#I want to believe that that isn’t true but he ingrained all of these awful things in my mind

[angelnumber27]

After abusing me horribly physically emotionally and psychologically my ex would scream in my face “everyone you’re ever with for the rest of your life will abuse you” 😶

#I want to believe that that isn’t true but he ingrained all of these awful things in my mind #over and over and over again #think it was to try to manipulate/scare me into staying w him. #abuse tw #oh yeah and he’s now dating the girl he cheated on me with! multiple times! super cool behavior

[bird-inacage]

Love in the Air: Sky’s Truth Scene

So the other scene I MUST absolutely do a deep dive on is Sky’s truth scene. This occurs immediately after the ambush aftermath. Before Sky had even stepped into the condo, he made a promise to himself that he would tell Prapai the truth. Because not sharing his past with Prapai was slowly eating him up inside. In this episode, it’s revealed that Sky was living in fear of what Prapai would think of him, of how he would react once he found out.

So Sky decides to tell Prapai that Gun abused him and essentially shares a short re-telling of what we saw in the flashbacks. This is Sky finally telling Prapai his truth, and the cause for this trauma. As painful as it is for Sky to share that incident with Prapai, its the final piece of the puzzle that allows Sky to impart why he is the way he is, to the man that he loves.

As Sky is telling his story, Prapai is incredibly gentle and quiet throughout. He constantly strokes the back of Sky’s head - provides his warm, steadfast presence and allows Sky to say what he needs to say. This stroking action is a gesture of comfort first and foremost. We see Prapai do this a lot with Sky, but it also acts as a coaxing action. ‘It’s okay, you tell me in your own time, take it easy, I’m listening.’

Then Sky says the part that upsets Prapai the most.

“I’m trash. I’m damaged goods. When I returned home, I was like a broken doll. I didn’t speak. Didn’t listen. I spaced out so much that my dad got worried.”

For Sky, these are his inner demons. These are the poisonous type of inner thoughts that have plagued him ever since the abuse. Thoughts that have been deeply ingrained on Sky’s psyche. This isn’t just about how he felt back then, its how he still feels now. And Prapai has seen facets of that first-hand. The fact that Sky says this with a self-deprecating smile, speaks volumes. It’s not conjecture in Sky’s mind, it’s a matter of fact. Like he’s admitting a shameful part of his own character.

As Prapai listens to Sky say these things about himself, it deeply, deeply hurts him. One, because it insinuates a degree of self-loathing that derives from thinking this was brought on by one’s self. That Sky still believes he was at fault for causing this to happen. Sky doesn’t say, ‘He’s trash, He’s damaged, He’s an absolute lowlife for doing this to me’, it’s ‘I’m the worst, I’m nothing, I’m worthless’. And Prapai cannot bear hearing Sky say that about himself. Two, that Prapai (who loves Sky so dearly), knows and sees that Sky is everything but those things.

Sky is sweet, he’s considerate, he’s loving. The Sky backstory really cemented my take on that Sky has always been an ardent child who wants desperately to be loved and to love. He just has so much love to give. And we saw evidence of this at the start of the episode. Sky is adorably clingy, he’s affectionate, he’s wanting. When he’s finally opened up to another human being, he showers them with his undiluted love and attention. And that earnest love is so distinctly palpable and wholesome. Sky truly gives his everything to someone he loves. Every ounce and every drop of himself he can muster.

Prapai remains silent, shaking his head in disbelief and seemingly taking this all in, but his eyes are screaming out. You can literally hear the thoughts in his head blaring, ‘No, that’s not true. None of what you’re saying is true. You’re the most incredible person I know. I love you so much. Please, please don’t say that about yourself.’ When you love someone else, you see all the amazing qualities they possess, the qualities that made you fall in love with them in the first place. To have your significant other say such awful things about themselves, knowing that there’s no easy way or quick fix to erase the cumulative years of self-hatred, is just unbearable. Loving someone isn’t enough to convince them to love themselves. Healing is very much a process that has to take place within oneself. Prapai knows this, and so he doesn’t deny what Sky’s saying. Because denying those things won’t dilute the impact they have on Sky. So all he can do is be heartbroken on Sky’s behalf. To mourn the Sky that could have been if none of this had happened.

When you hear stories in retrospect, aware that you cannot change the course of history, it can cause anyone to feel immensely helpless. Knowing that there’s nothing you can do to repair the past. This may also be a real point of fear for Prapai. It could have so easily gone a different way. For Sky to bear the brunt of that trauma and come out the other side - to be how he is and where he is today is nothing short of a miracle. There was always another possible trajectory in which Prapai never meets Sky. A version of events where Prapai doesn’t ever get to prove to Sky that he deserves to be loved and cherished. Where Prapai doesn’t get to do his darned best to heal and protect Sky. Prapai can now vividly envision how much could have been at stake, and how much could be have been lost. This wonderful love he may have never even known.

Then Sky asks, “Can I love you? Can I?” And this is such an fitting piece of dialogue that encompasses Sky so completely. He desperately loves Prapai, and wants to love him freely, fully. But he feels he has to ask permission. That little additional “Can I?” sounds like the child in Sky speaking. ‘Please let me love you. Please don’t turn me away.’ It almost sounds like Sky is additionally implying, ‘I know my love may be a burden, but I promise I’ll be good and I won’t overstep.’ This links back to what Sky said last episode about Gun trying to programme Sky to be obedient. The fact that Sky even feels he has to ask just destroys Prapai, who has wanted nothing but Sky’s love. Who treasures Sky’s love above all else.

Sky asking if he can love Prapai can also be interpreted as - do I deserve to love again? Do I deserve to burden you with my baggage, with myself? Am I even capable of loving again (like a normal, undamaged person)? Akin to how Sky’s nightmares still plague him, Sky feels a huge sense of hopelessness over the shadow this has cast over him and his future. He has no idea when he will be free of this, if ever.

Every step of this conversation peels back another layer of Sky’s withered sense of his own self-worth. A chasm that Gun intentionally created. So Prapai is understandably tearful and devastated 

And yet Sky, despite all this, is still the caring and considerate soul that he always has been. He asks Prapai why he’s crying and carefully wipes away his tears. Through all his insecurities and anxieties, Sky is still able to believe in Prapai’s good and Prapai’s devotion. He doesn’t want Prapai to cry out of guilt over something he could have in no way prevented. Because Sky is thankful. He’s immensely grateful. For everything Prapai has done for him. For everything Prapai wishes he could have done for him. It certainly doesn’t eradicate the past, but its a colossal comfort to Sky. It’s gives him strength to keep fighting.

Prapai goes on to emphasise that this isn’t about Sky asking whether he deserves to love Prapai, but Prapai can’t bear the thought of Sky loving anyone but him. Because Prapai loves him so much, he’s possessive and fiercely protective. He knows what a beautiful human being Sky is, and just how lucky he is to have Sky’s affection. So he also wants Sky affections to belong only to him, and to him alone.

I do believe that Sky finally sharing this with Prapai was clearly a huge weight off his chest. Yes, this conversation by no means ‘fixes’ the issues and trauma that Sky is still working through. But Sky and Prapai are taking those healthy first steps to allow Sky to begin healing properly, thoroughly. And that begins with acknowledgement, transparency, and letting go.

#LITA #love in the air #love in the air series #love in the air episode 13 #LITA finale #LITA meta #LITA analysis #prapaisky #paisky #prapai x sky #sky x prapai #yes i have a lot to say about this scene too #i love sky so much

[britishboystm]

Yoga Antics | Fred Weasley 18+

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut 18+ (minors dni!), unprotected vaginal penetration, male masturbation, kissing, swearing, fluff

WC: 2.9k

Summary: Y/N gets into yoga. Now Fred wants to get into Y/N...

A/N: A little something something while y’all wait for the next chapter of TDWM. Enjoy ya horny bastard!

•••

Stress management was something that you had grown to value a great deal in your free time. Even more so when you wound up marrying a Weasley twin.

It wasn’t that you didn’t absolutely adore your husband. You loved him with every fibre of your being. It was true however that sometimes you just needed a moment to yourself to unwind and recuperate, especially when living with such a hectic personality like Fred.

On the hunt for new tactics to tend to your mental health, you came across yoga, a muggle activity that Hermione had been raving about once her and Ron came back from her hometown during the Christmas break. She had said that her mom got her into it and how it made her stress levels drop drastically.

Admitly, you were skeptical at first. The idea of twisting and contorting your limbs to relax your racing mind seemed ridiculous. A simple spell should have been able to do the trick just fine, but alas one did not exist for such a thing, so you were left with not much to work with.

Hoping to persuade you, Hermione handed you a book from across the kitchen table while Ron and the twins laughed about some absolute nonsense in the living room of your home.

“Trust me Y/N. I’m usually a cynic myself about these things, but when I tell you yoga changed my life,”

She quickly glanced over at the boys to make sure their attention was averted elsewhere before leaning in so only you could hear.

“You would not believe the sex I’ve been having. Ever since I started doing yoga, I’ve been able to do things with my body that I could never imagine even in my wildest dreams.” Your eyes expanded instantly upon hearing her saucy confession. It was very unlike Hermione Granger to be so flippant about something as personal as what her and her husband did behind closed doors.

“Hermione!” You squeaked out as you shot your hands up to your flushed cheeks, embarrassed at the thought of your brother in law and best friend/sister in law in any kind of compromising situation. The image was now ingrained into your brain, an image you could easily do without no less.

Hermione lightly giggled but quickly covered it up with a cough when she noticed Ron and the twins look over at the two of you with interest.

“Everything alright ‘mione?” Ron asked, clearly oblivious to the raunchy conversation taking place between the whispering women.

“Nothing, go back to whatever you were doing.” She spoke, pursing her lips to hide a smirk. He gave her a look that read what are you up to over there? but quickly dropped it when he turned back around to continue the conversation he was having with his older brothers.

“I’m serious though, it has been an absolute godsend. I’m sure you and Fred can both get something out of it.” Your cheeks grew an even deeper red at the thought of what all of that might entail.

“Thank you for the advice Hermione. I’ll keep it in mind.” Maybe you would give the book a quick look through, if you were able to find any time during your insanely busy schedule.

“Love, time to head out?” Ron spoke as he stood up from the couch and brought over his finished cup of tea to the sink for washing later.

“Yes, we best be going. Remember what I said Y/N.” She nudged the book further towards you and got up to pull you in for a warm embrace.

“I’ll see you soon.” You spoke, giving her a warm friendly rub on the back before she went over to the door to get her ballet flats on.

“Y/N, always a pleasure.” Ron came over with a dopey smile, opening his arms to give you a big bear hug.

“Bye Ron.” He then headed over to Hermione, giving her his arm to hold on to as she struggled to get on one of her shoes.

“Only thing I’m good for, it seems.” Everyone laughed as Hermione rolled her eyes and smacked him the chest playfully.

“Oh shut it Ronald,” She jeers before opening the door.

“Bye!” The couple speak in unison as they head out the door, Fred closing it behind them.

“Well, I best be off too. I think I’ve left poor Angelina with the kids long enough.” George let out a sigh, bracing himself for what he knew he would be coming home to.

“Good luck with that mate.” Fred chuckles as he pats his brother on the shoulder.

“Bye love,” George speaks as he comes in for the usual kiss on each cheek with you.

“Bye George. Tell Angie we say hi.”

“Will do.” And then he makes his way out the door, Fred once again closing it behind him. He then turns around and looks down at you, a sly smirk dancing along his lips.

“Alone at last.” He groans before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Gah! You big idiot, if you drop me I swear to Godric!” You screech out. Fred let’s out a laugh before abruptly bending his knees, pretending to lose his grip on you. Your hand comes in contact with his back with a loud smack.

“I’m serious Fred, don’t do it!” He chuckles again before plopping you down on one of the couches in the living room. He shifts about so he was now straddling your waist. His hair, which he had been growing out, covered his face slightly. You brought your hand up to caress his light stubble ridden cheek.

He sighs out in contentment and flutters his eyes shut, leaning into your touch and kissing the knuckle of your thumb.

“Hi.” You say sweetly with bright sparkling eyes as you begin to twirl his fiery red locks between your delicate fingers.

“Hi.” His soft voice makes your stomach flutter. To this day you still experienced the same excitement you would get when you first started dating Fred back in school.

“Can we have sex?” He asks out of the blue.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his request. Ever since you tied the knot, the mystery and suspense your sex life once had began to simmer. Being upfront about both of your wants and needs became a part of the beauty of your marriage. No secrets were kept and no childish games were played. If one of you wanted it, all you had to do was ask.

“Only if you carry me, ‘m tired.” You spoke, going back to playing with his hair.

“Works for me.” His face lit up as he lifts you up off of the couch and carries you bridal style up to your shared bedroom.

You had to admit, Hermione was right.

The morning after that visit, you began to read tidbits of the book she gave you.

Not wanting to answer a billion questions, you kept the material out of your husband's sight. You knew he would become super curious and make you explain everything to him, and having just begun learning yourself, you decided it was best to keep it hidden away. Again, this concept was feorgein to the wizarding world so you couldn’t blame him.

It really did work out perfectly. Once you felt that you had gotten the hang of it, every morning after Fred left for the shop, you would set up in the living room and practice your yoga.

It honestly felt awful at first. Your body was so tight and tense that you had almost given up completely after your first time doing it.

But not wanting to throw in the towel so early, you kept it up until you began noticing a slight change in your body. Little things like being able to touch your toes or go into a deep lunge were gratifying and it almost became a bit of a drug to you. Not to mention it helped you sleep like a baby.

Fred was also starting to notice a difference. Knowing you were tight all over, sex usually consisted of fairly mild positions that didn’t put to much of a strain on your body. But that one random night in which you were suddenly able to bring your legs up to wrap around his neck as he pounded into you set off alarms in his head.

You had done something and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

That was a while ago.

Since then, you had fully converted to a life of zen, and yoga was your remedy to all of the worries that plagued your mind. Mornings were becoming easier and easier to face as Fred would shut the door behind him and you would pull out your yoga blocks and mat.

And this morning began like any other. The sun seeped through your white translucent curtains which made Fred groan in irritation. He hated getting up in the morning.

He turned over to face you and slowly opened his eyes, watching you shift about and slowly begin to wake up yourself.

“What time is it?” You spoke, nuzzling your face into his bare chest.

“7:15.” He was able to croak out in his scruffy morning voice.

“Off to work then?” You asked, finally looking up at him with this innocent and soft look that never failed to make him turn into a puddle of emotions.

“Off to work indeed.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, flopping on to his back to allow himself to wake up more.

“You're going to be late if you don’t get a move on.” He smiled at this before deciding to scoop you up into his arms so you were now laying on your stomach on top of him.

“George can manage for a bit can’t he?” He asked as he moved your crazy morning hair out of your eyes so he could get a better look at you. Your chin rested against his sternum as you rolled your eyes.

“Remember last time you tried to pull that stunt? He threatened to hex you.” Fred winced at the memory.

“Better not then huh?” He grimaces slightly, already knowing the answer to his question.

“Well unless you are willing to have your hair be green for the next year, then yeah I wouldn’t. Now stop stalling and get your arse up!” You say, pinching his hip which makes him arch up slightly underneath your touch.

“If you do that again I may never get out of bed.” His smirk would usually get to you but no one could ever get between you and your yoga sessions. Even Fred Gideon Weasley.

“Nice try Casanova, that isn’t going to work this time,” You lifted the sheets off of both of you and got out of bed to take a shower.

Later that morning, Fred ran over to you, pressing a kiss to your temple before grabbing a orange from the fruit bowl and rushing out the door for work.

You smiled knowingly, waiting for at least a minute before jumping up from your spot on the couch and ran back into your bedroom. Never in your life had you been so excited to wear spandex.

Once your setup was organized, you quickly got into child’s pose, hoping to give your begging joints and muscles a gentle wake up. It felt so good that the groan you emitted covered up the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Fred was back.

He had come from downstairs, having forgotten important paperwork he had to fill out for some possible investors. But the heavy package of documents seemed to have slipped his mind for a second time when he came across your arse stretched out in the bent over position.

His trousers tightened almost instantly and his finger had to come up and tug at his shirt collar that had suddenly become too tight.

Unaware of his presence, you continued your late morning with no care in the world. Feeling satisfied, your body moved up into a downward dog. Your lower legs and ankles gasped out in gratitude as you slowly leaned deeper and deeper into the upside pose.

That’s when you saw him.

Between your legs, you were able to notice a pair of brown dress shoes, one tapping away impatiently. Your eyes went wide and your throat let out a squeak, making you collapse to the floor and quickly turn to look up at your amused and very turned on husband.

“So this is what you’ve been doing when I’m away?” Your cheeks were all flushed, partly from the blood rushing to your face when you were upside down and partly due to Fred looming over you in a dominating stance.

“Fred I-.” You quickly tried to cover your tracks. Explain that it was a stupid thing Hermione told you about and that it didn’t matter.

“Hush love, I’m not mad.” He said through a relaxed chuckle.

“You’re not?”

“How could I? You are so fucking fit babes.” Your cheeks burned stronger and your eyes flitted down to the mat beneath you.

“Hey dove, no need to be shy. I liked what you were doing there. What was it anyway?” He was now crouched in front of you, lightly tracing his thumb against your cheek.

“Yoga, supposed to make you feel less stressed and more flexible.” You could see the gears turning in his head.

“Oh so I have yoga to thank for the amazing shagging we have been having recently then?” His comment made you giggle, making him swoon in return.

“Show me more. I want to watch.” God he knew how to make your stomach twirl. His face was no longer soft, but rather dark and naughty. The lust that was connecting the two of you caused your leggings to dampen. You shifted, now feeling slightly uncomfortable with sitting in your own wetness.

“What, you feeling uncomfy? Here I’ll help.” Before you could respond, he laid you on your back and dragged you towards him along the mat, his hands gripping the back of your thighs.

“Shall I take these off then?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in question. He was playing a game and he knew he had already won.

“Yes please.” Your voice was breathy and soft. He aggressively grabbed the waistband of your legging and tugged them down your legs.

Once they were in a wet mess somewhere in a corner of the living room, he bent down between your legs to pull you in for a kiss. Your hands went up to his hair and your legs wrapped around his torso, slightly grinding up into him.

His lips detached from yours and he looked down to notice your desperate actions.

“Awe love, you all worked up now?” He was obviously teasing you. Hell if anything, he was more bothered then you were, but he was always better at keeping his emotions below the surface.

“Want you to show me what you were doing again. This time in your undies babes.” You nodded urgently and turned yourself around, going into a cow position.

His heavy breathing and warm palms on your arse cheeks made his presence very much known.

You pushed back slightly, hoping he would get the hint.

“Patient, I’ll deal with you in a minute. Want to see more first.” Gaining some power, you got up and pushed him back, indicating for him to move onto the couch, giving him a front row seat to what would become his favourite show.

You pulled out every suggestive pose in the book. At one point, when you were able to look over at his reaction, his tie had come undone along with some buttons and his hand was fisted around his cock.

He looked heavenly sitting there, one arm draped along the top of the couch and his head thrown back in pure pleasure. He should have been back to work by now but neither one of you cared.

“Fuck, keep it up love.” You wanted his finish, not his hand so you stopped your performance and crawled over to him, kneeling between his spread open legs.

Without speaking a single word, your mouth opened wide, your tounge stretched out in a plea for his cum.

“You want me down your throat darling?” You nodded, eyes shut in patience. His groans increased and your palms began to sweat as anticipation grew all through your body.

But nothing came.

One of your eyes opened in confusion only for you to be met with him coming off of the couch and pushing you back into the mat once more. He stretched your legs open wide and moved your thong to the side. There was no time to adjust as his length rammed into you. Instantly gripping his biceps you let out a cry of submission and pleasure.

“Feel so nice and warm. Want you nice and wide for me when I finish yeah? Are you going to finish with me little dove?” You could only let out a wail of acceptance as you sobbed.

His drilling quickened and quickened until you both finally were able to come as one, something you had yet to achieve in your relationship. He let out a surprised laugh at the accomplishment before collapsing on top of you in exhaustion.

“Thank Merlin for yoga.” He spoke through heavy breaths.

#fanfiction #fanfic #fred weasley #smut #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter #harry potter smut

[geshertzarmeod]

In Other Lands Character Arcs

(Spoilers Abound)

I’m thinking about how the character arcs of all three main characters from In Other Lands center largely on moving away from what their families expected of them, even as each of them doesn’t necessarily think moving away from that is possible. And how it’s their relationships with each other that help them move in the directions they actually want to move in, and believe in their abilities to forge their own paths and lead fulfilling lives. Even if it’s not what their parents or home communities think a fulfilling life entails. This culminates in their refusal (along with Golden) at the end of the book, to let anyone else influence them when it comes to deciding where to be stationed. They’re ready to choose their own paths, together.

There’s something deeply appealing to me about this as a queer person, even as queerness (as defined by orientation or gender) is not actually a central factor in the shifting of each character’s relationship with their families. Actually, the character who comes closest to that is Serene, who is presumedly straight, but whose pushback against the rigid gendered expectations of her society so challenge her community that she and Golden are essentially banished at least for a time. This is only tangentially queer, I’d say, because she does this not for herself, as she seems to proudly fit & identify with elven womanhood, but recognizes the false limiting of manhood within her society and fights fiercely for Luke, Elliot, and eventually Golden, who I’d say is GNC for sure. For Luke, it’s not his being gay but his being monogamous and waiting longer than they expected (though he’s like, still 17!!! that’s still young!!!) to become sexually or romantically active that is off-putting to his family. For Elliot, his father is shocked not to see him with a man, but to see him happy (cue my tears). 

I was just thinking this after reading Girl, Serpent, Thorn especially, but I really love when queer books parallel queer narratives of shame and struggle and difference and growing pains, with queer characters, but about issues unrelated to their being queer (especially when they’re about magical/fantasy elements). Then we get to relate to queer characters and see them process a lot of the feelings we have experienced, but also get to see them be loved and value and supported unconditionally in their queerness. Anyway, for an individual analysis:

Luke Sunborn

First, because I know a lot of people might not have read it, I’m going to quote Luke’s perspective from Wings In The Morning:

There were reasons Luke hadn’t kissed anybody. The Sunborns, as a family, loved life and loved love, and treated it as a game. It was fine for them: it worked for them.

Luke had always known that a riot of brightness and different loves and leaving someone laughing was beyond him. He wanted kindness and steadiness: he did not want someone who would leave. He wanted love that would last. (location 2527 in my kindle book, I can’t tell what page)

Luke, the Sunborn champion, expected to excel in battle, and love (read: have sex) freely and easily and non-monogamously, becoming an avid reader because of Elliot - something his father is shocked by and a little ashamed of. Learning Elvish because of both of them. Breaking border camp rules, threatening superior officers, to protect Elliot, and to support Serene, even as he continually complains about it and, on paper, would always argue that those choices are Not Okay and Very Bad. Luke, whose bashful shyness around his crushes, whose concern over his first kiss, whose choice of Elliot as a partner, is incomprehensible to his family, snapping, “I don’t want anyone else,” at the elves. He’s chosen Elliot, even as Elliot still doesn’t at all believe it at that point, and he’s happy with that decision. Elliot’s his choice, and only Elliot. Notorious Sunborn sexual voracity be damned.

Luke’s journey is also largely about him working through his external, and later internalized, biases against magical creatures. It’s pretty clearly an analog to xenophobia, and Luke expresses more disgust, disdain, or fear, the more different a culture is from the one he grew up in. This obviously becomes internalized against himself, when he realizes he is half-harpy. He literally represses his wings from coming out, he sees harpies as monsters and includes himself within this. It’s awful, and it’s sad, and it’s a mixture of Elliot’s meticulous research and adamant arguments that harpies are people, and that Luke isn’t a monster at all (and neither are harpies and other non-human creatures), and Serene’s calm acceptance of him, that helps him move through this. 

This xenophobia, although clearly ingrained since childhood, don’t seem to be coming primarily from his family (certainly not from his mother) but from the culture of the borderguard in general. To me, it is implied that his father might at least casually buy into a lot of this, although he would never extend it to his son. It also is an interesting dynamic as related to the other two’s relationships with family, because Luke coming to love and accept himself, and to open his mind about non-human creatures, is actually him coming closer to his mother, rather than moving away. In my view, a part of why he bought in so clearly to this prejudice coming from the general bordercamp culture is because he was pushing away from his parents in the first place - he saw his parents being so wild and free in a way he knew he could never be that he pushed himself into the opposite side, into “reason” and restraint and conservatism. What he needed to learn was how to hold his more “traditional” wants and needs (although like, he’s kind of wrong about that. Elliott Schafer is not the traditional kind quiet love he’s imagining, and he didn’t want that anyway) while still celebrating all of the different approaches and cultures and loves out there, and that’s what he’s learning alongside Elliot and Serene. And he does this partially because Elliot’s love for him as a half-harpy is, according to his previous beliefs, just as wild and out there as his mother’s affair with his biological father, or all of Elliot’s flirting with various magical creatures. And as he accepts Elliot’s love, he accepts that too.

Serene-Heart-In-The-Chaos-of-Battle

From the first moment we meet Serene we know she ran away from home to join the border camp. She’s chosen to join the humans, to fight alongside men, to learn about the borderlands from a human perspective and use that to create an alliance and to create peace. She enters a world where she is looked down on, where she is sexualized and punished for trying to swim shirtless, and has to fight hard to take the classes she wants and have the opportunity to prove herself as she wishes. Instead of deciding her parents and community were right and going back to the elves, she digs her heels in and with Elliot and Luke’s help, fights back, fights to excel at the border camp and make things different and better, and prove her detractors wrong. 

Not only that, but she learns to respect men in a way she was not raised to do, learns to treat men as equals and partners, always defending both Elliot and Luke when her community disrespects them. This prepares her for her relationship with Golden (although Elliot still helps her along a lot, especially with their written correspondence) and ends in her and Golden essentially eloping after Golden ran away to fight alongside her. It’s also important that she accepts Golden fighting alongside her. That was not at all a given, especially as even towards the middle of the book, she seems to be thinking of human men as capable of fighting and strength and other “womanly” qualities, but not necessarily believing the same of elven men. She’s chosen a nontraditional path and a GNC partner in Golden, and for the time being, her closest family is not her blood but her beautiful boyfriend, her swordsister, and her loved and loving best friend Elliot.

Elliot Schafer

Last but the opposite of least is Elliot. What Elliot learned from his family is that he will come to nothing, that he will be forgotten, and that he will not be loved. I am so angry on this child’s behalf, for the ways he was neglected not only by his parents but by everyone before Serene. The ways his father had no interest in him because all he wanted was Elliot’s mother back (and I love Elliot’s observation that even if his mother did come back, his father wouldn’t know what to do, and would not be happy). The way his teacher literally accepted a small bribe to just...... leave him at the entrance to the borderlands, and none of the students cared. The way his mother not only left when he was a child but knew who he was the second she saw or even heard about him at the bordercamp, and never bothered to tell him, or show any interest in him whatsoever.Elliot has been taught, over and over again, that he is unwanted and uncared for. That he has to go it alone, and fill his own needs.

Elliot learns to respect Commander Woodsinger and to know that while she doesn’t necessarily love him, she knows him, and appreciates who and what he is, and sees value and strength in it. She, unlike his previous teachers and school professionals, understands him, and likes him, and values him. She’s not warm, but she’s a positive presence in his life, and part of him learning to believe he has value just as he is, and not just because he spitefully decided it to go against what everyone else has told him, but because it’s actually true.

He didn’t want his parents and his peers and the adults who have let him down to be right about this, so he does dream of being loved back. But he shows himself fully prepared to be the one who loves more in relationships, especially with Serene. He’s ready, at first, to take all she’ll give him, and revel in each part of it, even if it doesn’t match up to his love for her. It’s not until the moment he turns down Serene’s final advance (when she’s clearly settling for him) that he realizes how much he wants to be chosen first. And he believes that’s possible, and worth waiting for (and that in the meantime, he will help Serene up and help her find what she truly wants too).

Elliot knows Serene loves him. She shows him he deserves love, and in his devotion to her, Elliot begins to excel and challenge himself and learn to see his brand of obnoxiousness as something that might not be everyone’s taste but isn’t inherently bad. He trusts Serene to love him, at least as a friend, but he doesn’t trust that Luke will, because Luke reminds him of all of the kids who hurt him in the past.

And that’s why the slowest arc of this whole book is probably Elliot realizing that Luke.... actually likes him. Actually wants to be around him, and enjoys his presence, and even like-likes him - loves him even. It just can’t compute for him. And so we get basically an unreliable narration for most of the book regarding Luke. Elliot’s “aha” moment about Luke rewrites years of his life, shifting his understanding of so much of their lives together. And it solidifies Elliot’s discovery that he can be loved exactly as he is, obnoxious and annoying and all. He’s found people who love him for it, and they’ve chosen him, and they’re going to stick around.

#In Other Lands #Sarah Rees Brennan #Wings in the Morning #sunbrat #Elliot Schafer #Luke Sunborn #IOL #Serene-Heart-In-The-Chaos-Of-Battle #lgbtq books #books #lgbt books #queer books #ps at the time of me posting this #both the anthology that wings in the morning is from #and in other lands itself #are $2.99 on kindle in the US! #miri reads in other lands #long post #this was in my drafts for more than a month #original content

[cosmicjoke]

Saezuru chap 20 observations

This chapter is a really interesting study in contradictions for Yashiro’s character.  I think it’s meant to serve in some ways as a microcosm of the internal war Yashiro fights every day between his learned, conditioned behavior, and what his true nature dictates.  Violence and “perversion” versus kindness and compassion.  

Hirata tells Chestnut near the beginning that Yashiro is usually “calm and logical”, but once a certain flip is switched, he’s “just like the rest of us”.  

This statement of Hirata’s is almost immediately contradicted by the next scene, where Yashiro is trying to figure out ways of stopping the Cleaners from getting away without seriously injuring anyone.  This is important, I think.  He worries about chasing after them because they might end up falling into the water, and since it’s dark out, it could be “dangerous”, as Yashiro thinks.  He isn’t simply thinking of Nanahara’s safety here, because he adds on to that thought that Nanahara could also be hurt.  He also doesn’t want to flip them over, again because it could lead to more severe injuries.  It’s really interesting, and also vital to understanding his character, I think, to be aware of how it is Yashiro always avoids having to permanently harm anyone, and how he always avoids killing anyone.  He’ll threaten permanent injury, threaten to kill, but he never actually does it.  Even with the cleaners, he tells them he’ll spare their lives in exchange for them coming to work for him, but at no point does Yashiro ever show any, serious intent or desire to actually kill them.  It’s all an act.

Yashiro is trapped in a world of violence, and has been since he was nine years old, when his step-father started abusing him.  He’s been immersed in that kind of lifestyle and brutal, merciless existence almost all his life.  It’s become so ingrained in his life, such an ever present companion in his life, that he’s come to rely on it in order to survive.  He seeks out rough sex, he gets off on violent acts, etc...  At the end of the chapter, when he pulls Doumeki into the car with him, he starts to get turned on by the memories of the last, few hours, when he hit one of the cleaners with that wooden sword, when Nanahara got shot, by the slash up Doumeki’s cheek, by blood.  

What’s really interesting about this is how in both the scene from earlier, when the cleaner he attacked with the wooden sword noticed Yashiro was excited by it, and later, in the scene with Doumeki, Yashiro’s reaction is triggered by stress.

Earlier, he was stressed about Nanahara, and the fear that he was dead.  At this point, Yashiro doesn’t know where Nanahara is.  He isn’t in the van, like he thought he would be, and then the cleaner tells Yashiro that they killed Nanahara.  Yashiro then proceeds to beat the cleaner unconscious again, and is seemingly turned on by the act.  

Later, with Doumeki, Yashiro gets trapped in a memory of Doumeki being shot at by the same cleaner, after Kageyama starts to question Doumeki about the cut on his face.  Yashiro has now witnessed first hand the kind of danger being with him can place Doumeki in.  He nearly got shot and killed because of it.  Yashiro’s face, when Doumeki pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts, is one of horror.  The thought of Doumeki being hurt or killed is clearly terrifying to Yashiro, and leaves him feeling deeply unsettled and anxious.  Yashiro reacts to that sudden, awful stress by initiating a sexual encounter with Doumeki, his mind going back to all those same acts of violence in the process, believing he’s turned on by all of it, and also that he’s the cause of all of it.  I think Yashiro is feeling guilty here.  He licks Doumeki’s cut, and as he’s doing so, he thinks first of hitting the cleaner with the wooden sword, and then he thinks of Nanahara getting shot to protect him.  It’s like he’s thinking ‘because I like violence, I then caused this violence.’  Just like how he’s convinced himself that his supposed perversion caused his step-father to rape him, he thinks his supposed sadism is what endangered both Nanahara and Doumeki. There’s a symbolic blood splatter pattern sprinkled over both of these scenes, and I think it’s meant to represent the violence in Yashiro’s life, and the negative ways in which it’s impacted and continues to impact him, how it perpetuates Yashiro’s negative self-image, both as someone who perversely likes violence, and someone who causes it, and destroys everything good.

Just like Yashiro’s reliance on and desire for masochistic treatment is a coping mechanism for his trauma and stress, so too, I think, is his desire for violence.  Because he’s been subjected to and treated with violence since he was a young boy, in order to cope with the presence of that sort of thing in his life, Yashiro has convinced and conditioned himself to respond to it with lust and excitement.  It’s a survival mechanism, developed as a means of dealing with the uncontrollable and frightening presence of violence in his life. 

I think this because all of it stands in direct contrast and contradiction to Yashiro’s actual nature.

We see through Yashiro’s responses and treatment of Nanahra specifically in this chapter who he really is.  He shows genuine concern for how to get Nanahara back without accidentally leading to his harm or death, and when Nanahara later jumps in front of Yashiro to save him from being shot by the cleaner, the tenderness and genuine care Yashiro displays for him is evident and deeply moving.  He speaks to and looks at him with a fondness and gentility that we haven’t heard up to this point, and even later, in the car, when Nanahara is so openly upset at the idea of Hirata wanting to kill Yashiro, lamenting that a parent shouldn’t kill their child, Yashiro shows immensely gentle patience and kindness in explaining to Nanahara that parents can betray their children, and vice versa, regardless of blood relations, all while thinking of his own childhood experience, and then Doumeki’s experience with his father and sister.  Yashiro shows true compassion for Nanahara’s distress and dismay over the situation, and even apologizes to him for telling him before he shouldn’t let it bother him so much, because yakuza are all “fake family” anyway.  He doesn’t laugh at Nanahara here, or dismiss his feelings, because he sees how real those feelings are, and he empathizes with them.  

This is who Yashiro really is.  He’s a deeply caring, compassionate, loving person who, because of the circumstances and experiences of his life, has been forced to adopt a persona exactly the opposite of that, of someone who enjoys and wants violence and destruction, and of someone who’s apathetic and hateful towards people.  A persona he’s come to rely on to such an extent, that he’s convinced himself even that that’s who he really is.  A persona he’s come to rely on so much as a means of dealing with his trauma, that any time he’s placed into a highly stressful or upsetting situation, it’s triggered for him, taking over and driving him forward, a means of survival, of controlling his feelings of helplessness, or fear, or pain.

It serves to highlight only more how being trapped in the world of the yakuza continues to wreak havoc on Yashiro’s mental state.  Living in a world of such uncertain violence perpetually reinforces those ideas he has of wanting and needing violence, either committed against him, or by him, and perpetually undermines who he really is, someone who cares for and feels deep compassion for others.  It creates a state of constant battle in Yashiro’s heart and mind, between who he needs to pretend to be in order to keep moving forward, and who he really is, which in a world dictated by such a dog eat dog attitude, could and likely will eventually get him killed.

He tells Nanahara, after Nanahara tearfully promises Yashiro he’ll never betray him, that he’s an idiot, and that he’ll “never get ahead” talking like that.  But Yashiro might as well be talking about himself here.  He knows having that kind of loyalty and kindness and compassion for others doesn’t fly in the world of the yakuza, that it’s dangerous for a person living in that world to be that way, and to let those qualities dictate their actions.  But that’s who Yashiro is, deep down, even as he again and again has to adopt the guise of someone entirely the opposite in order to go on.  But each time he has to do so, he grows more and more convinced that that’s who he really is, and that drives his belief that he’s a bad person, unworthy and undeserving of love or kindness, which leads to him seeking out further abuse and cruelty for himself from others.  It’s a vicious, perpetuating cycle for him.

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #twittering birds never fly #Yashiro

[symphonyofthewrite]

Saw your post, getting stuff off your chest, I just wanted to say that I haven't seen the thing with the kids mentioned by anyone and it really stood out to me, I feel what you mean to some extent, because for me it was a stronger reaction, albeit you probably won't feel the same and that's, obviously, perfectly fine. I have an instant recoil these days whenever a character is around kids for like one second and everyone instantly goes "THEY LITERALLY ADOPTED THEM/THAT'S THEIR CHILD/THEY'RE A PARENT"... genuinely sick of it, and I went white as a sheet when I heard it, I wanted to pluck my eyes out. I don't know if it's an American thing but English speaking fandoms (well, those teeming with fancops that is) seem like they cannot process adult looking characters being in any near proximity to childlike characters without automatically imposing parenthood and family dynamics and it's becoming distressing to me. I feel like Alucard needed to process his trauma and learn to trust and be whole again, he's young himself too, why he needed to be a "father figure" all of a sudden is beyond me.

Thank you so much for the ask!! I don’t get many asks so it makes me happy when I can talk meta with people 💛💛 (Sorry I’m a bit late in answering.)

Funnily enough I actually do agree with you. I didn’t have quite so strong a reaction, but I definitely had a very similar one when I first hear it.

My feelings were and are a bit mixed. I was saying in my other post that I would have preferred that I got to actually see this interaction; see the kids run by him and call him father, and him smile when no ones looking. I still think that would have been a better, more touching way to do the scene, and would have had more chance of me liking it (though I probably still would have felt very weird about it). (I think it especially would have been better because it would show that Alucard himself liked it, not that Greta was forcing the role on him.) I know that it was meant to be something touching, and pretty much everyone seems to like it (and I have seen some cute posts about it), so I just tried to like it too, and focus on the fact that all they were really trying to say was he was having a nice relationship with the kids, and that was indeed sweet.

But yeah, when I heard Greta say “I heard some of them calling you father” for me it was less a reaction of horror, and more a “HUH??!!”moment. When I heard it I was like “Alucard...you agree with this???!! This is how you see yourself??!!” I almost expected Alucard to refute it and say he didn’t see himself as a father to them. Like I seriously do not see Alucard as anything remotely close to a father figure, and it felt weird and wrong to me.

Like when I saw him interacting with the kids the first time, I didn’t think “oh he’s a father figure to them.” I just thought “yay, Alucard’s playing with some kids, and getting out of his bubble!!” I didn’t have any thoughts as to what his relationship role was with them, I just thought that first interaction was lovely.

And if I saw him interacting with the kids again, I still wouldn’t go “father figure” I’d just be like “yay, Alucard’s playing with the kids again, how sweet!!”

Sometimes the relationship doesn’t need a role or a label, ya know?

And I thought it was especially strange because…he literally just met them?? Like how can they possibly start calling him father when he’s played with them once or twice? Regardless of Alucard’s side or things, what group of kids would randomly call a nice man they just met ‘father’? Is...Is this a normal thing??

Anyways, back to Alucard’s side of things, Sypha’s line about Alucard being a teenager trapped an adults body has always been something that stuck with me and shaped how I view Alucard. I definitely view him as internally much younger than he looks. No matter how much I might hate them for what they did to him, I think Sumi and Take are about the age he actually is, and their relationship with him made sense to me. He’s still a kid—or at least young—he still needs his parents in his life, really. (That’s part of why I didn’t like that Drac and Lisa don’t go to him at the end. I personally don’t think Alucard really got closure, and in my mind I think he still very much needed them, and that would have been the perfect ending to his story in my mind, where everything comes full circle; He was forced to lose his parents and grow up too early, and only when he’s started to truly grow up does he get them back.) So yeah, I really don’t see him like a father at all. One of my main focuses in my Castlevania fanfiction is his relationship with Dracula, so I very much see him as the son, not as the dad, even when Drac isn’t around.

(Sidenote, come to think of it, I think this is another reason why Greta x Alucard is a nope from me. She’s very much an adult, so I just see a discrepancy between them that makes me feel weird about them being in a romantic relationship. If we need a label I feel like she fits as an older sister for him, guiding him and giving him support. Him unloading all his problems on her within just meeting her makes more sense if he’s like a younger brother who needs to cry to his sister. I felt weird about it in a romantic context when it was so fast. I mean I know he was desperate to talk to someone, and I probably would have done the same, but still).

“I feel like Alucard needed to process his trauma and learn to trust and be whole again, he's young himself too, why he needed to be a "father figure" all of a sudden is beyond me”

^^ THIS. EXACTLY THIS.

I was honestly really hoping they’d go in depth into him dealing with his trauma, and how he’s still hurting from the wounds of it, and how he needs to heal. I thought that’s what his S4 arc would be about. I don’t think they gave him the chance to really process and work through everything that happened. (Again, I don’t think him just unloading all his problems on a nice stranger is truly working through his trauma. I would have much rather watched him struggle to trust her, and him telling her about his trauma happen later, and be difficult for him, and a deep, heartfelt moment).

Like I was saying in my other post, I think if they framed his arc in how he dealt with the town collectively, I think that would have fit better, and been more touching and satisfying. I would have liked to see him struggling to trust humans, and then see as time progressed how several different people in the town liked him and meant him no harm, and how he realized he could trust them, and that he liked them too. It wasn’t that he had a bad romantic partner and needed a new one. He believed he needed to be punished for killing his father, and in his deep loneliness he let these kids into his house and heart, and they turned on him because he was half vampire. That’s something pretty deeply ingrained, and not something a new romance just fixes by existing. He needed to work through that in a much deeper way.

I know this is gonna be a very unpopular opinion, and it's totally cool if you disagree, but in a weird way... I sort of disliked Alucard’s ending. Don’t get me wrong, Im glad he’s happy, and I’d certainly prefer it to him just getting more trauma like last season (*shudders*), and I don’t think him opening up his castle (and his heart) to humanity is a bad way to end his story, certainly not. I think that fits. And my heart did melt a bit at the "I'm weirdly happy" scene. But, where everyone else is like “*sobbing* happy endings for all our faves” ...I see the creators of the show trying to wrap everything up in a neat little bow, and while that’s certainly not all bad, I don’t love every aspect of that. Theres a time and place for that, but a show based on video games, for which there’s more content in these storylines isn’t one of them in my mind.

Sometimes some of the sadness needs to linger. At the very least, let it linger at the beginning of the season so you can work through it in a powerful way, you know? It may have been tough to see Alucard be more closed off, but I think it would have been more satisfying to see him open up his heart and go back to his old self if we saw his trauma leave lingering effects at the beginning.

To me it didn’t feel like a satisfying arc, it felt like the fairytale ending of “oh look he’s not apprehensive about humanity even after what happened! Oh look he got the girl! And the Castle’s a happy place now! Look he’s not sad anymore! He’s even a father figure to these kids! He’s totally moved on!” And all those things can be awesome when done properly, and when they have depth to them. But they didn’t work through the trauma to get there, so it felt surface level to me, and too fast. I really liked that first episode, and how we saw the two sides of him—one that's become more closed off, and the other that still buries the human despite his comments—and I also really liked the first interaction with the kids, and thought that was one of the few interactions that had depth to it and fit with his arc well. Having it go beyond “they’re helping him learn to like and trust humanity again, and displaying who he really is inside” ended up detracting from the power of his relationship with them in my mind.

Having played SOTN, I think an ingrained loneliness and sadness are, in a way, a key part of Alucard’s character. That sounds really sad and awful out loud but…there are some people that just have a sadness or a loneliness to them, and that's not entirely bad. Here’s the thing…it can make them that much more beautiful. The fact that they still fight for good, even when they see all the dark, those moments when they find true friends, despite how alone they are, those moments when they are happy, are so much more powerful. They just are always a bit…separate from other people. One of my favorite lines in anything is the line "We are connected by our darkness, not by our light" in Pandora Hearts. I think it's a line that fits Alucard well, and it’s always something that’s drawn me personally to him. Don't get me wrong, I don’t think Alucard’s all dark and sad and lonely, he’s definitely got a bright side to him too, of course he does. But I also don't think he ever is able to fully accept the vampire side of himself, and I find that interesting, and worth exploring. Personally I was honestly hoping for the show makers to come up with a bittersweet reason for why he went to sleep for 300 years, (and I thought that's why they set things up with Sumi and Taka that he’d have something against his vampire nature). Personally it felt like they were trying to say “oh he’s all better now, he’ll never be sad or lonely again” and while that’s nice I suppose…for me it sort of…stops feeling like Alucard, in a way? I don't know if I'm explaining it right, or if that sounds terrible...😅

Anyways, back to the topic at hand. I do agree that’s very common of fandom that people are like “boom! Just add water! Instant father figure!” and I don’t love it either. Sometimes it can be cute if it truly fits, but it doesn’t fit every relationship between an adult-looking character and a kid character, and shouldn't be the first place people go to. In the same way every relationship doesn’t have to be romantic, not every relationship has to be parental/familial either. Sometimes it feels like fandom culture isn't really okay to have some characters just be good friends. A good friendship can be more wonderful than a romance sometimes.

If we have to put a label on it, I think he seemed like a nice older brother figure to them? I think that fits who he is in my mind. But father? Nope. Not for me. And again, I don’t think it needs a label.

Thanks again for sending me this ask!! It was nice to get the chance to work through some more of my feelings here too. Sorry if I went too overboard. And I hope I don’t sound too terribly negative, it really was a great season, and I definitely liked some parts of his arc, just not all of it.

If you or anyone else reading would like to discuss with me more, be my guest!! 💕

#alucard #castlevania #castlevania season four #castlevania s4 #castlevania s4 spoilers #castlevania season 4 #castlevania netflix #Adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #Greta #greta castlevania #castlevania alucard #alucard castlevania #castlevania Greta #netflix castlevania #castlevania meta #castlevania spoilers #castlevania anime #asks #Castlevania asks #alucard meta #alucard asks

[cherienymphe]

The Concubine (Stucky x Reader)

warnings: Royalty!AU (bring on the misogyny), eventual DUB-CON, eventual NON-CON

PLEASE DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

summary: Where there’s a king, there’s a harem, and you are the king’s favorite concubine. No other man is allowed to touch you. That is, until this monarchy becomes a diarchy and you find yourself at the mercy of two men unwilling to share.

This isn’t your typical royal setting btw. If any of you have played the interactive game, The Arcana, just imagine the setting some place like Vesuvia.

~

Your hip lowered in time with the final beat of the drum, and the hall erupted into claps and cheers. A slow smile spread over your lips as you looked up, eyes connecting with familiar blue ones. The king didn’t outwardly join in the praise, but by the way he leaned his arm on the chair of his throne, eyes twinkling and lips quirking up ever so slightly, you knew that he was pleased.

You curtsied, lowering your head just as he rose. You looked up at him from beneath your lashes as he waved his hand, signaling for everyone to quiet down. You only moved when he instructed you to do so, and you slowly approached him as he descended, gliding down the golden steps with a grace that only a king could possess.

“How joyous it is to have Y/N finally return to us, and with quite the performance,” he said.

There were low murmurs of agreement just as he stopped before you. You didn’t shy away from his stare, and his smirk grew. You could feel so many eyes on you, you always did, but his gaze was the only one that mattered. It was the only one that had any affect on your life.

Were the king’s gaze to stray, were his tastes to change in anyway, your life would irrevocably change. That was what had been ingrained into you since you were a child, and you knew this to be true. You had seen it before with your very own eyes. A man’s mind was as fickle as the sway of his cock. That was what your mother had told you once.

“Let the feast commence.”

His voice carried, and the attendees did not hesitate to obey. The hall erupted into loud chatter and boisterous laughter as everyone dug in. Hardly anyone paid any mind as the king reached up to rest his fingers just under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. His thumbs brushed over your skin, and you smiled.

“I’m glad you are well. I have missed you,” he murmured just low enough for you to hear.

“I’m relieved to hear that, my king. I feared that my absence wouldn’t affect you in the slightest,” you confessed.

“How silly of you. Come and fellowship beside me, tonight. You are the guest of honor, after all.”

Your fingers pressed into his skin as you wrapped your hand around his waiting arm. He led you up the steps and lowered himself onto his throne. You sat on the arm, a familiar seat to you, and ran your eyes over the men whose bellies were slowly filling with rum as giggling women tarried around them.

You smiled at the women you’d grown to love over the years, sisters of sorts. Other concubines of the king. Although, they were a bit different from you. They had the freedom to take pleasure from other high-ranking men as well. They were showered in affection, and sometimes gifts, from dozens of men in the palace. They gossiped about the men they were currently sleeping with, some of their lovers overlapping, and they’d giggle about “that thing General Anthony likes to do in bed” or “the way Lord Samuel could pleasure a woman with his tongue for what seemed like hours”.

You’d listen and ooh and aah, but you could only ever imagine the stories they shared. You had been bred purely for this life, forced to go to courses for as long as you could remember. You knew of 30 different ways to finish a man by the time you were nineteen, 3 of which without ever having to touch him, but had never put any of that instruction to use until a year later when Lord Samuel came to your door.

By the smile on your mother’s face, you had known that it was her doing. That she’d finally gotten an audience with someone close to the king, someone who could get you into the palace. She had often talked of how she’d been a mistress to the king’s father in his day before the aging man allowed her to marry a low ranking official in his army. You were destined to follow in her footsteps. You’d always known it and had long accepted it. You were never bothered by it for your mother taught you that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

The king was entranced from the very first night, and you remembered the awe in his eyes as you had lifted your head from his lap, lips stained with the evidence of his climax. His bare chest had been heaving, glistening with sweat. You’d lost count of how many times you had forced him to the edge without ever actually pushing him over. You were taught that reactions varied, some men not liking that, at all, but it seemed that the king was not one of those men.

He was almost ravenous as he gripped you, pulling you into a heated kiss before covering your frame with his own. He had taken your virginity that night, spending hours taking pleasure from your body, curious to see just what you could do. It didn’t matter that he had four other concubines already, you swiftly grew to be in his favor.

You were pulled from your reverie by the feel of his fingers drawing circles into the back of your neck. You looked at him, unsurprised to find his blue eyes already on you, a crooked smile on his lips. You returned it. His eyes were always on you, every hour of every day, it seemed. Sometimes you wondered if he even visited any of the other girls anymore. He glanced away, and your smile fell.

You thought of your sisters and the stories they told well into the night. You thought of how there were some nights when they were simply left alone, using the free time to bask in their other hobbies or each other’s company. You could no longer remember a time where you didn’t feel the constant touch of Steve’s hands on your skin.

 ~

A low sigh escaped his lips as you pressed your fingers into his shoulder, kneading the naked skin. He tilted his head back, groaning as the tension eased.

“I’ve missed these hands,” he breathed. “How heavenly they feel…”

You softly chuckled.

“You mean to tell me that your shoulders haven’t been touched in weeks? I don’t believe that… I know for a fact that Anastasia’s hands are quite gifted as well,” you murmured into the quiet room.

“Not like yours,” Steve didn’t hesitate to reply.

You chuckled again.

“You flatter me, my king.”

“What use would it do to flatter you? You’ll be spending your first night back in my bed either way. I’ve no need to lie to you…”

You hummed in agreement, a small smile on your lips. You paused in your ministrations when he reached up to rest his hand over one of your own. You looked at him curiously, but he was facing away from you, and he did not turn as he began to speak.

“I indeed have missed you, Y/N. Your touch is the only one that truly satisfies me,” he said.

You blinked, a bit taken aback by the conviction in his voice.

“It is simply my duty, one that I enjoy.”

It wasn’t far off from the truth. Despite how weary you had grown of Steve’s appetite, you did enjoy pleasing him. You were exceptionally good at what you did. You had been bred for this life, after all.

“I feared that you wouldn’t recover from the bout of sickness that had befallen you. I feared that I would have to bury you…”

Your eyes widened just a tad at that.

“Earlier tonight, you said that you feared your absence wouldn’t affect me, and I told you what a silly thought that was. I did not lie. Your presence was very much missed.”

Over the years, you’d hardly seen the king show any thing even resembling affection. Sure, he could be sweet in the privacy of his chambers, soft spoken declarations whispered into your ear while he had his way with you, but that was different. Those were just words uttered during the throes of passion.

You looked down as you continued your movements, remembering that you’d also had similar thoughts. The fever that had struck you weeks ago had come out of nowhere, like a sudden storm in the night. You had hardly been able to move, and the king had not been allowed to see you lest he get sick as well. For a moment there, you too had feared that you would die. However, as quickly as the illness came, it was gone.

You’d been holed up for weeks, seeing no one but the physician and the occasional friend or two as they brought you gifts to lift your spirits. And lift them they did. A week ago, you’d woken up bright eyed and bushytailed, but the physician wanted to monitor your condition for a few more days just to be sure.

Your hands suddenly fell as Steve rose, turning to face you. Your brief confusion bled to understanding as his eyes darkened, feeling no need to hide his desire in this private setting. His chest brushed against yours as he stepped towards you, and you held his gaze when he reached up to loosen the clasps at your shoulders. The fabric of your top brushed along your skin as it fell to the floor.

One of his hands clasped your neck, tilting your head back as he pressed his lips to your skin while the other worked to rid you of your skirt. The sound of the gold detailing clattering to the floor was deafening as you stood bare before him. The familiar feel of his hands on your skin confused you.

The king’s touch was all you had ever known. It was familiar and comforting in a way you didn’t think anyone else would understand. It soothed a part of you that you often wanted to ignore as of late. On the other hand, his touch exhausted you. The weeks you’d spent in isolation were hardly a reprieve seeing as you spent the majority of it drenched in sweat, confined to your bed. Outside of that, you couldn’t remember a single night that wasn’t spent beneath him.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he groaned before pressing his lips against yours.

You moaned into his mouth, almost tripping over your own feet as he began to walk forward, forcing you back. He only stopped when the back of your thighs brushed the edge of his lavish bed, and he turned you both. You were breathless as he sat down, eyes running over your form as he smoothed his hands over you. When they traveled upwards, approaching your shoulders, you knew what he wanted.

You licked your lips as you fell to your knees, glancing at him from beneath your lashes as you worked to release him from the confines of his pants. The sound that left his lips when you wrapped your hand around him was indescribable. A cross somewhere between a moan and a growl, and he bucked his hips. You lowered your head, only breaking the hold of his gaze when you took him into your mouth.

You heard him lean back, a choked moan escaping as you began to work your mouth over him. His fingers gripped your hair, tightly, and you found yourself wincing. You flattened your tongue anyway, gliding over him, keeping your lips sealed tight around him. You brought your hands up to wrap around him as well to reach what your mouth couldn’t, and he hummed.

You copied him, humming around his cock, and it pleased you to hear how much he enjoyed it. This was something you didn’t think you’d ever grow tired of. Sometimes your mouth grew dry, and sometimes your jaw ached, but the way you were able to reduce the king to such a begging mess sometimes made it worth it. You loved this sense of control and power it gave you.

It was never your intention but pleasuring the king with your mouth often got you many gifts. You had your own room, an abundance of jewels that you only ever wore for him, and a private bath that was probably your favorite gift of all. Sometimes Steve joined you, but more often than not, your baths were spent in solitude, a small moment to yourself with just you and your thoughts.

He came quickly, and you knew then that his body missed you most of all. You swallowed with ease, no longer minding the taste of him, and he gripped you, pulling you up into a kiss before you could get your bearings. He kissed you like he was trying to retrieve your soul, fingers pressing so hard into your skin you were sure they’d leave marks.

“Steve…”

You gasped when you found yourself on your back, and your trembling hands assisted him in undressing. His eyes were hungry, hands searching as he grabbed your legs, pulling you against him. The way his lips attacked you reminded you of that very first night, the night he’d ripped your virginity from you in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

He was hardly gentle as he slid inside of you, and you pressed your nails into his arm. His hold was tight as he began to thrust into you, as if he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips never left you, and sometimes you’d feel his tongue dart out, tasting you, committing the flavor of you to memory. Your toes curled as his skin slapped against yours, thighs shaking from the force behind his movements.

One of your hands fell to the bed, gripping the silken sheets in between your fingers as you fought to make sense of the pleasure coursing through you. Weeks you had gone without the touch of a man, without his touch, and you felt like you were being thrown back into the feeling head first. One of his hands gripped your face, pulling you into another kiss.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “…nearly drove myself mad…”

You moaned into his mouth, and his grip tightened. You squeezed your eyes shut as your hip began to burn from where he held you.

“Did you miss me?” he demanded.

“Y-yes,” you forced out, dragging your nails down his arm.

He groaned at that, twisting one hand into your hair as he jerked your head back. He bit into your neck, hips unrelenting as he did what he wanted with your body. The king got like this sometimes, especially when he was stressed and bothered. Although you knew that your illness and absence had weighed on him heavily, something in you knew that other matters were bothering him. The way he touched you and held you and kissed you told you so.

His touch grew less harsh as the night wore on, his frustrations and fears finally waning. His blond hair was in disarray as he slowly moved his hips against yours, and you fell asleep to the feel of him kissing every spot that he’d held too tight.

 ~

You approached the familiar group of brightly dressed women as they stood behind a pillar, peering around it as their hushed murmurs filled the air. You frowned in confusion, nearing them as you struggled to see what they were looking at.

“What’s going on?”

They all turned in surprise, and they all collectively sighed in relief when they came face to face with you. A few of them even perked up, and Tatia reached out to you with a grin on her red lips, gripping your hand as she pulled you closer.

“Thank the heavens you’re here, Y/N. The king adores you! Perhaps you can find out what’s truly going on,” she said, both curiosity and fear coating her words.

“What do you mean? What’s going on?”

A few of the women chuckled, knowingly eyeing you as Anastasia spoke.

“You had quite the late start this morning, so we don’t blame you for how behind you are on the news. After all, we all know how the king can be…especially when it comes to you,” she giggled, bumping your shoulder.

Tatia hit her arm, but even she was fighting a smile.

“There’s talk…of another king…,” she finally said.

Your eyes widened as you looked at the dark-haired girl, confusion growing.

“Another king? Here?”

Was that allowed? They all nodded.

“The neighboring king if I’m not mistaken. Amara heard talk of merging armies and resources and the like. We’re still unsure as to why, but surely it must benefit us, otherwise the king would never agree to such a thing,” she replied.

You pursed your lips, stepping around them to finally look at what they were seeing. Your shoulders sagged just as you caught the backs of Steve and a strange man as they walked away. They were the same height, but the stranger’s hair was dark and luscious as it brushed his shoulders. He was darkly dressed, and the outline of his garb was gold.

You felt someone’s hand on your shoulder, and soon Anastasia’s voice filled your ear.

“So…? Will you speak with him? Find out what’s truly going to happen?”

You turned to her with a small smile.

“I’ll do my best.”

The rest of them grinned, clasping their hands together as they thanked you. You turned back around with a slight frown. You didn’t have the heart to tell them that if Steve really did agree to such a thing, you all clearly needed something this other king had.

You were only proven right hours later when you finally got him alone.

“The other girls saw you today…with a stranger…”

Steve’s eyes met yours as you lathered soap into his chest. The two of you were in his bath, preparing for the night after a long day. Steam filled the large room, and the water sloshed as he readjusted himself, sitting up as he eyed you, waiting for you to continue.

“They speak of another king,” you murmured, gauging his reaction.

He didn’t respond right away, and you paused. Your eyes searched his, and you began to frown.

“My king…? Is it true?”

He hummed.

“…It is.”

You looked away, lowering the soap into the water as you stared at the wall.

“I see…”

“You sound bothered by this news,” he noted.

“It is not my place to concern myself with such matters. I’m a mere concubine,” was your response.

He laughed as he rose from the bath, water droplets flying as he stepped out. You ran your eyes over him, taking him in in all of his naked glory.

“Truly, Y/N. Tell me your thoughts on the matter. I’m genuinely curious to hear them…”

You pursed your lips.

“Do I have your permission to speak freely?”

His eyes narrowed, but he agreed anyway.

“You do.”

You licked your lips, glancing down before meeting his gaze again.

“What is it that he has that we need?”

His jaw clenched as he eyed you, lips thinning into a straight line.

“You have always been clever,” he said, chuckling without humor. “That, however, is a matter that doesn’t concern you.”

You looked away.

“You’re right. It doesn’t concern me, and I don’t know what it is, but surely this arrangement will cause more problems than it can solve,” you stated.

You’d heard the phrase ‘two heads are better than one’ often growing up, but your mother also had another one she too often used. Something about too many cooks in the kitchen. You hesitantly met his eyes again, finding him staring at you as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Pray tell…”

“What if there are more arguments between you two than there are agreements? What if you’re constantly having to change and revise things purely for the sake of compromise? You could spend more time adjusting ideas than actually executing them. This man is a stranger. We know-.”

“He is not a stranger to me. In fact, I’ve fellowshipped with him many times. We’ve grown up hunting together and preparing to take after our fathers,” he interrupted.

“I’m sorry-.”

“Do you not trust my judgement?”

“I do-.”

“Then act like it. You are doing an awful lot of questioning for someone who claims to trust me.”

His tone was harsh and clipped, and you knew that you had overstepped.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I was out of line, and for that I apologize. I simply worry…”

He sighed and approached you, reaching to help you out of the bath. He brushed his hand over your cheek, wetting the skin as he ran his eyes over you.

“You want to protect your home, your livelihood, and me… I admire that, but I am king. You are not. You were right. Worry yourself with matters that concern you,” he stated.

You nodded.

“Yes, my king.”

“Good. Now, prepare our bed, I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I need to be well rested,” he ordered.

You nodded, taking a step away from him before pausing. You blinked, a sudden thought crossing your mind as you turned to look at him.

“Will we have to answer to him as we do you?”

Again, he didn’t respond right away, and after a while, you accepted that he simply wouldn’t. With a soft apology, you exited the bath. A tall figure with shoulder length dark hair weighed heavily on your mind.

 ~

The next morning found you in the garden, hidden between some tall bushes as you swayed your hips. You hummed the familiar tune as you practiced, determined to make up for the weeks you’d lost to the sudden bout of sickness. The gold bracelets on your arms clanked together on beat, and you lowered your hip in time with the final beat, a line of sweat kissing your hairline.

You were startled by a slow clap sounding from behind you, and you turned with wide eyes, the fabric of your dress curling around your legs. Your eyes met blue ones that were almost familiar to you, but not quite. His dark hair kissed his shoulders, face lightly decorated with facial hair. He was as tall as your king, and you immediately knew that this was the man from yesterday. The neighboring king. Although, you supposed he wouldn’t be just a neighbor anymore.

“That was very good.”

His voice was deep, smooth and rich in a way that was different to you. You curtsied ever so slightly, lowering your head just a bit before thanking him. He tilted his head at you.

“…and what might they call you?”

You eyed him, unsure of what to make of him just yet.

“Y/N,” you answered.

You were unsure if you liked the way his eyebrows rose, eyes lighting up as he seemed to take you in in a whole new light. He ran his eyes over you, and you found yourself taking a step back.

“Y/N…”

You nodded in confirmation, and a crooked smile fell over his lips.

“I have heard of you. Steve’s most favored concubine…”

You didn’t respond but didn’t feel a need to. This man didn’t seem to need a confirmation for that.

“I heard in the wind that no other man is allowed to touch you,” he hummed.

Again, you didn’t feel the need to confirm that for he had clearly confirmed it already. He approached you, and you studied him. He smelled of spice and the trees all rolled into one.

“I’d heard that you had fallen ill not too long ago. I am glad to see that you’ve recovered. What a pity it would have been to not have been able to meet you,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you quietly replied.

You jerked, eyes widening when he gently gripped your chin, tilting your head up.

“I am James. I missed your performance the other night it seems, but I will be sure to see them all from here on out…”

He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, and you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest. He drank you in, blue eyes so similar yet so different from Steve’s. He ran his eyes over you, committing you to memory.

“I look forward to…many of your future performances.”

He stepped away and turned around, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering touch of a man who was not Steve.

~

tags:  @sherrybaby14​ @xoxabs88xox​ @darkficreposter​ @mcudarklibrary​ @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ @kellyn1604​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @readermia​ @jtargaryen18​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @nickyl316h​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @arseofrivia​ @ariesmadness97​ @kaithezaftig​ @fafulous​ @tessa-bl​

#Dark Fic #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!steve x reader #dark!bucky x reader #royal au #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader

[danteinthedevildom]

A Royal Pajama Party “Analysis” - Part 7 (of 7)

We’re here! We’re finally at the end of this “analysis”! I did not expect this to be so goddamn long. Apparently I had more thoughts on this Devilgram than even I originally intended. 

That said, this concluding part really just takes a peek at another “alternate timeline”. The Devilgram has several different routes you can go down that drastically changes how your evening goes, so there’s honestly a lot of ground to cover with just how much you get to do. (Which is absolutely why this series is 7 parts long, beyond just “I had too many screenshots to fit in a single post, thanks Tumblr image limit”). 

In this route, you tell Diavolo a story. It’s nothing fascinating; either you tell him an actual story, or - if you act uncertain - he asks you to talk about your day for the sake of talking.  

So, for this final part, once again we’re covering content locked beyond Story Keys. Here’s your last cursory spoiler warning!

(Although we have two potential routes to go down, I’m only going to focus on this one; the one wherein you actually tell him a full story. It’s essentially the same as the other, minus some dialogue before you get started. I don’t have enough images-per-post to show everything, however, and the dialogue missing only emphasises what I’m going to go over - so it’s not too horrific a loss.

I am going to fight Tumblr for more images, however.)

If you confidently go into a story, Diavolo ends up falling asleep listening to it. When he wakes up, this is his response. 

There’s something impossibly sweet about this moment. He doesn’t fall asleep because he’s bored, nor even because he’s tired; if you tell the story another way, he openly admits that he just wants to hear your voice, and that he’d happily listen to you talk forever if he could. He wants to listen to you, then; to cherish your words, how you say them, the story you weave together. 

Your voice is simply so soothing to him, he couldn’t help but nod off. 

There’s a lot this scene says, if I’m being honest. Especially from a literary/media standpoint; it’s a bit of a trope!

See, sleep scenes are usually used to show trust. It’s something that I believe likely stems from the vulnerability of sleep; you don’t let your guard down around someone you feel threatened by, which means you often won’t sleep near or around those people. Instinctively, you’ll try to stay awake, stay alert, stay on edge. 

Therefore, sleep is the best visual way to show absolute, complete trust between two characters. 

It’s highly unlikely that Diavolo has any reason not to feel safe sleeping around you. After all, you’re just a human; anything you could do to him would irritating at worst. But it’s still something that pings in the human brain, a trope we know well enough for it to hit even though it might not ring wholly true. 

Besides, there’s still the chance that demons have that instinct ingrained in them. Their society used to be brutal, and in a lot of ways, it still is; that’s likely not a vulnerability they afford other demons to see unless they’re wholly confident and relaxed. 

For that instinct to not trigger, even with you being a harmless human; for him to so suddenly fall asleep he’s not even aware of it; for him to have been so deeply asleep that waking up is an outright shock... His guard must be completely down around you. 

You must make him feel warm, comfortable, and happy; relaxed enough to fall asleep without a second thought. 

The man himself even confirms it. 

It’s not surprising, after all: he’s the Prince of the Devildom. There’s an image he has to maintain, whether he likes it or not. He has to seem competent, strong, and assertive, at all times, without a single sign of weakness. Especially considering the discontent against the Exchange Programme and his own (relative) instability being a stand-in ruler; he has to ensure, at all times, that he’s seen as a legitimate ruler. 

If he slips up, there are vocal dissenters only likely too willing to drag him down. If he makes a mistake, peace between the Three Realms could fall through. There’s too much at stake for him to fail just because he wanted to be himself. 

It’s a sacrifice he has to make, but one he’s willing to do if it means everything plays out as it should. If it means the Devildom stays strong. If it means his people are safe. If it means his dreams might come true. 

There’s so much of himself that just isn’t safe to show other demons - and even more of himself he simply can’t show, no matter how hard he tries, because nobody is willing to see. 

Diavolo, the demon and Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom are two very different entities. He has to compartmentalise aspects of himself at all times; keep the looser, more casual parts of him locked up tight. 

And then you come along, and the lock crumbles to dust. 

He’s not wholly trying to show you these aspects of himself. Some of them, yes; there’s doubtless a thousand sides you’ve seen to Diavolo that most demons aren’t even aware exist, solely because he wanted to show you - trusted you enough to show you. But there’s equally as doubtless a thousand more sides you’ve seen that were completely unintentional. A thousand hidden parts that have slipped through the cracks, poured out into the light before your eyes, simply because you make him feel comfortable. Make him feel things no other being across the Three Realms has ever made him feel before. 

And he’s not even mad about it. He’s happy. He’s glad he has someone he trusts so much, he’s accidentally revealed all these little aspects of himself. He’s smiling because it means he finally has someone close enough to him to experience all the things he usually tries to hide. 

Because there’s someone, at least, that can see his true self. 

He’s not used to this. He’s really not. It’s genuinely strange to him, how easily he opens up to you. Something he enjoys, yes; something he sees as good, something he’s pleased about, something that brings him genuine happiness - but something that’s still odd. 

He’s however-many thousands of years old, after all. In all that time, he’s not slipped up the way he does with you. Not around demons, not around angels, not around witches or sorcerers and everything in between. He couldn’t afford to. Still can’t, even. 

Then, along comes you, knocking down all his walls in the span of a few years. Walls not even his closest right-hand demons have peeked past. 

And he’s so at east with it - with you - that he doesn’t even mind. Except - 

Why would it be unfair?

Because he wants you to feel that open around him, too.

He wants to see as much of you as you’ve seen of him. 

He doesn’t want another one-sided friendship. He’s already got two of those; he already knows his two closest friends don’t see him the way he sees them. 

He wants something equal. He wants to say he knows someone as well as they know him. He wants to mean it. 

But, more importantly - he wants it to be on your terms. He wants you to want to open up to him. It won’t mean anything if he makes you tell him everything. It’ll just be another forced friendship, and another pained realisation later down the line; another connection he has to worry over day after day, fretting the moment it (potentially) snaps. 

No matter how much he wants to see, he doesn’t want to unless it means he’s special to you. He wants that moment to occur because you view him as someone important; someone you adore, someone you cherish, someone you trust. 

If he can be that special someone to you, he’ll be happy. If you can trust him with those parts of yourself that you hide from the rest of the world - the parts he’s already exposed to you, intentionally and accidentally - he’ll know he’s made it. 

It’s something he’s not had with someone before. Another segment of friendship he’s never experienced. The good, the bad, the ugly - he wants to see it all. Because it’s you. Because he wants to give back to you the things you’ve given him. 

It must be generally exciting, to think about seeing so much of a person when no-one ever lets him get that close. Maybe he’s romanticising it a bit. No, he almost definitely is. But it’s a sweet message, at its core:

You make him feel safe enough to be himself. He wants you to feel the same with him. He doesn’t want you to feel like you have to hide.  

Subtly, of course, he’s restated something we already know. 

If he thinks that you opening up to him makes him special to you...

... Clearly, you’re already special to him. 

You likely have been for some time. 

+++

And... we’re done. That’s the end of the Devilgram, my thoughts on it, and my hatred of Tumblr’s shitty image-per-post limit. I can put this series to rest and let my poor, over-strained brain zonk out for the next week. 

Thanks for reading! Both this post and the series as a whole, if you did; I’ve no idea how future readers might find this, but I’m going to assume someone will have read the lot. Which, you brave fool, I’m so sorry my writing deteriorated as I went on, you have my respect and awe. 

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me analysis

[grayhouse3]

SJTR is my villain origin story

So I finished Stalking Jack the Ripper.

Originally I told myself that I was going to just stick it out and read the next one (“Oh, it’s about vampires and Dracula. It’s probably more fun. You can forget all about the pain this one inflicted on you"). No. I got 12% of the way through and had to DNF. So here are my messily compiled thoughts on the book, basically expanded from the last post. Honestly, kind of feel free knowing I won’t be writing more about this series. (Also I am adding some TWs down below but don't know if I am doing them right!)

More on the exoticism, weirdness with Audrey Rose's Indian mother, and the British Empire:

In chapter 14, we read, "Dark strands of hair were piled atop my head, my eyes more mysterious somehow with the dark liner, and my lips were the bright crimson of freshly spilled blood … I thought of my mother and the saris she’d brought me to wear from Grandmama’s homeland. I felt just as stunning now as I did then, and the memory warmed me.” I am still trying to figure out why Maniscalco made Audrey Rose mixed race. Why is Audrey Rose’s grandmother from India? Literally, what did it add to the story? Was it nothing more than just a cute lil quirky fun character trait to her? I don’t think I missed any key moments where there were important conversations about race, imperialism, British occupation, etc., mostly because Audrey Rose’s father (a big fancy rich lord) is a white man and because Audrey Rose is white-passing. I can’t recall any moments in the book where she faces the realities/consequences of being a socially mobile POC WOMAN in LONDON IN THE 1880s. Honestly, if someone else can point out a passage I glossed over or explain some nuance I missed I would actually really appreciate it, because this drove me CRAZY.

(Audrey Rose and her brother also go visit a circus in town in chapter 15; of course these events existed purely for England/colonizing countries to exercise and display their power and to exoticize/exploit the communities/cultures that they came into contact with. Audrey Rose sees silks, beads, etc. that remind her of her grandmother’s saris, smells the foods of her family’s “homeland,” etc. Also in the same chapter there’s this great scene where her brother is describing their mother and father’s marriage: “Grandmama told me she’d refused him twenty times just for fun,” Nathaniel replied. “Said he squirmed like a cobra in a basket. That’s how she knew he was in love.” Uhhh … Is that supposed to be romantic?)

On the feminism stuff:

I am too *gestures vaguely* to write much more on this. Yeah, it’s heavy-handed. Yeah, it’s cringey. But at the end of the day, it’s not really that harmful, I guess. Here’s just a fun sampling of some of my favorite lines from the book:A few of my favorite bites from the book:

***“close-minded society” (chapter 21) Okay

***"Why turn a murderer of women into front-page news?” (chapter 15) Bro do you know how the media works

***"But what of her [mother’s] insistence that I could be both strong and beautiful? Surely Father had to be wrong.” (chapter 21) Yes girl you are strong and beautiful!

***"There would be no skirts or bustles to wrangle with anymore. I was through with things confining me” (chapter 22) Ugh down with corsets just another tool of the patriarchy amirite

On the violence against women, weird classism, and stuff about prostitution:

I was bound to be uncomfortable about a lot of this because I have weird feelings about true crime stuff, and this is historical fiction set around the Jack the Ripper murders. It was going to go sour somewhere.

Consistently Audrey Rose wants to be sympathetic, but is unable to connect all the parts of this situation together: she struggles to imagine the women (very real-life victims) beyond their lives of prostitution, poverty, squalor. When she does, we see something like this: "The women he murdered did matter ... They were daughters and wives and mothers and sisters” (chapter 28). Oftentimes she wishes she could continue to cut cadavers open in peace (women in science!) without having to think about how those cadavers came to be on her examination table: “I needed to get away from those women and their tragic lives before my emotions got the better of me” (chapter 25). Perhaps Maniscalco deserves more credit here, and perhaps I’m just being a bitch, because Audrey Rose is a very privileged girl and her actions and thoughts make that clear. It’s just that the conclusions she comes to in the name of feminism, justice, etc. weren’t at all satisfying to me.

Also: OH MY GOD. Oh my god. There is this one moment that is BRANDED AGAINST THE GRAY MATTER OF MY BRAIN FOREVER and I will never forget it. At one point, Audrey Rose and love interest Thomas decide the best thing they can do is go out and—yes—stalk Jack the Ripper. To do this, they know they need to “blend in” with the crowds in East End. So … like … cosplaying as poor people? Audrey Rose manages to find and wear the dress of ONE OF THE MURDER VICTIMS (long story short her medical doctor uncle was in a relationship with this woman and when she died he acquired her worldly possessions). It’s like, so fucked up, I can’t even describe my reaction when I read it. In chapter 25 we read, "The dress was a little too old, a little too ragged, a bit too big. If I were to wear this ghastly dress out, I’d look as if I belonged in the East End, begging for work to feed my addictions … It was absolutely perfect.” Oh my god. And THAT’S NOT EVEN THE WORST PART. While they’re “stalking Jack the Ripper” on this incredibly stupid mission, the two main characters just … make out in an alley. Like, okay. People are being murdered and you’re wearing a dead woman’s dress and you suspect your father of being guilty, but yeah, that kind of stuff makes us all a little horny. Super relatable. Absolutely no concept of reality or consequences or anything at all.

Another random note on class: I noticed the only time Maniscalco writes in dialects/accents, she’s writing seedy/working-class characters. Not saying this is a problem unique to Maniscalco’s writing by a longshot, but ... something to think on. (I think it’s ingrained in a lot of author’s writing habits/minds at this point.)

Weird stuff about the dad, the brother, and what justice means to Audrey Rose:

I had to add a whole new highlighting color for this stuff!

Any growth Audrey Rose might’ve shown over the course of the novel—anything about how these women mattered, and how they deserved justice as any “highborn” individual might, simply by dint of being humans—goes away when she and Thomas come to the conclusion that the Ripper murders must have been committed by Audrey Rose’s father. She realizes her moral dilemma when she contends with the harsh reality: if her father is the Ripper, can she turn him into the authorities? Audrey Rose worries how that might impact her own moral virtue: "They’d hang Father. Given who he was, they’d make it as public and brutal as possible. Just because blood might stain his hands did not mean I wanted his on mine. No matter if it was right or wrong” (chapter 24). First of all, BITCH. You have to. You have to report this kind of thing. No ifs, ands, or buts. I HAVE to imagine Maniscalco’s intended audience would feel the same? It’s? Serial murder? Second: Audrey Rose, baby, sweetie, honey. This is just a reminder that ACAB. I actually don’t know a whole lot about how the late Victorian criminal justice system functioned, but something tells me her family's public outlook would’ve been less bleak than she imagines here.

Lucky for Audrey Rose, her dad isn’t guilty in the end—but her brother sure is. He’s a mad scientist, using the brutalized bodies and souvenirs of his victims for Frankenstein-style experiments. Ultimately, he wants to reanimate the corpse of his and Audrey Rose’s long-dead mother, and he believes he can achieve this by transplanting fresh organs into ? Her dead and decomposed body? The thing is that, this moral dilemma persists for Audrey Rose—and her dad, too. He pressures her not to bring the little matter of Nathaniel’s issue—you know, his casual murder of a number of local women—to Scotland Yard: “They’ll have your brother hanged,” he said quietly. “Could you honestly watch that happen? As a family, have we not suffered enough?” (chapter 29). Nathaniel electrocutes himself to evade capture by the authorities, and Audrey Rose and her father feel relief. The book ends by confirming that "Lord Edmund covered up Nathaniel’s involvement, I didn’t ask how. One day I’d let everyone know the truth, but the pain was too raw now” (chapter 30).

((Side note: Listen. I knew Nathaniel had something sinister going on from the GET-GO (I’m not trying to be obnoxious) because he basically started some nighttime vigilante group called the Whitechapel Knights of Justice or whatever bullshit, I don’t know. All I know is that my red flags IMMEDIATELY started going off because that sounds exactly like the terrible and awful Crusader cosplay clubs from my (bad) Catholic childhood, where everyone thinks they’re a knight for Good but really they’re the bad guy.))

Overall, kind of ...

I think one of my biggest issues with this ending was … You have already stepped into a realm of fantastical revisionist history here in writing such a fictionalized version of these real-life events. (I know Maniscalco is far from the first to do it.) That means that the rules you are playing by are essentially your own—evidenced by the liberties she points out in her Author’s/Historical note (dates changed for convenience or storytelling purposes, real-life individuals changed for narrative purposes, etc.). So WHY would you not conclude this fantasy retelling of the Jack the Ripper murders by meting out some form of justice? I hear the counterargument: "Well, because we still don’t know the culprit today. This book would ring hollow if it named someone since historians, forensic scientists, etc. still don’t know who committed these crimes." My question: is that really a problem though? This is a work of fiction. Nothing in history happened the way it is written here. Is it crueler to the women who were murdered and who remain spectacles for true crime junkies and authors like this, less satisfying to readers who want some more concrete kind of closure, to not offer that up? I am asking this in earnest here, because I don’t know. Maybe it is insensitive to make up a murderer, to fill in the gaps in order to make sense of the violence that happened. But in my brain it feels almost like a responsibility at this point, since these murders served as the backdrop for the romance between Audrey Rose and Thomas, for the background to Audrey Rose’s empty feminist diatribes, and as inspiration for a book that went on far longer than it needed to. To me it kind of feels like the least an author could do, but I have no clue.

Anyways, I'm just glad I get to put this series to bed. No more.I truly lost sleep over it this weekend. Onto something better, please, for the love of god.

#mnc reads #mnc writes #stalking jack the ripper #sjtr #I dont know what to tag this as but I dont want to leave anything out! #tw death #tw suicice #body horror #violence #classism #I guess #racism #maybe #I dont know #Im sorry

[iturbide]

speaking of ferdinand, i can see him being the linchpin of a potential BE fix-it AU. bc for all of ferdie's occasional pompousness pre-timeskip, he’s absolutely right in challenging edelgard's opinion instead of just being an enabler for her worst impulses. i imagine if she and hubert hadn’t kept him at arm's length during those formative years after The Incident we’d have had a drastically different route.

Oh hey as it happens he is a vital linchpin in my GD-based post-timeskip fix-it fic in progress!! 8D

[[MORE]]

So, for all his faults -- and as much as I love that precious ray of sunshine named Ferdinand von Aegir, he does have flaws, from his overbearing noble pomp to his obnoxious rivalry with Edelgard -- Ferdinand is one of the only people who openly opposes Edelgard in any way.  He has instilled in him a deep-seated belief of what it means to be noble, and feels that it’s his duty to match and meet Edelgard so that if she starts going astray, he can steer her back onto the proper course.  He cares about people, and he recognizes how important it is to understand commoners rather than just deciding things based on assumptions -- let’s not forget, he goes out of his way to bake cakes for Dorothea in an attempt to understand her feelings for him, working to earn the ingredients and making them with his own hands, which nets him not only a few rounds of failures but at least a few burns; and he also explains to Lorenz that spending time in commoner establishments isn’t important because it patronizes their businesses, but rather because it puts them in contact with the people they’re supposed to support so that they can truly understand their needs.  Ferdinand stays in Enbarr at Edelgard’s side trying with all his might to steer their course back, trying to help take care of the people of the Empire who are the first to suffer in war...and at every turn, his opposition is instead dismissed.

But Ferdinand is ever a ray of light, and he maintains hope, for both himself and those around him.  Over the five years, he gives the former Black Eagles the strength and will to continue pushing forward even as things grow increasingly bleak.  Whether they know it or not -- some, like Bernadetta and Dorothea, know it powerfully, while Edelgard and Hubert are completely in the dark -- Ferdinand is the glue holding things together in Enbarr.  But when news arrives that the Imperial outpost near Garreg Mach has fallen, and it seems likely that the next target will be the Great Bridge at Myrddin, Edelgard sends Ferdinand to lead the reinforcements -- ostensibly because he is one of the Empire’s most capable fighters and she trusts him to lead the charge, though she certainly won’t exactly miss not having him arguing her every decision.  Most of the former Eagles are absolutely devastated by this decision, since Ferdinand really is vital to them...so they each give him something before he goes, as charms for luck and safe keeping.

Sadly, the charms don’t seem to work, as Ferdinand’s reinforcements are swiftly quelled and he’s left fighting alone.  All the dark thoughts he’d been trying so hard to keep at bay rush over him -- that this will be where he dies, that Edelgard sent him specifically for that purpose -- and he gives in to that grief and despair, if only briefly, because he knows that if he falls then all the people he cares about and who rely on him, who saw him off with such fear in their eyes and prayed for his safe return with the gifts they gave, will be left all alone in the fights to come.  But as hard as he fights, it’s not enough, and between Hilda’s axe and Lorenz’s spear he’s soon brought to his knees.  As Claude and Byleth approach, he steels himself, determined to meet his end without flinching and swearing that he’ll not offer his neck if he’s to die he’ll die with his head held high...and instead Claude just tells him to chill out before asking him “so hey how’re things in Enbarr?”

Ferdinand is perplexed.  He swiftly insists that he will not betray the Empire by revealing information about their troops or supplies -- and Claude waves it off because no no, he doesn’t want anything like that: he wants to know how things are going for the people.  Since they started rebuilding the monastery to act as a base of operations, they’ve seen a lot of religious refugees coming in from the direction of the Empire.  What’s going on?  And...well, Ferdinand doesn’t see how that could be terribly sensitive information.  So he talks about how nothing is what he expected, nothing is right, the people are suffering and as hard as he tries it seems like there’s nothing he can do to alleviate it because nothing he says, nothing he tries, makes it far beyond his mouth.  And Claude nods, because he had a feeling that was the case...and then, to everyone’s shock, he tells them to let Ferdinand go.

“I’ll not spy for you, if that’s what you imagine!” Ferdinand says.  “My noble heart would never allow such base deception!” 

“...you’re kidding, right?” Claude snorts.  “You’d be a terrible spy.”  All around him, the former Deer nod in agreement.

...after a moment, Ferdinand grudgingly nods, too, because he knows he would be awful, too.

Claude explains, though, that he doesn’t want any favors, he just wants Ferdinand to do what he’s been doing this whole time: keep peoples’ hopes alive.  Things are going to get worse before they get better -- but they want to save as many people as they can, and he believes that with Ferdinand back in the Empire, there will be more people to save than if he falls or is taken prisoner here.  And even though this seems too good to be true, Ferdinand can’t see where the trap lies...so he agrees, mounts up on his horse (refusing Claude’s offer of healing, since it would be far more suspicious if he showed signs of magic healing rather than limping back, and Claude really can’t fault his logic), and heads back to Enbarr where he is instantly accosted by an anxious Dorothea.  As he tries to reassure her, though, who should glide out of the shadows but Hubert himself, and Ferdinand’s life briefly flashes before his eyes because oh Goddess he’s doomed.

“The bridge fell, I presume,” Hubert says, not a question but a statement.

“W-well, you see...t-that is to say...” Ferdinand stammers.

“I thought as much,” Hubert sighs.  “I will inform Lady Edelgard -- Dorothea, see him to the infirmary, and make sure he doesn’t do anything else so foolish as riding from Myrddin to Enbarr without stopping for adequate medical treatment.”

Ferdinand is briefly certain that he died because he has never in his life seen Hubert be considerate to anyone besides Edelgard.  But then Dorothea is tugging him along toward the infirmary and he’s then forced to sit out the fight at Gronder because he’s in recovery (and Dorothea stays with him on orders because Hubert did tell her not to let Ferdie do anything stupid again).  And, as Claude said, things do get worse before they get better: while Edelgard, Hubert, Petra, and Bernadetta all return safe from Gronder, Linhardt and Caspar are presumed dead after Merceus is destroyed, and when the Enbarr finally comes under attack Bernadetta and Hubert are sent out to join the fighting in the streets...but Ferdinand trusts in the promise Claude made, that they wanted to save all they could.  So he keeps his faith, and that unshakeable optimism helps the rest of the former Eagles keep theirs -- and it’s rewarded when the palace is finally stormed: Ferdinand cheerfully surrenders to Lorenz after briefing him on the situation inside, retreats under a loose Alliance ‘guard’...and finds Linhardt, Caspar, Bernadetta, and Hubert, all alive and well (if somewhat worse for the wear, in Hubert’s case, since he’s currently under the influence of Marianne’s Silence spell and Byleth jabbed a couple pressure points to make extra sure he wouldn’t be casting).

Despite being technically a ‘prisoner’ after that point, Ferdinand has free run of the camp and just ingrains himself among them, taking to making tea for everyone once they finally make it back to Garreg Mach to figure out what comes next.  In fact, when Byleth, Claude, and Dimitri come try to talk with Edelgard and Hubert soon after taking up at the monastery again, Ferdinand is right there with them bearing a tray of tea and bustling about making things comfortable.

“...Ferdinand,” Edelgard starts.

“Yes?” he replies as he places the tray on the table.

“What is this?” she asks, clearly meaning the situation that has him siding with the enemy.

“Why, it’s tea, of course!” he smiles, completely missing the point.  “And coffee for Hubert,” he adds, taking a particular cup and putting it in front of the dark mage.  “I thought a nice Hresvelg Blend sounded lovely on such a beautiful day, wouldn’t you agree?”

Claude is laughing silently in the background because the look on Edelgard’s face is absolutely priceless.  Gods bless Ferdinand von Aegir.

#answered #asperrusual #fire emblem: three houses #fe:3h spoilers #kintsugi #ferdinand von aegir is a treasure #and the true hero of the empire as far as i'm concerned #he's the primary reason so many people make it through in kintsugi #notably including dorothea #it comes very close for her when enbarr is attacked #but he's the rock they all rely on and he sees them through it all #i love that precious ray of sunshine and i can't wait to write him #also apologies for the exceptionally long fic rant #but i don't get to talk much about my actual stories on my blog #so i'm taking my chance and running like hell with it

[hall-of-merlin2]

Magic, Monsters and Merthur - 1x02 - (Merthur)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Right! This turned out way longer than both of the other posts. I’m sure you Merthur shippers will appreciate this.

I know I do.

The Merthur content in here is incredible!

No more rambling!

<_><_><_>

03:31

*snicker*

Cutie.

<_><_><_>

03:41

CASE IN POINT.

<_><_><_>

04:55

GWEN TOO. SHE’S AN ADORABLE CUTIE FOR HELPING MERLIN WITH THIS DUMB SHIT.

This particularly <3

And, as a bonus, she’s cute.

<_><_><_>

05:39

Hmm...

You sure about that sweetie?

(Also, yes, I am purposefully making the screencaps as awful as I can. I want my eyes bleeding out of my sockets by the end of season 1.)

<_><_><_>

10:08

Ah, the infamous line. What does it mean??? Does Arthur like Merlin now??? Arthur is still mean after laughing at Merlin’s joke!!!

Means nothing, I think. Merlin probably spoke what Arthur was thinking, or it was just so unexpected that Arthur could only reply with a chuckle, basically saying “Did you really just say that?” with a quirked eyebrow, raised in disbelief.

I mean, how many people do you think could openly say something “negative” about a knight? Not a knight, that’s for sure, let alone a servant, a peasant. And Arthur is still trying to adjust to having this… This curious thing as his personal servant, just as much as Merlin is trying to get adjusted to being pressed under a boot for the first time in his life.

And I think, judging by their conversation that I will mention later, that they both feel something similar for each other.

A certain trust.

And… Yeah, trying to keep the “I want to kill him” thoughts to a minimum.

<_><_><_>

19:10

First, it was “Good Luck”.

Then, it was a pat on the shoulder.

And it’s all only happening because Merlin realizes that Arthur gets extremely nervous before every fight.

That is someone who is stressed. Very much. On the brink of breaking down.

Merlin can’t address that, and he doesn’t. He just does these little gestures in hopes that Arthur will just take a deep breath when he remembers them and focuses on the fight with a calm mind.

And that’s just… That’s just so sweet.

Merlin was handling Arthur’s stress before the pratty prince even realized he was stressed.

<_><_><_>

21:40

Gaius acting surprised that just after he mentioned that if they had the antidote, they could have a chance of proving Valiant’s guilt, Merlin immediately got up and nearly ran out of the room – Gaius. Do you seriously not understand that Merlin loves getting into trouble?

<_><_><_>

“I don’t like the guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s cheating.”

“Gaius is preparing an antidote to the snake venom, when Ewan’s conscious, he’ll tell you what happened.

“If you fight Valiant in the final, he’ll use the shield, it’s the only way he can beat you. 

“Look at it! Have you ever seen snakes like this in Camelot?”

***

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

...

“I want you to swear to me what you’re telling me is true.”

“I swear it’s true.”

...

“Then I believe you.”

24:43

This is the convo I was referencing earlier. Just the fact that Arthur doesn’t deny the obvious proof Merlin has with him, but still is in denial because a knight using magic is unheard of, and just impossible in his mind, since knights are… valiant, but then Arthur asks Merlin to swear, like an equal to him knight would, to prove that they are not lying, he thinks of Merlin as honorable enough to understand the importance of swearing, even though he probably wouldn’t expect any other servant to. From the second episode Merlin is different from others in Arthur’s eyes.

And that’s not even taking into account the implications of this scene. Merlin comes to Arthur because he trusts that Arthur won’t dismiss him and throw him into the dungeons for badmouthing a knight, and will hear him out before giving a final verdict. None of the other knights would have even listened to him beyond “Valiant is using magic!”, they would have shut him down then and there. Arthur is different from others in Merlin’s eyes.

It’s episode 2 guys. It’s episode 2 and already we have scene like this!

How the hell can it go up from here?

It can go up and beyond what we know as gay.

I mean bisexual.

Or demisexual? I kind of liked that theory…

What we know as Merthur! There.

<_><_><_>

27:01

Like here!

Merlin whispers an important thing – not getting close to the shield – but Arthur hadn’t thought of that, so he lets himself be reminded of that by Merlin, when he could have told him to shut up instead.

IT’S EPISODE 2.

<_><_><_>

30:50

I know I’m missing the point of this scene, but…

This time?

Is he talking about…

I think Arthur’s talking about his armor.

Like… Yeah, it actually is quite important. If the armor’s not tightened properly, or it’s rusty, or if it’s not fixed/cleaned since the last day, then it’s a pretty big deal in a fight. It can cost one’s life, and Arthur’s putting his in Merlin’s hands with all of his duties.

This is why this episode breaks my heart – because Arthur truly had no reason to distrust Merlin or not believe what he’s saying, and Merlin had no reason not to share what’s going on with Arthur when they’re going on a dangerous journey. After this whole mess Arthur is far more dismissive of what Merlin says, especially since the boy doesn’t have nearly as much proof as he had this time. Yes, Valiant did prove to be using magic, and what Merlin said did come true, but I think Merlin himself is less keen on sharing his suspicions with Arthur or anyone else other than Gaius, if not to avoid this whole emotional mess, then to avoid the difficulty of explaining how he knows things and their legitimacy. No more just… walking up to Arthur and saying what’s happening, no more Arthur believing him.

It’s just… agh.

<_><_><_>

“[Valiant] will use the shield against you.”

“I know.”

“Then withdraw. You have to withdraw-”

“Don’t you understand? I can’t withdraw.”

***

“Valiant will kill you. If you fight, you die.”

“Then I die.”

36:01

God… Damn.

This is how every knight is, isn’t it? It’s better to die with honor than to live in shame.

A perfect tenant to live by to die before you’re 20.

Unless you have a secret warlock to protect you, then you’ll make it.

To 30.

<_><_><_>

36:38

Some people say that Merthur became canon in the second episode.

I just want to do my part and point out that this is how Arthur reacts when Merlin leaves after the prince shouted at him.

First time was right after that god-awful court session, the second after Arthur sadly admits that he can’t withdraw, and he must die before he disappoints his father.

<_><_><_>

44:19

I don’t think he is. I think he’s just repeating what Uther has ingrained into him – to only care about himself, and his own accomplishments, to never take the help of other people, because he doesn’t need other people, he alone can and will take on the world.

That’s not talk of someone who’s ashamed of being saved by a girl, but someone who thinks that they were capable of doing whatever it is by themselves. And because they didn’t, it turns to denying facts and just propping themselves up, focusing on what they did rather than what the their helper did.

He will never know that it wasn’t just Morgana who saved him that day, but also Merlin, Gaius too and even Gwen, but acknowledging that getting help from other people is a thing he did and understanding that without them he would be nothing is something he still struggles with until season 4 and a bit beyond, so let’s just…

Let’s just hate Uther for making Arthur so hard to deal with in the beginning.

And let’s praise the people around him for having the patience to live with him and the gall to call him out on his bullshit from time to time. Those people deserve a holiday, several of them.

<_><_><_>

44:37

Arthur approached Merlin to sneer about Morgana! Out of all the people in the ballroom, Arthur felt that he couldn’t talk about Morgana behind her back with anyone, except for Merlin.

How would a knight react? How about another noble? A servant?

Neither of them would either agree with him or tease him about it, which Merlin would do if only he didn’t feel slightly awkward that THE PRINCE FUCKING ARTHUR JUST WALKED UP TO HIM AND STARTED TALKING LIKE THEY WERE FRIENDS.

Heh…

Yeah.

Merthur was canon by episode 2.

AND THEN HE APOLOGIZES FOR TREATING MERLIN HARSHLY ONCE HE NOTICES THAT THE POOR BOY IS CONFUSED ABOUT WHY HE’S TALKING TO HIM.

SJGNOIUDRHNGIUJSRGUJNRDOIUNGVJKJNGRNIUERJNGUIHNJHBK

PRECIOUS BOYS.

<_><_><_>

45:25

I think Arthur just enjoys putting that look on Merlin’s face.

Don’t take that out of context.

<_><_><_>

The episode starts with Valiant getting his snakey shield, and murdering a guy. It ends with a feast in Arthur’s honor! Even though all he did was stab his sword into Valiant. Quite heroic. Uther approves.

<_><_><_>

The Magic

The Monsters

#magic monsters and merthur #(merthur) #merlin #gwen #arthur #morgana #uther #1x02 #knight valiant #valiant #merthur #merthur is fucking canon #like come on #you cant say it isnt #thanks for reading tho #again #XD #im uh #this takes a bit of time to do #the screencaps and stuff #but its fun! #so ima keep doing it

[sgt-revolver]

ULTIMATE Beatlemaniac Tag!

I was tagged by @ourladylennon and @johns-prince to complete this questionnaire. Thanks for the tags, I honestly really enjoyed answering these questions.

How long have you been a fan?: I’ve been a fan for as long as I can remember. I always loved hearing their music on the radio and my music teacher was a fan, so he’d regularly play their music in his lessons and on one occasion I saw like the first 30 minutes of A Hard Day’s Night. I think I only got as far as the scene with John in the bath before he turned it off. But it’s only been during the last 2 and a half years that I’ve listened to them more often, and I’ve finally listened to all the albums all the way through. Now I’m a huge fan and can’t live without their music.

Favorite Beatle: John. It’s always been John for me, even back when I was a kid he was my favourite.

Favorite era for music: I’ll always have a soft spot for their early-mid era music, around 64-66 is my absolute favourite.

Favorite era for lewks: Teddy boy and the whole of 1966 for me. They simply looked so fucking cool around those two eras. The teddy boy era was just hot with all the leather they wore and how they tried to make themselves look ‘tough’, and during 1966 that entire year seemed to be a huge transitional period which mixed with their earlier career and how they looked later on.

Favorite song: This changes, and I do not have only one favourite song. I’ll always love Strawberry Fields Forever, it is always up there as one of my favourites. Same with I am the Walrus. I also love If I Fell, Nowhere Man, In My Life, I’m Only Sleeping and Something. There’s more but this answer will be too long if I keep going.

Favorite album: Revolver, no question. My username is based off it too.

Unpopular/Controversial Beatles opinion: Not necessarily unpopular but I really don’t like Yoko Ono as a person. I wish she didn’t try to make herself part of the band, it’s actually really infuriating. I don’t like to talk about this sort of thing so I’ll leave it at that.

A song everyone loves but you dislike: Ok I don’t necessarily dislike these songs, but I think Hey Jude and Let it Be are overrated.

A song everyone dislikes but you love: Run for your Life, Blue Jay Way and Revolution 9. I’m not really sure why Blue Jay Way isn’t well liked its underrated imo.

Your fantasy involving The Beatles: Seeing them live in concert, before they become big and go to America, preferably in Hamburg or at the Cavern Club. It must have been amazing to be able to be where they started out before Beatlemania, the atmosphere omg yes please. After the show I’d try to do anything I can to meet them, but I suspect I’d end up being so starstruck it would be painfully awkward, but it would be so worth it.

Tell us about the moment you knew you were a fan: There is no one moment I knew I was a fan, but I guess I realised I was a big fan when I listened to their albums all the way through, and I enjoyed them. There’s also the time when I watched the Eight Days a Week documentary and I couldn’t help but love them so much.

Did you ever have a genuine ‘The Beatles suck!’ phase before becoming a fan?: Nearly. This was after I became a fan but a long time ago, I kept hearing constantly how they’re not that good from people I know irl and it almost got ingrained in me for no reason at all. I’m glad I didn’t have that phase, otherwise I would be beating myself up for it now.

Favorite Beatles book: I haven’t read any yet, but I really want to and I’m not sure where to buy any (I’m a bit iffy about buying off Amazon)

Thoughts on the old generation of fans: They can be a bit full of themselves, but I like hearing their stories and their preferences on their favourite albums. Most of the older generation of fans I personally know seem to love John and hate Paul, so I automatically think they’re all the same but I know that’s not true.

If Hollywood were to make a high budget Beatles biopic, what is one thing you desperately hope they include?: I’m personally unsure if I want a Beatles biopic as I know they’ll mess everything up but I want them to include the strong bonds formed with each other and that they never actually hated each other.

Do you read/write fanfic?: I read a lot of fanfic, but I’m not confident with my writing ability so I don’t write anything. Yet.

Are you the only one in your family/friend group to enjoy them?: Both my mum and my dad claim to be fans. My step dad loves them though, yet every time I bring it up with him when he mentions them he ignores me completely, and its painful. My friends either think they’re overrated (they’ve probably only listened to Hey Jude, All you need is love and Yesterday) or they just don’t care/don’t know who they are. And if anyone I know is interested in them, they just mansplain everything to me so I can’t really enjoy listening to them or talking about them with others irl.

Are you a shipper?: Yeah I am.

Favorite movie starring/made by them?: A Hard Day’s Night.

Do you believe in McLennon?: I believe they were soulmates, definitely.

General opinions on McLennon?: They loved each other, there is no doubt about it. The signs are obvious, like the eye fucking, how they were literally inseparable for years and their LSD trip they had together. I do think it was mostly platonic though, and that any romantic attraction was one sided from John. I think Paul was oblivious to some of John’s feelings for him during the 1960s and that upset him.

If you got to change ONE thing about their history, what would it be and why?: The break up, they hurt each other’s feelings so much from all the suing and fighting they were miserable. I would make sure they ended things more amicably and I’d make sure Allen Klein does not get a look in at all during 1969. Seeing Paul get hurt like that is awful.

What song has the best vocals?: This is a real hard one to answer, but I’d say Twist and Shout, Helter Skelter and Norwegian Wood.

What song do you feel had no effort put into it?: Wild Honey Pie.

What is a well talked about moment in Beatles history you genuinely believe to be false?: Yoko wasn’t fully responsible for the break up the Beatles. I believe it was everyone’s fault to some extent, some more so than others. I think John caused the most damage to the band as a result of him putting in nearly no effort and having Yoko on his shoulder every day. Ringo quitting for two weeks is when I believe things were really starting to fall apart, and they never really recovered from that.

What is something you KNOW to be true, but often gets erased in their history?: John was bisexual, he’s pretty much admitted it as well. It gets dismissed constantly though. All of the Beatles were nice, amicable men who had their flaws and did what they can to become better people. None of them were gods, and none of them were inherently terrible people. John and Yoko’s relationship was toxic and incredibly unhealthy. They weren’t as happy together as the books and the Lennon estate make them out to be.

Least favorite look from a Beatle(s): John’s Sgt Pepper moustache. It just didn’t suit him, but then there was his beard from 1969. The beard looked disgusting and way too messy. I don’t think he made any attempt to keep it clean and that he just didn’t give a fuck about it, he just left it there to get worse and worse each passing day.

Favorite look from a Beatle(s): Shea Stadium, on all of them. But when John’s sweaty and his hair is a mess, he just looks fantastic. I also love the suits all four of them wore in Cincinnati in 1966.

I’ll tag @princessleiaqueen @theliverpoolsoldier @underwallsandbridges and @latinxbeatles and anyone else who wants to do it. Don’t feel like you have to do this, but I love reading everyone’s answers :)

#tag games #the beatles

[astxlphe-fics]

Let me live (let me die) 

Astonoé // Astolfoé 

A year after Vanitas dies, Noé and Astolfo run into each other again. Together, they run after the monsters of Astolfo’s past and away from the ghosts clinging to their minds.

Chapter 1/?

Chapter CW: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Future Fic (3 years later)

Chapter 2 >

It takes some time for Noé to get used to Vanitas being gone. 

There is just a moment, a step forward, as Domi calls it, when he just knows Vanitas isn’t there anymore. 

He hits a point when he doesn’t expect Vanitas to enter the room, to shake him awake for sleeping too long, to be eating snacks in a small corner of the building he’s found. He doesn’t see Vanitas in crowds anymore, with every long coat, long hair or blue ribbons. 

His mind seems, at some point, to just accept the fact that Vanitas is gone. A point where it instinctively switches from Vanitas is to Vanitas was.  

Noé knows this little fact is supposed to be reassuring, and that everyone around him is absolutely relieved to see him enter what they believe is the late stage of grief that is acceptance. 

But it feels awful, and Noé hates himself for getting used to Vanitas’ absence. 

He tries, at Domi’s insistence, to go back to Averoigne. He needs his rest, and it’s the only way she can be sure he won’t be alone dealing with this. With Domi, now the owner of the manor, as well as the less permanent residents Jeanne and Dante, it’s often populated with overly helpful people. 

Dante sometimes still tries to pretend he’s here half-heartedly, but he was just as shellshocked, just a wrecked as the rest of them. He is only at he manor every once in a while those days, having started to travel with Johann and Riche again, though he regularly jumps at the chance to come back.

And Noé tries, really. He tries to look like he’s fine, to play along with everyone, but it feels too much like they’re pretending nothing happened. Like Vanitas was never one of them. 

He ends up leaving.  

Two full years almost constantly on the road made him a restless person, anyway. On top of everything, he just isn’t used to staying in the same place for too long now. 

He sets off for Paris. Normal Paris, not Altus Paris. 

It’s because he’s restless and needs to move, and a big city is better for it than any other, he reasons. Or maybe it’s to get some closure. Or maybe he misses seeing Vanitas into crowds even though he isn’t there. 

Sitting on that train, watching the scenery go by, and feeling the car’s vibrations as the engine turns and turns and takes him away from a place he can’t call home anymore makes him feel more alive than he has in the past year. 

Murr curls up on his laps, and Noé’s flesh hand scratches him behind the ears. He closes his eyes, lays his head on the window, and tries to let himself sleep.

He wakes up as the announcer yells about being in Paris — “Ladies and Gentlemen we have arrived in the station of Paris - Gare de Lyon. This is this train’s terminus, make sure you do not forget your personal effects while leaving the train.”  

“Ladies and Gentlemen…”  

Noé blinks groggily and shakes his head. He gathers his things, puts his hat back on, grabs his suitcase, and lets Murr on his shoulders. 

The hotel he chooses is not Hotel Chouchou, but a small hotel, not quite in the center of Paris — while Count Orlok offered him a place to stay upon hearing of his return, Noé preferred to refuse. 

He’s here to figure out what the hell to do with himself now. Maybe rediscover the city, taking advantage of the fact that he is not pressed by time or need anymore. 

Paris used to be a base of operations — where they came back after hunting for yet another curse bearer, but they never stayed long enough in the city (or anywhere, really) to really appreciate it. It’s an opportunity, he thinks, to finally getting to really know Paris. 

It’s complicated. 

It revives memories. 

Every step seems to take him to a spot he has been before (with Vanitas), and brings back old memories (of Vanitas) in places he used to go in his free time for tea or otherwise (with Vanitas). 

He holds out two days before he decides that, no matter how he misses Vanitas, it’s enough. This trip, which is supposed to be relaxing, supposed to keep his mind off things, quickly turns into a painful reminder that Vanitas is dead.

Gone. Not dead, gone .  

Dead feels a little too final, especially when he hasn’t, actually, seen him die. 

Time to leave. 

He goes back to the station, reading the list of departures over and over again, looking for somewhere to go. Somewhere far enough, a trip that would stop his body from itching with restlessness and get his mind to focus on something that’s not…well. On something new. 

He briefly considers the south of France, maybe going to see the sea near Marseille, but another one catches his eye.  

There is an airship leaving for Rome in less than an hour. Yes, he thinks, this is where he will go. 

Italy.  

Rome. He needs to get a ticket to Rome and leave Paris as soon as possible. Roma has no memories in every street corner and no one and nothing he knows about. It’s perfect. 

The first step is to get to a ticket booth and buy himself a spot on that aircraft. The station is bustling with activity, and he finds himself having trouble locating the selling desk. 

Looking around with a specific purpose, he doesn’t really pay attention to the people surrounding him, and it’s only a matter of time before he bumps into someone. He apologizes, the man barely notices him, but Murr takes the opportunity to jump off his shoulder and disappear into the crowd.  

“Wait!” Noé calls. “Murr!” 

He goes after him, but Murr is running like a cat on a mission. He follows him for a few minutes before seeing him stop right at someone’s feet. 

“What the—” they say, looking down at the cat rubbing itself on their leg. 

“I’m sorry!” he exclaims. “He got away from me —“ 

“It’s no trouble,” he says, and Noé’s frantic apologizing trails off at the sight of the familiar light, almost pinkish hair. He bends down, gives Murr a scratch and picks him up. “I was only surprised — no harm done,” he continues, handing Murr to Noé. “Here—” He stops. “Oh.” 

Astolfo Granatum is probably the last person Noé expected to run into in Paris, of all places. It seems like the sentiment is shared, as Astolfo’s smile becomes a bit forced the moment he recognizes him.  

“It’s…you,” Noé manages to say. 

He hasn’t seen Astolfo in over a year, since the mess here, in Paris. They went on their separate ways after that, to everyone’s relief. Astolfo was not a very pleasant person to be around if you were a vampire. 

Several emotions pass over Astolfo’s faces in a matter of seconds, before he defaults to polite pleasantries. “Monsieur,” he greets, voice a little too sharp, tilting his hat. “Long time no see.” 

Noé nods, following suit. “True. So, how are you doing?” 

“Good,” Astolfo answers shortly, and Noé doesn’t believe him for a second. 

His voice his strained, and he looks drained. Like he hasn’t had a good night sleep in a year. 

Noé knows how that feels. 

There is a long, awkward silence, during which they stare at each other. There is no aggression or resentment in the way they look at each other, despite…well, they were never friends. Enemies, once, allies, at some point, but never friends. Either way, they hadn’t exactly parted on good terms, and it wasn’t completely Astolfo’s fault either. 

Maybe time has changed the way they thought of each other. 

Maybe they’re just both too tired for this. 

They somehow find themselves sitting in the same café, at the same table, while a waiter brings Astolfo the most concentrated cup of coffee they have. 

Noé never quite knew how to act around Astolfo. 

The young man was always volatile and easy to anger, and despite Noé’s efforts never completely warmed up to the idea of vampires as a whole. He got better towards the end, yes, but not quite enough to be friends. Astolfo built himself, and his career as a chasseur, around his hate of vampires, and it takes a while to unlearn something so deeply ingrained into yourself.

Astolfo stares into his coffee like it contains the truth about life, the universe’s formula and everything else. He looks like he has something to say, but Noé knows how difficult it is for him to open up. He told, once, some details of his family’s murder, but only because Roland told Noé and Vanitas about their death first. 

And well, Noé asked. Several times.

He won’t say anything unless prompted to. 

He also looks like he needs help, with the dark bags around his eyes and the way he slumps forward a little. And Noé isn’t the kind of person to ignore someone who might be in need of help. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Astolfo’s eyes snap up to him, and Noé actually wonders, for a second, when is the last time someone genuinely asked him such a question. 

When is the last time someone truly worried about Astolfo? Does he even have anybody left to worry about him? 

“Nothing is wrong.” He smiles again, that closed eyes smile that doesn’t ring quite right . “Last year has been a little stressful. I’ve been looking for the vampires who—” He pauses. “It’s more difficult now, because I’m not a chasseur anymore, what happened last year lost me all the resources at my disposal to find them.” 

“Do you need any help?” Noé hears himself asking, and he isn’t even sure what he’s offering. 

Astolfo’s face twists in a grimace “I don’t need help, especially from — ” His fingers clench around his cup like it’s a lifeline, something like regrets passes over his face. The coffee ripples in the cup. “I’m doing perfectly well on my own.” 

It’s a lie. 

“You aren’t,” Noé corrects. 

Astolfo stares at him, hard, trying to make himself look bigger, better than he feels, but Noé isn’t fooled for one second. “I’m good ,” he insists.  

“All right,” Noé concedes, unwilling to make him angrier, and changes the subject: “Where are you going?” 

“Why do you want to know?” 

“I’m going to Italy,” he goes on, and Astolfo’s eyes dart away for a very short second before they focus back on Noé, an excuse or a lie ready to leave the younger man’s lips. However, over the past few years Noé has gotten better at reading people — Vanitas gave him a lot of practice, and a lot of Vanitas’ most annoying mannerisms are reflected in Astolfo. So, before he can speak, Noé says: “I take it’s where you are going as well.” 

“Yes,” he admits after a short, resigned silence. “Italy. I have a lead there,” he adds like it puts more weight on the affirmation that he is doing fine without help. 

It still gives Noé an idea. 

“Let’s travel together, then!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Until Italy, I mean.” He drinks some of his tea and smiles warmly at the younger man, hoping to ease the idea into him. “Once we are here, we can go on our separate ways, of course!” 

“And why would I want to travel with you?” 

“I don’t know.” Noé stares at his tea, thinking about how different traveling is without Vanitas. Nothing is the same, no quiet conversations on night train and pulling at the other’s arm to avoid being late and falling asleep on each other. “It’s better than traveling by yourself, isn’t it?” 

Traveling by yourself is lonely. Astolfo is lonely. Noé is lonely. The solution seems so simple.

Astolfo’s mouth sets itself in a thin, severe line. He finishes his coffee in one go and puts his cup back on the table, making the spoon tremble. He stands, putting his hat back on. “Florence.” 

“Uh?” 

“I’m going to Florence. The airship leaves in two hours, don’t be late.” He stares down at him. “Don’t think too highly of yourself, I’m not allowing this for your sake. I simply don’t like how pathetic you look asking for company.” 

Noé nods eagerly, barely believing his own enthusiasm at the prospect of a trip with Astolfo Granatum, of all people. ”I’ll be there!”

“You better, because if you are not on time I will not be waiting for you.” He turns on his heels, and walks away, dragging his suitcase behind him.

Watching him go, Noé takes a sip of his tea. He didn't expect the conversation to go so well — maybe it's a good sign. Maybe they can still become friends.

#vnc #vanitas no carte #noé archiviste #astolfo granatum #astonoé #astolfoé #referenced character death #writing #story: let me live (let me die)

[instrawberrymoonlight]

10 Things I Love About You

Every time I watch that scene where they call you a freak I get so angry. I know it’s cliché to say they hate what they don’t understand but I firmly believe it in this case; they only superficially put up with you because you show them a way “out” to all their problems and it’s completely despicable. Self preservation prevails, I guess, at least to them and it’s insufferable and deeply saddening. 

Everything about you is brilliant and I’d never truly be able to describe the way I feel about you ever, because language is so restrictive, but at the very least I can mean the things I say. And, I do. In every sense of the word. So, just because I’m a lovesick puppy and I’ve never truly been able to convey a fraction of the feelings I have for you, I’m writing this: 10 Things I Love About You. (Yeah I know it’s a very creative list name, thank you).

                                                   One

Your smile, as silly and swoony as it sounds, captivates me. It’s contagious and lights up my world. You’re the star of the show in my universe and I could stare at your dimples and the way your eyes crease up when you smile – when you genuinely smile – forever. It’s a sight to behold and on the rare occasion it slips and I’ve been blessed with the chance of seeing it, it stays with me. It’s almost like my own precious little secret that I get to cherish and recall until the end of my days. (Also sometimes your nose scrunches when you smile and unfortunately I could only talk about 10 things so I couldn’t insert a whole paragraph on how amazing and cute your nose is so I’m putting a short except here – PLEASE LET ME KISS IT PLEASE PLEASE AAAAAAAAAA.

                                                    Two

Your eyes. There’s an intensity to them and while their darkness has struck fear in the hearts of many, it has only won mine. They’re a beautiful, unique shade – never to be replicated in another, and are distinctly you. They’re also incredibly emotive, I can always tell when you’re thinking hard about something and I can always tell, even if it’s for a split second, when something has bothered you. They’re just so diaphanous. And that’s not to say you’re easy to read but rather the insight into your soul is through your eyes; there’s also a warmth to them as well. A heat. While your touch can be cold, and I usually identify you by your chilling presence, your eyes capture the fire within; It embodies you. When the flame is fuelled by passion (gasoline for humans) it epitomises your unfettered wildness and your freedom. And when calm, it provides this sense of shelter to the people who love you and consider you family; your eyes reflect that blanket of warmth. That hidden side you only show to those close enough. Both are dazzling and I’m so glad to have met you – and to be able to interact with you. 

                                                    Three

Your scars. As superficial as it sounds, I find them gorgeous. I want to kiss them softly and treat them so gently. To tell you the truth, and to let you in on a little secret, I get really defensive over them. I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m fetishising them in any way but I’d love to see you without your makeup more often. I don’t want this to come across as pushy or anything, I promise this is only if you’re comfortable I would never want to put you in an uncomfortable position. I just want you to know that what I feel for you isn’t shallow and it isn’t based on the symbol you’ve built yourself as. It isn’t because you wear make-up and you hide yourself; my love isn’t conditional. I’ve fallen in love with you, the man beneath the make-up, Alexander Harper, for nothing more than the reason that you’re amazing. Sorry, I’m kinda focusing on this point so much because I feel so strongly about them. I feel as though you’ve been wrongly told, for a good chunk of your life, that they’re horrific for whatever reason. I feel as though you’ve gotten weird looks because of them, or like I mentioned earlier, that you’ve been called a freak. The idea of any of these being the case completely riles me up, it’s so fucked up to think about anyone shaming you for them. Personally, I think they’re a bold portrayal of your personal strength (of which I’ll touch on later – spoilers), and a show of your resilience in an all too often fucked up world. They’re beautiful, and they will never not be. If you aren’t proud of them yet, or if there’s a part of you that’s still somewhat ashamed of them, I will personally tell you anytime I can that they’re beautiful to me and are a representation of hope until you take pride in them. Or at least start to believe it. Even then, I’ll never shut up about it. Battle scars, whether metaphorical or literal, are always valid and are a big fuck you to not only mental illness – mostly the voices that try to destroy you from within – but are also a big fuck you to our abusers. It’s saying in big bold writing “hey fuckers, I survived despite all the shit you’ve thrown my way,” and that’s something we victims don’t get to experience enough. 

                                                    Four

Your ability to unapologetically be yourself. I think this one’s mostly self explanatory. You have this amazing capability to set aside the social dogma and the fear it instils regarding individuality. You know who you are and what you want and it's inspiring, especially since I personally struggle with identity and navigation. Your confidence in your belief system and in a lot of ways, yourself, is something I also look up to and I hope that one day I can reach a point like that too. You probably already know this and if it isn’t overt enough it’s sure as hell implicit – I look up to you so much. You’re one of my idols and maybe that’s daunting or a lot of pressure but as long as you keep being you I assure you there’s nothing you could ever do to deter me or make me feel differently. I’d also like to quickly touch on how accepting you are of mental illness and of your own! None of that matters to you and it creates such a safe space. You’re so incredibly patient with me. I can only hope I’ve been able to create the same feeling reversed! Lastly, I love all your little idiosyncrasies – the way you speak and move your hands, the way you flick your tongue against your scars (which weirdly enough never triggers my misophonia, you’re like the only exception) the way you pronounce things and draw out words, the way you interrupt yourself with hums and ahs and other butterfly inducing noises. It’s so perfectly you and it joys me to no end. 

                                                    Five

Your strength. I don’t want to get too specific into trauma because this is meant to be uplifting and I just want to stray away from the prospect of triggering you as best as I can so I’ll try my best to keep it short; though, there are some things I want to say– 

Holy fucking shit you are strong. You are so so strong. And that’s probably the most vaguest, cliche thing I’ve said yet but I fucking believe it with all my possum heart. Your childhood and the relentless degradation you endured by a parental figure who was meant to protect you, but instead disgustingly treated you like no child ever should be treated was horrific. What he did to you was unspeakable and the way you feel about my abuser hits the nail on the head regarding how I feel about your father. I’m sure you were the sweetest kid when you were younger and none of what happened was any fault of your own. You deserved to have your needs met and deserved to be treated with such love and compassion. You still do. There wasn’t something wrong with you, you didn’t cause your trauma. I know it’s really hard to believe that when you’ve experienced incredible distress and it can really fuck with your perceptions but I’m here to tell you that none of that is true. To put it in perspective, Arthur, Kali and I have experienced similar thought patterns. We’ve all doubted ourselves and believed at one point or another that we’re just awful and that we deserved it but it’s a lie abusers have ingrained in us. I’m not sure if anyone has told you this properly but I just want you to know this, please. I’m kind of going on a whole tangent here but this is so important. I just want the best for you and I want you to want that too. I want you to take care of yourself more, to be more patient with yourself – at the very least for me. You deserve to break out of this vicious cycle trauma imprints on us all. 

Further, going to war is arguably one of the most harrowing things a person can experience. I’m really not going to get in on the details here because it’s pretty self-explanatory too. You’re my hero Alexander, you encompass courage and resilience more than anyone can. Despite everything you’ve been though, in the end you’re still fighting in what you believe is right and fighting against oppression. Your spirit cannot be crushed and it’s really touching. My big dumb borderline heart feels so much for it and for you. I love you so completely. 

                                                    Six

Your humour. You seem to make the darkest situation into the brightest. You’re so quick witted and it never fails to make me laugh. Your secret love for puns, which I feel like you’ll deny because they’re cheesy but it slips a few times in the film, is the most adorable thing I’ve seen. It’s so so so endearing and I’m giggling to myself as I write this. 

                                                    Seven

Your voice is angelic and it has the power to give me butterflies. Continuing this thought, I always found it funny that no one can replicate it, at least I personally think; people fall short when they try to mimic you and it’s interesting. There’s just something about you that makes you incredibly unique and even when people try, they can never truly be you. Maybe this sounds like a crazy love ramble but you’re special. It’s why you’ve captured the hearts of so many and it’s why I’ve given you mine in full. Speaking of hearts, this leads me to my next point.

                                                    Eight

Your heart – you say you don’t have one though your heart is especially brilliant. I’ve seen it, albeit hidden, it’s big and has sustained despite the things you’ve been through. Apart from Kali and Arthur I’ve never had someone care for me as much as you, I’ve never had anyone treat me so gently and I’ve never had anyone validate my experiences the way you have. Despite experiencing all the bullshit judgement people project onto you (evident within the first few minutes of the film) you remain one of the most understanding, non-judgemental and comforting people I know. I have a feeling like you’d disagree with me about all this or try and block out what I’m saying by replying with “im dangerous” but I’m telling you I’ve never felt safer around anyone more than you – particularly in your arms. As someone who has a serious problem with people touching them and getting close to them physically or relationship-wise, I’m telling you Alexander Harper, that I trust you with my life and I feel wholly protected by you. I know you’d never hurt me, you’re terrified of doing so. I’d let my guard down with you any day, and I don’t do that. I want you to know you’re precious to me, every single side of you; every single part of you. You don’t scare me. I know how hard it is to open up and I’m so so so happy you’ve chosen me and the family to trust in. Just know that you don’t have to hide anymore. You can be yourself. And maybe this is pushing it, maybe this is me overstepping, I hope it isn’t but it’s okay to be the young Alexander you never got to be. It’s okay to let go and enjoy things and to do the things you want to do. To open up, to show people you have these feelings. I just want this to come across as a friendly reminder, like a little caress on the cheek because I can understand it all: the hiding, trying to pretend that you have no emotions at all, trying to pretend that you’re okay, self sabotaging relationships and the personal relationship you have with yourself. You don’t have to do this anymore though my love, you don’t have to go through this alone. I want nothing more than to support you and be with you when you’re going through your worst. I love all parts of you, remember?

                                                    Nine

Your playful side and your passions (yes I’m sticking two points into one, it’s not cheating, deal with it raccoon boy). Even if it’s small things like crosswords or rubik's cubes, to sliding down money piles and scribbling on newspapers (or um,,,,, taunting police) you have this sweet proclivity for mischief. It’s so endearing and I swear I fall more in love with you as the seconds go by. I love it when you fixate on something and create elaborate plans, it's riveting to watch them unfold – kind of like finishing a puzzle and watching the pieces come together. It’s so satisfying, and knowing you’re the man behind the plan makes it all the more thrilling; but my favourite thing of all is that it’s an insight into your mind (which I’ll also touch on next). On the flip side, you have this staggering ability to think on the spot under pressure, you always know exactly what to do or what to say. It’s awe-inspiring. You’re perfect. 

                                                    Ten

Your mind, I love the way it works and ticks. If I could spend hours asking you questions and asking your opinions on things I would. I don’t want this to come across like I want to psychoanalyse you and pick your brain in the worst way like some lab experiment. I’m just so interested in the way you view and perceive the world, even with the most mundane things. I just want to hear you talk. Like I said, I look up to you so much and I enjoy spending time with you. I guess you’re not the only one who likes reactions ha h. I’m hilarious. 

           And finally, in the memorable words of Frankie Valli—

I love you, baby. 

(Yes I know that was cheesy, kill me).

#MMM YES #THIS ENOUGH SUGAR FOR YOU #HFDIUHFSDIUFHSUD #priestess to high priest

[bigskydreaming]

It drives me crazy how in so many 'popular' mlm pairings the bigger/older guy is always the top.

Yeeeeah. 

So like, apologies if you’re here for reasons other than DC fandom and thus don’t care about any of the following, lol, but I keep meaning to write a post about something related to this so might as well do it here. 

Like, my biggest issue with S/ladin isn’t even the age gap (well okay, my BIGGEST issue is shit between Slade and Dick when he’s still Robin and thus underage but ASIDE from that, I mean).....but like, okay so ONE of my issues with S/ladin is the automatic contortion of Slade and Dick’s dynamics to Slade being the big, older, experienced aggressive top in all senses of the relationship dynamic, while Dick is uncertain, inexperienced....like, this thing where Dick’s inevitably shoehorned into being an ‘apprentice style role’ comparative to Slade even in the comics....where let’s be clear, Dick has NEVER been Slade’s apprentice.

People often ask if the Renegade thing actually happened in comics. And it did. But what I feel like most people don’t know....Dick was in no way acting as an apprentice or even subordinate to Slade in that arc. They already had a long established history between them at that point...AS RIVALS and enemies.

And like the thing is, and why it drives me so nuts to see that pairing always relegated to “Slade introduces the nervous, uncertain and out of his depth Dick Grayson to like...life” - is that you can’t be rivals and arch-enemies if you can’t consistently hold your own against the other person!

Dick’s never gone into conflicts with Slade desperately saying Hail Mary’s. The outcome is ALWAYS a 50/50 chance with them. He’s not like...overwhelmed by Slade, in awe or fear of Slade, or anything other than treating him like an equal DESPITE the vast age difference between them. 

And the fact that this so consistently gets ignored or diluted or dismissed....while at the same time this going hand in hand with it being taken for granted that Dick assumes the role of bottom in any and all dynamics between them....like....that’s bringing a LOT of preconceived assumptions into their dynamic, with not a single one of those preconceptions being relevant to either character’s actual interactions with the other.

But back to the Renegade storyline....the way it happened was Dick went undercover in the Society of Supervillains as this alter ego he made up expressly for that purpose: Renegade. And Slade knew exactly who he was from the start, because he knows Dick, he’s studied his movements, techniques, etc. But also, Dick wasn’t even trying to hide who he was from Slade either....he didn’t care that Slade knew, because he knew Slade was more intrigued by trying to figure out what he was after than ratting him out to the rest of the supervillains.

So the whole time, it was really more of this cat and mouse game between them where they BOTH were on the same page about the fact that they were each blatantly trying to use the other for their own agenda, as far as they could take it, while giving the other as little opportunity to use them as possible. 

Part of their interaction at this time was Slade ‘demanded’ Dick train his daughter Rose while they were working together. Then, at one stage of Dick’s big master plan that he was working undercover towards, and in order to convince the Society he was really one of them...he went to Metropolis and stole some Kryptonite for them....being confronted by Superman in the process. Clark of course knew exactly who he was the second he recognized Dick’s voice and heartbeat and all of that...but Dick had been off the grid for awhile, nobody knew what was going on with him, and by all appearances he was now working for the bad guys....and Clark demanded answers, wanted to know what was going on, wanted Dick to give him some reason to believe this wasn’t what it looked like....

And so Dick launched into a series of lies that fit his cover, that made it sound like he’d turned his back on his ideals and really was working with the Society, genuinely.....expecting all the while that Clark would be able to hear from his heartbeat and breathing and the like, that he was lying through his teeth and not to take anything he was saying here at face value.

But instead, Clark was getting more and more agitated and angry and frustrated with him....because what Dick only realized after he escaped from Clark - because he HAD to, Clark wasn’t just going to let him go at that point....

Is that Slade had secretly rigged one of Dick’s gloves ahead of time, with a wireless receiver and transmitter he had the remote for while watching/listening to this encounter via a bug and hacked satellites. Basically, Slade had rigged Dick’s glove to without him knowing, match the sound/rhythms of his heartbeat....and then kinda layer a fake/artificial version of his heartbeat just over the real thing. So Slade was remotely using this transmitter to make it SOUND to Clark’s super-hearing that instead of Dick’s natural body rhythms conveying that he was lying about all the things he was saying....now, it sounded like he was actually being totally honest and sincere. That everything he was saying to Clark was true.

Think about that for a second.

Slade made Clark Kent - CLARK - doubt Dick Grayson.

And you know what Dick did in response to that, once he realized what had happened?

He turned Slade’s own daughter against him.

Like...THAT is the level of one-upsmanship these two characters are constantly operating at. That is the degree of tactical chess they’re engaged in every time they interact, going back to the eighties.

There’s nothing hugely imbalanced about their power dynamic in any of their interactions DESPITE the fact that Slade is much older, much more experienced and a metahuman....because Dick’s own talents and skills have always compensated for all of that. Yes, he loses to Slade sometimes. But Slade just as often loses to him.

Despite all the differences, in terms of one on one....these two have always been consistently portrayed as equals, going back decades.

And like....that’s been utterly erased, even by people who DO know their comic history....because that doesn’t ‘fit’ the preferred dynamic of top/bottom in mlm ships.....which basically demands that Slade - being older, stronger, more aggressive and the villain...obviously must be the top, the initiator, the one holding all the cards in any interactions with Dick....who by contrast, is always the bottom, not just in their sexual positions but in the sense that he’s consistently portrayed in fics as only able to stand side by side with Slade or against him....by Slade’s grace and goodwill. With any time Dick comes out on top with Slade in ANY sense of the word, its only because of luck or chance or Slade making an obvious mistake or in some other way because Slade ‘allows’ it.

And that...there’s a lot to unpack there, is the thing. But it bugs me for two reasons: the first being like...its so dismissive of everything that actually occurs between these two extremely competent and capable characters who are so noteworthy for how much they relate and understand each other DESPITE the vast differences between them and all the things that suggest they SHOULD be incapable of existing on even footing, yet they manage to anyway....

And also, equally, because like....its really bothersome how fandom continually reinforces this idea that there are ‘obvious indicators’ of who is top and bottom in any mlm relationship, that these things are almost always ingrained and resistant to switching it up ever....and also carrying along for the ride a lot of fixed conceptions that borrow heavily from not all that great ideas of gender norms in the first place. Like, there’s a lot that’s not awesome about the assumption that the ‘penetrator’ in mlm sexual encounters is inherently supposed to be ‘stronger’ in at least SOME way and that by related logic....someone being the penetrated in mlm sexual encounters is the more effeminate or subordinate with these things additionally layered to carry the implication that this partner is the weaker of the two, or the one more in need or protection or guidance.

That’s....not great.

Like, ultimately my biggest gripe is that even when immediately visible power imbalances don’t actually exist in a mlm pairing......fandom overall seems to feel a need to then INTRODUCE a visible power imbalance or weighted dynamic anyway. With the uneven dynamic being deemed MORE essential to the ship....than the ACTUAL canon dynamics of the characters that make up that ship.

[deepintoforestwego]

Is there anything behind my face?

She is born knowing three things.

First is that her skin is as white as snow, her lips as red as blood, her hair as black as ebony.

Second is that seven times seven men had died so that she should live.

Third is, she shouldn't exist.

( Harsh thing for child to know, much less from moment of her birth. And harsher yet, she is right.

Were we willing to waste time in such way, we could debate about morality,  about whether sins of parents transfer to children, about personal responsibility and knowledge men shouldn't wield, about whether you can blame her for what her beauty drives men to anymore then you can blame fire for burning those who get close- but that isn't kind of right we are talking about here.

It is a simple truth, written in bones of world, in lifeblood of universe, in skin of night and face of day- the snow shouldn't become person, because it is impossible.

But magic never cared about such things.)

She has feared her mother from very start, you see, and perhaps that is where trouble started, or mayhaps that saved her life. She knew she shouldn't be, you see, but very little else, as she was still just a newborn, and had never seen human before, though parts of her belonged to them, of course.

And queen may  have not slept in while, and was rather cold and hungry and scared, and quite dainty woman to be honest, but she had this way of holding herself that made people defer to her, and she was all wrapped up in ermine and gold velvet and pearls, and she oozed magic like an old fish oozed stench, and child could see bargain wrapping  up around two of them, and well she knew nothing of sorcery and it's limitations, so she must be forgiven for assuming this woman was deity who created her.

(Like I said, it was bad idea all from the start.)

'' My goddess. You who made me.'' Said the girl, for her mother could be clever and careful when she put her mind to it,  and had requested for girl to have knowledge befitting her age and station, because everything else would have been rather awkward for her, and more importantly bad for her mother's plans.

''Not exactly, my dear. I am a human, I am afraid.'' The queen answered, after some consideration, because  she did like being called goddess, even though she associated it more with her young lovers and her poor mother, but it would be quite strange for princess to go around talking like that, and even queen, as hungry for flattery as she was, was made uncomfortable by thought of girl meant to be her daughter worshipping her.

''My mistress. You who own me.'' Girl stated, slowly, drawing out words, her throat feeling quite funny, speaking for first time, as languages and social norms and concepts and table manners filled her head as flood fills empty house, for girl had no memories and experiences to trouble incoming information.

''Well! That was nicely put, though accent could use some work, but not befitting somebody of your station. Try again, dear.'' Said the queen, as her face settled down in an expression more befitting on a cat who just snatched a canary, and closed her eyes, her eyelids fluttering as she imagined her servants speaking in that delightfully obedient tone, so sure of their place, below her, defined by her.

‘My mother. You who gave me life.’‘ She says, still kneeling, and years later she will forget, or try to, bury it down, of how the queen's s smile grew when she heard those words, how she sat down and embraced still kneeling girl, and flinched when her warm hands touched cold, hard skin. It bruised her arms a bit, as if she had tried to hug a statue left out too long in winter's winds.

''Yes, my dear.'' Queen said, clutching her dark hair in her fingers, embracing her so hard that she almost had trouble breathing, and breathed in her daughter's smell,  harsh and sweet aroma of pitch, the comforting  freshness of newly fallen snow, the sharp smell of iron and salt.

The princess, who still didn't know what perfumes were, smelled her mother, the scent of flowers and herbs permeating her clothing, and underneath it something gross and hot (she had not yet known what sweat and soft human skin were like) and wondered why they were so different, and decided that didn't matter.

**

They arrive to place that girl nameless supposes is to be her home in quarter of hour, faster than the queen had ever journeyed before, for  magic is ever fed by passion and from the heart, and queen had been almost drunk on pride of her success, joy from what would that mean for her, from terror and euphoria girl's beauty awoke in her, and as she hadn't slept and eaten in some time, and had almost died, her emotions running high and mad, so it wouldn't be hard for her to jump over to another country.

''This is my castle.'' The mother tells her, showing her wooden ring fortress, as they stand before wooden doors of main hall, and great noise is coming from it. Were somebody to watch, they would probably think girl emotionless, the hollow heartless thing, for she shows neither fear nor wonder (well, if she wasn't so beautiful, that is, and they were able to focus on something else other than it). But truth is, she is still far too young to know about wealth and royal power, and has seen nothing but blizzard and woman she believes to be greatest sorceress in world. There is nothing yet ingrained in her to respond.

''Inside is your father, the king.'' Now this word sparks something in her, for the queen has judged it the knowledge very important, that she must learn as soon as possible. The girl knows now, that king is the most important man in world, and that if she is to be good she will be his heir and continue to make her mother proud and powerful.

She isn't sure she wants to be powerful. But mother is, and mother wants more, and mother made her so that is probably good.

She also knows what a father is. A male parent, who names you, one whom you have to respect, obey, love... but not as much as mother.

Doors open, and noise hurts but she doesn't yet know how to react. She follows mother's lead, and steps inside.

And rest of world stops for everybody else.

***

''My weregild.'' The mother coos, almost mews  as she watches seven little bodies swing on rope, their faces that awful, strange purple people call blue for some reason though it's more of grey and lilac with pinch of black and scarlet, and smile doesn't leave her face, though at one point it grows stale and uncertain.

The princess learns what brothers are only later, when she has learnt enough to recognize guilt for what it is.

She doesn't yet have name for feelings that possess her, the way her stomach churns and turns  at sight of those small, rotting bodies (she has never learnt what death was, it had been built in her from before she was an inkling of thought), swaying on wind as ravens come to feast.

Were she just a spell- child, body built and operated by magic, she would have felt nothing. She would have danced and spoke as her maker demanded. Were she a changeling, or just a creature snow and blood and ebony in truth, she would have looked with curiosity, or apathy, and noted how it was unjust, and how petty and strange humans are. And were she truly her mother's daughter, she would have said it was just, for as she had no childhood, so they should be denied to grow old.

But she was neither of those, so she learnt regret.

***

She doesn't like to think about her name. Much less discuss it. If you try to ask her about it, today, well good luck. Hope you will make it out with some teeth intact at least.

She has one name, and hundreds.  It is same name, but always so different, like light reflecting off from one snowflake, viewed from different angles.   Run away to so many countries, run for so long, and of course it is changed so many times, of course it is translated when she has such dumb name. She hates the original too, but she hates variations even more- what right do they have to change her name, to change anything about her and her damned story? And change it they do, oh yes, cutting off parts and rearranging them, calling her Snowdrop and Snow White and Snežana and Blanche-Neige and Branca de Neve and Albanix and Sneewittchen and Schneewittchen and she can't number them all, snow and whiteness everywhere...

She is well aware that her name is literal and obvious and dumb, and if you ever point it out it won't go well for you. Only once did one person ( a beautiful princess who belongs to death and dreams like her, and almost as much to flowers and briars as she belongs to snow and blood, those daughters of woods and curses), with accidental addition of too much drink, get her to talk about that, and this is what she said.

''Don't know who called me that first. I think it came from some poor bard who burst in songs about me until he died from  lack of food and sleep. Detracted from glorifying me, see. Or wait, not a bard, bard's apprentice, about twelve. Might have had some Sight within him. Or it was my father, doesn't matter.

People picked it up because it was only fitting name, see. I couldn't be saddled with normal name, I was above it- and anybody else with that name would forever think of me, and it would never feel right for them. Except that now in some countries they do use my name, or version of it as a normal name so what waste of time, right?

Anyway point is they wanted to call me by something that could properly describe me and Beautiful was far too tacky and Ebony Black weird and Blood Red is just creepy so, here we are! Cheers!

The bitch never called me anything. Just my princess, my dear, my daughter. My, my, my. Always the same shit.'' And of course, this is the lie, though one she prefers to believe.

Truth is, she forgot  it. She forgot all names, and only roles remained.

***

The queen did one true kindness to her, because anything else would have been incredibly harmful for her goals, and because she wasn't wholly bereft of morals and reason, and still it hurt.

She had made it, when she cast her spell, when she screamed her wish in reality, when she bargained, that her daughter would have mind befitting her seeming age. Because stupid daughter was useless, and better no child than one that had that kind of problems (queen was biggest supporter of leaving people who were anything less than perfect, or at least acceptable, to die in woods, whether they were loving father gone senile or caring brother whose arm had to be amputated), and because she hated associating with such people- and in her mind, whoever had limping leg or trembling hands, or who had problems with reading or remembering faces was worse than animal, for animals could be useful, and toothless dogs were to be put down.

The girl had barely settled in her new form, though she walked with grace unparalleled and strode with pride and strength only queen herself could outshine, when she began changing and growing. She didn't know how to feel about that, as she wasn't normal girl, and already half way past through puberty, and nobody would ever tease her, or think her anything less but most beautiful creature they had ever seen.

(Creature. A step up from thing.)

Still, it felt strange, and uncomfortable, and very wicked to have her change and grow before she had truly had chance to enjoy her girlhood. The queen, who was very clever, and knew how to nurse man from brink of death as well as she knew how to craft a drink to paralyze an ox for six hours, explained her how everything about her body worked, and how those changes were completely natural, and how she would soon grow taller and how her face would get slimmer and more mature. In fact, she was growing up at same pace as most girls did, and that delighted queen greatly, for woman grown was an enemy, and eternally young girl was useless, and not to mention  a great annoyance.

(That was part of why she waited so long, until she was ready to cast her spell. It took time to find information, and to convince everybody she had lost her reason, but she wanted to put it off as far as possible, because raising child was such dull and taxing affair, and she really didn't need additional source of wrinkles.)

The princess had never woken up her parents and nurses in middle of night with her incessant crying. She had never fallen and scraped her knee and broken in hysterics. She had never climbed tree. She had never played ball. She had never been carried in her father's arms. She had never been told bedtime stories. She had never learned to read, or been tutored in counting. Her mother had never explained to her how to comb her hair. She had never had it explained to her how children are born, nor what marriage was. She had never muddied her dress. She had never played with kittens.

(She had never needed to  have dying explained to her.)

She wasn't naive (spell-girls built by men often were, inexperience and weakness and dependence of child in an adult body, but her mother had grander, more arrogant fantasies, though no less sick), she wasn't stupid, she wasn't lost. She had grown, and adapted to her world, and soon all things she missed, all knowledge and experience she wasn't born with, granted by magic, became part of her.

But lacuna where her childhood should have been remained, raw and gaping, as if somebody had pulled out all her teeth before she had chance to bite a crust of bread.

***

She learns at her mother's knee.

She learns from her father, of course, because she is made the heir, and she learns history and geography  and riding and politics and swordfighting and wielding axe, but it doesn't matter that much. Her father is a pale figure in her life, and ordinary man trembling before her, dead when she is three, and her mother walks through world as if she is above it, and hemlock and lily-of-the-valley grow behind her.

There was much to learn at the queen's feet, even things no child should learn, even things queen never intended to teach her. Part of it was that such were times- in those days castles were small and wooden, and courts less formal and complicated, and queens themselves worked, mending clothes and pulling their weight. It could have lessened them, made them normal women in eyes of their subjects, but her mother knew how to wrap dignity and mystery around herself. She knew how to make people kneel.

Her mother taught her domestic arts, of course. She was good, dutiful wife, and more over not sort of woman who shrank away from her duty and hard work. But more important, she taught her daughter, though girl could never be sure whether by accident or intent, how to look beautiful when doing it, how to look powerful as she spun thread, exalted as she made her own bed. When queen mended her husband's head, he lowered his head and reverently expressed his gratitude.

She taught her spellcraft, by observance at least.  It was power that queen couldn't truly have shared with her even if she wanted (and she would have rather sheared her own hair than given up one of her secrets). Her mother was skilled, learned mage, if not particularly powerful by talent alone. She drew her power from gems, herbs, potions, from rings that turned you invisible, cloaks that allowed you to fly, seven mile boots.

Snow White had leanings of witch, it seemed. Hers was power of rituals and motions, of rites and ceremonies, of dances under harvest moon that changed fate of kings, of hair ribbons cut by seven grandmothers over mountain river on which mill was built to make friendship sour...  or she would have, had she ever been taught. But she had been made heir, and there was much to learn, and being witch or priestess wouldn't have been good for her (pity, she would have made a good völva, she was pretty sure). She did pick up few things, though, but it was unavoidable.

Blood and mirrors, all she learnt.

***

She wondered what it was that made her beautiful.

Her skin? Her skin, so white that it blinded, white as snow that covered ground swiftly after the last harvests, like snow in which travellers  met their demise, like snow that stopped wars. Her skin, which was always smooth and tight and hard, like marble, whose touch was always cool, which didn't grow blue even when she stood wet on roof during whole winter night, which always carried chill of a dead man in itself, even during midsummer.

Her lips? Her lips, with their perfect shape, and their full colour, which never paled or chapped, as if they were painted on, colour of blood seeping from fresh venison,  colour of blood gushing from child's cut arteries, lips that tasted of iron and salt and minced flesh, that left bruises on cheeks they kissed, which could withstand warmth of broth just pulled from hearth (though she despised heat to such amount that she felt uneasy to spend more than few hours in room in which fireplace was lit).

Her hair?  Her hair, so long and wild,  spreading out like crown of ancient tree, slipping down below her waist, and yet somehow it  never got tangled up in world around it, slipping like snake through all obstacles, black as ebony, as handles of spears that pierced children, as frames of windows that kept out wind and rain.  Left and right it reached, like shadow of branches, like hands of bogeys, and never it got tangled, never did it get torn or weak.

Some said that when she had been growing up, that she had never had to suffer zits, or growth spurts, or ungainly limbs, that she had simply slipped in perfect ladylike adulthood. Others yet said that she suffered all indignities of childhood, of being teenager, and yet she was most beautiful of them all.

She wondered what it was that made people beautiful. There was woman with most stunning purple eyes, like lilac blossoms, like dusk sky, and people agreed she was very beautiful, but were disgusted by sight of her shoulders, filled with  short, fat, coarse black hairs. There was tall man, very strong and muscled, in way that would have drawn him much attention, were it not for his crooked yellow teeth, dull chin and broken nose.  There were children who had cutest, sweetest faces, with shining eyes and soft lips, who walked with bent backs and reedy fingers. It seemed all very much strange and whimsical and cruel to her, and very much useless and foolish.

She was beautiful.  No, she was fair. Were she malnourished and her face slashed and mutilated, were she turned in beast, in worm or featherless bird (those two were equally dreary things, in her mother's opinion) still she would have been the best of them.  When she came to doors, though they were closed, inside men waited and stopped breathing, awaiting her. They trailed after her, excited to earn her favour. Still she was a girl, and magic inside her was settling, so she wasn't fairest in the world, but one day wars would be waged for her, because of her, in her name. One day, when she had grown bitter and harsh and so much angrier, at gaze of her people would prostate themselves, and shake from being in same room with her, and they would not sleep, memories muddled and drunk, and in dreams they would swear to her again and again, for fear and love would mingle in one.

Her mother was beautiful, and sorceress, and she had killed and fucked and loved,  and she had much gold, and she could make fields prosper and cows miscarry with her spells, and men dreaded her, and respected her, and loved her. Her grandmother called her Freyja made human, and paid for it.

Snow White had been called goddess, and valkyrie, and many more things. And she may have possessed spark of that true, primordial beauty, but she was mortal still. Gods were born and could die but not like men. Snow White breathed, and slept, and she could cut herself, and she could get lost, and she had thrown tantrums before, and were you to cut her throat she would die. She was not a goddess, to rule over skies and dead, at best she was an image, a shadow, a mask,  shallow surface layer of divine beauty, not enough to charm stars in kneeling before her, but heavy enough that it crushed her.

(When she was young, she saw her mother's mirror once. It's frame was twisted and strained thing, contorted in ways that were hard to look at, like a  dying snake experiencing a seizure. The glass was colour of frozen mercury, and reflection in it wasn't opposite of reality, and sometimes it churned and twisted, making little waves, and always it whispered.

Most people stayed away from it, and even the queen couldn't bear to be too long in room with it, but the princess was drawn to it, like iron to magnet.

''Oh. You are like me.'' Whispered the mirror, in toneless voice that echoed in her head, and it pulsed like heart, and writhed  like worms in waves, and sighed as she put her cold fingers over it's surface, neither chill nor warm.)

***

It was easy to become a king, she learnt. You had to be born a prince, or earn king's favour, or lie to enough people so they would bow to you, or kill enough of them, preferably previous king too. All in all, it seemed very stupid and unfair to Snow White, who didn't really get why people needed kings, but said nothing because she knew what was appropriate, and because she was raised to inherit kingdom and didn't really think of how unjust it was outside of random musings.

It wasn't easy to become a queen, no matter what some thought and said. Any woman could be married to king, depending on how picky he was, and how much politics demanded from him, and how much he disrespected her rights. But only few became queens, true rulers, because they were taught not to seek respect and power, because they were beaten back, because game was set against them, because they were declawed and defanged and chained since earliest age, because they were taught to find pride and comfort in being silenced and starved. It took certain rare amount of cleverness and stubbornness and dedication, and, perhaps, ruthlessness, to become queen.

But Snow White didn't have to worry about that. Her mother loved her, and worked hard to ensure that her daughter would never have to go through all the trouble and misery she had to dredge through, and still she would get so much more. It was so hard for her poor mother, after all, to stand and suggest her idea to the king as he was busy being enraptured by his daughter.

How could he refuse her? How could he name anybody else but his most incredible daughter as his heir (the queen gritted her teeth), how could he dishonour her by not offering her everything he had? And would not people rebel if anybody else ruled them, would not enemies beg to be stricken down by her? So he thought, and declared, and people were outraged and shocked until they had seen her, and then ambassadors returned to their kings weeping, telling them they have been become traitors, for never could their hearts belong to anybody but queen Snow White.

Thus, thought it was expected that she would be married, for that is what normal people did, and beauty didn't prevent people from grumbling when they weren't near her, there was never  much pressure for that, and everybody understood that no man would be worthy of her, and all would be blessed to have her as bride, and they would only be consorts, never kings.

It was taken for granted that there would be no problem finding suitors for her, aside from possibly having to deal with wars that rejected suitors would bring to their footsteps ( something that would easily be dealt with, not only because the king was good warrior, and the queen  even better sorceress, but because any invader would have to carve their path through whole nation of berserkers ready to die for their princess, and even more ready to tear apart any who would dare to try to steal her away). It was also taken for granted that king would have to pay no dowry, and that indeed princes would be ones  bleeding their people dry in hopes of winning her over.

As was only proper, the queen had been one to choose her son-in-law, for the princess had asked her so, for her mother had assured her countless times of how much she cared, how smart she was, and how much more experienced, and she would be able to choose only the best for her dear daughter, a man whose kingdom would always provide for her, a man who would be her age and always kind to her, for those were hefty favours to ask in marriage, her mother told her. Kind husband was something you had to earn, as the queen did, but since she was such kind mother and her daughter so special, she would get all the spoils without any work.

And truly, the queen chose well. Prince was the same (apparent) age as Snow White, and he was sole heir of nearby kingdom, richer and greater than one  her father ruled (so greater that only thing that kept it from swallowing up their home, aside from their king's courtesy, was the queen, who knew all plans and desires of their neighbours, and could hold off the harvest and spring for years). He was said to be canny but honest, and rather good with sword and bow but pleasant, never one to seek out bloodshed. He was honourable and fair, and though well liked by ladies, hadn't dishonoured even one.

It sounded like bullshit to her, to be honest. Even her father, who was fair and wise, had his moments- he loved brawl, especially when he broke somebody's bones. And Snow White, well, she kept herself away from people, and never harmed anybody (but never helped out either), and still she had cruelty built in down to smallest piece of herself. Still, there were no whispers, no juicy gossip, and mirror found nothing unsatisfying and dangerous about him (for her mother would never lend her greatest treasure to somebody who would damage it), and so it was that Snow White was to be engaged.

The princess had met his parents, once or twice, for they sometimes rode out near borders of her country, and she had scried them, once she learnt where she was to be wed, in bronze mirror she had and rarely used for anything else. The king was thin, wiry man, with wild graying beard and wry voice, covered in pale old scars, and missing few teeth, and otherwise utterly unremarkable. His wife, a merchant's daughter they said he married for love, was short and warm woman, as sweet  and well beloved as fat, greased meal in late autumn, with face as round as apple and eyes like chestnuts, or so flatterers said.

The prince was very handsome, they said. He was of fine face and figure, strong and healthy, with teeth that were nearly white, and warm eyes like amber, with flickers of gold inside it. His skin was of warm, ruddy tone, and he moved with energetic, dangerous strength and grace, as if he had fire inside himself. With his auburn hair, like wood in fall, and his clothes, all gold and russet, he was said to be as beautiful as sunrise.

He wasn't, and she envied him for that. She envied them all, him for his ordinary beauty, his mother for her soft, sweet features, his father for being unremarkable and gray.

( Snow White was a human girl, and so she was often prey to all misfortunes that plagued them, even teen woes. But as wrapped up in magic and mystery as she was, even that had to be unusual.

Truth is, Snow White is envious of everybody. There isn't a single face, single body she doesn't desire more than hers. She desires form that some would find boring, nothing special, perhaps even funny or repulsive.  She envies her mother's fallen rival, her father's former lady, her brother's mother, for she is famous for her eyes as blue as sea, but princess finds neither salt nor waves nor fishes nor thousand shades and forms of water in them. She envies the cook's apprentice, for though she is known as very attractive woman, and it brings her trouble occasionally, she can talk to her brothers without them shaking with glee as they look at her. She envies her prince's mother, who is loved and respected for reasons that have nothing to do with beauty.

She has had her fair share of crushes, never acted on because they weren't appropriate for somebody of her status, because her mother wouldn't be satisfied with her choice, because they couldn't stop drooling when she passed. And so they all died, candle flames extinguished before they were anything more than a spark, leaving her to choke on guilt and longing and bitterness, to suffocate in impossible, petty desires.

She had never desired anybody because of their looks. She couldn't, because she had never been able to perceive beauty in people, because she had herself to rate them against. She looked at finest examples of human beauty and found thousand flaws, looked at them and saw how artificial it was, how dependent on right time and place and taste. Snow White could be skinned alive and have her bones broken and her head split open  and covered in dirt and yet anywhere in world they would proclaim her the most beautiful.

But she couldn't be loved or desired. She was too stark and sharp and terrible for that. She wasn't a girl whose hand you could hold, woman who you could lay against, a person to hug and kiss and laugh with. Everything in her was hard and cold, like ice sculpture. She was there to be looked at, not loved. Because even as humans adored beautiful people, they didn't love ones who had truly been beautiful.

Human beauty was shallow, false and thin. All humans were equally beautiful, and they just had to work more or less on convincing others to find them attractive. But Snow White bore true beauty, heavy as mountain, truer than her father's blade. Primordial, essential, actual, her beauty was a true, divine thing, real and defined in mutable, shapeless world of human misconceptions. She was a marble statue trapped among embroidered caricatures, and she envied them so much.)

So she held no hopes, and received a grand surprise. For though her prince's eyes seemed ready to fall out of his skull, and bliss sparkled in them as tears gathered on edges, after some time he composed himself and gave her warm, cocky smile, and bowed and kissed her hand and talked with her.

They talked. They rode on horses. He laughed at her embroidery. She rolled eyes at his jokes. They showed each other their favourite hiding places. They sparred with hands and swords. He lost to her in race and she in archery. They walked in woods and put their knowledge of animals and herbs to trial. She learnt that he was truly as good and honest as he was rumoured to be, but easily bored, and he could get lost daydreaming, and loved to go sight seeing, and fussed too much about his clothes. He learnt that she liked to forage berries, and kept falcons, and hated jewellery, and was horrible dancer. They had even argued few times!

She fell in love with him, a little. Enough that they kept contact when she ran away. Enough that he wanted to expose queen's crimes. Enough that he wanted to give her honour of burial. Enough that when he died, she walked away.

Enough that he said nothing, when she commissioned shoes for her mother.

('' I wish he'd at least pretend to treat me like person.'' She had whispered, standing alone in his father's corridors, and when she met him she believed he was somehow immune to her beauty , that he saw person underneath.

''Stop with that!'' She shouted, when men offered her their hearts, and they did, and only later she noticed that some people adored her in quiet, steadfast way, no less terrible but much subtler, because they didn't want to die for her, they wanted to serve her.

''I love you.'' She told him, and of course he said yes, of course he loved her, he had to, even as he laid dying, and years later she kept wondering whether she imagined something russet and golden running at end of corridors.)

***

When she is queen, she will keep her chambers  bare.

Everything about her will be bare, and simple, and cold. They will say, her husband’s people, when they are far away from her, that it is because she comes from colder, humbler, more barbarian kingdom that she is unused to fine luxury (she likes simple things because she spent so much time in the woods, they say, not understanding how rich, how elaborate, how beautiful everything was there, roots  mingling and binding each other in knotwork, impossible shapes in bark, flowers worth more than jewels everywhere around her.)

There will be no excess, no luxury in her sanctuary. No tapestries, no costly furniture, no mirrors. Only bare, chill stone and bed to uphold a minor illusion of normalcy ( a girl of ice and death born, she has slept on Forest floor, and dreamed in mines, and slumbered in coffin of glass and gold). No satin, no velvet, no silk, no gowns or embroidery or crown, for she has no need of them.

No jewellry. Nobody will again tell her she is as precious as gems at her throat.

***

She doesn't dream. She remembers. She remembers memories that are not hers, lodged in between her flesh and bones.

She remembers winter. Always, always it is with her, more crucial than breath, than her name, almost as important as her beauty.  She remembers cold of Niflheimr and of coming of first spring. She remembers snowflakes forming in clouds and melting on human faces, the mountain tips lined with white, the ice covering pines, the frost on abandoned blades, the  rime that gathers at hem of lost shawls, the chill creeping over river's stones, the snowdrops rising from forming poodles, the  crunch of frozen ground as her mother goes to border of Forest.

She remembers having bark, which protected her from rain, and wind, from cold and bugs. She remembers having roots, digging through soil, pulling water and minerals from ground, reaching out to taste sunlight. She remembers how it felt when sap coursed through her, her branches swaying on wind, her leaves remaining green even in winter as those of her neighbours turned brown and red and fell, remembers feeding on rotting flowers and grass caressing her trunk, the seeds falling and spreading, birds making nest in her crown, the queen's knife cutting branches off, off, off.

She remembers being warm, and flowing, being inside the veins. She remembers being child crying for parents lost to plague, the leper cast out of town, the old woman begging for scraps. She remembers warm, concerned voices of mothers who aren't hers, remembers being father, and having gray hair, and being hungry, and told she is ugly (in waking world she cannot imagine that feeling bad, but in dream it is, remembers childhoods that  aren't hers. She remembers being scared of bleeding, being cold, and queen  saving her/him/them, of being servants and obeying all her wishes, being trusted, and she remembers the blade, the curse, flowing over figure made out of snow until it turns pink, staining  and clotting upon ebony talismans.

She dreams of hands upon her throat, and dying, and melting, losing everything, going to no hall, rejoining earth and water and coldness, and it is so peaceful that she almost regrets when she wakes up...

These are terrors that follow her in her dreams. In waking world, she cannot escape seven boys, running after her like most loyal dogs, begging to serve her.

***

At edge of every kingdom there is Forest.

There is difference between  a forest and the Forest, just as there is difference between beautiful person and Snow White. The first is just bunch of trees and animals, which, perhaps bit scary at night, can be cut down and cleared away. But the Forests, are so much more, existing outside of civilized world, thinking and feeling and hungering, holding darkness and treasures and monsters within. Place where secrets are born, where miracles go to die, where Quests are done.

The Forests don't like people. They say that Forests were forged from Ymir's dying curse, and therefore there is terrible, chaotic power in them. Thousands of years ago, they marched against them, marched against whole world, and in three days humanity was crushed. For the Forests were grown before intelligent life came to be, and they despised men and their accomplishments. And so no weapon, no spell, no thing made by mortal hands held power within Forests.  The strongest sorcerers were rendered powerless, and sharpest blade failed to cut.

It waits for her. Castle where she grew was far away from Forests, so far away that you couldn't even see it on horizon, even as a dark line, but Snow White felt it every day. Being a human girl, somewhat, she didn't know how to feel about it, and sometimes she could ignore it so well that she forgot it's existence, and sometimes it occupied all her thoughts.

(Were she only a spell-child, she would have noticed nothing. Were she a changeling, each day she would have felt same, and knew exact reason why. But mortal she was, and thus she was plagued with uncertain heart.)

Whether she wants or not, someday she will go to the Forest. Things like her must, just as snow must fall. She is too strange and cursed, even for a world full only of witches. She is meant for legends, and some tale will dig it's claws in her, and every tale has it's beginnings in Forest, even ones who have nothing to do with them.  And she dreads when that day comes, because in Forest no spell can last, and what shall happen to her then?

(They are at her mother's hidden halls, as they are at every of her birthdays. She is seven, but to rest of the world she is twenty. She rides out, and huntsman accompanies her.

She is always accompanied by somebody, of course, because she must be protected, because always there is danger she would be kidnapped, for who wouldn't want to possess her? The huntsman is young, and good looking, or so she supposes. To her he looks like washed out, boring bunch of bones and flesh, but other girls say he is handsome, and to his misfortune queen agrees. But he is young, and he wants to live, and he is smart, but he has got conscience and she is so beautiful, that he breaks down and confesses everything.

A mother willing to kill her own daughter, and eat her intestines. Sounds horrible, but once they spend some time with princess people understand, even if they believe she was born like them. To live alongside somebody so beautiful, to be outshined while you grew older, weaker, as death came closer, that was horrible enough, but knowledge that nothing you ever do will help you come even closer to impossible ideal that is Snow white is horrible enough. Nobody could live with her, no more than they could gaze in Sun for years.

And besides, beauty like that, it doesn't belong to this world, doesn't come from it, and as such isn't meant to exist there.  Beauty like that, it is meant for higher, greater places, not this dreary, low world. It is meant to be a tragedy, a warning, something to mourn for forever even if we never had it. Girls like that, they exist to be beautiful corpses, because no matter what they say, it doesn't matter because nobody will care for anything else but their faces, so this way they do favour to everybody. You can't blame the queen, they say, and after all, makes sense for one who created her to be one to get rid of her.

For first time in her measly seven years of life, Snow White understands how her mother thinks. And she knows what will happen were she to face her.

She turns, and runs in heart of the Forest, in darkness, because it's monsters are at least honest.)

***

She is five hundred and sixty three years old when she sacrifices first child to escape.

Oh, not in usual sense, not yet anyway (it will be little bit longer before she drags children to crossroads at midnight and spills their blood and cooks their hearts to buy escape). Of course, she has killed young people, and somebody's children before, some of them her own descendants, but she has never sacrificed any child. She hasn't taken something innocent and powerless and blameless and cut it's life short to buy few more seconds, because that isn't how story goes. people tell it, and they believe, and souls are dragged from death to relieve it. And hers is simplest story. The queen is powerful, and she desires her death, and Snow White runs until she is caught and put in glass coffin, and then everything begins anew.

She has lived near village for some seven years by then, wrapped up in shawls and masks, because even though it doesn't stop people from gazing in awe it stops them from kneeling, because they only feel her beauty, don't see true miracle of her face. She has kept out of troubles, and even worked in mines so help the village, and she has scried lost children and horses in ice and coins, and brought them home from deep dark woods. And yet, man whose broken leg she healed heard rumours, and connected dots, and went in wide world to tell the queen.  And what could she do, but take off her shawls and masks and go down, as they parted before her, as they knelt, and drag his only daughter from her home with but a smile.

''You did a cruel, horrible thing. You were hurting, and you wanted to settle accounts, so you decided to be unfair as well.  it didn't help you in the end, but you decided destroying something small and blameless will make you feel better.'' The old, ugly woman with burned face and shadowed hood, dressed in grey and russet  tells her, as they hide in cave, as she tends Snow White's wounds and ignores her beauty, as she holds her even as death tries to drag her down. Snow White ignores it- the world had walked over, broken and spat out Cinderella, letting her be nothing but slave, nothing but ceaseless, unpaid servant, nothing but role assigned by her story. She doesn't understand revenge because she has no hope, no happiness, no way out from her life, but Snow White won't be broken like that. Snow White will be strong for them both.

''Do you love me? Do you dare think you are worthy of  sight of me? Prove it to me!'' She roars, cackles, smirks as traitor cries, as lighting races from her mother's shining rings, and girl cries and nods, laughs and bows and jumps in front of blazing magic to protect the fairest thing in the world.

For @slavicwitchling​ ‘s birthday, hope you like it my dear. Sequel to this drabble.

#character:snow white #Story:Snow White #fairy tale retelling #fantasy