#wrote this while procrastinating

[studyingfornclex]

Would anyone be interested in reading the essay I wrote about the romanticization of abuse and sexism in LGBTQIA manhwa and manga?

Edit: posted it

[haeryna]

megumi x reader arranged marriage au but make it the scene from princess monoke where you've got your knife to his throat, except tears are running down your face. you should kill him, and yet as he lays in the grass in front of you, dark blue eyes watch you with nothing but tenderness. as calloused hands reach out to cup your face. nimble fingers smooth away the tears that trickle from your eyes. your hand is shaking. both of you choose to ignore it.

"you're beautiful," he tells you, and the knife drops from your hand harmlessly into the grass of the meadow. you're sitting on his chest, pinning him down. it must hurt by now, and yet his other hand reaches to steady your body, warm assurance resting heavy on your hip.

your trembling hand reaches for the knife again. you know he sees it, but makes no move to stop you. he can see the question in your eyes, fragile and terrified.

"if i were to die at your hands, i can think of no better way to go," he tells you, and as you pull your hands to your face to sob bitterly into them, he sits up. megumi tugs you towards him, tucking your face into the curve of his collarbone as you weep.

"please trust me. i'll take care of you," he promises earnestly. he presses a single tender kiss to your forehead when you gaze tearily up at him.

"i can't," you hiccup. "i-"

"i know," megumi tells you, holding you close, because he does. even through the stubborn anguish, he's never stopped watching. you're beautiful when ichor splatters against the wall from your blade, as red as the blood you manipulate through your veins. you're beautiful when he noticed the pain in your eyes that one time the barista asked for his number in the cafe near the tokyo station. you're beautiful as you demurely wear the kimono your family picked out for you to meet naoya zenin, which clashes fiercely with the hatred in your eyes. at this point he can't tell who you hate more. he hopes it's naoya.

(he thinks of the way he struggled to swallow, to breathe, when he saw you in that kimono. he dreams that you let him take it off you as he kisses every scar on your skin.)

"you can't," you're trying to tell him, saltwater clinging thickly to your eyelashes. "i'd rather die, megumi."

"i know," he repeats, tilting your chin up with his hand so you can see the serious look in his eyes. the zenins wanted to cage you, keep you as a shell of yourself, reduced down nothing more than a mother at best. megumi wants to set you free.

(even if you hate him? even if he'll never be able to tell you he loves you, forever doomed to a loveless union, a marriage only by name and nothing else?)

red ichor. iridescent tears. moonlight, and the dark of night. you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. he knows you're the most beautiful thing he'll ever see.

"i know," megumi says, one last time. his heart catches in his throat. selfishly, he pulls you closer, taking in the scent of your perfume, and the shampoo you always insist on buying from kyoto. the moon shines on, and for a moment, he allows himself to wish.

someday, i'll tell you how i truly feel. but for now, please, just stay by my side.

[pupkashi]

we all know gojo satoru will do anything and everything he can to distract you from studying and getting things done because he wants you all to himself and you haven’t given him a kiss in hours (5 minutes) and he feels like he’s gonna die soon (he’s a little hungry) and he wants to spend his dying moments with you (he’s gonna go buy your favorite takeout)

you eventually cave when you reach a good stopping point, grateful that your lover has a meal ready for you because you’d forgotten to eat and he just can’t afford to have you die on him because he doesn’t know how he’d survive without you by his side

but what about gojo satoru who is surprisingly strict when you have an exam coming up and you’re doing everything in your power to procrastinate studying

“toru let’s watch that movie you wanted to watch!” you’d smile brightly, shoving aside your laptop and laying on his chest, “go watch your lectures instead and then I’ll think about it,” he’d reply, handing you your laptop once more, a smile on his face.

“you wanna go for a walk? i hear the weathers great right now” your attempt of escaping studying was quickly ruined by a clap of thunder and the sound of pouring rain. gojo only smiled as he pointed back to your study materials.

gojo satoru who knows exactly how to get you to study even when you don’t want to.

“if you finish at least half of what you wanted to do today, I’ll cook us some dinner and we can put on the show we’re watching together, deal?” his snowy hair tickled the tip of your nose as he leaned in a little closer to you. the smell of his cologne overpowering your senses as you closed your eyes and hummed in agreement, your lips meeting his softly.

satoru pulled away before you could even attempt at escalating the kiss, pressing quick kiss to your forehead and leaving you to do work. only interrupting to bring you water or snacks, telling you how great you were doing and how proud he was of you.

before you knew it satoru was telling you it was time for dinner and you’d done much more than the half you’d agreed on, smiling and gushing to your lover at how productive you were.

gojo satoru who always makes sure you have everything you need to study, buying you candles, highlighters and any other thing you might need to study (he bought you a tablet after you mentioned it in passing once, you did amazing that semester and he’s convinced it was the tablet)

he’ll always give you the extra push you need to go study and work hard, but he’s also there to tell you to take a break, to not stress out and enjoy a day off because you work so hard

he’s there to help you relax and assure you that even if you don’t study today, you have a couple more days left and you can get everything down in time. he’s there to hold you in his arms when you’re scared you did terrible on an exam, he’s there to kiss your tears away when you feel underprepared.

he’s there with sweets and your favorite show after you get home from an exam you feel you didn’t do well on. satoru is always making sure you know that you know you’ll be okay, that you’re still making him proud

gojo satoru who is always your #1 supporter, making sure you turned in every assignment and going out of his way to make sure you knew how proud he was of you, even when you didn’t wanna study, even when you failed a test, and especially when you graduate

[difeisheng]

碎鏡

My Qiaofang fic 《原諒我可好》 was originally the ending to a slightly longer draft, before I edited/cut it down and it became its own oneshot. However, I still like what didn't make it in, and Qiao Wanmian's perspective was a joy to write. So here is everything that happened before, as an extra (but can be read on its own).

Qiao Wanmian learns, days after the fact (again), that a man is dead, disappeared from the world (again), and as she feels the last ten years of her life warp, rush past, reset (back to the start, back to the end) the world fractures into sharp glass.

Qiao-guniang, are you all right? makes its way around the shards, the sound cut too harsh in its gentleness. Menzhu, do you want us to keep looking for him?

Qiao-nvxia, I'm sure he's still alive.

Qiao-guniang, he came back last time. He wouldn't leave you.

(For the second time, no one says.)

Days turn into weeks, turn into a month, strung together by a symphony of demand, of advice, of people who remember a heartbroken maiden mourning her destined, and no one beyond that.

Menzhu—

Qiao-nvxia—

Qiao-guniang—

Qiao Wanmian—

"Enough," she says, and for not the first time, she understands why Li Xiangyi wanted to run.

And so finally, Qiao Wanmian does too.

~*~

Here is the measure of Qiao Wanmian's life:

She is almost thirty, and two betrotheds have come and gone. She has spent half her lifetime dedicated to a sect, defining its name and its honour, but pride though it is, her name does not exist outside of it. Qiao Wanmian of Sigumen, as she hears it echoed in the streets.

And more than that, because the names of heroes will not, cannot die? Qiao Wanmian, Li Xiangyi's beloved.

What is it like, she wonders, watching a trio of girls walk through a market in a small town, sword wrapped in cloth for anonymity, to be someone who loves with the freedom of leaving it behind? What is it like, to exist and nothing more, as someone other than a widow who was never a wife?

What is it like for the world to look at oneself and see a person, not a story, perfect in her sculpted tragedy?

And somehow, somehow she finds the answer after two months of wandering. Or rather he finds Qiao Wanmian, seated at an inn toward the south, blue silk and silver stepping out of a storm and through the door for too-wide eyes to find her own.

"Qiao-guniang," Fang Duobing breathes. When Qiao Wanmian looks at him, all of twenty years old and too young to lose a first love, she knows that before him stands a shattered world too.

"Join me?" she says to that, and signals for another jar of wine.

~*~

Fang Duobing is an interesting one, Qiao Wanmian thinks, several hours later, studying him by the relief of candlelight. His hair sweeps over his shoulder, dark river with a few strands fallen loose, as he slumps forward to brace his arms on the table. He's staring downward as he props his chin up by one hand, the other fidgeting with his sleeve. "How long do you think it'll take to find him?"

Maudlin, he is. He hasn't had the years to build up a tolerance for wine, although Qiao Wanmian cannot say she's been sober this evening. The warmth to her face is from more than the inn torches.

How did Li Lianhua talk to this boy, when he was in this state? What was lie, what was truth, and for how long? Did it feel like this, where Qiao Wanmian knows the answer to Fang Duobing's words, but cannot let it escape her tongue?

"I don't know," she settles for instead, a soft lie to cushion the truth. "It might take a month. It might take years."

"It won't be years," Fang Duobing murmurs. The strings of beads in his hair rustle as he tilts his head to look at her. "We both already waited ten. I'll find him sooner than that."

Xiangyi, Qiao Wanmian thinks, thinks of the last ten years gone by without lighting lanterns for the dead. You always chose the ones who could never give up, didn't you?

"Good luck," she says softly, nearly a whisper, and takes a slow swallow of wine. The jar is nearly empty.

Silence unspools, punctuated by the flicker of the lights. Fang Duobing unstops the next jar of wine and brings it to his lips, neck a graceful curve in the lean of his head back, accented by the line of his jaw. He's grown into his features, for all the room he still has left to mature. If the jianghu hadn't called his name, he would have made a handsome aristocrat in the imperial court.

Is that what else Li Lianhua saw in Fang Duobing, for him to take on a companion after ten years of solitude? Qiao Wanmian wonders briefly, in the split moment before Fang Duobing glances at her again, then somewhere in the distance, darting away too quickly to count as an idle movement. "Something to say, Fang-gongzi?"

Fang Duobing closes his eyes, in a moment's thought. When he opens them, it is to lean closer, close enough that Qiao Wanmian can feel the shape of his breath. Perhaps this dearth of respectable distance, if anyone cares, can be excused by a wine-fuelled lapse in judgment. She chooses to let it be so.

"How did you survive this the last time?" Fang Duobing asks, less question and more plea. Qiao Wanmian can see now that it's been on his mind all evening, desperation forcing his tongue.

His eyes are dark now. He looks lost.

And before she can respond, "I'm asking because you were also someone who knew him."

Oh.

Qiao Wanmian doesn't deserve to have the word zhiji alongside her name. Not when it comes to Li Xiangyi. But she knows what Fang Duobing is searching for, and so she holds it out, that lifeline of kindred recognition.

Thousands mourned the loss of a legend. They both mourned the death of a man.

When her hand moves toward Fang Duobing, half by some instinct, half by impulse, he leans into the touch, letting himself be tugged up by his chin to face her.

"I don't have a good answer for you," she says, and there's no lie for this that will fare any less painful than the truth. "You'll get through one day hoping he'll be there waiting at the end, and he won't be, but you'll go to sleep so that maybe he'll find you in the next. He won't. But if it means you see tomorrow, then you have to keep hoping, until someday, you've found something new to wake up for."

It all comes out in a rush, and it surprises Qiao Wanmian by the honesty of it, so much so that her last words are too quiet by contrast. "That's how people like us keep living."

Fang Duobing's eyes are too bright. She brushes one gemstone of a fallen tear away with her thumb.

"You did this alone?" he says, and Qiao Wanmian recognizes the tremble to those words.

A wandering swordsman with a blade can fight any demon that throws itself at him. Fear, though, has ten thousand different ways to find you.

"You won't have to."

A promise, she realizes a moment too late, but she's already made it. These words were for him alone. Something else takes over Fang Duobing's expression: relief, like the first blossom of spring after a bleak winter.

He's too young for this to be his life.

And of Qiao Wanmian? What does Fang Duobing think? She waits, drawing away from him, the comfort of another's warmth gone.

His words are too soft in his mouth, gaze too earnest. "I know you haven't said anything about yourself all night, but you don't have to either, you know."

It feels like an arrow let fly.

Qiao Wanmian is left helpless by its wound, staring in the half-dark at a boy too sweet for her, willing to break her fall while he doesn't know how to land himself, and, and—

Something inside her breaks.

~*~

When she reaches for him, anything of him, drowned in the shadows by the doors to his room— waist, collar, mouth— he lets her.

[silverskye13]

Me: This next chapter is going to be so hard. I have no idea how I'm going to handle the topics, or the build up to what happens next. This is kind of important and I need to make sure it establishes things that will recur later, while also making sense and being in character, and I haven't written RnS Tango much so I'm going to have to work hard on making his and Wels's conflict seem reasonable but also make it make sense when we've only seen another character's outsider point of view and--

Also me: 2500 words in two days

[stolenslumber]

[8:30pm] (sjy)

PAIRING: sim jaeyun x gender neutral reader GENRE: established relationship, pure and simple fluff WARNINGS: kissing, suggestive content WORD COUNT: ~800

Jungwon opens the door with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, mumbling some approximation of "He's in his room" around it.

You throw him a thumbs-up and slip down the hallway to Jake's room, trying your best not to disturb any of the sleeping boys knocked out on various surfaces in the dorm. When you enter Jake's room, the air conditioning is on at full blast, making you shiver in your thin top.

The room is dark save for the glow-in-the-dark stars you had spent an afternoon sticking on the ceiling together, so it takes a second for your eyes to adjust and make out the shape of your boyfriend curled up in bed, cocooned in a black hoodie and the quilt your mom had made for him last year. Jake sleeps with one arm underneath his head, the other curved around some invisible cavity. You have to suppress the urge to coo at the sight— even in slumber, he makes space for you.

Jet lag has clearly hit him hard, and even though you had been ready to order delivery and watch a movie with him, just looking at him makes you want to sleep, too. Decision made, you waste no time in slotting yourself into the space he left for you and carefully rearranging the quilt so that it covers you both.

Jake grunts but shifts automatically to accommodate you, mumbling something incomprehensible. You pat the arm now laying over your waist soothingly, and soon his breathing evens back out, asleep once more. You're quick to follow, lulled by the rhythmic whooshing of the air conditioning and the steady pulse in his wrist against your fingertips.

When Jake wakes up some indeterminable amount of time later, the first thing he notices is the numbness of his arm, pinned underneath his head when he'd accidentally fallen asleep waiting for you to arrive. The next thing he notices is warm skin underneath his palm, from where his hand had slipped under your top while you were both asleep.

He's so, so happy to see you, though he feels bad about falling asleep before you even got here. The past few weeks have been exhausting and anxiety-ridden, and the sight of you feels like a balm to his soul.

He's smiling dopily at the back of your neck, so he doesn't notice when you wake up, and then he's startled when you twist in his hold to face him, greeting him with a slightly hoarse, "Hi, baby."

"Hey," he whispers back, leaning towards you slightly to plant a kiss on your forehead. Still half-asleep, his mouth runs sweet nonsense without really thinking about it. "I thought I dreamed of you coming in, but you're really here."

You release a laugh in the form of a puff of air and tug on the strings of his hoodie to keep him close to you. "Of course I'm really here; where else would I be?"

His response is automatic. "In my dreams, angel."

You snort and push against his chest a little. "Sick line, dude, how often does that work for you?"

He whines and brings you back even closer, nudging his nose into your neck and nipping at your pulse point, just because he likes the way it makes you gasp and squirm in his arms. "Seems to be working pretty well for me right now, don't you think?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you've got the rizz, or whatever." You try to match his playful tone, but the hitch in your breath when his mouth starts wandering across your collarbones gives you away.

He's stopped by his own yawn, though, and then he's smiling apologetically at you. "Sorry I fell asleep, by the way. You wanna watch that movie now, or— ohhhh." Interrupted by his own yawn, again.

You do coo this time, enamored by the way his eyes blink half-open and his hair falls messily across his forehead. "Nah, we can always do that another time. I know you're going to be hungry later, though, so I scheduled the delivery to come in an hour. Go back to sleep, yeah? I'll wake you when it's here."

He beams at you in delight. "You're perfect, and I love you."

"'Cause I got you pizza? You're kinda easy, you know." You pat his cheek gently, your actions contrasting your teasing words.

He giggles, and then he turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand. "Only for you."

You hum softly, reaching up to run your fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. "Love you, too. Sweet dreams, Jaeyun."

He nods against your hand and leaves one last kiss on the tip of your nose before closing his eyes. "See you there, darling."

[fin.]

[curestaarlight]

trying and failing to do my readings for uni and instead SOMEHOW thinking about a tgcf! shiguang au ??? like ex fallen god x ghost demon shiguang would go crazy guys do you see the vision

[truly-morgan]

It's been 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 of them fighting, a perfectly rehearsed dance on a tightrope, close to tipping over the edge at times yet always managing to come back to perfect equilibrium.

It's a routine. It's something familiar. It's nearly boring how it always happens the same. Arguing the same thing over and over, like a broken record.

The other one simply becomes a part of your life. There's a thrill to the fight, one that cannot be found from fighting anyone else. Not the latest villain of the month. Not the new upcoming Hero. Those are nothing compared to what they have.

But then one day they can't bring back the perfect equilibrium.

But then one day even the broken record won't play anymore.

It had started like every other fight.

It ended like none other before.

All Hero can do is stare back at the Villain, a strange feeling of dread spreads through them. This is what they had been fighting for so long, yet none of this feels right.

They can't even move to get closer, body too sore from the final attack, too stun to even be able to try properly.

Their heart sinks when they hear a soft chuckle, something they never heard before. Something they feel they would never have wanted to hear.

"Come on…" the Villain says, voice raspier than ever, breath wheezing unevenly, "You knew this would happen eventually".

And the smile. The painful smile, unlike anything ever seen on Villain's face, they wish he was smirking in an evil way instead. Not something so weak, so fragile and so 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵.

Before they know it their vision blurs, tears spilling over.

"Now now, don't cry," a chuckle, quickly followed by wet coughing and blood, "The hero shouldn't be crying for the villain of the story". Yet the tears can't stop, not when some are also welling in the Villain's eyes.

The silence is deafening.

And before Hero can even say anything, he sees the light dim, glossy eyes growing lifeless.

When they finally managed to scream their name, it's too late, there was no one to answer anymore.

It's too late.

They keep screaming, weak body crawling to the motionless one.

The next thing they know, they wake up to worried faces, who grow relieved quickly. Wake up to congratulations and thank yous.

Wake up to a deep void inside their chest.

And the void doesn't go away.

Not even after recovering. Not even after attending, hidden afar, a small clandestine funeral held by a loyal right-hand man. Not even after going back to the crime-fighting life.

All that is left is a lone funambulist.

All that is left is a broken record without a turntable to play it.

And it is now too late to regret. Too late to realise something that had been hidden deep inside for so long.

------------------------

Twt original Inspired by this tweet (picture under the cut) ↴↴↴

[wildlyfreemoon]

Satosugu headcannon where because gojo hasn't seen geto in so long after his defection, he's starting to forget what he looks like.

But geto remembers gojo.

Geto has all the selfies satoru used to take on his phone, he has the photos gojo asked geto to take of him. He looks at them all the time.

[cryingatships]

finally wrote the PeteWay lactation kink that i wanted to write for a month now cause make your dreams a reality and all that :3

Breakfast in Bed

Chapters: 1/1 (oneshot)

Fandom: Pit Babe The Series

Rating: E (explicit)

Words: 3,148

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Pete/Way

Additional Tags: Mpreg, Established Relationship, Fluff, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Shameless smut, Anxiety, For a tiny bit cause i projected oops, Mating Bonds, Pregnant Sex, Lactation Kink, Male Lactation, Mentioned somnophilia, Kissing, Slight overstimulation, Pete is obsessed with Way’s chest , He’s obsessed with way in general so valid of him tbh, Author is sleep deprived, No Beta We Die Like Tony, Way Lives :)

Summary:

PeteWay are happily in love and expecting their first pup, when Way discovers his mate may have a new obsession

[oldtvandcomics]

Happy Queer Media Monday!

Today: Happiest Season (2020)

Look. If I don’t talk about this movie now, then I never will.

(Abby and Harper on their Christmas light viewing date, before The Plot really starts.)

Happiest Season is a 2020 lesbian Christmas movie notable for its famous cast. The story follows Abby and Harper, a perfectly happy couple, whose relationship is tested when they visit Harper’s family over the holidays. What Harper didn’t tell Abby until they get there: She isn’t out to her family, and is asking Abby to stay closeted, too, and pretend that they are only random roommates. Family drama ensues.

The movie was received very well when it came out. However, for once, I would like to add my own experience watching it, because I feel it might be useful:

I didn’t like it. It didn’t make me feel good. I was going through some serious conflict with my own family, and this movie kind of amplified that pain. Of course, that was me and my private life, but I had been promised a light-hearted comedy, only to be hit over the head with a rather serious story about families and their lack of acceptance. So my advice would be: DON’T EXPECT A COMEDY. It’s not escapism. If you approach this movie as a serious drama, then it is 1) really well-made and generally a good watch, and 2) has actual interesting things to say about the queer experience.

Queer Media Monday is an action I started to talk about some important and/or interesting parts of our queer heritage, that people, especially young people who are only just beginning to discover the wealth of stories out there, should be aware of. Please feel free to join in on the fun and make your own posts about things you personally find important!

[studyingfornclex]

The Romanticization and Normalization of Abuse and Sexism in LGBTQIA+ Stories

The popularization of stories with LGBTQIA+ main characters is in no way a bad thing. Diversity is important, and the more stories like that, the better. But when the story becomes sexist, or when a story starts to normalize abuse, it becomes an issue.

In the popular manhwa Killing Stalking, The main character was drafted into the military, and was incredibly unlucky as to where he had been placed. He fell in love with one of his comrades when he helped him. After both of them got done with their service, the main character stalked his former comrade, and then the main character breaks into his house, and then gets trapped there. After that, the main character suffers horrifying abuse by the other character. The fanbase does not view this as the psychological horror that it is, though. They view it as a romance.

Visit any fan page for this manhwa and you’ll see the people wishing for the “romance” that they have, and saying that they’re so cute together. I was researching this book, and I came across a threat on Pinterest of ten year olds saying they loved their relationship and thought it was adorable. Mind you, this was the same “relationship” where the main character was hung from the ceiling and trapped inside the house and forced to eat from a dog bowl. 

In a similar case, the popular manhwa Jinx has a similar relationship. There is an extreme power imbalance between the two characters, and the fanbase considers it adorable and says that the “love interest” (who brutally assaults the main character on many different occasions) is improving (no, he is not) and that their relationship is so adorable. This romanticization of abuse is not uncommon, and you will find many popular tropes that follow this, like a mafia boss kidnapping the main character (in fact, this was so popular in the 2010s that people now make jokes about it being the only trope on a website that independent writers can publish their stories on. This also leads to people avoiding the website like the plague, and writers who just want to share their work getting a bad reputation for it. 

This romantiziation of abuse also affects real life, too. The writers on the above website are not the only example of this. When people in fiction are idolized by ten year olds for the abusive relationships they have, they won’t realize that it isn’t normal, and that it’s horrible to have a relationship like that. This will lead to a generation of children who will believe that what they read was good and normal, and that they should want a relationship like that. The other side is that the children will read it and see people who will want that type of relationship, and model themself after the abuser. This, in total, leads to a generation of children idolizing the wrong relationship. 

In these novels, there are not many female characters. In the Jinx manhwa, there is a total of two women. TWO women in this piece of media with over 40 chapters at the time of writing this. This is an incredibly popular manhwa, and there is only two women in it. If a book series only had women in it, and had a lesbian couple, they would somehow turn it into male centered. A popular movie, which was about a town of all women, had an unfair amount of speaking lines given to men. Only 41% of all speaking lines were given to women, in a movie about all women. 

In conclusion, the romanticization of abuse and the sexism in LGBTQIA+ novels is a real issue, that affects everyone, whether that be new authors trying to post their work on a respected website, or ten-year-olds who clicked on a link their friend sent, that would have consequences on all their future relationships. 

[owl-by-night]

Kembleford timeloop - more faerie fic

Having a bit of a week so posting more fic for the ‘only faeries can explain the Kembleford timeloop’ AU. This time it features Sid as a young evacuee. All you need to know from the previous fic is that the Kembleford timeloop is caused by Monty and Felicia who are not entirely human and can control time. Look, it makes about as much sense as the timeline does in canon…

“I think I met the queen of the fairies today,” Sid says at dinner. Then he regrets it because he’s much too old to admit to believing in fairies. Nor is he a soppy girl like the ones who whisper and giggle at him in the village school. He only said it because he has no other explanation for what he saw. 

“What nonsense,” says Mrs McCarthy, who is too busy worrying about ration books and feeding a growing boy who seems to be nothing but skin and bones and dirt. She scrubs him clean when she can but it never takes. 

“That sounds very interesting, Sidney,” says Father Brown. “Where did you meet her?”

“In uh…” Sid freezes suddenly, and when Father Brown reaches for the salt he flinches, expecting a cuff round the ear because he was trespassing somewhere even the local boys told him not to go. 

The Father notices and smiles reassuringly. He has a great understanding of the sins of small boys. He does not hit them either, which Sid is only just beginning to trust. “In the Montague orchards, was it? I thought I saw you walking that way this afternoon.”

“Uh… yeah.” Sid looks sideways at Mrs McCarthy, who tuts. 

“And what did she look like?” Father Brown smiles at him, all kindly curiosity. 

“Well… she was… she had bare feet and flowers in her hair and she was y’know… pretty.” Sidney blushes. He means beautiful but can’t bring himself to say the word. “And um… she climbed a tree and gave me an apple.”

“Climbing trees and flowers in her hair indeed.” Mrs McCarthy looks heavenward. “I hardly think so. And as for going barefoot in this weather! You’ve been dreaming, Sidney. You’re lucky the gardener didn’t catch you, trespassing like that.”

Sid closes his mouth sullenly. He refuses to say any more except to ask politely for seconds because Mrs McCarthy is strict about manners and more than happy to withhold a second piece of pie from a boy who doesn’t say please and thank you. 

Later, at bedtime, he finds a flower caught in his hair. He pulls it out and, without being quite sure why, puts it in his little tin of treasures hidden beneath the floorboard. 

On Sunday, scrubbed, scolded and half choked by his new best clothes, he sees the queen of fairies again. He gasps, and stifles it quickly because Mrs McCarthy has a sharp eye on his behaviour. The woman is perfectly ordinarily dressed today, in a suit and heels like all the ladies at church and wearing a perfectly ordinary hat instead of a crown of flowers. He thinks he’d recognise her anywhere though and even dressed according to Kembleford convention, everything about her is just a little more beautiful. When she walks past him to her pew he can smell flowers. 

He watches her, mouth agape, and Mrs McCarthy has to nudge him hard to make him stand up or sit down or sing during the still unfamiliar service. When it is over, he watches the lady walk out of the church and notes the way that the crowd always parts to let her through. 

“Mrs M,” he says in a whisper, “who’s that?” 

Mrs McCarthy looks to where he is pointing. “Lady Felicia Montague.” She purses up her mouth and sounds disapproving but Sid can’t understand why because he thinks Lady Felicia is magnificent, whether she’s standing here in St Mary’s church or climbing apple trees in an orchard and sharing the most perfect apple he’s ever eaten. 

Lady Felicia turns to look at him then and, so quickly he might have imagined it, winks. 

Outside the church Sid is kept waiting beside Father Brown, fidgeting with the catapult in his pocket, itching to escape and knowing it won’t be permitted until all the parishioners have gone. The lady walks over to them, heels clicking on the path. 

“Lovely service as always, Father Brown,” she says. “And who is this?”

She looks at Sid and he thinks in that moment that she can see right through him: right through all the dirt and the guilt about the broken window and the stolen apples, right into the heart of him. His innermost orphaned self where he knows that he is unwanted and scared because he can’t seem to stay out of trouble and he has nowhere else to go and Father Brown is leaving and the Germans are trying to kill them all. He is so afraid to be left alone if Father Brown doesn’t come back that it sits like a great dark shadow in his heart. 

“A pleasure to meet you Sidney,” the lady says and she puts out a hand for him to shake. “You must come up to the house some time. I have apples that need picking.” Her voice is like sunshine coming out from behind the clouds, all warm and golden, making all his fears seem smaller and less terrifying. As if she knows that everything is going to be alright and is telling him to believe it. 

He’ll tell her one day, when he’s grown up enough to joke about it. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were queen of the fairies.” Then she’ll laugh as if it were a very good kind of joke and he’ll laugh too about the foolish boy he’d been. 

But he’ll see the flash of something in her eyes, something green and gold and not quite human and he’ll wonder. Just as he always wonders about the flower that he found in his hair and kept. The one he still has and now knows is an apple blossom, impossibly out of season when he found it, kept safe in his tin of treasures and looking as fresh as the day it was picked. 

[stheresya]

The heroines of both The Grisha Trilogy and The Red Shoes (1948) respectively kinda share the same conflict, despite the stories being set in very different universes with its own circumstances. One is a story set in a 19th century russian-esque fantasy world, the other is set in the ballet world of 1940s UK. Both stories feature female characters who have a special skill/ability which is deemed an essence of their very being, who then become entangled with a scheming older man that elevates their abilities to its full potential, but meanwhile these girls also fall in love with a seemingly good guy, a love that inevitably prunes their abilities. And so they must decide between having love but devoid of their essence, or exploring their essence to its full potential but without love.

“It isn’t something separate from you,” Baghra snapped. “[…] Do you ask your heart to beat or your lungs to breathe? Your power serves you because that is its purpose, because it cannot help but serve you.” (Ch. 13, Shadow and Bone)

- Why do you want to dance? - Why do you want to live? - I don't know exactly why but… I must. - That's my answer too. (The Red Shoes)

What differentiates the stories, other than the environment where they're set, is how each of them deal with this conflict. In TGT this conflict is felt most by the reader than by the heroine herself. The paths that are presented to Alina are embodied by her childhood sweetheart and an older powerful man who ignites her in various ways, both men form a love triangle with Alina where they compete for her, even if each man wants her for very different purposes. Alina knows this but she refuses to grapple with a decision, she already know head-on that Mal is the one, and she mostly just tries to navigate both of these contradictory aspects: the grisha/saint identity as well as her normie boyfriend, despite being constantly warned that this would not be a feasible on the long run.

But in TRS, however, the conflict is deeply felt by the main character as well as the viewer. Also, and this is very important, there isn't really a love triangle in the movie. The main character is divided between her boyfriend and her mentor, who doesn't seem to harbor genuine romantic feelings for Vicky even though he still feels something that borders on obsession for her due to her talent (some people, like myself, interpret this as his own twisted form of romantic love, but I'm going here with what's clearly shown in the movie). The mentor is a bit similar to the Darkling personality-wise. He is a man who has renounced love altogether and lives solely for his job (or as he calls it: his "religion", which is ballet), and he expects his prima-ballerinas to do the same. So when he learns that Vicky has fallen in love with his composer he goes mad and lashes out on both of them, which causes Vicky to readily stand by her boyfriend. But of course things don't stop there as she constantly second-guessing her decision, even when her man tries to deliver on the happiness that he's promised her. The movie is constantly asking us: is it fair to give up your dreams for the sake of love? can you truly be fulfilled in your dream when you have no love?

But why am I making these connections? I suppose because watching this movie made me realize that these sorts of conflicts can never really lead to a happy ending. It's the perfect conflict for a tragedy. I guess one can write an ending where the conflict is resolved by just having the character be allowed to have both. But in my opinion it feels a disingenuous and coward choice to just take the conflict away, without having to face it.

And that's why both The Grisha Trilogy and The Red Shoes end in tragedy. The difference is that the latter is honest in its tragedy, while the former tries to paint the situation as... not exactly happy, but still hopeful, maybe bittersweet, but ultimately ok. It's ok because it was "fair", it was punishment for her "greediness" (she wasn't greedy). Another thing that I think The Red Shoes does better is allowing for the heroine choose. The ending of the movie, albeit sad, is entirely Vicky's choice. The Grisha trilogy doesn't go that way. Instead it does the RS equivalent of having Alina suffer a permanent injury that makes her unable to go on pointe, thus killing her career as a ballet dancer, and then Alina has to settle with her boyfriend after all, living as a shell of herself where she not longer has her essence, and she's not even allowed her own name anymore. But it's ok! she has her (unsupportive) man with her!

So long story short, there is no possible scenario where Alina could've had a happy ending. But we as readers could've a more fulfilling end if only the story were more honest about the ending it was writing. Alina died in every way except physically. It's not a happy ending in any way.

[sauriansolutions]

Is there a Twisted Wonderland version of McDonald's? TwstDonald's? 🤣

Because you know certain boys would try to organize an expedition there.

I feel like this would start out with Ace casually mentioning that the cafeteria burgers are okay, but he's really craving a BigTwst (this naming convention is terrible, I love it).

Epel casually relies, huh, he's never been to TwstDonald's, what's it like? Cue Adeuce, Yuu, and Grim freaking out, and insisting that they need to go on a roadtrip immediately.

Ruggie and Jack probably join in, because they seem like the types who'd go full-in on "Mission: Let Epel Have a Goddamn Burger, For Once In His Life."

But, oh no! Vil overhears this conversation, and makes it his life's mission to sabotage this road trip at all cost!

Also Rook is there, ostensibly to help Vil "save" poor, innocent Epel from the horrors of fast food. But it's unclear whose side he's even on, because Rook operates by Rook Rules that are incomprehensible to everyone who isn't French.

Insert increasingly absurd shenanigans.

Finally, cut to Idia, who's been remotely watching this whole disaster play out while eating the TwstDonald's Super Combo he had delivered to his dorm like a sensible person.

"Heh, Ortho, come check out these absolute noobs," he giggles through a mouthful of fries.

Ortho floats over and shakes his head sadly. "I bet they don't even have the TwstDonald's app downloaded. They're missing out on so many Twisty D points..."

[laundrybiscuits]

10 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @greenlikethesea! 

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 10

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 111,034

3. What fandoms do you write for? Right now, Stranger Things in theory; not very much at all in practice. I’m busy! I am literally at work right now! 

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? When I got back into fandom a couple years ago, I set up some strict guidelines for myself in order to limit my time/involvement—it’s a bit of a slippery slope for me. I respond to direct questions and asks/DMs, but I try not to reply otherwise (although I do read and cherish each comment!). This has been my attempt at setting hard boundaries to make my fandom participation sustainable, even though that means I miss out on interacting with some lovely people. 

5. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge. 

6. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not really! I’ve collaborated on and contributed writing to multimedia fandom projects including fancomics, but I haven’t co-written a fic in the traditional sense. 

7. What's your all-time favourite ship? Y’know, I don’t really think of ships in that way! I tend to mull over one ship at a time to tease out the particular possibilities, but I’m fundamentally interested in potential. As a writer, I like a challenge—I used to write rarepair flashfic just to see if I could figure out a compelling angle on any given dynamic in a few hundred words. As a reader, I usually end up reading a lot of the bigger ships in any given fandom, because they often encompass a lot of iteration on interesting ideas, but I wouldn't say I get emotionally attached to the ships themselves. 

I just glanced through my folder of all-time favorite fics, and they range from IASIP to Calvin & Hobbes to Star Trek to RPF to WTNV. In that folder, there are ships that I’ve never read in another fic, and there are ships that I’ve read in literally thousands of fics. To me, the ship is more of a medium than a discrete entity. 

8. What are your writing strengths? I think I’m pretty good at avoiding lengthy exposition in fic, which is an especially significant accomplishment for me given that my default setting is “monologue.”

9. What are your writing weaknesses? I’m very bad at actually knowing where I’m going with anything; as a result, I have a lot of trouble with writing longer pieces. I typically don’t structure/plan my fics at all, because it’s not fun for me and at the end of the day I don’t really care enough about improving that skill. 

10. First fandom you wrote for? Almost definitely forum fic for Young Wizards, which was my first ever fandom more than 20 years ago. Honestly, that was an absolutely idyllic intro to fandom: a small, welcoming, literary-minded community with a lot of patience for a 13-year-old stumbling around and figuring things out. I am perpetually and deeply grateful that I got to have that formative experience.