#something something ‘I used to be a wild thing but now I cannot live without you’ something something

[hell-river]

You don't understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need.

#tonight I am making art about jack. tomorrow? who knows #something something ‘I used to be a wild thing but now I cannot live without you’ something something #this song and ‘moonshiners’ by Goodnight Texas are Jack’s songs #perhaps oneday ill draw Gus and Hope lmao. you know. the main characters. #jack tag #my art #hell river art #hell river #ocs #original character #coyote #shapeshifter #hozier #bookblr #writeblr #artblr #digital art

[gothhabiba]

Hi, this is very ignorant. I'm trying to read as much as I can on Palestine and Zionism but there is one point I cannot find an answer for. Given that Zionism is not Judaism, given that at the beginning most Jewish people did not share this view and was actually supported by christians with antisemitic views, given that it was conceptualized as a colonial project that could only be actualized by ethnically cleanse Palestine, one thing I don't know how to disagree with Zionists is the idea that Jewish people do come from that land. Even if European jews are probably not genetically related to the Jewish people from there, I think Jewishness is something that can be constructed as related to that land. This of course does not mean that Palestinians are not natives too and they have every right to their land. However I don't really know how to answer when Jewish (Zionists) tell me that Jewish people fled that land during the diaspora. Other than "yeah but the people that stayed are native that underwent christianization before, arabization later, grew a sense of nationhood in the 19th century and are Palestinians now"

It's a fundamental misunderstanding of what "indigeneity" is to believe that it means "whoever has the oldest claim to the land." Rather, to describe a people as "indigenous" is a reference to their current relationship to the government and to the land—namely that they have been or are being dispossessed from that land in favour of other private owners (settlers); they have a separate, inferior status to settlers according to the law, explicitly; they are shut out of institutions created by the settler state, explicitly; they are targeted implicitly by the laws of the settler state (e.g. Israeli prohibitions against harvesting wild thyme or using donkeys or horses for transportation); the settler state does not punish violence against them; &c. &c.

It is a settler-colonialist state that creates indigeneity; without one, it is perfectly possible for immigrants to move to and live in a new location without becoming settlers, with the superior cultural and legal status and suppression of a legally inferior population that that entails.

If all that were going on were some Jewish people feeling a personal or religious connexion to this land and wanting to move there, accepting the existing people and culture and living with them, not expelling and killing local populations and creating a settler-colonialist state that privileges them at the expense of extant populations, that would be a completely different situation. But any assertion of the land's fundamental Jewish-ness (really they mean white or European Jewishness—the Jewish Arabs who were already in Palestine never seem to figure in these arguments) is a canard that distracts from the fundamental issue, which is a people's right to resist dispossession, ethnic cleansing, and genocide.

Decolonize Palestine lays out some of the ethnic and cultural history of the region, but follows it up with:

So, what does this all mean for Palestine? Absolutely nothing. Although the argument has many ahistorical assumptions and claims, it is not these which form its greatest weakness. The whole argument is a trap. The basic implication of this line of argumentation is as follows: If the Jewish people were in Palestine before the Arabs, then the land belongs to them. Therefore, the creation of Israel would be justified. From my experience, whenever this argument is used, the automatic response of Palestinians is to say that their ancestors were there first. These ancestors being the Canaanites. The idea that Palestinians are the descendants of only one particular group in a region with mass migrations and dozens of different empires and peoples is not only ahistorical, but this line of thought indirectly legitimizes the original argument they are fighting against. This is because it implies that the only reason Israel’s creation is unjustified is because their Palestinian ancestors were there first. It implies that the problem with the argument lies in the details, not that the argument as a whole is absolute nonsense and shouldn’t even be entertained. The ethnic cleansing, massacres and colonialism needed to establish Israel can never be justified, regardless of who was there first. It’s a moot point. Even if we follow the argument that Palestinians have only been there for 1300 years, does this suddenly legitimize the expulsion of hundreds of thousands? Of course not. There is no possible scenario where it is excusable to ethnically cleanse a people and colonize their lands. Human rights apply to people universally, regardless of whether they have lived in an area for a year or ten thousand years. If we reject the “we were there first” argument, and not treat it as a legitimizing factor for Israel’s creation, then we can focus on the real history, without any ideological agendas. We could trace how our pasts intersected throughout the centuries. After all, there is indeed Jewish history in Palestine. This history forms a part of the Palestinian past and heritage, just like every other group, kingdom or empire that settled there does. We must stop viewing Palestinian and Jewish histories as competing, mutually exclusive entities, because for most of history they have not been. These positions can be maintained while simultaneously rejecting Zionism and its colonialism. After all, this ideologically driven impulse to imagine our ancestors as some closed, well defined, unchanging homogenous group having exclusive ownership over lands corresponding to modern day borders has nothing to do with the actual history of the area, and everything to do with modern notions of ethnic nationalism and colonialism.

I would also be careful about mentioning a sense of "nationhood" or "national identity" in this context, as it could seem to imply that people need a "national" identity (a very specific and very new idea) in order not to deserve genocide. Actually the idea that Palestinians lacked a national identity (of the kind that developed in 19th-century Europe) is commonly used to justify Zionism. Again from Decolonize Palestine:

This slogan ["A land without a people for a people without a land"] persists to this day because it was never meant to be literal, but colonial and ideological. This phrase is yet another formulation of the concept of Terra Nullius meaning “nobody’s land”. In one form or the other, this concept played a significant role in legitimizing the erasure of the native population in virtually every settler colony, and laying down the ‘legal’ and ‘moral’ basis for seizing native land. According to this principle, any lands not managed in a ‘modern’ fashion were considered empty by the colonists, and therefore up for grabs. Essentially, yes there are people there but no people that mattered or were worth considering. There is no doubt that Zionism is a settler colonial movement intent on replacing the natives. As a matter of fact, this was a point of pride for the early Zionists, as they saw the inhabitants of the land as backwards and barbaric, and that a positive aspect of Zionism would be the establishment of a modern nation state there to act as a bulwark against these ‘regressive’ forces in the east [You can read more about this here]. A characteristic feature of early Zionist political discourse is pretending that Palestinians exist only as individuals or sometimes communities, but never as constituting a people or a nation. This was accompanied by the typical arrogance and condescension towards the natives seen in virtually every settler colonial movement. That the early settlers interacted with the natives while simultaneously claiming the land was empty was not seen as contradictory to them. According to these colonists, even if some scattered, disorganized people did exist, they were not worthy of the land they inhabited. They were unable to transform the land into a modern functioning nation state, extract resources efficiently and contribute to ‘civilization’ through the free market, unlike the settlers. Patrick Wolfe’s scholarship on Australia illustrates this dynamic and how it was exploited to establish the settler colony.

#Anonymous #questions #long post / #Palestine #Israel

[livixbobbiex]

12 ADHD hacks that are actually helpful

Record EVERYTHING in your phone's calendar app the moment you find out about it. Mine gives me an alarm automatically before the calendar time - has saved my ass many times.

Get a little bowl or equivalent for objects like keys. That's now your key bowl. You will not lose them ever again.

Write down deadlines as early before they're actually due as you can justify. My ADHD ass never remembers the actual due date. I get all of the stress fuelled productivity with none of the actual danger.

Handwrite notes. I have no idea why, but the process of pen and paper makes me remember things much better.

If you have to be somewhere like class or work, set aside time to go for a walk first. Honestly would be great all days, but I can't even make myself do this, so it's good if you have to be out anyway (and maybe would have been in waiting mode). Burning off energy helps my brain.

When retrieving laundry (ie its dry and you have to fold it), dump it all out in the most inconvenient place possible. I like the bed. It forces me to deal with it, rather than letting it sit there.

Turn on subtitles when you watch anything - even YouTube and live TV. I didn't realise how lifechanging this was until last year.

The Breath of the Wild soundtrack is weirdly the best background music ever. It's the perfect level of stimulating without distracting

Use text to speech for long walls of text. It's great.

Did I mention phone alarms? I use it for everything - ie when I know I might hyperfocus on something for too long.

There's literally no obligation to eat 3 meals at set times. If eating snacks throughout the day works better for you, then do that. There's also no shame in things like pre chopped fruit/veggies.

I struggle with transitions sometimes. A way around this is keeping a ton of water next to me. When I get frustrated about being stuck, I just drink as much water as I can. Eventually, this means I have to pee, and physically cannot ignore it. The act of going to the bathroom is sometimes enough to change activity.

Disclaimer that this is my own experience with ADHD, which may be totally different to someone else's. But hey, these are some things I've always found useful.

EDIT because this has a lot of reblogs wow! Please feel free to share even if you're a different type of neurodiverse, or even straight up neurotypical. At the end of the day most of these are focus/executive dysfunction tips, and I'm glad they're useful no matter what your situation is!

#adhd #neurodiversity #actually adhd #neurodivergent

[heavyhitterheaux]

Drive Safe Part 3

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: Our wild ride has come to an end 🥹😘

Synopsis: You confront your best friend for what she did to you behind your back all while trying to make sense of your future with Jack. The ultimate question is, are you willing to give your ex-husband another chance?

Pairing: Ex-husband!Jack Harlow x Ex-wife!Reader

Read Part 1 and Part 2 first

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

After hearing Taylor confess what you had heard Jack tell Urban left you in a daze. So, he in fact was telling the truth, however your best friend or someone who you thought was your best friend went behind your back and betrayed you. Never did you think that in a million years that she would do something like this and try to play innocent and continue on with life as usual as if nothing happened.

“Y/N, I know you're pissed at me and for good reason and I know I shouldn't have done it and…”

You immediately cut her off.

“Let me ask you something. Did you honestly think that you could do that and ultimately get away with it? Yes, me and him have our issues but stepping out on one another because of a disagreement has never been a reality. No matter how mad at each other we are. Bottom line, you took advantage of him being in a vulnerable stage. Even if I am still very mad at him, I'm going to defend him when someone does him wrong. And in this case, you were in fact… wrong.”

“I…”

“I thought that at least you were one of the last people I could count on to have my back, but low and behold you wanted my man for yourself. Everyone has treated me like shit since this first happened and since obviously my feelings don't matter to you or anyone else, there's nothing left for me to say. We are done here and you can forget about being their godmother. Lose my number and do not call me again for as long as you live.”

“Wait, just….. we're throwing our friendship away over a mistake I made? I confessed and I apologized. I don't know what came over me to do that and deep down I knew it wasn't right. But I just….”

“A mistake you hid from me for damn near two years and it wasn't a mistake actually. I had my suspicions, but I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, thinking no, there's no way in the world that my best friend would do that to me. You were in your right mind and knew what you were doing. And to think I trusted you. I've told you things In confidence that I have never told anyone else and you just….I need to leave. And you can pick up the tab since you want to be kissing other people's husbands.”

“It’s never going to happen again, I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

“You've already lost me as a friend from the moment you tried to kiss Jack. It's not going to happen again, because you are going to stay as far away as possible from us. Did you really think that I would forgive you for doing something like that to me? You broke my trust and that is not something that cannot be repaired overnight. Oh, and one last thing, I knew what you did for months now and was just simply waiting for you to confess.”

Taylor was sitting there absolutely stunned and unable to speak. And it looked as if her eyes were starting to water.

“Didn't think it was going to take this long, but here we are. I'm taking my food to go and have the day you deserve. And you can save your tears for someone who actually cares.”

Without another word, you slid back from the table and went to the front of the restaurant to let them know that you wanted your order to go and that Taylor would be paying for it. 

Once you got outside in your rental car, the tears started to roll down your face. You were proud of yourself, but also hurting. You felt that at this point, you didn't have anyone anymore and you simply wanted to go back home to Louisville or Atlanta rather and be away from it all. Because Atlanta was the only place where you felt that your life actually made sense. Louisville held too many memories for you and every single one of them had to do with Jack. 

You had gotten back to the beach house in record time and stared at your phone contemplating if you were going to call Jack or not to let him know that you had talked to Taylor. Making your way inside, you sat everything down in the kitchen before making your way upstairs to the bedroom since your desire to eat anything was now gone. You picked up your phone and then shook your head and placed it on the dresser before the tears started falling again.

If you knew the shitstorm that would happen when Jack asked for you to marry him, you probably would have never done it. But who were you kidding? You knew deep down that you still would have said yes despite what was going on around you at the present moment. Did you see yourself marrying him again? Only time would be able to tell. The most important thing that you needed to focus on right now was trying to heal. 

Jack played with his phone in his hands contemplating calling your older sister, Danielle, but had a strong feeling that she wouldn't want to hear anything that he had to say.

But he had to try.

He was willing to do absolutely anything to get you to forgive him and get him to marry him again. Even though you told him that marriage was definitely off the table, in the back of his mind and deep down he knew that if he wasn't able to get married to you again that he wouldn't get married again at all. You were the love of his life and he ruined it.

Before he backed out, he quickly hit her number to call her as his heart was damn near beating out of his chest.

And now he was hoping she didn't answer. 

But luck wasn't on his side and she did.

“Hello?”

“Dani, it's Jack.”

“I know. I have something called caller id on my iphone.”

“Umm….”

“What do you need?”

“Um, for your little sister to stop ignoring my calls and talk to me.”

All Dani did was scoff before responding.

“And you think that you deserve to talk to her after what you did?” Dani asked and now Jack was starting to regret ever picking up the phone to call her.

“Dani, she's pregnant.”

“I am aware. I was there when she took the test. What's your point?”

“Dani, please. I just want her to talk to me so she can hopefully forgive me and we can get back together.”

“Jack, I told you to do one thing when it came to her. ONE. Do you remember what that was?”

“Take care of her.”

“Hmm, and did you do like I asked?”

“Well…”

“No. You didn't. Instead you hurt my baby girl and quite frankly, I’m surprised she stayed with you as long as she did. That girl LOVES you and would do anything for you, but instead you let your little fame get to your head. As much as she would call me crying all times of the night over you, you honestly think you deserve to be in a relationship with her again?”

“I know I've messed up and that I've hurt her, but all I want to do is make it right. I don't want anyone else or be married to anyone else. I didn't even want to sign the divorce papers!”

All Dani did was sigh before responding.

“You better listen to me and listen to me good. I will do what I can, but it is ultimately her decision. If she gets back with you, fine. I'll support it. If she doesn't, I'm also going to support it. But one thing I'm not going to tolerate is you disrespecting her. That is the mother of three of your big headed children so give her the respect she deserves. She's in Miami and I'm going to check on her so I'll do my best to see if she’ll talk to you. No promises.”

“That's literally all I ask.”

“But if she says no, unless it has to do with your unborn children, you better leave her the fuck alone.”

Not realizing that you fell asleep after confronting Taylor, you woke up to see that it was dark outside and had no clue what time it was. Grabbing your phone and wincing from the light as you put your password in, you saw that it was around nine at night.

Sighing to yourself, you threw the comforter away from your body to make your way downstairs to come face to face with your older sister who was currently sitting in the living room and scrolling away on her phone. 

Hearing your footsteps come up behind her, she quickly greeted you.

“Lil Bit, I thought you were going to sleep until next week.”

“Uh? What are you doing here?” You sleepily asked as you rubbed your eyes.

“Don't you think I know when you need me?”

“I'm fine.”

“Are you?” She asked as you came to sit across from her.

You wanted to say yes, that you were indeed in fact fine, but the words just weren't coming out. Instead, something else did.

“I miss him and I HATE myself for feeling like this.” You breathed out while wrapping your arms around yourself.

“It's not like it was a one night stand. You two were MARRIED. And have known each other since you two were fourteen. That doesn't go away overnight. There's going to be ups and downs with healing from that. It isn't linear.”

“But I'm just so MAD at him for what he did. No matter how much he tries to take it back and apologize, what's done is done. And that song felt like a legit slap to the face.”

“He's not perfect, but neither are you. He definitely could have gone about it a different way, but what's done is done and the only thing you can do is move forward from it.”

“He called you, didn't he?” You asked as you were eyeing Dani.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“DANIELLE….”

“He did and in not so many words, begged for me to convince you to talk to him and to stop ignoring his calls.”

“And? What did you tell him?”

“After I threatened him, I said that I would try to convince you, but no promises. He has a show in Miami in two days so I figured you two can talk then. If you want to, that is.”

“I don't know If I want to.” You answered being completely honest. 

“You said you missed him.”

“I miss a lot of things, but I've learned to adjust.”

“You aren't adjusting. You're avoiding it.”

“I don't remember asking for a therapy session.”

“Look, I get that you're hurting and want to take some time for yourself, but you cannot keep this bottled up because you are legit going to explode.” 

“What are people going to say if I take him back?”

“Who gives a flying fuck? That's your business and no one else's. Two people would be in that relationship and not the entire world.”

“But he legit disrespected me multiple times.” 

“Y/N, if you are looking for me to tell you what to do, it’s not going to happen. In the end, this has to be a decision that you have to live with. No one else. Just know that whatever you decide, I will support you 100%.”

Before you answered her, you simply sighed.

“What venue is he performing at on Saturday?”

—-

Saturday finally rolled around and you had been on edge for the entire day. The time for you to leave was inching closer and closer and you were seriously about to back out of it altogether. Taking a deep breath, you gave yourself a once over in the floor length mirror at your black dress that you were wearing along with a pair of your Steve Madden sandals and was satisfied with how the outfit came together. You had straightened your hair earlier in the day, so the only thing left to do was to confront him.

You had been confronting a lot of people lately and wanted for this to be the end of it.

Dani volunteered to go with you and the two of you rode in silence to the venue with her taking quick glances at you to see that you were scrolling on your phone from time to time. Once the two of you arrived and made your way inside, Jack was already on stage and Urban had quickly spotted the two of you.

“Hi Urby.” You said as he engulfed you in a bear hug.

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I didn’t know either until two days ago.”

“He’ll be happy to see you. Come this way so I can take you two backstage so you can watch from the side.”

“Hmm, we’ll see if that still rings true after I talk to him.”

All Urban did was hold his hands up in defense before shrugging since he knew that you were just about at your wits end with everything that had been going on. 

You and Dani quickly followed behind Urban and since everyone recognized you, you were able to get backstage with no problem. But you also knew in the back of your mind that your so-called ex-best friends were probably there as well, right along with Neelam. And of course she had spotted you.

“Y/N?”

“The one and only unless there’s another one that I don’t know about?” You quickly said to her as Dani stifled a laugh.

“Can we…?” She started to say, but you immediately cut her off.

“No. I’m here for one person and one person only. If I wanted to talk to any of the rest of you, I would have told you. I’ll let you know when I’m ready whenever that time comes.”

“I.. fair enough. You both can come over here to watch him from the side.”

It took less than five minutes for Jack to spot you standing on the side and he got the biggest smile on his face and you simply gave him a tight lipped smile in return. You did your part of willing to open the lines of communication, but if it was something that you didn’t want to hear, you were immediately going to cut it off.

Once his set was over, he quickly jogged off the stage towards you and opened his arms for a hug which surprisingly you actually returned.

You had missed this feeling. 

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” You asked him and he quickly nodded as he led the two of you to his dressing room.

Once the door was closed, you let him have it. 

“Babe? Is everything okay? What are you doing here? And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“Don't call me that, Jackman. You lost the privilege to do so. But let’s just cut to the chase shall we? You called Dani to get me to talk to you so here I am. Now onto my most pressing question, why didn't you tell me what Taylor did?” 

Jack, obviously taken aback, cleared his throat before answering you. And all he did was rock back and forth on his heels before sighing.

“Because I didn't think you would believe me if I had told you when it originally happened.”

“But not to say anything at all? You were supposed to protect me, we're supposed to protect each other! I had the fakest person under my nose for the longest and you said NOTHING.”

“I…. I didn't know what to do. You already didn't want to be bothered with me and I didn't want to create an even bigger mess. Wait, she told you?”

“Yes and kept asking me before she did if you had said something to me first.”

“I'm sorry, and I know that I should have. I would never cheat on you no matter how mad I might be. You mean too much to me for me to do that.”

“Hmm, your actions lately say otherwise. You hurt me with that shit you pulled and should have come and talked to me.”

“I know and I don't have an excuse for it. I just wish we could start over and just forget that any of this ever happened.”

“Do you honestly think that you deserve another chance?”

“Dani legit said the same thing.” He mumbled before taking a seat next to you and grabbing your left hand which was still decorated with your wedding ring. Except it wasn’t on your ring finger.

He began to play with it as he was waiting for you to say something.

“How do I know that something like this won’t ever happen again?” You asked and that was when he finally looked up at you.

“Because we’re going to communicate better and be honest with each other about how we’re feeling. That was my biggest downfall.”

“Hmm.”

“And I need to put you first. You were the one who was with me when I had absolutely nothing and I lost sight of that. Anytime I needed you, you were there but I didn’t give you that same treatment in return.”

“I want to believe you, I really do because I miss you, but… I just don’t know.”

“Y/N, please. Things are going to be different this time.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I’m at that point where I want to find out or not.” You answered being completely honest.

“Well, how long do you think that will take? You know I’m willing to wait. I legit do not want anyone else.”

“Only time will tell.” You shrugged while looking at him.

When he didn’t say anything else, you simply let go of his hand and began to get up.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I did what you asked and I came and heard what you had to say, did I not?”

“Yes, but…”

“And now I’m leaving.”

“Baby girl, just…”

“Just, what, Jack? Just what? You said your piece and I’ve said mine. When I’m ready to take you back, you’ll know.” 

“I love you and I want this. I want us.” He said as he grabbed your hand and squeezed it.

“Yes, you’ve made that very clear and you’ve done it more than once.”

“At least just spend the night with me, let me take you out.”

“Maybe some other time. I’m pretty tired. I am pregnant, the last time I checked.”

“Okay, I get that. Some other time then.”

Jack then stood up and gave you another long embrace as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

You then felt him cup your cheek and knew he wanted to kiss you. You wanted to kiss him too, but you definitely weren’t letting him back in that easily.

Instead of meeting his lips with yours, he met your cheek since you had turned your head and you heard him sigh.

“When I fully forgive you, you can give me as many kisses as your heart desires, but until then I need you to remember something for me.”

“What is it?

“Remember one thing, I'm not your girl.” You whispered against his lips before smirking and laughing to yourself as you made your way to the door of the dressing room.

“Drive Safe tonight, Jackman.” Was the last thing you said before you disappeared on the other side of the door leaving him absolutely speechless.

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow angst #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x you #first lady of pg

[ironmandeficiency]

stupid goose

pairing: fíli / hobbit!reader

word count: 2953

summary: a goose followed fili into erebor and refused to leave

a/n: this has taken over my brain

no one knew where that damn demon bird came from. all anyone knew is that when fíli returned from the markets of dale one day, he was trailed by a goose. this goose demanded in very angry honks to be let into erebor right behind the golden prince, and despite every attempt made to shoo the thing outside, the goose remained.

it honked during council meetings, entertained some of the young pebbles that had returned to erebor with their families, and generally caused a disturbance everywhere it waddled. fíli took to naming his new pet trøbbel, and he grew to appreciate the feathered chaos harbinger.

thorin couldn’t stand the damn thing. it would flap and honk and nip at him at the most odd times, namely when he was scolding his nephews. the king under the mountain was halfway convinced that fíli trained it to behave so.

the days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and trøbbel stuck around through it all. he was a common companion, and a very proper one indeed. eventually he learned some semblance of patience; the standard amount of patience in geese was alarmingly similar to the patience of dwarves.

trøbbel definitely lived up to his name, so much so that when bilbo sent word that he was planning a springtime visit to the mountain in a few months’ time, multiple correspondents thought it fit to warn their burglar about the newest addition.

“dear bilbo,

the company is delighted to hear of your pending visit to the mountain! many things have changed for the better since uncle was crowned king (not his temper, unfortunately for us all). everyone is looking forward to seeing you again, though i do carry a warning with this letter.

you see, a few months ago i involuntarily acquired a wild goose as a companion. he made himself known to me after leaving dale one afternoon and rather violently refused to be parted from my side.

this goose is a mighty beast that honks and bites diplomats (dwalin never loved him more than when he nipped at thranduil upon first glance of the elf) and steals food from the plates of those not paying attention. i warn you because trøbbel is very suspicious of new people, and i don’t want you falling victim to his wiles if he finds that you don’t have snacks for him upon arrival.

see you soon,

prince fíli”

bilbo was baffled. he was confuddled, stupefied even. how in yavanna’s green gardens fíli ended up with a goose was beyond his reckoning. the last time he heard of a goose forcing its way into someone’s life in this manner was being told the story of how his parents met when he was a wee fauntling.

it was a somewhat rare phenomenon among hobbits to be found by a goose in such a way. they were said to guide hobbits to their soulmates, the other half of their soul as created by lady yavanna. the goddess had to create an animal stubborn enough to aid her hobbit children in finding their soulmates, one that could easily navigate the hills and rivers of their lands, and the goose was her solution.

even though erebor was no west farthing, bilbo could imagine that any goose worth its tail feathers would find a way to survive in the lonely mountain. and, based on the letter he just read, one has.

taking into consideration the thing’s audacity, that bird of fíli’s is definitely a soulmate goose, and a right bugger at that.

the first thing he now had to do was inform fortinbras of this development. as thain and cousin, bilbo was sure that he could find some sound advice there.

now, if bilbo could figure out how to explain that fíli has a hobbit for a soulmate without putting thorin and balin into their deathbeds, that would be just peachy.

“HONK! HONK HONK!”

“i cannot believe you, tansy!”

“HONK!”

“yeah you better run, you wretched thing!”

tansy the goose had to be the biggest pain in the backside you’ve ever met, and that’s saying something considering the run-ins you’ve had with the bracegirdles.

she followed you to the markets, when you went on walks among the meadows and fields, and even snuck into the washroom to be there when you bathed. in your opinion, it was all a bit too much.

your tansy gave the wizard gandalf a run for his money when it came to disturbing the peace. on days you went to the market, she would follow you and honk all the way at passersby and intimidate them off the dirt path you were on.

she also picked up a very peculiar habit of trying to (and sometimes succeeding to) snag fine jewelry from the booths of dwarrow traveling through from the blue mountains. every time you would turn and see a shiny glint of silver or gold hanging from her beak, your heart would drop to your feet in fear. thus far, the merchants you’ve encountered were very understanding of your feathery thief and harbored no ill will against you as you returned their wares to the tune of an angry goose.

while those situations were mortifying and anxiety-inducing, you’ve reached the end of your rope today. tansy has committed a grievous sin by brutalizing your blackberry patch to the point of there being almost nothing left worth eating and you’ve had it up to your ears with her.

you chased her with a wooden spoon as you ranted about her foul deed and resolved to talk to someone about what to do about tansy the chaos goose. maybe the thain would have some advice?

“uncle! we’ve got a reply from bilbo!” kíli waved the letter in the air excitedly as he barged into his uncle’s chambers.

fíli follows kíli in, rolling his eyes as he snatches the parchment from his brother’s hand. “no, i got a reply from bilbo.”

the golden prince makes no mention of the second page bilbo wrote to him with explicit instructions to keep it to himself. that morsel of information was for him and him alone - well, for him and trøbbel, of course.

“hurry up and read it!”

“i would if you’d stop flapping about like trøbbel!”

in response to being compared to kíli (or maybe just hearing his name), trøbbel honked indignantly.

“dearest fíli,

it pleases me greatly to know that erebor is flourishing under your uncle’s rule. i am most excited to see you all again, especially in the comforts of your home.

while i thank you for your warning, i have some news of my own to share. there will be a hobbitess accompanying me on my trip-“

thorin cut off his nephew, his bright mood upon receiving bilbo’s correspondence immediately clouding over. “he’s bringing a hobbit lass?” the king’s thoughts immediately sour with thoughts of his burglar introducing the company to a spouse wooed by his tales of adventure.

both brothers caught the sudden wave of melancholy that surged through their uncle. his feelings for bilbo were a poorly-kept secret among the company, but there were none who had the courage to call attention to it.

“you’re almost as bad as kee with interrupting me,” fíli chastised before clearing his throat to continue.

“-there will be a hobbitess accompanying me on my trip that shares in your feathered predicament. with the description you gave me of your trøbbel, i’d bet all of my fourteenth share that he’d get along swimmingly with her tansy. she’s a menace, that one.”

“see uncle, you can remove that frown! bilbo isn’t courting anyone back in the shire!” kíli interjected with a small smile and an elbow nudge, hoping to goad thorin back into a good mood.

fíli sighed the sigh of a long-suffering older brother. “this is exactly what i mean when i talk about you interrupting me, kee!”

“but he was sad!”

“and i’m annoyed!”

“boys!”

one word put the squabbling siblings back in line.

“sorry, uncle.”

“do continue, fíli.”

“i send this letter ahead of me from bree. i hope you receive it in proper time so you can prepare the mountain for the impending doom that will be brought upon by two geese occupying erebor.

if you note the bite marks in bottom right corner and the occasional blots of stray ink on the parchment, those are courtesy of tansy. she sends her well wishes along with mine.

your burglar,

bilbo baggins”

thorin looks at trøbbel where he’s squatted directly on top of thorin’s favorite bedpillow like the cruel beast he is. the smug bastard has a wicked gleam in his eye as if he knows he’ll soon have a partner in crime to terrorize the whole mountain alongside.

oh mahal, please watch over this mountain.

erebor was teeming with anticipation, both for the arrival of the famed dragonriddler and for the next act of war from trøbbel. for nigh on three weeks, the royal bird has been eerily well-behaved. this was so out of character that fíli carried his companion to óin in the hopes the healer could figure out what malady had struck his friend.

there was nothing obvious to blame for the sudden silence of the royal bird, so the healer told fíli to watch over his bird and take as good care of him as possible.

he didn’t know much of anything about geese, so he simply opted to treat his companion like kíli when he was sick.

a cozy new bed was constructed, fíli monitored his food, and things seemed to be getting better. trøbbel slowly came back to his regular gremlin self, causing chaos that was mildly tamer than before.

at least the mountain didn’t get too comfortable without his shenanigans, because when bilbo arrived with his companion and their goose, all hell broke loose.

“hmm,” bilbo hummed to himself as he observed tansy sitting demurely on her designated pillow. she’d been oddly calm today, as if she knew where her company was going.

when bilbo explained the significance of tansy’s appearance in your life, you were flabbergasted. the idea of true soulmates was a sweet one yet painfully unrealistic in your eyes, something you read in bedtime stories. but with both bilbo and thain fortinbras’s confirmation that you received a soulmate goose from yavanna, you couldn’t deny it any longer.

then bilbo claimed he knew your soulmate and had fought alongside him against trolls and goblins and orcs and a dragon. he told you that he was rather fond of the dwarves of erebor, and that they were rambunctious and honorable.

but when he spoke of king thorin, the uncle of your soulmate, something was decidedly different from how he spoke of the rest of the company he kept. you could see the way his body visibly relaxed, how his eyes were softer and the appearance of pink on the tips of his ears.

your friend clearly held something more than respect for the dwarf king.

one night around the campfire, you told tansy about your suspicions. for a hooligan goose, she was a rather good conversationalist.

“i think bilbo loves that king of his, tansy.”

“HONK!”

“exactly! that’s what i was thinking!”

tansy honks back in response. living among hobbits, she seemed to pick up on some social etiquettes and right now, it was as if you were pleasantly chatting over afternoon tea.

you pondered what to do about this new development. bilbo was always seen as a bachelor, someone unattainable by shire standards. but just maybe, by the grace of yavanna, he’ll find his love in the heart of a king.

“say tansy,” a soft honk of acknowledgement came from your goose, “when you’re done leading me to my soulmate, can you help bilbo find his?”

in years to come, you will swear by the fact tansy nodded at you that evening by the fire.

“they’re here!”

“bilbo!”

“our burglar has returned!”

in the distance, they could see bilbo making his way towards the front entrance of erebor and unbridled joy swept through the company. how they’ve all missed their burglar in his absence from the mountain.

bard was walking alongside bilbo, who had dismounted from his pony when he entered dale and was guiding him along by the reins. at bilbo’s other side was another hobbit, presumably the lass he mentioned in his letter, and waddling with pride beside them was a goose wearing a red ribbon tied into a neat bow.

fíli made a break for the front gates as soon as the horn announcing bilbo’s arrival echoed through the crisp air. he genuinely missed bilbo and was plenty excited to meet the goose (and the hobbitess) described in his letters.

trøbbel dutifully followed behind his dwarf, waddling just fast enough to keep pace. at first. but in the distance, the royal goose of erebor heard a honk that resonated so deeply in him that he couldn’t dawdle with fíli, he had to go immediately.

his orange webbed feet pitter-pattered on the stone floors with the intensity of oliphaunts and the speed of rhosgobel rabbits, honking all the way. members of the company hollered after the speeding goose but trøbbel paid them no heed, far too focused on his destination.

“oi! trøbbel you mangy beast, get back here!”

“you ain’t beatin’ us to our burglar!”

the dwarves stood no chance at catching him, only following behind him like goslings in a rather lopsided row. apparently, trøbbel was going to beat them.

tansy was going to turn you grey long before your time if she had anything to say about it.

that wild beast of a bird strutted into dale with the attitude of the most pretentious hobbits in the west farthing, catching all sorts of strange looks from the big folk who never beheld such a human-acting animal. she honked and nodded to the growing crowd in greeting. you sighed at her antics but carried on, watching as bilbo’s entire countenance changed the closer he got to his dwarrow.

watching the entrance to the dwarven kingdom grow ever closer, you felt strangely lighter, almost as if you were coming home.

before you knew it, there was a stampede of dwarrow emerging from the front gates headed straight towards you and bilbo, led by a goose. logic told you that they were his friends from the journey, that they missed him more than you could imagine missing anyone.

but then tansy let out a screeching honk unlike anything you’ve ever heard in all your days. she immediately bolted for the feathered line leader, not even the slightest bit worried about being trampled by the pounding feet of dwarrow.

“tansy! tansy! oh you reckless fiend, you’re lucky i didn’t cook you on the way here!”

chasing after her was a terrible idea. instead, you elected to watch from beside your pony and hope for the best.

recalling bilbo’s stories, you could point out a few of his companions. bombur with his braided beard that weaves into itself, nori with the star points atop his head, thorin with his raven-colored hair…

the king of erebor was running like a hooligan towards bilbo at full speed, a wide smile on his face that bilbo led you to believe was a nigh impossible feat.

you nudge your friend with a smile, wondering why his feet weren’t going a mile a minute to reunite with his dwarf. “go to him,” you whispered. this seemed to spur him into action, bilbo making a mad dash for his king.

when thorin caught bilbo in a leaping embrace, their laughter was infectious. even tansy was honking joyously with them, echoed by another bit of loud honking you couldn’t place.

looking over, your tansy was nuzzling with the ereborian goose. they were waddling around each other inquisitively at first, then plopped down to the side of the path to watch the joyous reunion of king and burglar.

within moments, you realized what this meant: your soulmate was on his way. oh green gardens, you weren’t ready!

meeting your prince soulmate now, after a ragged journey across middle earth while covered in yavanna-knows-what, had your nerves vibrating with tension. your hands were clammy, eyes flitting around to spot him based on bilbo’s descriptions.

“trøbbel! oi you bugger, how dare you run ahead!”

you heard one voice clearly through the thicket of joyous bustling, and the entire world came to a screeching halt.

your soulmate wore a smile that could have blinded you, and his laughter put you in a tailspin. in the golden light of morning, his hair shone like the wheat fields you grew up playing in.

you had to be closer to him without another moment’s delay.

without your permission, your feet began to carry you into the growing crowd of dwarrow towards fíli. part of you wanted to dig your heels into the dirt because you didn’t know what to say to him! how did one even begin to introduce themselves to the person that the gods made to be their other half?

turns out you didn’t have to answer that question on your own.

in the time he spent on the road with bilbo, fíli learned quite a few pieces of important information about hobbits. they valued their food and their gardens, and placed great importance on flowers and their meanings. so when presented with his hobbit soulmate, he knew exactly how to make a good first impression.

presenting you a few sprigs of purple lilacs, he approached his one with a charming smile. “i imagine you’re starving from the trip here, love. would you like me to fetch you a warm meal straight from the royal kitchens?”

#fili durin x reader #fíli durin x reader #fíli durin #fili durin #the hobbit imagine #hobbit!reader #soulmate goose of enforcement #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #fíli #fíli imagine #bagginshield #thorin oakenshield x bilbo baggins #bilbo baggins x thorin oakenshield

[veganagenda]

it really is wild to me the extent with which people can just... not care. and some people 'don't care' so much that they convince themselves it's the default state of being.

I asked my brother if he'd consider switching to nonplastic sponges to reduce microplastic water flow, and he sarcastically dismissed me. later I found his general trash bag entirely full of completely recyclable material - along with the bag I told him I used to collect plastics that you can only recycle at supermarkets. he'd thrown it away without asking me.

I've been well aware that many aspects of recycling were designed to be inefficient and place responsibility on consumers for some time now. it's a devastatingly clever piece of coorperate, industrial blame-shifting. still, I wanted to believe that even if someone wasn't ready to commit to reducing their impact as much as possible, recycling and reducing plastic use was at least something we had all agreed to do as the absolute bare minimum. my brother's lifestyle proves me wrong.

even if the entire amount of materials I recycled in a lifetime hardly even made a dent in reducing pollution or wasted resource, the fact of the matter is, I do not like putting things in the trash when I can imagine what it'll be like when they get to the landfill, and how many thousands of years it might take for them to degrade. it makes me deeply, viscerally uncomfortable. I can feel in my blood and bones how much it makes the Earth beneath and surrounding the landfill hurt, too.

sometimes it's not even so much about the impact. it's about just that -- how it makes me feel. it's about the questions it makes me ask myself - am I living to my truest values? do my actions reflect them? am I truly embodying my passion for sustainability and fundamental respect to the Earth? is it worth inconveniencing myself for that? and, most importantly - just because I cannot always see the effects of my actions, just because they are immeasurable - does that truly mean they don't matter?

my brother seems to be very convinced that his individual actions have little impact. but I insist that it is a mark of great and unique privilege to not be required to witness the repercussions of individual actions - to not have to see the victims firsthand. to not be the fish choking on microplastics, the suffocating plantlife crushed beneath the landfill, the impoverished neighbourhood or the fragile ecosystem of life forced to live beside it. to be in a socio-economic and geographical position to even be capable of living a life of such supposed ignorant bliss.

it's my opinion that it's the result of an incredibly dissociative, vain, irresponsibly individualist and uniquely contemporary mindset that so many people do.

#environmentalism #environmental activism #climate change #anticapitalism #anti consumerism #plastic #vegan #veganism

[andromeda3116]

Propaganda:

1. No one has managed this yet at this point in the story. The Homunculi are always listening, always knowing what the heroes are up to, always one step ahead. The only thing that has surprised them is Roy killing Lust, but that was only because she got cocky and left him to die instead of killing him outright. Olivier, in the middle of a massive attack on her fort by a creature behind her comprehension, finds a way to get the truth from Ed -- who has refused to tell her on the basis of Bradley's threat to Winry, and who we all know is a stubborn little bastard. She gets the answers, and she gets them without the Homunculi or the high brass guessing that she now knows their entire plan, and is high enough in the hierarchy of power to seriously damage them. For once, she puts the heroes a step ahead of the Homunculi.

2. Note that this is not Ling holding his own against Bradley (that's not underrated at all) -- this is the compassion and loyalty to his people that leads him to severely hinder his own escape because his servant is critically injured and he absolutely will not, under any circumstances, leave her behind. "A king is no king without his people", indeed.

3. Like Olivier above, Riza manages what has up to now been nearly impossible from right under Bradley's nose. She devises a perfect code with every name she needs and knows how to make sure Roy is getting it. Her intelligence and ingenuity absolutely shine, and she manages to also put them a step ahead of the Homunculi, from right under their thumbs.

4. Winry is a teenager who hasn't seen any medicine beyond what it takes to attach automail in years, but she draws on the textbooks she read -- which, aside, she was reading, comprehending, and remembering medical textbooks as a child -- delivering a healthy baby with no complications, alone.

5. Gluttony's belly is supposed to be inescapable, an entirely different plane of reality, and Ed looks at all of this surrounding him, says "I'm not dying here" and concocts a wild plan to get them out by repeating the ultimate taboo and throwing himself back through the Gate of Truth -- and it works.

6. Scar's brother is a scholar who has lived his entire life in a culture that despises alchemy. He knows only what he's read of it, and he not only recognizes that Amestris is a massive transmutation circle but also devises a circle that will counteract it, and hides that behind layers of code and the physical shape of the papers, so that only his brother can find it.

7. Riza cannot speak. She can barely breathe. She is bleeding to death. And she still refuses to allow Roy to betray himself. No words, no breath, no reason to believe she may yet live -- but she tells him do not save me at the cost of your principles.

8. Like Ling above, Roy's loyalty to his own people drives and commands and powers him. He never forgets about Jean, and the first chance he gets, he sends someone to heal him, even if it means staying blind for longer. There was no need to wait, except that he refused to put his people second to himself.

#fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist #fma:b #fma #can you tell what i'm currently rewatching? #it's critical that these are also *underrated“ badass moments #the ones that define the characters #rather than the huge kickass things they do during the fights #the smaller moments and defining parts that show their inner strength and intelligence and commitment and fidelity #i figured - this show has so many big badass moments but what about the little ones?

[justyouraverageficwriter]

Hirai Momo: Tinder Adventures

Momo x M Reader

Genre: One Shot, Smut (Contains weird kinks)

WC: 3226

Lying on the bed on a lazy Saturday afternoon, you reached for your phone to find something that will cure the boredom. You are off work and no plans for the rest of the day. Perusing social media sites did not bring anything to make your afternoon better, so you settled on your guilty pleasure, Tinder. The app brought you to many adventures before, and you hope it will bring another one today.

May it be common or not, you do not use Tinder to find love and relationships. You use it to find someone who wants a quick fuck. Swiping right to profiles you find hot and interesting enough, it did not take long to find a match. The profile has no picture that includes a face, only a portion of a sexy body and that is it. You obviously think that it could be a poser and there is a big chance that it is. But with no other matches, you are left with no choice. You can just bail out at the first sign of trouble. Besides if anything about this is true even just a little, there is her body to look forward to.

You message the account and after receiving a reply, both of you agreed when and where to meet. The person on the other end insisted that you are the one to visit her apartment. You check the address on the map and to your surprise, she lives in a wealthy neighborhood. Your curiosity grows larger by the minute.

--

Around 9 PM in the evening, you are at the door of a room in a luxurious apartment complex. You press the doorbell with anxiety and anticipation. You have been reckless with this adventure; you don't even know if the person on the other side of the door is even a real woman. This recklessness could get you killed for all you know. When the door opens, the room is dark inside and you cannot see the owner but her voice is familiar. She invites you in by gesturing her hand. You step inside the house and you are shocked and speechless the moment you see your host.

"Hirai Momo?" If your jaw could really drop on the floor, it already did.

She smiles and bows to answer your question. For a girl who is part of the biggest girl group in the world, she is a bit timid. Since you have been a fan of them for a long time now, you already knew she had this side.

"Are you really the one on Tinder?" The question did not even make sense given the circumstances but you had to make sure.

"I guess, I gave you the address and I welcomed you in."

"I mean why Tinder?"

"Why not? I do have the right to use the app you know. Not just you."

In a way she made sense but that is not the real meaning of your question. You are wondering why she is looking for a guy to fuck her in Tinder when she can easily invite someone she likes and that guy will be at her disposable without thinking twice. But you did not ask the question again, it really doesn't matter. If she did just that, you are not in the position you are now. You are quite content to sit on the couch and watch her every move.

She turns on a light that illuminates the couch you are sitting in. The light directly pointed in your direction surprised you, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust. You now realize that it is a spotlight enough to illuminate the whole couch and whatever you are doing and going to do. It is a wild kink for sure assuming that what you are thinking is correct. Your mind was now running of all possibilities and the things that you will do given the chance.

Momo sits next to you. Wearing the simplest but the hottest. A training top purposely and seductively hugging her curves. Sweat pants to complete her look, to frame her wide hips and plump behind. You consider every Twice member as hot and sexy but this Japanese woman is on a level of her own. From her tits, her midriff, hips, butt, and thighs there is nothing to skip. You will plant kisses at her every part given every opportunity. You could not help but lust at this Japanese idol.

It was one thing to see Momo in the pictures wearing skimpy clothes flaunting her assets, but it was another to see it close. Her defined curves and muscles are to die for. You wonder if the people who worked around her feel the same as you, feral and crazy. On top of it all is her face, seductive and built for fucking. She is eyeing you with a smirk on her face. Momo knows she got you already, wrapped around her fingers. If she was showing her timidness earlier, that is all gone now like a flip of a switch. What you have in front of you is a horny Momo, ready and waiting to be pleasured.

"Are you that excited Daddy?" Momo noticed your growing member.

In all honesty, you're quite shocked when you hear her call you Daddy. You never thought she was into some kinks. Although realizing you got the spotlight directly upon you, the daddy kink seems to be all but normal. So you decided to give Momo what she wants. Who wouldn't?

"I don't see why not. You're so hot baby."

She smiles with satisfaction as she reaches to rub your crotch on top of your pants. It is pleasure and torture at the same time. You did not wait to be told and you immediately kissed her. Momo responds to your kiss, deepening it, welcoming you in her. Both your tongues beg the entrance to each other's mouths. Biting her lips when you had the chance. She was starting to gasp for the lack of air after kisses, or maybe she is starting to get horny. It could be either way, it doesn't matter. All that matter is your luck. If you had use the supply of luck for a lifetime all for this moment, you will not have any regret.

You take your chance as fast as possible, groping Momo's tits over her top at the first opportunity. It is soft and firm at the same time, you ache for the chance to touch it bare. Apparently Momo likes the idea too as she takes off her top for you. Her boobs drop as soon as her sports bra is off. Her tits are the most beautiful pair you have ever seen. The two mounds are quite a handful, soft as a pillow. You could not help but gasp at the sight. Your shaft hardens even more. The spotlight provides ample lighting and makes her tits shine. You cannot wait to lick it, and play with it.

Momo's breasts are your first state of business. You knead one and lick the other, while giving her nipples a pinch once in a while. She is enjoying your work as her breath hitches every contact you give her. You are horny and you are absolutely lusting that you could not help but rub your crotch on her thighs. You are completely lost in the wonderland that is her body.

She is quite content to watch you worship her, only requesting to take off your shirt. The feeling of skin to skin is almost intoxicating, like you just want to stick to her for the rest of your life. Navigating each detail of her upper body, she is really well defined fit for the amazing dancer that she is. Toned flat tummy with abs, waist like an hourglass, a goddess personified.

"You seem to be enjoying it Daddy. How about we completely undress ourselves first?" Momo is seductive in each of her words.

Right, you think to yourself. You got really lost at what you are doing that you can just live off by playing with her tits. Thankfully she reminded you of much better things to come. The Japanese girl rises up and pulls down her pants. You could not disregard the shadow that Momo casts, completely mirroring her actions. She is left in her panties, already soaking in her juices, horny as fuck. She then moved to take off your pants and your boxers, finally freeing your shaft. Of course it is standing upright. You notice a smirk in Momo's lips.

"You're so big Daddy. I'm really going to enjoy this. God!"

She almost did not complete her sentence. Momo excitedly takes your cock in her mouth. Licking the whole length as first to really have a feel, then sucking it all completely after. She is a master of pleasuring a man with her mouth, it is clear in her ways.

"Fuck Momo, do you like my cock that much?"

All you receive is a muffled reply, she is not planning to let go of your cock very soon. Momo bobs her head as she devours your dick, watching it appear and disappear again in her warm and wet mouth. Coating it with saliva, it shines against the light. She sucks and holds the hard shaft as it reaches her throat until she gags. You are just overwhelmed with pleasure; you sometimes mumble incomprehensible words.

"I'm so close Momo."

Your legs straighten and stretch as you anticipate your orgasm. She speeds up the pace knowing that you are close. As your body tensed up, she pops your dick out and stops all of a sudden. She is wearing a devious smirk with the stain of saliva and precum across her lips. You are ready to curse her for denying you from cumming if not for that seductive smile.

"What are you doing Momo?" There is still a hint of annoyance you cannot hide. She may be calling you daddy but you both know who is in control. She is.

"I thought you might like this Daddy."

Momo places your dick in the middle of her mounds. Cupping both boobs to strangle your member, she begins to move sliding it up and down. If you are a bit annoyed earlier, you completely forget it now. You are titfucking Momo and it feels so good. The sensation is different from anything you have experienced before. Maybe because you haven't fuck two perfect tits like Momo's, or maybe just because it is Momo, a member who you masturbated for how many times already. Either way, you are subjected to immense pleasure and there is nothing else to do but to get lost by it. To add to that sensation, Momo's mouth is waiting to lick the tip as it surfaces from her cleavage. Your lips are now parted again, her name escaping together with wordless moans. You are extremely close yet again.

Thankfully this time, she continues to pleasure you with her tits. When you feel you're on the edge, your hips start to jerk into Momo's boobs. She notices you and lets you do the rest of the work while she waits with an open mouth. Three more thrusts and you feel this tremendous high as you explode on her mouth. Momo was quick to put your dick inside to catch all cum that shot out.

Much to your surprise she swallowed all of your thick cum, even licking the excess that inevitably dripped to her chin and tits. All the while making lewd faces, as she licked her stained fingers one by one. Almost instantly your dick springs back into life.

"Wow you're hard again Daddy, hard for me?" It takes Momo by surprise how instant it took to become hard again.

"I want to fuck you right now, baby. I want to fuck your pussy." You are trying to impose your will.

"Oh you will Daddy." She finally takes off her panties and throws it on the floor.

"I want to ride your dick first, do you want that Daddy?"

In the sight of her glistening and dripping pussy, you're powerless.

"Look at me. I'm so wet Daddy I'm such a slut." Momo's voice is so addictive.

Fully naked, she straddles and finds home in your lap. Your face in front of her tits. The mole in her breast looks so erotic. She adjusts a bit to align herself, and slides down your long hard shaft. Both of you gasp in pleasure of the first entry. Her pussy is tighter than you expected. It is equally warm as it is wet. You could not believe being balls deep inside the main dancer of Twice, but here you are being just that.

The sexy Japanese woman started to move, hips pumping to pull you out only to slam back in the next moment. Momo rides you slow in the beginning, tracing your length. However, as her lust continues to eat her, she rides you faster and faster. You help by putting your hands on her ass, simultaneously massaging her fat behind and guiding her down your cock. Meanwhile your mouth is busy kissing and licking every part you can of her bouncing tits.

She is moaning loudly like a scene straight out of Japanese porn, and you know she would fit in if she chose that path. Momo is skillful in the way she rides you, she is a dancer of course. It seems her hips have a life of its own.

"Fuck Momo, your pussy feels so good."

Your words seem to light up another level of lust in Momo, she finds your eyes and looks at you in the most erotic way.

"Do you like it, Daddy?"

"Fuck yes! Don't stop baby!"

Unfortunately, she did stop with a grin. She did it again. She stands up away from you and it is a painful separation. She turns around and wiggles her butt, sits down on your lap again and grinds in front of you. You could not wait to be inside her again, so you reach out to your dick to position it to dive into her. Momo takes the cue and does her part.

You now slide back inside Momo's pussy. It is so erotic to see her butt bounce as she continues to fuck you. From behind, you are in the best view of how her body was shaped perfectly. She was sweating now and seeing it drip along the canal in her back, you now realize it is a thing of dreams. With Momo's moaning and the sound of slapping flesh, you thought the atmosphere could not get any more salacious. However, you add the fact that you are fucking under a spotlight, it is downright sinful.

"Oh my god Daddy. I think I'm going to cum."

And you know she is, her walls are becoming tighter by the minute. Momo's rhythm is starting to get messy the closer she is to orgasm. You are jerking into her now to help maintain that deep contact. You don't want to let her down, you want to give her the best orgasm of her life. And she did, shivering and panting. Her cum was so hard it feels like your dick is pushed out. She was cursing profanities, so different from her polished idol image. You let her enjoy the blissful moments.

She is smiling when she slowly recovers, but with your member still stuck inside she knows the fun is not over.

"I've been so naughty Daddy, I deserved to be punished."

Relishing on the idea of being able to do anything you want, you guided Momo to lay on her back. Being on top is a whole different story, you feel power. Starting to pump again in her pussy, it feels twice as slick. Her cum is a natural lube that brings a different sensation. The sex is good, of course it is. You're fucking one of the hottest woman in the world, and thinking that you're doing what other guys just dream to their deaths, the rapture multiplied a hundred folds.

The way her boobs dance in contrast to the fucking is hypnotizing, it is the reason you're fucking her in missionary. You are on a mission to give Momo the best fuck of her life, because right now you’re having yours buried inside to the hilt. Accentuating the horny atmosphere is your shadow having a complete sex of his own. Maybe this is one reason she wants to fuck in the spotlight, aside from the obvious fact that it mimics her idol life.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! I feel so good Daddy!"

Momo sounds really slutty when she calls you her daddy. You remember that you have all the control now. You now ask her to be on all fours as she raises her ass towards you. Taking your position behind her and her familiar sexy back. If she wants to be punished, then punish her you will.

You slap her butt check and she immediately reacts with a whimper.

"You know you deserve this, right Momo? How dare you stop my orgasm earlier." Another slap lands.

"Yes Daddy, I've been a naughty slut. Give me all the slap I deserve."

But you have more than just slaps. You want to make her beg. You rub her dick on her entrance, and just continue rubbing with your tip. It is challenging for you as well to stop yourself from putting it in, but seeing Momo squirm in anticipation and frustration stoked your daddy ego.

"Beg for it, slut!" You whisper near her ears.

" Please Daddy, fuck me now. Use my pussy. I can't wait anymore." She is getting desperate.

"Again."

"Give it to Momo Daddy, fill this slut with your big cock."

Satisfied, you fuck her again. You are having Momo from behind, it is the fulfillment of your wildest dreams. She is glowing in her sweat, her constant horny gasps feed fuel to your desires. Hands in her hips, you anchor yourself to reach her deepest walls. Momo's skin flushed red by your slaps, her ass jiggles by your pounding. It was too much to process. You're simply on the edge.

"Where do you want me to cum slut?"

"Inside please, Daddy! I need your cum inside me."

Your tempo increased chasing your orgasm as Momo continues to plead for you to cum inside. In what feels like forever, your world turns into a complete white noise. Your dick pumps hot thick ropes inside her womanhood. Back arches together with a big gasp of satisfaction. You creampied Momo under the spotlight.

Feeling weak, both of you flopped on the sofa. Panting, sweating and enjoying the bliss of post orgasms. You could not help but give her a quick slap on her ass cheek. Momo turns around to face you. She is beautiful as her features soften, she always is. That really is the best sex of your life.

Her finger traces the outline of your chest. Cuddling is a huge bonus.

"It seems like it's going to be the first time I'll invite someone to take a shower with me.'

You respond with a huge grin. It seems your night is not yet over.

________________________________

A/N: This is made because of my recent Momo simping escapades. A bit unedited so expect some misspellings and grammatical errors. Thanks for the love you gave on the Jihyo fic. You guys rock!

#twice #fanfic #smut #twice momo #hirai momo #twice x reader #momo smut #one shot

[bandydear]

I’ve been reading your tlgbf tlgbl fic, and am absolutely obsessed!! Where did you get the inspirations for dyke Jackie? I love how you’ve written her and her queerness

So, I prescribe to the theory that Jackie had some inclinations about her homosexuality out there in the wild and that's why she's parading around in sweater vests and limp wrists. That the high femme presentation we see in the pilot is more of a gender and social performance than who she is. And, I explored the people pleaser elements that lingered behind in that.

She compliments Nat in the Pilot that she admires how true to herself Natalie is which means that Jackie is not true to herself. She feels the pressure of expectation and lives within that expectation instead of her truth. We are never given a "truth that could crash an airplane" from Jackie. What she says is that she used to sneak downstairs and watch The Color of Night so she could pause it at Bruce Willis's wang.

For research for the fic, I watched Color of Night (the shit I do for art...). Bruce Willis's flaccid dong is there for like, five frames. And, it's not impressive like she claims it to be. You know what that movie actually has a lot of? Naked women and lesbian sex. Jackie's gay.

I know a lot of butch/futch/even high femme dykes who began their journeys presenting heterofemme realness and rejected it when they made their way down the rainbow brick road. Jackie very much gives me those vibes. Like, she has gay energy, but also a very "useless gay man" energy.

I think that finding out "x amount" of her teammates are some kind of queer and that the Very Hetero Sport she's been shielding herself with is uhhhhh Not That is part of what leads her down the path of self-discovery.

She's also shredded. Jackie canonically has an 8-pack and that's interesting because in the 90's, muscle tone was seen as something undesirable for women. (Now, I know that the show is made Now, where the aesthetic ideals are different, but if it's in the text it counts.)

Anyway, this has all been said before in other tumblr posts about Jackie being gay. I'm sure you're asking about why I wrote her as a futch service top instead of say, a femme pillow princess?

It has to do with her character arc. In S1 of Yellowjackets, Jackie's arc is one of nihilism and regression. The only thing that is keeping her alive in this survival situation is her love for Shauna, and when she learns of Shauna's resentment, she loses the will to live. Literally. Dies of a broken heart.

Jackie cannot survive in an environment without love. And, she struggles with survival instincts in general. Which is what makes her a great foil to Nat, who cannot help but survive, and, ironically, dies in S2 of too much love. The moment Nat stopped being cynical and nihilistic she doomed herself.

Two characters in direct opposition cannot exist so therefore they must either kill one or the other other--or change each other to live in harmony. I chose the latter. Jackie softens Nat and Nat hardens Jackie. They meet in the middle. If Jackie becomes hard, and becomes someone who can survive, what does that look like? What's the funniest possible way to get to this point?

Make Jackie the one who builds the shelter. Take this ineffectual, limp wristed twink and show her the way towards self-sufficiency through trades. Her home was broken beyond repair, so she learns how to fix it on her own. The literal is metaphorical and the metaphorical is literal.

So, now that I've explained:

Why Jackie is gay

Why Jackie fixes houses

Now, "why a service top"?

I touch on it in the text, but I don't think she's solely that. I do think that even after coming out, if she was experimenting with people who weren't Shauna she wouldn't allow herself to be physically vulnerable with them. It would cause a panic attack. She has a very Protestant energy and receiving pleasure as a part of sex would probably give her like 5 different mental breaks.

Jackie doesn't enjoy sex with Jeff (oral and hand stuff count as sex) not just because she's gay, but because she's too self-aware of how she's being perceived to enjoy her body.

On the other hand, she is a chronic people pleaser--though Lazy, so I knew she couldn't jump into this with both feet. If Jackie had slept with the girl in chapter 1 it wouldn't have gone well, and it would have been super awkward and unsatisfying for both parties. It's the envy at seeing Nat enjoying herself, and finally being in a safe space to relax a little that allows her to explore sensuality. Still, I don't think she'd let herself be touched in the same way.

If she had, as planned, shared a room with Shauna at Rutgers, I could see her being in a much more comfortable sexual role. Because Shauna was her safe space. But, I could also see her bringing a lot of her own baggage into that situation, and it quickly becoming toxic. I don't think they'd work romantically out of their "platonic" relationship in school, because it had already broken and festered by the Pilot.

Anyway! That's the impetus for Jackie's dykery. I hope that clarified some things. There are other folks out there who have come away with other, valid, and cool conclusions, but these are the ones I came to with my own research and experience. Thanks again for asking!

#fanfic: tlgbf tlgbl #yellowjackets fanfic #jackie taylor

[nyxshadowhawk]

Art and Hedonism

Dorian Gray Weekly is over, so it’s finally time for me to post my analysis of my favorite gothic novel!

On the surface, The Picture of Dorian Gray seems to be a tragedy about what happens when you give yourself over to self-indulgence and sin. Dorian has been granted eternal youth so as to live out all his passions, and he spends his life becoming progressively more depraved until his conscience weighs upon him to the point of madness, and he destroys his own horcrux. Hedonism is bad, right? But it’s a little counter-intuitive for such a moral to come from Oscar Wilde. Why would Oscar Wilde, of all people, write a story that seems to condemn hedonism? Well… I don’t think he does. The book just doesn’t read that way. It’s a luxuriously self-indulgent, sensual book! I wouldn’t like it so much if it boiled down to “hedonism is bad.”

I think that this book is a metatextual critique of Wilde’s own philosophy. The Picture of Dorian Gray is not really about beauty, or pleasure, or sin. It is about art. It is about the nature of art and it’s relationship to the artist, and to the audience. It is a cautionary tale not about the dangers of hedonism, but the dangers of taking art too seriously. At least, that seems to be what it is according to its author. I’m not saying that I know definitively what the author’s intentions were, or that authors’ interpretations of their work are the only true and correct ones. Ultimately, an author’s interpretation of his or her own work is just one interpretation among many, and any true piece of art can be interpreted many different ways. But, looking at Dorian Gray through the lens of its own author might be the best way to answer this question. So, I am going to analyze that. For fun!

At first glance, Wilde’s preface doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the story. It’s a really short philosophical argument. Actually, it reads more like a pretentious internet comment, by making a bunch of beautifully-worded controversial claims and then sitting back and waiting for you to respond to them, almost as if it’s daring you to argue.

The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

[…]

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself. We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art is quite useless.

There’s a lot more philosophical rambling that I cut out, but the short of it is this — art exists for its own sake. It exists to be admired, to be enjoyed. It exists to be beautiful, and that’s it. Anything that anyone else gets from it is simply what they get from it, and it says more about them than it does about the art. Creating art for any other primary purpose misses the point, if it isn’t outright dangerous.

Now, generally in literary analysis it’s a faux pas to psychoanalyze the author based on their work (which Wilde would probably agree with, since he writes that art should “conceal the artist”). There’s a lot of weird philosophy in this book, mostly put forth by the character of Lord Henry Wotton. Although Wilde identifies Lord Henry as something of a caricature of himself, we cannot say whether anything Lord Henry says is what Wilde really thinks. But this? The preface is written without the voice of a character or the context of a story. This is the author speaking as himself, in his own words, and therefore we can conclude that this is what he really thinks. That means that the only thing we can really say about Wilde and his philosophy based on this book alone comes from this preface.

Why is this preface even here? Why is it attached to this book? It might just be a futile attempt to cover his own ass, since he says things like “There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book” and “Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.” That’s basically facing down the inevitable controversy that this book generated and saying, “don’t look at me, it’s just a story. It’s your fault for taking it seriously.” But, we could also use it as a framework within which to interpret the following story. Or, actually, wait, we’re not supposed to interpret it because it exists for its own sake, right? But why else would the this be the preface to Dorian Gray, if the story wasn’t meant to prove the preface’s point?

One more bit of metatextual content I want to bring up: Wilde said this about his characters:

Basil Hallward is what I think I am: Lord Henry what the world thinks me: Dorian what I would like to be — in other ages, perhaps.

(I am way too proud of this outdated meme.)

So, all three of Dorian Gray’s main characters are meant to represent the author himself from various perspectives. Basil, the innocent and lovelorn painter, is how Wilde perceives himself. Lord Henry is how society perceives Wilde; he smoothly makes controversial philosophical statements about hedonism and beauty and whatnot, but doesn’t actually believe most of what he’s saying. And what a cryptic thing to say about Dorian, the naive-boy-turned-corrupt libertine. I guess I could interpret that as Wilde saying that he’d theoretically like to have the sheer daring and shamelessness needed to actually live out all of Henry’s philosophies. So… if that’s the case, then that puts a big question mark over Dorian’s entire character. If the message of the book is “hedonism is bad,” then why would Wilde want to be Dorian, even hypothetically? Dorian’s depravity is clearly a bad thing, right? Why would Wilde write him that way, then?

Because the book’s moral isn’t about hedonism, it’s about art.

Wilde warns the reader, “All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.” But… that’s exactly what I plan to do. Sorry, Oscar.

So, let’s actually talk about the story now.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is a weirdly paradoxical work for the reasons I just spelled out — it seems like it should be condemning hedonism, but it doesn’t quite. It seems like it is a story about a man whose life steadily ruined by pleasure-seeking at the expense of all else, and yet… it’s just so decadent, this book. It’s full of philosophy about hedonism and the nature of good and evil, and it’s hard to tell just how much is espoused by its author and how much is condemned. Often the philosophy comes through Lord Henry, but sometimes it’s just there in the narration. And I love this book for that reason. I love thinking about stuff like that, so much. I love that this book practically smells like opium and tastes like rich chocolate.

The reason why I’m so interested in Wilde’s relationship to his own work here is because I agree with a lot of the philosophy presented in it. I know that Dorian Gray is being corrupted by Lord Henry’s influence, and I can see how that happens. But… still. This book is interesting to me because it seems to simultaneously espouse and decry the philosophy presented in it, which is why I think it’s a critique. “Let’s let this philosophy play a bit, and see what it does.” What if someone really did live the kind of life that Wilde himself was accused of living? When is hedonism healthy, and when is it not? Where are the limits?

Henry is Wilde’s caricature of himself. A lot of readers hate him for just how infuriating he is. All Lord Henry really does is spout controversial and kind of offensive statements. I’m sure we all know at least one person like that on the internet. Henry’s like the super intellectual version of a troll; he just says stuff to make people deeply uncomfortable and see how they’ll react. But he’s also persuasive — he’s a Mephistophelian character with a “low, musical” voice. He views Dorian almost like a science experiment. He admits that influence is evil, but then actively goes after an impressionable and naive boy to turn him into… well, whatever that portrait looked like in the last chapter. In chapter 2, he makes a long speech about how a man should “live out his life fully and completely […] give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream.” In short, screw Victorian morality. Life is to be experienced, so drink deeply of all it has to offer instead of wasting it constraining yourself. His best line, in my opinion, is:

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.

—Chapter 2

I kind of agree with this. Kind of. I do think that temptation is impossible to resist. The more you attempt to repress your desires, the more intensely you feel those desires. The best thing to do to avoid being tempted by genuinely dangerous things is to either satisfy the temptation using some safer outlet (or otherwise redirect it), or to avoid potential temptations altogether. The second line of this quote makes it clear that what Henry is really saying here is, “don’t let society’s stupid restrictions keep you from living your best life.”

And… yeah. If society shames you for being gay, whip out the rainbow colors! A lot of things (especially “sexual deviancy”) are only “temptations” because society and culture says that they’re wrong, not because they’re actually morally wrong. That’s an important distinction. We’ll get back to that. I believe that the difference between a temptation and a desire is that you can only be tempted by something dangerous and forbidden. If feeling lust as a young woman or man is considered morally wrong, then sex is a “temptation” — as soon as it’s considered a normal part of existing as a human, then it’s suddenly not a “temptation,” it’s just desire, and is a lot easier to deal with. You can find a safe outlet for it without feeling any shame, and without making any dumb mistakes out of sheer desperation.

Another thing Harry says is,

The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly — that is what each of us is here for.

—Chapter 2

Yes! I have no argument here. None at all. However, reading between the lines, it seems as though Harry’s definition of “realizing one’s nature perfectly” is just experiencing everything in life and living it to its fullest, literally without distinguishing between good and bad experiences, or good and evil deeds. “Every experience is of value,” he says at one point. I don’t define self-development this way. My definition is complete self-awareness. If you’re self-aware, then you can be as self-indulgent as you want because you know where your limits are. Drinking at a party is fine, but you have to know your alcohol tolerance.

Dorian buys into this philosophy pretty hard. By chapter 11, his whole life has become one of pleasure, and… I’m still not disagreeing with a lot of the philosophy put forth by this novel:

The worship of the senses has often, and with much justice, been decried, men feeling a natural instinct of terror about passions and sensations that seem stranger than themselves […] But it appeared to Dorian Gray that the true nature of the senses had never been understood, and that they had remained savage and animal merely because the world had sought to starve them into submission or to kill them by pain, instead of aiming at making them elements of a new spirituality, of which a fine instinct for beauty was to be the dominant characteristic.

—Chapter 11

This is why I love this novel. I agree with this too. I have a fine instinct for beauty myself. Here, Dorian considers that maybe people in his society consider sensuality to be animalistic and savage only because they haven’t engaged with it at all, so it appears strange and dangerous. I also think that sensuality has been unfairly demonized for far too long, sometimes to the point where enjoying anything is sinful. I think it’s important to confront one’s passions (i.e. desires and emotions) and find a way to deal with them that’s both safe and satisfying. Like Dorian, I don’t have much patience for asceticism, or at least for the notion that it’s the most moral and spiritual way to live one’s life. Dorian attends church sometimes just out of curiosity, just becuase he finds it enjoyable or interesting, and he jumps around between different spiritualities the same way he collects jewels, textiles, and perfume:

But he [Dorian] never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual development by any formal acceptance of creed or system […] no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself. […] He knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have their spiritual mysteries to reveal.

—Chapter 11

I feel called out by this. This concept of jumping around between different belief systems, using belief as a tool… that’s basically Chaos Magic in a nutshell. “Nothing is true, everything is permitted” definitely sounds like something Lord Henry would say. And I certainly don’t think that sensuality and spirituality are mutually exclusive, in fact, I think that the former can be a means of experiencing the latter. I worship Dionysus, for crying out loud. Often, the answer I give when someone on the internet asks me why I believe in magic or gods or anything else without evidence is “it’s fun,” i.e. pleasure.

And yet… my life could not be more different from Dorian’s. Perhaps the darkest part of my mind is something like Dorian, but in real life, I look like a stereotypical Victorian ingenue who’s always the first to die in a gothic novel like this one, and I’m quite pure and unsullied. I don’t do anything but sit in my dorm room and write on the internet all day. At parties, I freeze up and don’t speak to anyone. I’m still not much of a drinker, despite having been legally allowed to drink for several years now. My only real vice is sugar. I have no love life or sex life. I value pleasure becuase I can’t enjoy myself for the life of me, because I worry about everything all the time and waste energy on it. I’m not Dorian, and that’s probably why I can get away with hedonism.

Here’s the thing about our protagonist: he takes Harry much more seriously than he should. Harry doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying. He just says stuff, to be controversial and shocking. That’s what he does. But Dorian buys it, hard. Harry’s waxing lyrical about how there’s nothing in the world but youth and Dorian has the whole world at his fingertips because he’s pretty, makes Dorian obsessively concerned with his appearance. He barters his soul on a whim. And, then he proceeds to live the kind of lifestyle that Harry advocates for but doesn’t have the balls to actually commit to. Dorian is beautiful, rich, and able to do whatever he likes, which he often does. He has it all, but the truth is, he’s not really getting anything out of any experience. He goes through life like a passive spectator. This is probably because of the hedonism paradox, but it could also be because Dorian uses hedonism and collecting beautiful things as a means of escapism:

For these treasures, and everything that he collected in his lovely house, were to be to him a means of forgetfulness, modes by which he could escape, for a season, from the fear that seemed to him at times to be almost too great to bear.

— Chapter 11

Congratulations, Dorian, you ruined it for yourself.

I like beautiful things. I have more resin statues than I have space for. I have more perfumes than I actually wear. I spend a lot of my free time scrolling through artwork on Pinterest. I genuinely like museums and ballets and operas. I like dressing up in fancy Goth outfits even without an occasion. I like soft blankets. I like neoclassical music. I like decorating for holidays and making elaborate table displays and giving everything a distinctive theme. I deeply appreciate beauty. I don’t think it poisons me. I collect all these things because they make me happy, and that’s all. I think that happiness or pleasure is a worthy goal for its own sake.

But it has to be for its own sake, not for the sake of avoiding your problems, or to ignore the feeling of your sins crawling on your back. It’s like the difference between having a few drinks at a party for the fun of it, and becoming an alcoholic because you can’t come to terms with your psychological issues. Collect beautiful things because they make you happy, not because you hope they might fill the gaping void in your soul left behind by a portrait. Dorian definitely isn’t happy:

I have never searched for happiness. Who wants happiness? I have searched for pleasure.

—Chapter 18

Dorian’s whole life has been what I call “empty pleasure,” pleasure that is ultimately unfulfilling because it’s covering up a problem instead of being enjoyed for its own sake. If you indulge for the sake of avoiding something, you’re not enjoying the thing for what it is, you’re just desperately trying to take your mind off the thing you want to avoid nagging at the back of your brain, and the result is that you can’t really enjoy anything. Another example is gorging yourself on a delicious feast because it’s delicious, as opposed to binge eating. Or having sex with several people that you feel genuine affection for, as opposed to people you can’t even remember the names of. “Empty pleasure” is bad for the soul, but pleasure itself is not. The threat of “empty pleasure” is what has caused pleasure itself to be demonized for so long. It’s not the pleasure that’s bad, it’s the avoidance. Pleasure can’t be spiritual at all if its so superficial. Dorian’s hedonism is hollow and meaningless, so it corrupts his soul.

Confront your damn problems, don’t lock them in your attic! Once you’ve done that, you can really get the most out of life.

Thank you for allowing me all of that gratuitous philosophizing. Where was I? Oh, right — this book is a warning about art. Right.

Lord Henry’s last real contribution to Dorian’s corruption is giving him the mysterious “yellow book.” The “yellow book” is often speculated to be À rebours by Joris-Karl Huysmans. The book itself doesn’t really matter; what matters is the effect that it has on Dorian in-universe. It cements his hedonistic philosophy that had already been implanted by Lord Henry, and it seems to really drive him over the edge.

Dorian Gray had been poisoned by a book. There were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realize his conception of beauty.

— Chapter 11

So, there is no good and evil, only beauty. Dorian doesn’t really have a concept of good and evil anymore, just experiences in life, just whether things are beautiful or not. This is another pretty big problem with Dorian’s approach towards hedonism — he has no moral compass.

This idea that the book is “poisonous” seems to directly contradict the point that Wilde makes in the preface. “There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.” Why the contradiction? Dorian has made the mistake of taking art too seriously. The yellow book is “poisonous” not because of anything about the book itself, but because of how Dorian responds to it — because he takes it too seriously. The book wouldn’t be immoral if he just enjoyed it at face-value and didn’t take it to heart, would it? The fact that he becomes so obsessed with it is another nail in his coffin.

The first nail in the coffin comes much earlier. The scene where Dorian dumps Sibyl is critical. First, there’s Sibyl’s explanation of her perspective on her art:

The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real. You came — oh, by beautiful love! — and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is. The stillness of the empty pageant in which I had always played. […] You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection. You had made me understand what love really is. My love! My love! Prince Charming! Prince of life! I have grown sick of shadows. You are more to me than all art can ever be.

— Chapter 7

Until she met Dorian, Sibyl had been living through her plays. She quite literally “became” Juliet or Ophelia or whoever she was playing inside her mind, completely suspending her disbelief, because she just didn’t have much of a life outside of her acting. This made her a phenomenal actress, because watching an actor who’s that immersed in their role is also immersive for the audience. But when she met Dorian, life suddenly became more real to her and more meaningful to her than art. Sibyl completely lost that suspension of disbelief, and her acting skills along with it.

Dorian dumps her for saying so, in the most brutal way possible:

…you have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination, Now you don’t even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid. My God! how mad I was to love you! What a fool I have been! You mean nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I will never think of you. […] Without your art, you are nothing. […] A third-rate actress with a pretty face.

Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here. Both Sibyl and Dorian have made the fatal mistake of taking art too seriously. On Sybil’s end, she’s been living through her art in a way that’s unhealthy. She doesn’t have a life or an identity beyond the persona that she adopts on stage. It’s like if your entire life was online, and the only people you’ve ever been in love with are fictional characters, and you didn’t have any life to speak of beyond that — oh. Okay, well, at least I have a sense of myself. Sibyl doesn’t have an identity of her own, so she borrows her identity from Shakespeare characters. Dorian, meanwhile, has fallen in love with this false identity. He doesn’t actually care about the person Sibyl actually is, because there’s nothing really there. When Sibyl feels like she’s finally found herself and become a person, Dorian is disgusted with her because she can no longer act, and she’s no longer interesting to him. Sibyl became an art piece and Dorian loved that art piece, not the person beneath.

This scene is so often misrepresented in adaptations. In most adaptations, the breakup is Harry’s fault, usually through giving him bad romance advice and teaching him to devalue women. For example, in the 2009 adaptation, Harry tempts Dorian to go to a brothel instead of seeing Sibyl perform, and Sibyl is concerned that she’s just another whore to Dorian. That becomes the focus of their breakup. Blaming the breakup on Harry makes it about hedonism; Sibyl feeling like Dorian is exploiting her for sex makes it about hedonism. It’s not about hedonism, it’s about art, which relates back to the preface. In the book, the breakup is entirely Dorian’s fault. It’s also the first time we see any real cruelty out of Dorian, which is then reflected by the portrait. Because this has nothing to do with Harry’s influence, I consider it proof that Dorian was never really that good of a person to begin with. He completely lacks empathy for Sibyl.

This is what results in tragedy. Sibyl commits suicide because she’s the pretty and innocent blond ingenue who’s always the first to die in a gothic novel, and Dorian officially begins his downward slide. Sibyl’s death is absolutely Dorian’s fault in every way. He doesn’t dive headfirst into hedonism until after that happens, and his hedonism is “empty” because he’s trying to numb the pain of Sibyl’s death. And it’s all downhill from there. 

When Basil finally comes to see Dorian again, he’s appalled by Dorian’s reputation. Apparently, everything Dorian touches rots from the inside, so to speak. Sibyl becomes the first of many. Every person he’s involved with ends up too ashamed to show themselves in public, if they don’t commit suicide.

“…you were a man whom no pure-minded girl should be allowed to know, and whom no chaste woman should sit in the same room with. […] Why is your friendship so fatal to young men?” [Basil proceeds to describe several men whom Dorian was “inseparable” with who then ended up with disgraced reputations.] They say that you corrupt everyone with whom you become intimate.”

— Chapter 12

Dorian’s reputation is so sordid that all of the young women and men who become intimate with Dorian (interesting word choice) all end up ruined in some way or another. The same is said of Alan Campbell, the young chemist Dorian blackmails into deposing of Basil’s body. Apparently, they were “almost inseparable, indeed. Then the intimacy had come suddenly to an end.” Do I really need to spell this out? What does Dorian blackmail Allan with? We don’t know. It’s never said. But it’s heavily implied to be something about the very gay stuff that they almost definitely did together.

But — and this is one of the things that made the book so scandalous for its time — Dorian isn’t depraved because he’s bi. He’s just a bad person, and all of the poor young people who become involved with him suffer for it. Other characters in the story who are implied to be queer are not depicted as being evil. Basil, the most unambiguously gay character in the novel, is also one of the most innocent and the most undeserving of Dorian’s cruelty. Alan, too, is an innocent victim of Dorian, whatever he and Dorian might have done together in the past. During the scene in which Dorian blackmails Alan, his behavior implies that he is abusive as a partner, even outside the extraordinary circumstance of covering up a murder. Specifically, the “you made me do this” lines that he keeps throwing at Alan:

I tried to spare you. You will do me the justice to admit that. You were stern, harsh, offensive. You treated me as no man has ever dared to treat me—no living man, at any rate. I bore it all. Now it is for me to dictate terms.

— Chapter 14

How many other people has Dorian treated like this? How many of his lovers has he gaslit into believing that his abuse is their fault? How many people has he threatened with social ruin if they don’t do what he wants? (His own reputation can’t get any worse, after all.) He gives Alan a “look of pity,” as if to say, “this will hurt you way more than it hurts me.” Until the very end, Dorian seems completely oblivious (perhaps willingly so) to the effect that his actions have on other people, or worse, he actively enjoys it. 

So, that brings me to Basil Hallward. Poor, poor Basil.

Basil knows his fatal flaw, and here we come back to taking art too seriously:

Dorian, from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you. You became to me the visible incarnation of that unseen ideal whose memory haunts us like an exquisite dream. I worshipped you. […] I was only happy when I was with you. When you were away from me, you were still present in my art…. […] One day, a fatal day I sometimes think, I determined to paint a wonderful portrait of you as you actually are, not in the costume of dead ages, but in your own dress and your own time. […] …I know that as I worked on it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. I grew afraid that others would know of my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much, that I had put too much of myself into it. […] Well, after a few days the thing left my studio, and as soon as I had gotten rid of the intolerable fascination of its presence, it seemed to me that I had been foolish in imagining that I had seen anything in it, more than that you were extremely good-looking and that I could paint. Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work that one creates. Art is always more abstract than we fancy. Form and colour tell us of form and colour — that is all. It often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more than it reveals him.

— Chapter 9

This is all one paragraph, by the way, and the whole thing spans an entire page. It is probably the gayest paragraph of the entire body of Victorian literature. Basil is clearly infatuated. He becomes so obsessed with Dorian that it’s almost unhealthy. This anguished declaration of love obviously echoes the preface, which is to be expected if Wilde sees Basil as a representation of himself. “To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.” Basil is afraid that the portrait doesn’t reveal Dorian as he is, instead revealing Basil’s salacious crush on Dorian. But he ultimately comes to the same conclusion as the preface — that art conceals the artist and simply exists for its own sake. Anyone is able to project onto art and see anything they want in it, but art simply is what it is, and taking it too seriously results in peril. Perhaps the true tragic figure of this book isn’t Dorian, it’s Basil, for having invested so much in this portrait. He doesn’t paint it for the sake of creating a beautiful thing, but for the sake of glorifying his crush. He treated Dorian like a god, and could not see past his projection of perfection to see that Dorian was becoming a monster until it was much too late. When Basil sees what has become of the portrait, he acknowledges that this is the only thing anyone is punished for in this novel: “I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished.”

Dorian himself kind of becomes an art piece. He literally switches places with the portrait. The portrait shows the corruption of Dorian’s soul, and Dorian himself becomes a projection of both Harry “poisonous” philosophy and Basil’s unhealthy projection. He is admired intensely. He exists just to be beautiful, like an art piece, and no one can really see past his beauty. The novel’s premise is based around the idea that people’s sins are written across their face, and that beauty equals goodness. No one can believe anything bad about Dorian when they see him because he just looks so innocent and angelic. Before he learns the truth, Basil is disturbed by Dorian’s reputation but just can’t believe it: “But you, Dorian, with your pure, bright, innocent face, and your marvellous untroubled youth—I can’t believe anything against you.” Similar comments are made by other characters. Dorian is just too pretty to be as evil as he is. The subversiveness of the book comes from that premise. How often are beautiful people able to get away with anything in society, just because people tend to assume they’re innocent? It’s no wonder that Dorian is completely narcissistic.

Even Harry is incredulous when Dorian all but admits to having murdered Basil, thinking that he’s not capable of murder: “Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders […] I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations.” Comparing crime to art is really interesting, to say the least. Most people would say that there’s nothing artistic about crime, but Harry isn’t most people, he’s a troll. And the only reason he gets off scot-free in this book is because he never commits the sin of taking art too seriously! Apparently, according to him, Dorian cannot commit a crime because he’s basically an art piece, and he just doesn’t have any need to kill someone. There’s another comment that Harry makes towards the end that suggests that he views Dorian as an art piece:

I am so glad that you have never done anything, never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything outside of yourself! Life has been your art. You have set yourself to music. Your days are your sonnets.

—Chapter 19

This echoes an earlier comment that he made about Basil being boring because everything that’s interesting about him, he puts into his art. Dorian’s life is vibrant because he directs all that same creative energy into living instead of into an art piece. Dorian himself is an art piece. And yet, while Harry is saying this, Dorian is feeling Basil’s murder weighing upon him.

The title refers not to Dorian himself, but to the portrait — a piece of art. The portrait drives the story, and even Dorian himself realizes this. Dorian’s undoing is that he can’t live with the guilt of his reckless murder and probably all his other sins, especially when he has a literal conscience staring back at him. He would have gotten away with murder just for being pretty, if he didn’t have a conscience. It’s far too late for him to redeem himself, so he decides to destroy the conscience. And… we know how that turns out.

The true “moral” of this book is really hard to parse out, which is maybe why we shouldn’t attempt to read the symbol and just take the whole book at face-value, right? There’s a lot going on here. There’s the inability to face up to one’s problems and deal with them in a way that’s healthy, resulting in any form of enjoyment being “empty.” There’s the idolization of beauty, always assuming the best of beautiful people even when they’re really quite awful. And there’s art — treating art like life or life like art is always going to come back to bite you in the end. That would make this a cautionary tale about what happens when art isn’t appreciated for its own sake, and is projected on so much that one confuses it with life, or sought as a source of morality. Art is not moral, it just is — reading (or writing!) a book from the perspective of a serial killer will not make you a bad person. This book is not a bad influence, it just is.

Even after having written all of that, I’m still not really sure what Wilde was trying to say about hedonism, so let’s ask him. According to Wilde himself, the moral of The Picture of Dorian Gray is, “All excess, as well as all renunciation, brings its own punishment.”

Both extremes are bad. Indulge in life, but make sure you do so with empathy, and for the right reasons! Find some middle ground. And most of all, don’t be afraid of your own portrait.

#dorian gray #the picture of dorian gray #dorian gray weekly #oscar wilde #literary analysis #gothic literature #gothic lit #art #hedonism #tpodg

[ladystardust-thinks]

What do you mean if i wrote something? NU-UH. I have proof as to why taylor swift basically wrote daisy jones.

"Everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool

So overnight, you look like a '60s queen

And they tell you that you're lucky, but you're so confused

'Cause you don't feel pretty, you just feel used

And all the young things line up to take your place

Another name goes up in lights

You wonder if you'll make it out alive

And they'll tell you now, you're the lucky one

Yeah, they'll tell you now, you're the lucky one

Can you tell me now you're the lucky one?"

- The Lucky One, Taylor Swift, Red

"And the voices say, "You are not the exception

You will never learn your lesson"

Foolish one

Stop checkin' your mailbox for confessions of love

That ain't never gonna come

You will take the long way, you will take the long way down

You know how to keep me waitin'

I know how to act like I'm fine

Don't know what to call this situation

But I know I can't call you mine"

- Foolish One (FTV), Taylor Swift, Speak Now

"And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

'Cause you were never mine

'Cause you were never mine, never mind

But do you remember?

Remember when I pulled up and said, "Get in the car"

And then canceled my plans just in case you'd call?

Back when I was livin' for the hope of it all, for the hope of it all

"Meet me behind the mall""

- august, Taylor Swift, folklore

"And I can see you years from now in a bar

Talking over a football game

With that same big loud opinion

But nobody's listening

Washed up and ranting about the same old bitter things

Drunk and grumbling on about how I can't sing

But all you are is mean

All you are is mean

And a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life

And mean, and mean, and mean, and mean

But someday, I'll be living in a big old city

And all you're ever gonna be is mean, yeah

Someday, I'll be big enough so you can't hit me

And all you're ever gonna be is mean"

- Mean, Taylor Swift, Speak Now

"Don't look at me, you got a girl at home

And everybody knows that, everybody knows that,

I don't even know her

But I feel a responsibility to do what's upstanding and right

It's kinda like a code, yeah

And you've been getting closer and closer, and crossing so many lines

And it would be a fine proposition

If I was a stupid girl

But honey, I am no-one's exception

This I have previously learned

So don't look at me, you got a girl at home"

- Girl at Home, Taylor Swift, Red

"But if, God forbid, fate should step in

And force us into a goodbye

If you have children someday

When they point to the pictures

Please tell them my name

Tell them how the crowds went wild

Tell them how I hope they shine

Long live the walls we crashed through

I had the time of my life with you

Long, long live the walls we crashed through

How the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

And I was screaming, "Long live all the magic we made"

And bring on all the pretenders, I'm not afraid"

- Long Live, Taylor Swift, Speak Now

~

In conclusion,

I physically cannot listen to Taylor Swift without thinking of Daisy Jones

- Shad

#daisy jones and the six #djats #djats x reader #daisy jones #taylor swift #long live #speak now #red #folklore #august #billy dunne #daisybilly #the lucky one #girl at home #mean #foolish one #taylor's version #it's also so sad #especially the lucky one #also swiftie reveal lmao #i have so many ideas for other characters too #bonus: i bet you think about me when you say omg she's insane she wrote a song about me i bet you think about me *nose bop*

[tc-doherty]

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The name spread as quickly as dragon's fire on dry grass. As she traveled through the gardens or slunk through the halls she was greeted with the name Lady Patrice. Now that she had a name she was less strange, less other. Before people had gossiped and stared but mostly left her alone. Now they tried to engage her. Even the three maids had forced their way back into her suite.

By the time two days had passed, not a single person in court had missed hearing her name.

"How dare you do this to me?" She snarled at the red-headed knight the next time the woman dared to follow her into the gardens. "They could not hold me before, and now you have given them chains! What gave you the right?"

The knight didn't seem surprised to be greeted with anger. She brought another offering of meat, pork this time, which she set down on the ground in front of the dragon. "I told you, someone would've named you sooner or later. At least I had good intentions."

The dragon did not touch the platter of meat. "I should rather be called anything else than to hear my true name butchered by humans." Her fingers dug into the manicured lawn beneath her, ripping out chunks of sod and soil. "And now they tell me their names, as if I care. How do you find yourselves in such meaningless syllables?"

The knight watched her destroy the grass with a small smile. Her smile, her easy-going attitude, and the question that followed only served to enrage the dragon further. "How do dragons find each other under the weight of such heavy names?"

The dragon couldn't answer that, could never describe in human words the weight that dragons accorded names. She shook her head. "I cannot be Patrice. I do not belong here. Take it back! Free me from this cruelty you've inflicted." Her anger swallowed her distress, and the grass and soil beneath her hands began to smoke.

The knight laughed. "Two things you can't take back: love freely given and words once spoken. If you hate us so much, why not flee this place and return to the dragons, hm?"

"I cannot."

"Then you do belong here." The knight nudged the platter forward a little more. "Eat and grow strong again. Try to find yourself in the name Patrice. Live. There are good people here too, who would be your friends."

She wanted to be angry. She truly wanted to be angry. She was a dragon after all! She was something dangerous and wild, and here this…this measly human, thisknight dared to approach her so casually without any fear at all. This knight had dared to chain her down with a human name, had the audacity to suggest that she should forgive the people responsible for her mother's murder. More than that, to befriend them! And yet, she could not work up the energy to be truly angry.

She continued to ignore the platter. Food was not the least bit appetizing. Her fire had died as if it had been doused with water and the grass had ceased to smolder under her touch. "I should change my name to 'the despair only felt by those who have lost everything'. How do your people say that?"

The knight stood, crossed the distance between them in two steps, and struck her hard across the face. "Now you're acting like a human. Have a little self-respect, Lady Dragon."

The dragon snarled and rubbed her cheek. The knight was strong, as all knights are, and the slap had enough force that it made her rock backwards and almost caused her to fall. "How dare you?"

"How dare you?" The knight asked from where she stood. "I thought dragons were strong. Adaptable. Your carrying on like this shames the names of your family."

She glowered at the knight. Anger, embarrassment, and grief warred within her. She already knew that her mother wouldn't have approved of this, she had thought the same herself. Dragons did not live wrapped in despair and hatred, the knight was right about that. They examined their surroundings, accepted them, and adapted. But she could not let go so easily.

She wanted to be left to mourn in peace.

She wanted to lash out; to hurt these humans as they had hurt her.

Either option would be easy, although she already knew neither option was entirely possible. And certainly, to a dragon, neither option was acceptable. She closed her eyes.

"I will try to find myself in Patrice."

"It's not a death sentence," the knight, no…Felisjyta, said, sitting down again. "You can still be your mother's daughter and Lady Patrice. If you don't like being Lady Patrice, you don't have to stay here. There are other human lands, who will call you differently. Treat you differently."

The idea of leaving this place only to go to a place with even more humans was exhausting. She didn't want to contemplate such a thing. This was already hard enough. "I suppose we will have to see," said Patrice. She reached at last for the meal Felicity had brought her.

"I'll listen, you know, if you want to talk about her. That might help."

"It would mean nothing to you, you never met her."

They sat in silence for a time, as Patrice forced herself to eat at least a little of what had been provided. Whether she wanted to or not, whether it was appetizing or not, even dragons had to eat. And although it did not match her mood at all, it was indeed a lovely day to sit in the open air and enjoy a meal. Even her taking her frustration out on the grass had not ruined the fact that the cypress grove was a beautiful and peaceful place.

When Felisjyta spoke again, it was seemingly at random.

"If you ask someone what they think the best part of humanity is," she said, "you'll probably get a lot of different answers. People might say invention or building, or bravery, medicine, or art. Some might claim it's mastery over the elements and other species."

Patrice said nothing, but it seemed Felisjyta did not expect her to reply.

"Personally, I think the best part of humanity is our compassion. It's true that I never met your mother, and I can't grieve for her personally. But that does not mean that I cannot sit with you and your grief, and offer what support I may."

Patrice studied the knight, with her bright red hair and clear green eyes. They were like dragon's eyes, without the layers of trickery and plans that most humans showed. Or so it appeared. She did not yet know how to read human faces well, but Felisjyta wasn't smiling anymore, just meeting Patrice's gaze straight on.

Felisjyta seemed sincere, and Patrice found that she did want to talk about her mother. Or at least, she no longer wanted to be the only person who knew about her. If there was one thing her mother had always craved, it was attention. An audience. Surely she would want her stories told, and her name remembered.

"Her name, you would say, was 'the tap of claw against scale in mock battle'." Patrice paused, caught again by how thoroughly these human tongues stripped dragon names of all their beauty. "She was beautiful and elegant, and she was a proud and ferocious warrior. Mostly, however, she loved to laugh."

The maids clearly didn't expect her to arrive back in her chambers during the day. When she opened the door from the gardens, they froze like rabbits under the shadow of a hawk, torn between the desire to bolt and the need to remain where they were. It's true she had wanted a little bit more reverence or fear from Felicity, but this level was just ridiculous.

"L-lady Patrice!" One of them managed to say. "Your clothing!"

Patrice glanced down. She wore only the single white gown they had put her in before, and several days outside had not been kind to it. She was stained by the grass and the dirt, and by the meat she had eaten. Realizing it, she suddenly felt filthy. She had never taken such poor care of herself as she had recently, and it embarrassed her almost as much as Felisjyta’s chastisement. She tilted her head as she thought about the problem the maids presented.

So far she has spoken only to Felisjyta. These maids were nothing like the redheaded knight, but typical people of this land – pale of skin, with rounded faces and three shades of hair somewhere between blonde and light brown. They reminded her of the knight who had brought her here and she wished to snap at them and order them to leave.

But she knew that they were not the knight who had brought her here, and she knew that was not how people behaved – among humans or dragons. If she was to attempt to live here as Patrice, then she had to be civil.

The longer she waited to speak, the more nervous the maids became. The one who had spoken first twisted her apron in her hands, creasing the white fabric. Another began nibbling on her fingertips. The third stood still a stone next to the window with a rag in one hand. She broke the silence.

"You'd like us to leave, milady?" She asked. Her voice trembled only a little as she spoke. It was a pretty voice, melodious like bird song and far gentler than either Patrice's own or Felisjyta's. It was the first time Patrice had heard anything resembling beauty in the language of this land.

"What is your name?" Asked Patrice.

The girl gaped at her for a moment before recovering her poise. "Maria, milady."

"What does it mean?"

Maria shook her head. "I don't know. I was named after my great-grandmother."

"And you two?" Patrice looked at the other two maids, the two who had fidgeted.

The blondest of them, the one who had spoken first, continued to play with her apron as she replied. "Anna, milady. I don't know what it means."

"Elaine, my lady. I don't know either," said the third.

Patrice sighed. "I do not understand humans. But you," she pointed at Maria, "may stay. I will not need you other two for the moment."

"Yes, milady," all three said at once. Elaine and Anna did not hesitate to leave the room, abandoning their companion to the dragon's whims. Maria remained by the window, and only the whiteness of her knuckles betrayed her nerves.

"What may I do for you, milady?" She asked. Even the tremor had gone from her voice. She was a brave one.

Patrice shut the door behind her and studied the room, which she had not previously paid much attention to. It was furnished with plush chairs, a carved wooden table, a small bookcase, and a thick rug to cover the stone floors. The wall behind her was taken up with a brick fireplace, a large window, and the door which led into the gardens. The other three walls each had a door. One of them presumably let out to the corridor through which she had first entered, of the other two she had no idea. The spaces between them were hung with tapestries of nature scenes. It was small, certainly, but not as suffocating as it had seemed at first.

At last her gaze landed back on the maid, who was still waiting patiently.

"First, stop saying 'milady'," Patrice said. "I have committed to the name Patrice and no others. And then, I think I will need your help to get changed."

Maria laughed. If it was slightly strained, Patrice could not judge her for that. But it was a surprisingly rich sound, considering the maid's small frame. The laughter of humans could not compare to the laughter of her mother, but even so the sound made her feel more at home.

The tension drained out of the room like water from a broken cup and Maria dropped out of her rigid pose. "Yes, mi-er...Lady Patrice. I think you will need help. Are you joining the court at last?"

Patrice moved forward and dropped into the nearest chair, heedless of the mess she made. "I did not say that." She ran a finger over the scales of her mother's cloak, but the smooth scales brought no comfort without her mother's warmth beneath them. The alien coldness was a stark reminder that she must adapt to her new surroundings, and quickly. "I did not look at the clothing they provided me, but pick something simple. I need not strut around decked like a songbird in search of a wife."

"I'll do my best," Maria said, "but that is the style right now." She looked Patrice up and down, tapping her foot while she did so. There was no trace of her former formality now that the dragon had been replaced by nothing more unusual than a young, out of place girl, new to the court. Surely she had seen such things hundreds of times. "There's no helping it, you'll need a bath first. Even your hair will need to be washed. Wait here while I draw water for you." She turned and went through the mysterious door to the right.

Patrice sat in her chair and listened to the sound of water pouring. She stroked the scaled cloak over and over again, and wondered if she was doing the right thing. Her mother might be pleased – the black dragon had loved humans. It was that fact that had gotten her killed – the human stories of dragons amused her and her dramatic nature longed to live up to them. Before that, it was what had gotten her and her bastard daughter exiled in the first place. It was the reason that she had to become Patrice instead of flying away to join other dragons. She could not fly at all, because her mixed blood prevented it – a fact she intended to keep securely locked behind her fangs.

This had not necessarily bothered her when it was just her and her mother. She had needed no place other than that. But without her mother's protection, what else could she do but this? Where else could she go, who else could she possibly become? Perhaps something like this was always fated to happen and it was her own fault for not being prepared for it. But she had never wanted to be anyone else other than her mother's daughter.

Silence descended, interrupting Patrice's thoughts. Maria interrupted them more when she poked her head around the doorway. "If you don't mind me suggesting it, Lady Patrice," the maid said, "you could go to the tournament on Friday."

"Tournament?" asked Patrice, seizing the distraction from her previous line of thought.

"Oh, I guess a dragon wouldn't know." Maria ducked back into the side room. From there her voice came with a curious echo. "It's almost the end of the court season. There's lots of contests and festivals that lead up to the tournament on Friday and Saturday, and the feast on Saturday night."

"What day is it today?"

"Today is Wednesday," Maria said. "This evening is the carousel, where knights try out for the tournament. Overmorrow the top forty-eight who pass will face each other in combat."

Patrice rose and followed the conversation to the doorway. The room she saw astonished her. The walls and floor were covered in a mosaic of tiles, mostly white but with splashes of color to form geometric patterns. The center of the room was dominated by a large painted basin, which Maria was filling with water. The water came out of a metal spout, attached to a wooden handle the maid pumped up and down. In all her life, Patrice had only ever cleaned off in ponds and rivers, nothing at all like this. She could not have imagined such a thing.

"May I try?" She asked.

Maria shook her head. "It wouldn't be appropriate for a lady to do such things."

How quickly humans forgot things! Patrice crossed her arms and stared at Maria. "I'm not exactly a lady."

"Ah, right. But you are a lady in the eyes of the court."

This would get her nowhere. She walked forward, forcing Maria to take a few steps back, and stood beside the handle. Copying what she'd seen Maria do, she lifted it up. The handle stuck a little, and became harder to push the higher it went. Pulling it was not as easy as she had thought either, and Patrice had to use a lot of her considerable strength to force it back down into place. "You're quite strong," she told Maria. "I was unaware that being human was so difficult."

The whole exchange seemed to have bemused Maria, but she covered it up with a small laugh. "Not half so bad for the rich, they get to pay us to do this." She took over at the handle again.

Patrice left her to it and bent down to look under the basin, where a small fire was burning. She wanted to ask about that as well, but instead returned to the previous topic of conversation. The one which had brought her in here in the first place. "Will Lady Felisjyta compete in the tournament as well?"

"You mean Felicity? That foreigner?"

Patrice sighed, but nodded. It seemed Felisjyta had not been exaggerating. Humans here were willing to butcher even each other's names.

"It's 'dame' for knights, not 'lady'," Maria said. "Dame Felicity has signed up to compete today but her odds aren't good. She's smaller than most of the knights and so is her horse. She's got what we call a 'rouncey" – barely larger than a pony! A knight really ought to have a proper destrier, I think."

Patrice knew destriers. She had seen them in many colors over the years, ridden by many different knights. But she hadn't known that there were other kinds or sizes of horses. For every answer Maria gave her, she only ended up with more questions. She put that issue aside for later. "And the knights will fight each other, for what?"

"For entertainment, and for prestige." Maria gave one final pump and then locked the handle in place.

So humans had their own mock battles. Her mother would certainly have approved of that, she would've wanted to see such a thing. "What is it like, this tournament?"

"Loud, messy, and very, very hot. A lot of people get drunk and rowdy." Maria moved to one corner and pulled some small sticks off a pile that Patrice had not noticed, then ducked down to put them in the fire. "There's a lot of food, games, and parties. There's all kinds of entertainment, from music and dancing to games to mages doing tricks. It's all outside so it's not as fussy as the court. Lots of us commoners get to go too."

Patrice dipped her fingers in the water. It was hot, though not as hot as her own internal flame. So that, she realized, was the purpose of the fire under the basin. Completely different than lakes or rivers only warmed by the sun, if at all. "Is the carousel the same?"

"Not nearly so many people go to that," Maria said. "You want to?"

"I must think about it."

"Well, in any case you still need to get cleaned up and learn how to dress."

Faster than Patrice would've thought possible, the maid was by her side. Deft hands pulled off the scaled cloak and soiled gown. She hesitated upon finding the ridge of purple scales that ran down Patrice's spine, and the smaller scales that spread out across her shoulders and hips like stars.

There were tiny scales running along her cheekbones too, but they were easily covered by Patrice's loose hanging hair. This was probably the first evidence Maria had that Patrice was what everyone said she was. But whatever her thoughts on the matter were, Maria paused only for a moment before shoving Patrice in the direction of the basin. "Go on, get in. There's soaps in that wooden box off the far side. I'll pick out a dress and come back to help you."

Patrice did not mention that she didn't know what soap was. "I wish to wear that cloak too," she said instead.

"Of course, but not until you're clean." With that, Maria whisked out of the room, taking the cloak and gown with her.

Patrice shrugged and stepped into the water.

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#writeblr #writing #tc's writing #dragon's daughter #femslash #queer fantasy #fantasy novels #authors on tumblr

[imarvelatthestars]

Clone Trooper & Fett(s) Masterlist

Updated March 17, 2024

By Theme:

Clone x Reader 2023 Bingo

2024 Clone Bingo Event

The Clone Comm Program

Halloween 🎃

Life Day ❄️

By Clone:

99

Wild, Uncharted Waters | Things come easy with 99. He makes you smile until your cheeks hurt and laugh until you're lightheaded. You find a kindred spirit. You hope he has too. | oneshot

Boba Fett

Aliit Ori'shya Tal'din | Much has changed since you left your smoldering village on the back of Boba's bantha. But he has not. He has remained. | ongoing series, on hold a collage for the Tusken!Reader/OC Be With Me | Something about the way you say his name always makes him smile, which only makes you want to say it again so he'll keep smiling and never stop. | drabble Enjoying the View | "Come now, princess. It's not every day I get to fuck someone as pretty as you." | drabble Mesh'la | You have to know if the life you've built with him is able to be pulled out from under you, no matter the fact that you know Boba and you know he is loyal, you know he is honorable, you know in some corner of your heart that he would never abandon you. But you know he is also a man. And men are fickle. | oneshot On Display (ft. Fennec) | "You're doing so well, kitten," she coos and you whimper in response. "Look so pretty for your Daimyo." | drabble Safe | He eyes the tear streaks on your skin and feels something rumble to life in his chest. You never had to ask. | drabble Seeing Double | Djarin's a lucky man. But Boba's luckier. He has you. | oneshot, ft. Din x OC Tell Me | The helmet tilts to one side so slightly that anyone else may not have noticed, but you know him. You notice. You always notice. | oneshot Thank You, Mr. Daimyo | "And what are we going t' do with you, hm? A teacher who teaches. I've never heard of such a thing." | oneshot Verd'ika | And as you start crying, you hear the softest voice you think anyone in the galaxy has ever heard from the legendary Boba Fett. "I would never lay a hand on you," and he sounds utterly wrecked. | oneshot

Cody

fly away with me | this time there is only the empire and the stormtrooper, and the empty space in your heart where cody used to lie. | drabble

Crosshair

Broken | I'm here, you tell him in the only way you can. He doesn't like words in the same way you don't like endings - they hurt too much. | drabble Shameless | Crosshair smirks. The end of his toothpick twitches. "What's the matter? You can dish it, but you can't take it?" | drabble I'm Just A Fool, A Fool In Love With You (ft. Wrecker) | It's nothing special - you're nothing special, yet when you tilt your head up to look at him, Crosshair can feel something wind up in the pit of his stomach. | drabble; onesided Crosshair x Reader

Echo

Ner Kar'ta | And as Echo tilts his head back to look at you properly, his eyes go big and soft and it grips you by the heart like he always has, ever since the first day you met him. | oneshot Where I Fit | Three years isn’t a terribly long time, but it’s long enough in love. Long enough to fall for Riyo, and long enough to learn that the man she loves, the clone, is one of the best men you've ever known. | oneshot (ft. Riyo Chuchi)

Emerie Karr

Blood Runs Red | But clones cannot afford secrets, not when their price is too high to pay. | drabble Secret Desires | When the other clones dream, she knows they dream of living in a galaxy without war. But when she dreams, she dreams of being a soldier. | drabble στοργή - storge | Her place is with the Empire. She has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do with the shadow of a life she leads. | drabble; character study, no reader

Hound

Fireworks | It’s one thing to be given a citation for having a massiff off-leash. You can understand that, even if it sucks. But to basically be insulted in your own home? That’s an entirely different story. | oneshot

Jango Fett

Just A Man | A warrior who abandoned his people and found himself lost in time. The monster that stalks the town at night, leaving blood and death in his wake. Django Fetu has lost himself. He finds his salvation in Sleepy Hollow. | series

Jesse

star-burned | For the first time in a very long time, you wake up and Jesse is there. No more deployments, no more long-distance calls and patchy video messages. | modern oneshot

Mayday

Alive | Mayday falls asleep with his head lolled gently in your direction, his metal fingers tangled in your hair, and his heart softly beating out the cadence of your name. | drabble

Sister (Queen's Hope + Brotherhood)

Cyare | She makes for a fierce and brave soldier, you're sure, but it's clear she's nervous, perhaps as nervous as you would be if you'd ever managed the courage to ask her out first. | oneshot She Walks in Starlight | A breeze comes drifting through the leaves then and as it stirs her hair, Sister finds herself regretting just one last thing. She wishes she could have seen you again. | oneshot (unofficial sequel to Cyare) when you are young they assume you know nothing | She can clear a platoon of droids no problem, but it’s going out to a bar in civvy clones that makes her nervous. Go figure. | miniseries, ft. Lunae Minx and Riyo Chuchi, no reader

Tai (Daiyu Veteran)

The Tai Saga (this is where it all started!) everything below is unrelated to the saga & are separate stories: A Little More Alive | "I know several tongues, but I don't know yours. Don't even know your name." He smiles, Tai smiles, and scratches at your shoulder. "Don't suppose you'd ever tell me, would you?" All Work, Some Play | This is all because you're greedy, the kind that leaves you satisfied in bed, on the couch, on the table, anywhere he's willing to satisfy you, and you'd thought he would satisfy you again this time, but he put his foot down. | oneshot For The Heart | He wants the things he's heard whispers of over the years. What Bly and Secura have - someone who loves him not as a brother, but as something more. | matchmaking AU

Tech

An Arranged Technicality | But then he looks at Rose, the strong angle of her nose, the eyes he has seen sparkle with wit, the tongue hidden behind her lips that knows the intricacies of as many languages as he, the hands that have carried axes and made bullets and translated messages of peace, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, she's quite nice to look at. | gold rush!au drabble

Waxer

headcanons

Wrecker

Appetite | "Don't know why I want ya so bad. 's like I'll die if I can't have ya." He fists two halves of your bottoms and pulls, and your clothes rip right down the middle. | oneshot Curtain Call | Good, you think, let them talk. Maybe they'll choke on their tongues when they realize the star of the show just had hers down a clone's throat. | oneshot Don't Go Where I Can't Follow | The life of a clone is the life of a soldier. It's full of violence and blood and death, and there's not much hope. That's why he tries so hard. | oneshot Good Soldiers | The meat of his hand rests heavy on your cheek, his breath hot and stuffy on your face. "I like it when you follow orders." | oneshot Personal Best | His muscles move smoothly under his skin and it makes his tattoos look almost alive, especially the one on his stomach that you can never quite make out because of that stupid cut open tanktop. Oh yeah, especially that one. | modern gym!au oneshot Six (Ono) | He'll never be over how smart you are, either. Never. You're not as smart as Tech, probably no one is, but you're brilliant in your own right and dammit it all if that isn't the sexiest thing about you. | oneshot Solid Ground | His arms tighten around you and you suddenly feel your feet dangling in empty air. He’s the only person you’ve ever let lift you, the only person you feel safe enough with to allow it. | drabble

Multi-Clone

Rex's Clone Uprising x Reader thots | ft. Howzer and Fireball, lil bit of Nemec, Greer, & Samson; (no cl*necest) Labyrinth of My Mind | Tucked away in a corner of the Corellian system, on the humble trade planet of Aurea, is the galaxy's best kept secret - a batch of brothers, formerly associated with the Grand Army of the Republic, who mysteriously vanished, their whereabouts unknown to all but the woman sheltering them for the past two years. | ongoing series, ft. Tai, Commander Appo, Captain Vaughn, Sergeant Fox, & Sterling (no cl*necest) Show Me | "He's ignoring me." "Good," huffs Wrecker as his hand comes up to tilt your chin back down to him. "More for me." | oneshot, ft. Wrecker & Tech; (no cl*necest)

#clone trooper masterlist #ft. boba and jango lol #wake up babes new masterlist image just dropped

[malusienki]

why does listening to classical music automatically make you “an old soul” “nerdy” “weird” “boring”

more under the cut (it’s long, sorry)

like? is it just me having a different standpoint or do i not get it? why is it that classical music is considered boring? what caused that? what???? im convinced the people saying these things have listened to like. vivaldi’s four seasons. boccherini’s minuet. offenbach’s can-can. and called it a day. these people probably don’t even know that it’s called “minuet” and only refer to the toreador march as the “fnaf song” <- (i don’t have anything against this per se, fnaf is a really cool thing i just never got into it fully and it only irks me just a little but that’s a whole other topic) without knowing what it’s from. now that goes to say i don’t expect everyone who criticizes and doesn’t like it to immediately go listen to the entire library of classical music and be enlightened but it’s a little offputting when you go out of your way to continuously remind someone that they’re weird for listening to and enjoying operas and/or classical music.

that last little bit was taken from what my friend— or i guess ex-friend now but the term still seems unfamiliar— would kind of do to me but to a lower degree i think. they said they found my interest in opera cool and would .. kind of listen to my rants and stuff and i appreciate it but then they’d go and make offhand comments about how weird i was and would use my interest in opera to sort of like.. “you can’t be talking you like OPERA” in a jokey manner i guess? that sort of thing. i thought that was normal and even though it hurt my feelings, it was all jokes, yeah? [i recognize now that thats not how that works and even though occasional jokes are okay your interests should never be the butt of the “joke” if it’s constantly repeated and hurts your feelings] and i think people don’t realize how much of a foundation classical music in itself is. i cannot tell you how many times i’ve recognized a piece to be a fragment from an opera or a mozart composition or like.. jeez i don’t fucking know, beethoven. out in the wild. in pop music, in movies, in shows, etc. even instagram reels/tiktok. if you frequent those you’ll come to find that there are a lot of trending “audios” using like.. lacrimosa or vivaldi’s four seasons or fuckin like prokofiev’s dance of the knights or act II of swan lake. i remember my mom was watching a netflix movie, a fucking cheesy ass romance or something, and there was a moment where the flower duet from lakmé played. the goddamn mario movie has a clip of carmen’s “l’amour est un oiseau rebelle”/the habanera within the first like, what. ten? fifteen minutes? i might be getting needlessly annoyed but it’s really fucking aggravating getting told i’m weird for liking something supposedly no one else under the age of 50 does. thanks guys. i really appreciate your supportiveness— but that’s besides the point.

my main reason that i’m even writing this is because my assumption (of course, this is most likely an incorrect assumption because i’m only 15 and only have so much life experience) is that the same people who often go around saying that classical music is boring and dull are the ones who are constantly wanting to push the arts to be funded. if you’re gonna fund the arts, fund ALL of them. not just “‘“‘“modern”””” stuff. not just musical theatre or plays. i think people forget that? maybe they ignore it. maybe they just don’t know. that’s why education is so important.

now that being said, i know seeing an opera or going to a concert can be expensive— and i wish that wasn’t the case. there’s always free livestreams, there’s always concerts, there’s albums, youtube videos, i know when i was in chicago i listened to the classical radio, etc. nothing beats seeing these things live in the theatre but it’s better than nothing i think?

also, i don’t mean to say classical is better than anything i mentioned above. no. i’m just sick and fucking tired of being told this and that about my interest when all i want to do is to be happy and consume something in peace without being hardcore judged for it and i really appreciate the small little operablr community.

there’s definitely more that i missed to this so if i think of anything more i’ll add on to it but i’m just… hrrrrgggg anger rage frustration. head in hands. so tired.

thank you for your time

#rants #classical music #opera tag #music

[utilitycaster]

I'm still thinking about The Rain Road from Worlds Beyond Number in like five different ways, particularly in how it relates to a bunch of other actual plays, so I'm cramming them all into one massive post:

There was a NADDPod D&D Court case in the live show they released this week in which the DM invented a language for Thieves' Cant and put it in a packet for a new player who was playing a rogue but did not make it clear this was required reading, and then in-game answered the rogue's investigation check in this language, which the player had no ability to understand, and it shut down an avenue of story. Absolutely wild case but the point here is that this sort of energy needs to be directed into writing in-world songs or poetry and not a conlang your player has to pick up in their spare time.

In the Fireside, Aabria talked about how the song was inherently political despite being religious and not having any political lyrics (comparing it to some of the spirituals of enslaved African-Americans). We do know that the people who knew the song were older; we know that Galani and Suvi felt a certain way as members of the imperium about it, and that Morrow did not recognize the greetings of Port Talon derived from the worship of Naram and Orima. It's unclear precisely what the Empire's attitude is towards religion. It does not appear to be outlawed and Steel indicates a non-religious degree of respect towards Great Spirits; it seems it's simply not respected by the Empire on the whole, perhaps broadly discouraged. Even a fairly neutral attitude of disregard could erode it culturally among younger people who are always eager to reject the older ways. A cynical person would say any of these could be the path to eventual harsher legislation; wear it down first for a few generations, then come in when the opposition is weak. What's interesting to me is this relationship between religion and Empire, especially against the backdrop of Critical Role. There, we've seen it several ways - religious institutions using the tools of empire (Othanzia), empires that blur the lines between the two (Kryn Dynasty), but also empires that outlaw it (the Dwendalian Empire going after casual worshippers of the Changebringer, leaving their children to fend for themselves). My own feeling here is that religion is conceptually neutral and can be used for either good or ill, and empire is not given that it relies on conquest, but it is interesting to see the vast differences in the fandoms for the two works - which have decent overlap - re: religion when we have mostly seen the two in opposition vs. when we we have seen many different perspectives worldwide.

To that point I'm really excited for the next arc because while I think empire is, again, always going to be about subjugation and conquering and cannot ever be a good thing, I also think that individuals within it are going to be complicated. I can't remember if it was Brennan or Aabria or both who pointed this out, and that right now we mostly just have the word "empire", but even then, we've seen people seeking the favor of the Imperium but not high up within it do terrible things, and people who are in its military and abused by those in power died to save civilians. The Empire is on the whole going to be a bad force, but I'm looking forward to seeing all the very human reasons why people might support it. (This isn't about the song but it's a natural thought from the previous one).

Back to the song, I know much of the lore of the campaign is taken from Brennan and Erika's cultural backgrounds, but a hymn for rain is something very common in Judaism - the upcoming fall holidays especially center around this. Not much to add there other than that this does feel very true to liturgy that has a basis in the natural and the agricultural; good job Brennan on that.

Bouncing back to the song as it exists as a quiet form of something that is perhaps not explicitly anti-empire, but shows a way without an empire (after all, few things are more of a quiet threat than reminding people the empire did not always exist), Ame is of course the one who makes an effort to learn and spread it; she's the one who builds a shrine during the fight and who knows how to communicate with the spirits (sidebar what the fuck is up with Suvi's necklace). It is interesting to me, among various fandoms, seeing which character is pinned as the Moral Center because it is almost always one vague description, which Ame fits (wise; provincial; vague nature vibes), but the thing is that archetype does not really have a moral code associated with it and I wonder why that's the archetype, particularly since that immediately sticks out to me as a valuable but very limited voice. (It's also interesting that when there isn't an obvious character who fits this type, the Moral Center character - and to be clear I think the idea that one character is the moral center is fallacious and simple thinking to begin with - people gravitate towards, if I can be a bit dismissive about characters I genuinely like since I'm really just dismissing the fandom perception, sob stories, more than anything else).

#long post #i was going to main tag but honestly this is so scattered i won't. read my post if you want to skip if you don't have fun with it #wbn tag #cr tag

[shallowseeker]

"Oh, Cas. I believe in you." Why I believe Michael ripped this line from Dean's mind:

I think I finally have an uplifting headcanon surrounding the last episodes and why Michael was so amused in 14x10 with these believing-oriented lines:

From 14x10, pink collateral (Nihilism):

Televised, it sounds even more like he's getting private, perverse delight in quoting a deep part of Dean:

"Oh, Cas. I believe in you."

///

What gives? Why is this line so remarkable? Because it is the unspoken answer to a very deep, very private question Dean was asked in the previous season, by the therapist Mia Vallens, when Cas was dead:

13x04, Yellow Draft (The Big Empty)

Mia: "Dean...what do you believe in?

"So, what do you believe in, Dean?"

He answers this question at the end of the same episode, scripted and televised in 13x04, Yellow Draft (The Big Empty):

Dean: Right now, I don't believe in a damn thing.

Cas comes alive lying asleep in a field, wild blackberries framing the shot, and he is full of gratitude and life.

///

Cas was asked by the Shadow why he would return, when "there is nothing for you here."

Supernatural asked that question often enough: How DO you keep on living when the worst has happened to you? It could be the loss of a parent, a brother, a child, a spouse. How do you find meaning and keep on living when the hope and future is dashed to pieces? When your faith is gone because you've lost almost everything? When the thing that made you matter is gone?

Lamentation and fatalism can blind us to the gratitude and life still available to us. We see this when John lost Mary, when Sam lost Jess, how John could not lose Dean even when Sam still needed him, how Ellen could not lose Jo when Bobby still needed her, how Dean could not lose Sam, and how TFW could not lose Jack.

For Cas, his fatalism and Heaven-as-corrupt-war trauma often prevent him from embracing what he already has. He sometimes cannot even recognize his own love or the love that others have for him (i.e. he tends to rework happiness as Big Destiny, and family as Holy Cause). Like a broken tapedeck (14x09 The Spear), Cas cannot "hear" the music, or freely enjoy the love that is available to him. In Meredith Glynn's script (13x14 Good Intentions) it is more obvious that Cas returns to "angel instincts," embracing war and his Self as weapon. ("You're more than a weapon, Cas.")

///

When Dean lost Cas, he was afraid (13x05 Advanced Thanatology) that he was shattered beyond repair, that there is "nothing for you here." He did not look for Mary; he felt powerless to bring Cas back. Dean wanted to die.

Like John, Dean struggles to be there for Sam (who becomes all parents to Jack) and for Jack (the scapegoat for the loss of Dean's future).

13x05 Production Draft, Advanced Thanatology

Billie: You tell people you'll work through it. But you know you won't. You can't.

Dean: I don't matter.

As audience, we want to tell Dean (and John): you can. You still matter to us, to your family, even without your ideal future. We can build a different future.

Why does Dean feel this way? Like in season 7, he can't shake Cas, and he doesn't know why. It's because when Cas is alive, Dean matters. In the beginning of season 4, despite himself, Dean was in awe to matter to God and to holy cause. But post-Heaven-disillusionment and post-Heaven-moving-on-to-Adam, Dean still mattered to Cas. And Cas mattered to him. And that deepened something between them.

Consciously or not, Cas is a vital part of Dean's Faith, and he is the cornerstone for Dean's *honest* conceptualization of his own non-romanticized Future.

///

This is why Sam is spooked in 15x09 The Trap during Chuck's vision.

Still conceptualizing Dean as "the brother who raised me," and "the invincible parent that never gives up," Sam finally grasps that his brother is fallible. He might even finally grasp how and WHY Dean always gives up (when Cas dies), if the end of the episode is any indication.

Juxtaposed with Dean frantically running around Purgatory, it's perhaps a visual tiein between the oblivious Sam and the oblivious audience, who just, up until this point, don't get the Whole Dean-Cas Thing. (There is even perhaps giving an aborted love confession hidden here, "Cas, I need to say something" / "You don't have to say it.")

In a way, the story of SPN is about Sam learning to understand his brother as person rather than as (sometimes admittedly-unhinged) caretaker, and a big part of that is showcased when Sam says, "Cas," in this vision, with no small amount of dread.

By the end of this episode, even if purely on a gut level, Sam finally understands that The Hope for his brother's Future is intimately tied to Cas, and Sam will not vanish that future.

This causes him to doubt their plan for locking up Chuck.

This is why he doesn't roll the trap.

///

In season 14, Dean learns his "life's work is a hoax."

This is a parallel moral injury to early-seasons-soldier-Castiel, who spent season upon season grappling with the sometimes paralyzing horror of Heaven's disillusionment. Now, it's Dean's turn. (Indeed, in season 15, Cas is better positioned to withstand some aspects of Chuck, because he painstakingly built a phenomenal resilience to soldier-disillusionment already.)

All suffering soldiers grapple with depersonalization/derealization/"what is real?" It is NOT a romantic question so much as the mark of soul-shattering existential crisis.

When Dean lapses into pure, blood-and-bone nihilism in late season 14, it's not just that nothing matters...Dean no longer matters. "His life's work, a hoax." Son, gone--sucked dry by an enemy Dean let overpower him. Mother, gone--obliterated by the dehumanized "shell" of the son. Michael won. His nihilism suddenly rings true. Life IS meaningless.

Based on my own conjecture, in this time frame; that is, post-resurrected-Jack and The Empty deal, Cas had to have been pulling away in terms of emotional intimacy. This, combined with depressed!Sam and soulless!Jack, further stoked a loss of Resilience in Dean, post-Dean's second Michael injury.

Indeed, Cas goes lone wolf with Anael and looks to God instead of hashing out these difficulties with his human family. And poor Cas--as usual, he does it too late, when shit has already hit the proverbial fan. Because when Cas really wants to do something, like torture Donatello for example, he rushes in unilaterally and bypasses discussion. (They all do this, of course. They take turns at the wheel of desperation and attempting to solve it on their own.)

It's not about Fault so much as it is family dynamics that contribute to a loss of Resiliency.

///

Revisiting 14x09 The Spear and 14x10 Nihilism:

Dean was undoubtedly psychologically injured by AU Michael. We see this in the following bit about how utterly devastating the second Michael possession is:

Off their shocked faces-- Michael!Dean drops the sarcasm.

MICHAEL! DEAN: Dean-- he was resisting me. He was too attached to you-- to all of you. He wouldn't stop squirming. To get out-- to get back. (then) So I left-- but I left a back door open-- just a crack.

CASTIEL: Why wait?

MICHAEL ! DEAN: To break him. Crush and disappoint him so completely that, this time? He'II stay nice and quiet for a change-- buried. (then, feeling himself) And he is. Beyond subdued-- he's GONE.

On Sam, Cass, and Jack-- absolutely GUTTED. Then--

And how horrible we should expect Dean's condition to be on Michael's departure? According to this, "Nothing but blood and bone."

Strange then, how Dean's post-Michael possession is mostly spent taking care of others. We see him continuing to parent Jack, and we also see Dean and Cas JOINING FORCES to parent Sam out of his grief with the AU hunters. (Sam is running them ragged!)

But there are no plotlines for Dean's post-Michael recovery. Not really. Some viewers even sofaras to paint everything that follows as a fundamental evil, and NOT a reaction to these devastating events.

I suggest that housing Michael levied a grievous psychological injury, one that went forgotten as we focused on Jack's soul and Sam's loss of the AU hunters. Cas tried to lend support the best way he knew how, in a distanced manner, while being somewhat emotionally handcuffed by The Empty deal.

///

So, it goes. It all came crashing down.

When Mary is dead, and when symbolically the-Jack-Dean-knew is dead, Cas is also "dead" to Dean, and so is hope and faith for the future. Dean will not touch his failure to contain Michael, but make no mistake, it is the Core Hidden Wound here. It's why Dean so easily submits to suicidal and familicidal ideation. He doesn't matter. Nothing does. He gave up, and then he marched off to kill what was left of Jack and himself.

Season 15 would feel more complete if it more expressly spelled out The Michael Wound and the perils of the moral injury and disillusionment with Cause and Self, as Dark Kaia says in 14x03:

Dean matches her gaze.

DEAN: Not him. Not Michael. Not anymore.

But that's what Dark Kaia meant. She already realized that.

DARK KAIA: I know. (then) You're much weaker.

That lands on Dean, rattling him.

Dean is paralyzed by his own weakness, by botching his big hero moment with The Spear.

DARK KAIA: You're no different than him. (then) Threats, violence, whatever it takes-- to get what you want.

DEAN: I'm nothing like him.

DARK KAIA: You are. (then) And you always were. I saw what you did to her. When you got angry. When you shoved your gun in her face.

And we POPFLASH to episode 1309, "The Bad Place"- -Dean threatening Kaia with a gun.

That's war. REMEMBER: Dark Kaia, a soldier in her own right, recklessly resorted to flinging her own violence and anger at Claire Novak. She wields violence intimately, and she knows how being bound to protect people gets twisted up with violence.

When what you want is your family's safety, your fear turns to anger turns to morally bankrupt action. Heroism and pride is just a balm to cover this. That's moral injury in the face of desperation, and War..."war is what Michael does," so the two are hopelessly intertwined.

///

So, then we come to the backend of season 15: Against all odds, the family tries to rebuild, even without Mary. The Dean-Cas future is reignited in Purgatory, in the land of metaphorical suicide, because traditionally they choose each over (family) and grow new things (the future)--all against the backdrop of the gray, colorless, Nihilism-Unthinking war-Suicide spectre that Purgatory represents.

Even before they get Jack back, Dean wanted Cas to stay. It's another example of choosing to try to heal together, despite the hardships of life (and being faced with holy-narrative-nihilism). These are embers.

However, after Jack returns, the allure of Jack's birthright and power strikes again, and through Billie (Death), the plan tragically sways to thoughts of revenge (Dean) and destiny (Cas). They respectively think these paths will grant them the futures they want: to finally be free.

///

Later, after 15x18, when Dean loses Cas for the final time, something remarkable happens. Dean decides not to give up,

...which is why I don't hate everything about 15x19 Inherit the Earth and 15x20 Carry On. This is a man living a nightmare:

"To see if maybe all this was just a dream..."

And trying to be strong for everyone else. Because this time, Sam has given in to Chuck's nihilism, and Jack is lost without his dad.

Despite everything that went down before, Dean decides to try, "because you have to believe that you can start trying to be good any time."

Dean is trying to find new meaning outside of the future he wanted for himself! Like when Cas awoke from The Empty, Dean is trying to find gratitude and the warmth of life against this backdrop of apocalyptic bleakness. That's what Miracle is about.

It's the anti-thesis to John losing himself after Mary's death.

Although initially offering himself as a sacrifice to Chuck, there are bones to it that hint Dean may be trying to honor Cas's memory rather than become a dead man walking. ❤️ And that was beautiful.

But it was too late to fix things with Jack, a realization that rendered him mute...but not hopeless.

Dean can't speak.

(How terrible, then, that the writers did him the way Jack did Felix the snake. Dissolved him because "he missed his friend," robbing him of the chance to even try to live.)

#dean believes in cas #he believes in family #in trying #that he matters #cas makes dean feel like he matters