#but when I think about it it's something so not obvious and undiscussed that I genuinely wonder if when people read about it

[an-annyeoing-writer]

.

#I'm ecstatic because I randomly got an inspiration to write a piece based on my experience as exchange student in Italy #and I genuinely wonder because it's touching one cultural difference that I was really excited about #but when I think about it it's something so not obvious and undiscussed that I genuinely wonder if when people read about it #they'll be like oh that's so interesting that they do that!! #or more like #is it not normal?? doesn't everyone do it???? #since I have genuinely no idea what it looks like in other countries #also I haven't written much about my student exchange experience even though it was full of different inspirations #wait for me writing sea monster baekhyun in genova uwu #or kokobop inspired lowkey-yandere highkey-unhinged mafia baekhyun living in milan's chinatown uwu #vg: personal

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Genius’

Dr Strange x fem! reader

lil spicy dinner SLUTTY SMUT

idea by @withalittlehoney ILY SO MUCH LETS KISS, hope i’ve done u justice.

Everyone knew that if Stephen Strange was nice to you, the world was spinning on its axis the wrong way.

And he was really nice to you.

Friends with benefits wasn't really ideal considering the unruly nature of it: feelings could linger and spiral, friendships could get ruined but when Stephen asked you out on a date, your insides did back flips. Your stomach was filled to the brim with the humming of butterflies.

Stephen knew your body like the back of his hand.

Biting the bullet wasn't the smartest option but you deserved a reward for being so welcoming and giving with your body, plus he wanted to pretend like you were his for a night. Really his. so he asked you out for dinner, a date. Quaint a restraunt it was not, it was seductive and sultry. Expensive. Maybe he'd fuck you over the table once dinner was done. He ultimately decided against it because even he wasn't that publically depraved.

Stephen's face could only contort into a sly smile once you said yes. His excitement could barely be described. You were just gushing. Although strictly physical, you were both pondering upon feelings that best be left undiscussed.

But you both. Wanted. More.

When dusk dawned and the stars were sparkling for the night ahead, Stephen raced you in his car with you by his side. He was feeling cocky and daring but he was behaving himself, he kept his rigid hand on the wheel instead of the buttery skin of your thigh. Short dress, perfumed breath, skyscraper stilletos. You were heaven incarnate and he was still ravenous.

You were both ushered in by the waiter, you tutted at his ever immortal extravagance and his annoying need to impress. Sitting down at your designated table, it was becoming hard for him not to touch you. The menus were as long as the dish names. Red vine was strung upon the ceiling and the lights were muted and crystal chandeliers were statuesque in their manufacture.

'You plan on wooing me through fancy French dish names Stephen?' You raised a flirtatious eyebrow at him, eyes scanning name upon name from the menu.

'No actually, I plan on wooing you with my interactional skills with the general public.' He joked with you and you felt the butterflies rising within you.

'Your decorum isn't that nice anyway, I doubt that your conversing skills with normal everyday Joes isn't much better.’ You lied straight between your teeth and it was obvious, Stephen knew it to be.

'Lying isn't that nice.' Stephen squinted his eyes and cocked his head at you like a disapproving adult would do to a child.

You were both interrupted by the waiter who asked for the dish of your choice. You had chosen a pasta that you couldn't pronounce and some plain old Ben and Jerry's ice cream for dessert. Stephen ordered the same thing as you but got a fancy flambee instead. You sneered at his need to impress; the man has seen you naked yet he still wants you to think highly of him. As if your opinion matters to him the most. You blushed at the sentiment. You ordered a wine too, the alcohol was liquid courage.

Time was being warped as you waited for your food. Silence muffled your ears and you thought Stephen could hear the thrumming of your heart. You wanted him to have his way with you right here and dinner hasn't even been prepared yet.

'Your eye's twitching. It always twitches when you're minds thinking away at some hail Mary idea.' Stephen always saw through you. He really did know your body like the back of his hand.

'No it's not, stop trying to outdo yourself.' You insulted in all honesty.

'You're flushing now.' His voice was all husky and knowing and it made even more nervous. 'You always flush when you want me to do something to you.' Your eyes widended at the accusation. 'So, what are you thinking about?'

The waiter brought the steaming plate of food before you could even utter the words you wanted to. It looked delicious, the waiter left you to your own devices.

'I'm hungry and I want to eat.' You stated plainly but he picked up on the hint of play on your voice.

'I'm not stopping you.’

Your plates were cleared up fairly quickly, fleeting comments and small lingering gazes were exchanged and it made you itch. Your fingers were picking at your cuticles, you didn't know how to deal with the tremors coursing through your hands. Obviously Stephen noticed, internally pleased with himself as you got yourself all worked up over him.

Once your plates were taken back, you licked at your teeth and Stephen was just staring at you like he was about to wreck you. You gave him a 'use me as your fuckhole' look. Chin back and head tilted, eyes gleaming without a blink.

The silence was palpable and you loved it, even though the restraunt was dotted with people. Stephen whistled the waiter to come your way.

'Excuse me, I think we'll skip dessert. Thank you.’

The waiter nodded and left.

'Skipping dessert Doctor?' You clasped at your wine glass, slender fingers tapping the edges and outer rim.

'Creme brulee is too pretentious for you I've gathered.' He flashed a half smile at you, taking a large gulp of his wine in the process. He carded his fingers through his hair and it was left unruly and heinously attractive.

"So.' You paused. 'Is your idea of dessert fucking me instead?' You squinted your eyes, wetting your lips slightly. His eyes dialated at the sight of you.

'Are you wearing panties?' His voice was as dark as his glare, Stephen's eyes were thin and glassy. The rich, gravelly tones of his voice were excessively clear, as if to serve as a warning.

You nodded your head slowly, your teeth catching against your bottom lip. You mouthed the word no and Stephen could feel his cock harden slightly. His imagination was running wild at the mere image of you.

'All for you.' You breathed sensually.

'Here's what's going to happen. We're going to stand up and go to the bathroom in the next 30 seconds and I'm going to fuck you so hard that you're probably need to scream but you're going to be quiet. If not I'll have no other choice but to gag you. You'll probably leak all down your thighs but you want that, don't you?' He stated in a lust filled frenzy, lips curving into a vicious smirk and your mouth popped open slightly in shock at his gall.

"You think that's what I want?' You countered.

"You know you want it. You make it so obvious, I kind of feel bad for you.' His response rubbed salt into the already festering wound, of course he saw through you.

'How so? Enlighten me.' You leaned in and flicked yout tongue at your front teeth. Begging him to test you.

‘I said it before. You're flushed. You want something from me.’

'Is that so?' You goaded him on for the thrill of it.

'Your legs. Your clamping them under the table, and since I've mentioned it just now you’re rubbing them together. You want friction.' He tilted his head forward to deepen his unlingering gaze at you.

'And your chest.’

'My chest?' You whisper completely enamoured.

"Your breathing. It's erratic and again even more so since I've mentioned it. I've been fucking you for a while now and you're still nervous. Sweetheart. You. Want. More.'

Stephen was toying with you now, you were left dumbfounded and so fucking aroused at his observant nature. You thought you could contain these little details but he caught onto them like fish to hooks. It was as plain as day.

'If I want it so bad then give me it.’

'My pleasure.' He stood up and extended a hand out to you. 'Come.’

As flesh gripped flesh, your pulses were both intertwined and you were nervous that he could hear it hammering against your skin every step you took to the bathroom. You made it to the large suite bathroom, the gold finery and black marble made it all the more luxurious. The massive mirror infront of you spurred on your imagination at an immense rate. He locked the door and you were both stood, waiting for each other to make the first move and time was as slow as ever.

"You want me, you have me. Now fuck me.' You whispered in his ear, sweet romantic nothings. Sweet filthy nothings.

Stephen pushed you against the wall, his lips taped to yours as his arms rested upon your waist. Your kiss was intoxicating and potent as your indisputable charm, your arms wandered around his back before your fingers intertwined within his hair. You tugged it back to open his mouth wider and he had to surpress a desperate groan.

Stephen's skilled hands travelled to your thighs and his fingernails bit into your skin, you moaned at the lewd action. The pain was fucking magnificent. The indents left was a marker that Stephen was here, that he was yours. Well not really yours but he wanted to be.

'Stephen!' You whined aloud and one hand left your thigh to clamp over your mouth, your eyes widened at his reaction. He was seething at you.

'Don't. Make. A sound.' He gritted through impossibly clenched teeth, you were sure they were a fraction away from breaking the bone.

Stephen's other hand inched closer and closer to your bare pussy, you were shivering at the near contact. He finally gave in as his long thick fingers felt around your core, collecting the wetness that had mounted. He was right, you were going to leak down your thighs if he continues at this rate. Stephen pistoned two fingers in you, stretching you out deliciously and you moaned against his hand. It wasn't just a moan, it was a loud desperate plea of a moan.

Stephen had warned you, it was obvious he was annoyed by the way he was deliberitely barely flicking his thumb at your clit. The bastard was edging you.

'You need me to help you?' He cooed condescendingly, he pouted slightly in mockery at your current position. He knew you weren't going to stay quiet, and secretly it made him beam. You nodded and he extracted his hand away from your face.

Stephen shimmied off his tie and stared at you with a deathly demeanour. You weren't sure if he was going to tie you up or gag you with it. He took the stretched fabric and tied it around your head so that your teeth were clamping against it, he tied a cute little not to the back of your head to keep it secure. To make sure that your moans were muffled against it. Stephen kissed your lips and he smirked as the fabric hindered his ability to kiss you properly.

'You're divine fucking grace, you know that?' You felt that the question was sincere the way he was smiling but he didn't give you time to respond as he swivelled you around and bent you over the basin with one hand around the back of your neck.

You groaned against his tie and you could taste the lingering notes of his cologne. Stephen slapped your bare ass after lifting up your dress. Your ass was fucking perfect. Your hands gripped on the edge of the counter as his palm was smacking you roughly, your cries were barely audible because of his tie. His tie as a fucking gag.

The man was made for you. He could hear the telltale unbuckle of his suit pant zipper and his belt and your thighs were tingling with excitment for the things to come.

'I love everything about you, you know.' You smiled at the pathetic state of you but he couldn't help but remark about every other thing about you. You were kind, compassionate, flirty, playful and full of dripping sex.

Stephen wanted to live inside your mind, analyse the way you think, the way you act. Memorise your favourite movies, your childhood pets and everything in between. He wanted to feel every bit of you, the loss, the longing, the unrelenting desire. He needed you to be his forevermore but he kept this all at bay.

You were perked up by his comment and confused at the same time, you didn't know what he actually insinuated. Stephen pulled his cock out of it's confines and ran his length through your arousal, your wetness coated him and he let out a breathless gasp. He glanced down and your thighs were just running with your arousal; ever the genius, he was right. Your whines were fucking music to his ears.

He pushed himself in you and you swore you saw fireworks in your peripheral. You squeezed him so perfectly with every rut of his hips against yours. He watched as his dick was disappearing in and out of you, he watched in complete awe. To torture you a little more and send you over the edge, he grasped the roots of your hair and pulled your back to his front, bodies in contact with each other fully once more. Stephen forced you to gawk at him right in the eye, your eyes were pricking with tears at the calloused nature of it all.

'Look at me. Look at how good I'm making you feel.' Stephen boasted, his eyes were lust clouded and black. He daren't blink.

You felt like your vocal chords were about to implode the way you were surpressing them, you were sure it wasn't healthy. His cock was aching and pulsating inside of you, it was threatening to fall of. His tip reached your g-spot and your were teeteting along the edge of unfathomable pleasure.

‘So beautiful.' He whispered and that did you in.

You came so hard, your toes curled against your heels. Your teeth bit down impossibly on his tie and with that sight alone, Stephen twitched inside of you too. That one final squeeze made him lose his mind as he came inside of you. God it was so filthy, the back of your thighs were tremoring. Liquid electricity filled both of your veins. He chuckled lowly as he untied his tie from your mouth. You were happy he granted you the mercy of talking again.

Stephen groaned as he pulled out of you and instinctively reached out for tissues to clean you up with. He cleaned himself up and threw the tissues in the bin, now it was your turn. He zipped himself back up and buckled his belt. You planted yourself on your feet and you wobbled slightly. Stephen laughed as you stumbled into his arms. You could barely keep your stance, you were fucked that hard.

"You okay?'

"Yeah, yeah. Uhm- Thanks.' You sighed breathlessly and he found your naivety amusing.

Stephen bent down behind you and cleaned up the remaining arousal casting down your thighs. Thank God you were wearing a short dress. He darted his tongue out to lick up a small section of your wetness,you tasted fucking delectable. He smacked your ass playfully and you let out a giggle.

Once you were both done, the pair of you were left blushing like teenagers. The small of your back leaned against the counter and his frame was infront of you. A question was left lingering on your mind, however.

'I hate admitting when you're right.' You sounded defeated and Stephen was revelling in your loss.

'Happens to the best of us.' He muttered as his eyes were cast down onto your lips.

'Can I ask you something?' You questioned. Stephen nodded his head, slightly nervous by your tone.

'What did you mean when you said you love everything about me?' Your voice was quiet as if you didn't understand why anyone would ever think such a thing.

Stephen paused as he looked for the right words to say but he didn't have any. No words to fancy up what he feels for you. He just had to state his feelings for you plainly, it was the only thing his mouth could do.

'Isn't it obvious?'

You had a perplexed look on your face.

'Remember when I said that I knew you wanted more. You thought that I was referring to this, right here and right now but actually...I was referring to the future. I want all of you, forever. I can't just fuck you anymore. I'm a selfish man, I want it all and I don't want to share.' Stephen felt a weight lifted off of his mind and his shoulder as he shared his guilty admission for you.

The air was knocked out of your lungs, you couldn't believe any of this was happening. You gave him a million dollar smile as your eyes were alight with all the stars in the galaxy.

'Ever the genius.’

#dr stephen strange #dr strange angst #dr strange fluff #dr strange x fem!reader #dr strange x y/n #stephen strange smut #dr strange smut #stephen strange

[ferdiefields]

@davisdrake (continued from here):

Well, this was awkward. Davis knew about Ferdie of course, but he wasn’t expecting to run into Louie's ex with Louie, especially when their recent kiss was still so fresh and, well, undiscussed. Davis looked from Ferdie to Louie, trying to gauge what the hell either of them could be thinking right now. He couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t supposed to be part of this interaction, even if he was literally paying Louie to hang out with him. It felt necessary for Davis to say something to make things less weird. An introduction, perhaps? “— Uhhh, no tension. Just .. surprised. Ferdie, right?” He held out his hand to shake it, despite the obvious discomfort. “I’m Davis.”

Finding out that Louie was a sugar baby was one thing Ferdie hadn’t expected upon arriving back in Echo Isle, but all things considered it truly wasn’t that surprising. Louie had always been willing to do (almost) anything to make money, and a gig like this—where he got paid just to hang out with a rich guy and partake in his lavish lifestyle—was a double win. The only catch was that he seemed to be rather reluctant to introduce his friends to the guy. They all knew who he was, of course, but there remained a clear separation between Louie’s friend group and his sugar daddy, maybe to maintain the boundary between his work and personal life. Whatever the case, Ferdie would just have to see what he could gauge about the situation from this interaction, because running into the two like this was a rare opportunity. He couldn’t help commenting on the weird atmosphere that seemed to linger even after Davis denied any tension. Interesting. Maybe trying to push some buttons would reveal a little of what was going on here. He accepted the handshake. "Surprised...Didn't Louie mention I was in town? I'm sure it was only a matter of time before we met. Then again, Louie does seem to be doing his best to keep you all to himself."

#ic #davis #ferdie: [megan “interesting” meme] #he's gonna get to the bottom of this by any means necessary #he's here to cause problems and he's having a great time #meanwhile louie: [wide-eyed murder stare] #davis1 #louie1

[gullethead]

what is your opinion on tamsyn muir discourse (and also what is the discourse)

THANK you. okay warning for discussion of fictional sexual assault, real life CSA (not something she did), plus 2012-era homestuck fandom typical stuff

please rb this btw, unless you dont want to, in which case dont. also if you have any corrections or additional information to consider please add by all means

disclaimer: im not in the habit of writing essays defending whichever internet personalities i like. ill admit theres potential bias, given that i read the books before i learned about this, but im really being as objective as possible and i just think people are taking a misguided or half-formed stance on this. if you still dislike her or w/e after this thats, like, perfectly in your rights. im not defending an adult woman on the internet, im explaining the facts as ive seen them and understand them. additional disclaimer that i havent experienced sexual assault at all myself

okay so tamsyn muir is currently well-known as the author of the locked tomb trilogy (aka gideon the ninth and harrow the ninth), but for a certain section of tumblr shes also well known as urbanAnchorite, and used to be a big name fan on here up until around 2014 - pretty close to everything here is going to be from roughly 2011 through 2014, except for an interview im gonna get into, so 7-10 years ago. i was only vaguely aware of her until after i got into the locked tomb and saw people talking about this. with that in mind:

so the MAJORITY of the discourse revolves around a single fic she wrote on AO3. her account has 19 works in homestuck, and some of them are Kinda Weird to Pretty Bad in retrospect, but being completely honest this is the only one that isnt completely stock standard for homestuck fandom in that time period. like if we started casting stones about ten year old fandom stuff we'd be here all day

here is the fic (warning for CSA)

in most of the posts about it ive seen, theyve described it as a "rapefic," but actually reading it, it's a lot more nuanced than that description implies. its a dark story where a grown man abuses a girl, from the man's perspective, and the story ends with him being killed by her friend. the description of the assault is treated very seriously by the story and barely even touches on any actual sex, before immediately cutting to him being killed. its lolita if humbert got shot to death; the title itself comes FROM lolita

(sidenote - it was inspired by a prompt on kinkmeme, but that doesn't really mean anything vis a vis being intended for sexual enjoyment, and according to the note actually went against the spirit of the request)

ive seen fics, lots and lots of fics, that would qualify as the term "rapefic." it tends to be pretty fucking obvious when someone is using sexual assault as a fetish, and this is Not That

tamsyn herself actually responded to this in an excellent interview early last year. she gets into some Fandom Mom type language, but essentially says what i said above. in it, she also says this:

It’s not the first time I’ve been accused of being a paedophile. I grew up gay in the nineties. Homosexuality and paedophilia were enmeshed in society’s minds. When I came out, I got told that I shouldn’t be around children. I was used to that because it was common discourse, and it hurt like all hell, but it didn’t shock me. When I got called a paedophile by Twitter I got clotheslined. My support network had to get in pronto. I was very ready to have a hot date with a length of rope, a date I have arranged and cancelled multiple times over my life. I have had lots and lots of therapy over the years for various conditions, some of them lifelong and some not, but when that Twitter call-out happened it was hard to want to live. I thought I knew so intimately what I was doing with my fiction; my therapist was always so supportive of me writing about it. I have not been open about being a CSA survivor because, again, I grew up in the ‘90s. ‘Lesbian’ and ‘CSA survivor’ is just carte blanche so a whole queue of people can tell you, I HOPE ONE DAY, WITH LOVE AND SUPPORT, YOU CAN BE STRAIGHT. It was like, right this way to the invalidation booth. I didn’t even tell most of my girlfriends! I told one! It’s not a topic of discussion between me and my family; I am relying on them not reading my interviews so it can remain where it belongs: thoroughly undiscussed!

with this context it becomes... a lot more nuanced of a topic. an author who experienced CSA in addition to growing up in a cultural climate where gay people were pedophiles by default, especially growing up catholic in a rural community, wrote a work about childhood sexual assault (which also happened to be fanfiction) as a way of working through it for herself, which is... something a lot of artists do with their art? and in return she got a massive blowback on twitter accusing her of pedophilia and demanding she talk about a massively traumatic moment in her life

this is the major sticking point of the discourse, im not gonna get into anything else on this post, but this is my view of it. if you disagree or have anything to add then feel free to add on. again, i know what it looks like, but im not trying to uncritically defend a stranger just cause i like her book. this is the conclusion i came to after doing a lot of digging for myself

#the locked tomb #tamsyn muir #also by the by im not an 'anti-anti' or whatever so go fuck yourself in advance and log off. please #i think theres nuance to be had in that conversation but its not whatever the fuck that is

[zmediaoutlet]

your latest fic. what. the. fuck. i never gave much thought to female dean but ma that shit was hot, she’s my new gf i want to know more about her. and it makes all the canon shit dean went through even more intense, you know. i love her i’m gonna be thinking about it for a long time

eyyy bud I’m so glad you liked it! I feel like she might be okay with being your girlfriend but you’re gonna have to fight Sam for her and tbh, I don’t know you, but I feel like your chances are slim. :/ 

I know what you mean about it making the canon shit Dean went through more intense, though! A lot of what’s super interesting about Dean is the way that canon gives him kind of... femme-ish shit to do, all the time. The way he’s sexually harassed, the momwife stuff, etc etc. Of course, what’s so compelling about it is the way that it’s undiscussed, under the top layer of the canon, because he’s still a guy and the show isn’t the kind of show that actually explores the things it implies (which usually works out for the best). So it’s this seamy underbelly that peeks wetly up at you when you look too close.

Deanna blasts all that into the open. The momwife of it all is RIGHT THERE. The sexual harassment is MORE OBVIOUS. Imagine her and Bela talking about Daddy bad-touching them and how she’d smirk all bitchy but as a viewer you might go --oh! fuck! --even more so than you were previously doing about John and his son. So it’s... obvious, more obvious, less tastefully buried, but sometimes it’s very fun to rib a dagger into the belly of something soft and watch how the guts spill all over. Deanna’s guts are everywhere.

#dean winchester #more or less #the fic is called 'reparations' btw #and really #i could think for happy days on end #about the subtle differences of how canon events would go #if it were deanna and not dean #and here's the thing: #sometimes they'd be very different #most of the time they'd be exactly the same #and if that doesn't just hold a shocking mirror up to canon #idk what does #Anonymous

[odelschwanky]

My Captain (Shunsui Kyoraku x OC Insert)

While I work on other stuff, here’s something I wrote back last year. My writing style is a lot better now, I promise.

Word Count: 3834

The wind was fierce in the Seireitei, my sleeves billowed violently. The beautiful sunset bled onto the cobbles of the walk, breathing life into the colorless walls around me. The sound of my sandals and the mellow clattering of my Zanpakuto was the only noise I created as I meandered along to my quarters. I had some briefing to do, but yet I was so tired. This was the fifth day with no sleep, the first two spent in the medical unit of Division 4. Since my last mission, I haven't been myself. I touched the bandages between my robes and my healing stomach. I was weak, and all I wanted to do was rest. 

The Research Institute was far from Division 8, and all this walking wasn’t ideal. I decided to take a shortcut through one of the courtyards. The peach blossoms were beautiful this time of year. They reminded me of where I used to live as a child.  Nobody ever came to appreciate them. I always hated that about this place, the Court Divisions. Hardly anyone seemed to appreciate anything. It was impossible for me not to. The blooms smelled so sweet, I could almost taste them on my tongue. One of the flowers floated down and I caught it in my palm. The delicate suede finish was so smooth on my fingers. I used to have these in my tea. 

“Hey.”

I jumped a little, turning my head toward the voice. “Don’t be scared.”

It was a strong voice: male, smooth, easy. I knew it very well.

“Captain.” I greeted him, regaining my composure.

“What are you doing out here?” He lay casually on a stone bench not too far away from me. His straw hat was over his face and it looked like he had been asleep, though he sounded like he had been awake a very long time. 

“With no disrespect, Captain, I could ask you the same thing.” It was pretty obvious though, what he was doing. It’s what he always did. To lounge around sleepily soaking up the good air and sun, occasionally stroll, those were his favorite pastimes. I’ve been part of his division for years and although most of the times we have spoken was for professional reasons only, there was a closeness between us that went undiscussed. It was something more than just a captain and his subordinate. I knew him so well, especially since it was part of my job. However, I really don’t know how much he knew me. We’ve never talked about it.

He chuckled a bit at my question, and I felt his soft smile, though I couldn’t see it. The wind tugged at both his kimono and his captain’s robe underneath. His chest was strong and sturdy, and the fine, dark hairs glinted in the waning sunlight. He sighed. “That’s fair. Are you in a hurry?” 

I shrugged. “Not particularly. I just have some briefing to do.” I really wanted to go, but this alone time with my Captain was very rare. I thought I might as well enjoy it, even if I’m tired. He relaxes me. 

“Then will you sit with me for a while?”

“Yes, Captain.”

There was no room on the bench, since he was laying on it, So I just sat cross legged in the grass beside it. It was silent for a while; I didn’t have it in me to talk.. I felt his breathing slow, as he presumably drifted back to sleep. I decided I should follow suit. The briefing could wait. This was nice.

My eyes slowly closed. My fatigue was getting the better of me. I hadn’t been this calm since my mission. Being near my Captain eased my nerves. Enough that I could sleep. 

***

 “Anane!” 

I turned around and looked at him. “What, Ichinose? What could you have to say?”

My friend had a strange expression on his face. His eyebrows furrowed together in pleading. I couldn’t see any life in his black eyes. His spiritual aura reeked of madness, despair and angst. Guilt was not one of the emotions. “You know why I can’t stay here!”

He seemed to be begging me for something. Understanding? I couldn’t. Forgiveness? Never. My blessing? Inconceivable. 

“I don’t care, Ichinose.” I said this turning away from him. I wiped my face with my sleeve, the tears streaking my uniform. My voice hardened. “Leave if that’s what you intend to do. I won’t stop you.” 

When Division 11’s captain was defeated and replaced by Kenpachi Zaraki, Ichinose fell apart. I had tried to be there for him, but he shut me out. Days had gone by without me seeing him. Then I overhear gossip between some unseated scum that he was to leave Seireitei, and the Soul Society… and me.

“Anane, please. Look at me.”

My spiritual pressure began to rise as I looked at him. I could hardly bear to do it. We were in a wooded area here in Seireitei, a place we used to frequent together to train. The large trees swayed erratically in the stormy wind.  The rain that had started to fall made Ichinose’s robe and hair stick to him. It made him look sick. 

“You promised me you would be by my side forever! That we would always be friends!” I yelled at him as he came closer to me. I thought my words would keep him back.  “Your Captain was beat fair and square, and you can’t seem to accept that!”

He issued a defensive response. “Zaraki has no honour! My captain did! How could I let this stand?”

I jammed my finger into his chest because we were close now. “You let it stand because that is required of your honour.” 

We stared at each other. “Ichinose. I can’t stand to look at you.” 

“Don’t call me that. You haven’t called me that in a long time, Anane.” 

I used his surname. He didn’t deserve me to call him anything else. He wasn’t Maki to me anymore. He was a stranger. 

 “We are Shinigami. We have a code, we have rules, we have our justice. If you cannot see that, maybe you shouldn’t be a Soul Reaper.”

An expression of hurt flashed across his face, enough to almost phase me. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how much he hurt me. I would never forgive him. 

“Goodbye.” 

I said this with finality. I could hear his cries, trying to get me to come back and talk to him. It was a waste. I had nothing else to say. I started back to my room, where I could let it all sink in. How my best friend chose his twisted sense of justice over me. 

His voice changed. It changed into something twisted and demonic. I turned around to see what used to be my friend, arms bent an ungodly way, neck almost broken. His eyes were black gaps, without content. His teeth became sharp blades. Ichinose was no more. 

The creature bounded forward, lodging its arm into my stomach. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel any pain. All I felt was emptiness. 

***

I awoke with a retch. I sat gasping for air, hunched over, gripping my stomach in pain. Such a sudden movement sent twinges of sharp pain into my healing wound. I felt nauseous and my head began to pound. “Tch,” I let out a wince.��

“Anane. Are you all right?”

I forgot where I was. I turned toward my Captain who had sat up in concern. His hat had fallen to the ground and his kimono lay half on the bench, as it slid off his shoulders. This was the first time he had called me by my first name. It was unusual. 

“I’m fine.” I quickly say. I never show weakness. The last time I had was when Ichinose…

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt,” said Captain Kyoraku, peeling back some of my robe to reveal my bandages. He touched them with a strong, yet tentative hand. His fingers were gentle on me. A strong rouge flushed my face and neck at the contact. I pushed his hand away and covered myself again, trying to hide my embarrassment. In any other circumstance, this would have been highly inappropriate. But since we were alone… I guess it didn’t matter. 

“I said I was fine, Captain.” I came across rather hostile, which I hadn’t intended. I wanted to apologize, but decided not to say anything. 

“Is this from the mission?”

I nodded slowly. I didn’t want to tell him. I was injured by a Bount, and I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t handle my duties. I was 3rd seat, for God’s sake. I should be able to handle that.. 

“That’s why you haven’t briefed yet, isn’t it.”

“Yes. Captain. I-”

“Anane, it’s okay.”

 I stopped talking. He had grabbed my hand now, and held it in his large one. I choked. He must feel my spiritual pressure. He has to know how nervous I am. 

“I sent you because I knew you were the most capable in the Division. We don’t know that much about the Bounts, so it was dangerous. I knew that. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

I scoffed. I dedicated my life to doing this job. To think he believed I couldn’t handle myself was insulting.

“Well I went. And I took care of what you needed, so there’s nothing else to consider. Me being hurt is nothing you should make concern about. You’re my Captain, not my caretaker.” Loyalty and duty was at the utmost importance to me. This was my job and I loved it. He didn’t need to babysit me. He helped me to my feet after he saw I had some difficulty. Still holding my hands, he stared down into my eyes and I could see my reflection in his. 

“Yes. I’m your Captain, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

A twinge of red crawled up Kyoraku’s neck, into his stubble. I pulled my hand away gently. I would expect this from him with Lieutenant Ise, because they have always seemed close. But to think he would say this to me…

“Don’t worry about the briefing. But I want to know what happened to you.”

I didn’t really want to talk about it. It wasn’t a good experience and it was frightening. Fear is something I do not embrace. I swallowed a feeling of shame and defeat.

“I will tell you another time, Captain. If that’s okay with you. I don’t feel well and it’s something  I’d rather not talk about…”

“Okay.” He said, placing his hand on my arm. “I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

Kyoraku grabbed his hat and Kimono, not putting them on and started with me toward where I stayed. We walked in silence. I staggered a little, the stitched hole in my stomach growing hot with pain. He let me lean on him a bit, his large form holding me up. He wrapped a hand around my hip to stabilize me. I was so thankful to him. 

“So am I the one who needs to say it?” 

I looked at him, confused. “Say what?”

He sighed and laughed. “You know… In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never loosened up.”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about Captain.”

“See, that right there. You’re almost as bad as Nanao.” 

My eyes caught fire as I glared at him. I didn’t want him to compare me to her. I’m sure her devotion to him was the same, but my feelings were so much more different. I was sure of that.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Mhm.”

“I was kidding.”

“No you weren’t.”

It was silent for a while longer. As we approached the barracks, more and more people could be seen walking about. A few people stared at the sight of Kyoraku’s arm around me, and it didn’t help that his bright pink kimono was the definition of subtle. “Captain, I should be able to walk on my own.” I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea.

“Are you sure, Anane?”

I hid my smile. I loved the way he said my name. “Yes, Captain.”

“Well alright. I'm letting you go now.”

His hold loosened on me and he let me stand on my own.

“Captain Kyoraku, sir.”

We both turn to see Matsumoto in her usual elegance. Her long strawberry blonde hair fell down her back in waves. Her mouth was twisted into a pout. She looked concerned. “My Captain was looking for you. He said he needed to talk to you about something.” She arrived at the perfect time. Instead of studying me and the Captain, most of everyone stood slack jawed, staring at Matsumoto like usual. She glanced between Kyoraku and me, but then dismissed any intrusive accusations. 

“Oh… Alright. I’ll be sure to go and see him. I just have something to do here. Thank you.”

With that, Matsumoto was dismissed and turned on her heel to go. I watched as a few men chased her, trying to talk to her, the others just patiently looking. 

“Captain, go. It’s probably important. I’m f-” 

“If I hear you say that you’re fine one more time, I might actually use my bankai on you.”

That was such an utterly poor joke, I laughed a little. I couldn’t help it. But I was curious, what could Captain Hitsugaya have to talk to my Captain about. I hope it wasn’t the Bounts. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.

“I won’t say that, then. But I am. You know I can take care of myself. You don’t have to stay with me any longer.”

Kyoraku put his hand behind his neck and gave me an exasperated sigh. He swung his hat in his hand and shook his head in dismay. “It’s almost like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

So… it was almost like he was trying to stay. 

We had arrived at my private quarters now, he was lingering right outside my door. 

“Well, technically I couldn’t. Since you’re my Captain. I just don’t want you to worry about me.”

He smiled and stared at me for a long time. I couldn’t help but blush in embarrassment. 

“Do you remember when I asked you to be part of Division 8?”

I do remember. It was probably the best day of my life.

***

The coursework at Shinō Academy was scheduled to be completed in 6 years, but I had finished in half that time. I wasn’t quite as talented or ingenious as a few captains who had graduated in two years or even one, but my dedication and relentless training to become a Shinigami still impressed the Captains of the Gotei 13. I graduated as an expert in Zanjutsu and Kido, and had even more promise in the likes of Hakuda, my preferred fighting style. I had applied to Division 11, since in my academy years I was recruited to go on missions with them to test the waters. I believed it would be the most difficult to get into, and fighting there would be the utmost privilege and an opportunity to demonstrate my skill. Not only that, but I wanted to be in the same division as Ichinose. While my application was being processed, I was approached by Captain Kyoraku at the training grounds of the academy where I spent my downtime. 

“Nakamura, is it?”

I sheathed my zanpakuto and stood at attention. The first sight of that bright pink kimono on that giant of a man was exhilarating. The way his robes shifted when he walked emitted such a regal air.  My heart slammed against the inside of my chest and my tongue turned to sandpaper. I was being approached by a Captain! This was the first time I was spoken to by one outside of my academy classes. 

“Yes sir. Anane Nakamura, sir.”

Captain Kyoraku looked at me closely, and squinted in puzzlement. “That’s an unusual name, especially for a girl.”

I nodded. It was typical. I was the fourth born child of my parents, and I was supposed to be a boy. I had disappointed them before I could even prove myself to them. My name was forever a reflection of that. 

“Are you training?” He casually asked me this, looking at my hands, gripped tightly still on the hilt of my sword. The sun made his skin shine, and his then shaven face glowed.

“Yes sir.”

Kyoraku took a few steps away from me to a grassy area under a tree. Sitting down cross legged  “Well don’t let me stop you. I didn't mean to interrupt. Go ahead.”

He spoke to me in such a familiar way, taking me by surprise. I had known he had a laid back personality, but to speak to a subordinate with such familiarity? Not to mention, how was I supposed to train with a Captain watching me? He must’ve seen me hesitate. 

“It’s alright. Just pretend like I’m not here. I won’t say a thing.”

I turned away, my back to the Captain and stared at my shadow on the ground in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I unsheath my sword. I completed the patterns, once, twice and over again. After I had done them all, I did them again. The day passed as the sun had come around to face me, it’s sinking, scarlet rays making the sweat on my face and arms glisten. My flushed cheeks shimmered in the light, the glistening hair from my twin braids plastering them. The fine hairs that fell out of my short twin braids clung to my cheeks, which were flushed with the effort. I stood, heaving ragged breaths. my breathing laboured and sharp. When I trained. I trained for hours with little rest. I was only ever finished when my body would be on the verge of collapse, never sooner. My hands always had callouses from gripping my sword for so long. My spiritual pressure had dropped to almost nothing. I had finished. 

When I turned to leave, I half expected Captain Kyoraku to not be there. Maybe he would’ve been bored watching me run myself into the ground, doing the same patterns over and over in the hot sun like that. He sat, not asleep, but attentively watching me as I put away my sword and put my socks and waraji back on. I always trained barefoot. 

Footsteps approached me slowly, and I was afraid to hear what the Captain had to say. I knew the vast extent of my abilities even then but I had always felt, for some reason, it was never enough. Like a beautiful girl who would be ashamed to show her face, I was insecure and lacked confidence. My insecurity was why I trained so much. I could never be good enough.

“Nakamura.”

“Yes sir?”

I scrambled off the ground and stood tall to face Kyoraku. I was nearly half his size. I was in the late stages of my adolescence, nearly finished blooming into a young woman. I wanted to impress him so much, along with the other captains. 

“I’ve sat here and have watched you train for hours. Your dedication is admirable. Your talent is even better.”

I beamed with pride, but held myself together. “Thank you sir.”

“I know you applied for Division 11.”

“I did, sir.”

“Well, I don’t want to discourage you...” He looked deeply into my eyes, and I noticed the slight wrinkles around his, even though he was very young. “But I feel like you wouldn’t fit in there. So. Will you be in Division 8?”

My eyes began to water immediately. I held my head up to face the Captain. Kyoraku-san had asked me personally to be a part of his Division. 

“Yes. I would be honoured.”

***

“Yes. What about it?”

He shook his head, smiling. A pleasing expression came to his tanned, handsome face. 

“I’m just thinking about how much you’ve grown since then. Looking at you now, you’ve really turned out to be one of the finest Shinigami I know..”

I looked at my Captain. To hear him say that meant the world to me. Those words alone were the reason I’ve trained countless hours to become a legendary warrior and servant of the Gotei 13. I have dedicated my life to Kyoraku, the very day I entered his division. I had fallen in love with protecting him, serving him, and being a part of him.  His words now were the embodiment of validation I have been looking for my whole life.  He really did see how much I cared. I looked up to Kyoraku, idolized him. Other Captains have called him a lazy, irresponsible, nonchalant, ladies’ man, dumping all of his work onto his Lieutenant. Sure he was a bit laid back and he did love to flirt, but knowing him for so long, I saw something different. I saw passion, vision and love from him. I knew he would always do the right thing. He wanted good for the world. I wanted to support him in any way I could. 

I wanted to cry. It was like that moment, years ago, I felt the exact same way. I don’t know if he knew. He made me so happy. He was the reason I was living. 

“You’re embarrassing me,” I say, keeping my cool composure and smirking just a little. I was excellent in holding back my feelings. 

He calmly reached out and placed his hand on the top of my head. He ruffled my hair a little, and pet me. 

 “Sorry. I couldn't help it… Get some rest, Anane.”

“Thank you, Captain… for everything.” I say this, appreciating his kind words of praise. He didn’t know how much they lifted my spirits. He slowly turned to go, not taking his eyes off of me for a little while. I finally relaxed when he turned the corner of the hall, letting my tears fall freely. I opened the door to my room and went to collapse onto my bed right away. My body felt so heavy and numb and my stomach throbbed in pain. My sleeve still smelled like Kyoraku. 

My Captain.

#shunsui kyoraku #bleach fanfiction #bleach one shot #bleach oc

[convenientalias]

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I was tagged by @rain-hat. Thanks for tagging me!

Hm. I’m quite arrogant about my work and I write a lot of short oneshots, which means a lot of separate fics have built up. 

...I’m going to just cheat and go higher than 5 things I guess lols.

Some long-ish fics first:

My current project, Like having fangs is something to regret

My Country, Seon-ho/Hwi/Bang-won. Still a WIP. Technically a Bisclavret AU, definitely a werewolf AU. Will the OT3 ever happen? Who knows. It’s about 30k right now and it’s been really fun writing it bc I just crammed in a lot of scenes/concepts I thought would be tropey and fun. A fic of passive-aggressive wolves, unexpected stripping, home invasions, devastating betrayals, etc etc. Also I started the project in October so for Inktober reasons I’ve been drawing illustrations of each chapter, although it’s really really not October anymore.

My last multi-chapter project, The Only Hoax I Believe In

My Country, Hwi/Seon-ho. What if... Seon-ho got amnesia?!?!?! Lols, that’s basically the whole concept of the fic. It’s like 25k of me going “can’t tell if this is karma targeting Seon-ho or Hwi but it’s definitely karma for someone” and then swerving to fangirl over Sung-rok. It was fun to write bc it had angst and lies.

A three oneshot series, I Was a Lover (Before This War)

The King: Eternal Monarch, Jo Yeong/Jo Eun-sup. Just 8k of me going, “what do you mean the main ship people took away from this show wasn’t the self-cest???”

But seriously. What do you mean the main ship people took away from TKEM wasn’t the Jo self-cest ship? Eternally pining for more fic of this pairing. Okay, it was crack, I admit it. (But so is almost every fic in this post anyway.)

And a 30k fic from back in March/April, Computer Parts

Gen fic for Circle: Two Worlds Connected. About 28k. This fic was written about what my theory for Woo-jin’s disappearance had been (the obvious theory, that Human B had kidnapped him) before the show Jossed it. When I was writing it, trifoliate-undergrowth and I called it the Fic of Doom bc it was 28k for a fandom that didn’t exist and therefore a fic that no one would read except me, and that was mostly accurate. But it was fun to write, although a bit less fun to reread, given it’s a fic about a guy being held prisoner for twenty years and a bit claustrophobic.

And some oneshots that I just think came out pretty good:

Left Undiscussed

My Country, Hwi and Bang-won. Five ways Bang-won didn’t talk to Hwi about Seo Geom’s death, and one way they still didn’t really talk about it. I like this one bc the form is weird, five scenes sort of from Bang-won’s imagination (with a justification for why they didn’t happen) and then a brief discussion of canonical events. Basically it’s like 5 canon divergences and a melancholy ramble crammed into a 2.4k fic. Fast oneshot goes zoom zoom.

Separating and joining, O walls of gray

Nirvana in Fire, Jingyan/Mei Changsu. Your basic cave-in fic. Nothing deep to say about this one it’s just tropey and snuggly and I like it.

Seven Red Palms

White Christmas (the kdrama) ensemble fic. A fic about resurrecting a certain character from canon using Necromancy. I wrote this for a fic exchange that encouraged crack and honestly it was just a good time. Also writing scenes with seven characters bouncing dialogue back and forth is something I don’t do often and it’s kind of tricky but it’s a lot of fun if you like all the characters. Which, for White Christmas, I really do.

...I think I might watch White Christmas again this week. It’s seasonal.

Uhh I guess that’s it. I mean I also did do a couple nice My Country pencil sketches bc I’ve been trying to do more art. But I’m about done rambling. It’s been a fun year for writing and drawing for me :)

Tagging: @trifoliate-undergrowth @avauntus @staidwaters @ihamtmus @flo-nelja @general-sleepy @aboxthecolourofheartache and anyone else who wants to do it.

[tortoisesshells]

⭐️ for the director’s cut asks!

Nellie did not bring up brother John’s letter with Aunt B, though she knew she ought to have. There was a little bit of greed in it: she hadn’t gotten such a wad of paper in some time now, and even if much of it was a report, it was her John in there. John, who she hadn’t seen since before her marriage – John, who’d been lost until Captain Treat came home one July with a broad smile and slim letter to “Mrs. Elinor Coggeshall Treat” in a rolling, familiar hand:

Nora! (he wrote) You shld have written, you wicked Girl – never mind you didn’t know where I was – you shld have thrown a Letter into the Sea for me to find! Am I to learn such News from drunk Sailers in Nassau public Houses? Your Husband cheats at Cards you will be Interested to know, which I suspect is Your Doing.

And so on.

This letter was not so joyful. There was the old nickname – only John and her late mother had ever called her that – and then a bad-tempered oath – and then:

Customs and Duties, Chapter 6

John Coggeshall’s been one of those characters who invites themselves into the narrative and makes themselves quite comfortable, until you can’t imagine the damn thing without them - there was a John Coggeshall in the first draft outline, but he was pretty much playing the role that Peter Coggeshall, the self-righteous (but perhaps has a point) brother in Newport, plays in this version. In between the outline drafts, John came out of a need to have a counterbalance to the Bendishes on Nellie’s outlook and connections. Where the Bendishes are always pulling Nellie towards respectability and acquiescence to imperial order, John’s far more cavalier about and critical of law and order. 

John’s letter to Nellie had to do three things: First and most importantly, it had to tell Nellie more about Norrington’s reputation/history in the Caribbean; Second, it had to shade in more about Nellie’s history that isn’t apparent from her life as the respectable Widow Treat in Boston, that pave the way for later revelations about Nellie’s sympathies; Third, it had to establish parts of John’s history and worldview that will affect the way he relates to his sister and her current problems, since he’s only been mentioned once before now. And I had a blast doing it, not the least because 18th century spelling and capitalization are fantastically expressive, and John’s done pretty well for himself for someone who Nellie describes as not having had much education.

Where John’s concerned, when he’s first mentioned two chapters before, it’s by Hendricks - who describes him as quite happy with the last Governor of the Bahamas throwing his hands up and going back to England, and as someone who benefits by a lax enforcement of law and order (much like his sister). Here, Nellie remembers that she hasn’t seen him since before her marriage in 1726 (and later, she’ll recall that their father threw John out of the house and family, for reasons as yet undiscussed in narrative). His first words on page are irreverent and he wastes no time in yanking Nellie’s chain, using an old nickname that only two people ever called her by. John provides useful information about a number of things: he gives and overview of Norrington’s hitherto illustrious career, he explicitly describes how Norrington’s engagement ended and that it was related to “an act of mercy for some brigand”, he dismisses stories about Barbossa’s cursed crew. John’s also the first character to to address and criticize, even in passing, the brutal realities of European colonization in the Caribbean and the Americas; it’s not until later in this chapter that Nellie expresses any opinions on the subject, which is that she refuses to marry a man involved in slave trading & that she doesn’t think that highly of herself for making some of her money shipping sugar and molasses. So: John’s living a very different life than his sister is, and it’s his introduction to the narrative that both provides her with an ally and partner in the Caribbean, as well as begins raising some limited moral questions.

John’s letter also fills in Nellie’s backstory a little more - John liked her husband Samuel off the bat, Nellie cheats at cards, and John apparently thinks she has a reckless streak. This last isn’t supposed to jibe with what we’ve seen of Nellie so far - she’s been pretty careful, all told, with only a few outbursts of sarcasm here and there; it’s a little more fitting that she cheats at cards, I think. And I know it’s a throw-away line, but I did intend that very few people call Nellie the same thing to be significant - John calls her “Nora”; her late husband called her “Nellie” and variants; her Bendish relatives call her “Elinor”. Nellie’s very much defined by how successfully she can adapt herself to difficult situations, so I wanted there to be some more obvious representation of that in-narrative. Also of note: there’s a throw-away bit about Nellie’s late husband and “ague” - at least hinting at how Samuel died, since that’s been avoided so far.

Lastly, plot-wise, John dumps a lot of information about Norrington in Nellie’s lap, some of which answers earlier questions about his history - yes, Norrington’s engagement ended badly; yes, it had something to do with letting an as-yet unnamed pirate go free, which stuck him very firmly in the Admiralty’s black books (despite us learning that he does have family influence which should raise some questions for Nellie about what the hell is going on there); yes, Norrington (while a reasonable man who John judges to be less cruel of capricious than other representatives of British authority he’s dealt with) absolutely is a danger to her smuggling concerns and John emphatically doesn’t believe she should risk it. John attributes at least part of Norrington’s meteoric rise - going from Lieutenant to Commodore in eight years, canonically before his 30th birthday - to surviving where other prominent (and IRL) officers in the Caribbean died of illness, so apparently he’s got “unkillable” except by Bootstrap Bill going for him. There’s a few references to the Anglo-Spanish War of 1727-1729, which would have been the start of Norrington’s career in the Caribbean god my canon chronology is messy; there’s a reference to Saint-Martin/Sint Maarten which only exists because DMTNT made the inexplicable choice to describe it as a British colony. I suppose you could interpret John’s letter as blaming Norrington for the in-canon British takeover of what ought to be a French/Dutch colony? I hadn’t intended that but in retrospect it kind of seems like it.

[send a ⭐ for director’s commentary on fanfic]

#thank you for the ask friend!!! #polkaknox talks #brother can you spare an ask? #customs and duties

[royalreef]

(( As much as I love Monster Prom, some of its decisions as it comes to canon are just... boring. Disappointing and kind of a letdown in comparison to what was previously implied. They aren’t necessarily bad, and even in another story they could be perfect and impactful, and they’re all written nicely - but it’s just... A letdown in comparison to all the other possibilities.

Like I remember when the only lore ending we had available for any of the ROs was Damien’s Hairstylist ending, and the RPC was FULL of unique takes on lore for all the other characters! Like the old idea of Liam and Polly being childhood friends, or lore with gorgons, or even just how Zoe would behave after becoming a student. I’m not mad with how they all actually turned out, as again, I do think they were written well and were impactful in the intended ways, but at the same time... They feel like simple answers. Answers that don’t play as much in the idea that, these are monsters, in a world where magic and utter nonsense are commonplace and nearly anything is possible so long as you have the stats for it. It’s boring. It’s simple, and easy, and not too unusual once you get the gist of it.

Maybe it’s just the fact that the rest of the game is so wholly based in anything other than realism that having the serious lore be realistic just... I don’t know, feels strange?

As odd as it is, I feel like I lucked out with Miranda. The Bellanda ending was just bad, providing next to nothing lore-wise, coming off in a way that I’m sure wasn’t intended, and fumbling everything that’s been implied with Miranda up until then. Most of my Bellanda lore was developed before its release, since Bellanda herself was known about before then and I know someone had looked through the game files to find the picture for that one ending, so other than getting the other sisters’ names and adding a few chunks of things for me to work with, not much with my lore changed. Hell, the entire ending was just about lampshading how Miranda had no character nor lore nor motivations, and it just.... Felt like the worst possible way to explore Miri in any further detail?

Especially because she’s not a boring character!!! Once you start looking at her, laying out the consistencies and all the little things that we’ve been dropped, it paints a wonderfully interesting picture with a lot of fascinating things at play! She’s mega-rich in a way that even existing monarchies aren’t and weren’t even historically, she mentions things which have no business being in a fantasy kingdom, what is implied about her culture is bizarre and suggests that the Merkingdom has been isolated from other influences for far longer than even monsters and humans have from each other, what we hear about the Vanderbilts themselves and Miranda’s upbringing and all her little traits is sincerely concerning, and even the most obvious “ something is most definitely going on in a way we can’t see ” trait of her having eating serfs and not eating for herself is entirely undiscussed and never touched upon. She’s a character with a TON of vague, interesting concepts and a whole lot of unknown space between, and canon’s answer of “That space is totally empty, Miranda has nothing going on whatsoever” just feels like a copout!! There are so many interesting ways you could take it, and to completely dismiss that is BORING!!!

Like... I don’t know, maybe it’s me fanning my own flames, but I feel like it makes sense that the blog I really stuck with and the blog that’s been active in the MonProm RPC the longest would be a Miranda blog. She, out of all the characters, has the most big, interesting concepts behind her, and canon has almost entirely abandoned her. To be a Miranda blog, you have to deal with those concepts one way or another, and you have to wade into all the implications of them to continually write her, and with canon and fandom both ignoring her, you have to be very internally motivated to keep going with her. While I’m sure any other character had the same possibility, that they could’ve been the one in my place who got started at the beginning of the RPC and stuck around as long as I have - it just feels fitting to me, that Miranda was the canon character who it happened to. Canon didn’t really have a chance to kill her lore with a boring answer to who she is and why, and even in being canon divergent in the way that I am, it’s still less canon divergent than how a lot of the older ideas on lore would be anymore.

Maybe this is wholly me connecting red string on a corkboard. I’m willing to accept that, and it’s probably the truth. But it feels like a lot of wasted opportunities to make really unique, complex lore that just fell through the cracks because canon played it safe. 

If anything, I’d liken it a lot to the monster designs themselves. There was a chance to create beautiful, unique, horrifying monsters that you can date and be your worst self with, and while what we ended up getting is still good, they’re also kinda just people in face paint.     

#Most secret royal advisor || OOC #long post #(( tho dont take this massive rant wrong tho #(( i still fucking LOVE monster prom #(( as evidenced by the fact that i've been here for two years #(( and donated almost $1000 to the kickstarter for the new games #(( and have written all the many many words i have for and about miranda and done all the art i have of her #(( but at the same time #(( i feel like that makes me a very good person to criticize it and what it does #(( and canon for monprom. kinda sucks!! #(( i love it but. its not really even very monstrous at its core and that disappoints me #(( ah the rambles of a canon divergent rp blog

[julemmaes]

this will probAbly be waaay longer than i had planned, but i don't really care

LET'S BEGIN WITH THE SCENES THAT MADE ME LAUGH/CRY/DIE IN EMPIRE OF STORMS BY SARAH J MAAS

1. these queen and king that made me cry within three paragraphs into their only chapter and that made me want a book just about them so bad i got angry.

and i have to be honest with you, not even ashamed to say that i go full slut mode when it comes to handsome crying kings

2. aelin saying to rowan she trusts him. i know this is simple and pretty fucking obvious, but this made me remember bellarke so bad i legit screamed in my pillow

3. stupid law, i hate law. law never brought but troubles in fantasy books i swear

4. my precious baby boy becoming my favourite dad of all time (jk, julian is the undiscussed #1 dad) + the moment i realised i wanted him and lysandra to be a couple

5. DO I EVEN NEED TO COMMENT ON THIS OR-

AND THE FACT THAT HE IS NOT AFRAID OF HER, I NEED MORE CONTENT

6. i felt so much pain and relief and worry during the entire scene that those amounts of fear could last for my whole life

7. when i, like the stupid dumb person i am, realised that they were written to be a couple and that i needed way more scenes with them in it or i would break someone's arm

8. I ALMOST FORGOT, LORCAN AND ELIDE, THE F-

okay i mean, it was pretty obvious there too, but i learned not to trust sarah if the persons involved are not already mated you know, i can only hope for something life rowaelin or feysand and need to be prepared for something like nessian

and he didn't even think about it for a second. he just asked her like that, like it was nothing and yet it was everything she ever wanted, needed from someone

#throne of glass #heir of fire #crown of midnight #queen of shadows #empire of storms #tower of dawn #kingdom of ash #assassin's blade #tog series #throne of glass series #tog #hof #com #eos #tod #koa #sarah j maas #maas #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aedion ashryver #lysandra #chaol westfall #dorian havilliard #manon blackbeak #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #rowaelin #rowan #aelin

[prairiesongserial]

10.7

The chapel was pretty, though the observation barely registered against the fact that John wasn’t there. Cody didn’t feel great about being proven right on that point. The pit of dread in his stomach was starting to give way to numb acceptance, a fog that not even the brilliant colors of the chapel’s stained-glass windows that made shapes of dancing light across the floor could shine through.

“Hey, over here,” Valentine said from near the front of the chapel, gesturing for Cody to join them by what he guessed was the confessional. It was intimidating - a big, partitioned booth made out of dark, polished wood, with the sort of craftsmanship that tended to baffle Cody. How long had it taken someone to make this, and where had they gotten all of the wood from? Had someone from the convent made it, or had it always been here? It had the impression of a structure that had simply grown out of the ground one day, and allowed the convent to be built around it, rather than vice versa.

There was a figure of an angel carved into the confessional, in the space between the two doors, and as Cody made his way across the room to join Valentine, he saw that the details of the angel’s face had been completely worn away over time. Rubbed smooth, even, like someone had deliberately sanded it down to render it featureless.

“Novitiates like to touch it for luck,” Valentine said, reaching out to pass their thumb over the angel’s face demonstratively. “We should really get it fixed, but angels are supposed to be a little scary, right?”

“I guess,” Cody said. He didn’t know much about angels, but the carving made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Rather than look at it any longer, he stepped into one side of the confessional booth, and let the wooden door click softly shut behind him.

It was dark inside. A little like what Cody might have expected the inside of a coffin to feel like, if the cushioned bench he was sitting on hadn’t been so comfortable. Valentine hadn’t lied about that.

There was a sudden, sharp sound, and a beam of light filtered through a tiny, screened window set into the wall to Cody’s left. Through it, he could just barely see Valentine’s profile.

“I’m supposed to say something first, right?” Cody asked. He had never been particularly religious, but some of Miriam’s regulars at the bar had been, and he had a general sense of how this was supposed to go.

“Well, that sort of depends,” Valentine said. “You can just sit there and spill everything that’s on your mind, without being formal about it. But if you want me to absolve you afterwards, then yeah, you have to say a specific thing first.”

Cody frowned. “Absolve?”

“It’s like...forgiving you on God’s behalf,” Valentine elaborated. “Which I have the authority to do, as a reverend.”

That made a certain amount of sense. Cody nodded, only belatedly realizing that Valentine couldn’t see him.

“Does that work even if I’m not Catholic?” he asked. “The absolving thing.”

Valentine made a noncommittal noise. “Technically no, unless you’re dying, but I like to think I could at least put in a good word with Him for you. I still take confession from people who left the Church, but have nowhere else to go.”

Cody weighed his options. It would be a relief to have someone take his guilt off his hands, and to be forgiven for what he’d done, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be forgiven by God, exactly. It wouldn’t feel as satisfying as it would to be forgiven by the Dead-Eyes. Or by John - though Cody still wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to make John close up so abruptly the way he had by the river. Maybe it was nothing that needed forgiving. He could hope, anyway.

“I think I just want to talk,” he said, bringing his feet up onto the bench of the confessional and hugging his knees to his chest. “If that’s okay.”

“It’s less work for me,” Valentine said, easily. Through the small window, even in the dim light, Cody could just barely see them smiling their funny little half-smile. “So, Cody. Let’s talk. How do you know Valerie?”

“I don’t actually know him that well,” Cody admitted. “I was half-dead the first time we met. I owed a lot of money to my - to a gang leader, who chopped off two of my fingers when I couldn’t pay him back in time. I almost died, except John rescued me on the road. I don’t remember a lot of the first couple weeks we were together, but I guess he dragged me to Vegas to find a doctor, and Val and Friday helped him out.”

“Friday’s the short one?” Valentine asked. “And John is the one with the bad knee.”

“Yeah,” Cody said. “After we left Vegas, Ethan - the gang leader - showed up and threatened Val, to find out where John and me were headed. And then he burnt down Val’s church. Val was just telling me about that - that he’s sorry he gave us up.”

Valentine let out a low whistle. “No kidding.”

“I told him it wasn’t his fault,” Cody said. He still couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Val, not when he knew firsthand the way Ethan manipulated people and used the things they loved against them. “Ethan would’ve found out one way or another. But I think Val still feels guilty about it.”

“No wonder nobody can get him to talk about what happened,” Valentine muttered, mostly to themself. Cody heard them shifting around in the other confessional booth, like they were getting comfortable. “Okay, keep going. What happened next?”

Cody paused, trying to get back on track. This was the part of the story he actually remembered.

“Well, John and I ran across half the States trying to get away from Ethan,” he said. “And then we met up with this other crime boss who we did a job for, so he was going to help us get rid of Ethan. But it didn’t work. Not the way it was supposed to, anyway.” Cody frowned, remembering the standoff in Old Problem. It was hazy in his mind’s eye, like he had been somewhere outside of himself. “The Dead-Eyes decided they were done trying to chase me, and they made Ethan leave with them.”

“Even though he was their leader?” Valentine asked, sounding fascinated.

“Yeah,” Cody said. He wondered how the rest of the Dead-Eyes were doing, and if they were already back in Oregon. No doubt they were, by now. Had they dissolved the gang, or decided on a new leader? Did they even know that Ethan was dead?

“So then what?” Valentine prompted.

“Uh, we thought it was over,” Cody said. Remembering what had happened next made a flush rise to his face. “John and I kept going, to the Mississippi. And I realized that I, uh…”

He trailed off. He wasn’t sure how to put the realization into words. He hadn’t known what to call it then, when he’d first felt it. Still didn’t. All he could think to do was ask to kiss John, and hope that John, somehow, had known what he’d been trying to say.

“You’re in love with him,” Valentine supplied, as easily as if they were talking about the weather.

“I - yeah,” Cody said. It was easier than trying to deny it - and why try to deny something that was true, anyway? Especially in front of a reverend. He hadn’t thought about his feelings for John as love, not until this very moment, but Valentine saying it felt like a puzzle piece sliding into a spot that had been waiting for it all along. Like the satisfying click of a key in a lock. He loved John. He was in love with John.

So why couldn’t he fucking say so out loud?

“It was pretty obvious,” Valentine said, answering a question Cody hadn’t thought to ask.

“Cool,” he replied, embarrassed, feeling the flush creeping steadily up the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, just breathing for a moment, reminding himself that there was no one else to hear what he was saying except himself, Valentine, and the angel carving on the door. “So. I asked if I could kiss him. And then we kissed. And then he got...weird about it. And I thought - maybe I did something wrong, or he didn’t want it after all. Because John’s so quiet...it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. I never know if he’s sad, or angry…” Cody trailed off. “I don’t think this was anything like that, but I...I don’t know.”

“Have you talked to him about it?” Valentine asked. Their voice was a little gentler now, like this was about more than a good story.

“Not really,” Cody admitted. He’d spoken to John since they’d gotten to the convent, of course, but the kiss had hung between them undiscussed, like a hot piece of metal neither of them wanted to try to pick up and handle.

“It’s frustrating,” he said, filling the silence when Valentine didn’t. “I feel like I fucked things up with him. Like I ruined my chance. But I don’t know how to tell him that, or ask him how he’s feeling, because he might just not say anything. And I don’t know what to do with that. And now I can’t find him anywhere, and I’m - I’m scared.” He swallowed. He hadn’t known that was what he was feeling, exactly, until he’d said it aloud. “I’m scared that something else happened to him, and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to him at the convent,” Valentine said, sternly. “We’re the safest place in this whole city. You’ll find him. And when you do, you should tell him how you feel.”

“Okay,” Cody said, because he didn’t feel like he could disagree without starting an argument.

“Why are you scared about something happening to him?” Valentine asked. “Because he got shot when you were on the road together?”

“Right,” Cody said, realizing that he hadn’t finished his story, and had stopped just before the hard part. He swallowed again, harder. “I guess Ethan followed us to the river, because when we were there...well, he showed up with a rifle, and he shot John. He was trying to kill him. So he could take me back to Oregon with him. Alone.”

He paused, waiting for Valentine to ask something, anything; or to cut in with some sort of witty comment. But they were quiet. If he hadn’t been able to see their profile through the window, Cody might have thought he was alone.

“But I...I got mad,” he said. This was the first time he’d spoken about what had happened by the river in so many words, to anyone. Val and Friday had gotten the barest bones of the story, and hadn’t asked to be told twice. John...John hadn’t asked anything at all about what had happened.

“Ethan grabbed me. And I fought him,” Cody went on. Again, his memories felt like he was seeing what had happened from somewhere outside of himself, a bird’s eye view. “I wanted to tell him all the stuff I’d been holding back, about how much I hated him. About how I don’t think he was ever really my friend. But I knew - I knew whatever I said, he wouldn’t listen. And that John was hurt.” He took a breath, ignoring the hitch in his chest that promised tears. He hadn’t cried since before he’d fled Oregon. “So I didn’t say anything, and I got the pistol out of my bag, and I shot him.”

Valentine was still quiet. Then, after what felt like minutes, they spoke.

“How did you feel about killing him?”

“Bad,” Cody said, instantly. “Well - sort of. I feel bad that I had to kill him, but not bad that I did it. I think the only way he was gonna stop coming after me was if someone killed him. And I think he was gonna keep hurting people ‘til that happened. Like a rabid dog.”

A rabid dog had come through Levering once, and had bit one of the older Dead-Eyes, back when Ethan’s aunt Edie had run the gang. Cody remembered that Edie had put a bullet in the dog, then a bullet in the Dead-Eye who’d been bitten, and had said it was so neither of them needed to suffer long. Plenty of people had suffered because of Ethan.

“Do you think I did the right thing?” he asked. He hadn’t wanted to ask anyone else, because he knew that John, Val, and Friday would all tell him he had done the right thing, even if they privately thought he hadn’t. But Valentine was a stranger, and a reverend, which meant they had not only their own opinion, but a general idea of God’s.

“Well, murder is a mortal sin,” Valentine began, slowly. “There’s really no way around that. It’s in the Ten Commandments. But if you’re asking me, personally, I think it sounds like you took it upon yourself to take some wickedness out of the world. I can’t really say what you did was right, but I think...well, I think it sounds like you stopped a lot more people from being hurt, and a lot more churches from being burned.”

Cody nodded to himself. Valentine’s answer was complicated, but it felt more like what he’d wanted than a simple “yes” or “no”. A complicated answer for a complicated problem. He liked the thought that killing Ethan had stopped more people from being hurt, which was something no one else had told him.

“Thanks,” he said. “For being honest.”

“I try,” Valentine said, and he saw them grin on the other side of the small window. “Is that the end of your story?”

“Pretty much,” Cody said. “Val and Friday found us and brought us here. And you know what happened after that. And now John’s missing.”

“He’s not missing, you just haven’t found him yet,” Valentine said, practically. It sounded a little silly, but hearing it put that way made Cody feel just a bit better. Talking to Valentine had that effect, apparently.

“I should go back to looking for him,” he said.

“Sure,” Valentine said. “I should go give Valerie my condolences about his church. Do you feel like you’ve said everything you need to?”

Cody looked away from the small window, and towards the dark confessional door. He felt a little lighter than he had when he’d sat down, like a pressure had been taken off his chest. Like he could see clearly, even in the dark.

“I think so,” he said, finally.

“Then go look for your boy,” Valentine told him. “And, for what it’s worth? I’ll put in that good word for you, but I think you’re gonna be fine even without it.”

10.6 || 10.8

[thisisnotahetship]

my opinion on the T’Pring subject

Maybe the way to start the debate wasn't the best, but I'm glad we can have this conversation, because star trek tos -at least- portrays a utopia of a future imagined in the late 1960s, and not by the most progressive people of the time, so it's obvious that many of the things we find along its episodes don't match our sensitivity and our current ethical opinions.

First of all, I am of the opinion that science fiction is only interesting insofar as it says something about what concerns us as people, as humans. Yes, it allows us to abstract ourselves from our reality, but more importantly, it changes the scenario to explore our reality with other eyes. To quote Stanislaw Lem  (in Solaris): "We think of ourselves as the Knights of the Holy Contact. This is another lie. We are only seeking Man. We have no need of other worlds. We need mirrors".

Vulcan has always fascinated me. As far as I know, Vulcans identify ethics and rationality, for rationality is the common place where we all can meet as intelligent beings, the place where we recognize facts and undeniable truths, where we can detach ourselves from personal circumstances and think of what is beneficial and just for everyone, as opposed to passions that incline our actions towards biased gains. Vulcan culture is collectivist, it seeks the common good. But next to logic, there is tradition, a tradition that seems to hide behind the veil of its authority and its antiquity the undomesticated heart of Vulcan. Spock says that Pon Farr is something they don't even speak of among themselves. It seems strange to me that something so important is not talked about, a taboo, and -I assume- not investigated. A society that can travel to the other end of the galaxy, that can regenerate organs with a pill, that can transport the atoms of a being from one place to another... it seems to me extremely suspicious that something that affects its entire population, as a matter of life or death, remains an unspoken mystery. In my opinion when something like this happens, we find that someone is benefiting from the status quo. 

From what we find out in Amok Time and in Journey to Babel, I would say that Vulcan is a patriarchal society. I don't expect any male writer of the late 60s to give me an example of social justice with regard to women, it's frankly difficult to find it now... the intention may have existed, but it seems to me that they were not concerned about what feminism might say about their notion of that justice. Ok, there is the figure of T'Pau to disprove my guess, but the existence of a woman with great power does not entail an egalitarian society. Women in position of power is something obviously important for the feminist cause, but their presence inside patriarchal institutions does not garantize the end of the patriarchal nature of these intitutions -that's why many feminists voted Sanders instead of Clinton-. The authority of the other Vulcan women we see in the movies has some religious or spiritual element, so I wouldn't know how to fit them in. Again, their existence does not prove that Vulcan is not a patriarchy, but the interactions between Amanda and Sarek and the millenary traditions that articulate the life of Vulcans do seem to contain a patriarchal tone.

In tos, Pon Farr seems to be a matter of male biology and the whole family system seems to be built on it. Changing something that affects so intimately and so massively a society may not be easy, perhaps many resistances are found from the conservative sectors. I don't believe T'Pring has feminism as the motivation for her actions and no, she doesn't really question the system. But I do understand why a feminist would take her figure and claim her. The fandom is not only a place of reverence, it is also a place of interpretation, it is a place of expression; here we hunt elements of the culture that is transmitted to us from the media and we mold it according to our needs and desires, and the transformation we make is also a way of criticism. When we reinterpret T'Pring we are not accepting blindly what we are given, we change it, and that change already says something about what we don't want. We don't want to accept that a woman in such a fucked-up situation is presented to us simply as a villain, we don't want to simply see psychopathy in a woman who is cornered. It is true that Spock is also tragically compromised by the situation, but he is the beneficiary of the system, the privileged one, because it is the men who benefit from arranged marriages, it is the men who own the women so that they don't have to worry about their biology. And it is the women who have to accept to be raped by animals without intellect, to get pregnant -because it is not sex detached from procreation-; it is the women who can only get divorced by getting another consort to fight for them and then accepting the random outcome of the combat. In this system they are the ones who are dispossessed of their body. -But men's lives are in stake! Yes, but as a feminist I believe every woman has the unalienated right to control her own body. Everyone should have that right. It's not about romance, it's about agency, it's about owning your own body and not being a second-class citizen. Because... truth be told, I can't believe that there isn't a fairer solution to the problem. It rather seems that these things they do not speak of have remained undiscussed and unchanged since the "dawn of their days". T'Pring may not be a feminist, but she is an oppressed woman who twists the oppressive system and turns it against its beneficiaries. And that's kind of admirable.

#t'pring #vulcan #star trek tos #exclusively tos i dont know about st enterprise or voyager #my opinion #im open to discussion but there are some ideological beliefs here that are not gonna change in any case

[i-am-ghost-proof-baby]

Ryan’s break up came a couple months after his, and the little guy was so sad it broke Shane’s heart.

If he started dragging Ryan to the movies with him way more often just so his friend would stop thinking about his ex for a couple hours, Ryan didn’t complain.

Read it on ao3 here or keep reading 

It was probably a cosmic joke that things like that would happen in so called haunted places when every move was being recorded.

He and Ryan sharing beds.

Ryan getting close to him to sleep in order to feel safe.

Calling Shane out of his “alone time with ghosts” because Ryan’s flashlight is not working and he wants his friend with him.

And God bless TJ for filming just their faces that one time when Ryan got spooked and held Shane’s hand on reflex.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

There is a limit on how long you can actually ignore something.

That limit, for Shane, was long ago.

It was pretty obvious for him that he was in love with Ryan, but apparently it wasn’t that obvious to the other man. In his head there was probably a very good and very straight explanation for the past year or so, and it ended with him getting a little defensive when his best friend tried to say something a little less platonic. When that happened, the subject always changed so fast Shane wasn’t even sure how that was possible.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

“Don’t call me baby”

Shane laughed, but didn’t insist on it.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

The first kiss came in a bar, after filming. The crew had gone already and the boys were drunk. They didn’t talk about it when they sobered up.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

The second and third kisses came mostly the same way and were left just as undiscussed as the first one.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

Shane stopped the fourth kiss from happening and said that maybe they should go on a date first. Ryan left the bar without a word.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

Somehow their friendship had not been affected by any of it. The banter was still there, along with the jokes and the wheezes and the trust and the movie nights. It only made Shane think more about what it could have been.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

Ryan went out with a few girls after that, but none more than one time. Shane didn’t ask about any of his dates, but he did bring his friend coffee in the mornings after. A shitty tentative of making his day better because Ryan’s sad face said that something was really wrong.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

He was laughing, as always, but his tone was somewhat surprised when he asked:

“Do you not know how love works?”

Shane thought about Ryan’s smile. About how he looked when he woke up in a location, somehow glad that the non-existent ghosts didn’t kill him over night. About the 3 am texts of his absolutely-not-compelling evidences that the undead walk the earth.

“Maybe I don’t”.

"But I would like to, with you" was left unsaid.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

When the fourth kiss did happen they were sober. Watching a movie. Sitting on Shane’s way-too-old couch and eating popcorn. Ryan started it, and the angle was weird and they were kinda laughing and it was just as clumsy as their drunk kisses, but without the lust of the previous ones. When it ended they kept their foreheads together and Ryan whispered:

“This should have been our first kiss. I’m sorry for the other ones”

Shane agreed.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

It was two months until Ryan let Shane hold his hand in public. A couple weeks after that they stopped hiding it from the office.  Mid November the episodes they filmed as a couple were being uploaded and the viewers quickly realised that something had changed.

------------------------ *** ------------------------

It was beginning of December when Ryan decided finally address it to the public.

“So, Ryan, the next question we’ve been getting a lot”, Shane said, and both wheezed.

“Yeah, yeah. This comes from Instagram: ‘are you guys dating?’”

Shane looked at Ryan, who laughed and looked at the camera.

“Yes, we are”

Shane didn’t lose any time.

“Yes. Next question.”

They had to cut the next part when they were editing because the two of them were laughing way too loud for way too long.

#shyan #fic #bfu

[andampers]

Gays go to Slytherin

I saw the Cursed Child on Broadway last week and can with a full throat recommend it for its technical achievements. From a story perspective I am not as enthusiastic. I'm pointlessly puritanical about the books so I never got too hyped on the Harry Potter movies, either. For the magical effects, and even for that more ephemeral magic of the theatre, I think anyone who goes to see the production will enjoy it. One component stuck out to me as particular in the context of JK Rowling wrestling characters written ten plus years ago, living twenty plus years ago, into the present day and its politics. (I won't concede Rowling's control of the canon on this, though I should point out the play's credited writer is Jack Thorne. Hers is the spirit, not the letter.) The two teen leads, Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter, have a relationship that in all but words is romantic. They're outsiders and don't quite understand why. They negotiate intimate physical contact - just hugs! - for the first time in that awkward, teenage, effortful way. Paternal denial, familiar from gay movies and gay nightmares and too often, gay lives, separates the boys. They long for each other from atop parallel staircases, like the leads on the poster for Sleepless in Seattle. The tension is too obvious to call subtext, and the gay content is hardly sublimated - it's just undiscussed. Why? Money, I'd wager. Box office would be compromised if the leads - 14 years old, in the action of the play - confessed their love, gay and undying, for each other. By coding their actions with the level of difficulty of a cereal box, Rowling can have it both ways: that queer sense of danger conferred by hiding love away; and a veritable mint in the newly renovated Lyric Theatre. One curious result of barely submerging the iceberg of gayness cis, white and male (the nation's favorite deviant sexuality): we find out, all gays go to Slytherin. There's some low hanging fruit in the association. Snakes are phallic (which the gays love), snakes are sibilant (which the gays are). The association goes deeper. Slytherin is where the play's boys are sorted. It's where Albus is kept from, when he and Scorpius are forcibly separated, and that late in life conversion does nothing to repair the relationship with Albus's father. Slytherin's is the iconography of intrigue, deception, lapsarian excess - aka, primordial two-pitched ~*~*~*~drama*~*~*~. Slytherin is the house of society removed, of petty cruelty, of cruel beauty. Slytherin is the house of blood anxiety. Harry Potter's most famous gay character, of course, is Albus Dumbledore. He wasn't in Slytherin. He was a Gryffindor. But Dumbledore came of age when sexual attraction between men wasn't an identity, it was an action. He's over a hundred when he dies in 1997. There was a burgeoning academic understanding of sexuality as identity when Dumbledore was sorted at 11. Even were the Sorting Hat aware of this, it did not approach our modern understanding that seems taken for granted now: who you sleep with determines who you are. Whatever Dumbledore got up to in his four poster can't have determined his house. After all, Hogwarts is a boarding school. There's not room enough for all of Hogwarts in Slytherin alone. Back then, being gay wasn't who you were, it was something you did. For better or worse, that's changed now, for us, and for this new Albus. We've accepted that sexuality is one of the ways we establish who we are. So what can we make of this assignment, of gays to Slytherin? It doesn't mean Rowling thinks gays are bad. One of the less successful projects of the books was to establish that being in Slytherin didn't mean you were a dark wizard. Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor and a traitor. Severus Snape, as the play reminds us, was a Slytherin and a hero. Rowling doesn't consign a quarter of the juvenile wizarding population to shady deals in Knockturn Alley. The connotation persists. Slytherin are sinister. Gays are deviant. And maybe that is the connection: gays and Slytherins suffer from unfair stigma. It's prosaic, but it's real, and fits the Harry Potter universe's larger lessons about the ugliness of prejudice. Harry is different from his son, and while that difference might define them, it needn't separate them. So the gays get their own little club, like they always wanted. Outsider queens, who transfigure their operative difference from shame to pride. What would be the point in being normal? Sheep go to heaven. Gays go to Slytherin.

#Cursed child #slytherin

[mermaidmaiabelle]

@dailyaleclightwood‘s alec appreciation week two: malec

The heavy silence of the small hours of the morning had fallen over the apartment, and Alec lay back and breathed in deeply. The bed was soft underneath his spine, the sheets smooth and everything feeling so comfortable. It was almost unnerving.

Alec didn’t think he’d ever been in a bed this comfortable. The solid wooden frames and sturdy mattresses of the Institute weren’t built for comfort. They were built for practicality. Besides, Alec was usually lucky if he got six hours of sleep a night, between training, night patrols and his other frequent duties as Acting Head of the Institute - at least, when the position was his. Even when it wasn’t, the other Shadowhunters of the Institute relied on him.

He didn’t need the kind of bed you could be comfortable in and relax in for the better part of a day, simply because Alec never had a day to waste lying around in bed. Magnus, however, had all the time in the world. Magnus also wasn’t the kind of person to deny himself the things he wanted in life. A comfortable place to sleep seemed like the least extravagant thing he could do.

Not that either of them were doing much sleeping quite yet.

Alec hadn’t precisely intended to stay over after their date. The Institute needed him, there were missions to check in on, reports to file, duties calling his name. Magnus had more or less needed to blackmail him into going to the Hunter’s Moon in the first place. But after their talk at the bar, Alec had offered to walk Magnus home and walking him home had quickly turned into walking him upstairs. He’d felt nervous the whole way home. He’d never had anyone like Magnus, never felt like this before. Magnus had changed everything for him. But Magnus… Magnus had history. He was a completely different person, coming from a completely different place in his life.

But then, the differences were what made them people. Differences were what made a relationship. Izzy and Jace were completely different to him, but that didn’t make Alec love them any less. Why would Magnus be any different?

Alec had intended to leave then and there, when they got home. But suddenly leaving had felt wrong, when there was such a question mark over their relationship. Alec had wanted to clear the air. To make it clear that none of it mattered to him, nothing but Magnus mattered to him.

And then Jace showed up and whatever plans he’d had were thrown out of the window before he could even make them.

It had been generous of Magnus to offer Jace a room. Alec knew exactly why Magnus was doing it too - not for Jace, but for him. Jace only ever came to Magnus’ when he needed something, and it felt strange, to have his brother just down the hall in this space. Magnus’ apartment had felt like a sacred retreat for so long, away from his family and the hassles of the Institute. Jace waltzing in felt like an invasion, although not in a bad way. The gentle throb of his parabatai rune gave away just how much Jace was feeling at the moment - which meant the blonde wasn’t asleep yet either.

Alec still didn’t know what had happened. It was late, and he hadn’t asked. It was only through virtue of Jace’s appearance that Magnus had been able to convince him to stay, that the Institute would survive without him for one night, and that Jace would need him in the morning more than that place would.

And so that was how Alec had ended up lying in Magnus’ bed, in a pair of borrowed sleep pants that were a little too short at the ankle. He really needed to bring some of his own stuff over. For emergencies. Obviously.

“Thank you,” Alec murmured into the dark, hand moving under the covers, accidentally bumping Magnus’. Alec turned his eye, gazing at the profile of the man beside him. They still hadn’t done… anything, really, and there was no question of it with his brother down the hall. But Magnus had never brought it up, and Alec was comfortable enough just sharing a bed for now. It was a lot to get used to. He’d never really slept with anyone at his side before.

He didn’t think his siblings counted, anyway.

“For letting Jace stay,” Alec clarified after a brief pause and a slight frown on Magnus’ face which immediately cleared. He smiled softly, reaching out across the gap in the bed, fingers gently brushing again, only this time decidedly less accidental.

“That’s quite alright,” Magnus assured him. “After all, I have the space.”

Given that Magnus seemed to be able to remodel entire rooms with a flick of his wrist, Alec doubted that space was ever a problem for the High Warlock of Brooklyn. His apartment probably broke the laws of physics somewhere. That was Magnus all over though. Breaking rules and creating his own.

“He’s just been through so much lately…” Alec murmured softly. Clary, Valentine, ending up on his ship, that desperate run to save Alec’s life, being branded a traitor and having to reclaim his position… Alec could understand that things had been rough. But they’d get better. They were Lightwoods. They accepted the consequences of their actions, and then worked to make things better. It was that simple.

“At least he has you,” Magnus replied easily, and Alec sighed.

“I wasn’t there for him when he needed me. I let Clary get between us and then when he needed me I couldn’t -”

“Alec, none of that was your fault,” Magnus cut in, looking over with concern. Alec sighed a little, staring up at the ceiling. He’d been hearing that a lot lately. That it wasn’t his fault. But he needed someone to blame, and why shouldn’t it be him? If he’d only been faster, more vigilant, more dedicated… maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe Valentine would have never taken Jace, maybe Jocelyn would still be alive. If he’d only been better.

“I shouldn’t have waited until the wedding to -” Alec stopped himself, thinking about that day all over again. Lydia dressed in pale gold, Jace at his side. His family supporting his decision, knowing his sacrifice and knowing it wasn’t what he wanted. But Alec couldn’t see a world where he could ever have what he wanted. It wasn’t his fate. He’d always known that was, marrying a respectable girl from a respectable family, to carry on the line and run the Institute at his side. His family’s reputation downslide hadn’t created that, no matter what Izzy thought. It had always been his fate.

Following his heart just wasn’t something he could afford to dream of. Not until Magnus. Magnus had changed everything. Magnus was everything. Magnus had made him brave enough to start to take decisions for himself and not everyone else around him. Magnus had pulled that out of him, encouraged that in him. Not Jace, not Izzy - Magnus.

And Magnus would never lie to him. Maybe he did need to stop being so hard on himself.

“I’m sorry, is that weird to bring up?” Alec asked softly, and Magnus smiled, shaking his head a little.

“Hardly,” Magnus encouraged gently. Alec smiled. Magnus was always so open, so willing to listen to whatever Alec wanted to talk about. It was strange for him, when he’d spent most of his life dealing with people who cared about their own opinions more than anything else in the room. He could understand, if Magnus didn’t want to talk about his almost wedding to Lydia Branwell. It brought up a whole load of what ifs and could have beens, none of them things Alec liked to consider. But it had been an important event in his life, in his journey. Without it… well, who knew where he’d be.

“That wedding fixed a lot of relationships in my life,” Alec murmured. He’d felt so alone, isolated. Jace off doing lord knows what with the Fray girl, Izzy on trial, Magnus being… well, Magnus. The wedding was when all those things had resolved. He’d gotten his sister back, his parabatai at his side and the day had ended with the man of his dreams at his side.

Not bad for one little thing, really.

“Can I ask you something?” Magnus murmured after a moment, and Alec nodded tentatively, peering through the dim light to catch a glimpse of Magnus’ face, and those warm brown eyes. Magnus didn’t usually ask for permission. It was a slightly worrying sign. “What you said at the bar… that Lydia was your only ex…”

“Magnus,” Alec started, panic rising a little. This was why Alec had never mentioned it. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it all, his inexperience and woeful romantic history. He didn’t want it to be an obstacle, when they had so many. Magnus clearly detected the mood of Alec’s tone, because he quickly corrected himself.

“No, no. I meant what I said. I don’t care how many people you haven’t been with. But I was just wondering… was the wedding your first kiss?”

Alec held his breath for a moment before letting it go all at once. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about kissing before. Of course he had, it was only natural. But dreams didn’t become reality through wishing, and Alec had never really had the means or the opportunity to get any practice. He’d always been so worried about what would happen if someone found out he was gay. It didn’t leave a lot of room for trying to find boys to kiss in the Institute, or Idris. And he wasn’t like Izzy and Jace. He didn’t get out much.

Or he hadn’t, before Magnus.

“Was it that obvious?” Alec murmured, a little embarrassed. Magnus chuckled, rolling onto his side to get a decent look at the man at his side. Alec tilted his head, shifting to get a look at the expression of pure joy and affection on Magnus’ face.

“Just the opposite actually. It’s part of why I assumed you had more exes than just Lydia.”

Oh. Did that mean he was a good kisser? Well, chalk one victory up to extreme fantasising and liberal internet usage. After which he had always purged his browsing history, but those were things best left undiscussed.

“I’m sorry if it’s weird,” Alec couldn’t help but apologise, eyes darting to the ceiling, but Magnus just reached out, gently touching, encouraging Alec to meet his eyes. Alec willingly followed, turning in the bed to face his boyfriend, hands brushing, fingers touching. Electricity spread through him at the point of contact, and Alec fought back a shiver. Magnus always made him feel so… alive.

“It’s my privilege to have been your first kiss, Alexander,” Magnus said, with such warmth in his voice that Alec couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him, recreating that moment in some way. Magnus was special and extraordinary and if Alec was being honest, he’d gladly wait for him a thousand times over.

They said you always remembered your first. Alec couldn’t picture a universe where he’d ever forget Magnus Bane, regardless of whether he was first, second or a hundredth. But he was glad Magnus had the chance to be all of those things, either way.

Magnus smiled into the kiss and they gently broke apart after a moment, bodies lying just a little closer together.

“I should thank you, really,” Alec murmured. “You changed everything for me. You made it all… real,” Alec explained, sure that his words didn’t cover how he felt. For so long, everything he wanted had been some silly fantasy he could never accept, let alone dream of having. And then Magnus had come along and shaken that all up. No matter what happened, Alec was always going to be grateful for that.

He was a different person because Magnus was in his life. And that was a good thing.

“You would have gotten there on your own,” Magnus replied easily, and Alec conceded the point a little. It wasn’t like he’d come out for Magnus. The wedding hadn’t really been about Magnus, it had been about him taking what he wanted for a change. But Magnus had encouraged him, guided him where he could. And it mattered. “You changed a lot for me too, Alexander Lightwood,” Magnus added, and Alec chuckled.

“Oh yeah?”

“First kiss in an Institute. First kiss with a Shadowhunter, too,” Magnus said, and Alec smiled.

“What do you think so far, High Warlock?” Alec asked, tone gently teasing. He knew Magnus was trying to make him feel better, but it was still fun to think about. First Shadowhunter. But he supposed the attitudes of the past didn’t leave many of his ancestors open to getting intimate with the Downworld.

“Oh, those kisses definitely need more… investigation, Shadowhunter,” Magnus replied, tone equally light and teasing. “But tomorrow. We should get some sleep. You need to get back to the Institute in the morning.”

Alec sighed a little, nodding. He’d complain more if Magnus wasn’t right. Which he was, of course he was. It was already far later than he’d intended, and he’d need to get back early after his extended absence. He needed all the sleep he could get.

“Goodnight, Magnus,” Alec murmured, curling under the duvet a little.

“Sweet dreams, Alexander,” Magnus replied, words whispered like a prayer.

They fell asleep with their hands still joined, and Alec felt like he was home.

#alecappreciation2017 #lightwoodlesbians #magnusandalexander #malec #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #myfic #im not sure this is good #but I Tried #for charl bc u asked #and u shall receive #even if this is a weak attempt

[faierius]

In His Shoes (3. We Don’t Talk About That)

               Noctis stared at his own face. Not a reflection. Not a picture. His own face. He was not meant to see himself from this angle, and it was disorienting. He assumed the others felt the same. Did he always look this way, or was there influence from his body’s current occupant? Surely this grouchy scowl wasn’t something which always adorned his features.

               “Highness.”

               His title coming out of his own mouth, in his voice. Weird. “Yeah?”

               “We’re supposed to be having a discussion here, remember?”

               “M’listening,” he answered, tilting his head. There was something morbidly fascinating about studying his own features through a different set of eyes.

               “You very clearly are not. Please, this is a serious situation, and I would appreciate it if you would treat it as such.”

               “I am! But c’mon, Specs. You have to admit this is a unique chance. Haven’t you ever been curious about how you look to someone else?”

               Sighing, Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never given it much thought, honestly. And looking at myself while talking to you is giving me a headache. Noctis, please I know this is an uncomfortable topic, but I really need you to focus.”

               Slouching against the side of the Regalia, Noct looked to where Gladio and Prompto were holding a similar conversation at their campsite. It was decided they needed to set some ground rules, and it was best done in confidence with the person they swapped with.

               “You and I will be experiencing things neither of us was meant to experience. This includes knowledge of one another’s bodies. Any daily functions should be performed with detachment as not to embarrass one another.”

               “Got it. Don’t stare at your junk when I have to pee.”

               “Prince Noctis!”

               “What?” he laughed. Maybe this was all taking its time to sink it, but the entire situation was laughable. Someone had to make jokes, even it, absurdly enough, it was him.

               “Please be a little less bawdy about this. If we want to come out of this ordeal more-or-less the same as we’ve gone in, some things need to be said. Now, given the status of our relationships, I feel we need to make a no physical contact policy. Engaging in any sort of romantic rendezvous would be a gross breach of trust.”

               Noctis cringed with his entire body. “I wouldn’t be caught dead messing around with that Behemoth.”

               Ignis’ brow twitched into a scowl. He was torn between telling Noctis that was his Behemoth he was insulting, and asking the man if he was so shallow he would no longer want anything to do with Prompto if he didn’t look like Prompto.

               “You’d better not get any ideas in your head, either,” Noctis grumbled, crossing his arms.

               Ignis scoffed. “Hardly. But on that note, any…marks we may find will remain undiscussed, understood?” Pink tinged his cheeks.

               “With the way you teased me and Prom, I never would have thought something like this would embarrass you, Specs.”

               “And I would have thought it would bother you more than it seems to be,” Ignis retorted.

               Noctis exhaled a sharp breath. “Apparently you don’t blush as easily as I do because I am mortified.” He readjusted the obnoxious glasses on his nose and sighed again. “I wanna talk about this stuff as much now as I did in middle school. Personal boundaries should be obvious.”

               Ignis nodded in agreement. “I also feel we should take time to acquaint ourselves with weapons and skills while we’re like this. It wouldn’t do to be caught unawares.”

               “Shouldn’t the first order of business be finding out what that daemon was and how we can reverse this?”

               “Ideally, yes. But should we find ourselves in combat, we ought to familiarize ourselves with the weapons we’ll be using. It shouldn’t be a problem for us, as we are well versed in various forms of combat. Those two, however, will have difficulty. Prompto, not having the stature for it, is unfamiliar with Great Swords, and Gladio hasn’t much experience with firearms.”

               Noctis dipped his head in a nod. The man had a point. “How do you think they’re getting on?” he asked, directing his attention to the two men pacing back and forth on the Haven.

               Ignis studied them for a while. “They aren’t as familiar with one another as we are. Boundaries may be a little more difficult for them to set.”

               “Prom’s really withdrawn about a lot of stuff. Will Gladio respect that?”

               “Give him a little more credit, Noctis. You ought to know the type of man he is.”

               “I do, but they were pretty mad at each other.”

               “So were we.”

               “I guess. I mean, I’m still exhausted, filthy, and pissed, but we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

               Hearing such casual wording come out of his mouth, in his voice, was bizarre, to say the least. Sighing through his nose, he watched Noctis as the young man kept his eyes on their friends. Though it was his own body, he could see Noctis inside. The way he moved, held himself, stood silently watching was very much like Noctis even though he was seeing the body of Ignis Scientia perform the actions. The same could be said for Prompto and Gladio. Their differences are stark, but body language went a long way as well. It was almost like watching the boys do imitations of one another. Amusing, in its own right.

               Prompto, in Gladio’s body, paced, fidgeted, and gestured as he spoke. Gladio, in Prompto’s much smaller frame, replied with only a few hand movements, standing tall with his chest puffed out. Like a puppy posturing to an adult dog.

               Ignis smirked.

               “Hey.”

               “Yes?”

               “I know Gladio’s in there, but that’s still my Prompto.”

               “Relax, Noctis.”

               The man narrowed his eyes, watching Ignis for a moment before turning back to observe the others.

               Up on the hill, Gladio and Prompto talked. Or argued. Or something.

               Prompto frowned. “They’re watching us.”

               “Probably trying to decide if we’re done.”

               “We would be if you’d be reasonable for two seconds.”

               Gladio sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. He didn’t know if he could get used to the smooth skin of Prompto’s face. He’d had facial hair pretty much since the time he could grow it. “How am I being unreasonable?” he asked, blinking slowly.

               “Oh, I dunno, how about refusing to respect my privacy?” Prompto asked with an exaggerated gesture of his hands.

               “What privacy? The four of us spend every minute of the day together.”

               “I still have…secrets,” he muttered, eyes flicking subconsciously to the band which permanently adorned his wrist.

               Gladio didn’t miss the darting eyes. “This?” he asked, raising his arm. He looked up to see unfamiliar expressions crossing his own face. Fear being the most prominent.

               “Please, Gladio,” Prompto whispered, lips parted. “I know it’s asking a lot, but please don’t take that off. Don’t even look underneath. I’m begging you, pal.”

               Gladio frowned, seeing small, soft Prompto beneath the gruff, scared exterior that made Gladiolus Amicitia. He didn’t like any of this. “Okay. Relax, Prompto. Does Noct even know what you’re hiding under here?”

               Prompto gave a tiny shake of his head.

               “Oh.” Gladio dropped his arm and exhaled a heavy sigh. “Shit. Well, I won’t look. I know we’ve been at each other’s throats, but I’m not that much of an asshole.”

               Relief washed over what used to be Gladio’s face. “Thank you. Uh, one more thing?”

               “Yeah, sure.”

               “Please don’t go shirtless while you’re borrowing my body.”

               “Why? Too embarrassed by your scrawny body?” scoffed Gladio, making a show of flexing one arm and patting his bicep.

               “Hardly. I’ve got plenty of muscle,” Prompto answered, not taking the bait like Noct often did. “Though I do have some…image issues?”

               Gladio narrowed his eyes. “You, the embodiment of confidence and exuberant personality, have body image problems? I’m not buying it.”

               “Hey, we’ve all got problems, Mr. Never Wears A Shirt,” Prompto grumbled, eyeing his chest with disgust. “Despite being well-toned, I’m not a fan of the way my belly looks, and I prefer to keep it covered, okay?” He muttered the last few words, refusing to meet Gladio’s eye.

               “Okay, I can respect that.”

               “Anything you want me to do?” Prompto asked, feeling a little safer with his body in Gladio’s possession.

               The big guy thought for a moment. “Nah, I’m pretty much an open book.”

               Prompto scrubbed a hand over the cropped hair at the side of his head. “Okay, well, that’s easy enough.”

               “Just…don’t mess around with Noct while you’re in there.”

               “Same goes for you and Iggy.”

               “Works for me.” Gladio extended a hand.

               Prompto accepted the hand, giving it a firm shake. The pair stared at one another before grins washed over their faces. Breaking the handshake, Gladio gave Prompto a playful shove, only this time the normally smaller man didn’t budge.

               “Suddenly this isn’t as much fun.”

               Shaking his head, Prompto waved at Ignis and Noctis. He hid his grin as the two walked over. Noct, usually casual in his gait, sometimes slouching, sometimes just lazy in his steps, was now walking with Ignis’ confident stride, minus the unavoidable hitch caused by Noctis’ old injury. Ignis’ body on the other hand, under the influence of Noct, now moved with a slower, laid-back pace.

               “Alright?” Ignis asked when they joined Gladio and Prompto.

               “We’ve worked out what lines not to cross,” Gladio confirmed, dropping into one of the camp chairs. Used to his bigger size, he misjudged the length of his legs and hit the edge of the seat. He hit the ground hard, flipping the chair onto his head.

               A rush of air passed Noctis’ lips and he doubled over, laughing.

               Ignis hid his smirk behind his hand.

               Prompto quirked a brow. “Hey big guy, I’d appreciate it if you could return the goods in the state you found them. I don’t need bruises on my butt.”

               Noctis was certain exhaustion had a lot to do with it, but seeing this whole scene play out, Prompto with a Gladio-esque glare, Gladio with Prompto’s soft amusement, his own face with maturely restrained laughter, was absurd. And hilarious. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

               “Okay, knock it off. It wasn’t that funny,” Gladio muttered, getting back to his feet.

               “It was hilarious!” panted Noctis, bent over with his hands on his knees.

               “I thought it was rather endearing,” Ignis admitted.

               “Aw, c’mon. Not you, too Ig’,” Gladio complained, dusting off his backside.

               Ignis shrugged, crossing his arms. He wasn’t entirely sure if he thought Gladio’s fall was cute because he was Ignis reacting to an uncommon thing for Gladio to do, or if this was Noct’s body reacting to a common thing for Prompto to do. Things like this would become very difficult to discern as time went on, he had no doubt.

               “Iggy? You okay in there?”

               Torn from his thoughts, Ignis raised his head to see golden brown eyes watching him with concern. “Ah. Yes, fine. Thank you, Prompto,” he replied after a moment of hesitation. “What do you say we have some breakfast before we start the laborious task of fixing our current predicament?” Turning away from the others, he hoped they didn’t see his brow twitch into a scowl.

               This wasn’t good. Gladio’s eyes didn’t give him any reaction at all. Because their relationship was still relatively fresh, any expression, no matter the intensity, directed at him with those beautiful eyes always did something to him. A breath hitch, a skipped heartbeat, a swarm of butterflies to briefly take up residence in his belly, or any sort of overly romantic problems. Not this time. Those physiological responses were not tied to this body.

               This presented an entirely new batch of problems. Ignis hoped they could reverse whatever magic had taken hold of them before it caused irreparable damage not only to their minds but their hearts as well.

#writing #ffxv #ff15 #fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic #noctis #noct #prince noctis #prince noctis lucis caelum #prince noct #ignis #ignis scientia #iggy #specs #prompto #prompto argentum #gladio #gladiolus amicitia #gladdy #gladnis #promptis #gladio x ignis #noctis x prompto #body swap #faierius writes