#i think the idea that david was experiencing all of this with someone else made it so much scarier

[ingravinoveritas]

nabrrie replied to your post "I thought I was the only one who was weirded out by…”

@ingravinoveritas thanks for the answer and sorry for the rant in your askbox, but your blog feels like a safe place. I wouldn't discuss this on other socials bc I don't have the strength to deal with GT fans. To be an unplanned child is a topic that I still discuss in therapy, so seeing it treated so lightly by a mother as excuse to brag about her sex life disturbed me. Interesting that who claims it's wrong to ship D/M bc it's disrespectful to the kids is ok with this. And for that matter, she’s not a high school girl bragging about her boyfriend. The “I shagged DT and you didn’t” attitude is immature and out of place. You’re having sex with your husband… so? We know that you’re married. David is handsome and fans can be creepy sometimes, but she’s an actress, her father was the Doctor - she must know very well how to deal with the fans. I’m sorry if she feels insecure, but I don’t think she’s handling this very well. And, if she does feel insecure, I don’t think it’s about a bunch of strangers online… And you’re right, no mention of the word love whatsoever… (end of the rant, sorry)

@nabrrie No need to apologize at all! I'm glad you felt safe enough to rant in my inbox. The fact that people are refusing to see anything wrong with that caption solely because it was Georgia who posted it is disturbing to me. (I even saw one person say "If this was anyone else I would be disgusted, but Georgia is an icon.") If your first instinct is to be disgusted by that caption, it should not matter who wrote it. It should not matter that it's "British humor" because humor being British doesn't mean it also can't be wildly unfunny or even hurtful. And it's wildly hypocritical to me that these fans who rail against RPF and say how it could harm their children are the same fans who have no problem with Georgia writing a caption like that.

I've said this before, but it bears repeating: Georgia should not be immune from criticism simply because she is David's wife, or because she is an ally to the LGBTQ community. Being an ally does not mean someone can't be rude or a jerk, because human beings are complicated and can be more than one thing at a time. Calling her out for using her kid's birthday post as an excuse to brag about her own sex life is not some outrageous act--it's a reasonable response, particularly from people such as yourself who have experienced the consequences of being an unplanned child.

It's amazing to me how people have read things into her caption, or made assumptions because of it based on what they want to believe her and David's relationship is. I've seen people say it meant "They were madly in love when they had me," but the word "love" was never used anywhere in that caption. They were madly in drunk when they had her (or at least Georgia was), and that's all it takes to have a baby--two people having sex, whether they are in love or not. And at the end of the day, that is what her caption was actually about: Georgia letting us know that she is having sex with David and the rest of us are not.

But she clearly is insecure, because it looks like she actually did respond to one of the numerous tweets criticizing her this morning:

So, let's take a step back here. She's over on Insta bragging about getting to shag David and how great their sex life is, but instead of actually shagging him, she is searching for her name on Twitter again and taking the time to respond to stuff like this. The paradox is quite something, really.

Also, the fact that she does not or cannot recognize that what she said in that caption is not normal seems to indicate that she thinks she can say and do whatever shes wants, regardless of who it affects or whether it sends her kids out into the world with a very skewed idea of what is "normal." Interestingly, though, I don't think we can say that she doesn't care what people think, because if she didn't, she wouldn't be searching her name (again) and looking for comments to which she can respond.

Whatever the case may be, I agree with you that whatever has her feeling insecure has nothing to do with people online (@irvinis has volunteered a particularly interesting theory on your original Ask). And for someone who has dealt with fans for so many years (as you also mentioned), she definitely is not handling this in the way you would expect. I guess we'll have to see if she pushes back against any of the other critical comments...

#nabrrie #reply post #georgia tennant #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #i don't think anybody here is being a prude either #i am 100% about sex positivity #but there are plenty of places she could brag that aren't her 4-year-old's birthday post #i mean you have to think she will see this someday #because even if Georgia deletes it the Internet is forever #also can we think for a moment how different this would be if the genders were reversed #if G was a man saying he had no self control with wine or his wife #that would seem at least slightly concerning #yet because Georgia's a woman no one seems to care #and any inkling of how David feels about this caption is completely missing #stop giving your blorbo's partners free passes 2k23 #thoughts #discourse

[shuxiii]

Everyday pt. 5

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt13

a/n meow meow meow credits all to ''every day'' by david levithan

Day 6001

The next morning, I am even farther from Hanni.

I’m four hours away, and in the body of Kim Weiss. Luckily, Kim has a laptop that I can check before we go to school.

There’s an email waiting from Hanni.

Haruto!

I’m so glad you emailed, because I lost the slip of paper that I wrote your email on. It was wonderful talking and dancing with you, too. How dare the police break us up! You’re my type, personwise, too. Even if you don’t believe in relationships that last longer than a year. (I’m not saying you’re wrong, btw. Jury’s still out.)

I never thought I’d say this, but I hope Yunjin has another party soon. If only so you can bear witness to its evil.

Love,

Hanni

I can imagine her smiling when she wrote this, and this makes me smile, too.

Then I open my other account, and there’s another email from Haruto.

I have given the police this email address. Don’t think you can get away with this.

The police?

Quickly I type Haruto’s name into a search engine. A news item comes up, dated this morning.

THE DEVIL MADE HIM DO IT

Local boy, pulled over by police, claims demonic possession

When police officers found Haruto Watanabe, 19, of 22 Arden Lane, sleeping in his vehicle along the side of Route 23 early Sunday morning, they had no idea the story he would tell. Most teenagers would blame their condition on alcohol use, but not Watanabe. He claimed no knowledge of how he had gotten where he was. The answer, he said, was that he must have been possessed by a demon.

“It was like I was sleepwalking,” Watanabe tells the Crier. “The whole day, this thing was in charge of my body. It made me lie to my parents and drive to a party in a town I’ve never been to. I don’t really remember the details. I only know it wasn’t me.”

To make matters more mysterious, Watanabe says that when he returned home, someone else’s email was on his computer.

“I wasn’t myself,” he says.

Officer Lance Houston of the state police says that because there was no sign of alcohol use and because the car wasn’t reported stolen, Watanabe was not being charged with any offense.

“Look, I’m sure he has reasons for saying what he’s saying. All I can tell you is that he didn’t do anything illegal,” says Houston.

But that’s not enough for Watanabe.

“If anyone else has experienced this, I want them to come forward,” he says. “I can’t be the only one.”

It’s a local paper’s website, nothing to worry too much about. And the police don’t seem to feel it’s a particularly pressing case. But still, I’m worried. In all my years, I’ve never had someone do this to me before.

It’s not that I can’t imagine how it happened: Haruto is woken up on the side of the road by a police officer tapping on his window. Maybe there are even flashing lights bathing the darkness in red and blue. Within seconds, Haruto realizes what kind of trouble he’s in—it’s well past midnight, and his parents are going to kill him. His clothes smell like cigarettes and alcohol, and he has no way of remembering whether or not he was drunk or high. He is a blank—a sleepwalker waking up. Only … he has a sense of me. Some lone memory of not being himself. When the officer asks him what’s going on, he says he doesn’t know. When the officer asks him where he’s been, he says he doesn’t know. The officer gets him out of the car, makes him take a Breathalyzer test. Haruto proves to be stone-cold sober. But the officer still wants answers, so Haruto tells him the truth—that his body was taken over. Only, he can’t imagine anyone who takes over bodies except for the devil. This is going to be his story. He is a good kid—he knows that everybody will back him up on that. They’re going to believe him.

The officer just wants him to get home safely. Maybe he even escorts Haruto home, calling ahead to his parents. They’re awake when Haruto gets there. They’re angry and concerned. He repeats his story to them. They don’t know what to believe. Meanwhile, some reporter hears the officer talking about it on the shortwave, or maybe it gets around the station. The teenager who snuck off to a party and then tried to blame it on the devil. The reporter calls the Watanabe home on Sunday, and Haruto decides to talk. Because that will make it more real, won’t it?

I feel both guilty and defensive. Guilty because I did this to Haruto, whatever my intentions. Defensive because I certainly didn’t force him to react in this way, which will only make it worse for him, if not me.

In the one-in-a-million chance that Haruto can persuade someone to trace my emails, I realize I can’t check this account from people’s homes anymore. Because if he can do that, he’ll be able to chart most of the houses I’ve been in over the past two or three years … which will lead to a lot of confusing conversations.

Part of me wants to write back to him, to explain. But I’m not sure any explanation will be enough. Especially because I don’t have most of the answers. I gave up on figuring out why a long time ago. I am guessing Haruto won’t give up as easily.

Kim Weiss’s boyfriend, Sam, likes to kiss her. A lot. Public, private—it doesn’t matter. If he gets a chance to make a move, he does.

I am not in the mood.

Kim quickly comes down with a cold. The kissing stops, and the doting begins. Sam is rather smitten, and he surrounds Kim with the sweet quicksand of his love. From recent memories, I can tell that Kim is usually just as willing to do the same. Everything comes second to being with Sam. It’s a miracle that she still has friends.

There’s a quiz in science. Judging from my accessing, it appears that I know more about the subject than Kim does. It’s her lucky day.

I am dying to get on one of the school computers, but I have to get rid of Sam first. Even though I’ve separated them at the lips, I can’t seem to get Sam and Kim separated at the hips. At lunch, he puts one of his hands in her back pocket while he eats, and then pouts when Kim doesn’t do the same thing. They then have study hall together, and he spends all of it stroking her and talking to her about the movie they saw last night.

Eighth period is the only class they don’t have together, so I decide to run with it. As soon as Sam drops her off at the classroom door, I have her go to the teacher, say she’s going to the nurse, and head straight to the library.

First, I finish forwarding all my emails from my old account. All that remains are the two emails from Haruto; I can’t bring myself to delete them, just as I can’t bring myself to delete the account. For some reason, I want him to be able to contact me. I feel that much responsibility.

I load up the new email account, with the intention of writing Hanni back. Much to my surprise, there’s already another email from her. Giddy, I open it.

Haruto,

Apparently, Yunjin doesn’t have a cousin Haruto, and none of his cousins were at his party. Care to explain?

-Hanni

I don’t deliberate. I don’t weigh my options. I just type and hit send.

Hanni,

I can, indeed, explain. Can we meet up? It’s the kind of explanation that needs to be done in person.

Love,

-Haruto

It’s not that I’m planning to tell the truth. I just want to give myself time to think of the best lie.

The last bell rings, and I know Sam will be looking for Kim soon. When I find him at his locker, he acts as if we haven’t seen each other in weeks. When I kiss him, I pretend I am practicing for Hanni. When I kiss him, it feels almost disloyal to Hanni. When I kiss him, my mind is hours away, with her.

Day 6002

The universe, it seems, is on my side the next morning, because when I wake up in the body of Oh Hae-won, I also wake up a mere hour away from Hanni.

Then, when I check my email, there’s a message from her.

Haruto,

This better be a good explanation. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop at the Clover Bookstore at 5.

Hanni

To which I reply:

Hanni,

I’ll be there. Although not in a way you might expect.

Bear with me and hear me out.

Yn

Oh Hae-won is going to have to leave cheerleading practice a little early today. I go through her closet and pick the outfit that most looks like something Hanni would wear; I’ve found that people tend to trust other people who dress like them. And whatever I do, I am going to need all the trust I can get.

The whole day, I think about what I’m going to say to her, and what she’s going to say. It feels entirely dangerous to tell her the truth. I have never told anyone the truth. I have never come close.

But none of the lies fit well. And the more I stumble through possible lies, I realize I am heading in the direction of telling her everything. I am learning that a life isn’t real unless someone else knows its reality. And I want my life to be real.

If I’ve gotten used to my life, could somebody else?

If she believes in me, if she feels the enormity like I do, she will believe in this.

And if she doesn’t believe in me, if she doesn’t feel the enormity, then I will simply seem like one more crazy person let loose on the world.

There’s not much to lose in that.

But, of course, it will feel like losing everything.

I manufacture a doctor’s appointment for Haewon, and at four o’clock, I’m on the road to Hanni’s town.

There’s some traffic, and I get a little lost, so I’m ten minutes late to the bookstore. I look in the café window and see her sitting there, flipping through a magazine, looking up at the door every now and then. I want to keep her like this, hold her in this moment. I know everything is about to change, and I fear that one day I will long for this minute before anything is said, that I will want to travel back in time and undo what’s coming next.

Haewon is not, of course, who Hanni’s looking for. So she’s a little startled when I come over to her table and sit down.

“I’m sorry—that seat’s taken,” she says.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Haruto sent me.”

“He sent you? Where is he?” Hanni is looking around the room, as if he’s hiding somewhere behind a bookshelf.

I look around, too. There are other people near us, but none of them seem to be within earshot. I know I should ask Hanni to take a walk with me, that there shouldn’t be any people around when I tell her. But I don’t know why she’d go with me, and it would probably scare her if I asked. I will have to tell her here.

“Hanni,” I say. I look in her eyes, and I feel it again. That connection. That feeling of so much beyond us. That recognition.

I don’t know if she feels it, too, not for sure, but she stays where she is. She returns my gaze. She holds the connection.

“Yes?” she whispers.

“I need to tell you something. It’s going to sound very, very strange. What I need is for you to listen to the whole story. You will probably want to leave. You might want to laugh. But I need you to take this seriously. I know it will sound unbelievable, but it’s the truth. Do you understand?”

There is fear in her eyes now. I want to reach out my hand and hold hers, but I know I can’t. Not yet.

I keep my voice calm. True.

“Every morning, I wake up in a different body. It’s been happening since I was born. This morning, I woke up as Oh Hae-won, who you see right in front of you. Three days ago, last Saturday, it was Haruto Watanabe. Two days before that, it was Ahn Yujin, who visited your school and spent the day with you. And last Monday, it was Minji, your girlfriend. You thought you went to the ocean with her, but it was really me. That was the first time we ever met, and I haven’t been able to forget you since.”

I pause.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Hanni says. “You have to be kidding.”

I press on. “When we were on the beach, you told me about the mother-daughter fashion show that you and your mother were in, and how it was probably the last time you ever saw her in makeup. When Yujin asked you to tell her about something you’d never told anyone else, you told her about trying to pierce your own ear when you were ten, and she told you about reading Judy Blume’s Forever. Haruto came over to you as you were sorting through CDs, and he sang a song that you and Minji sang during the car ride to the ocean. He told you he was Yunjin’s cousin, but he was really there to see you. He talked to you about being in a relationship for over a year, and you told him that deep down Minji cares a lot about you, and he said that deep down isn’t good enough. What I’m saying is that … all of these people were me. For a day. And now I’m Oh Hae-won, and I want to tell you the truth before I switch again. Because I think you’re remarkable. Because I don’t want to keep meeting you as different people. I want to meet you as myself.”

I look at the disbelief on her face, searching for one small possibility of belief. I can’t find it.

“Did Minji put you up to this?” she says, disgust in her voice. “Do you really think this is funny?”

“No, it’s not funny,” I say. “It’s true. I don’t expect you to understand right away. I know how crazy it sounds. But it’s true. I swear, it’s true.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. I don’t even know you!”

“Listen to me. Please. You know it wasn’t Minji with you that day. In your heart, you know. She didn’t act like Minji. She didn’t do things Minji does. That’s because it was me. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. But it happened. And I can’t erase it. I can’t ignore it. I have lived my whole life like this, and you’re the thing that has made me wish it could stop.”

The fear is still there in her face, in her body. “But why me? That makes no sense.”

“Because you’re amazing. Because you’re kind to a random girl who just shows up at your school. Because you also want to be on the other side of the window, living life instead of just thinking about it. Because you’re beautiful. Because when I was dancing with you in Yunjin’s basement on Saturday night, it felt like fireworks. And when I was lying on the beach next to you, it felt like perfect calm. I know you think that Minji loves you deep down, but I love you through and through.”

“Enough!” Hanni’s voice breaks a little as she raises it. “It’s just—enough, okay? I think I understand what you’re saying to me, even though it makes no sense whatsoever.”

“You know it wasn’t her that day, don’t you?”

“I don’t know anything!” This is loud enough that a few people look our way. Hanni notices, and lowers her voice again. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

She’s near tears. I reach out and take her hand. She doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t pull away.

“I know it’s a lot,” I tell her. “Believe me, I know.”

“It’s not possible,” she whispers.

“It is. I’m the proof.”

When I pictured this conversation in my head, I could imagine it going in two ways: revelation or revulsion. But now we’re stuck somewhere in between. She doesn’t think I’m telling the truth—not to the point that she can believe it. And at the same time, she hasn’t stormed out, she hasn’t maintained that it’s just a sick joke someone is playing on her.

I realize: I am not going to convince her. Not like this. Not here.

“Look,” I say, “what if we met here again tomorrow at the same time? I won’t be in the same body, but I’ll be the same person. Would that make it easier to understand?”

She’s skeptical. “But couldn’t you just tell someone else to come here?”

“Yes, but why would I? This isn’t a prank. This isn’t a joke. It’s my life.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re just saying that. You know I’m not. You can sense that much.”

Now it’s her turn to look me in the eye. Judge me. See what connection she can find.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Today I’m Oh Hae-won.”

“No. I mean your real name.”

My breath catches. Nobody has ever asked me this before. And I’ve certainly never offered it.

“Yn,” I say.

“Just Yn?”

“Just Yn. I came up with it when I was a little kid. It was a way of keeping myself whole, even as I went from body to body, life to life. I needed something pure. So I went with Yn.”

“What do you think about my name?”

“I told you the other night. I think it’s beautiful, even if you once found it hard to spell.”

She stands up from her chair. I stand up, too.

She holds there. I can tell there are lots of thoughts she’s considering, but I have no idea what they are. Falling in love with someone doesn’t mean you know any better how they feel. It only means you know how you feel.

“Hanni,” I say.

She holds up her hand for me to stop.

“No more,” she tells me. “Not now. Tomorrow. I’ll give you tomorrow. Because that’s one way to know, isn’t it? If what you say is happening is really happening—I mean, I need more than a day.”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“Don’t thank me until I show up,” she says. “This is all really confusing.”

“I know.”

She puts on her jacket and starts heading for the door. Then she turns around to me one last time.

“The thing is,” she says, “I didn’t really feel it was her that day. Not completely. And ever since then, it’s like she wasn’t there. She has no memory of it. There are a million possible explanations for that, but there it is.”

“There it is,” I agree.

She shakes her head.

“Tomorrow,” I say.

“Tomorrow,” she says, a little less than a promise, and a little more than a chance.

#Hanni x reader #Hanni Pham #Pham Hanni #Hanni Pham x reader #newjeans #newjeans fanfic #hanni pham #new jeans #nwjns #NewJeans Imagines #Newjeans imagine #Newjean Fanfic #NewJeans Fanfic #newjeans fic #newjeans imagine #Newjeans x reader

[screadingchallenge]

Behind the Keyboard Volume 23

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.  

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

Let’s meet our next author:

@linda-priv​ /  oh_precious_love

How many fics have you written?

Eleven

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

Dec 11, 2021

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3.

At the peak of my writing ideas, I would often fall asleep, or wake up, with full sentences formed in my mind, so I'd scurry to write them down before I'd forget them.

All my writing is done on my computer, with nothing but my own thoughts (no music or noise surrounding me). 

I can literally spend hours typing out my words and often have to stop so I can sleep and get up for my 'real job'.

I can easily spend four hours at a time writing and it was almost always linear (to my storyline). However, on occasions, words for later paragraphs manifest and I have to quickly type those out, then go back to my progressive storyline.

I edit as I go, but once my story is completely written, I reread it and make more edits. I also ensure I edit in a different format, e.g. on my tablet, or in AO3 draft, or I print my words. I often find reading it in different formats helps me weed out more errors.

I then call upon one or two of my betas to edit for me. I then re-edit my work before uploading to AO3 in draft format. I read it again in AO3 before hitting the 'publish' button. And, being in Australia, I always seem to publish before midnight so that people on the other side of the world wake up to my published fics.

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

My most recent fic was a Valentine’s Day fic titled 'Love You A Whole Lot, My Pony'. It was very special to me as it included prompts from two friends I've made in this Schitt's Creek fandom. My fic was inspired by an image shared by one friend, and a video shared by the other. The two prompts did not correlate at all, but I had a very clear idea of how they'd work together in my story.

It really was a rollercoaster of emotions experienced by both David and Patrick in this fic, but I loved exploring just how much they love each other, despite their flaws and eccentricities. And it was important for me to reiterate that even though they can irritate and push each other's buttons so particularly, their deep-seated love and understanding always reigns supreme. So there's angst, and swearing, and eye rolls, but there's also tenderness, and humour, and fluff and smut. This fic also includes coding for text messages (which is one of my favourite skins to use) and some HTML links to the image and video. Plus, there's a very hot dance sequence inspired by saud video.

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

The best piece of advice is to find yourself a beta. I was sceptical at first, having someone else read and edit my words, but the insights and perspective you get from someone else can be profound. In saying this though, my next piece of advice is to remember that, in the end, your work still needs to be YOURS. So if you're not sure about an edit or idea, sit with it, mull it over, and then decide if it works for YOU.

As a beta myself, I always make it clear that these are only my opinions, and the writer needs to be sure they are comfortable publishing what THEY choose. My mantra, 'You do you'. (Thanks, Jake… and @obsessedwithdavrick​).

Most memorable comment you’ve had on one of your fics?

My most memorable comments are the ones when readers mention me nailing my characterisation of certain characters. 

Knowing that I've done a character justice, and that a reader can imagine the characters in their true form through my words, means so much to me. As does when readers tell me they found my words funny, or hot, or sweet. I love making people feel things.

What do you do when you get stuck?

I find stepping away to be the best thing for me. I'm a creative person outside of writing, and I know that if I create things when I'm not motivated, the end result is subpar. So I come back to it when I feel ready.

I think we put ourselves under so much unnecessary pressure to write, and write, and write. And why? Writing should be fun; something we do because we enjoy it. I try to remind myself, and others, that.

Who is another fic writer you admire and why?

Gosh, how does one choose???

I admire many writers for various reasons, but I admire:

@blackandwhiteandrose​

@designatedgrape​

@chelle-68​

for making me feel all the feels. Every time I read their fics, I feel like I am right there with the characters, experiencing everything they are.

@deenerann​

@lisamc-21​

are my faves for their amazing long fics and exceptional smut.

If you could say one thing to your fellow fic writers, what would it be?

As hard as it is, try not to compare yourself to other writers. Write for you; write because it brings YOU joy, because it makes YOU feel good, because it allows YOU to live in the wonderful world of fiction.

Every writer has their own skill set, and their own challenges, and every reader has their own preferences. Just do YOU!

What’s one question you would like to ask Dan Levy about writing?

I love how Dan has mentioned that he spent so much time developing the backstories of his Schitt's Creek characters. I wonder if he does this for all the characters he writes.

#behind the keyboard #meet the authors #sc fanfic #schitt’s creek #schitts creek

[ishouldreallybeelsewhere]

thoughts on the power of the doctor, spoilers under the cut

I do have to say, I think this was by far the best and strongest Chibnall episode of the lot. He really ended on a high note, when compared to his other stuff.

The Master and any and all scenes where he was on screen were by far the highlights, to the point where it felt like someone else was writing his scenes. I mean it, I was genuinely enjoying myself, and enjoying the show again whenever he was onscreen, something that I haven't been experiencing when watching literally any other Chibnall episode.

Unfortunately, my thoughts on the episode are not wholly positive. The dialogue of Chibnall's episodes has always been very weak, and I think part of what made the Master's scenes so strong was the fact that he was monologuing, so when he said exactly what he meant in the most obvious way of saying it, it came off as a genuine way that the master would speak. When every other character says exactly what they mean in the most obvious way of saying it, over-explaining what's going on, while talking to other characters, the believability and naturalism of the dialogue is lost.

I'm not really a fan of the Cyber Masters, especially when they were killed by a building, but I do like the fact that the Timeless Child was barely mentioned. It was nice.

The editing was not great. There were quite a few scenes where it cut from the characters in inescapable peril to running out of it, without giving an explanation of how that could've happened, which kinda just makes me think that they couldn't figure out a way so they just didn't.

It was cool to see Ace and Tegan, though their acting and quite a bit of their line delivery left something to be desired, which is what I was expecting going into it, but still was a tad sad to see.

I loved the idea of the support group at the end, but mostly because seeing Ian did make me tear up a bit. It's not a part of the show that I think needs to be explored further, as where it left off just kinda leaves the viewer to imagine how they contact the rest of the companions and such, which is nice.

I thought seeing all the past Doctors was really cool, and I really liked Yaz and the Doctor's goodbye, though they should've kissed.

The ending was the main reason I actually bothered watching the episode, though as the ep wasn't as bas as I thought it would be, I'm glad I did. As excited as I was to see Ncuti Gatwa take the role, I'm also quite curious to know what's gonna happen with the David Tennant thing, especially given he was wearing different clothes when he regenerated so is he like a Doctor from a different universe or smth that took her place? I don't know but I'm excited to find out.

Anyway, overall I thought the episode was fine. The really good bits, the parts with the master, really showed how poor the rest of the episode was in comparison, but overall it wasn't as terrible as much of the past episodes under Chibnall's watch, so meh. I doubt I'll rewatch it on its own any time soon but it was a nice way to spend the morning.

#Doctor who #doctor who spoilers #power of the doctor

[scottymcgeesterwrites]

Music Without Lyrics

I’m going to make a sweeping generalization here and I don’t care.  All of ya’ll were fucking brutal and unforgiving when it came to music tastes. 

If you were someone like me who did not have conventional music tastes while being in middle school, high school, or even college, people shat on you. They made sure you knew you were fucking weird.  My high school biology teacher told us that we are very sensitive about our sense of taste, smell, and hearing because they are closely tied to our emotions. People tend to feel very strongly about them because we associate them with fond memories. The smell of your grandmother’s cooking, the oldies music your uncle listened to, the taste of a Coke with sugar cane on a hot summer day.  While people will ceaselessly argue about pineapple on pizza, I personally experienced fiercer arguments over what is considered “good music”. I always had a need to hide my taste in music from the world for the longest time. I grew up loving movie scores, aka - soundtracks. I came from a time when if I wanted to listen to a piece of music from a movie or video game again, like the end credits, I got my TalkBoy out and recorded the music on a cassette tape through the TV speaker. You couldn’t just find your favorite song on YouTube or Spotify and listen to it endlessly on repeat with the click of a button. I had to fucking rewind that shit. And if someone, like my mom, interrupted the recording then I cursed out loud and recorded from the top again. The artists I grew up with were John Williams, Danny Elfman, Elmer Bernstein, Lalo Schifrin, John Barry, David Arnold, John Powell, Koji Kondo - most of whom sound alien to you. I never once had an interest in Linkin Park, My Chemical Romance, Backstreet Boys, Fall Out Boy, or literally anything that everyone else I knew listened to at the time.  To this day, I still don’t quite understand why I became that way. I was always a movie fan, even before I could form a proper sentence. It’s possible that I associated many fond memories with movie soundtracks. You know how people can recite the entire dialogue to their favorite movie? I could also recite the music that played throughout the entire movie in my head. I have strong memories of when I became fascinated with film scores. They were particularly strong during long car rides. My parents had a van with a TV in the middle that could play VHS tapes. I would constantly rewind the end credits to Batman, Star Wars, Jurassic Park, James Bond, etc. so that I could listen to the music again. Listening to soundtracks was what fueled my imagination to write stories. As the music went along, so did an impromptu story in my head. I’d imagine a fight scene or romantic moment or mysterious murder. Oftentimes, the stories I wrote ended up being similar to the movie whose score I was listening to, but overall that was how I got serious about writing. A single track from a movie score could take me through a million emotions, as it depicted a scene that was happy one moment and then sad the next as someone gets shot on screen after a kiss and you think everything is going to be all right for the characters. I think because I grew up with a strong attachment to instrumental music, I thought it sounded cheesy, maybe even wrong on some level, to sing about your emotions with words. There were many other nuanced emotions I found with instrumental music that made me feel more alive than with the pop songs at the time. To me, anything else with vocals and lyrics was a “pop song”. Everyone argued about whether rock was dead and this and that and the other thing. It was all Greek to me. Whenever I heard popular music my friends listened to, I cringed and tuned out. It really turned me off. Maybe on some level I thought it was not artistic to be so obvious about your feelings? I have no idea. I was just not into it for the longest damn time. Sometimes when a song had a banger instrumental opening I would be like “Oh man this is great”, but then the person started singing and I’d be immediately turned off like “Okay, you killed it. Shut up.” My own mother found that strange and annoying. This one time when I was a kid, after buying me yet another movie soundtrack on CD, she said, “Why don’t you listen to normal music? Maybe music with words?” It’s important to note that it wasn’t like I was shouting “Turn off that racket!” whenever someone turned on a rap song or rock song or pop song. There was music with lyrics that I did listen to once and a while, though rarely. The first band that I could bear listening to was Franz Ferdinand, back when I was in high school. They still remain my favorite band. For some reason, I have no inclination to skip any of their songs and can bear listening to an entire album. I hated it when I would like one song in an album but then hated literally every other song the band ever made. That wasn’t the case with Franz Ferdinand. 

Whenever someone asked me what music I liked, I said, “Oh I like a little bit of everything”. In reality, I was sweating my balls off hoping they wouldn’t grill me about band names or band members. I dared not say “classical” for fear of being labeled as boring. I knew a couple kids who listened to classical music and they were endlessly made fun of. I didn’t want to be seen as “prep”. I just wanted to be me. People didn’t get film scores like I did, and they immediately assumed it was akin to “classical music”. It’s much more difficult to describe than just that. It was extremely alienating growing up with even the nerds thinking you are weird because of your music tastes (all the nerds in my time were listening to stuff like Coheed and Cambria). Soundtracks are difficult to classify, even film scores in general. You can’t really call film score or movie soundtracks a genre because they can encompass an infinite range of genres. John Williams is often cited as the most popular and legendary film composer, but he strictly does orchestra work. As much as I love John Williams, I’m not always in the mood to listen to Star Wars or Indiana Jones. There is so much more to listen to! There are the progressive rock undertones of Nobuo Uematsu’s scores to Final Fantasy video games. John Powell’s drum and bass tracks that were popular in early 2000′s action movies. The early 60′s jazz tunes to popular spy shows and films like James Bond, Peter Gunn, and Mission: Impossible. Danny Elfman’s creepy music for a darkened theater. A score could have a hip-hop/pop-ish beat for the movie’s opening titles but then have a track further down that sounds full-on metal (see Powell’s The Italian Job), and I equally loved both. So it was virtually impossible to try and explain what music I liked.  Simply put, once someone started singing, then I cringed and died a little on the inside. For the most part, at least. I shied away from talking about music with people because everyone reacted so violently and pompously about it. I will never forget reactions people had to me finding out about a piece of popular music I did like. I once listened to the Tomb Raider score and then the album. Usually a movie releases two CDs - the score (which features the instrumentals) and the album (which features popular music that was either featured in the movie or that the movie was inspired by). I asked someone if they heard of “Where’s Your Head At?” by Basement Jaxx. They looked at me with utter disgust, like I had just vomited everywhere on the floor, and said, “That song is sooooo old! That was like three years ago!” We were in middle school, mind you. I hated that people treated life as if they were 80 years old. Calm down. You were probably still hugging a binkie when this song came out. Or the time someone said I was living under a rock for not knowing who Mumford & Sons were.  Or being told “What the fuck is wrong with you?” when I didn’t know who Kings of Leon were. Or the looks I got when I didn’t know who Chester Bennington was and why everyone mourned him.

Music was (and might still be, I don’t know what the kids say these days) closely tied to your lot in life in school. People made sweeping judgments across the board about what kind of person you were based on what music you liked, and they said it to your face. One time at my old job someone asked me what music I liked. I was still in that phase of being deathly afraid to share the truth, so I said, “Classic rock.” He nodded his head and then said things like he knew the kind of person I was and that he liked classic rock too and that we should hang out sometime and I instantly regretted my little white lie like, “Oh God, why did I say that?” Everyone treats everything with an absolute certainty. I don’t fucking know, man! I think some classic rocks are great, and others I don’t care about. 

A long time ago, this one girl I met told new friends to make her a CD with songs that meant something to them or described their life. Something like that. I wanted to impress her. I was on the verge of admitting my total love for film scores, but then I panicked. “I don’t want her to think I’m a loser, or that I’m boring,” I thought. “But I should also show her the truth. But how much of the truth? Maybe just 50 percent. No, wait, 70 percent?” I overthought my choices and created what was probably the worst fucking playlist I ever made that ended up not being anywhere close to how I wanted to express myself. She never mentioned it after I handed it to her, and I dared never to bring it up.

The anxiety over sharing music tastes was that real for me.

Then somewhere down the line, I don’t really know when exactly, I stopped caring. In fact, the last time someone ever asked me what music I listened to, I told the truth. He said, “Oh nice! I listen to music soundtracks too.” 

I beamed. Really??? A fellow music soundtrack lover??? I said, “Oh cool! Which ones?”

“Hans Zimmer!”

Ugh.  UGH.

Okay. 

So. 

I have a thing about Hans Zimmer. When you tell me that your favorite film music composer is Hans Zimmer I instantly know you haven’t really listened to film music. 

I don’t hate the guy. He’s perfectly humble and nice. But I hate how he dominated the industry and everything nowadays has to sound like Inception with motifs that are like three or four notes long repeating over and over. And people call it profound. Hans Zimmer is basically the modern art of music. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, as Seinfeld would say, but...you know...Eh.

Later that day, I was pissing in the urinal and thought about that interaction and laughed my ass off.

I did the thing too! I judged someone based on their taste in music! I can never really be happy, can I? Anyway.  I’d like to rescind the previous CD I made for that girl years ago. It doesn’t really matter now, but after years of being afraid to share my tastes in music I feel like I should be free once and for all. Like any good movie soundtrack, there really should be two CDs - the album and the score. So I will follow that format. As I alluded to before, these music with vocals are the only popular songs I ever really liked in my whole life. I was still afraid to share them with people because I’d be afraid of judgmental responses like “Oh that’s SO overrated!” or “Oh so your an X kinda guy. I see.” But these songs with lyrics did speak to me, deep in what I believed in and what I felt. And the following pieces of music scores really tugged at me.

Eddie Francisco - The Album

The Fallen - Franz Ferdinand Then The Morning Comes - Smash Mouth Walkin’ on the Sun - Smash Mouth You Get What You Give - New Radicals 99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger Get It Right the First Time - Billy Joel Summer Wind - Frank Sinatra Beyond the Sea - Bobby Darin Wake Up - Rage Against the Machine Madder - Groove Armada You Could Have it So Much Better - Franz Ferdinand You Know My Name - Chris Cornell Live and Let Die - Paul McCartney and Wings Wake Up, Get Up, Get Out There - Lyn Inaizumi Uptown Funk - Mark Ronson ft. Bruno Mars Sinnerman - Nina Simone Scenes from an Italian Restaurant - Billy Joel The Boys of Summer - Don Henley With The Stars and Us (Hoshi to Bokura to) - Lyn Inaizumi

Eddie Francisco - The Score The Entertainer - Scott Joplin Lupin the Third - Yuji Ohno Main Title - Lalo Schifrin (Dirty Harry) Playing House - John Powell (Mr. and Mrs. Smith) Looking for “Job” - Danny Elfman (Mission: Impossible) Pudding Brains - Murray Gold (Doctor Who Series 8) William Tell Overture (Finale) - Gioachino Rossini  Hog Chase Pt. 1 and Pt. 2 - John Powell (Paycheck) Bull Run - John Powell (Knight and Day) On Her Majesty’s Secret Service - John Barry (On Her Majesty’s Secret Service) Back to Mi6 - Hans Zimmer (No Time to Die) Backseat Driver - David Arnold (Tomorrow Never Dies) Iced Inc. - David Arnold (Die Another Day) The New Plan - John Powell (The Italian Job) Tunnel Run - John Powell (The Italian Job) Bim Bam Smash - John Powell (The Bourne Supremacy) The James Bond Theme (End Titles) - David Arnold (The World is Not Enough) Epilogue - Justin Hurwitz (La La Land)  The End - Justin Hurwitz (La La Land) Mia and Sebastian’s Theme (Celesta) - Justin Hurwitz (La La Land)

#music #lyrics #songs #love #onlife #life #film #film music #danny elfman #john williams #john powell #soundtrack #movie soundtrack #la la land #james bond #david arnold #hans zimmer

[newxdiary]

May 25, 2022

--VET VISIT FAILURE AND OF COURSE, THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS—

The Cure, DISINTEGRATION. B52’s, WILD PLANET David Bowie, DIAMOND DOGS Echo  and The Bunnymen, OCEAN RAIN

Took Louie to the vet today. It was a disaster. His fear of the vet is so extreme that he pissed all over himself a couple of times. It was going all right, until they tried to draw blood for a blood test. Why the hell don’t they just let me accompany him in, for the blood draw is beyond me. It was decided that I would bring him back in a couple of days when he’s calm. He won’t be calm. Once he’s in the cat carrier, he’s stressed. I’m seriously thinking about taking him to someone else.

The idea of God is huge today, the day after a horrifying mass shooting at an elementary school. 19 children and 2 teachers were murdered by an 18-year-old man with an assault rifle. My cousin Gene is beyond consolable and he’s lashing out against religion. He wrote something about the addictiveness of prayer, comparing it to cocaine. I’ve tried prayer and cocaine. Only one of them was addictive.

Still, I marvel at the idea that someone could find prayer habit-forming. What is prayer? If I ask that question and I’m going to have to sort through a heavy load of knowledgeable, “know-it-all” answers. People will assume that I’ve asked the most obvious thing. But I think I’m asking about the thing beneath the thing that we think we know.

Here’s what I know about prayer, experientially so: I was taught to pray shortly after I was taught to speak and comprehend words. In fact, I would venture I learned to say prayers before I learned what the meaning of any words were. My first prayers were three prayers that I strung together into one long run on:

“InthenameofthefatherthesonandtheholyspirtNowIlaymedowntosleepIpraythelordmysoultokeepifIshoulddiebeforeIwakeIpraythelordmysoultotakeOurfatherwhoartinheavenhallowedbethynamethykingdomcomethywillbedoneonearthasitisinheavenandgiveusthisdayourdailybreadandforgiveusourtrespassesasweforgivethosewhotrespassagainstusandleadusnotintotempationbutdeliverusfromeveryevilnowandatthehourofourdeathamenHailmaryfullofgracethelordiswiththeeblessedarethouamongwomanandblessedarethefruitofthywombjesusholymarymotherofgodprayforursinnersnowandattheourofourdeathamenGodblessuseveryooneofusgrandmaandgrandbaandmakebetterunclebillandauntdeanneandauntpeggyandgrandmaamen.”

The last part I was praying, long after most of them had died. Some of them were gone before I ever realized what I was praying. So what was the other prayer? Oh yeah, the meal prayer; said at home, never when out. We didn’t need god to bless the food cooked by professionals in restaurants, just the stuff my mother made. This prayer went this way: “InthenameofthefatherthesonandtheholyspiritBlessusolordfortheseIgiftswhichweareabouttoreceivefromtheybountythroughchristourlordamen.”

Later, we learned to make up prayers that are tailored to the situations we are experiencing. Like the other more formal and quickly recited prayers, we never knew if these prayers ever helped out.  Of course, it’s fashionable to shit on praying but I think we’re praying when we aren’t trying to. The idea that a prayer is a direct missive to God, asking for something, is a shrug worthy event, but every song I sing, where I stick on the profundity of the lyrics is in someway a prayer. It doesn’t necessarily beg the unseen forces for something to happen, but it brings meaning to a moment. Sometimes I think declared devotion, sacrilege or faithlessness isn’t the point, but what we believe subconsciously. The little blessings of biding one’s time with thought, imagination and wonder is the real religion. Is there some great sentient power out there? I don’t think the question of it matters more than the getting by does.

I see people behave with the worst characteristics of religion, even when they don’t profess to have one: dogmas, fundamentalism, excommunication. Religion without charity, love, acceptance, benevolence or hope. Just judgement, hatred, and narrow-mindedness. When you’re too religious you become a bigot, even when you’re officially without a religion.

Beyond all that I hate the phrase “Thoughts and prayers.” Thoughts and Prayers mean, “I heard about it, I think it’s shocking but it didn’t happen to me, so I don’t really care, but I don’t want to say, I don’t care, so I’ll just say Thoughts and Prayers.”

#diary of the the New Mr. X #diaries #ambitious projects. #people who live and work at night #cab drivers #diary #thoughts and prayers

[lonely-dog-song]

what a way to end an episode (affectionate)

#lonely dog speaks #iaie lb #i think the idea that david was experiencing all of this with someone else made it so much scarier #because now he has something to lose... #not to make the situation one-sided but since david is the narrator it rly is one-sided...? at least IN the setting of eskew #ok the ending about hope & for him to really hammer it in with talking about. uh #maybe this experience is real and will continue or maybe it will end as one of eskew's tricks. well i'll leave you with a sense of hope #and i'm like damn i guess i WILL sit here feeling hopeful that it isnt a trick & that david can have more happy experiences. u rly got me

[duckprintspress]

Advice for Writing Trans Male Characters

Hi everyone, and welcome to our second guest post! We approached a trans man, and fellow writer, to put together a list of suggestions for cis people who want to write trans male characters! He has chosen to remain anonymous. Always remember, there is no one trans experience, and no one trans person’s knowledge will reflect the range of ways that trans people live. Our post author writes from his perspective, based on his knowledge and research, and much of this is relatively specific to the modern United States. Always use multiple sources when writing a character with an identity or identities that you don’t share!

*

So, you want to write a trans male character but you're not a trans man yourself. Good! We need more trans male characters out there in the world. There are a few things to consider, however. This is not a perfect list (I would never claim to be perfect), but here are some thoughts from a trans man about writing people like me.

Trans men are men. They talk like men, think like men, and walk like men, except where socialization as women has forced otherwise. By this I mean that descriptions should not include things like “he walked delicately, like a woman”. However he walks, it's like a man, because he’s a man. Other characters should not note that he “thinks like a woman” or that he “acts like a woman.” If you talk about a trans man transitioning and you mention that he is working on ways to masculinize his speech patterns or walking, that's fine, but make sure it's done from his perspective, e.g. “Michael tried to lower his voice, attempting to sound more like his father.” Do not use “Michael tried to lower his voice, not wanting to sound like a woman.” It's his voice and he sounds like a man. Also, many woman have deeper registers and many men have higher registers, and there's honestly not that much difference between a woman who speaks in a low alto and a man who speaks in a high tenor. Avoid gendering voices, mannerisms, and other things. A good rule of thumb is that if it's a concept, idea, or an inanimate or non-sentient thing, it is physically and/or emotionally incapable of having a gender and you should not assign one to it.

1. A trans man who has decided that all he needs to do is come out to be a man is still a man, with a man's body and male genitals, because he says he's a man. Even if he is not out, he is a man. He can be uncomfortable with his body, or with how others perceive his body, but it should not be described in terms of “womanly” aspects.

EX: David's breasts made him uncomfortable, reminding him that others looked at him differently than how he would have liked.

2. 72% of trans men do not ever want full gender reassignment surgery, and this doesn’t make them “less of a man.” The surgeries are expensive, invasive, and don’t always result in a fully functional genital apparatus. Also, there are a lot of them. A trans man, to have a full semi-working penis (one that will not be useful for sex but will at least be useful for urination), is looking at at least three surgeries: to remove the labia, to 'bulk up' the clitoris, and to move the urethra. There are also surgeries to remove the cervix and/or the uterus, to create a scrotum, and to add a pump inside the scrotum attached to a surgical implant in the penis to assist with arousal. Even if a man has all these surgeries, the penis he gets loses most of its sensitivity and won’t become physically aroused (as in, achieve erection) without medical intervention. He may also need electrolysis to remove pubic hair. Ultimately, many trans men opt not to deal with it. Many still want top surgery, or a hysterectomy, or both, and often testosterone is used to help deepen their voice and change their body shape (but, again, gendering a trans man's voice by suggesting it's “feminine” because he's not on testosterone or because his voice hasn't dropped yet is not a great idea). It depends on the type and amount of dysphoria a person experiences, versus their financial and mental ability to deal with the different choices. Some trans men are happy with no hormones and only top surgery. Others want or need everything. There is no “correct” way to be trans.

3. Unless your story revolves around their transition (which, as a cis person, maybe it's best you don't do, honestly), there’s no reason to go into detail about your trans male character's surgeries. If it’s not plot relevant, it's probably not necessary.

4. If you’re writing porn, make sure to always use male pronouns for him, even if he has chosen not to go through surgery. If he has gone through surgery, what he has will be indistinguishable from a cis male penis except that he may need viagra or a surgical pump.

5. Reactions to testosterone are different for every trans man. Some men never have their voices drop, never grow a beard, and/or never bulk up and get all muscle-y. Some men are on testosterone for two weeks and have a Gandalf beard with a voice low enough to sing bass. It just depends, mostly on genetics. If your character's father is a super hairy mountain man who sings bass in his lumberjack quartet, then your character is more likely to end up similar. If your character's father is basically an elf, then he's likely to be similar to that. Also, for a number of reasons, a trans man may choose not to or may be incapable of taking testosterone. Most doctors won’t prescribe it if the man wants to carry his own children in the future, for example.

6. Keep in mind that the order in which testosterone produces effects on a man’s body isn’t predictable, so don't worry too hard about 'getting it right.' Even trans men can't predict what they'll look like after being on testosterone for a while.

7. Also, a note: If your character is transmasculine and nonbinary, and taking testosterone, it's likely they will be on a lower dose than a trans man. That's not always true, but testosterone can be given at a few different doses, depending on how drastic a change a person wants and how quickly they want that change to occur. There’s still no guarantee: a trans man may never be able to grow a beard on a full dose, while a transmasculine nonbinary person might be on a very low dose and have a beard within the first month. But, generally, lower doses are meant to bring out smaller changes over a longer period of time, while higher doses are meant to bring out larger changes over a shorter period of time.

8. A non-fluid trans man is going to consider himself a man at all times, and always use he/him pronouns for himself, whether or not everyone else does. If you're writing a trans man point-of-view piece where he's not out or where he's not fully accepted, make sure he or the narrator always uses the right pronouns when others don't. That helps remind your audience that he's not the person other people think he is.

EX: Daniel was frustrated. His grandmother insisted on calling him “Sarah” no matter how many times he corrected her.

9. Menstruation is a difficult topic for a lot of trans men. Some men lose their ability to menstruate when they take testosterone, while others continue to menstruate. If they retain their uterus, however, the possibility of a menstrual cycle is always there. If/when menstruation happens for a trans man, it's often a time of major dysphoria. A trans man may have a lot of issues surrounding menstruation. Having a cervix also means yearly Pap smears, which can also be uncomfortable or dysphoria-inducing. Dysphoria can also happen during ovulation, when a person is most fertile. The body during this time is “getting ready for a baby” and the changes can be very triggering.

10. Testosterone may stop menstruation, but it doesn't necessarily stop pregnancy. Also, some trans men will go off their testosterone in order to carry their own child. During their pregnancy, it is important that they are still referred to as men. A trans man will generally prefer to be called “father” even if he carried the child, but some may prefer the term “mother.” If a cis person wishes to write a pregnant trans character, it would be better to err on the side of caution and use “father.” A trans man who has gone through top surgery will not likely be able to nurse his own children, but a man who has chosen to use a binder instead will be able to (probably - some people don’t/can’t lactate for other reasons). Whether or not he chooses to will be up to him.

11. Gender Dysphoria is the medical diagnosis given to trans people who want to do any form of medical transitioning. Being transgender is not in and of itself a diagnosis. A person can be transgender and choose never to transition medically. Dysphoria is generally most clearly understood as a form of discomfort in the body you possess. Sometimes a person experiencing dysphoria is uncomfortable with their body no matter what. He doesn't like his breasts, for example, unless they are bound, no matter what his setting is, who is looking at him, etc. His dysphoria takes the form of nausea at the mere sight of them. Alternatively, some people only experience dysphoria relating to how others see them. For example, a man may not mind his breasts when he's alone, and he doesn't usually bind, but on a specific day while he wasn't binding someone glance at his breasts before calling him 'ma'am' and now he can't uncross his arms in case someone else looks his way. For some people dysphoria comes and goes, and they have good days and bad days. Also, images can be dysphoria-inducing. For example, seeing a pregnant person might remind a man that he has a uterus, and make him extremely uncomfortable all day. Other people may go several days, or weeks or months, without experiencing dysphoria, but when it hits it affects them for a long time or very severely. Or a person might experience dysphoria every day, as kind of a low-level mental fog they can't shake.

12. Gender Euphoria is as valid as Gender Dysphoria. Gender Euphoria is the idea that a person might be content in the body given to them, but will never be truly happy unless they make a change. These people can live their whole lives as the gender assigned to them at birth without severe mental issues or physical problems, but it's like living a life without color. They can do it, but if there's a way to get color back, why wouldn't they?

13. Changing names is complicated and takes time. It also differs in every state/country, and may need to be re-done when a trans man moves. In some states, all they need to change their name legally is a court order. In other areas, a trans man needs to have lived using their new name for a period of time, or have doctor’s notes and authorizations. Once the character has changed their name legally through the courts, they need to change their driver's license, banking information, insurance, work papers, social security information, passport, birth certificate, and any other documentation bearing their name. It can take anywhere from a month to a year or more, and is expensive, sometimes prohibitively so. It's okay to have a trans male character who goes by “Mark” but whose parents or grandparents refer to as “Melissa.” The important thing is to make sure narratively you are confirming that those people are wrong.

EX: “Melissa! It's nice to see you come to visit!” Mark's mom said. Mark cringed, hating the sound of his deadname, but he hadn't yet been able to convince his mother to use the right one.

14. Do not portray a character binding for more than eight hours or with unsafe binders in a positive light. Just don’t. Binding, even with professional/high-end binders, is not safe. It's a stopgap - safer than not binding at all for some people whose dysphoria is really bad. It constricts the lungs and can break ribs if not done properly. It can permanently alter a person's chest cage if done for an extensive period of time. It's a necessary evil for people who are waiting to get their surgery done, in order to keep them alive to have that surgery. It's not a permanent cure-all. Binding also can cause dysphoria. A person who doesn't have dysphoria surrounding his chest can develop it after wearing a binder. So, have your character bind safely, or discuss the issues surrounding unsafe binding. (And yes, this applies even in a fantasy setting or world where the technology may be different. A story is a story, but the impact it could have on a real trans man is potentially dangerous, so write with consideration, and if you do introduce a magical or technological solution to this, maintain awareness of the reality.)

15. Transitioning without an in-person support group is one of the most common factors in transitioning regret. Give your character someone to go to the doctor with them, someone to hold their hand when they get scared, someone to talk them through moments when they're unsure. No one who goes under the knife is always completely 100% sure all the time. They need a community. Surgery and hormones are scary, even if a trans man knows he wants them, and trying to go it alone can spell disaster.

16. Given that a trans man will consider himself a man, it can be challenging to make it clear to a reader that he’s trans. If he's the main/POV character, you can write him dealing with some dysphoria. For example, if you decide your character binds, mention that his breasts are bothering him particularly badly one day. Have him adjust his binder. Describe putting a binder on. That kind of thing. If he's a minor character, it can be more challenging, but you can still have him do things like adjust a binder. You could also mention surgical scars, if a character takes off their shirt. Another thing you can do is just have the main character remember a time “before Mark went by Mark” (for example). Another way is to have the character mention some way in which they are fighting for trans rights, and acknowledge that the issue is personal to them. Try not to use the deadname unless he’s facing an actual microaggression by another character. The narrative or narrator character should never deadname the character.

17. FTM is not an accepted term anymore, as it implies that a person was one thing and changed. Generally speaking, if a trans man is not genderfluid, then he was never female or a woman. Likewise, the phrase “born in the wrong body” is not acceptable for use by cis people. The only real use it has is to explain dysphoria by transgender characters to cisgender characters who aren't inclined to listen or try to understand. The accepted term is AFAB, or Assigned Female At Birth. Keep in mind that terms and labels change with time, so do your research. For example, if you’re writing a historical piece, different terms may be more appropriate, and if you’re writing a modern current-day piece, understand that in ten or twenty years the terminology you use will likely have grown outdated.

18. The proper way to write the term is always “trans man” and never “transman”. Trans is an adjective describing a type of man, just like you might say an Asian man or a muscled man or a gay man. This comes back to the idea that a trans man is always a man, first and foremost.

19. An easy pitfall to avoid if your trans male character's setting is modern or modernesque is: Don't make the story all about their oppression. We are aware of the many ways in which the modern world is trying to oppress and harm the trans community, but trans men can still be happy and interesting people. They can have dysphoria without being depressed. They aren’t necessarily the “down in the dumps” character. Also, trans men have a long history of being activists, and are often erased in history, so don't be afraid to make your trans men an out-and-loud activist. Yes, terrible things have happened and continue to happen to trans men, and any trans man who has done any research into trans history will know about individuals like Brandon Teena. Trans men know the dangers they face. Knowing that bad things can and are happening doesn't mean a trans man can't find his own joy in life, despite things not being perfect.

20. Keep in mind when writing in historical settings that trans men have existed for as long as people have existed. Many trans men were able to go through life completely “undetected” until they died and those around them conducted culturally-common burial practices. It’s not unreasonable to have a trans man in Regency England, Yuan China, or Roman times. If you're writing about non-European-centric history, many cultures acknowledged those who didn’t present the way their AGAB (assigned gender at birth) would suggest, and do your research. Also, keep intersectionality in mind, and tread especially carefully when writing a trans man from a culture and period other than your own. This post is mostly applicable to trans men in the modern era, and especially in the United States. The trans male experience will be different in other places in the world, for people of different ages and of different religions and ethnicities and races, so the more traits your trans man has that are outside your own experience as a cis writer, the more you should consider if it’s wise for you write the story you have in mind, or if it might not be better to allow in-group members to tell those stories. And never forget - trans men can and are all things - all races, all religions, abled and disabled, etc. People have nuanced identities and multiple identifiers and trans is always only one of many.

21. In fantastical or science fiction settings, please always ask yourself if oppression of trans people or bigotry against them is even needed. Maybe a society doesn't assign gender at birth, but waits until a child is old enough to tell the society where they belong. Maybe a society reveres those who are under the transgender umbrella. Maybe children are considered genderless until they reach puberty. You have a million and one options; why limit yourself to what modern predominantly Western white Christian society says? If you do make a society that doesn't look anything like the modern world, for example they assign gender at age five, think about how that would affect society as a whole. What kind of pronouns would be used for children under five? Are young children genderless, or are they seen as genderfluid? What about people who age past five and are still genderless or genderfluid? What are the naming conventions for children?

22. There are mixed feelings regarding how a science fiction or fantasy setting should treat transitioning. Should it be an easy fix, with magic or advance science doing it instantly or nearly so? Or should it be difficult, reflecting the modern situation where the process often years before a person can feel “finished?” That's up to you. Trans people themselves are split on this, so there’s no pleasing everyone. Do your best, and whichever way you choose, make sure to tag it accurately or, for original fiction, be clear up front what approaches you’ve chosen, so people can choose not to read something that may make them uncomfortable at best or trigger them and profoundly harm them at worst.

Ultimately, your trans man is your character and you can do with him as you wish. Write responsibly, and do your research, and if you can, get a sensitivity reader or a beta who is a trans man.

So, go, diversify those stories, write the things, and present good representation! Happy writing!

#duck prints press #original content #writing advice #guest blogger #trans characters #trans men

[brawltogethernow]

@mirrorfalls​ submitted: Came across this while searching for James Bond’s scrambled-eggs recipe (long story). Your thoughts?

~~

But did you find James Bond’s scrambled eggs recipe?

In this article, Scocca laments his inability to find accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable to read with his young son, while also demonstrating a mysterious aversion to looking at DC and Marvel’s lines of comics for children, which is where the accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable for reading with young children are. He wants his elementary schooler to be able to safely have the run of all superhero media so he doesn’t have to touch the yucky baby books.

This is not an industry-wide crisis. This is just one dude who got paid to write an article where he accidentally exposed one of his personal hangups.

The child headed toward the trade paperbacks of Marvel and D.C. superhero titles on the side wall […] a few steps in front of me. […] Is he with you? a clerk asked me. I said he was. You know, the clerk said, we have a kids’ section. The clerk gestured backward, at a few shelves near the entrance. I said, Thanks, we know and tried throwing in a little shrug, as the kid kept going.

You can’t just turn a seven-year-old child loose in a comic-book store to look at the superhero comic books. […] My seven-year-old really wanted to see that last Avengers movie […] that is, he wished it were a movie he could see, but he understood that it was, instead, a movie designed to scare and sadden him—a movie actively hostile to people like him.

They have a children’s section. Because comics are a medium suitable for stories for everybody, and they are sold in comic book shops, which have sections, like bookstores. You can use this organization to find books that you know in advance are suitable for children. What goes in that category is determined by industry professionals. This area will be bigger the bigger the shop is. These comics are not lower quality that titles from the main lines. They are actually slightly better-written on average.

Your local comic book shop has considerately wrapped Empowered in a plastic bag, so your child will not be drawn in by a colorful superhero and accidentally read a graphic scene. If you think your kid might find a memoir about internment camps upsetting, it is your job to notice them picking up They Called Us Enemy and read the blurb on the back before you let them have it. This comic adults are meant to read is in a comic book shop because that is where comics are sold. Not every public place is supposed to be Disneyland.

Movies have ratings systems. If you do not want your child to watch a PG-13 movie, you will find that most superhero cartoons are for children. They are about the same characters. Some are quite good! I really enjoyed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Your child may like Avengers Assemble. At least I think that’s right. I’m always mixing those titles around.

This is a deeply weird bias for Scocca to casually demonstrate, because he identifies in the article that real childishness is striving for empty maturity.

He compares an old comic,

[…]a 1966 Spider-Man comic in which Spider-Man meets, fights, and defeats the Rhino; participates in a running argument between John Jameson and J. Jonah Jameson about his heroism; buys a motorcycle; breaks up with his first girlfriend, Betty Brant; flirts with Gwen Stacy; and reluctantly agrees to let Aunt May take him to meet her friend Mrs. Watson’s niece, Mary Jane.

and a new comic,

[…]a 21st century comic book in which Thor, brooding in a Katrina-destroyed New Orleans, beats up Iron Man. He also yells at Iron Man a lot about some incomprehensibly convoluted set of grievances, including involuntary cloning, that he believes Iron Man perpetrated against him while he was dead(?), and then summons some other Norse god from the beyond somehow for reasons having something to do with real estate. I think. Where the 1966 comic is zippy and fun and complete, the whole contemporary one is muddled and lugubrious and seems to constitute a tiny piece of a seemingly endless plot arc—simultaneously apocalyptic and inert.

and concludes that the edgier comic is actually less mature. This is true. (This is not news about mediocre comics.)

It also has nothing to do with either comic being child-friendly, the article’s nominal thesis, except in the sense that ASM #41 (yes, I eyeballed that from that summary, yes I am just showing off now) is better written, making it more everyone-friendly. It also has practically more space dedicated to word balloons than art and is about a college student juggling girl problems and a part-time job with a tyrannical boss. But the immature one, as Scocca points out, is dour.

These are both teenagery issues, separated only by quality. It’s true that lots of new comics published by the big 2 are bad in the specific way Scocca describes here, taking themselves too seriously and hauled down by associated stories instead of buoyed by them. Some are not! Some titles from these companies’ main continuities are zippy, contained, and child friendly. Give your child The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl! Or if you like vintage comics so much better, why don’t you…buy some?

The books on the kid’s rack are good and fun and totally suitable for parents to read with their children without wanting to scoop their eyeballs out. Scocca cites the Batman ‘66 comics as the brightly colored, tightly written all ages solution to his problem about sharing superhero stories with his son. My local comic shop stores this title in the kid’s section. I am glad that Scocca’s does not, as he seems to have a peculiar aversion to looking for comics to read with his son there.

Scocca cites Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as a superhero movie he could watch with his kids. (I was surprised when this line made it sound like he has several. I don’t want to assume the other one isn’t in this article because they’re a girl, but I very much am assuming that.) Great! Go to the kid’s section and look for Marvel Adventures: Spider-Man. It’s a fun, zippy title directly inspired by ITSV where Miles, Gwen, and Peter superhero together. It’s much more tightly written than most of the various Spider-Verse comics, which are ambitiously messy ubercrossovers. You may not want to give those to children because they include murder and so on, but also you just have the choice between the two as an adult reader deciding how much continuity you want to deal with. Adventures is one of the only titles I would buy on sight before corona. The kid comic rack is a reliable place to take a break from How Comics Get Sometimes regardless of how old you are.

This article makes me feel quarrelsome. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like exploration of a single idea so much as a loosely grouped bundle of things to kvetch about. Maybe it’s that the experience of getting into superheroes that Scocca describes experiencing, projects his seven-year-old son will experience, and from which he extrapolates a metaphorical microcosm of the history of the genre is completely alien to me.

Comic books [and] comic-book movies—are […] trapped in their imagined audience’s own awful passage from childhood to adolescence. A seven-year-old has a clean […] appreciation of superheroes. They like hero comics because the comics have heroes: bold, strong, vividly colored good guys to fight off the bad guys and make the world safe.

But seven-year-olds stop being seven. […] They become 13-year-olds, defensively trying to learn how to develop tastes about tastes.

The 13-year-old wants many things from comics, but the overarching one is that they want to prove that they’re not some seven-year-old baby anymore. They want gloomy heroes, miserable heroes, heroes who would make a seven-year-old feel bad. (Also boobs. They want boobs.)

Not because of the boobs line, although that does illicit an eyeroll that this gloomy thinkpiece is fretting over preserving the superhero experience of little boys who resemble the little boy the writer was while casually dismissing everyone else. I was one of those unlikable little seven-year-olds with a college reading level and the impression that maintaining it was the crux of my worth. I only read Books - distinguished media you could club someone with. I have a formative memory of pausing, enraptured, in front of a poster for Spider-Man 3, preparing to say that it looked pretty cool, and being beaten to the punch by my mother making a disparaging comment about how the movie was trash. It wasn’t out yet, but it was a superhero movie. That meant it was for loud, brainless children.

That was the total of my childhood experience with superheroes, excluding being the unwilling audience to incessant renditions of “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” that left me wondering why in god’s name Batman’s sidekick was named Robin. I certainly never visited a comic book shop. I got into TvTropes, which got me into webcomics, which got me following David Willis, who got me into Ask Chris at ComicsAlliance, which led to me rewarding myself for studying like a demon for the AP tests with three volumes of Waid’s Daredevil, pitched as a return to the character being colorful and swashbuckling. I was seven…teen.

This is of the same thread as Scocca’s point that immaturity is running from childish things. It leaves me baffled that he doesn’t follow that maturity is embracing them.

I will disclose here that while I think it was dumb I had to overcome my upbringing’s deeply embedded shame associated with enjoying arbitrarily defined lowbrow media and children being childish, I think it’s fine that I was allowed largely unchecked access to technically age-inappropriate content. In my limited experience, content small children are too young for is also content they’re too young to understand, so it kind of just bounces off of them, and what actually ends up terrorizing them is unpredictable collages of impressions that strike out at them from content deemed perfectly child-friendly. I would not forbid a seven-year-old I was in charge of from seeing an MCU movie unless I had a reason to believe that specific child would not take it well. These are emotionally low-stakes bubblegum films. It will probably be easier to socialize with other kids if they have seen them.

But then, when I picture being in charge of a hypothetical child, I usually imagine this being the case because they are related to me, and the pupal stage in my family strongly resembles Wednesday Addams. ALL children love death and violence, though, right?? This isn’t a joke point. I know it looks like a joke point.

The MCU thing seems especially weird in light of the article’s particular focus on Spider-Man, which is the kiddie line of the MCU, even if they refused to waver from their usual formula enough to get a lower rating. Though I am more inclined to describe it as “preying on the young” than “child-friendly”.

(MCU movies are increasingly dubious propaganda, but I would not judge them in front of a child who wanted to watch them for that reason, just in case this led to them partaking of them without me the second they were old enough to and then they grew up to run a blog about them while our relationship suffered because they didn’t feel like it was safe to talk to me about their interests…Mom.)

I tried to overcome the philosophy of letting anyone read anything while compiling this handful of mostly-newish superhero recs for the road that anyone can read. (Handily, I have been in spitting distance of being hired as a comic shop clerk enough to have thought about it before):

For actual children:

Marvel Adventures Spider-Man (the new one is reminiscent of ITSV, the old one is more like 616) any DC/Archie crossover, Archie’s Superteens The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl (for bookish children who think they’re too good for comics and adults afraid of the kid’s section) Teen Titans Go (even if you hate the show) Superman Smashes the Klan

For teens:

Ms. Marvel Young Avengers (volume 2) Unbelievable Gwenpool Batman: Gotham Adventures Teen Titans Go (the tie-in comic based off the old show was also called this)

Here are a bunch of relevant C. S. Lewis quotes.

#me every time i read a comic book article by a rag not exclusively about comic books: i know more than you. #marvel #spidey #DCU #MCU critical #mirrorfalls #asks answered #submission #unearthed this and bashed it out in one sitting ... i have not been working on it since you sent it last year XD

[spencersawkward]

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

#matthew gray gubler #mgg smut #mgg oneshot #mgg x reader

[becomingbuffypodcast]

"I think it was season three of Buffy; it was during the homecoming episode, and I have to do this spatula thing, where I’m swatting the air with my spatula and Buffy is looking at me like, God help me—and I remember just going to Joss and David and saying, “I’m so tired of being the damsel in distress, the stupid one, the idiot.” Like that’s such a good idea! I had all these ideas about Cordelia, like why does she have to be such a slut and making out all the time and I don’t like that; I don’t like this image. I probably said only those two things in the entirety of the series, and I remember being shut down so succinctly. Joss said to me, “But that’s why America loves you.” I was like, “OK, I’ll just keep doing that then.” Honestly, I never felt that fan love for the first three seasons of Buffy. I would go everywhere, and people knew I was on the show, but people would never come up to me. I guess I was a very convincing bitch…it’s a beloved character, and I’m grateful that she’s finally beloved. It took a while for people to warm up to her.” -Charisma Carpenter (From the book: Slayers and Vampires)

This quote is even more heartbreaking given the context of abuse that Charisma was experiencing behind the scenes of both “Buffy,” and “Angel.” While Cordelia is a fantastic and layered character, her time on “Buffy” is full of misplaced potential, and it often feels as though the writers aren’t sure what to do with her. Cordelia was originally created to be a foil to Buffy as her shadow self. The vapid, selfish, attention-seeking side of Buffy that we briefly saw in “Becoming,” was to be mirrored in Cordelia, and through her, we were to catch a glimpse of who Buffy would be as a normal girl. She was to be the stereotypical popular, mean girl, with no other defining characteristic other than to contrast Buffy. Instead, thanks to phenomenal writing and Charisma’s performance, Cordelia took on a life of her own and became someone separate from Buffy, and “Homecoming” is the fruition of this.

Buffy releases her guilt from desiring a normal life, recognizing it doesn’t mean she’s abandoned her calling, while Cordelia acknowledges the burden of Buffy’s responsibility and expresses her own desire for a life that is meaningful. The moment that she stands up against Lyle, and asserts her identity apart from Buffy’s, signals the exact moment that Cordelia steps out from the role of Buffy’s shadow self. With Buffy fully embracing both halves of herself, the show and Cordelia are ready to see who exactly, she is.

Joss and the writers may have created Cordelia, but Charisma Carpenter breathed life into the character and made her beloved. In anyone else’s hands, Cordy could have easily stayed the 90’s cliché that she was written to be, however this episode is a testament of Charisma’s hard work, talent, and dedication.

Listen to us on Spotify, apple podcast, or wherever podcasts are streamed.

TikTok, and Instagram: becomingbuffypodcast

Email: [email protected]

#buffy btvs #buffy watching #tv: btvs #buffy summers #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs meta #tv podcast #becomingbuffypodcast #buffyverse #cordelia chase #charisma carpenter #homecoming

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the 14 fics I read and enjoyed this month. As always, all the love for all the amazing authors in this fandom! ♥

In The Still Of The Night | jacaranda_bloom | Dirty Dancing AU - a/b/o - prejudice - gender stereotyping - class divide - angst - pining - smut - 69k In a society where omegas are expected to follow a predetermined path, Louis strives for more; for his voice to be heard, for recognition, for true love. In a world where your past defines your future, Harry fights against the system; for equality, for a different life, for acceptance. When their two worlds collide, will they be beaten down by conformity or will they rise up and forge a new path together? OR the Dirty Dancing AU where Louis is a feisty omega who wants to change the world, Harry is an alpha from the wrong side of the tracks, and nobody puts Louis in a corner.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody | 28sunflowers | enemies to friends to lovers - miscommunication - misunderstandings - emotional hurt/comfort - Original Character Death - grief/mourning - slow build - smut - 58k After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of. Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening. But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

take my hand, wreck my plans | amomentoflove | Cinderella AU - a/b/o - royalty - Minor Character Death - emotional abuse - magic - 38k Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him. “Mr. H,” he whispers. The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.” “Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.” “Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…” “Dance?” Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.” Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.” Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

One More Taste of Your Lips | Canadianlarrie & MsHydeStylinson | canon compliant - reunion tour - angst - internalized homophobia/biphobia - cheating - smut - Coming Out - 80k It had been eight years since the hiatus began, and Louis had spent that time writing and recording music, touring and making it safely through the pandemic. When the opportunity arose to go back on tour with One Direction, Louis knew he'd be a fool not to take it. Sure, life on the road would be different after all this time apart, but he was looking forward to experiencing that comradery again. What he hadn't realised was that living the better part of nine months in each other's pockets was bound to dredge up issues from his past. And when one of the pockets belonged to Harry, who he'd had a rather unconventional friendship with that drifted apart during their last tour, life on the road again would upend both their lives in irrevocable ways. * Harry wasn’t that sixteen year old boy anymore. Nor was he the young man in his late teens who was on the cusp of conquering the entire world. But some traits seemed to remain the same; his vibrant green eyes, the dimples set deeply in his cheeks whenever he laughed earnestly, or his curls that were the same shade of cocoa that Louis remembered fondly. And yet, Louis had absolutely no idea who this man that stood a mere twenty paces away was today.

Old Photographs & Times I'll Remember | jaerie | time travel - Eroda - period-typical homophobia - anxiety - depression - discussion about suicide - self-discovery - post-break up - 54k Carefully he set that negative down and lifted the paper to see there was another beneath. This one again was a young man, this time posed against an antique car. He lifted a few more negatives out one by one, each a portrait of the same man with various backdrops. The man in a meadow, in an office, leaning against a doorframe — even one in his underwear grinning at the camera. On the edge of each negative printed in slanted, handwritten characters were the initials and date. H.S. 1924. He quickly but carefully packed them back into the box and buzzed with excitement. He couldn’t wait to develop them to see exactly what had been captured in the images. It was a find that felt like a puzzle to piece together. H.S. was likely the man in the photographs as well as the owner of the suitcase. Who was he? Why had his suitcase found its way into Niall’s attic? Was he still alive and well somewhere in the world? A camera, a suitcase, and a relationship forged through time.

Know a Trick or Two | SadaVeniren | Harry Potter setting - mpreg - magic - kid fic - - genderfluid character - smut - intersex - 44k The night before Louis is scheduled for a Portkey to begin training with the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria he heads into Muggle London for one last night of fun. A few months later he finds out he’s having a child. Eleven years ago Harry had a one night stand and now there’s a strange man on his doorstep telling him his daughter is something called a wizard and she’s got a place at the British wizarding school Hogwarts. Aka the one where Muggle Harry and Wizard Louis have a one night stand and get more than they bargained out of it.

come away with me | suspendrs | Minor Character Death - friends to lovers - sexuality crisis - emotional hurt/comfort - anxiety - smut - 80k Louis had such big plans. He wanted so much out of life, and so did Amy. Now Bridget is going to grow up without a mother, and she’s always going to wonder what it would be like if this hadn’t happened. He wonders if she’ll blame him for her mother’s death as she gets older, or if she’ll understand that this is just as painful for Louis as it is for her. Louis doesn’t know how he’s going to raise her on his own, because he’s a fantastic father, yes, but he’s always been the fun parent, and Amy was in charge of the rules. He doesn’t know how to make sure Bridget has everything she needs all the time, doesn’t know how to make her favorite meal or how to do that one braid she loves to have in her hair or how to teach her to be the best person she can be. He doesn’t know how to live without Amy, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Or, Louis has to pick up the pieces of his and his daughter's life after his wife dies, and Harry is a beautiful stranger that just wants to help.

we made our promises (we said our vows) | millsx | Military AU - established relationship - kid fic - angst - hurt/comfort - mentions of PTSD - mentions of depressions - mentions of anxiety - injury - long-distance relationship - 21k Fairy tales always end with the Happily Ever After; the princess escapes her evil stepmother and gets married to the knight in shining armor. It turns out real life doesn’t care about Happily Ever Afters and sometimes problems appear when you don’t expect them to. Harry sure didn’t, not after years of being married.

Love, Ever After | jacaranda_bloom | a/b/o - farmers markets - soulmates - pining - miscommunication - fluff - banter - smut - 21k One would assume that the charismatic omega in charge of the local matchmaking service would have found a mate and settled down ages ago. His clients, in fact, are always a bit surprised when they come to learn that Louis is still single. But Louis doesn’t mind, not really. His standards are just high; he is happy holding out for his alpha, his soulmate, and chooses to not waste his time with anyone else, despite what his friends might think. That is, until his best mate from uni drags him out of bed far too early on a Saturday morning after a night of drinking to go to a farmers market, of all places. It’s there that he proceeds to make an utter fool of himself in front of the hottest alpha he has ever laid eyes on. There’s truly no coming back from that, is there? OR The one where omega Louis makes love matches, alpha Harry makes cheese, and meddling friends might finally make their dreams of finding their soulmate come true.

Hometown | allwaswell16 | High School - College/university - driving - heartbreak - memories - friendship - happy ending - angst - 2k On the day Harry gets his driver’s licence, he drives through the suburbs, heartbroken that he can’t drive home to Louis.

fever dream high | wildestdreams | friends to lovers - childhood friends - a/b/o - fluff - angst - smut - mutual pining - High School - 30k "Excuse me, what?" Harry licked his lips, carefully looking him in the eyes. "I will spend your heat with you so you're ready by Monday to play your game." "Harry," Louis began, suddenly at a loss for words. "I couldn't ask you to do that." "Why not? You just said you trust me." "You're my best friend. There's no one I trust more than you." "Then what's the problem?" "Well, friends don't usually help you through your heats or ruts, so excuse me for being a little skeptical." or A High School ABO AU where Harry and Louis are best friends and nothing more until things start getting a little complicated and they're faced with feelings they never wanted to confront.

We are the same, you run in my veins | 28sunflowers | a/b/o - non-traditional a/b/o- soulmates - wolves -pack dynamics - 4k When the time for Louis to become the Alpha leader of his pack comes, he can’t rise to the occasion for not being yet bonded. A series of trips to neighbouring packs in search of his soulmate is fruitless until he meets one of the other packs’ Alpha heir. Harry. The world seems to stop turning for a second and then it shifts, clicking into its axis. All the distress and wrongness he felt until that very moment suddenly disappears. Louis is finally whole. But two Alpha leaders from different tribes soulbonding is something unheard of before.

Divinely Blessed | thinlines | a/b/o - non-traditional a/b/o - established relationship - PWP - 17k “I heard you, Ni. But what do you mean?” “What do you mean what I mean?” Harry rolled his eyes as he shoved his alpha friend down onto a seat. “Did you mean you lick someone out or…?” “Nah, mate! It was me! I got licked out!” Harry could only stare at Niall in horror. Alpha Harry prides himself on having the bravest and most caring omega who might or might not just fulfill his sudden curiosity.

This chemistry like candy to me | CuckooTrooke | a/b/o - kink discovery - mpreg - male lactation - smut - 8k "It's just... Are you aware, that, uh... You're- You're kind of leaking." Harry feels his blood run cold. The heart that was thudding so loud and fast drops to his stomach, and his shoulders hunch in embarrassment. "Excuse me?" Harry asks once he manages to gather himself and recover from the shock. He automatically steps back but since he's already squeezed in the corner, it doesn't do much to put any distance between them, "Who the fuck do you think you are?" "Wha- No. Oh my god, I wouldn't- No," The man says as he realizes the misunderstanding, and wildly gestures to his chest, "I mean your- Your chest. Is leaking." OR Harry is 8 months pregnant with a poor balance and traitorous nipples. Unfortunately for him, that is precisely when he meets a beautiful alpha in a packed London Tube. Fortunately for him, the said alpha might just be the best thing he has ever come across.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #my fic rec #my reads #monthly fic rec #monthly reads #completed fics #larry fics

[sirenprincess15]

Please Don't Leave Me Chapter 15

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

Author: SirenPrincess

Description: What if Aleksander hadn’t answered the door when Ivan interrupted the war room kissing? What if Aleksander and Alina had a bit more time to get to know each other before Baghra told her his true identity? Alina is the only one who can comfort Aleksander through his nightmares. Will she leave once she knows who he is?

This story is based on the show version and features a soft on the inside, hard on the outside Aleksander with an emphasis on emotional hurt/comfort and angst. If you are looking for lots of hurt!Aleksander thoughts, then this story is for you. Mal exists but pretty much solely to cause Aleksander some angst. Don’t worry. It will be a Darklina ending.

Chapter 1 is a missing scene at the end of Ep 4, and Chapter 2 takes place alongside Ep 5 and then diverges from canon there.

Pairings: Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, bits of Ivan/Fedyor

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Grisha are oppressed in this universe, and I don’t shy away from showing the horrors of that. There may eventually be mentions of canon-typical torture (Fjerdan pyres), death of family members, and cruelty to Grisha children. It’s not the focus, but that backdrop is definitely there and comes up as characters discuss their past.

In this chapter: Aleksander struggles to share his secrets with Alina until he finds her upset and needing him.

Recommended listening: Lady A "Need You Now"

Chapter 15

They went on that way for a couple of days. Alina spent most of her time with the tracker. It tore Aleksander up but he permitted it for her. Most of Aleksander’s time was spent handling details of the war, receiving intelligence reports, and managing Ravka. Keeping everyone alive kept him focused.

It was the evenings he spent alone that were driving him mad. He kept thinking of Alina’s desire to be fully honest with each other and Fedyor’s words of the importance of knowing and accepting a partner wholly, even with flaws. He had always been a strategist, always played through all scenarios in his head a thousand times until he arrived at one he liked. No matter what scenario he envisioned with Alina, none of them ever turned out as he desired. He desperately longed for the kind of love and acceptance that Alina called for. There had been so many years alone where he had yearned for someone to share things with. However, every time he tried to plan the discussion of one of his secrets, it all went to hell quickly. He had even spent one evening writing it all out for her in the hopes that would help him solidify his thoughts. It hadn’t, and he’d burned it all as he realized how beyond stupid it would be to give her such information in writing.

The problem, he realized, was that he could eloquently justify every decision he had made, but no matter how he poured his heart out into explaining it all, none of that would make the truth any less horrible. Marie was dead--that knowledge would hurt Alina, and he just couldn’t stand the idea of her experiencing all that pain. Genya was his spy--without the centuries of seeing Grisha persecuted to understand what it meant if they lost this war, without seeing the king’s ineptness firsthand, seeing the battalions they had lost because of inadequate supplies and wasted funds, she would never be able to understand this decision. It was unforgivable to leave Genya in that situation. He knew it was, even if Genya had agreed to stay in it herself. That didn’t mean it wasn’t the necessary decision, too. They weren’t mutually exclusive, but Alina would never be able to grasp that. He had a way to potentially take control of her power and use it against her will--would she ever believe he didn’t intend to use it? Was that even really true? He had always hated the idea and told everyone they would not be using it, but deep down he had always known it was the back-up plan. Could he even say he didn’t intend to use it if he knew there were circumstances where he would? All the thoughts swirled in his head and threatened to take him past his breaking point. And then she would be there to help him sleep and somehow it was enough to get him through the next day.

He was stuck, and he didn’t see a way out of this pattern. He couldn’t stop thinking of ways to try to explain things to her. He needed her. His desire for her to actually accept him was overwhelming. But how could she? As he imagined trying to explain things to her, he saw things through her eyes. It was a fresh perspective, and what he saw was horrifying. It all caused him horrible guilt, and, yet, he knew he would make the same decisions again. Over the centuries, he had become numb to accepting the small pains to prevent the true horrors. Alina had reignited emotion inside him, and suddenly everything was raw again.

Aleksander looked at the clock and groaned. It would still be several hours before Alina would visit his chambers to help him sleep. He could not take another night of tearing himself apart while trying to come up with words to help Alina understand how the murder and torture of Grisha over the centuries had forced him to make harder and harder choices. He should get up and do something productive, something, anything to keep his mind active. The library might be a good idea. He thought he had most of the good sources on the Stag in his chambers, but there could still be some good books with more information on relics in general that he and David had not yet read that could at least keep his mind engaged. There was the added bonus that the library reminded him of happier times with Alina. He had never seen someone smile so broadly at books. The memory of stolen kisses between the shelves brought a smile to his face.

Decision made, Aleksander strode to the library. He froze when he saw Ivan hovering near an alcove. Ivan was supposed to be guarding Alina. Aleksander raised an eyebrow, and Ivan gestured with his chin toward the alcove. Years of working together made a silent exchange possible. Alina was in the alcove, and Ivan thought Aleksander should go in there.

“Alina,” Aleksander gasped as he took in her appearance. In her nightgown and robe, she was disheveled, hair a mess, with tears in her eyes.

She desperately tried to wipe the tears away when she saw him. “Aleksander.”

“You’re crying,” he whispered as he closed the distance between them.

“It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

He reached out and tilted her chin until she met his eyes. “You never let me get away with that line.”

The tears started to fall again. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. To his surprise, she started sobbing. He tentatively sent his power through to her. It caressed against hers and begged for a response. This time, she let the connection flow between them. Emotions echoed back and forth with the familiar comfort of each other. She was sad, confused, scared. He was concerned. He made sure to let her feel his love for her, whether she wanted it or not.

“I missed this,” she whispered after a long while.

He blinked. Didn’t she know she was in control of that? He constantly longed for the connection with her. She was the one who decided when they were allowed to have this. “I missed you.”

She sighed and finally let go of the stress in her. In their bond, she pulled for his comfort.

“Did he hurt you?” It was a quiet question, but there was a clear threat in his tone. If the tracker had harmed her, there was nothing that would stop him from enjoying that man’s death.

“No,” she responded quickly. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Are things not going the way you want with the tracker?” He tried not to enjoy that idea. Alina was hurting. That was bad even if it would result in the tracker being out of the picture.

“You’ll be relieved to know that we’ve realized what we are to each other and it’s family. I tried to kiss him. It was awful. So awful, Aleksander.” She made a face and then gave a soft little laugh. “I do love him, but that felt so wrong, and I realized it’s because he’s like my brother.”

“That is not why you are crying, though.” He could tell. He couldn’t let himself become distracted by the jealousy he felt at the idea of the tracker’s lips on hers, even if it was awful as she said. She was comfortable with the decision that the relationship with the tracker was not romantic. He might take more joy in that, but he could not because something else was devastating her. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”

“I’m afraid it will upset you.”

Because the tracker had actually hurt her? Because she was going to say something against Aleksander? Something to break his heart? “I can take it.” He kissed the top of her forehead. “If I somehow found a way to talk to you about the Fold, you can share this with me.”

She looked up at him with uncertainty in her eyes. “I can’t. You’ll hurt him or ... lock him in the dungeons.”

So this was about the tracker. He might very much like to kill, mame, or at least imprison the tracker for whatever she was about to say next, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him unless he agreed not to hurt that idiot and she could feel that he meant it. He took her hand in his so she could get a strong read of his emotions. “I promise I won’t hurt him without your permission.” That, at least, he could agree to. He’d just convince her to let him kill the tracker if that was called for.

Unable to look him in the eye as she spoke, she focused her gaze on the floor and whispered. “He wants us to run away and hide. He has a whole plan. I tried to explain how I can’t do that. I can’t hide my power. I told him how sick it used to make me. I didn’t understand what was causing it at the time, but now I do and I can’t go back to not being able to eat or sleep, to feeling so exhausted constantly. Nadia told me some stories of Grisha who tried to suppress their powers and got seriously ill. But he just keeps saying it will be fine just for a little while.”

Aleksander tried not to react to the news that the tracker was trying to escape with her, but Alina could probably feel his response. Anger was there, of course, but more than anything it triggered his protective instincts. He swallowed as he tried to push away any concerns of the tracker stealing her out of his safe space in the Little Palace. That wasn’t why Alina had told him or what she was asking for his help with. “He doesn’t accept you as you are, but it’s only because he doesn’t understand you. What we are is impossible for him to comprehend.”

She leaned against his chest so he could wrap his arms back around her. “He keeps saying things against Grisha. Not against me, he says not me, but … I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it half the time. ‘We can’t trust her, she’s Grisha.’ ‘Those people always have tricks up their sleeves.’ Please don’t be mad at him. He isn’t trying to hurt me, but it does.”

“Prejudice against our kind is something learned at an early age. It’s so ingrained in Ravkan society, worse so in other countries, he probably does not realize that it is hate he is speaking.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to defend or slander him. It’s the truth you need to hear, Alina. He is otkazat’sya. You are Grisha. They have always hated our kind. Fight as we may to be accepted, we never are.”

“I’m tired of feeling so … foreign … other.” She sighed.

“Do you feel like that here at the Little Palace? When you are with me?”

“No, and when he says things like that … I … It’s stupid. I’m so stupid.”

She knew he couldn’t stand for her to put herself down, but he was trying to get her to open up and let all her feelings out, so he didn’t correct her. “Tell me. All of it.”

“I’m a mess, Aleksander. I’m such a mess.”

“You hold me together when I am a mess. I can do the same for you.”

“When he says things that hurt me, all I want is you. I miss you. I miss our connection. I find I can’t breathe when I’m not with you. There’s just this tightness in my chest that won’t go away. I long to reach out to our bond.”

“And that’s a bad thing? Maybe when he puts you down, you subconsciously reach for the only person who has ever made you feel like you are enough and worthy of being loved. I wanted to give that to you, Alina.”

“I’m so scared, Aleksander. I’m in here crying because I need you and I’m so scared to need you!”

“You have taught me it’s okay to need you. It’s okay to need acceptance and love, Alina. I offer those.”

“How can I need you if I don’t even know if I trust you?” Her voice cracked.

Aleksander sucked in a breath at the pain those words caused. “Because of what Baghra said?”

She nodded into his chest. “And the manipulation. If I didn’t know about the letters, what else don’t I know? What else are you doing to manipulate me? At times I think I am strong enough and I can tell when you are lying to me, so that will be enough for me to be able to stay in control of things with you. Other times I’m terrified that I’m still falling for you and I will end up your slave. I realize I’m not in control of anything. I don’t feel whole unless I’m with you! When I’m with Mal, I am constantly thinking of you. I thought that if I gave myself some space, I could separate from that and sort things out, but it’s only worse. It takes all my strength not to run to your rooms because I need you.”

He wanted to reassure her that he was worthy of her trust, but he wasn’t sure that was even true. Wasn’t he just a bit earlier going through the list of all the secrets he had kept from her? He hadn’t managed to confide any of them to her or even come up with a plan of how he could. “There’s so much you don’t know,” he admitted. “It terrifies me, too. Trying to find a way to share it all with you is destroying me.” It was the full truth for once. There were horrible secrets there. He did not want to be manipulating her. He truly did want her to know all of it now, but he wanted her to understand it all too. Figuring out how to make that happen was eating him alive. He focused on those feelings and opened their bond fully so she can know the truth of that. “I need you. I fear if I use the wrong words, you will leave me, and I will not survive.”

“So … we both are driving ourselves mad with self doubt and worry and the pain of being apart. What do we even do with that?”

“If I had come up with a solution, I would not still be tearing myself apart trying to figure it out.” He sighed at the familiar ache in his chest. “Do you … Do you want to just take a break from … trying to figure everything out? My only solace in life is you. If I am your only respite, can we not just give ourselves a night to have that?” He needed a break, and she needed his comfort. They both were in so much pain from trying to survive alone.

“I’d like that,” she admitted, finally looking up into his eyes.

Aleksander reached out his hand and cupped her cheek. She leaned into his touch, and the clenching in his chest finally relaxed. She wanted his comfort. He wasn’t quite sure what a break would look like to her. Would she just want to sit and read in the library? Hold each other perhaps?

Tentatively, he leaned forward to kiss her. Her lips parted, and her body arched into him as if she could not get enough of his touch. He was shocked at the flood of desire that she released through their bond. There was no doubt that she wanted more.

As much as he longed to make mad love to her right there in the bookshelves even with Ivan only an aisle away, it didn’t feel quite right to dive straight into ripping off her clothes. Their relationship was awkward and uncertain at the moment. They needed cuddles and contact and warmth before he reminded her what it felt like to have her body worshipped. An idea occurred to him. “Do you want to take a bath together?”

She smiled. “Yes, please.”

=========

Author Notes: I wrote this chapter a dozen times and deleted them all. Every attempt at writing Aleksander come clean was ridiculously bad. So I started writing about him feeling that way, and Lady A's "Need You Now" came on my station and inspired me. Aleksander was a mess of guilt, self-doubt, and fear until Alina needed him, and then the story just clicked and was so easy to write. All of the emotions felt right once he realized she needed him. He doesn't need to be perfect for her. He needs to be what she needs, and he can be that, even with the dark past. This version felt genuine to the characters, including Alina and Mal. Alina's future with Mal was miserable. I wanted to let her realize 'hey, I don't like this' and choose something else for herself.

#aleksander x alina #alina x aleksander #aleksander morovoza #kirigan x alina #alina x kirigan #general kirigan #darklina #the darkling #alina x darkling