your pretty litte cu--

♥ Biggest fan ever, but don’t take him outside for any meet & greets, because it WILL turn into a bloodbath. 

Jason (Theater): 

It was a very faint memory for him, one of the very few ones from his childhood that stood up a bit more, even now, years later. A memory of a young woman, singing on the theater scene in her songbird voice. It was mesmerizing and a once-in-a-lifetime thing for a poor kid like him. His mother just found the tickets at random and used them, even though she knew how dangerous that could’ve been.

Those times were long past him and that girl was definitely either an old woman now or dead, but on this particular night something brought this memory forward, a songbird-like voice, singing a peaceful song, surrounded by other voices. A girl at a campfire with her friends, singing for them as another person played the guitar. An angel sent just for him to soothe his ragefull soul.

That one night nobody got killed, but a soul was lost either way. 

All you remembered was a loud noise in front of your noise, then silence that let you fall asleep. What seemed like hours later you woke up in an old cabin, cuddled up to someone’s chest and when you looked up a hockey mask stared right back at you, making you shriek and faint. When you came to you were resting on a moldy bed, dizzy, nauseous and with a hulking figure waiting for you to wake up in the corner of the room, guarding you like a sentinel.  Congratulations, you’ve been kidnapped by The Crystal Lake legend himself - Jason Voorhees, because for once he looked at someone and got convinced that you were in fact an Angel, sent to him by his mother to protect.

♥ I’m sorry to say, but being under Jason’s protection means that you’re most likely never leaving the forest again or not for a very long time. He’s not a man that trust others easily and while he knows an angel wouldn’t betray him, he’s not convinced that the others won’t hurt you instead.

♥ He’ll take care of you - fixing up the cabin, hunting for you, even cooking. He’ll make sure you’re never unhappy because you’re lacking something, even if it’s technology, he’ll manage to get it for you over time. You’re still forbidden from coming anywhere close to the campers that come ever so often. They’re dangerous.

♥ When you tell him that you work in musical theater, he will communicate to you that he wants to hear you sing. He’ll gladly watch you perform the whole play by yourself if you’ll be in the mood for that.

♥ Once he realizes you live not that far away, he might let you go on the promise that you’ll come back. If not he will hunt you back and you don’t want that to happen... After all - an angel wouldn’t break a promise and if you’re not an angel... you’re as good as dead.

♥ He’ll love you whole, as long as you don’t betray him. 

♥ If you find him a huge hooded jacket and cologne strong enough to mask his smell, you may be able to convince him to come down from the forest to watch you in a play. It’ll be a hard sell, though.

[allgirlsareprincesses]

Why Jasmine is the greatest Disney Princess

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while and I wanted to do more research before I did, but then the new Aladdin (2019) came out and HERE WE ARE. So this is me winging it with what I hope is still a pretty convincing case for Jasmine being the greatest Disney Princess so far.

What makes a great Disney Princess? Well, you could argue they all have something to offer: Snow White rocked some impressive sarcasm for a 14-year-old, Cinderella was pretty bold for her time, Sleeping Beauty was a dreamer with epic hair, Ariel is spunky and brave, Belle is bookish and kind, Pocahontas is regal and self-sacrificing, Rapunzel is sweet and empathetic, Tiana is passionate and hard-working, Merida is independent, and Anna is loving and faithful. There are others I didn’t include, of course, but the point is that there’s something to admire about every princess, and they all represent the modern woman in their own way. But did they need to be princesses in order to be these amazing characters? With the possible exceptions of Pocahontas and maybe Merida, I’d argue no. These stories would hardly be different, for the character at least, if she was any non-royal woman. And yes, I know Cinderella and Belle only became princesses by marriage, but even then, their stories could have been the same with any powerful man. It didn’t have to be a prince.

Of course, historical princesses and fantasy princesses are not the same thing, and we’re definitely talking about the latter here. Except for a few incredible and very unique ladies, most historical princesses were property whose carefully-preserved virginity was sold for a treaty, land, or a lot of money. They often lived and died miserable, their spectacular portraits notwithstanding. Fantasy princesses are, on the other hand, unabashed wish fulfillment for centuries of women who had little to hope for. These are the beautiful, powerful women we wish we could be, how we might see ourselves if our circumstances were different and nothing prevented us from realizing our potential. Fantasy princesses live the lives we want, and Disney princesses live the most flawless, perfect, clean version of that life. So by that metric, the greatest Disney princess might be the one who lives the most fully realized life that most girls can aspire to.

Jasmine in the original 1992 film

So, let’s talk about what we know of Jasmine (animated by the brilliant Mark Henn) from her introduction in the animated film. The first we see of her, she’s just rejected a suitor, so right out of the gate, we know she’s got no time for egomaniacs. A great trait, but not necessarily unique just yet. Belle also had zero tolerance for pompous douchebags. Next, we get some exposition setting up her conflict (and Aladdin’s) in that she’s legally bound to marry a prince, and she has a deadline. Naturally, she wants to marry for love, which is again sweet but not really original: Aurora wanted to marry for love, too, despite her betrothal. Then, Jasmine mentions that she’s never done a thing on her own, never had any real friends, and never even been outside the palace walls. This seems to be a hint that she might be spoiled and naive, if still sympathetic and appealing.

Finally, we get the line about “Maybe I don’t want to be a princess any more!” Ah, now that’s new. What does this mean? Is she declaring her ultimate goal, to reject her title and birthright, and become something new? Or is this setting up a lesson she’s going to learn about embracing her role? We don’t know, but suddenly we’re paying attention, trying to figure out if this is a spoiled brat or a girl on the verge of becoming a fully-realized woman. The next time we see her, Jasmine follows through on this thought, escaping over the palace wall to take her future into her own hands. We know now that, foolish or not, this is a woman with agency, who’s going to move the plot forward through her own actions rather than sit around and be an object for the hero.

In the market, we see Jasmine’s wonder at the world she’s never seen, but more importantly, we learn that she’s not just a self-absorbed teenager: she has a kind heart. She notices a hungry child and gives them food. True, she doesn’t understand that she needs to pay because she’s never had to do that, which is a consequence of her tremendous privilege. But, for someone who apparently had never before had direct contact with her people, simply recognizing hunger and instinctively seeking to correct it is encouraging. Importantly, this is also the first time we see her actions mirror Aladdin’s: we saw him offer food to a child only a few scenes before. The audience is starting to recognize that this girl is our hero’s equal (if not more).

Now, we come to the inevitable Damsel in Distress moment, and this is where Jasmine really shines. Caught off-guard by the abrupt cruelty of the outside world, she’s not quite able to talk her way out of having her hand chopped off for stealing, but thankfully Aladdin steps in to help. Jasmine, rather than being rattled and afraid, is intrigued and doesn’t miss a beat when her savior whispers “Just play along!” She follows his cues and immediately gives an Oscar-worthy performance as his insane sister, getting so into the ruse that she gives a glassy-eyed greeting to a camel as if it’s her doctor. To my knowledge, this kind of quick thinking is totally unique among the Disney princesses, certainly at the time. Even better, as we’ll see, Jasmine uses her smarts and acting ability several more times in the film, so this scene isn’t just a contrived meet-cute.

On the rooftops, we learn more about Jasmine: she’s genuinely grateful, she can graciously take a compliment (her blush when Aladdin tells her she “stands out” is adorable), and she is, in her own words “a fast learner,” at least when it comes to imitating Aladdin’s street sense. Finally, they arrive at his hovel and she’s entranced by his apparent freedom. Upon hearing how impressive he finds the palace, however, we see her sink back into her own problems, focusing on what she doesn’t have rather than her extraordinary wealth and luxury. From the audience’s perspective, this is definitely a flaw, but one that makes sense given her life experience up to that point. Once she and Aladdin connect over their mutual feeling of being “trapped,” Jasmine completely succumbs to his clumsy charms, and they nearly share a kiss UNTIL….

They are surprised by palace guards and the iconic “Do you trust me?” exchange takes place (this will set the tone for their entire relationship throughout all of the animated content that came after, but more on that later). Aladdin is captured and without a second thought, Jasmine reveals herself and in a commanding, regal tone, ORDERS the guards to release him. For a girl who declared only a few scenes ago that she didn’t “want to be a princess any more,” she changed her tune FAST when it suited her. In fact, from this point onward, she embraces her power and wields her position like a weapon, never again seeming to question her role as Princess of Agrabah. When the guards try to question her, she tells them her actions are “not your concern” and when they tell her she’ll have to take her complaint to Jafar, she gives the most menacing glare of any Disney heroine, ever (fight me), with a sinister “Believe me, I will.”

A quick note before we continue our recap of Jasmine’s epic badassery: during production of the animated Aladdin, the crew had a bit of a crisis with Jasmine being so amazing that she completely overshadowed the hero. Studio head Jeffrey Katzenberg (a horrible human who nonetheless brought a few nuggets of wisdom to the Disney Animation Renaissance of the 90s) is on tape saying he understands why Aladdin would like Jasmine, because she’s fantastic, but that he doesn’t understand why Jasmine would like him. At the time, Aladdin was written and drawn younger, scrawnier, more boy than man and more befitting his “street rat” title. There was a song about his mother, which also contributed to the impression of him as a child, and it quickly became clear that the hero was not really worthy of the heroine, as written. Aladdin was completely redesigned by supervising animator Glen Keane to have a more adult, heroic physique (despite the fact that much of his animation had already been completed), the mother character was removed, and Aladdin’s personality was patterned after popular film stars like Tom Cruise. To further “age up” the cast for this new, more adult take on the story, Jasmine voice actor Linda Larkin was trained to record all her lines in a lower register than her natural voice, making Jasmine sound more like a woman than a girl.

So, back to the palace (which, remember, she’d left because she didn’t “want to be a princess any more”) and Jasmine marching right up to Jafar to get in his face about the boy he took from the market. Still with that same commanding tone she used with the guards, the princess wastes no time on pleasantries and invades Jafar’s personal space, demanding answers and admitting no resistance. When he accuses Aladdin of kidnapping her, Jasmine doesn’t hesitate to tell Jafar she ran away, clearly more concerned about the boy’s freedom than any consequences she might suffer for her actions. But when she hears that Aladdin was executed, Jasmine mourns…. Not only for the kind young man who helped her, but for the damage that her selfishness caused. Though she blames Jafar when speaking to her father, Jasmine reveals to Rajah that she feels Aladdin’s death was “all [her] fault.” It’s not supposed to be her story, but we’re clearly seeing the princess learn a powerful lesson about the consequences of her actions. This is why we see Jasmine continue to mourn for multiple scenes, really right up until she realizes that Prince Ali is Aladdin: the guilt she feels is devastating. She’s reaching a new level of moral maturity even as the object of her affections is constructing an elaborate lie to win her back.

When Jafar is chastised by the Sultan for executing a criminal without consulting him first, he makes a silky and obviously insincere apology to Jasmine, who utters possibly her best line of the film: “At least some good will come of my being forced to marry. When I am Queen, I will have the power to get rid of YOU!” And then she marches off. DAMN, GIRL. And the best part is that Jafar takes her seriously. He knows that was no empty threat, and he discusses with Iago whether Jasmine will have him banished or simply beheaded. Tell me, when has a truly menacing Disney villain ever been that TERRIFIED of the heroine? That’s power, people, the kind that most women can only dream about. Jasmine has it and she’s going to USE IT. Jasmine, First of Her Name, Queen of Agrabah….

Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, Jasmine scaring the sh*t out of Jafar like the badass b*tch she is. So anyway, Jafar realizes the only path open to him is to marry Jasmine (and then kill her, of course), so we see that plot being hatched just as Prince Ali comes to town. Unsurprisingly, Jasmine is even less impressed by the princely pomp and circumstance than usual, if that’s possible, and she literally ignores the parade when she realizes what it is. Then she overhears Ali bragging to Jafar and the Sultan that he will “win your daughter” and she snaps with undisguised fury: “How dare you! All of you! Standing around deciding my future? I am not a prize to be won!” And again with the storming off (there’s a lot of that, I mean she’s nearly 18, after all). But seriously, this woman is my feminist icon. She literally just took down a potential suitor, her own father THE KING, and the second most powerful man in the kingdom with one line.

Finally, Ali shows up at her balcony and Jasmine is blunt: “I do NOT want to see you. Just leave me alone.” Of course, when Ali takes off his turban, she recognizes him immediately. She doubts for a moment when he lies to her, and then he starts attempting to impress her. This is the second time we see Jasmine turn to her considerable acting skills, and the first time she uses her considerable powers of seduction to fool a man: she stalks toward Ali like a she-wolf, telling him everything he wants to hear. She takes his compliment about her beauty (and remember, we’ve already seen her blushingly accept that same compliment before) and turns it into a weapon against him, drawing him in only to put him in his place as a “swaggering peacock.”

Naturally, Jasmine is intrigued by the magic carpet and the opportunity to taste freedom again, but it’s Aladdin’s ultimate tell of “Do you trust me?” that finally draws her into his arms and out into the night sky. Love, for this princess, is an expression of her desire for freedom: it’s what she chooses to do with that freedom, more than an end in itself. And both the music and lyrics of “A Whole New World” speak to that freedom as much as or more than romantic love. For two people who feel “trapped,” this song is the ultimate anthem. And as they soar, Aladdin tosses an apple to Jasmine with his signature move, and she’s again certain that it’s him. Rather than confront him directly about his lie, she again uses her smarts and performing ability to entrap Ali into admitting he’s Aladdin. She really lets loose on him once he realizes he’s caught, asking if he thinks she’s stupid. Then, Jasmine demands the truth…. And of course she doesn’t get it. Though this naivete could be viewed as a flaw, we know that their early relationship was built on trust, so it makes sense for Jasmine to bestow this on her suitor without reservation. We’ve seen so much of her harsher side ever since Aladdin was dragged away a prisoner, so this glimpse of her soft heart is refreshing and reminds us of why she is so extraordinary.

Back at the palace, Jasmine is in full teen-girl-in-love mode, having her first kiss and then dreamily humming as she brushes her hair (this is the only time we see her hair unbound in the film, signifying her achievement of freedom through her love for Aladdin). Upon discovering Jafar’s plot to marry her, Jasmine of course refuses forcefully, declaring without hesitation her love for Prince Ali. During the ensuing confrontation, Jasmine is a bit more the object for Aladdin than his equal, unlike in the rest of the film, but this doesn’t last. We next see her excitedly preparing to introduce her betrothed to the kingdom, even as he tries to confess the truth to her. While this analysis focuses on Jasmine, it’s notable Aladdin respects her enough to attempt to admit his lies and reveal his true identity, however belated. This shows how worthy she is, that in spite of the risk of losing her, Aladdin wants to be honest and be her equal partner. This is another theme we’ll come back to later.

When Jafar steals the lamp and makes himself Sultan, he demands that Jasmine and her father bow to him. Once again, she defiantly refuses, even as her own father begins to bend in submission. When Aladdin’s identity is then revealed, Jasmine is understandably startled, but there’s no indication she’s deeply hurt or angry, especially as she’s confronted with a much greater immediate threat in Jafar, and that Aladdin is obviously attempting to protect her. Alone with Jafar and reduced to a slave girl in chains, Jasmine still tries to fight back in any way she can. She pleads with Jafar to show mercy to her father, then throws a goblet of wine in his face when he suggests she marry him. Understandably, she’s terrified when Jafar uses a wish to attempt to force her to fall in love with him. Again, since giving her love is Jasmine’s ultimate expression of her desire for freedom, to be forced to love against her will is the greatest possible threat to that freedom. It’s not just that it’s a heinous thing for any woman or person, but that it’s the worst for Jasmine, specifically, because of what we know of her character.

A quick note here about the similarity of Jasmine’s situation to another princess who has recently joined the Disney family: Princess Leia. Like Jasmine, she is captured and chained by a villain (Jabba the Hutt) and dressed in a “sexy slave” outfit meant to demean her as a sexual object. Also like Jasmine, Leia keeps fighting back, and eventually finds an opportunity to turn the tables on her lascivious captor and use the conditions of her captivity (literally, her chains) to destroy him. In both cases, there tends to be undue audience attention to how sexy the character looks (hello, Male Gaze), rather than how she uses her strengths to defeat the villain.

So then, Jasmine spots Aladdin creeping up the steal the lamp, and this is where she cements her place as the greatest Disney princess, IMO. Just as she has several times before, she uses her wits and her Oscar-worthy acting skills, and makes Jafar believe that his wish has been granted. In a startlingly mature turn for a G-rated film, Jasmine uses her sexual appeal as a weapon against the villain, to enable her lover to defeat him. All undulating hips and shoulders, a sultry purr, and excessive flattery, she slinks toward Jafar, distracting him as Aladdin draws closer to the lamp. When it seems Jafar might suddenly notice his enemy, Jasmine takes the drastic and self-sacrificial step of pulling him in for a passionate kiss. What’s notable about this moment is that Aladdin, in a classically male possessive moment, becomes just as distracted as Jafar, and misses the opportunity Jasmine gave him. It’s another example of how, though Aladdin has many wonderful qualities, the princess really is still out of his league. The filmmakers made her so brilliant that it’s tough for the “diamond in the rough” main character to measure up.

Her ruse having ultimately failed, Jasmine still tries to fight back physically against Jafar, but of course she can’t. But Aladdin can, so he yells to her to get the lamp and she nearly does, until Jafar traps her in a massive hourglass. At this point, she’s back into Damsel in Distress mode since it is after all Aladdin’s story (I guess), but thankfully our hero uses his own cunning to trap Jafar in time to free Jasmine. To his credit, the first thing Aladdin does when he faces his lady after the battle is apologize for lying. Her response is perfect: ���I know why you did.” She doesn’t say it’s okay, she just expresses empathy for him, because she doesn’t doubt his feelings for her. His judgement, maybe, but not his love. And then, she doesn’t hesitate to express her love for him, directly. And finally, when Aladdin tells her he must do the right thing and “stop pretending to be something [he’s] not,” she says “I understand.” She accepts that him making the right decision means they can’t be together. It hurts for sure, but she has the moral fortitude to cope with it. Seriously, Aladdin doesn’t deserve this goddess.

So Aladdin makes the right choice and frees the Genie, and then the Sultan changes the law so Jasmine can marry him. Her father’s justification for this decision is that Aladdin “proved his worth,” rather than that his daughter has the right to choose ANY suitor she likes, which is kind of unfortunate. If anyone has proved their worth at this point in the story, it’s Jasmine, who has defended herself, her family, her city, and her lover throughout the film. Fortunately, this is something the creators of the 2019 film recognized and corrected…. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

As far as we knew at the end of the original film, Aladdin and Jasmine had married, and I believe that even if you considered ONLY this movie canon, the point that Jasmine is the greatest Disney princess stands on solid ground. But as we know, that was NOT the last we saw of these characters, and all the content since then has only reinforced how uniquely awesome Jasmine is.

Jasmine in the animated sequel content

After the smash success of Aladdin in the theaters, and the Little Mermaid TV show, Disney read the tea leaves and decided to create the first of its direct-to-video sequels. These cheaply-made, poorly-written debacles (often derisively referred to as “cheapquels”) would be a staple of studio income for some time, and were an intense topic of debate as well. That’s a tale for another day, but the point is that the first of these was The Return of Jafar, in 1994.

I’m not going to spend a lot of time on this film simply because it’s horrible and I have zero desire to watch it again, but I remember Jasmine being a lot more damsel-in-distress and less badass than she was in the original film, right down to her voice being higher than the carefully-crafted and mature vocals she had in the theatrical release. The film was mostly designed to set up the TV show, by removing the obvious remaining threat of Jafar, rehabilitating Iago for additional comic relief, and bringing back the Genie. It did all of these poorly, but the show afterward was better for having these issues resolved before it began. And the series, whatever its faults, had lots and lots of great Jasmine moments.

For example, in only the second episode of the entire series, Bad Mood Rising, Aladdin and Jasmine are sent on a diplomatic mission to a neighboring kingdom, to establish trade. Interestingly, there’s no indication that it’s Aladdin’s mission, merely that the two of them are “the delegation from Agrabah” and the episode starts with Jasmine giving Aladdin crap for his lack of diplomatic experience. They find the kingdom devastated by famine, and discover this is because the king, a young child, is enchanted such that his moods determine the weather. The kid’s boredom and tantrums are causing his people to suffer, so our heroes attempt to entertain him. Only Jasmine succeeds by telling him a story, in a delightfully direct reference to Scheherazade from the original 1001 Arabian Nights. The boy king is so fascinated by Jasmine’s storytelling, he commands her to stay with him forever.

At first, Aladdin and Jasmine try to escape, but when confronted with the suffering of the people, Jasmine agrees to stay with the king. Aladdin of course protests, and Jasmine utters my absolute favorite line ever: “I was raised a princess, Aladdin. And a princess knows: the needs of the people outweigh her own.” Like WHAAAAAT? I was about nine when I saw this and I swear it blew my tiny mind. I loved princesses, but the idea of them having a responsibility to their subjects had never once crossed my mind. Hearing Jasmine declare herself a servant and protector of the people completely changed my perspective on mythical (and to some extent, actual) royalty, and influenced my opinions of fictional princesses forever.

Jasmine freely chooses to go with the young king, even refusing to accompany Aladdin when he comes back for her again, but we see her mourning the life she lost. Even in a cheap and immature kids’ show, it’s clear that she’s made a real sacrifice to save the people. Thankfully, our heroes are able to teach the boy king that being kind feels good, and he releases the princess back to her city. I noticed when rewatching this episode that Aladdin’s first instinct is always fighting and physical aggression, whereas Jasmine turns to diplomacy. This is both a trend throughout the series, and also a setup for Aladdin’s eventual maturation. The show nearly always casts Aladdin’s aggressive stance as mistaken, which is an interesting commentary given the time.

In a much later episode, called “The Ethereal,” Jasmine has a dream foretelling the destruction of Agrabah. She is, of course, extremely disturbed, especially when events from her dream start occurring in sequence. Eventually a sort of Angel of Death called The Ethereal arrives to pass judgement on the city. We are made to understand that this is a very serious threat, as this same being has already destroyed Atlantis, Pompeii, and Babylon. While Aladdin attempts to make a magical spear that will destroy The Ethereal, Jasmine and her father take her on a tour of Agrabah’s wonders, to convince her to spare the city. They show her the fine library, the marketplace, and works of art, but The Ethereal is unimpressed. She begins to rain fire down on Agrabah in a fairly Biblical vision of the apocalypse, complete with smoking rubble and screaming citizens.

Aladdin attempts to use his spear to nullify the Ethereal’s powers, but his efforts fail. Our heroes come to accept that the city will be destroyed, so they turn their attention to saving as many of Agrabah’s people as they can. Jasmine sees a child about to be crushed by falling debris, so she uses the same pole-vaulting move Aladdin taught her at the beginning of the theatrical film (nice continuity, Disney TV writers!) to leap over the rubble and push the boy out of the way. She is then crushed by the falling tower. Just in case you weren’t SURE that they just killed off the princess in a Disney property, they have Aladdin finding her body in the rubble and saying in a devastated whisper, “She…. she’s gone.”

Holy sh*t, Disney, did you just DO that??? What? Keep in mind that this is at least two years before Hercules was released in theaters, in which Meg was also crushed by a falling column when she pushed Herc out of the way. So not only did Jasmine sacrifice herself first, as far as audiences were concerned, but she did so for her people, not just her lover. This is not to say that Meg’s act was selfish, of course, but it’s notable that Jasmine’s sacrifice was for someone she wasn’t particularly close to, yet she acted without hesitation all the same.

As the people of Agrabah visibly mourn their princess, The Ethereal floats down with a smile and says “I have seen what I needed to see. Your princess’s sacrifice makes it clear: she understood.” She restores Agrabah, then resurrects Jasmine, who tells Aladdin “It’s the people. The people make Agrabah great.” The Ethereal then warns them not to forget this lesson, and leaves.

Though these are the two episodes that most stand out in my mind, they clearly demonstrate that Jasmine thinks of herself not as Aladdin’s girlfriend, but as a public servant, a political figure with responsibilities to her people and a genuinely empathetic heart for them. It makes very clear that when the Sultan’s reign ends, Jasmine will absolutely be the ruler of Agrabah. While this is never stated explicitly to my memory, it’s obvious that Jasmine would be the wisdom and power behind the throne, as there is no clear arc built around preparing Aladdin for any kind of leadership. Despite the Sultan’s proclamation in the original film that Aladdin will be Sultan, it seems he’s really more of Jasmine’s consort, which appears to suit both of them just fine.

This leads me to my last point about the TV series, and one that segues well into the “threequel” that ended the animated content: Aladdin and Jasmine’s relationship is treated in a surprisingly mature fashion. What I mean is, though the writing on the show is often cheesy and a little cringeworthy, this is also a kids’ show that uniquely features a committed, long-term adult relationship. They often reference their plans to marry, and frequently say “I love you” to one another. Though there are ups and downs in their relationship, they remain committed and mostly very honest with one another, consistently demonstrating that their bond still rests on that trust that was so heavily emphasized in the 1992 film.

One episode in particular demonstrates this deep commitment, called Eye of the Beholder. In it, recurring villainess Mirage transforms Jasmine into a snake, to test Aladdin’s love. Aladdin determinedly sets out to find a way to break the spell and change Jasmine back. When they are unable to find an antidote, a devastated Jasmine tells Aladdin to leave her, believing that she will be a snake forever. Instead of leaving, Aladdin eats an enchanted fruit that also turns HIM into a snake, declaring to her “If we can’t be together as humans, then we’ll be together as snakes.” A furious Mirage screams “No, this was supposed to tear you apart, not bring you closer together!” And of course the episode ends with them being transformed back into their human forms.

While this is definitely more of an Aladdin moment than a Jasmine one, it’s important that her lover is shown being committed to her, because it demonstrates that he is truly worthy of her. Remember that in the original film, it was a major problem during production that Jasmine overshadowed Aladdin, so seeing him grow and become an equal partner is tremendously important to keep the audience invested in their relationship. I appreciate that instead of forced breakup plotlines, the writers of the series chose to show Aladdin and Jasmine growing even closer over the course of the show’s run, making them excellent romantic role models for kids.

Eventually, Disney chose to bring Aladdin and Jasmine’s story to a close, creating Aladdin and the King of Thieves in 1996. Blessedly, this film again featured Robin Williams as the Genie, and some much better animation than what we saw in Return of Jafar or the TV series. The story started with an obnoxiously-Westernized wedding, which was then interrupted by the appearance of the legendary 40 Thieves. We see here the return of Badass Jasmine, who punches out one of the thieves as payback for “ruining [her] wedding.”

Consulting an Oracle, Aladdin learns that his father, whom he had presumed dead, is still alive. There next follows another of my favorite Jasmine moments. She sings a beautiful song to Aladdin, about why she loves him and how special he is to her. The key line is “People like you don’t just come out of thin air.” Aladdin also has a verse trying to describe his painful childhood, including the wrenching line “Your father’s a man who taught you who you are; mine was never there.” I love the acknowledgement there that the Sultan, despite his faults, has been a good father to Jasmine, and that in particular, he shaped her and made her understand her place in the world. At the same time, Aladdin spoke to a generation of lonely kids with Daddy Issues, and there was Princess Jasmine, listening sympathetically and offering support.

The song ends with Jasmine encouraging Aladdin to go find his father: “Our wedding can wait. I think it’s worth a small delay. And won’t it be great to have your father see our wedding day.” No bridezilla here! Jasmine is happy to support her partner and put his needs first. When Aladdin learns that his father is “trapped within the world of the 40 Thieves,” Jasmine tells him “Take as long as you need.” Wow. He really, really doesn’t deserve her.

Aladdin goes off, finds out his dad, Cassim, really did abandon him and his mother, and confronts him about it. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie, but I remember being fascinated by how Aladdin didn’t let his father off the hook, but told him that his family had needed him. In an attempt to rehabilitate him, Aladdin brings Cassim back to the palace, where of course temptation gets the better of him and he gets caught stealing (again). Out of a sense of grudging loyalty to his family, Aladdin frees his father, but at the border of the kingdom, refuses to continue on with him. Cassim points out that Aladdin is a criminal now for helping him escape, and tries to convince him to leave Agrabah together. It’s at this point that Aladdin finally becomes a real man, defiantly shouting at his father, “I won’t walk out on Jasmine!” and turning his back on Cassim. DAMN RIGHT BOI, YOU TELL HIM. And as his father rides away, Aladdin returns to Agrabah to face the consequences of his actions.

Of course, they forgive him immediately and Jasmine even helps Aladdin rescue his dad later, but how great is it to finally see our hero show that he really is worthy of the princess’s heart? After this whole story has been told, this is where we end up: with Aladdin reaffirming his commitment to Jasmine, because homegirl is a damn QUEEN, thankyouverymuch. So Aladdin and Jasmine win the day and are finally married, and while we don’t hear anything of their lives together afterward, it seems like they probably had a wonderful life together, and that Jasmine was a wise and fair ruler with a supportive consort who always put her first. Or at least that’s the headcanon I’ve developed over the years.

Jasmine in the 2019 Live-Action Film

So this brings us to the latest of Disney’s live-action remakes…. BUT FIRST! Some context: I’m pretty lukewarm on this film. It’s fine, but IMHO it doesn’t hold a candle to the original animated version. That said, this rant isn’t about critiquing the film as a whole, so I’m going to set all of my nitpicks aside and focus just on the treatment of Jasmine, and whether she is STILL the greatest Disney princess in her newest incarnation.

Short answer: Yep, she is. While I can’t be certain that the writers for this movie had watched any of the TV series, I was struck by their choice of arc for Jasmine: whereas in the original film, her goal was simply freedom (expressed by loving whomever she wanted), her goal here is to literally rule Agrabah. That’s incredibly bold and of course anachronistic, but remember that we’re talking about a fantasy princess here, not an historical one. As in the show, Jasmine demonstrates an understanding of statecraft when she urges her father to maintain peace with the kingdom’s allies. Since she is interfering with his plans for a coup, Jafar insists she remain silent and enchants the Sultan into agreeing. This leads to an “I want” song for Jasmine, which she did not have in the original, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

While this Jasmine is missing some of the endearing traits of her animated predecessor, like the quick thinking and the acting skills, her ambitions to leadership create a similar problem to that of the original film. Remember that the 1992 filmmakers never quite solved the problem of their Jasmine overshadowing the hero, and now, with a new arc of her own that really has nothing to do with Aladdin, this Jasmine doesn’t really NEED him. Unfortunately, this leads to their two stories happening in parallel, rather than as part of a clear singular plot. Worse, it means that the climax of the film downplays Jasmine’s role in favor of Aladdin, robbing her of that wonderful moment from the animated film in which she tricked Jafar to help her lover. In the end, Jasmine’s achievement is her father formally declaring her his successor, and marrying Aladdin is more of an incidental bonus.

Issues with story structure aside, this Jasmine is much more academic than the street-smart girl from the animated content. She’s clearly well-studied in geography and diplomacy, which is why she has no patience for doltish princes like the one she rejects at the beginning of the film. She even has the self-awareness to recognize how being cooped up in the palace makes her an unfit leader, which is why she’s in the market the day she meets Aladdin. Whereas 1992 Jasmine left for selfish reasons - she wanted to be free of the royal pressures she faced - 2019 Jasmine left the palace specifically to learn how to serve her people. This is a level of maturity that the animated princess does not reach until fairly late in the TV series. While I miss the feisty, sharp-witted girl from my childhood, I have to admit that I love the compassionate, driven, calculating woman depicted in this new film, as well.

Which brings me back to the new song, “Speechless.” First and foremost, it’s fantastically performed by Naomi Scott, who has easily the strongest set of pipes in the cast. The musical style is out of place with the other songs, and the scene itself is a weird music video dropped into the middle of an otherwise tense moment nearing the film’s climax, BUT! It’s such a great girl-power ballad that it really doesn’t matter. Honestly, the lyrics don’t really even reflect Jasmine’s inner struggle THAT precisely, but this is because the song isn’t really about her, it’s about the audience, specifically the young girls in the audience. Disney understands that girls will project onto Jasmine as they do all the princesses, so they’ve given us the new “Let It Go” to belt out when we need to get psyched up about anything. I mean, I could easily hear this being played at a Women’s March or similar event. It might not make a lot of sense in the film, but Jasmine is definitely the perfect character to deliver this manifesto to the young women of 2019.

Point being, the only must-have on my list for the 2019 remake was that it not ruin my beloved Princess of Agrabah, and blessedly, they didn’t. And I think she still holds a solid first place among the princesses of the Disney lexicon, as the only one to seriously treat her role as a head of state. Pocahontas, Merida, and Moana all had moments of service to their people as well, but none with quite the boldness, cunning, and selflessness that Jasmine achieved in all of her many incarnations. I assume that Disney is seeing dollar signs and will put out another live-action sequel at some point, and it will probably be terrible, but honestly I don’t mind seeing more Jasmine as long as she continues to be the example of a powerful princess.

So thanks for reading my first unnecessarily-long Tumblr rant, and if you made it all the way to the end, please comment or reblog and let me know what you think!

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 44

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS:  Jamie finally brings their conversation to an end with a little seduction. Will Claire succumb?

THANK YOU one and all for supporting my story over the past weeks. When you put your heart and soul into writing it is so wonderful to know that there are people who appreciate your effort in creating a story that not only you love but, that others find enjoyable as well.  I really am very thankful to you all and I truly appreciate you taking the time to leave a little message after reading the chapter. THANK YOU muchly.

Previous chapters can be found...  https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

N.B. This chapter is a little suggestive in content

  CHAPTER 44 (S)

 “Why should I trust you now? Hmmm? Give me one good reason.” Jamie didn’t answer her question; he merely gave her the most penetrating look … a look without words that spoke to Claire’s heart.

Every single thing that Jamie Fraser had said and done in the past paled into insignificance with that one penetrating look he cast towards Claire.  The look without words that spoke to her heart was a glimmer of hope for her because she now understood him a little better. Jamie was not a man to show his emotions especially in Section One as to do so would be fraught with danger especially for their penultimate operative, their cold and calculating killing machine. For James Fraser to show any romantic attachment to his material would be a sign of weakness in his superiors’ eyes. Relationships between operatives were frowned upon and a relationship between their Level 5 operative and his partner could prove to be problematic if Jamie let his feelings dictate how he carried out his orders. Missions could fail if he let his emotions override his responsibility.  However, this is the very thing that he had done.  He’d manipulated the mission profile for Claire but was it because he wanted to only protect her since Claire was of a different ilk than most operatives, or was it because he too really did love her and wanted her to be safe at all costs?  It was a fine line that Jamie walked but up until now he had been totally successful and there were no repercussions from the Section One leaders. Although they may suspect there was something more between the two of them, they as yet had no concrete proof about James Fraser’s deeper bond with Claire Beauchamp.

He was a complicated and enigmatic man but Claire had managed to see a very different side of Jamie that he showed to no one else.   Although he was a passionate lover, she always had some doubt in the back of her mind if he was merely stringing her along and if his feelings for her were as real as hers for him. Was he holding back emotionally for fear of rejection or was he detached because life in Section was no place for emotion? You needed to have a cold demeanour to not be affected by the job you were required to do in Section One.  Emotions made you vulnerable and at risk of making the wrong decision.  Jamie could ill afford to be someone who showed his emotions for he had spent years perfecting his cold persona and now to have a woman break down his barriers was something he had avoided in the past.

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser was a Section One man through and through but Claire now realised that being his partner had in fact changed him and made him not only question his role within the Section but had crashed through some of the defenses that lay dormant within his personality. That look he had just given her scorched her soul and she immediately knew the exact meaning Jamie was portraying in his look. To Claire it acknowledged that he might feel the same way.

“Ye love me Sassenach.”

Those words that spoke to her feelings were fundamentally about a question of trust.  Did she really trust Jamie and could she trust him? This revelation about her by this man struck a deep chord within her heart. In that exact split moment that eyes met eyes Claire’s insecurity about trust issues with Jamie dissipated.  To her trust was having the confidence and heart in someone that they wouldn't let you down when you needed them. Trust was faith, faith was reliance, reliance was belief, belief was having confidence in someone, and to be confident in someone brings you back to trust.  Trust was everything; it put your heart in a safe place for it was the unwavering belief that the other person will fulfil his promises. It relied on the integrity, strength, ability and surety, of a person.  It was confidence and hope and knowing that you could rely on that special someone and that they could rely on you in return.  Claire blinked as if she had reached enlightenment with that look from Jamie. There was only one answer she could truthfully give and unequivocally her answer was yes. At that moment in time she knew that if you truly loved someone you are not confused by this emotion and Claire finally realised that Jamie had given her the sign that she needed to indeed follow her heart.

She could be headstrong but her partner in crime was well aware that she was conflicted by the role forced upon her by Section One.  She was a compassionate and caring person and this was such a dichotomy to what was expected of their operatives.  Their mantra was that you got the job done, asked no questions and obeyed orders to the letter.  Failure to conform usually lead to cancellation for Section was a ruthless mistress and even their operatives were expendable if they bucked the system.   However, Claire Beauchamp was different and the fact that Jamie always found a way to protect her was his way of showing her how he felt about her.

They were always on an emotional rollercoaster ride and keeping her feelings in check for him was difficult, for Claire wore her heart on her sleeve for this man when out of the sight of Section‘s prying eyes. Their life was complex enough but emotionally it was more so and until they reached some common ground things would not progress.  Nevertheless, Claire knew she could wait for Jamie to let down his guard and become vulnerable too.  When he did so then she would truly know that he felt the same as she did about him. Every little baby step was a mammoth step forward for a man who had buried his feelings so deep that he felt he was incapable of love.  But Claire was chipping away little by little and if the look Jamie had given her was an indication to how much he knew about her feelings, then it only made sense that he would eventually show his own feelings to her.  

She could wait for however long it took.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That unspoken look pierced Claire’s heart knowing that Jamie had admitted that he was so in tune with her feelings for him and she was gobsmacked with his knowledge of her love for him. It blew her mind as she knew it was the start of barriers being broken down between them like they had done on Lamma Island all those months ago.  She couldn’t look away from his mesmerizing blue eyes as they caressed her face so tenderly.  His eyes radiated warmth and desire which seared through Claire undressing her with their intensity. Gripped by the hunger each saw in the other, they let their eyes do the talking and the touching. Jamie's smouldering gaze swept Claire from head to toe then rested on her luminous blue orbs. She couldn’t look away and was like a rabbit caught in headlights. Slowly capturing her stare James Fraser caressed her face then lowered his eyes to her perfect lips. She watched spellbound, unable to sever his look.

Instinctively her tongue moistened her bottom lip in nervous response to what Jamie was making her feel. It only ever took one such look to tip her off kilter even after they had argued. His scorching gaze kissed her repeatedly but she wanted to feel the tangible touch of his lips rather than the superficial touch of eye sex.  Despite their words earlier Claire wanted Jamie with every fibre of her being. She wanted to be kissed into obliteration and made love to until she cried out his name in surrender but she also wanted Jamie to capitulate to her as well in a mutual joining of souls.  

Captivated by the woman who sat opposite him, Jamie’s gaze immediately returned to capture her beautiful eyes once more. A kaleidoscope of amazing images filled his mind

... of Claire’s mouth pressed against his

... of her in the throes of passion within his arms

... then of the ultimate giving of herself to him in complete abandon.

Jamie knew Claire felt the same connection too for a flame of desire was reciprocated in her eyes along with other telltale signs of her hunger and need.  Their conversation was but a memory now as was the interruption from their leader Dougal Mackenzie. All that mattered was the here and now. He had come to be with her and that was his sole purpose for changing the mission profile.  He cared about his Sassenach more than he could admit out loud but he knew that since she’d been recruited to Section One and assigned to him to train that Claire Beauchamp would have an impact on his life.  He never anticipated that she would be the one who would open the Pandora’s Box that was his heart that had been well and truly sealed from any fulfilling romantic attachment.

The woman in front of him would cause a saint to drink.  Claire Beauchamp took his breath away and everything about her exuded sexiness and he wanted to drink his fill. He wanted to adore her and bring her to the heights of ecstasy until she surrendered in the throes of passion in his arms. Little knowing of her partner’s thoughts Claire sighed closing her eyes and recollecting the erotic images of Jamie’s mouth fused to hers as well. A firestorm of longing ignited her body in a need to rekindle the passion that had emanated between them as soon as the door to his room had closed banishing everyone to irrelevance except the two of them.

Time stood still as Claire waited for what Jamie would do next. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Reluctantly instead of making a move toward her, he turned away from Claire for a moment and knelt before the stereo in the room. Even this move puzzled her but she still watched in awe as his trousers became taut exposing the strong muscular thighs beneath the material as he knelt selecting a CD to play. Soon rhythmic, seductive music echoed evocatively in the room. Twiddling with her hair in nervousness, Claire sat in the chair watching Jamie’s every move closely wondering what he had in mind next. He looked up just as her tongue nervously moistened her bottom lip. “W-what?” Claire stammered, her voice a little husky, “Are you doing Jamie?” Standing, he said nothing, but slowly prowled toward her never taking his eyes from his Sassenach. Her body gave a little shiver in anticipation at the look Jamie was giving her and Claire couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.  This man, this Jamie Fraser fascinated her and she couldn’t help but tease him with her next words. “Trying to seduce me Fraser?” She added somewhat tongue in cheek as she finally realised what his motives might be. But was it wise to poke the beast? She thought knowing that Jamie had the upper hand at the moment. In return, Jamie merely replied with his blank stare and predatory actions. He continued his slow approach and made his way across the room to where Claire was sitting extending a hand to her in invitation as he neared. His intense gaze looked deeply into her beautiful, blue eyes communicating his intentions. In slow motion she rose from her chair unable to resist his offer.  Standing, Claire nervously went to him narrowing the space between them while Jamie’s eyes followed her every step towards him. Biting her lip Claire looked into his eyes with a perplexed look on her face as she declared, “I’ve never been able to figure you out James Fraser.” “Today is different Beauchamp,” he replied as if these words would convince her of that notion. Powerless to fight the magnetic pull of his actions and words Claire answered back, “I thought so too... but ...” Jamie ignored her response as he clasped Claire’s left wrist; slowly sliding his hand to take her palm, he then gently brushed his lips to her fingertips halting any other words she may have wanted to say. Anointing her palm with open mouthed kisses and little biting nips, he scraped her skin with his teeth then soothed the sting with his tongue. Claire shivered with the erotic sensation as Jamie captured her gaze in his and locked eyes with her. She could not look away. Mesmerized by his actions, Claire’s glazed eyes stared back at him while the sensation of rippling feelings suddenly filled her body. When next he spoke, Jamie’s voice was soft and seductive. “It’s vera simple ye ken. I never thought I would ever care for another woman again … and if I did ...”

While speaking, he lightly ran his fingertips over the back of Claire’s knuckles caressing her skin; she closed her eyes for his gentle touch made her hand tremble. Jamie’s low, lulling voice was music to her ears and she was affected by the sensuousness of it all washing over her like a cascading waterfall. A soft sound of pleasure bubbled in the back of her throat as she leaned into Jamie’s touch. Her nipples tightened and Claire trembled with desire. Even though he was only caressing her hands it was as if Jamie was touching her intimately ... as he had on Lamma Island. Her body was reacting to this sensuous foreplay as she seemed to lose all conscious thought about the conversation they had just had.  All she could do was surrender to the way James Fraser was seducing her and to the way her body was melting with delicious feelings that had once again risen to the surface.  Her skin felt alive wherever Jamie’s touch anointed her flesh and she was powerless to do anything but just feel.

Nevertheless, Claire ached to have him really touch her as only he knew how. The timbre of Jamie’s voice hypnotised her into a trance like state. His words spun around in her head. “… I thought it would have to be someone from outside of Section, but I was wrong mon nighean donn. No one from the outside can understand who we are.” Leaning into Claire’s space Jamie slowly began caressing and stroking her hands within his and the sensation caused butterflies to flutter uncontrollably in her stomach. His fingers were so erotic, so light of touch but overpowering in the intensity of the feelings they evoked. Claire closed her eyes and let her body succumb to the feelings radiating to every fibre of her being.  Pure unadulterated desire consumed her as Jamie circled her wrists then ran his fingertips down her palms exacerbating her intense feelings. He intentionally scraped his nails across the fleshy mound of her palm and across her heart line until he interlocked his fingers with hers. Opening her eyes Claire held her partner’s gaze but looked down to see their hands joined like two lovers intertwined in a passionate embrace. She was swept away with longing and shuddered unable to control the emotions surfacing for this enigma of a man. It had been several weeks since they had been on Lamma Island and the feelings that Jamie’s actions were having on her senses at this moment were overwhelming. Would tonight bring all those wonderful memories to the surface again? Unquestionably in her mind Claire knew that Jamie’s intensified actions would lead to so much more ... for both of them. Jamie gave her no respite from his sensual attack. He entwined her hand within his own in a sensuous dance of erotic foreplay that attacked her senses. Claire was lost; being such a tactile person, she basked in the attention he was lavishing on her. His loving exploration continued relentlessly as Jamie captured her delicate wrist and lazily traced the blood filled veins stroking his fingertips along the ridges. Completely caught up in the seduction, Claire allowed him to retain her hands as he caressed them while she was melting inside with a plethora of wonderful feelings. “We fight all the time just to stay alive. This mission is dangerous Sassenach ... Madame Cheung and the Rising Dragons’ triad are both ruthless. We don’t know what lies ahead with this mission, so let’s not fight what’s between us.” They stared deeply into one another’s eyes as he spoke. Claire then followed Jamie’s mouth as she watched his lips form the next words. “I missed ye sa much mo ghràidh.”

She quickly looked up. Her pupils had dilated even more and Claire held Jamie’s gaze for a heartbeat. Subsequently closing her eyes she savoured his words ... words that lodged deep in her heart and to the very core of her being as he continued. 

“Let’s take what we can ... like we did on Lamma Island.” Jamie pulled Claire closer to his hard, warm body and within a few seconds she was in his arms. He sensuously slipped his hand up underneath the top of her gown leisurely exploring her bare skin with fingers with a will of their own.  It was so velvety soft and warm to the touch beneath his hands that they trembled at the renewed contact against her body.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Ever so slowly they began to dance. As their bodies swayed as one, Jamie lightly traced his fingers down the line of Claire’s spine sending rapturous shivers up and down her nerve endings. His wonderful demonstrative touch sent a rush of heat through her body causing her to take a sharp intake of breath. The audible rasp echoed in the air in conjunction with the sound of the seductive music as they moved together. Wrapped in the circle of his arms like this, Claire was temptation personified and he was sorely tempted. Spellbound and burning for Jamie’s touch, she could only watch as he moved his lips near to hers. Close but not quite touching her lips, Jamie teased her while playing a game of cat and mouse. They began dancing in slow circles while their eyes locked with such an intense gaze that she felt that fireworks had just exploded before her eyes.  To Claire the world could have collapsed around her and she wouldn’t have noticed. Her world at that moment revolved around Jamie but his slow seduction was only exacerbating her anticipation. Closing her eyes, she felt the gentle pads of his fingertips teasingly stroke along her thigh where her leg was exposed by the slit in her dress. Swaying against him, she parted her lips and opened her dreamy filled eyes in invitation. Jamie’s fingers erotically traced down Claire’s thigh once again then returned his hands to her back drawing her closer. Watching her pupils dilate to a darker hue, his mouth nearly … but not quite … touched hers. He tormented her until she moaned in entreaty.  It was torturous. Gentle fingers caressed her eyebrow, trailing to her cheeks, then her lips until Claire wondered if she could stand one moment more of Jamie’s actions. She was ready to rip his clothes off then and there and sliding her hands around the back of his neck, she pulled his face down to hers.  However, Jamie only caressed the corners of her mouth with the tip of his tongue.

“No!” Claire cried out.  

Leaning in closer, she toyed with him in an effort to capture his lips for the connection she so desired.  But James Fraser evaded her forays causing Claire to moan much louder in anguish wanting more ... so much more than he was prepared to give. She was unravelling. Jamie flirted and teased her but he wouldn’t deepen the caress while Claire was burning up with a need for this man’s touch rapidly escalating. If James Fraser didn’t kiss her soon Claire thought she would expire. Groaning, she parted her lips in open invitation for his touch and taste, then when his fingertips rested against her throat Claire’s heart leapt in her chest as Jamie finally leaned in to kiss her.

She touched his lips.

Hot flesh met soft flesh. 

All coherent thoughts fled Claire’s mind. Overcome with hunger, she incoherently frustratingly murmured keening noises against his lips. The games Jamie Fraser had been playing had driven her wild with want and need.  Serve him right, she thought as she rubbed her body sinuously against him. Threading her fingers through his hair, Claire held Jamie’s mouth to hers, deepening their kiss with a need that was ravenous. His lips tasted salty, his mouth soft, yet hard at the same time. Warmth spread through her body and Claire wanted Jamie so desperately she felt as though she would explode.

He reciprocated.

Pulling his Sassenach a little closer, Jamie inhaled the sweet scent of her as his own lips sought dominance. Sucking in a breath, he felt Claire’s lithesome body flush against his own tempt him. He grew harder as his body again gave away evidence to his inner feelings.  He kissed her cheek ... her mouth ... then kissing the column of Claire’s neck, Jamie lathed the telltale throbbing pulse with his tongue. He then worked his way back to her mouth for more punishing kisses that had Claire breathless. Aligning her head to the side, Jamie captured his Sassenach’s mouth deepening their kiss … tightening his embrace and kissing her with a hunger that shocked him. He didn’t realise how much he needed her.

A satisfied groan rumbled deep in his chest when Claire replied in kind. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Birds ~ Stan Uris (Part 2)

Word Count: 2623

Anon: Pidge

MASTERLIST

I just want to watch the birds go by from my handy fold-able blue canvas throne. I wanna watch them fly and fly and see them soar up into the unknown...

Stan swallowed, hesitant to answer. But really, there wasn't much he could do other than just not answer and walk away which, however he felt about Y/n, wasn't how you treated your friends, and Stan couldn't deny that's what they were. Friends. Y/n had done too much in the name of friendship, especially for him. So he internally sighed and admitted, "Birdwatching."

Y/n's eyes widened. "Birdwatching?"

Stan shrugged, suddenly self conscious.  What about it? "Yeah... You know, sitting quietly with a book and a pen with binoculars, looking for birds. For hours." He tried to make it sound as boring as possible, because it wasn't eventful at all. Sometimes the birds didn't even come and he would see the same two pigeons for hours. It was the awe of life and admiration for birds in general that brought him to do what he did. Surely Y/n wouldn't appreciate it?

Y/n thought for a second, tilting their head before smiling softly. "I've never done that before!" They announced solidly and before they even asked, Stan's heart sunk into his stomach. "Mind if I join you?"

Stan almost says yes, he very much DOES mind... but he doesn't. "No not at all." How did this person at all find the idea of doing something that was so against their personality at all a good idea? We're they just THAT desperate to spend time with someone? Were they really so incapable or being alone? Why was it him that they were so insistent on spending time with?!

What he wasn't considering is that not only did Y/n have very strong feelings for Stan and desperately wanted to spend time with him specifically, but they also tended to adapt to those around them. They were usually pretty chill and curious, only talking when they had a question or when spoken to. It was Eddie and Richie's banter and loud volumes that had brought the extreme extrovert out of them. With Bill, Y/n could sit still for hours while watching a movie or drawing. With Mike, Y/n was a more calm and neutral instead of being especially loud or smiley or sunshine-like. Ben brought out Y/n's curiosity which made them talkative because they had so many questions.

With Stan, therefore, Y/n would be able to sit perfectly still and have no problem at all. In his determination to ignore Y/n and his feelings for them, he had missed huge parts of her personality, lumping her with Richie as just another Trashmouth with an annoyingly long lasting positive mind set.

The idea of bird watching - observing and sitting quietly and spending time with someone she liked while he was in his natural habitat, having endless possibilities to learn something new - was amazing to Y/n. And the way Stan said and explained it, even wen he was trying to make it sound lame, set a light in his eyes and a relaxation to his shoulders that made Y/n even more exited. It sounded refreshing.

"Where and when do you do this?" Y/n asked.

"Early in the morning - just after sunrise - to about lunch, at the park. I might go back if it was a really active day until dinner and then go home."

Y/n nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow then," Y/n announced before turning away and leaving Stan to go into his house. Stan shook his head. No way they were coming. They would think it over, get out of the moment, and realize how dumb it was and they wouldn't show up.

Stan was surprised. Y/n plopped down next to him at 7am with a soft smile, offering him a friendly, "Good morning."

Unsure how to feel about this unexpected turn of events, Stan returned an uncertain upturn of the corners of his mouth- more a grimace than a smile. "You came." Y/n shot him a look and e quickly added, "Good morning."

"I said I was coming," Y/n reminded gently, pulling an ice box next to them. "And I did."

Stan looked at the red icebox with furrowed brows. "What's that?"

Y/n looked over, following his eyes. "Oh! I didn't know what you do on terms of snacks but I'm constantly hungry. So I got a bunch of snacks together. I missed breakfast to do it actually." They laughed. "You can have some if you want. I brought too much, because I love to be prepared."

Stan looked away. "I'll pass."

"You're loss," Y/n sighed, pulling out a granola bar and unwrapping it, throwing the wrapper back in the box. Stan was glad they didn't shove it in a pocket or litter, that would have driven him insane and he already felt uncomfortable and on edge.

Attention turned to the skies as Y/n looked with bare eyes and Stan used his binoculars.  It was calm and quiet other than the odd wrapper shuffle every half and hour or so as Y/n pulled out another small snack, ate it, and then waited until hunger prodded at them again.

Y/n leaned close as a bird flitted between the branches of a tree, pointing so Stan saw where they were looking before asking, "What's that bird?"

Oh great, Stan thought. This is when they get annoying. At least they had swallowed all their food before speaking. Stan pulled up his binoculars. "It's a Mourning Dove," he answered. "They're really common basically everywhere." Y/n nodded, staying quiet, and Stan found himself absentmindedly adding, "The sound they make is often mistaken for the hoots of owls."

Y/n grinned at him. "You've got bird fun facts?" Their eyes sparkled and Stan swore something inside of him exploded. They cared? About birds? Wait like actually? "Please tell me all of them as you think of them."

"Uh," Stan deadpanned. "Sure." This was not going at all like he had imagined it would.

The day continued like that. Y/n was quiet until they or Stan noticed a bird, and then they would ask for the bird's name and Stan would answer and then give a said 'fun fact'.

On top of the genuine fascination that looked absolutely adorable on Y/n’s face, for the first time ever in the time Stan had known them, Y/n was still and quiet if not asking questions, which themselves were fairly rare, brief, and whispered. Y/n wasn’t a nuisance. They weren’t loud or annoying or bothersome or even distracting. No crude jokes or long speeches about this or that that were poetic or beautiful. Just quiet observation and the occasional inquiry to path gaps in their knowledge.

It was... INCREDIBLY attractive.

When lunch came around, Y/n pulled out sandwiches and Stan was surprised at how fast the time had passed. They are in quiet and it was actually kind of... nice? There was something about turning to someone equally as excited as him and sharing fun facts and just getting into an activity that he was so passionately in love with. Stan LOVED birds and he had always been so irritated that people couldn’t understand that beside the simple wonder of being able to fly, birds were so fantastic. Cute and methodic and graceful and beautiful. It was relaxing and thrilling and exciting and soothing to share that with Y/n and see them be as into it as he was.

Stan found himself getting extra excited upon seeing a bird they hadn’t encountered yet, sharing new facts, or upon seeing a bird they’d already seen for which he had a fact about that he hadn’t shared with Y/n yet.

Be the time they were taking things down to leave, Stan felt kind of sad. This had been fun, even though he wouldn’t admit it even to himself. Y/n, on the other hand, smiled to themself and laughed lightly. “I’ll see you next time?”

There was still a stubborn part of Stan refusing this whole thing, but he DID want to see them again. Do this again. All he did was shrug. “Sure, if you want. I obviously can’t stop you.”

After seeing Stan’s smile and pretty eyes and hearing his low voice and soft laugh - sounds he didn’t realize he was making - and generally spending time with him, Y/n would take that. They nodded and turned away, leaving Stan alone. For now.

But I'd feel just like a nerd, watching birds watching me here all alone

By the next bird watching session, Stan had re-convinced himself that Y/n was obnoxious and not made for birdwatching. Seeing them around the others reignited the memories and ideas that he had held onto so easily before, dismissing the quiet, calm Y/n as some manipulation of memory as he desperately tried to make the day enjoyable.

Perhaps they'd mumbled too quietly for his inverted self to hear, or zoned out. Surely they hadn't been as invested and excited as he remembered. No one could be as in love with birds and their simple nature as he was.

In fact, Y/n surely wouldn't come the next time. After realizing how boring and ridiculous and dorky the whole thing was, Y/n wouldn't come again. They had stayed as an act of politeness last time, not able to come up with a reason to leave or wanting to make Stan feel back for liking something they surely found so dull and lifeless. This time, though, they wouldn't come and they'd have some lame excuse but Stan wouldn't mind. He wanted the quiet and seclusion more than anything.

To his utter annoyance, Y/n showed up. With their red icebox and a tranquil smile on their face. “Hey Stan the Man,” Y/n declared before plopping down and returning to the same quiet, peaceful curiosity they had displayed the last time.

Stan tried to reason that was being fake or trying to pull something, but as they hung out time and time again, it was quickly becoming clear that Y/n simply... ENJOYED birdwatching. They loved learning new things and being quiet and chill and just spending time with Stan, which made absolutely no sense but seemed to be true nonetheless.

The entire time Stan found himself growing accustomed to Y/n’s presence while silently ranting about how unwanted and annoying they were. Because, of course, all of the little feelings Stan was gettin in his chest and stomach were sudden and sharp and u comfortable so they had to be related to the annoyance he usually felt right? A special kind of annoyance, just for Y/n. They sure frustrated him enough for it to be annoyance.

One day, Y/n didn’t show up. Stan realized he was waiting for them and shook his head, grabbing his binoculars and continuing the rest of the day without Y/n. And their stupid snacks and annoying questions and persistent presence and disturbing, soft chuckles.

About halfway through, he couldn’t fight it anymore. Something was wrong. He had forgotten something at home. Or perhaps his gear wasn’t placed as perfectly in place as he’d thought.

No matter how hard he tried, no amount of thinning or fiddling did anything but frustrate him. There was something wrong. It was too quiet. The birds weren’t active today, as if sending that Stan was already on edge and not right and working to make his day even worse.

At one point he saw another Mourning Dove and thought of Y/n. He stared at it, his body sagging and his shoulders slumping and the corners of his lips sinking in a frown. This wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t relaxing or interesting. He saw another bird and went to tell Y/n a fun fact but she wasn’t there. He saw a bird that he hadn’t seen in a few months and Y/n wasn’t there to get excited with him.

He felt... he felt... ALONE. He had always felt nice being alone, never understanding the empty or nagging feeling of loneliness. Being alone wasn’t a bad thing to Stan like it was to the other Losers. At least, it never had been... until today.

After lunch, Stan didn’t go back to the park to try again. He just went home, thoroughly displeased.

“Where were you yesterday?”

Y/n jumped, startled, and turned to face Stan with wide eyes. “I- I was sick.”

Stan’s annoyed expression deepened as if Y/n being sick was a personal insult. “You didn’t come. Or even tell me you weren’t coming. You just didn’t come.”

Raising a hand to run the back of their neck, Y/n shrugged. “I... didn’t think you’d care, honestly, Stan. You’re always complaining under your breath when you think I can’t hear you and you look constantly annoyed. I feel like I’m ruining the last thing keeping you together. Killing your first born child.”

There was a pause where Stan mulled over those words. “I don’t care, first of all.” Bill rolled his eyes, he and Eddie smirking at each other in a knowing way - the exchanged went missing by everyone else. No one knew Stan as well as Eddie, Bill, and Richie, and Richie was too distracted to notice. Thankfully too because he would have made some outrageous joke and ruined the moment. “I just like to know what’s happening and when I’m involved in things,” Stan finished, shrugging. “You said you were going to come and then you didn’t. It was rather peaceful without you there.”

Y/n stood there a second, eyes glazed over as they thought. “You noticed I wasn’t there.”

Stan couldn’t help but blush. Y/n was so friggin cute and gosh these emotions that had been ignited were hard to deal with! “I noticed you weren’t there to annoy me,” Stan quipped sharply.

A little giggle escaped Y/n. “Well, no worries Stan, next time I get sick I will let you know. Otherwise, you will always have me there to annoy you.” They grinned and Stan’s stomach flipped. “I give you my word.”

Stan struggled to play it off as a smile rugged threateningly at his lips, his brain full of peace and ease. She was just sick. She wasn’t bored or leaving, she was just sick. Just once. She would be back next time. “Whatever,” he managed to get out.”

Y/n chuckled. “So what did I miss?”

Stan looked away, resisting the urge to tell her about the Mourning Dove he’d seen that had reminded him of Y/n and how the park felt cold and too quiet without them there by his side to keep the thick silence away. He wanted to explode and tell Y/n about the new bird and the fact that it meant. He wanted to infuse the memories into her mind and the pretty colors and movements that always fascinated her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t even begin to explain because there was something about birdwatching that requires you to be there to properly appreciate it.

Instead, he only sighed. “Not much. Saw yet another Mourning Dove, and a new bird.”

Y/n rocked on her feet. “Which bird? And you better have a fact for me, Uris.”

This time Ben looked at Bill and Eddie who were grinning like morons, trying and failing to hide their excitement at Y/n finally making progress with Stan.

Mike looked between them all, his confusion evident at the sudden streaming chemistry between Y/n and Stan and the weird expressions on his friends’ faces. Richie distracted him, as they were talking, and the day continued.

When Stan’s smile slipped and exposed itself, it didn’t go away again for the rest of the day.

-

Birds Tag List: @campcampie

[-catelynstark]

As cold as Ice or just a veil

Warnings: Smut  I  Words: 2,185  I  Pairing - Stannis x ofc  

A/U - I wrote this years ago and it’s been on Ao3, with the final season round the corner I thought it would be a good time to update this blog more!

Summary - Stannis has a new sword by his side and this time it's a woman who has taken a certain interest in her king and feels there is more to the seemingly cold and tough Stannis Baratheon. She is determined to break through his shell to the softer side she is convinced must be there. Stannis meanwhile is conflicted regarding his faith in the Lord of the light and on committing adultery, whilst also finding it difficult to come to terms with feeling something he's sure he's never felt before. I’ve taken some artistic license regarding Jon and Stannis’ communications etc. 

The air was cold so he did not bother removing his coat or cloak; she too kept her clothes on aside from her under garments which fell delicately round her ankles as he yanked them down. He grunted as he bit into her exposed neck, she relaxed into his body, wanting this King inside her. No words were exchanged as he thrust into her, his boots gripping the floor, his hands either side of her squeezing her hips as he pounded into her body which lay flat on the cold stone table. Her hands grasped out for any part of him that she could touch. Her legs were spread wide; her fingers went up his shirt and scratched his back leaving raw marks, she’d intended to claim him knowing fully well he wasn’t hers, she was the third.

He only moaned more as the nails ripped flesh and thrust harder into her. Selyse forgotten, Melisandre forgotten, only her. She was younger than him, but not too young, he wanted one who was strong and wise, her beauty was a bonus, not that that had been something he’d ever really considered or been interested in before. He had to admit this was new to him, he both loved and loathed it, and it made him feel vulnerable. His intentions were to be strong and just for his people, passions and sacrifice of the flesh in this manner was never something that he’d cared for, much to Robert and Renly’s amusement. But now he found himself utterly at her mercy, even if just for these brief, fleeting moments.

He kissed all her battle scars and loved the marks that made her imperfect. He hated himself for giving in to sin like this, it wasn’t like him to give in to temptation and lust, to be seduced by a woman he hardly knew. But then they wanted the same thing, a strong lover, children, a son, an heir, to feel safe and not abandoned.

Her eyes were shut in a state of unbreakable pleasure, he wanted her attention and so he rubbed against her soft cheeks. His stubble scratched her and her eyes popped open to stare into his. She moaned even louder knowing he was watching her, his eyes penetrating into her. Her pupils had dilated, she felt dizzy and full all at once and as tempting as it was to roll her head back, she daren’t look away.

When it was over Stannis changed. The fiery passion he had just displayed so openly was culled and the cold exterior that was King Stannis Baratheon, returned. She hadn’t expected anything more, hoped, yes, but expected, no. She knew it would take far longer than one fuck on a table to break him. The most frustrating thing was that she knew he cared, he said it himself that he didn’t want the throne, it was not that he wanted to be King, but that it was his duty, for his family and for his people. He adored Shireen, yet hardly spent any time with her. She assumed it was because he felt his daughter made him weak, he smiled more around her, the coldness melted around the girl somewhat, the mask slipped.

“The council will be here soon, you’ll leave now,” Stannis instructed, not once looking at the woman he had just fucked.

She nodded, “As you wish your grace.”

She turned to leave, “And not a word of this….” He paused, “Sin, to anyone.”

His words had bite and it stung more than she imagined it would, she knew he would be like this and promised not to resign herself to tears or to let him get to her and yet hearing him say the words aloud made her feel shame. She blushed and somewhere Stannis felt glad, he would not be the only one to be full of shame.

The release through orgasm was not worth the intruding guilt that followed or the feeling that he had failed somehow. With Selyse it was his duty to sleep with her on occasion as her husband and for the sake of a male heir, which he knew deep down would never happen. With Melisandre it was for the Lord of light, it was his duty to sleep with her, for his people. He had never slept with another, he had never enjoyed sex with Selyse aside from a few brief moments and whilst Melisandre had kept his flame burning, he felt wretched afterwards. And now this stranger had come from nowhere and caught him off guard, promised him a son like Melisandre did; only this would be a human boy and not some awful shadow from depths unknown.

Antoinette bowed to her King and left him stood drawn up and proud. She returned to the chambers where she had been staying. It was nice there; he and most of those she had come across in Dragonstone had been uncommonly kind to her. As a woman she was used to being treated badly and when people learned of her skills and the fact that she had come all this way to fight for Stannis, answering his call to arms, they would mock her. She soon had them with stunned with the flick of her wrists.

She told herself she wouldn’t cry, for nights and days she wondered what it would be like to sleep with the King, they had exchanged words hadn’t they? Didn’t they want the same thing? Surely that was why he had brought her here. And now without her brothers she was not so sure, she was not sure about anything and longed for the moment she heard men roused by new arrivals at the gates. My brothers will be here soon, she told herself. And then she realised that the tears had not fallen, she was not crying, no I will not let this stubborn man King or no get the better of me. He just doesn’t know what’s good for him, time will fix all. She allowed a small smile to play on her face as she tossed a coin from home and let it land in the palm of her hand.

Stannis paced up down the room, hands in firm grip behind his back, he was thinking about how to feed everyone, thinking about how to make Shireen smile again, thinking of how he missed Melisandre whispering in his ear, how to defeat the wildlings, her, her skin, the warmth inside her. No, he told himself. Everything here was important but that was not. This was why sex had never been of interest to him and found it uncomfortable to discuss, Robert and even Renly were too quick with their passions. When Robert should have been ruling and protecting the realm he was too busy sleeping with whores. Stannis didn’t blame the women; he didn’t necessarily feel sorry for them either, at least the ones who performed their services through free will. That was their right, but he didn’t agree with it, lust, greed, sloth, gluttony, pride, envy and wrath these were all sins which stopped others from performing their duty.

The second time was better, for a start Stannis made sure Antoinette reached orgasm too rather than leaving her frustrated. The two fell and tumbled into the King’s bed, “I want you,” he had whispered to her after one of the many council meetings. He had gripped her cloak and pulled the material to him so their bodies touched. Davos saw, Davos smiled and Davos said nothing, leaving the two of them.

It took another week after this instance for them to sleep together again. Stannis had called for her in his chambers, initially he had not thought of the meeting as a chance sexual encounter but he merely wished for her advice regarding battle strategies in private. He realised later on that subconsciously there had been a reason why he wanted to see her alone. When she reached his chambers the door was open, she was dressed in a casual, grey, woolen dress and tunic that was open at the front revealing her bountiful chest. Today was a day where no Armour had been required, it was, she thought, a good day.

“Your grace?” She asked sheepishly from the hall.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, eyes no longer caring to devour the book he was ready, his thirst for knowledge quenched by a new hunger. “Come in,” he said sternly.

She entered and stood by the door, hands folded in front of her, “You asked for me?”

He nodded, “I also told you to come in, now shut the door,” he instructed, it was not unkind.

Do I detect a smile? She looked embarrassed as she shut the door and moved toward her King. The night in the store room had been spontaneous so there was no time for nerves, but this was different. It was the two of them alone once again, a roaring fire, a soft warm bed and a closed door. She couldn’t believe her own nerve of approaching her King the way she had previously.

“I wished to speak to you about Jon’s plan.”

“His plan your grace?” Shit I wasn’t even listening to that earlier, I was too busy thinking about, urgh thinking about you my one true King. She panicked, not wanting to appear ignorant or forgetful.

“Aye, to allow some of the wildlings to travel further south, towards Winterfell. Not too far mind, but the land is a little better there for crops and if the white walkers do manage to break through this wall we have a longer line of defense.”

Oh yes I do remember that, Jon always has the most sensible plans even if others doubt him. She sighed.

“Sighing for the bastard are we?” He mocked.

“Oh shit no!” She regretted swearing instantly, “Sorry my King, I meant, no, it’s you, only you.”

The corners of what some saw as a cold and cruel mouth turned upwards slightly, a sly smile played on his face, he had her right where he wanted her. Is Stannis warming to me this much? Does sex not repulse him anymore? Gods what do we do now.

“You asked me why I brought you here, though you already know the answer,” he said softly looking at her.

“I…I guessed why but I do not like to assume your grace,” she bowed and looked down.

“You don’t bow to me, you don’t curtsy to me. I’m having a difficult time coming to terms with the reasons why I brought you here. I am an honest man, I know I’m not well liked, I know some see me as dull with the little drinking I enjoy and disdain for sex but you must understand.”

He was cut off as Antoinette moved forward backing him up next to a chair.

“I know my King, I do,” she smiled at him and he brought his hands forward to rest on her hip bones. In return she lifted her hands up placing them onto his shoulders and pushed him down into the chair. He sat slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, Stannis was not a man who was used to following orders from others and usually it would embarrass or anger him, but today was different.

Once sat she lowered herself onto his lap and moved her head into his, she stopped there to listen to his breathing, she could feel the warm air on her lips every time he breathed out. When he breathed in she felt he was sucking a part of her with it. They stayed like this for a while, their foreheads pressed together, eyes shut, and breathing in time with one another’s steady heartbeats. Stannis moved his rough hands round to her neck and started to massage before moving up to her thick hair and played with it. Finally he could stand it no more and he leaned in to grab her bottom lip gently between his teeth. She gasped with surprise and let out a little yelp.

The kiss was welcome, his teeth grazing her skin were welcome and when their lips met properly her whole body which had been so tense before relaxed. As their lips moved together his tongue pushed between her lips and teeth, exploring the warm cavern in between. Already Stannis could feel a bulge in his trousers, his cheeks reddened almost angrily and he knew he should feel ashamed but he didn’t and for once he didn’t feel surprised.

Her hand were clutching now at the hair on the back of his head, “My King,” she moaned. “My King, my only King, fill me, fill me with sons,” she moaned. The way she said my King sent shivers up his spine, he wanted to fuck her right there on the chair but had promised himself if they slept together again he’d do it properly. No tables but a soft bed and tender care with passions set ablaze, not from a God, but from within.

[theramblingonesie]

I love you but I don’t like you right now: The Passion Project Diaries

I remember years ago when I was nannying for a beautiful family, experiencing the joys and not-joys of their daughter coming into toddlerhood. She was such a precious dumpling as a baby, and somehow she had sprung into an agent of chaos, destruction, loss of hearing (mine), and potty-training nightmares. I had a day where I remember sitting at the kitchen table hoping for five minutes of peace (that never arrived) and feeling overwhelmed by the guilty thought of, “omg. I don’t like you.” Bothered by this, having established that I did feel unconditional love for this child, I asked one of my friends who is a mother to two young children if she ever experienced similar feelings. She laughed and threw her hands up exclaiming, “OH GAWD YES! There are days where I completely dislike my children. You don’t tell them that, obviously, but that’s a well-kept secret among mothers. We all talk about it. You’d be surprised how common that is, especially when they’re toddlers.”

PHEW. Great, I wasn’t a monster. Or if I was, I was at least in good company.

Producing and directing The Scarlet Tongue Project has brought out similar feelings for me over the course of the past three or four years. I remember the gestation period, feeling scared and excited, dreaming about what her personality was going to be, how I would be as an art mommy, imagining all the playdates with other artists and art parents in town. Then I went into labor, breathing and screaming through the pain of contractions, feeling frustration and fear of the nurses- some helpful and some harmful. I remember the vulnerability of not wanting anyone else to touch my baby, of just wanting to hold her to my chest where she would feel safe and bonded. I remember how deeply and fiercely I fell in love when she began opening her eyes and making sounds. She was the most precious thing in the world to me, and I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. The rest of the world disappeared, and it was so hard for me to focus or find equivalent joy in anything else. Then the insecurities of being a new art mommy set in. I doubted my abilities, and my exhaustion from trying to navigate this new territory had me questioning everything. Everywhere I turned there was information telling me that I was doing it all wrong; that if I made the slightest error I would damage my art baby for life, and maybe even lose her. I constantly reached out to loved ones asking for assistance, afraid to be left alone with this tiny, vulnerable creature. When you have a new project and you’re a new producer, suddenly everyone around you is an expert and wants to tell you how to do your job; particularly folks who have never been producers before. You begin to wonder if you made a mistake, and if you should give your project up for adoption to someone more competent. Other times, you pour yourself a glass of wine and tell them to eff right off because it’s your kid and they can go mind their own beeswax. I was in awe as I watched my art baby grow. She began to take on her own personality, making friends, forming opinions, and developing a stubborn side that I couldn’t budge for the life of me. I adored that about her. I was so deeply in love. But every once in a while, I would wonder if I made a mistake. She was so hungry, and the bigger she gets the hungrier she is. She developed her own voice, and while there are so many laughs and moments of deep wisdom that make me think she’s an old soul, she also loves to scream. Her favorite thing to do is scream, just to know she can. What and who she loves one day she hates the next. Sometimes she decides that what was previously her favorite food is disgusting, and will go on a hunger strike until I guess what she likes, because she won’t actually tell me. Sometimes I’ll put her in the bath and then run downstairs to grab a book quickly, and when I come back up she’s turned the water all the way up, screaming because it’s too hot and the tub is overflowing all over the floor and leaking through the kitchen ceiling below. Sometimes I think she’s getting dressed to go run errands with me, but instead she’s put on her roller skates and is three blocks down the street by herself with nothing but her lightning bolt undies on. In winter. On those days, I don’t like her. I don’t want to be an art mommy.

When my health issues crop up, physically or mentally, I don’t want to be an art mom that day. When I have no clue how to delegate because the beginning stages of this project left me with massive trust issues, and now I’ve taken on way too much for one person, I don’t want to be an art mom. When I receive yet another rejection letter from the millionth grant or residency program I’ve applied to, I want to quit. Everytime someone says, “so wait, I don’t really get what you’re doing, it’s so confusing” or “so like, is Scarlet Tongue even happening anymore?” I just want to go full-Britney, shave my head, and start smashing the street up with my umbrella.

Everytime someone says “oh, my sister is into feminism and stuff and she likes to draw. You should interview her”, I want to crumble into a pile of feral cats and scatter into oncoming traffic.

There are days when I ask myself why I took on a project that isn’t as flashy or “fun” as my other artist friends. Why am I so heavy? Why am I such a downer? Why am I so weird, but not in a way that’s cool?

There are days when I don’t know whether to punch or charge money for the next person who tells me that anger is bad, and why don’t I focus on a project that brings love and joy?

There are days when my heart breaks, because everyone likes the idea of womxn’s anger in theory, but when actually confronted by it they simply regurgitate the same toxic oppressive mentality that’s left us in this place to begin with. I’ve lost track of how many times “yes I believe in this, PLEASE LET ME HELP” has turned into “you’re a bad mommy. How dare you be angry with me.”

There are days when I feel lost, because I am holding the weight of so many people’s heaviest emotions and darkest secrets, and I feel pressured to keep smiling and do a flashy dance to make it all seem sexy, because sex seems like the only thing that sells if “womxn” is mentioned in your mission statement. Either that, or a complete exploitation of my artists’ trauma, which is a hard no.

There are days when money issues are gutting me, and I’m afraid to ask for help because I fear I’ve overtapped my resources.

There are days when it looks like for one every step forward I end up taking ten steps back.

Some days I’m not sure if I’m actually a better person since doing this work or not.

Those days, I turn my face away and mutter “I don’t fucking like you” under my breath, and secretly look up boarding schools in the middle of the night. When I’m around a small handful of friends I really trust, I’ll confess that I don’t like this project anymore and am ready for it to end.

But then, something beautiful happens. The act of saying how I feel out loud invites a feeling of surrender, and that surrender creates space for me to look at this project with fresh eyes and see her wholeness. Sure, maybe in certain moments I’m ready to tap out. But in a way, that’s good. It means I care, and I welcome emotions in this project. Sure, there are parts of this project I’m ready to wrap up, and not being able to complete that on my desired timeline makes me cranky. Not because I think they suck, but because that is the healthiest choice to keep things moving forward. I’m not going to start feeding my child solid foods because I resent their baby years; I’m going to feed them solid foods because it’s time to grow and move to the next step. Despite my hair-pulling moments, the reality is that when I really dig in and try to visualize not having this project, or never having started it, I feel panic and then a full-body resistance. For all of the frustrations, ups and downs, I believe in this work so hard, and I am completely dedicated to the path. I have visited parts of the US and the world that I’m not sure I would have ever seen otherwise. I’ve had the absolute fortune and blessing to gain both wisdom and knowledge, collaborate with, and share space with absolutely brilliant creative minds, both past and present. I’ve lost track of how many “holy shit, this is my life??” moments I’ve had, and that number only continues to grow. For every moment I’ve doubted myself, just as many people have taken time to tell me how much this project and this work means to them, and how it’s influenced their lives, whether as contributors or observers. On a personal level, the work I’ve done to heal a lot of my own trauma and anger issues has been profound, and the effects of that have had incalculable influence on my personal relationships and in my blood family. This project has shown me, through peace and through fire, how tirelessly obsessed and dedicated I am to making something happen if I really want it. Hearing “no” might bum me out for a minute, but you find solutions and move on. Being bummed out isn’t a death sentence.

Two years ago I was sitting with friends in Mexico, chatting with them about their experiences as mothers, contemplating if I wanted to have children of my own one day. One thing they said really stuck with me-- as a parent, you don’t own your children and they’re not extensions of you. They are their own people who will develop into who they need to be, and they will ultimately inform you about who they are. A parent’s job is mainly to love them, provide resources, and keep them safe.

This is a regular reminder for The Scarlet Tongue Project. I brought her into the world, gave her some form, and now she’s taken on a life of her own. Rather than being the owner or queen of this work, my job is far more service than glory. I’m trying to be better at asking her, “who are you today? What do you need to thrive?” Sometimes I have no clue what she’s trying to tell me. Sometimes we need to explore that a little bit to figure it out. Sometimes we take one or two wrong turns before getting back on track. But I trust the friends and caregivers she’s called forward to help on this journey. It’s a constant balance of appreciating growth while remaining present, and frequently reminding my ego to step out of the way. In moments of absolute frustration, I simply ask myself, “have you tried absolutely everything?” and the answer is always no. There is always more to do and more to learn. I can’t justify giving up when there is still infinite potential available.

Our relationships always flow in cycles. One day you’ll be super in sync with a friend or loved one, and the next you can’t seem to jive with their energy. Life will happen, circumstances will change, and then days, weeks, months or years later, you’ll fall back in harmony. In longterm romantic relationships, you cycle through periods of absolute infatuation, then wanting to murder each other, and sometimes being platonic roommate besties. I don’t have actual children, but I do believe there are so many different ways to live the archetype of Parent. It’s no secret that with parenthood comes doubt and overwhelm, along with joy and love. One minute you can’t get enough of your babies, and the next you’re hoping someone will take them away for a month so you can get some sleep and remember who you are outside of them.  While love remains, inspiration and interest come in cycles. Life, death and rebirth apply to the creative process as much as they do to the larger natural world. Winter in the creative process is crucial for letting things rest, assessing our previous work, and contemplating where we want to go before implementing a plan in the creative spring.

The work my team puts into this project continues to stun and humble me in gratitude. Every single person who takes a moment to tell me how this project has helped or inspired me has given me fresh life. Watching this whole thing come to life is surpassing my wildest dreams, even with the path being full of twists and turns. I don’t have to always like this project, and it’s liberating to admit that. But I love her on both an intellectual and soul level, and that’s what allows me to push through. This project is all about rawness, authenticity, and speaking your truth. It would be hypocritical if I encouraged everyone else but myself to be in that energy.

I wish you all creative spring through your moments of wanting to light it all on fire and send the ashes out on trash day <3

[regrettablewritings]

Rq. Heimdall fanfic!!!!😍 There is not enough out there man. How about Cassian andor? Or Poe, your choice.😘 Sorry your reunion sucked so hard.

Yeah, Heimdall!!! I haven’t really seen any real fics about him despite the fact that he totally deserves them so I took it upon myself to try and contribute.And hey. Hey, bud. Why not both? (First up in Poe, tho)

How differently do they think of eachother now compared to when they first met?: Poe Dameron was notoriousthroughout the Resistance as being a hotshot both in terms of piloting and interms of his overall personhood. So of course, once you had the chance to meethim by way of being assigned his X-Wing to fix, you had been expecting somearrogant piece of fool who’s mansplain to you how the mechanicals worked and soon. Boy, were you not expecting a warm, humorous young man who didn’t try tospoon-feed you terms you already knew, but instead was perfectly willing toleave you to your own literal devices and even praise your handiwork! Because that was one of the first things Poe thought of when he met you: Thatyou were a skilled member and the Resistance was therefore honored to havesomebody like you.

It was inevitable that the two of you would cross paths more after that(especially considering that after impressing him with your workmanship, Poerequested that you be the one to work on his assigned aircrafts). Because ofthese frequent meetings, frequent conversation was held. Until eventually, youboth began to see one another without the need to work on an X-Wing or whathave you. And you started seeing one another out of your working uniforms, freeof sweat and grease. And conversations drifted away from exchanging ideas abouthow to make the ships run smoother, or what tools you needed; they started toorient more about your respective lives, which resulted in talking about yourexperiences, likes, dislikes, and so forth.Inevitably, your impressions of one another grew into something more vivid.You now knew Poe as quite possibly the kindest, most amazing man you’d evermet: He was skilled and quite humble even with his own acknowledgement of histalent for flying. He exuded warmth, and was loyal to a fault, if potentiallyfoolhardy in his determination. Plus, once you learned the origins of the ringhe wore around his neck, you were thrilled to learn that he was a romantic atheart!Poe now knew that the Resistance wasn’t lucky to have you – he was: You were like a grease-covereddiamond in the ruff who trusted her instincts and knowledge. You volunteeredyour own talents for a greater good and while Poe himself was one of many whodid the same, he still admired this fact because not just anyone would pick uptheir things, leave everything they’d ever known, and fight for a betterfuture. He loves it when people aredriven but most of all, he loves it when you’redriven.

What do their friends/family think oftheir relationship?: Poe would like to think that his parents would’veloved you. Specifically his mother, who would have more likely than not bothstarted and indulged in a geek-out fest over the types of things she’s flownand your hunger for the knowledge that surrounded their infrastructure. Theclosest person left that he has to a mother, however, is Leia. And while she’snot as prone to excitement over ship mechanics and the like, she still verymuch approves of the relationship (even going so far as to “threaten” Poe intobeing a gentleman – as if he could be anything but). If she catches the two ofyou embracing or kissing before he flies out on a mission, she’ll snark aboutthe two of you “being absolutely disgusting” in public with your affection.But most of all, the approval you’ll be wanting is from BB-8. And, to yourabsolute glee, they approve of you. They like how happy Poe seems to be aroundyou, and it helps that you earned their good graces by thinking they’re evencuter than Poe. Finn doesn’t see anything wrong with the two of you: You’re nice, you’re brave,and he thinks the two of you go great together. And as for Rey, you both bondover your shared and varying knowledges on knowing how to fix up transports bigand small. (Plus, she’s very flattered when you ask if she’ll teach you anyshortcuts you might not have learned due to your more formal yet restrictedtraining.)Your own friends are impressed and also a little jealous that you managed toland one of the most well-known figures in the Resistance – this man is thereason so many people joined, after all, in no small part due to his handsomeface being spread everywhere in advertisements. Some might even ask if youcould introduce them to him, stating that you can’t hog the Resistance’sgreatest pilot to yourself. You humor them, but by the end of the meeting,they’re always surprised to learn just how laidback he actually is. Good foryou!

How do their personalities/skillscomplement or contrast with each other?: Typically speaking, Poe just hasthis energy that brings out the best in people. His sweetness is just thatcontagious. And you were one of his many willing victims, becoming more open toaccompany his own honey-like character. Skills-wise, what else? His knowledge and experience with flying matchesperfectly with your own knowledge and experiences with working on aircrafts.

What is their favorite aspect of eachother?: Golly, how could you only choose one thing about him that you loved the most? You couldn’t choose betweenhis loyalty, his kindness, his generosity, his willingness to sacrifice, hisdrive – You just love his overall Poe-ness!Nearly the same goes for Poe: There’s just too much about you he adores. Butsomething that especially sticks out to him is how even if you consideryourself just another number in the grand scheme of the Resistance, your skillscontribute far beyond what you may initially see from the hangars. You are, ashe would put it, a spark that ignites a flame that keeps the Resistance going.(“You took that from somewhere, didn’t you?” “Even if I did, that doesn’tchange the truth!”)

Do either of them have pet peevesabout each other?: For the most part, Poe is pretty controlled andthoughtful. He can usually find the time to make a humored remark even in theface of a First Order commander or his own torturer. But even the brightestpeople can snap if under a certain amount of pressure: If Poe feels desperate,there’s a rare but still possible chance that he might be so ambitious that hemay act without thinking of the little details in the big picture. Sometimesit’s dangerous, but other times it’s just irritating to you.

How would each reconcile with eachother after a fight?: Couples’ tiffs are inevitable. But an actual argumentwith Poe is pretty uncommon. But that doesn’t make them unheard of. Poe isgenerally a very pleasant person but sometimes, that hotheaded stubbornnessthat you sometimes forget he has seeps through and drives him to storm off. Hemay blow steam by flying or aggressively cleaning his X-Wing or exercising,all while venting to BB-8. Eventually, whether it’s because Leia or BB-8 saidsomething, or because he ran out of fumes to run on, Poe will recognize thatreconciliation is necessary. No matter how passionately he may have felt aboutwhatever set the two of you off, his hatred of when the two of you fight iseven stronger. He admits that it’s a bit arrogant of him to feel this way, buthe’s just so used to generally getting along with everybody that even yoursmaller arguments have the potential to throw him off. After all, was he reallythat great of a person if he couldn’t even make his beloved happy?He tries not to fly off-planet after an argument because the last time he did,he nearly died and it really put into perspective just how silly and immatureit was for him to leave on such a note. As soon as he returned to base, he wassearching for you as a hungry man searches for food: vehemently anddesperately. The moment he found you, you didn’t have time to even react to hisreappearance before you found yourself pressed so firmly against his chest in abone-crushing hug that you could just barely breathe. And even once the hug slackened (only by a smidge), you couldn’t get a word inedge-wise because the pilot was blurting out apology after apology,self-deprecating himself and calling himself wrong for doing that to you andpromising how he could make it up to you even if it took the rest of his life.It took you patting his chest to cue him to shut up for you to verbally accepthis apology (“I messed up, too, you nerf-herder”) and return the hug.Even years down the line, he holds up to that principle. It can be weeks afteran argument and you’ve long-since moved passed it but when he comes back from amission, he’s brought something from another planet for you (you now have acollection going for you that you keep tucked away in a safety box so as toavoid damage). You wish you could do the same but since you never really havethe chance to fly elsewhere and acquire gifts for him. So you try and becreative and make little things for him out of what you have on D’Qar: You tryto find leftover pieces from ships that can no longer serve their initialpurpose and fashion them into little decorations

What would be their ideal vacationgetaway together?: It’s really hard to think about vacations when one is involvedin a resistance movement. Especially when one is also a pilot who constantlyflies to new locations nearly on the daily. Poe tries not to tarnish thebeautiful landscapes he comes upon with associations as to why he’s there (toretrieve info, a person, sabotage, etc). Instead, he tries to remember the morebeautiful or unique aspects of the places he visits. This is not only to givehim a peace of mind and to give him one more thing to fight for the future for,but also to bring back to you. As stated before, you never really get to travel off-planet due to yourground-bound job, so you’re always curious as to what other places may looklike. Poe is all too happy to tell you about the places he’s been, the thingshe saw and ate there, the many different cultures. He loves how you practicallyglow with intrigue as he recounts the rituals he’s witnessed and what theyapparently mean for the locals. He knows that wars take time to end, and thisone is no exception. But a very giddy (and admittedly childish) part of himreally hopes that the tide turns in favor of the Resistance and that all thisfighting would be done all ready with no more planetary destruction. He wantsto start living an easier life with you, to actually start living life withyou. He’s already taken mental notes of the planets you responded to the mostand can’t wait to take you there and watch you glow as you see their respectivebeauties in person.

Think of a new way (AU, differentsituation, etc.) they could have met for the first time: You were an idiot.You were an idiot who bought into the beauty of eating in the courtyard of thisSan Franciscan café and now, for deciding to eat outside, you were going to diein this absurd heat. You sighed even though you immediately regretted feelingthe subsequent warmth of your breath running over your skin. It was too late totake it all back, though: Judging by the constant glances you made at thewindows of the actual establishment, Café Madrinna’s insides were now filled tocapacity for the lunch rush. You tried not to whimper, gripping your ice-coldglass of water with the hopes of relief.Your friend, much to your envy and despair, appeared to be unaffected by theWest Coast heat as she continued to chatter about the divine nature of the miniaturequiches this place served.“ – and the spinach-cheese ones? To die for,(Y/N),” she went on, gesturing just as dramatically as her claim. You noddedhalf-heartedly, only partially paying attention. The other part was trying tofocus on not passing out in public.If you couldn’t be in the A/C-cooled building, then the only other thing youwanted more was for a waiter to come by so you could request another cold drink,order your food, and get out of here as soon as possible.Your voice’s voice carried on with the one-sided conversation, quickly blurringinto little more than white noise. In fact, everything was beginning to fadefrom your stance due to you swearing that you were melting. It was therefore abit of a wonder to you that one noise didmake it through your disappearing interest. Though, not by much. After all, it’shard to ignore the sound of a microphone screeching.You flinched, faintly hearing others “ooh” and hiss as they cringed.“Sorry! Sorry … Testing, testing. 1, 2, 1, 2,” a voice magnified by the micsaid. You wanted to start whimpering but lacked the energy; the last thing youwanted was for yet another source of stimuli to overwhelm you. Plus, if somebodystarted to play music, it would require even more energy for you to speak up tothe waiter. Where the hell they were. You were so filled with spite that youmustered just enough strength to turn your head. It lulled lazily on your neckand, had you thought about it, ultimately dampened whatever effect your annoyedglare could’ve provided.Not that it mattered: It didn’t last very long anyway. It couldn’t possibly holdits own once you saw exactly whom you were intended to direct your ire.He was cute, but not in a little boy sort of way. You couldn’t quite place it,but you supposed it had something to do with the lax demeanor he carried abouthimself. … But he also had a guitar with him as he sat on a stool before the mic.The frown threatened to make its way back onto your face. California Guy +Guitar = Memories of Asshole in the Quad at College Trying to Pick Up Chicks. Grabbing the mic, he greeted, “Afternoon, ladies and gents and other heavenlybodies,” he greeted.” He offered a smile, revealing his crooked butnevertheless adorable teeth (how could teeth be adorable, you had no idea).“Anyway,” he said, getting into position, “here’s ‘Wonderwall.’”Oh, God, no!“Nah, I’m just kidding.” A handful of people chuckled. You nearly sighed withrelief.“But seriously … Here goes something.”The sound of the strings being plucked proved to be anything but the nuisanceyou had expected them to be. In fact, the chords seemed to flow through the airlike silk, curling in waves before caressing your ears. But it couldn’t compareto the smooth, almost husky voice with which the musician sang.“That certain night, the night we met,There was magic abroad in the air.There were angels dining at the RitzAnd a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”Perhaps it was a heat-induced delirium, but part of you suspected the man’svoice of being supernatural: You no longer focused on the heat; in fact, youcould barely determine if you were actually hot anymore. “I may be right and I may be wrong,But I’m perfectly willing to swearThat when you turned and smiled at me,A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”The way with which he delivered the lyrics seemed to serve as almost a portal,offering you an oasis to recuperate from. A balmy evening scene painted itselfin your head, the man’s voice serving as both paintbrush and palette. You barely responded to your waiter as they finally came by your table (now ofall times) to retrieve your orders. You dared yourself to not look away as youmarveled how the man’s eyelashes fluttered with his perpetual bedroom eyes. Bedroom eyes that … were looking right at you. Sure enough, you could see the those dark eyes of his staring specifically atyou. A stare so unbroken that you could see the warmth in those optics and bereminded of a cozy little nook where one could be gathered into a quilt and sleepin its cloth embrace.It was perhaps this observation that revived the heat in you. Only, instead ofit being a painful, bodily heat beaten onto your skin by the sun, this heatseemed to stay specifically in your face and ears.Crud. It only worsened when the man,still staring at you, flashed you another crooked-toothed smile. Double crud!“The moon that lingered over London town –Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown …” With far too much ease, he liftedhimself from his seat. He started walking slowly away from the designated performancespot, never once missing a beat. “How could he know we two were so inlove?The whole darn world seemed … upside down!” His voice continued, appearingto be unaffected by the lack of microphone as his singing still rang throughoutthe dining area. That would have impressed you, had it not been for yourheartbeat muting out almost everything. He was coming closer! To you! You could feel yourself panicking inside, eyes skittering about you in afruitless attempt to locate an escape route. You glanced back up. He was tenfeet away. Six feet. Four feet. Three. Two.“The streets of town were paved withstarsIt was such a romantic affair.And as we kissed and said goodnight,A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”Oh, God. He was here. In front of you. On one knee, still playing along, voicestill carried through that cute smile of his. His stare was still on you.Everybody’s stare was on you. Your friend gushed in her seat, fists balled intoher cheats as she quietly geeked out at what was happening to you. You, on theother hand, were two-parts mortified, two-parts twelve seconds away from goingyour own gushing.Certainly, it was not good for your hatred of being the center of attention ina public space for you to be serenaded. But on the flip-side, you were being serenaded! This was the sort of stuff you’d onlyever seen in movies or Youtube videos. This wasn’t the sort of stuff thathappened to people like you! Or at least, that was what you’d thought before. Butthis man was proving otherwise as his fingers practically waltzed along thestrings of his guitar, treating you to a wordless solo that brought a piece ofyour mind back to the night scene. It now included him in there, with thosewarm eyes and kissable smile. Holding hands, walking along the streets – that that gooey romantic stuff youtried your best not to get too caught up in. But, oh, he made it look and soundso wonderful!In fact, it was that same wonderful voice that gently pulled you back toreality on a high note – literally.“Aaaaand like an echo far away,A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square,” he crooned. Before he got up, heoffered you quite possibly the smoothest wink you’d ever bore witness to. Hisfingers were still strumming as he slowly returned to his original placement. By the time you’d remembered to clap, the audience had already been holdingapplause for ten seconds. He took a small bow, glowing grin in place. He leanedinto the microphone once more:“Thank you so much! Wow, uh … Okay, I’ll be taking a ten-minute break so .. . I guess hang tight!”His eyes didn’t return to you as he turned around and exited the outside. Asmuch as you felt a little disappointed by this fact, you couldn’t blame him.++++++“What’s the matter? You haven’t eaten much …” Your friend nodded at yourplate. You shook your head, “Nothing, it’s just – I’m pacing myself.” You directed abite-sized piece in a circle with your fork. Your companion pursed her lips indoubt.“I’m calling bull on that,” she muttered, taking a bite of the quiche she’dbeen going on about all day. “I think I know the reason.” The delivery of thatsentence threatened a chill to go down your spine; you knew what was coming. And sure enough, as you looked up, you weremet with a taunting smirk.“Tummy in a tizzy? ‘Cause that cutie sang to you? Be still, your beating heart!”You attempted to glare through your blushing, aching face. “Quiet, you!” you hissed. You really didn’t want to hear this: Both because ofembarrassment, but also because you just wanted to forget about that guyalready. You wanted to scarf down your food, pack up, and leave this barbaricheat and never come back! … If only you could actually will yourself to eat–“Uh … Hey, excuse me? Sorry if I’m interrupted but –”Your friend’s eyes widened as she looked upwards of the tableside. You, on theother hand, dared not look for once: You knew exactly who it was.“Yeah, so, uh …” A sugar cookie with frosting decorated to resemble a sun wasplaced on your napkin. Okay, now youhad to look. You mustered the courage to look at the musician, trying your best to appearcalm and collected yet confused when in reality, you were inwardly flustered,nervous, and confused. The simple bite of his lip almost broke you.“I just wanted to apologize for earlier,” he said. “I usually work best whenthere’s a, you know, specific person in mind to sing for. But I realized alittle too late it’s not everybody’s style so … Cookie.” You could swearyou saw his cheeks hinting red.You regarded the cookie.“It’s … I mean, that was okay, you were only –”“No, it isn’t,” your friend cut in. You and the musician immediately looked ather, both your faces painted with perplexity.“What?” you uttered. Your friend just shook her head.“A cookie isn’t gonna cut it. The poor dear can’t even eat, you made her sonervous with that performance! In fact, I dare say you owe her an actual meal!”Your mouth dropped, eyes widening. What in the ever-living Hell was this bichdoing?!Before you could recite exactly that, your friend practically shot up from herseat.“Lemme get out your way so that the two of you can talk this out. By the time Icome back, I’d better hear the location, price range, everything about thedate!” (At the utterance of “date”, you swore you could feel your heart drop throughyour abdomen.)  “For my approval, of course,” she added. Nothing and nobody could stop her fromthen leaving, practically frolicking into the café building. Leaving you andthe man alone …He actually seemed mostly unfazed. He shrugged, “She’s got a point … Thisplace has decent cookies, but that’s not exactly great compensation.” He plopped himself in the now free chair and scooched in.“I’m Poe, by the way,” he said, offering you his hand. You blinked. He … He was seriously okay with this?! Apparently so.“(Y/N),” you returned, accepting the handshake. It was warm, just likeeverything else about him. Only this time, you didn’t mind the heat as itsurged through you, from your hand to your head.

[myheartislookingforyoualways]

03.28.2021

Dear G,

The reality of my live seperate and apart from you is becoming so real now. Too real. I no longer walk around in a daze like I did at first . I walk around with the full and terrible knowledge that you are far away from me and apart from me and us and I just want to dream . I just want to dream of you and us until this reality is replaced by a kinder , gentler reality of us again . This reality is just digging deep into my heart and settling in and widening and washing over all of me every day now . Sometimes the waves are gentler than other times , sometimes they are like furious tides breaking upon the rocks of my spirit and soul . But they never stop . My heart aches with every beat and with every breath and I just know terribly each and every day no matter where I look in my life now that you are gone . I see the other life , the other reality , the doorway to the life that I want with us and I want to run right through it and shut the door in this reality and throw away the keep into the deepest part of the ocean . My dreams now are so vivid of us . So vivid it feels like I walk through that doorway every night . The vivid dreams I always remember and will never forget . My neverending love for you and for us keeps the dream alive and vibrant in my mind and my heart . My vivid dreams about us always have so much warmth . There is always a warmth around you whenever I dream vividly about you. It’s like your the sun and I’m washed in the warm rays of your love . I remember a dream I had of us a long time ago just after our story began . I told you about it a long time ago . I was walking thru a small little winter town and I knew I was going to meet you in this town somewhere . The night was full of the stars and the moon in the sky . It was so quiet . I could hear the crunching of snow as I walked to wherever you were. Then there was this cafe on  a snowy little street . The windows were beaming with yellow light spilling out onto the street . It was full of the din of people laughing and enjoying the warmth of friendship and life . I opened the door and walked in looking at nobody because I already knew exactly where you were . You were in the back at a small cute table . The room was full of conversations I couldn’t really hear nor did I care to hear . As I walked towards you i noticed you were beaming in your red puffer .  Your beautiful hands were cupping and mug and you were blowing steam off the top. As I walked towards you you looked up at me smiled and offered me that cup. I then felt warm so warm as you smiled at me . That dream I’ll never ever forget . Like the one I had few days ago of us walking thru a warm summer forest together and feeling so happy and in love . I didn’t find out where we were going down that path together but that really didn’t matter to me at the time . I was lost in your hair and the sunlight catching it . I kept looking at you as you were talking to me in that beautiful soft accent of yours. Your hand held mine like you always do . Your grip was secure and warm , not tight , but it was securely in my own hand . It was natural as it always was holding your hand . I was just listening to you as you talked and I watched you lips as you talked . I smiled at you with my heart. I remember sometimes the sunlight would catch the soft curve of your shoulder closest to me and I would kiss it as we walked together. The full vibrant green summer tree leaves were glowing like your hair as a soft warm summer wind rustled through them . It was warm and the warmth was all around me but mostly it was coming from you as if you were the sun too . We walked together at a peaceful pace , not too fast , not too slow , we just walked to wherever we were going together . Holding our hands together the whole time. I didn’t let go and you didn’t either. I used my other hand to touch your face and your hair because I never wanted to let go. Even now as I’m writing to you in the cool quiet night with the balcony door open just a bit letting the cool air in I am warm in my thoughts and feelings from my mind and my heart for u. I feel the warmth of your love even now with you so far away from me in so many more ways than just the distance between us on this world. I’ll never forget that dream too . Ever . Until I die . 

Seeing your picture on VSCO today was like looking into the most beautiful radiant dream today . I just swelled with so much love when I saw you in your new beautiful red bikini that perfectly hugged and kissed the beautiful curves of your body . I was jealous that the red bikini was that close to your beautiful skin. You are my vibrant dream now in my life that I know inside and out . I know every part of you . Time doesn’t matter . Space doesn’t matter . As soon as I saw your picture I was right there with you. It was like I was the one taking the picture . I got goosebumps and i felt the electricity running right through me like it always has right from the first moment you walked on that patio and into my life with your beautiful braids . I was just in that moment like I always am whenever I am around you , whenever I am close to you . You just drive me crazy , I hunger for you as soon as I see your picture , I crave you as soon as I see your skin , I want to drink you as soon as I see your beautiful curves , I want to taste you endlessly, I want to fall into you and lose myself in you and never find a way out of you . I just will never ever get enough of you and everything that you are . We were always like electricity together, raging and burning for each other, all hours of the day and night . You are the love of my life and the best lover I’ve ever had . We never had any moment that we didn’t feel the burning passion for each other.  Even now when you are away I burn for you day and night. You are the only one that knows me inside and out to . You are the only one that will ever drive me crazy and make me feel like every cell every hair every square millimeter of my skin is full of electricity. You are the only one that I want to call my lover and you are the love of my life . I got so much from that picture. I know everything about you and you know everything about me . Yours is a place that I can draw line by line without ever seeing you and just by closing my eyes . 

The most clear part of that picture for me wasn’t even the part you showed . It was the part that you didn’t . Your beautiful face . I know every detail of you . I know the beautiful waves of your hair . I know how your little pelitos draw across your temples and behind your beautiful ears with all your little earrings . The ones that you keep in . I know how you sometimes put hoops in and which ones you like more than others. I know how and where your hair gently ends on your long soft neck and I know the exact spot of your red heart tattoo behind your ear just resting on the space between your head and your neck . I can feel your neck in my hands waiting for me to squeeze it just a little more than I thought i should at first but then I did more and more until I learnt from you just the way to do it from you.  I know how full and full of wild spirit your hair is when you let it go in all its wavy beauty and I know how it gently drapes over your neck and your shoulders whenever you straighten it . I can trace every single little part of your eyebrows that I’ve seen you sculpt time and time again perfectly . I know every little inflection of your big beautiful brown eyes . I can get a million words and know exactly what you’re feeling by looking into your eyes that hold all that beautiful life behind those deep pools of your irises . I feel your soft gentle cheeks and i can feel your cheekbones in my hand without even having to touch your face without even having to hold your face in my hands like I always love to do. I see your beautiful nose resting perfectly on your face the nose that you’ve never liked but i adore with all my being. I run my fingers across your jaw and i run my thumb over your soft big beautiful juicy lips. I can feel your soft pillowy lips and I know if I just gesture with my thumb in the slightest way you’ll open your mouth up for me and playfully suck or even bite it for me, which is exactly what I always want and you always knew that . I can see that you that you have when you do that and you can see the look in my eyes when you do that and we both keep each others fires burning white hot with that little small thing. i can feel your pretty little teeth just at the edge of my thumb. I can see the beautiful gap that i always tried to convince you not to fill in when it fell out that time. I can see all the smiles that you have . I can see the one smile for me that you only had for me. The smile that came from your heart . The one that showed me your almost dimples on your soft cheeks as you did . I can feel all your many ways that you kissed me . All the ways that you would kiss me back . All the ways that you kissed me first. All the ways that we showed ourselves to each other each and every time starting with our very first kiss that I finally shared with after dreaming about that moment for what seemed like forever. Now it feels like its been forever since I’ve kissed you but it also feels like I’ve just kissed you again now as I’m thinking about it. 

I see your beautiful long slender arms and I know exactly how you move them . I know how your tattoo that you got with me sits just on the inside of your arm and I can see your expression again that day that you came back into my car after you got it. I can see your perfect little elbows and they’re crease as they raise up to motion to something . I can see your arms outstreched to me asking me to come to you. I know the tattoo on your wrist and what exactly it means and how it looks exactly on you. I can see every single little finger of yours and I know exactly how it feels in my hand . Secure warm and fitting perfectly into mine. I can feel your energy and my energy sharing back and forth with every time we hold hands . Sharing ourselves with each other with every time we touch. I can see your long nails and see your beautiful little creases on each of your knuckles. I know how you type on your keyboard while you’re doing your homework. I know exactly what your hand looks like when you’re holding your phone scrolling through all your twitter threads that you love. I know how your hands hold your fork as you eat . I know exactly how you bring it to your mouth with your arms. I know exactly when and how you will close your mouth around your food and just how you eat. I know exactly how your hands hold me as you bring me to you and I know exactly how it feels to be in your hands and feeling your divine touch. I know how you sleep with your hands . Sometimes down. Sometimes curled around and upside down into themslves. Sometimes all over the bed strectched out as far as you can like a cat. 

I can trace every single lunare with my eyes closed all that way down your back. I know the curve of your spine as you sit, as you stand, as you sleep beside me. I know the curve of your back even if you had all your clothes on now. I’ll never know anything better than seeing your curved back all the way back to the time that you dropped your pen underneath that table where we both used to work. I run my fingers across your hips with my eyes when I look at that picture. I konw just how you like it when I do that, when I run my hands across your hips. I can see the curve of your hips lying beside me as you ask me to to do that. I know exactly the way you want me to ever since the first time I layed down beside you. I can feel your perfect little belly and the shape and depth of your bellybutton . The belly that I always wanted to squeeze and hold whenever I wasn’t squeezing and holding your hips. I run my hands up your chest and you know I’m always going to put my thumb and pinky on my two favorite lunares of yours . The ones that I traced out the first time we were together and put my hands like that with my thumb and pinky ever since. Every single day. I can feel your soft and perfect panna cottas in my hands. The ones that I instinctively touched and held right from the beginning. The ones that fit perfectly into my hands . Sometimes I would gently hold them cup them and feel comforted by them. Sometimes I would squeeze them harder. Sometimes it wasn’t my hand at all and just my mouth. I know exactly how that would feel even now as I write. I can imagine all the times you would help me. Help me to feel the most alive and electric with you than I’ve ever felt in my life and ever will. 

I see your stance the way you position your feet that are just out of the picture. I know exactly how you walk. I can see you walking towards me in your assured soft steps whether or not you running , walking slow your fast. I know exactly when you’re at ease and relaxed, or anxious or excited by your walk. I can feel your beautiful feet in my hands and I know just how they fit in my hands. I can feel the arch of your foot and your sloping heel on my palm as I raise them up to my mouth and kiss your arch then each of your toes, one by one, foot by foot. I know the way you look at me when I do this . I know how the first time I did this you absolutely adored it even more than I did, which is pretty near impossible. I can run my hands up your legs and I know just how every inch of your beautiful long legs feel in my hands. I know the feeling of your soft perfectly coloured skin is every inch of the way all the way up until your legs end. I can feel everything with my fingers as I type on this keyboard its as if I’m doing exactly that. My fingers end where your legs end too and I just want to stay there forever. I can feel you and I know you inside and out. Perfect in every way. You’re soft and sweet and you know just how to drive me wild and I know just how to drive you wild . You know just what we both like. I know exactly how to make you feel good and I feel even better making you feel that good. I want to stay with you and inside you forever. I want to be with you in all those moments now and in the future forever. I can hear your voice and you can hear mine and we both know what each other is feeling just by our voices and we don’t even need any words. We just have known each other inside and out to the point again and again endlessly to the point we don’t need words anymore . They just hold us back from the most pure form of communication and love i’ve even been able to express with anyone and only ever will want to, you, the love of my life. 

I noticed you’re not wearing the zodiac sign necklace that I got you or the ring I gave you. It doesn’t matter I didn’t expect you to. I do notice the ankle bracet. It looks gorgeous shining on your beautiful body . I like to think that you are motioning to me to call you back to you . Letting me come back home to you. Asking me to come back to the beautiful dream of us that i so much want that i dream of it and you day and night. I want to step out of this cold reality through that photo and back to you back to us and back to our love. Are you motioning to me? I don’t really know but I think I do because I know your heart like i know mine. You know mine so well too I think you must know that I would see that hand gesture and put all my heart and hopes and dreams into that beautiful hand of yours. I want to just appreciate you and appreciate our love. I want to drink from our love . I want to run down the beaches . All the beaches we can together. Endlessly. I want to look at endless sunrises with you. I want to see endless sunsets fade away on the ocean horizon until we both watch the moon rise above the water. I want to kiss you and hold on on the beach sand with the waves gently lappping up on our bodies in front of the moon. When that day comes, if you are motioning back to me, and if I do have just enough luck left in my life to get back to us, then I will cry and thank the moon for telling you all this time that I love you. My tears will fall into the ocean water of our love and we will be together again looking at the same moon together as the lovers that we always were and I always want us to be. I hear you my love, I really do hear you, I hear the loud thoughts of your heart from all this distance and I am here. I have always been here. I now am tellling you back in the loudest prayer to the moon that i see as I finish writing to you, that, if you do wish me to come back to you, I will not waste any more time than I need to get back to you and to us. Not one more second will be spared than is absolutely needed. I will be here listening to your heart until that day comes. Like I’ve always been and always will be. You have my heart my mind my body and my soul always, whether or not you ask for it. You just do and thats the way it will always be for me and thats exactly what I want. I will give you all of me for all time no matter what.  Time, distance, space doesn’t matter to me. If you do want me to come back with your hand gesture and you are asking me to come back to the dream of us, in this life, the waking dream of our love and life together, then I will be there in a heartbeat. The heartbeat that beats for you and for us. Always. Forever and a Day. 

Te Amo

Y Siempre

Te Amare

Mi Morenita

[moonraccoon-exe]

Hey coon! \(^ v ^)/ Since I just went to the aquarium yesterday, what do you think of Gladnis Aquarium date? I imagine Iggy knows about all the fish species and interesting facts about them. Meanwhile Gladio's enjoying the view, by the view I mean Iggy's beautiful happy expression surrounded by all the blue (he's glowing ;)) They also mention Noct every now and then; "hey, this looks like Noct's sleepy face"; "let's not take him here he'll bring his fishing rod and never want to get out".

[[By ‘Yesterday’, Pika friend actually means early October, hahaha :’( That’s how awfully long behind I’ve gotten in the asks. A deep apology.]]

[Also, there’s a read more at some point ahead, in case somebody in mobile can’t see it]

*deep breath intensifies*

Y E S

Gladnis aquarium date for the absolute win!!! Aaaah, the way you describe it is absolutely perfect!!

Imagine it’s one of those aquariums that has some tanks that are tunnels, so you walk walk underneath the fish themselves. Colorful jellyfish in their own tank, a shark over there, and a ray “smiling” at them. All the fun they would have! Aaah, Gladnis aquarium date is absolutely pretty and I’m loving all the visuals!  ♡ ～('▽^人)

I assume Gladio at first was interested in watching the fish. He and Iggy walked in and the tanks receive them immediately, so there’s not even time to talk before they’re already opening the mouth, letting out quiet ‘Woah’s and staring around. The tanks paint the whole rooms and hallways in dark shades of blue, and there’s endless fish swiming about.

Gladio and Ignis walked slowly through the hallway, still staring at their sides and above them. There’s a group of tiny fish swimming all in one direction, and the way they squirm makes a gorgeous visual impression. Some bigger fish swim on this other side, and some of them squirm faster and some squirm weirdly. There’s some creatures that are just floating, and a thing that Gladio swears looks like, and I quote, “one of those raw balls of meat before you cook it, Iggy”, and it’s moving too. Gladio stopped for a long while only to watch that one because what the hell is that thing?

“It’s most probably a subspecies of an anemone type” Ignis says after he realized that he had been talking to nobody for about two minutes now, because Gladio stayed behind and isn’t paying attention; he’s down on his ankles staring at the squirmy creature at the rocks. Gladio turns to look at him surprised and says nothing for a moment, as if expecting Ignis to laugh and say ‘nah, honestly I have no idea’. But all that the adviser does is give him a smile as if saying ‘does that solve your questions? Can I do more for you?’

“How do you know?” Gladio asks him with half-a-grin but eyebrows still furrowed, as if not sure whether this was a joke or not and hence not sure if he should laugh or not

“I’ve read a few couple books on aquatic wildlife” Ignis says and looks away, fidgeting a bit with his glasses, a gesture that Gladio knows well; he’s growing a little shy. “Noctis started demonstrating a particular liking for fish and aquatic wildlife even before he developed his liking for fishing, so I thought it would be useful to learn a thing or two about these matters.”

“Is there anything you don’t know, Ignis Scientia?” Gladio asks him with a smile, and Ignis gives him a faked cocky smirk. “So what are those ‘a thing or two’? Can you tell me more?”

“Well...” Ignis starts and looks away from him to look at the tanks. His gaze is exploring, and under the blue light his eyes look like they were light blue. No. It was better than blue; they looked almost aquamarine, a strange color that, nonetheless, looked beautiful. Gladio blinks and smiles, watching him, adoring not only their new color but also the way they were traveling here and there. Ignis looks like a curious child discovering the world for the first time, and being amazed by everything, but trying hard to understand what it is that he’s seeing.

While Gladio stares, Ignis suddenly turns to look at him quickly before his attention returns to the tank, he’s smiling, and he points at something in the water.“Over there” he says, “there behind that rock? Wait, it’s coming out...see it?”“Uh huh?”“That’s a rainbow trout. See the colors?” Gladio continues looking at the fish, curious, while Ignis speaks. “It’s mostly a reddish pink line in the middle, with yellow tones at the sides, not necessarily a rainbow, but it gains its name from the effect that its scales, of such colors, get from the light and the way they swim. See? As they swim, the scales come and go, light reflects and shines on them as they do, and they give the illusion effect that they’re painted in more colors than they actually have.”

Gladio focuses a little. It took him some moments, because the fish doesn’t stand still and it’s constantly coming and going, but now that he knows, he can see that it really doesn’t have as many colors as he thought. He raises the eyebrows and nods, whispering ‘Oh, true...’.“And that” Ignis said and points to another side. Gladio looks away from the rainbow fish and finds the one Ignis is looking at now. “That’s a callatein brook trout” Ignis looks at him, smiling, and looks back at the fish. “From what I’ve learn he can be found at the Wennath river. Its fillet offers a very wonderful main dish.”

Oh, so it’s not only from what he read, but also his culinary skills. Of course he had to know about fish. Gladio laughs a little, and stays quiet while Ignis continues telling him more things. “Do you know about sharks?” Gladio asks him after they’re done with the first tank, and Ignis smiles with pride.“Of course!” he seems to be a bit shy after his overexcited exclamation, and inhibits only a bit. “Right this way, I think I saw some in this direction.”

And so, the date goes on. It’s only Gladio and Ignis travelling through the endless hallways and tanks, pointing, looking, one speaking and the other listening. Sometimes, Ignis really has no idea about some species or about some question Gladio has; that, however, never inhibits him or makes him grow embarrassed. All that he does is stare at a void with a gaze that Gladio oh so dearly knows, that sparkle of curiosity and absolute thirst of knowledge, and he starts looking for signs on the tanks or goes over to an employee and asks them, no shyness or second thoughts, because he may be a little awkward in the social aspect outside of his circle of friends, but damn is his hunger for knowledge much stronger than that.

Don’t think Gladio’s not listening, he is. He’s paying attention. He’s just not memorizing what he’s been taught, because while he is paying attention, part of his focus is on admiring the rarest and most beautiful of species; Ignis himself.

He’s always been visually stunning, but the blue lights paint him beautifully. Gladio has always liked Ignis in red or green, but blue is new and he looks fascinating under that  light. Besides, Ignis is letting himself go, and he just talks and talks, content and ecstatic about sharing all that he knows with someone he loves, and that he speaks with so much passion about something, it makes him ten times more beautiful than only looks could ever get. It’s something rare to explain, but it’s when Ignis is this lighthearted and talking about something he likes and/or wants to share, it’s like his beauty is amplified.

So they walk together, and Ignis points at things and talks endlessly, and Gladio watches him do. Sure, the sharks are interesting and the fish are cool, but Ignis is a masterpiece of a living creature, whether aquatic or not. He’s strange and absolutely wonderful, and Gladio doesn’t understand him sometimes but he remembers somebody once said that art isn’t supposed to be understood,it’s supposed to make you feel something. So, Gladio assumes while walking next to him, Ignis himself is some new and weird form of art. A blue, smart and fish-nerd form of art. 

And the best of everything is Ignis is not only rambling about scientific stuff, he’s a man in his early twenties and he’s playful and a bit childish sometimes. So he’s also making jokes, delivering some puns, making fun of fish or Gladio himself, etcetera.“That one guy in there, do you see him?” Ignis points somewhen nearby the end of their stroll through the aquarium.“There’s lotsa in this tank, Iggy” Gladio says while trying to catch which they’re talking about. “Which one?”“The one that sort of looks like Noct when he’s waking up?”

Gladio had started to formulate a ‘What?’, but he could not finish; he did not even need Ignis to point which direction to look at, that description was enough. There’s the black fish with a lazy “ᗣ“ shaped mouth and dropped eyelids not even swimming, just floating like it’s so exhausted and ‘meh’. And, of course, Gladio is histerically laughing. He has to get away of the tank with dumb steps, holding his stomach, laughing. Ignis can’t help it; he’s grinning, proud of his joke, but the more he stares at the fish the more he starts laughing.

Finishing the aquarium visit there’s a souvenir store. Gladio insisted until they got matching shark kigurumis (’I WANT TO BE A SHAAAAAAARK, IGGGGGYYYYYYYY, BE MY SHARK MATE?’).

That’s how both went home with shark kigurumis, hand in hand, lots of knowledge about fish species, an Ignis falling deeper in love with Gladio because ‘he’s such a good listener, and the way he stares at me murders me, and I love how sincerely curious he was about all the things that he asked me’, and a Gladio falling deeper in love with Ignis because ‘gods, he’s so smart and so beautiful, I love the way his eyes gleam when he talks like that, and he didn’t mind my silly questions and answered them all’. 

Shark kigurumis.

I want Gladnis cuddling in shark kigurumis.

Brilliant, now I have this visual image in my head and it’s possibly never going to get out of it. Not that I complain, it’s a lovely image, haha! 

Aaah~ 

Such a precious, precious scenario. The gods bless your pretty head, Pika friend! This was fun to image ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

[twilight-red-mage]

Suspended In Midair

Tara’s parents always told her never to seek magic. Tonight, though, she had no intention of listening.

The night of All Saints’ Wake had come, and five-year-old Tara bore an enthusiasm unlike any other. After all, this year she would finally wear the kind of costume she had always wanted to! What more could she ask for?

Mere minutes earlier, Tara had bounced down the stairs inside her big house and ran into the kitchen, proudly showing herself off to her mother and father. Like so many other little girls must have at the time, Tara had dressed herself as a princess. Her bright pink dress sparkled and shimmered, her long, white gloves felt silky and soft, and her golden tiara glittered. Having particularly wealthy parents certainly had its perks. The two of them ensured that their dear daughter always had the best she could ask for, enough to look like a proper young lady.

“Aww, you look so beautiful!” her mother, Daphne, exclaimed.

Her father, Nathan, jokingly walked over and asked “Would it be alright if I asked the princess for a dance?” Tara laughed, that kind of joyful giggle that we hear from a child when they play with some new toy they have wanted “for forever,” and she played along as her father scooped her up in his arms and the three of them laughed together, like a happy family.

Their fanfare continued as they set out, with the three of them pulling on coats, mindful of the night’s chill in the air, and making their way to the waterside. The ferry ride that took them to Limsa Lominsa from the small island where Tara’s parents’ home and business stood lasted ten minutes at most, and she and her parents kept the festivities up as best they could, their gilded smiles shimmering.

It seemed as though Tara could hardly contain her excitement, and as soon as they reached the docks, she leapt off of the boat, seeming ready to leave her parents behind right then and there, but Nathan caught her and pulled her up into his arms. In a light voice, he chided his lively daughter. “Now, Tara,” he began, “I know you’re excited, but you have to wait until we meet up with your class and get some candy, but we need to walk you there so you don’t get lost.”

“Candy!!!” Tara yelled as Nathan carried her to their destination and Daphne followed behind them, looking amused. Of course, in truth, while it may taste sweet, Tara did not merely pursue candy on that night. No, this precocious little girl hungered for something even more delectable. Soon, the perfect opportunity would come to her, and she had already made the preparations to see it through. She need only leave the clutches of her parents and claim her prize.

Much like the boat ride preceding it, their trip to the home of Tara’s teacher ended quickly and filled itself with little more than the family’s idle chatter. Upon reaching their destination, Nathan set Tara down and she immediately inquired about where in the house her teacher might have a bathroom. As soon as the teacher responded, Tara took off and went inside, not bothering to stop and talk to any of her classmates first. Finding that the bathroom did not have anyone inside at the time, Tara rushed inside and slammed the door shut, whipped off her coat and pulled her princess costume off, revealing an adorable, black costume that had hidden beneath the dress and its big skirt.

Tara laughed and pulled a purple ribbon out of her pocket, using it to tie off a braid she had put in her hair, then jumped onto the edge of the sink, using her little arms to lift herself up so she could see her reflection in the mirror that she did not quite stand tall enough to see herself clearly in. A golden grin shone through her and her eyes widened with glee. She wore the clothes of the Young Witch of the Forest, her favorite character from one of her favorite books, one of the ones her parents did not know about. A black dress with big, yellow buttons on the front worn over a long-sleeved white shirt with a fluffy white apron tied around her waist and simple black shoes made Tara look just like that mischievous blonde witch she so admired, especially when complete with the braid. “If only my eyes were brown like hers, too,” she thought, but she wasted no more time on such an impossible modification. Still, just one thing remained…

After stashing her princess dress in one of her teacher’s medicine cabinets and flushing the toilet to make sure that her cover story held up, Tara left the bathroom with a playful grin that captured the spirit of the character she imitated perfectly. Magaga Maga, Tara’s teacher, had evidently returned from speaking with Tara’s parents, and Tara approached her. “Thank you so so so sooooooo much for the costume!” Tara cried. “I love it so much!”

Miss Maga, a short, bespectacled Lalafell, a younger teacher who had just recently gotten a job at Tara’s school, and one who treated her students very nicely, had heard from Tara that the little (for a Hyuran value of little) girl’s parents had searched and searched, but simply couldn’t find this costume that Tara so desperately wanted, and Miss Maga had told Tara that she had just seen that very same costume at a store just a few days ago. Of course, Tara knew this, but she pretended she had no idea. If Tara could bring her money from her parents, she had asked, could she possibly bring Tara the costume? Miss Maga had graciously accepted the offer, and Tara had promptly burst with gratitude.

That night, Tara asked her parents for money for the teacher to buy food and decorations for Miss Maga’s All Saints’ Wake party, which would involve all the students meeting at their teacher’s house and going out to collect candy together. Tara knew that, conveniently, her parents could only drop her off and pick her up, since the two of them had to meet with some businessman their daughter cared not enough to remember the name or description of. The perfect opportunity for Tara to dress up as a magician, as she had always wanted, had come.

“You just wait one second,” Miss Maga said before running off on her tiny legs to get the two missing pieces of the ensemble, the witch’s hat and wand. Tara simply couldn’t fit those items, a hat too big and a wand too fragile, into her little backpack, so Miss Maga happily kept them for her so that Tara could pick them up on the night of the party. When the kind teacher returned, Tara jumped up and down with joy and took them. The big hat felt like it had found a home on her head, and the little fake wand in her hand felt just the same. While Tara knew they did not make her a real witch, the cheap costume filled her with hope and pride, as if to remind her that her dreams could still come true in the future. Maybe, someday, she could convince her parents that magic was not so bad…

Once all the other kids arrived, Miss Maga called all the kids, assorted children of every race who dressed themselves up as animals, princes and princesses, characters from books and plays, horrifying monsters, and more over to her, and the parents who could show up followed after their children and tried to keep them quiet (with limited success) as their teacher told them all they needed to know, like where they would go in town and some rules like: “Don’t take more than one piece of candy so everyone else can have one” and “Don’t stray from the group” and “Try to remember which Lalafell are students and which are parents.” Tara, one of the few children whose parents could not show up, could hardly pay attention. The novelty of her perfect attire consumed her gleefully. She simply could not wait to jump out into the night and prance around as though she had become an actual witch.

When it finally came time to go, Tara, unsurprisingly, rushed for the door, but Miss Maga managed to reel her in before Tara’s own little legs could carry her too far.

Despite its uneventfulness, the night that followed would forever remain a treasured memory for the hopeful, passionate, and determined Tara Celica. What felt to others like just another All Saints’ Wake felt to Tara like the greatest night of her little life, a night where she could entertain the dream of becoming a knowledgeable mage. So long as she stayed within Miss Maga’s sight, Tara could do, well… whatever she wanted! Such freedom Tara had never known!

Loudly and bombastically, she pranced around and mimed conjury spells with her wand and chuckled, mimicking the witch she had dressed herself as. Sometimes as she pranced around, she would spread her arms out to her sides like wings, and from the look on her face, one might have forgotten that she could not fly. Her joy lifted her up, higher, higher, toward the stars above.

By the time the class finished their run around town and every child had their huge party bag filled to the brim with candy, Tara had become something of an annoyance to some of the other partygoers. Of course, one could have expected that outcome; Tara did not have any particularly close friends – the other kids found her obsession with magic and the arcane off-putting or tiring – and some of the parents recognized her for her reputation.

“Such a shame that you couldn’t reel in that unruly little girl,” one of the mothers, a tall Wildwood Elezen, told Miss Maga. “I hear that she’s always making trouble and ignoring her parents.”

Miss Maga laughed uncomfortably. “I think she was just having fun tonight,” she said with a nervous grin. “And she behaves herself in class well enough most of the time. As long as she’s not hurting anyone, it’s fine, right?”

The mother nodded, but did not speak, issuing only a slightly disapproving, “Hmm, yes…” The conversation ended there, abruptly, and the woman turned away, wondering what that strange girl would become if she never learned a modicum of obedience.

Miss Maga knew that Tara’s parents did not want to see their little girl become a mage. They worried for her well-being. Danger and magic sometimes went hand in hand, and they wanted their daughter to pursue a more safe, secure profession. As far as Miss Maga could tell, Tara’s radiant passion had not dimmed even the slightest bit, no matter how hard they attempted to dissuade her.

Sighing, Miss Maga wondered what would become of the young midlander. She believed that children should follow their dreams, but she had to take responsibility for her kids, so she listened to Tara’s parents’ request. Besides, kids as young as Miss Maga’s students hardly ever learned to use any magic; like Tara’s parents said, the arcane could cause suffering just as easily as it could alleviate it.

As she watched Tara return from her second bathroom break, Miss Maga hoped they might come around when Tara grew a little older. After all, as far as she knew, they had allowed her to wear a witch costume tonight, so maybe they had already in some small capacity.

Meanwhile, Tara had already changed back into her princess costume, but her coat – which, thankfully, was too big for her incredibly small body – covered her enough that one could not really tell. Her parents had just arrived, and they suspected nothing. Everything had gone off without a hitch, and Tara had enjoyed her All Saints’ Wake as a witch! Even after the festivities had come to a close, her happiness burned its way through the entire room. She even managed to fit the hat and wand into the bottom of her candy bag so that she could take it home with her! If she wanted to, she could pull off the same ruse again, perhaps! They just needed to stay well-hidden, like when Tara checked out spellbooks from the library and hid them behind the other books she had. Maybe these could go in the back of her closet, and the dress could be hung under the same hangar as another, bigger dress?

“I’m so glad I could help with the costume,” Miss Maga said, interrupting Tara’s thoughts. “Tara looked so adorable as a witch!”

Fear petrified Tara. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and sweat began to pour from her forehead and hands. As shrewd as she was, a five-year-old could not think of everything, and she had never stopped to consider that Miss Maga could have said something like that.

Daphne and Nathan reacted similarly, with the same shocked eyes and sighs of disbelief, but those quickly gave way to an incredulous anger. “A witch?” Daphne asked. “We sent her here in a princess costume. But you mean to say that Tara came here as a witch tonight?”

Miss Maga seemed to have read the atmosphere, but nothing remained that she could do but tell the truth. “Tara said you had searched for a Young Witch of the Forest costume and couldn’t find one, but I told her I could, and… she gave me the money to buy it for her, so I…”

Immediately, Daphne and Nathan realized that Miss Maga may have never needed help buying things for the party, and if she did, Tara likely did not help her buy any of that. However, while the specifics stayed uncertain, one thing made itself clear: Tara needed punishment.

“Come on, Tara, we’re going,” Daphne said, and Nathan grabbed the girl’s wrist and began dragging her away to the door while throwing a disinterested “Thanks” in the direction of a distraught Miss Maga. When they got outside, Nathan lifted his daughter back into his arms, but far more roughly than he had when they had set out. Daphne gripped Tara’s shoulders and looked into her big, blue eyes, which welled up with tears. “I want a full explanation when we get home, and then, you will be punished for a long, long time.”

Tara began to cry, and loudly at that, but they merely told her to quiet down and walked in silence, and the shroud of quiet that they moved in lasted even through the ferry ride and the walk back to their house. Once they entered their house, though, the silence broke.

Nathan lifted up Tara’s princess skirt, revealing the dress and apron underneath. Then, the two of them pulled off the princess dress entirely, even as Tara feebly fought to keep it on, as though she could somehow deny the existence of the witch outfit and escape her scolding.

Once the witch costume had become fully unveiled, Daphne knelt down, yelled, “A hundred or a thousand times now, I don’t know, but we’ve told you to never, ever get involved with magic!” and she swiftly slapped Tara across the cheek as she reprimanded her. A pathetic cry rang out in response, but her parents knew now that they could not relent. They had known for a long time that their daughter did not listen, did not obey, did not care, and so as painful as it may have been, they needed to give her much harsher discipline. “How many times does this have to happen, Tara!? How many!? How many!?” Now, Daphne cried, too, and she hit Tara once more, and this time Tara sank to her knees and sobbed.

Nathan joined in now. “You have done a very bad thing, young lady,” he screamed. “And this time, you’ve taken advantage of your teacher, too! Go to your room! And know that you won’t leave this house for the next week, not even for school!” Slowly, Tara lifted herself up onto her arms, and then her parents yelled at her to go to her room once more. What if they hit her again!? Whenever they got this mad, she needed to run, or they would hit her again! They would hit her, again, again, again, again again again…

Tara ran to her room and collapsed against the door. Once again, she had failed, and she curled up into a ball on the floor, wailing. Her cheek stung from the hits dealt to her, red marks of her ignominy and dishonesty. Tears dripped onto her little dress and she wiped them away with her shirt’s long, white sleeves. Failure… Failure… All she ever did…

Weakly, she lifted her head to look out her window. The stars gleamed far above her… always out of reach. All she wanted was to learn magic… She knew that her parents worried, but magic had claimed her passion. Tara could never let it go… but if she kept clinging to it, her parents would keep getting angry, and sad, and they’d hurt her. The two of them had their issues with magic, and Tara could understand their pain – Nathan’s family ridiculing him for his lack of magical talent, and Daphne’s parents treating her as little more than a test subject for their terrifying research – but how could Tara leave behind her dream? Her head fell down again.

While her head could not yet reach the clouds, neither could her feet touch the ground, and so she could only float, adrift and alone. And on the floor below, her parents started discussing how many days would pass before they would allow her to eat again.

(Author’s Note: If you actually read all of that (sorry it was so long), thank you very much and I hope that you enjoyed it! There’s more to come soon!)

[norafinds]

ATWWV - Laila Shalimar

Third post of the Around The World With Vintage and I cannot be more excited for you to read this. Today I would like to introduce you to the Australian-Pakistani pin up Midcentury Mermaid aka Laila Shalimar. I was really excited when I discovered Laila as she is definitely the perfect person to feature on this series. I started this series because I wanted to talk to vintage wearers about culture, nationalities, and identities. Laila has the most fascinating stories growing up in Pakistan and moving to Australia at 16. I thought it would great for me (and you) to learn about Pakistan and its history. I asked her about the Westernised Pakistan that I've seen in vintage photographs as well as her views on being a Desi woman and a pin up girl.

Hi Laila, tell us a little bit about you!

My name is Laila Shalimar. I am a twenty something tattooed pinup of colour from Western Australia. When I am not working one of my two reception jobs, you can find me in the library of Edith Cowan University where I am a student of Criminology and Counter Terrorism. I am passionate about writing and the art of storytelling. Being able to speak 2 languages other than English, linguistics have always been a source of comfort for me. The written word has been a source of solace during some of the most isolating and vulnerable moments of my life and I am grateful to be able to share my experiences with others through the power of writing. I have had some of my pieces published by magazines such as Adore Pinup Magazine, Retro Vintage Review, Damsel Magazine, Dircksey and I hope to continue writing for as long as my mind will let me tell stories.

What is your racial and cultural background? 

Because I don’t have an Anglo Australian accent, I often get people asking me where I am “really from”. This is usually after a long and embarrassing guessing game where every country but Pakistan is thrown in as a possibility. I dread these kind of interactions  because it makes me feel like my accent, name and appearance prevents me from being considered “Aussie”  and  also because I never know how people will react to my “identity story”. For one thing, I never know whether they are asking about my ethnicity/race or where I have lived before I moved to Australia. First and foremost, I consider myself a Desi Australian. I was born in Peshawar, Pakistan to a Muslim Pashtun father and a mother of mixed Indo European ancestry. I grew up between Karachi, Islamabad, and Peshawar. I have also lived in the UK and briefly in some parts of Europe. Because I went to an English Grammar school for most my life and was practically raised on American cable, I have a very American sounding accent. I moved to Australia with my family in 2013 and have lived here ever since. Because I was sixteen at the time, I never managed to pick up an Australian accent.

People make the mistake of assuming that “Pakistani” is a racial or ethnic identity when it is merely a nationality. Pakistan is a small country that only came into existence in 1947. Prior to that it was part of the Indian subcontinent and fell under the British Raj. My father’s generation was the first generation to be born in Pakistan. My grandparents were born in British India as it was called. Pakistan hosts a multitude of races and ethnicities much like Australia does and many of us refer to ourselves as Desi or “of the motherland/subcontinent”. I like to think of myself as a Desi Australian because I have a very mixed ethnic background, most of which can be traced to the Indian subcontinent. I value all these beautiful aspects of my ethnicity and often wonder what stories lie hidden in my genes. In my appearance I see a kaleidoscope- as time progresses and my features change, I cannot help but wonder about the ancestors in the obscured and missing branches of my family tree.

First prime minister and first lady of Pakistan during their US visit. The two have been credited for the Pakistan Movement that gained the country its independence. Photo by unknown, provided by US Department of State as part of the album "Visit of his Excellency Liaquat Ali Khan, Prime Minister of Pakistan, to the United States of America, May 3 to May 26, 1950." (Missouri Digital Heritage) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Tell us about your family and your childhood

My mother was 25 when she had me. She had only been married to my father for a year and they lived in a teeny tiny little studio apartment in Peshawar in a “not so desirable” part of town. My mother said she spent a lot of her pregnancy reading and eating tropical fruits. The day I made my entry into the world, she had been reading Valley of the Dolls and eating pomegranates and rock melon. It was a scorching 39 degrees and they had no air conditioning in their apartment. I was born on the 12th of June 1987, in the middle of a heatwave, in a small maternity home at 3pm in the afternoon. My parents did not know they were expecting a daughter and in a society that valued a male heir so strongly, my birth went largely unnoticed outside my immediate family. I was given an old Persian name that I wish I could share with your readership because it has the most delicate sound when pronounced correctly. I was raised in a household full of books, laughter, kitchen table science experiments and the concept of a Ubiquitous but loving God who didn’t care whether I prayed to him in the customary Arabic or my mother tongue of Pashto. I was raised to ask questions and my parent’s ensured they always answered truthfully and to the best of their knowledge.

I was soon joined by two siblings, a brother and a sister and we lived a pretty happy and carefree life amidst the political turmoil of Pakistan’s 90s. I grew up worshipping The Spice Girls, swooning over Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys, having slumber parties with my schoolmates where we watched movies like Clueless and Never been kissed over and over while painting our toenails bright blue. Summer vacations were spent finding inventive ways to stay cool during ”load-shedding” (where an entire suburb loses power for a week at a time), trips to the British Council Library in Islamabad to borrow books like Matilda and the BFG, eating gola ghanda (local shaved ices)  with the other neighbourhood kids and going on long road trips to see our grandparents in Peshawar. And in the background of my childhood and early teens governments were sworn in, governments were kicked out. Each party made promises it would not or could not keep before being replaced in some kind of political ousting. Sometimes there would be Union strikes that would result in school being called off for a few days and we would grow bored and restless indoors waiting to get back to our schoolyard and our friends. Pakistan in the 90s was the best bits of the west and the east tossed together like Chaat Masala on fries, coca cola with Naan Kebab, and Friday prayers after the Power Puff Girls marathon. Had I known what was to follow in the years to come, I would have committed more to memory.

I feel like my life can neatly be divided into two parts: pre and post 9/11. The collapse of the Twin Towers on September 11th and the so called “War on Terror” that followed had a major impact on the world I lived in. While Pakistan has by no means known peace and tranquility in its short existence thanks to our politicians, our military and our religious right, this time the instability was coming from politicians in an office more than 12,000 KM away from us. In war, they say, it is children that become the first casualties of damage physical and spiritual. The thing that will haunt me for the rest of my life are the tired eyes of small Afghan children attempting to sleep in strange doorsteps on freezing winter mornings. It was October when they first started piling into Peshawar, children no older than 5 or 6 unaccompanied by parents in the back of trucks huddling together like chickens roosting. The local hospitals were full of children with injuries from shellings, shrapnel embedded in limbs that often needed amputation, sometimes with very little anaesthetic. Often times the littlest ones would perish due to chest infections left unattended. Our country did not have the finances nor the infrastructure to take on the sheer volume of refugees that were making their way across the Khyber Pass once more. Aid arrived from the UN at a snail’s pace and the US happily wrote off these people as “collateral damage” forgetting that they were the children and family of the men and women who fought  the Russians for them in the 80s.

My mother and grandmothers helped where they could by organising “khairaat” (charity food) but there was never enough food to stave off hunger just as there would never be enough comfort for children displaced in the middle of the night. I remember hearing a doctor ask an Afghan boy of maybe six what he wanted to be when he grew up in an attempt to distract him from the tetanus shot he was about to receive. The boy with big fat tears rolling down his cheek replied that he wanted to be “a grown up” and look after his mother who was still “back home”. Things like these hurt to think about even a decade later.  I was 15 then but when I look back I feel as if I was watching the world with old eyes. I feel younger now than I did then somehow. Perhaps it is because I am now watching the same things happen from far away, on a television set that I have the luxury to switch off. Some nights I think about that boy and his mother, and other children I saw on my way to my grandmother’s house or our in Baara Market. I can switch off the Tv but the human mind refuses to co operate in the same way.  

How did your family decide to move to Australia? How was the experience like for all of you?

Shortly after my 15th birthday I fell into a deep and unshakeable depression. It manifested itself in very violent and angry behaviour. I got into numerous physical fights, refused to hand in assignments and spent most of my time in the school library reading instead of attending classes. I remember thinking of the futility of education when it was likely that we would all end up dead at the flick of a button. What was the point of calculus, social studies and human biology in the event of an all out World War like they kept talking about on TV when I went home every evening sulking, writing terribly morose journal entries in my diary and crying myself to sleep. I could not eat because of constant anxiety and  made several attempts to end my own life when it got out of hand. My parent’s sensed that the environment I was in was causing me great distress. They were also extremely worried about the political circumstances in Pakistan and what it meant for my father’s job and our futures. My parents had applied for American, Canadian, Dutch  and Australian visas. The interview processes were often followed by months of silence and then rejection letters. In January 2003, I was 6 months shy of my 16th birthday, due to sit my O level exams and had completely stopped attending school altogether. My parents were frantic. What future was there for a woman in Pakistan especially if she didn’t even have a basic high school graduation? They tried over and over to talk to me about my poor performance at school and my lacklustre behaviour at home but to no avail. I was not living, merely surviving day to day, waiting for something to drop on my house or hurt someone I loved. It was an awful time for me.

On the 11th of March 2004 at 2pm in the afternoon, I was at home with my father who was reading a newspaper in the living room. I remember every detail of this day because that was the day the mailman brought the one envelope that changed the rest of my life. I cannot remember if it was from the Australian Embassy or whether it was from my father’s colleague who had ties to the embassy but I remember him opening the envelope, reading its contents several times before looking like he was going to throw up. “As of tomorrow” he said “I want you to start considering options for your future. Australia is a very competitive country with very intelligent people and you’re going to need to be on top of your class to go to their Universities”. That was it. We were moving to Australia. My family had been granted a 5 year multiple visa and with it came the option of residency and citizenship. The only catch was that we had to be in Australia by the 5th of May. We had little under 2 months to move across continents and start a new life.

With a suitcase and a backpack each, we said our final goodbyes to family and relatives at Peshawar Airport. One of my father’s work colleagues accompanied us to the terminal gates. They had been friends since college. I heard from my mother several years later that he had been assassinated. Rumour was that someone from a rival political party had decided to take a hit out on him to ensure a district election win. The more I think about things like this, the more I take comfort in the workings of Australia’s political and legal system. It is by no means perfect but the safety it offers those of us who are lucky enough to yield it is comforting.

Does your love of vintage stem from your cultural background?

There is a Pashtun saying that our home comes alive in our stories. That is to say our histories and therefore our cultural identity provides us with a sense of belonging or home and this really resonates with me. My family moved to Australia on such short notice, with such little time on our hands that there was never any closure. We barely brought anything with us to the new country to remember it by. I never got to say goodbye properly to my life, my family or friends. I was under the impression that our move was temporary and that I would one day return to my life as I left it. Nearly 14 years have passed and I have not visited “home”. I have lost grandparents, schoolmates, and relatives. Shops, restaurants and parks I went to as a child have been reduced to rubble or ruin. People have moved on. The Pakistan I felt safe in, the Pakistan I grew up in is like a little figurine in a snow globe, a place frozen in time, in a little bubble of reminiscence. There is no reclaiming it nor will I be able to return to those carefree and happy times.

We have seen numerous articles about how Westernised Pakistan was before the 1980s. Is there a lot of vintage now in Pakistan? Do people hold on to those memorabilia or were they destroyed?

One of my favourite pieces of furniture back home was a chest of drawers that my mother had as a teenager in the 1970s. The drawers were part of an old deco set that my maternal grandparents were given as a wedding gift. In the topmost drawer, underneath some very “groovy” 60s lining paper was a little peace symbol, “Janis Joplin forever” and my mother’s initials. When I inherited the bedroom set at 13, my mother showed me this little bit of graffiti and said “When I was a teenager, i wrote this in the drawer to piss your grandmother off”. I was equal parts mesmerised and weirded out. My mother was once a teenager who liked scribbling on furniture to make her mother angry. When I recounted this story in my year 12 drama class, my classmates attempted to discredit me. In their minds it was impossible to believe that a teenager that lived in 1970s Pakistan had ever heard of Janis Joplin. The Pakistan they had heard of in pre social media 2003 was the one overrun by the Taliban and women in blue burqas. It was hard for them to comprehend the Pakistan my parents grew up in.

My father fondly recounts stories of his American Hippie friends whom he met in Peshawar restaurants en route to Kabul. They had been traveling from India and wanted to visit the Bamiyan Buddha statues in Afghanistan. Pakistan was an important destination on what was called the "hippie trail" – an overland route taken by young western backpackers between 1967 and 1979 that ran from Turkey, across Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India, usually ending in Nepal. Numerous low-budget hotels and a thriving tourist industry sprang up (in Peshawar, Lahore and Karachi) to accommodate these travellers. The hippie trail began eroding after the 1977 military coup in Pakistan, the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran and the beginning of the Afghan civil war (in 1979). 

My father delighted in telling me stories of discos and cinemas in Kabul and how he and his cousins would go on weekend trips to buy the latest in American style fashion from the markets there. I have seen photos of my mum in smart embroidered Kaftans wearing ridiculously wide bell bottom trousers topped off with big round sunnies. Like many teenage Pakistani girls of her time, my mother’s fashion choices were influenced by the 1974 box-office hit Miss Hippie. A cautionary tale of sorts, the film depicted the "effect hippie lifestyle and fashion were having on Pakistani youth" but ironically this movie seemed to draw more and more youngsters into the hippie fashion scene. When my parents and my relatives talk on skype its not long before the conversation turns to  “the good ol days in Pakistan” and if I had not seen the photos with my own eyes I too would have thought they were lying to me. Live music, great food, lots of booze and dancing were the hallmarks of the scene in cities like Karachi and Lahore. Sadly, a lot of the amazing venues and attractions they spoke so lovingly about were closed down by Military Dictator Zia Ul Haq’s government in April 1977. 

[Hippie trail into Aghanistan] - By Karte: NordNordWest, Lizenz: Creative Commons by-sa-3.0 de, CC BY-SA 3.0 de, Link

Is there any Pakistani vintage piece that you covet?

There are 3 pieces that I hold very dear to me that I managed to bring with me from Pakistan. The first is a pair of gold earrings my grandmother wore at one of her wedding events in the 50s. My mother wore the very same earrings to her engagement party in 1985 and I wore them as part of my day wear for Miss Pinup Australia 2016. The second is a pair of italian leather shoes my grandmother pestered my grandfather to buy her from Bata Shoes in the late 60s. The number of times they have been cobbled and resoled is incredible! I still wear them in photo shoots from time to time. The last and most important piece to me is my grandmothers rosary. My grandfather had bought her the rosary when he went to Mecca to pay pilgrimage in the early 60s. They are made of a strange kind of early plastic that glows in the dark. My grandmother would constantly be clicking the beads of the rosary, passing each through her nimble calloused fingers, reading short passages from the Quraan. She was hardly ever seen without them. The last time I saw her, she was sitting in front of an old gas heater all misty eyed with her rosary in her hand. When I sat  next to her tying my shoelaces, she looked at me and said “i want you to borrow this rosary from me for now but remember to bring it back  with you from Australia”.  My grandmother passed away two years ago. The rosary has been on my night stand for 14 years, i never got a chance to return it to her.  

Are there many Desi women in the vintage scene? 

I think there have always been a number of us interested in vintage in some form of the other but the problem has always been exposure to our history and one another. With the advent of social media platforms such as instagram and facebook, we have started becoming more visible. It has become easy to find treasure troves of images, articles and videos from the bygone days showcasing our unique cultures.  I know of several vintage loving Desi women that I met on autonomous Women of Colour spaces but wouldn’t have otherwise met because they are self conscious of how they look in vintage. The fact that the presentation of vintage culture and pin up culture is so euro and anglocentric makes a lot of pinups of colour, particularly darker skinned and more ethnic looking pinups feel too self conscious to put themselves out on social media. They often feel  like they are “doing it wrong”. Our features and even our vintage ethnic fashion don’t readily fall into the already pre ordained and celebrated vintage or pinup look. An example of this is how coveted pale and almost snowy white skin is in the vintage community. Darker skinned Desi women are already maligned in their own communities for their complexions, and yet are indirectly made to feel unwanted and unattractive in their beloved subculture as well.   It is harder for Desi pinups to gain visibility and popularity on social media because history has never placed us in a position to be thought about or considered  desirable or conventionally attractive.

Do you find it difficult to be a Desi woman in the pin up industry? Do you think people are surprised that Desi women can and want to be sexy?

I remember when I raised the issue of the lack of diversity in Pinup and vintage publications in Adore Pinup Magazine last year. There was a slough of accusations thrown at myself and the magazine. I was labelled everything from a “reverse racist”, to “a toxic negative nancy”, to a “jealous and ungrateful pinup” all for that one article that discussed the need for change in the Australian vintage scene and the global pinup industry. Apparently, if you are a Desi woman, or a woman of colour, you are expected to be grateful for the one or two token pinups of colour a magazine publishes a year. God forbid you raise hell over the lack of diversity you see in the vintage scene or if you attempt to claim an autonomous online space to celebrate women like yourself. I was lucky that the editor of Adore Pinup Magazine, Brianna Blackheart, addressed the issues I discussed in the article publicly on all of Adore’s social media platforms and backed me up in my arguments. I don’t think I would have continued writing about these issues without her support so early on in my writing.

As far as creating Desi and PoC representation in vintage and pinup goes, the conservative desis in the community feel that I am too racy, too vocal and too sexual to “appropriately” represent Desi femininity while  the conservative non PoC feel that I am trying to create a “racial divide” by working on projects such as Pinups of Colour that exclusively celebrates racially and ethnically diverse pinup communities. There is no winning! I feel like people want women like myself to pick a very narrow and carefully constructed box and sit in it very quietly. Every now and then a nice whitewashed hand will come in and either grab my ethnic outfits to be appropriated and if I am VERY good and quiet I will be paraded around like a ventriloquist's dummy parroting phrases that  implying (non existent) diversity in the scene. I am sorry but  I cannot do that. I refuse to shrink myself to make other people feel comfortable by helping to maintain a status quo and it is just as well as I find it impossible to follow guidelines in order to fit into these boxes anyway!

Staff and students of St Patrick's Teachers' Training College, Karachi, 1956. You can see that for some time during the 1950s-1970s Pakistan strongly adopted Western fashion and culture - Source - Wikimedia Commons.

How did you start wearing vintage? Have you been back since? How do you think you will be accepted there with your tattoos and your look?

I will be honest, I spent my teenage years riddled with insecurity and self doubt because I was one of the few ethnic Desi girls in my predominantly white high school. I stuck out like a sore thumb and at a time where there was a growing mistrust of people from Muslim countries, I was either isolated by my peers or ostracised by them. Vintage clothing gave me a way to feel comfortable with a body that at times felt like a battlefield. As a new migrant whose parents didn’t have much of an income, op-shopping was equal parts necessity and thrill! Much like vintage fashion, tattoos have helped me embrace my body.  I wouldn’t say all my tattoos have stories behind them but a vast majority of them were inspired by moments in my life where I felt something move me to my core. I view my body as a passport and see each tattoo as a little stamp for moments in my journey, from my darkest moments to the happier ones. 

Tattooing in the Indian subcontinent is not unheard of but it isn’t as common as it is in Australia. This is partly due to conservative culture in countries with little separation between church and state. Tribal facial tattoos were common among the early pagan Pashtuns, however, my ethnic group gave up these customs upon the advent of Arab Islam in the 12th century. While some tribal women in Pakistan’s far north still practise stick and poke facial tattooing, a manual method involving charcoal pigment being inserted into the skin using hand fashioned bone needles, tattooing as a Pashtun art form is almost non existent these days. When our tattooing history is brought up in conversations nowadays, our people refer to that period in our history as the “dark ages” and dismiss the practise as uncivilised. As I haven’t visited Pakistan since starting my body modification journey, I really don’t know how people would react to my body art or style of dressing. I suppose it would be no different to how tattooed ladies got treated in the 20s and 30s in America or Australia!

 What is the one thing you want people to know about you? 

I am one of those people who is passionate about social justice issues, particularly issues pertaining to the representation and rights of people of colour. Sometimes this passion is severely misread as spiteful. I am angry. Of course! How can you not be angry in this day and age when women, especially women of colour, receive the short end of the stick? My anger derives from hurt, from isolation and from the yearning to have my identity recognised as valid. It is frustrating to be denied representation in the subcultures I love. It is disappointing to be overlooked on the basis of appearance. It is heartbreaking to be denied a space in my own ethnic and cultural group because I defy convention. I am angry but I am not doing it to be spiteful. I am doing it because nice women seldom make history. There are some people who have the luxury to stand by idly and watch the world plummet into darkness. I do not have this luxury. It’s not in my nature nor is it in my favour to do so. Besides, I would much rather be a cactus than a wallflower any day.

[fuckyeahslightlyamusing-blog]

Authors shared a lot of book recommendations with us in 2018-so add these to your reading list

Authors shared a lot of book recommendations with us in 2018-so add these to your reading list

As HelloGiggles' Contributing Books Editor, one of the many joys of my job is interviewing authors. They're incredibly giving of their time and always share sharp, thoughtful perspectives about how their stories fit into the bigger picture, whether it's working in President Obama's White House or navigating a post-#MeToo world.

Earlier this year, I asked authors to share the book that changed their life, and their responses were incredibly moving. Since then, when time permits, I began ending our chats with the same question: What's your favorite book that you've read lately?

The key word in that question is “lately.” It's extremely difficult for some people to choose one ultimate favorite book of all time, especially when they're put on the spot. But everybody has a book (or two, or three) that they can't get off their mind right now. And, just as I suspected, those are the books authors loved talking about. Most of them had a difficult time choosing just one, which I relate to on a spiritual level.

If you're looking for a new read, pick up one of these author-approved books:

Jessica Knoll, author of The Favorite Sister

Recommendation: I'll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara

Harper

available at Amazon | $18.21

Shop Now

“Michelle McNamara's I'll Be Gone in the Dark. I just loved that. It was the first time in a while that I had read something about a horrific crime, but there was still so much compassion in how she wrote. I found that to be such a refreshing combination. It really made me think, as a writer, about the kind of writer that I want to be. I love books that simultaneously entertain me and inspire me to be better.”

Ellie Kemper, author of My Squirrel Days

Recommendations: You Think It, I'll Say It: Stories by Curtis Sittenfeld; Blue Nights by Joan Didion

Random House

available at Amazon | $15.35

Shop Now

“A collection of stories by Curtis Sittenfeld, You Think It, I'll Say It. She's crazy. The book is so good. I love everything by her. I went back and read Prep recently, and she's an incredible writer. Her characters are so…I don't know how to describe them other than alive. They're just people I know, and I'm sure you know. That's probably my favorite book that I've read lately.”

Knopf

available at Amazon | $10.20

Shop Now

“I'm also just going to throw out, a few weeks ago, it's a very sad, tough read, but I reread Blue Nights by Joan Didion. That's a hard one, right? That's a hard one.”

Eva Chen, author of Juno Valentine and the Magical Shoes

Recommendation: Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Del Rey

available at Amazon | $18.78

Shop Now

“Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik. It's a re-telling of the Rumpelstiltskin fairy tale, and it's really good. Any time something's a re-telling, I'm here for it. It's really, really good, and it's really well-written. She created nice complex characters. There's a Hunger Games-esque quality to the writing. It feels austere, almost. It has that tone of writing that's sparse and raw. Support women authors!”

Dessa, author of My Own Devices: True Stories from the Road on Music, Science, and Senseless Love

Recommendations: Gulp by Mary Roach; Grief is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter; Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain

W. W. Norton & Company

available at Amazon | $3.98

Shop Now

“Gulp by Mary Roach.”

Graywolf Press

available at Amazon | $10.91

Shop Now

“I'm still sort of deciding what my final review of it is, but I really liked reading the short novel Grief is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter, because it's such a different way of using language than I know how to use language, and it made me want to figure out how to work in that lane a little bit.”

Ecco / Harper Perennial

available at Amazon | $10.39

Shop Now

“Oh, and one more: Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain. Aw, man.”

Erin Gibson, author of Feminasty: The Complicated Woman's Guide to Surviving the Patriarchy Without Drinking Herself to Death

Recommendations: America's Women by Gail Collins; everything by Roxane Gay; Eleanor Roosevelt: In Her Words edited by Nancy Woloch; Backlash by Susan Faludi; White Trash by Nancy Isenberg; Brazen by Pénélope Bagieu; Bitch Planet by Kelly Sue DeConnick and Valentine De Landro; The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood; everything by Samantha Irby; The Spy Who Loved by Clare Mulley

William Morrow Paperbacks

available at Amazon | $15.99

Shop Now

“I love Gail Collins. She's a New York Times journalist. She wrote a book called America's Women: 400 Years of Dolls, Drudges, Helpmates, and Heroines. It's the feminist history book you never had. It's a book you cannot put down. It's so jam packed with information, and you just can't believe you don't know this stuff. She has a whole thing about how pioneer women basically built San Francisco. Because when the gold rush happened, there was no one to cook for the men. So women would come out, set up shop, and make tons of money. They were business owners and had autonomy and control of their finances for the first time. Stuff like that. I mean, Bear Grylls would look like Tom Brokaw compared to these pioneer women. That's not even a good analogy. But these women would like, crawl up mountains while giving birth. Their skirts would catch on fire all the time. The shit that they went through was insane. So you're reading this, and [Collins is] just giving you all of it. It's the most fascinating book I've ever read.”

HarperCollins

available at Amazon | $12.73

Shop Now

“Of course, all of Roxane Gay's books. She's necessary reading.”

Black Dog & Leventhal

available at Amazon | $13.59

Shop Now

“I just read In Her Words, the Eleanor Roosevelt book. That was uplifting, and also so sad to see this woman with this knowledge and access to power whom, if she had been given the chance…god, the things she could have done.”

Broadway Books

available at Amazon | $13.68

Shop Now

“You should read Susan Faludi's Backlash. That's super necessary feminist reading.”

Viking

available at Amazon | $11.35

Shop Now

“I also like this book called White Trash. It's about America's history of poverty and how it explains a lot of what's happening today. But because it's written by a woman - it's written by Nancy Isenberg - it has a feminist slant to it. It's fantastic.”

First Second

available at Amazon | $12.23

Shop Now

“Oh, and Brazen: Rebel Ladies Who Rocked the World by Pénélope Bagieu. It's a graphic novel of incredible women. It's gorgeous and informative and great. And it's a great book for a teen, or an adult who likes graphic novels like me.”

Image Comics

available at Amazon | $9.99

Shop Now

“Also Bitch Planet. It's a graphic novel that's The Handmaid's Tale of space. That's great.”

Anchor

available at Amazon | $12.48

Shop Now

“And of course, The Handmaid's Tale. Read Margaret Atwood. And not just The Handmaid's Tale. She's written tons of other books that are thematically similar and just as depressing.”

Vintage

available at Amazon | $10.84

Shop Now

“Also, Samantha Irby. Her books…I don't know what to say about her books. I have a really loud laugh, and when something tickles me and gets me really hard, I laugh really loudly. And I do it like, every other page with her.”

St. Martin's Press

available at Amazon | $17.24

Shop Now

“Can I tell you one more book? It's called The Spy Who Loved: The Secrets and Lives of Christine Granville. She was Britain's first special agent in World War II. And because they couldn't acknowledge that she was a special agent, they couldn't rescue her. The shit that you learn about female spies during World War II is insane. And that's another thing. Women participated in war, and their stories are absolutely eradicated. There are very few books about how women participated in so many ways.”

Maggy van Eijk, author of How Not to Fall Apart: Lessons Learned on the Road from Self-Harm to Self-Care

Recommendation: The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Harper Perennial

available at Amazon | $15.29

Shop Now

“I did finally get around to reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and I'm so glad I did. It's so beautiful and, whilst so far off from my own world, there were passages that made me gasp in terms of how real they felt to me-the feeling of dissociation, love, passion, and jealousy. Would 100% recommend.”

Tara Isabella Burton, author of Social Creature

Recommendations: My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh; The Group by Mary McCarthy; The Mere Wife by Maria Dahvana Headley

Penguin Press

available at Amazon | $17.68

Shop Now

“I just read My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. I loved it so much.”

Mariner Books

available at Amazon | $14.48

Shop Now

“I also just read Mary McCarthy's The Group, which I think is massively underrated.”

MCD

available at Amazon | $18.36

Shop Now

“And Maria Dahvana Headley's The Mere Wife, which is a modern feminist retelling of Beowulf. It's just so beautifully written.”

Keiko Agena, author of No Mistakes: A Perfect Workbook for Imperfect Artists

Recommendation: The Little Book of Life Hacks by Yumi Sakugawa

St. Martin's Griffin

available at Amazon | $13.59

Shop Now

“Yumi Sakugawa came out with a book called The Little Book of Life Hacks, and it's just so adorable. She's such a gem. That kind of artwork and that kind of lightness and that kind of spiritually is helpful, especially during stressful times.”

The post Authors shared a lot of book recommendations with us in 2018-so add these to your reading list appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[ungracefulswan-blog]

Authors shared a lot of book recommendations with us in 2018-so add these to your reading list

Authors shared a lot of book recommendations with us in 2018-so add these to your reading list

As HelloGiggles' Contributing Books Editor, one of the many joys of my job is interviewing authors. They're incredibly giving of their time and always share sharp, thoughtful perspectives about how their stories fit into the bigger picture, whether it's working in President Obama's White House or navigating a post-#MeToo world.

Earlier this year, I asked authors to share the book that changed their life, and their responses were incredibly moving. Since then, when time permits, I began ending our chats with the same question: What's your favorite book that you've read lately?

The key word in that question is “lately.” It's extremely difficult for some people to choose one ultimate favorite book of all time, especially when they're put on the spot. But everybody has a book (or two, or three) that they can't get off their mind right now. And, just as I suspected, those are the books authors loved talking about. Most of them had a difficult time choosing just one, which I relate to on a spiritual level.

If you're looking for a new read, pick up one of these author-approved books:

Jessica Knoll, author of The Favorite Sister

Recommendation: I'll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara

Harper

available at Amazon | $18.21

Shop Now

“Michelle McNamara's I'll Be Gone in the Dark. I just loved that. It was the first time in a while that I had read something about a horrific crime, but there was still so much compassion in how she wrote. I found that to be such a refreshing combination. It really made me think, as a writer, about the kind of writer that I want to be. I love books that simultaneously entertain me and inspire me to be better.”

Ellie Kemper, author of My Squirrel Days

Recommendations: You Think It, I'll Say It: Stories by Curtis Sittenfeld; Blue Nights by Joan Didion

Random House

available at Amazon | $15.35

Shop Now

“A collection of stories by Curtis Sittenfeld, You Think It, I'll Say It. She's crazy. The book is so good. I love everything by her. I went back and read Prep recently, and she's an incredible writer. Her characters are so…I don't know how to describe them other than alive. They're just people I know, and I'm sure you know. That's probably my favorite book that I've read lately.”

Knopf

available at Amazon | $10.20

Shop Now

“I'm also just going to throw out, a few weeks ago, it's a very sad, tough read, but I reread Blue Nights by Joan Didion. That's a hard one, right? That's a hard one.”

Eva Chen, author of Juno Valentine and the Magical Shoes

Recommendation: Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Del Rey

available at Amazon | $18.78

Shop Now

“Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik. It's a re-telling of the Rumpelstiltskin fairy tale, and it's really good. Any time something's a re-telling, I'm here for it. It's really, really good, and it's really well-written. She created nice complex characters. There's a Hunger Games-esque quality to the writing. It feels austere, almost. It has that tone of writing that's sparse and raw. Support women authors!”

Dessa, author of My Own Devices: True Stories from the Road on Music, Science, and Senseless Love

Recommendations: Gulp by Mary Roach; Grief is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter; Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain

W. W. Norton & Company

available at Amazon | $3.98

Shop Now

“Gulp by Mary Roach.”

Graywolf Press

available at Amazon | $10.91

Shop Now

“I'm still sort of deciding what my final review of it is, but I really liked reading the short novel Grief is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter, because it's such a different way of using language than I know how to use language, and it made me want to figure out how to work in that lane a little bit.”

Ecco / Harper Perennial

available at Amazon | $10.39

Shop Now

“Oh, and one more: Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain. Aw, man.”

Erin Gibson, author of Feminasty: The Complicated Woman's Guide to Surviving the Patriarchy Without Drinking Herself to Death

Recommendations: America's Women by Gail Collins; everything by Roxane Gay; Eleanor Roosevelt: In Her Words edited by Nancy Woloch; Backlash by Susan Faludi; White Trash by Nancy Isenberg; Brazen by Pénélope Bagieu; Bitch Planet by Kelly Sue DeConnick and Valentine De Landro; The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood; everything by Samantha Irby; The Spy Who Loved by Clare Mulley

William Morrow Paperbacks

available at Amazon | $15.99

Shop Now

“I love Gail Collins. She's a New York Times journalist. She wrote a book called America's Women: 400 Years of Dolls, Drudges, Helpmates, and Heroines. It's the feminist history book you never had. It's a book you cannot put down. It's so jam packed with information, and you just can't believe you don't know this stuff. She has a whole thing about how pioneer women basically built San Francisco. Because when the gold rush happened, there was no one to cook for the men. So women would come out, set up shop, and make tons of money. They were business owners and had autonomy and control of their finances for the first time. Stuff like that. I mean, Bear Grylls would look like Tom Brokaw compared to these pioneer women. That's not even a good analogy. But these women would like, crawl up mountains while giving birth. Their skirts would catch on fire all the time. The shit that they went through was insane. So you're reading this, and [Collins is] just giving you all of it. It's the most fascinating book I've ever read.”

HarperCollins

available at Amazon | $12.73

Shop Now

“Of course, all of Roxane Gay's books. She's necessary reading.”

Black Dog & Leventhal

available at Amazon | $13.59

Shop Now

“I just read In Her Words, the Eleanor Roosevelt book. That was uplifting, and also so sad to see this woman with this knowledge and access to power whom, if she had been given the chance…god, the things she could have done.”

Broadway Books

available at Amazon | $13.68

Shop Now

“You should read Susan Faludi's Backlash. That's super necessary feminist reading.”

Viking

available at Amazon | $11.35

Shop Now

“I also like this book called White Trash. It's about America's history of poverty and how it explains a lot of what's happening today. But because it's written by a woman - it's written by Nancy Isenberg - it has a feminist slant to it. It's fantastic.”

First Second

available at Amazon | $12.23

Shop Now

“Oh, and Brazen: Rebel Ladies Who Rocked the World by Pénélope Bagieu. It's a graphic novel of incredible women. It's gorgeous and informative and great. And it's a great book for a teen, or an adult who likes graphic novels like me.”

Image Comics

available at Amazon | $9.99

Shop Now

“Also Bitch Planet. It's a graphic novel that's The Handmaid's Tale of space. That's great.”

Anchor

available at Amazon | $12.48

Shop Now

“And of course, The Handmaid's Tale. Read Margaret Atwood. And not just The Handmaid's Tale. She's written tons of other books that are thematically similar and just as depressing.”

Vintage

available at Amazon | $10.84

Shop Now

“Also, Samantha Irby. Her books…I don't know what to say about her books. I have a really loud laugh, and when something tickles me and gets me really hard, I laugh really loudly. And I do it like, every other page with her.”

St. Martin's Press

available at Amazon | $17.24

Shop Now

“Can I tell you one more book? It's called The Spy Who Loved: The Secrets and Lives of Christine Granville. She was Britain's first special agent in World War II. And because they couldn't acknowledge that she was a special agent, they couldn't rescue her. The shit that you learn about female spies during World War II is insane. And that's another thing. Women participated in war, and their stories are absolutely eradicated. There are very few books about how women participated in so many ways.”

Maggy van Eijk, author of How Not to Fall Apart: Lessons Learned on the Road from Self-Harm to Self-Care

Recommendation: The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Harper Perennial

available at Amazon | $15.29

Shop Now

“I did finally get around to reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and I'm so glad I did. It's so beautiful and, whilst so far off from my own world, there were passages that made me gasp in terms of how real they felt to me-the feeling of dissociation, love, passion, and jealousy. Would 100% recommend.”

Tara Isabella Burton, author of Social Creature

Recommendations: My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh; The Group by Mary McCarthy; The Mere Wife by Maria Dahvana Headley

Penguin Press

available at Amazon | $17.68

Shop Now

“I just read My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. I loved it so much.”

Mariner Books

available at Amazon | $14.48

Shop Now

“I also just read Mary McCarthy's The Group, which I think is massively underrated.”

MCD

available at Amazon | $18.36

Shop Now

“And Maria Dahvana Headley's The Mere Wife, which is a modern feminist retelling of Beowulf. It's just so beautifully written.”

Keiko Agena, author of No Mistakes: A Perfect Workbook for Imperfect Artists

Recommendation: The Little Book of Life Hacks by Yumi Sakugawa

St. Martin's Griffin

available at Amazon | $13.59

Shop Now

“Yumi Sakugawa came out with a book called The Little Book of Life Hacks, and it's just so adorable. She's such a gem. That kind of artwork and that kind of lightness and that kind of spiritually is helpful, especially during stressful times.”

The post Authors shared a lot of book recommendations with us in 2018-so add these to your reading list appeared first on HelloGiggles.