#long rambling stream of consciousness

[saionjeans]

ok so. miki’s sunlit garden is the literal sunlit garden where he and kozue played piano together as children. it’s the defining version of this narrative device, and in a way, it’s the most straightforward. miki is leaving the garden and entering the world of teenagers. he is scared of growing up, and he misses the effortless, uncomplicated bond he shared with his sister when they were children, before being inculcated into a world of sexual power and abuse, before his parents divorced and his beautiful nuclear family was rent asunder by real-world complications. i genuinely think every 13-ish year old goes through this grief and a desire to hold onto the past, to remain in this perfect nostalgic bubble through which you view your childhood. it’s probably the most universal and identifiable instance of the motif of the sunlit garden.

then it gets more complicated. nanami’s sunlit garden is her memories of short-haired touga, of her big brother showing her his affection, making her feel special, worthy, and loved. but unlike miki, she doesn’t miss being a part of the ideal nuclear family. for one thing, both she and touga are adopted. of course, she doesn’t actually know that, but it nonetheless problematizes the bioessentialist logic upon which the nuclear family [abuse factory] structure is predicated. secondly, it’s clear that she was always the scapegoat to touga’s golden child. which is why it’s not that she loves her sibling as an extension of her childhood nostalgia, but that her entire value system fundamentally revolves around touga, because he was the only person in her formative years who ever showed her the slightest sliver of affection. and in all her memories of him, he has short hair (like dios, like miki), because subconsciously she doesn’t even want him to be her Prince, her patriarchal savior, she wanted him to be someone who loved her because she inherently deserves love. she does treat him like her prince in the present, but that’s only because it’s how her love for him must take form in ohtori. deep down, she doesn’t want a prince, a lover, or even a brother; she wants a friend who will love her for nothing. but she has no way of expressing that, not in a world that claims true friendship is for fools. so instead she values him for their biological ties, for his status as a kiryuu, for his patriarchal role as the eldest son in their perfect nuclear family. and she refuses to acknowledge how she demeans herself in the process of worshipping him, how she’ll drown herself and cook herself and cage herself, debase herself and dehumanize herself for his illusory love. and that is what the sunlit garden means to nanami.

as for saionji, the sunlit garden also constitutes his memories with touga, of a “before” that is much more definable in the sense that there is clearly a moment where it becomes “after.” one day they are riding their bike through the rain after kendo practice, and they decide to take shelter in a church. and saionji sees touga become someone he fears and also envies. someone who wields the power to project something eternal, to inspire, to save. and he exerts his power in a subtly violent way, by transgressing invisible boundaries. saionji cannot harness that power, so he attempts to exert it clumsily, through immediate, obvious, physical forms of violence. it never quite packs the same punch as touga’s manipulation, no matter how hard he tries. but what saionji really longs for is not to possess touga’s power, but to go back to the way things were before touga decided he wanted power. touga thinks true friendship is for fools, but like nanami, all saionji wants is to be touga’s true friend. and isn’t that just tragic?

of course, that’s not all saionji wants. but his desire is complicated by the fact that he clearly also resents the sexual acts he is being put through by touga, even if in other circumstances, it could be what he wanted. juri’s situation, her sunlit garden, is similar to saionji’s in this respect. all she wants is shiori, but she doesn’t want the shiori she is being presented with. she wants the shiori from an illusory idealized past in which they were true friends, before shiori betrayed her and revealed her ugly feelings in the process. like miki with kozue, nanami and saionji with touga, utena and anthy with dios, mikage with mamiya, juri is idealizing a version of the object of her affection who never really existed. shiori’s ugly feelings were always latent. unlike miki’s sunlit garden, nanami’s flashback to touga’s party and sea of photographs, or saionji’s memories of touga tenderly wrapping his hand, juri does not even have memories of shiori that are not defined by her betrayal. yes she has shiori reaching out, holding a rose, saying “believe in miracles and they will know your heart,” but it’s an obvious fiction. juri doesn’t know shiori at all, and the shiori juri knows is not the shiori she loves. the sunlit garden is always a garden of illusion.

utena’s sunlit garden, which opens many episodes, is perhaps the most obvious example of this fact. she completely rewrote her own formative memory to better suit the dominant patriarchal narratives she was forced to adopt all her life. and you can say that akio actively tampered with her memories, but functionally speaking, that’s the same thing. even more so than the others, her sunlit garden is a palimpsest; she idealizes a past and a prince that never actually existed. sure akio and anthy exist, but her “prince” is not either of them. the locus of her will to live, that eternal thing, is a fiction. but her desire to help others in need is genuine. and that is what differentiates utena’s sunlit garden first and foremost. it is not founded on a selfish desire to cling to a perfect past of illusion, but on the selfless desire to keep moving forward in hopes of a better future. they all want to hold onto something eternal, including utena in her desire to keep her parents with her, and all of those desires are perfectly understandable and eminently sympathetic, but utena is different because that day that akio showed her anthy’s suffering, utena’s desire shifted from a memory to a telos.

mikage’s sunlit garden thus becomes a cautionary tale to all the members of the student council who wish to live in a memory, perfectly suspended, pinned in place like a butterfly on display. just as a caterpillar must become a butterfly, a child must enter the world of adults. mamiya is beautiful because he has the luxury of dying young, of being immortalized on a carousel, of never losing his innocence. mikage is what happens to people who idealize eternity through escaping into nostalgia. the world keeps moving on without them, and they become ghosts, trapped in a past that no one can recall.

so what of akio? he uses people’s sunlit gardens against them, he manipulates time and memory, feeds off nostalgia and the grief of lost childhood. he cultivates his garden to resemble golden days, and as he invites you through his gates, ensnares you. so what does that mean, when his goal, too, is to achieve eternity? above all he wants to forge a sword that will break through the closed gates and reinstate his former glory. of anyone in ohtori, he is the one most deeply entrenched in his oh so cozy coffin. for all that he knows his promises to be illusory, he also clings to that logic, he also mourns dios. he longs for his golden days despite knowing that they’re untenable, despite being well aware of the toll it took on anthy. and even fully aware of the extent of his exploitation, of the fundamental illusion of eternity, he still attempts to attain it, he still instantiates himself in a cycle on the carousel, condemned to ghosthood, a butterfly pinned in place.

finally, we must look to the absent figure, the outlier. what, or rather who, is touga’s sunlit garden? the movie tells us it is utena, that he embodied the princely role in the truest sense and that this is his deepest aspiration. but i don’t know if that’s necessarily how i read him. anthy and touga are foils, two sides of the same coin. anthy doesn’t have a “sunlit garden” per se, because she has long given up on the idea of returning to a time when she loved dios, before the swords of hatred pierced her heart. but she has a literal sunlit garden, and her role is to tend the flowers in it and never leave. she has a literal coffin, guarded carefully in the chambers of her heart. anthy knows better than to cling to an idealized past, but still, she cannot find a way to move forward. so she gets stuck in a circular present, where both past and future are illusory concepts. it is not enough to simply know that the past is gone, one must also strive for a better future. it is why utena and anthy’s promise to drink tea and laugh together in ten years is just so powerful within ohtori’s timeless walls. i’d bet anything that touga also doesn’t have an idealized past. if, again, we use the movie to inform our understanding of him, he was always aware of the abuse that pervaded his world, he was never an innocent. but instead of desiring reform, like utena, of wanting to save those suffering, he wants to be the one inflicting that suffering as much as possible. to cope, he accepts his abuse as a necessary consequence of existence, and assumes that anyone capable of abusing him is simply more powerful, and thus deserves to exert their power over him, just as he deserves to exert his power over those less powerful than he is. so like anthy, he doesn’t have a sunlit garden, but he has a coffin, and a garden, and a carousel. and like anthy, he must choose for himself whether he wishes to remain a complicit victim, or to leave his cozy coffin and find a way to move forward. and that, only time can tell.

#analysis #manalysis #u #UMM. THIS POST WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ONE PARAGRAPH????? OOPS #it’s 2 am now. fuck #the sunlit garden #miki #nanami #touga #saionji #utena #anthy #akio #mikage #juri #shiori #mamiya #dios #this was just me rambling as a way to organize my thoughts #it’s incredibly stream of consciousness #i am in no way trying to make an argument here im just trying to like. parse my thoughts on the sunlit garden #(the land of illusion….. anyone else hongloumeng pilled.?) #long post

[deathskrang]

i think about zim and the tallest and their inherently, nearly parasitic relationship to each other a lot.

i think about how all of them are, objectively, mostly blind to this fact as well, zim blinded by the swift and stark obedience that he performs under the delusion that he is doing something for the good of his leaders and his empire, and the tallest blinded by their total arrogance and rage over the fact that zim cannot read any of their cues that he is a nuisance. still, it is so obvious that the back and forth is there.

i know that this particular example probably wasn't purposeful in florpus and was mostly just so the audience could see dib's point and the narrative similarities between zim and him, but i think a lot about zim's silence when dib says, "you know, my dad doesn't appreciate what i do, either" after zim explains how the tallest are not coming to bring him back home. i think a lot about that. the impact and the implications behind one simple sentence from dib. i imagine, to zim, this sort of felt like a slap in the face. the first word besides "my tallest" that's ever explained how zim wants them, how zim, in his own way, almost loves them. and it's a word from earth. it's a word that implies a built in, unconditional caring between human beings. it's a word that zim had just said in a mocking tone of voice to dib moments ago in reference to his plan to replace his real dad. and, suddenly, in a single instance, the weight of the word has seemed to hit him.

i think the saddest part of this parallel is that dib has the understanding that because he and his dad are biologically related, unconditional love is the expected thing, it's the supposed natural progression of things. zim and the tallest, though—they don't have any of that. you could argue that they're barely even acquaintances. there is no understanding of what is supposed to happen with them. there is no built in hope of having them step up to the plate the way dib hopes with his dad. i don't think zim truly understands this, though. as if zim can completely comprehend isolation. isn't that apart of an invader's duty? isn't that what he was trained to do? and isn't zim an invader? isn't he?

after all of this, after all of florpus, long after dib had first used that word, dad, in relation to the tallest, how dib said his dad doesn't appreciate what he does, one of the last things zim asks the tallest as he is witnessing their last moments across that transmission is: does this please you? in other words, do you appreciate what i have done for you?

dialogue wise, this is emotionally wrecking enough, but i think, visually, it is equally if not more disarming and depressing. i really, really, really love the imagery of the scene right before it cuts to the tallest burning in their puppet florpus flames. because it's a silly visual gag, yes, two flailing tallest puppets—but zim talking to two distorted tallest silhouettes, not noticing (or, rather, caring about) the difference between this and their usual way of appearing when they're in a transmission—zim talking to a literal representation of how the tallest have always existed in his head, as two distorted silhouettes, as delusions—that is insanely succinct in describing the true detriment of zim and the tallest's relationship to each other, at least to me.

this is, in my opinion, the most fucked up imagery in florpus, maybe even the entire series to me—and, most likely, none of the invader zim crew meant it to come across quite like that. zim's performance of normalcy in the face of what he is unaware is the tallest's last living moments. the delayed video feed in the transmission, shortly followed by complete and utter panic from the tallest, who were possibly oblivious to the fact that zim had even contacted them amongst their chaos. zim almost seeming as if he is staring at his own reflection in the screen rather than right at the tallest. a physical representation of what their entire relationship has been built on since the beginning—a blurry idea, a vague delusion of a bond that is in actuality no more than a fatal, life long misunderstanding on each end. it's the most palpably gut wrenching thing in the whole film for me, and i don't care that none of it was probably meant to pack that type of punch. it's always hit me hard.

#invader zim #zim #the tallest #tallest red #tallest purple #dib membrane #my return to tumblr after four months is an unnecessarily long and half assed spiral about unintentional angst #i never talk about my perspective of things within canon publicly but i think So Much about zim and the tallest #i only ever ramble about this type of thing in private with my equally as insane friends #a lot of this is actually strung together direct from many conversations about this topic with friends lmfao #i looooove constructing my stream of consciousness thoughts into actually coherent things #also doubt that anybody is gonna gaf about this post or these tags but pls don't tag as prazr lol #i like my zims to suffer the way jhonen intended #free of any romantic attachment and solely within his own strained view of the world

[lady-harrowhark]

I would love to hear the megatheorem

It's not ready for full publication and won't be for a while tbh, but like, maybe before the end of summer? If I'm being optimistic? It will definitely go up here when it's finished, although probably in parts because it's an absolute beast, currently weighing in at over 25 pages and nearly 13k words.

Here's a sneak peek at the table of contents though 😎⚔💀

Also I'm just now noticing that I have "Empty's as Good as Clean" from the draft version of the poem instead of the published version as a section title, whoops. Pretend that's on purpose. Maybe it's a nod to the like, three hours where we thought @torbooks was speaking to us in code. That sounds like both a regular thing to happen as well as to reference, right?

Some segments have stuff I've pulled in from things I've posted here before but off the top of my head I don't think any of the sections are fully anything I've posted here. That is to say, as the draft currently stands, every section has new analyses in addition to anything pulled in from previous posts, though I'd say most of the sections are things I've haven't posted. I believe the sections that have the most pulled from "old" content are Lyctorhood Lite, Resurrection vs Waking Up, and A Cavalier by Any Other Name, which would all be under my "tlt meta" tag - I'll tag this one for ease of navigation if you want to poke around.

But don't worry, when it's ready, I will make sure everyone is subjected to my theories.

#it took me months and months to get it into a state where i could even organize it into sections like this tbh #for a long time it was just 25 pages of stream of consciousness rambling lol #i would not subject anyone to my FULLY unfiltered stream of consciousness. cruel and unusual etc. #tlt meta #<- tag where you can find my other red-string-and-newspaper-clippings style theories #[slurps milkshake through a bendy straw] #<- easter egg tag because you asked so nicely 😏 #tlt #the megatheorem #nona the ninth spoilers #(not really but just in case) #ask #emotionalsupportknife

[the-nefarious-vampire]

inch resting that lena said there were both benevolent and malevolent powers now and didnt allude to any Entities being in control (she said that the oiar was "managing" the bad guys which suggests there's either no higher power that she she's aware of, or that the higher powers control the oiar somehow). i mean obviously thats not the full story, and her version of events is probably pretty faulty knowing magnus, but it does sorta seem like these guys are running around unchecked. so maybe instead of an overarching forces deal like we had in tma, the cases are more separate.

anyway i think it's not quite to do with devotion or obsession or love and more to do with belief, or like, how many people you've made an impression on. how strong of an Idea you are. something something scp cognito hazards. inksoul and mr bonzo and violince guy had their fans (and god knows where that violin had been before he got his hands on it). the most recent dude had complete faith in the betting (?) app and im sure many other people did too. needles obviously got strength from people being afraid of him. the volunteers had their "great cause". all this i think has Implications for sam's new obsession with the magnus institute too but thats not what im talking about rn

it's also possible that this malevolent/benevolent split is totally arbitrary human categorization. we'll probably have to meet some of the Good Guys before we really start getting to know whats going on, but thats probably a ways off yet cause of the nature of the oiar, as revealed by lena last episode. they just wont be showing up in reports, thats not what the system's for. some of them kinda toe the line, like the dice, but i dont think we've met any Good Guys yet. maybe they'll show up and fix things in one of the reports or maybe they'll bust down the door to the oiar or someone will run into one in the outside world like how sasha met the distortion or maybe colin will fuck with the system so much it starts reading reports of chill people who cause flowers to bloom around them or who always have a pen if you need one or whatever. maybe the heavily tattooed person from episode 11 will turn out to be a good guy idk ive not checked out the arg i could have embarrassed myself so bad so many times this post. either way if im right that means that santa's probably real in this universe. also every religion simultaneously

#also what the fuck is up with celia “im mysterious” ripley #mb for rambling this was very much a stream of consciousness #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tma #long post #okay so apparently tattoo person is ink5oul? i did not pick up on that but maybe i should have. so scratch that last bit #no Good Guys yet

[total-drama-brainrot]

What if Noah (who is afraid of hypnosis, but allowed Alejandro to hypnotize him for Owen's safety) tries to warn Owen about Alejandro, during the London Adventure? (The hypnosis won't allow him to tell the complete evil truth about Alejandro, but Noah finds a loophole by simply saying: "Owen, be careful... Alejandro is like Heather, but with social skills.") 🍥 How would Alejandro react to Noah finding a loophole to warn the others? Would the Hypnotist be impressed and amused? How terrified would Noah be when he learns that 'his Hypnotist' had heard him try to warn the others? 🍥 What if Alejandro threatens to COMMAND Noah to vote off Owen, if Noah ever tries to warn the others again?

Not trying to spoil anything here but you're mentioned something in this ask that's featured in the next chapter of 'snap, crackle and pop' and I'm not sure if that means I've foreshadowed it as well as I hoped I did, or if that means I'm taking the plot in a super predictable route.

Anyway-

First point: Alejandro's reaction

Should Noah manage to find a loophole in the hypnosis and try to warn Owen (and Tyler by association), I think Alejandro could react one of two potential ways.

The first being, he doesn't take it well at all.

In canon, just the comment that he's "slippery" and "like Heather with social skills" is enough to have him visibly upset with Noah, to the point he has him eliminated that same day. And later on in Drumheller we see that, when things don't go according to his plans (him losing the first challenge despite building an accurate dinosaur), he's quick to throw a tantrum anger. So having someone find a way to break the airtight control you have over them would be a pretty significant punch to the gut for Alejandro.

After all, if Noah could find that loophole, who's to say he wouldn't be able to find more? Alejandro's supposed to have the nerd under his thumb, but how assured is that control when Noah keeps devising ways to refute it?

He's going to have to employ more than just a hypnotic suggestion to keep Noah in line if he wants his plans to run smoothly without the interference of an unruly bookworm. So he'd resort to other means of keeping Noah docile; i.e. physical intimidation, blackmail, social isolation, ect. But I don't think he'd have Noah eliminated. He's spent far too much time and effort investing in having Noah as his pawn to just get rid of him at the first sign of rebellion. Instead, he'd have Owen or Tyler eliminated.

Since Owen is Noah's only real ally on the jet, getting rid of him would leave Noah himself alone and vulnerable- perfect for Alejandro to take advantage of to re-establish his control. However, Owen is also his bargaining chip over the cynic, the person inadvertently keeping Noah from lashing out against him (by means of blackmail), so Alejandro is torn between keeping him around as insurance of Noah's obedience or having him eliminated to further isolate Noah from the rest of the cast.

(And also, Noah's defiance is a challenge for Alejandro to overcome, which is exciting enough for him to keep Noah around for. After all, Alejandro is incredibly competitive- he loves a good challenge.)

On the other hand, I could also see Alejandro seeing it as a fun little quirk to crush out of Noah work on.

Because if the only way Noah could manage to communicate his thoughts was an indirect compliment ("like Heather but with social skills" could be interpreted as a compliment, since it's essentially calling him better than Heather- that, and Alejandro likes/tolerates Heather, so being compared to her shouldn't really bother him), it means his hypnotic order of "don't shit talk me, twink" has worked. The proof is in the pudding, so to speak, so the satisfaction of seeing his hypnosis working would outweigh any annoyance he has with Noah trying to circumvent it.

And, again, he'd see the circumvention itself as a fun little challenge. I've already spoken on that though.

So he'd regard Noah abusing loopholes in the same way a pet owner regards a misbehaving puppy; he'd think it's cute. He'd stop it as soon as possible, but he'd think Noah's futile struggle against him is endearing.

Alejandro in canon has this same mindset towards Heather in canon, at least until the late game when he starts seeing her as an equal. He's incredibly patronising, and even more so self-assured, meaning his ego's far too big for him to ever really consider Noah being able to outmanoeuvre him in his own game. (In short, he's too egotistical to see the threat of Noah's defiance for what is really is.)

.

Second point: Noah's reaction

This Noah, being genuinely phobic of hypnosis, would be hesitant to portray himself as anything but completely subservient to Alejandro, in fear of the other's potential retribution. (As opposed to regular rk!Noah, who's not afraid to be as much of a little bitch as possible regardless of the consequences. In fact, he goes out of his way to be as uncooperative as possible.)

Which is why, being caught trying to warn the others when he thought he was safe from Alejandro's constant observance immediately sends Noah into a full blown panic attack. He hides it well enough at the Ripper Reveal, but as soon as they stop filming Noah darts away to the nearest secluded area, making sure he's actually alone and unsupervised.

The contestants watching the Ripper challenge is going to have this Noah's paranoia skyrocketing even more than usual, because now Alejandro could be watching him at any given moment (he isn't, but Noah doesn't have the comfort of knowing that.)

His first thought, which is what sparks his hysteria, is concerned with how Alejandro is going to enact punishment for his misconduct. The things Alejandro could potentially do to him or make him do have Noah spiralling in the cargo hold/confessional/cockpit (somewhere private, but the cockpit could be a good option for some parental Chref if that's your cup of tea) until he comes to the conclusion that he needs to get himself eliminated ASAP.

Because if he's out of the competition, he's out of Alejandro's clutches- hypnotic triggers be damned, he just wants to get away from him.

So he tries to rally the vote against himself. By outright asking Tyler, Duncan and Owen to vote for him, because he doesn't have the time or the patience to scheme his way into being eliminated- he needs out now. Duncan is more than happy to oblige, as is Tyler (he's still salty about being left on the rack, which is entirely justified #JusticeForTyler) but Owen puts up a fuss about voting for his little buddy, so Noah then has to spend the rest of their time between the challenge and the elimination ceremony convincing Owen to vote for him.

(Meanwhile, Alejandro is convincing the rest of the team to not vote for Noah despite his wishes. And it works.)

When Owen/Tyler is eliminated instead of Noah, something inside of him shatters.

Before he can even start picking up the pieces of his frazzled mind, he catches sight of Alejandro in the corners of his eyes, smirking ferally towards the bookworm and looking so proud of himself for orchestrating Owen/Tyler's elimination.

(This scene is more impactful if Owen's the one to go, but I love Owen too much to want him eliminated so early even if it would make for some choice angst.)

.

Third point: My thoughts

I'd like to keep Owen around for Alejandro to use as blackmail over Noah, but by this point in the story Alejandro already has a pretty solid foundation of control over Noah even without the threat of Owen's safety, so having him eliminated in London would be the angstiest route to take the story- especially since Owen was the sole reason for Noah undergoing the hypnosis in the first place, so having him booted the very next challenge is just yet another kick in the teeth for Noah.

As much as I love the idea of Alejandro threatening to force Noah to vote out Owen, I don't think a Noah who's phobic of hypnosis would be coherent enough to process such a threat. The moment Alejandro brings up the threat of having Noah under a trance, Noah's in fight or flight mode- it doesn't matter what Alejandro's making him do at that point, just the fact that he'd hypnotised is enough to have him panicking (when he's coherent enough to do so).

#uhhhhh yuh. this was mostly a stream of consciousness type post so sorry if it's rambly/incoherent. #total drama #td alejandro #td noah #long post #rice krispies fic #character analysis #cw hypnosis #ophe rambling #replies

[rileys-battlecats]

hello i was serious about the info-dumping thing earlier. anyway who wants to learn about the magic system of Minare and Vaitus's world

Magic; where it's found, how it's used, and ways it can be amplified

Magic is a form of energy. Everyone and (nearly) everything has magic in some capacity.

Minerals, plants, animals, people—almost all of them have at least a bit of magic. Magically inert materials exist, but they are rare.

The majority of people have low levels of magic, and thus it does not manifest in any noticeable way for them. Some people naturally have more than others, and this can manifest as an outward expression and control over magic, like Minare's light magic or Vaitus's life-drain. Magic tends to manifest differently for each person. It's an energy that can be used, but in the same way each person's brain works slightly differently, one's connection to magic differs from person to person.

Some individuals have magic, but don't notice that they use it (For example; there's a farmer that lives and works outside the capital city that has the ability of time dilation, but it only ever activates when she's In The Zone while caring for her crops. If she finishes her work faster than any other farmer in the area, well, her mom always said she was a quick worker. She doesn't think there's anything strange about how much she's able to get done when she focuses).

Most people who have magical abilities develop them sometime between 13 to 20 years old (amount of magic grows as the person grows), but it's possible to develop them earlier or later. Early magical development generally indicates a greater than average amount of magic.

There are old wives-tales that claim that eating a more magic-dense diet during pregnancy will give the child a greater chance of developing a magical ability, but this is unproven. Nonetheless, it's tradition to drink broth made from common magical herbs during pregnancy (this broth also functions as an anti-nausea medicine to treat morning-sickness).

In very rare cases, a magical ability can spontaneously develop as a response to trauma; it's generally understood as a "hysterical strength" phenomenon, where the body develops an ability to counter a life-threatening scenario. However, these abilities are usually "half-formed" as it were; because they are forced out in an unnatural scenario, the magic tends to be... disorganized. It can be unwieldy for the user, and will likely develop further with time and use.

Amplifiers can be used to strengthen an individual's magic.

The most famous example of an amplifier is the crown of the ruler of the kingdom. The crown is the most powerful amplifier known to exist. Historically, it was used by the original royal family to strengthen their light magic in order to protect the kingdom from monsters. Its method of creation has been lost to time, but it's proven to be capable of amplifying the current ruler of the kingdom's magic over a hundredfold. By some mysterious means, the crown is only capable of amplifying the magic of whoever is recognized as the ruler of the kingdom, and it adapts to fit the current ruler.

Depending on their method of creation, common amplifiers vary in how much or how little they strengthen an individual's magic, but none come close to the raw power of the crown.

An amplifier can be made out of almost anything, but they are generally made using tough materials that won't lose integrity too quickly. It's easier to make an amplifier with wood/paper/twine, but it won't last nearly as long as one made with metal or gemstones. Metal and gemstones last a lot longer, but they're much more difficult to create, and can be a bit unstable/lose their amplifying abilities suddenly.

The crown is remarkable because it is a functionally perfect amplifier; it is made of incorruptible materials, it is outstandingly powerful, and, most importantly, it is incredibly stable. No other amplifier has ever come close to lasting as long as the crown has.

There is an entire subset of magical scholars that study the theory around the crown's creation and how it functions. Amplifiers typically only work for the person who created it/whoever it's been attuned to (since magic tends to be very unique to the individual), so an amplifier that's theoretically capable of magnifying the magic of anyone who wears it is fascinating.

Exceptionally well made amplifiers occasionally become family heirlooms, but they don't tend to work very well for anyone using it aside from the one who created it. If a family has similar magic throughout the generations, an heirloom amplifier can be a bit more functional.

Potions are created by harnessing the inherent magic of certain materials.

Potions rely on the natural magic of the materials used in the brewing process. Certain creatures and plants are more magically dense than others; when used in brewing, their effects are more potent than materials with lower magical density.

Brewers, those who make potions professionally, carefully balance the types of magic used in their recipes in order to make a potion with the desired effect. Much of potion-making is carefully balancing multiple types of magic in order to achieve the intended outcome.

Potion-making is an exact science, and takes many years of study to master. Brewers must maintain a careful balance of the intensity of the magical effect, how long the effect lasts, minimizing any drawbacks to the consumer*, and maximizing the shelf-life of the potion.

Ingredients used in potion-making often times must be harvested carefully to ensure maximum potency. Master brewers tend to gather their ingredients themselves (or have a well trained apprentice do it) to ensure quality, but most causal brewers who run small potion shops tend to put up requests for certain ingredients with a reward for any adventurer who might find them.

*nausea is a common side-effect of poorly brewed potions, but catastrophic failures can induce far more deadly side effects

#MaVst #MaVst worldbuilding #ough I love thinking about systems and how they connect with and influence each other #this is the cleaned up put together version of my mad ramblings into my Long Document of Stream-of-Consciousness Writing

[boypussydilf]

various rambling and working out a vague picture of the timeline bc sabertoothwalrus has me thinking about The Fucking Thing With The Empress again

in the past i’ve assumed vampires didn’t really start coming out (of hiding i guess?? where were they?? what were they doing in all those centuries before the war when people did not believe magic was real so it’s not like they were aware vampires existed and were still around but . maybe they hibernated who knows whatever it doesn’t matter it’s just funny)

ANYWAY i kind of had assumed vampires didn’t really Come Back Out Into The World until marcy’s teen years/10-ish years after the mushroom bomb but vampworld VK finding marceline when she was like 6-7 indicates they were Out And Walkin’ Around pretty much right after the apocalypse hit

i guess as far as i remember there’s never any indication whether or not simon & marcy ran into any Vampire Problems while they were still together. i’ve assumed not but there’s no actual evidence for that. we basically know like 2 things that happened to them we don’t have a lot to go off of for what they Did or Did Not run into together

but for now i’m assuming not. it seems like vampires prefer to be Where Groups Of Humans Are, for obvious reasons, and it seems like simon & marceline never ran into any humans together (or at least not any friendly ones.) simon’s notes from i remember you indicate he thought they might have been the only people still alive & let’s be real if they ever found other people who were Not Hostile and had resources to survive simon would’ve immediately gone Oh boy!!! Someone who can take care of marcy and not fuck up!!!! and made her go with them while he fucked off into the woods to be sad and alone or whatever the hell he did after leaving her aside from getting hypnotized by a vampire.

i just got distracted bc its so funny Why did the empress choose this guy ??????????? like . insert “a thousand years later and you still can’t get anything right” girl if he’s always sucked at this why is he your Emotional Support Thrall. how did he not get killed

anyway i don’t think we have any indication whether he ever ran into any vampires while he was still with marceline but one way or another he sure does remember when there were vampires around and has a dedicated set of Vampire Survival Skills. skills is maybe the wrong word. he tries so fucking hard but he can’t stake a completely nonmoving target. did he always suck at this too

we know from the empress’s dialogue that simon had still not lost his mind all the way by the time she decided to make him her Favorite Little Human Servant - still remembered his name, still sane enough to Get Hypnotized, her surrounding dialogue when she calls ice king “this pathetic clown character” implies she remembers him acting More Like Simon and Less Like Ice King which is really fucking impressive, actually, he’s extremely Not Holding It Together when he leaves marceline and he still managed to hold on to his identity and some of his usual behavior for 5+ years after that without her jesus christ man

simon in the star talks about marceline becoming A Great Vampire Hunter kind of like it’s something he saw. she could’ve just told him about that part of her life sometime after CAWM, but,

the way marceline talks to the empress in empress eyes sounds kind of like she saw simon interacting with the empress. (“that’s the last time you toy with his heart”)

did they see each other again there? while marceline was hunting vampires? while simon still remembered who Simon Petrikov was?

who left who?

In conclusion fucked up right. Like huh. The entire situation raises so many questions. Why did they never bring this up again

#i spent like 45 minutes writing this or something i may as well maintag it #even if its just stream of consciousness rambling #adventure time #fionna and cake spoilers #atposting #basilposting #long post

[slusheeduck]

Bonus Chapter: Late Night Thoughts

A continuation to this chapter

Bhaalist murderer defeated and handsomely rewarded by the Facemaker for their bravery, the party made it back to the Elfsong for a well-deserved night of drinks before heading to bed. As per usual, Falerin was tucked up against Astarion, out like a light—had he shared a bed with someone who needed sleep before he was turned? It made trancing a damn nuisance, not being able to be flat on his back, but admittedly, when he did manage to trance around Falerin, it kept the less-pleasant memories—and the nightmares—at bay. Plus, he kept the bed warm, so the pros outweighed the cons.

Tonight, though, was different. There wasn’t any hope of a trance with the way Astarion’s brain was spinning—and there wasn’t the tadpole to blame for that. He stared at the ceiling overhead, lost in his thoughts as Fal breathed lightly against his neck.

Husband, that had been his lie earlier today. Husband. The word kept repeating in Astarion’s head—it had been ever since Fal had said it. It wasn’t an unusual lie; he’d used it himself plenty of times when he’d been spotted with a mark.

Oh, dear me, looks like my husband’s had a bit too much to drink. Don’t worry, I’ll get him home just fine.

Oh, yes, my wife, isn’t she lovely? No, you can cancel the room she ordered; we just had a bit of a spat, but we’re all made up now.

So there was no reason for it to stick like it did now. But stick it did, and despite Astarion’s best efforts, at about hour two of staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think about it, he realized that, damn it all, he was going to have to think about it.

He couldn’t recall much from before his turning, but he did know he’d always wanted to get married. He’d had the usual daydreams of a dashing, princely sort—very Wyll-esque, his imaginary childhood spouse was—coming to whisk him away from danger before being married in the morning. Embarrassing as it was to admit it, those had stuck with him even after Cazador had dug his claws into him. Nights spent in the Kennel wishing for a Drizzt Do’Urden kind of hero to come break him out. That year in the tomb begging any god that would listen that someone brave and strong and good would open the sarcophagus and pull him out to safety, to a life where he could be safe and cared for.

At the same time, he’d known it was a stupid, foolish thing to wish for. He wasn’t made for love. If he had been before—and he doubted that, going by who he was now—the centuries of surviving had hardened his heart into the shriveled thing it was now. Any spouse was a tool, a means to an end in getting away from Cazador. He was cold and cruel, he knew that about himself. Anyone who didn’t see that was an idiot—just look at all those victims down in the basement. Some of them, many of them, had tried to love him, and he’d delivered them to the most hellish existence anyone could imagine.

Falerin’s face nuzzled against his neck, bringing Astarion back to the surface for a moment. He looked over the half-drow’s face, hand reaching up to brush his fingers through his reddish hair.

Fal wasn’t a dashing hero, not remotely. He was odd; he couldn’t use a sword to save his life; half the time it seemed like his mind was back in the Feywilds. He’d been the perfect victim, falling immediately for Astarion’s honeyed words and flirty looks—lucky for him, all Astarion had wanted was an ally, not his dues for his master. What’s worse, he knew now that Falerin had known exactly what sort of person he was, and he fell for the bait anyway.

And yet…he was kind. He was fun. He thought of him, cared for him even when he’d been at his prickliest. He hadn’t protested when they stopped having sex. He still offered his neck whenever the thirst got too great. For fuck’s sake, the man had made a date out of killing Bhaalist targets because he knew Astarion would like it—a date that turned into more do-goodery, granted, but it’s the thought that counts. He’d never tried to make him into a cuddly, soft lover; he met him where he was, accepted him thorns and all.

I was just telling my…my husband that I was sure we were going the right way.

It was a silly lie. A quick bid for no explanations. It wasn’t that serious.

So then why did he feel giddy as a godsdamned school girl as he played it in his head again?

He hardly knew the man beside him. They’d been thrown together by chance, became lovers by manipulation, and had fallen in love by pure bad luck. Yes, yes, they threw that happy ending line back and forth, but did they actually believe it? Wasn’t it just something to get the both of them through a horrific experience that they very well may not survive? Astarion wasn’t nearly as experienced in the relationship part of trysts and dalliances as he could be, but he was fairly certain that marriages needed to be built on something stronger than trauma bonding.

And, for all his theatrics and fripperies and nonstop quips, Astarion was, at heart, a practical sort. Maybe not when it came to planning things—but there was always someone else who could deal in the details around--but in day-to-day life he was quite rational. Love was a fickle thing, as was he. Did he really want marriage when it came to Falerin? Did he really want to have this, nights in bed with a half-mad warlock curled up to him, forever? Certainly setting up shop in Neverwinter with him was a good way to start fresh, but marriage was so…definitive. After all, marriage wouldn’t just mean having a husband. It would mean that Falerin would his husband. His. Something…well, someone who could be wholly his own. Not belonging to him, per se, but…but where he could point to him and flash a ring and say, “See him? He’s mine. Aren’t I lucky?” It was so trite and possessive and old-fashioned. Did he really want that?

Gods help him. He did. He wanted it more than anything in the world, barring his already-achieved freedom.

He lifted his hands to press the heel of his palms against his eyes, swallowing down a groan as the realization hit him. The jostling was enough for Fal to stir beside him.

“All right, love?” he asked thickly, lifting his head.

“Yes. Just thinking,” Astarion said, hands dropping back down.

“Hard work for you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Astarion looked up as Falerin laughed, a pillow crease still on his cheek. He swallowed, then pushed himself up to kiss him. Fal returned it immediately, mouth soft and lazy from sleep. Astarion’s hand went to the back of his neck, holding him in place. It was warm and earnest, and he could feel the anxieties of his thoughts melt away with each press of their lips.

He did want this. Forever.

He pulled back after a moment, staying quiet as he pressed their foreheads together. Falerin’s lashes brushed his as he blinked, and he reached up a hand to stroke Astarion’s cheek.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked softly.

“Mm. More than all right. You should go back to sleep.”

Fal’s lips turned up. “It’ll be morning soon enough. Might as well stay up.” He brushed his thumb over the corner of Astarion’s mouth. “Do you want to go watch the sunrise?”

Astarion opened his eyes, meeting the purple and black of Falerin’s gaze. “It’s a ways off.” He laid back down, pulling Falerin down with him. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a nosy bastard, that’s why.”

Falerin chuckled, and he settled himself snugly against Astarion, nose grazing his jaw. “All right. Let me tell you about how I simultaneously impressed and terrified the wizard I apprenticed under with a modified wall of fire spell—that I cast in his kitchen.”

Astarion smiled, giving a thoroughly contented sigh. “I’m all pointy ears, my love.”

Casual Banter Master Post

#bg3 #bg3 fic #astarion #bg3 tav #falerin glais #astarion x tav #It's been a long time since I've written a stream of consciousness ramble and tbh I deserve to treat myself

[nero-neptune]

maybe i’m just easily annoyed (and the news is depressing), but i feel like people on here (or the internet in general lbr) are more willing to criticize/dismiss (even label unrelated things as) “white feminism” (even if it’s bringing up important/relevant issues) than talk about feminism at all. sexism exists in every community you can think of, within every race, ethnicity, social class, religion, nationality, sexuality, what-have-you. it’s easier and more entertaining ig to point out how feminism is lacking or who’s doing feminism “wrong” then attempt to bridge/fill the gaps and actually, Seriously Talk about sexism in detail (and not like it’s some sort of 2nd tier, we’ll circle back to this much later, type of oppression which i Really get the impression of, even within supposedly-progressive spheres) on the regular and not as a series of gotcha posts that get enthusiastically reblogged for a blip in time and then. crickets. like as far as the patriarchy’s concerned (like if i’m looking at this from their perspective), this nitpicking appears very divide-and-conquer. nothing goes anywhere. and things just keep slipping backwards. maybe i’m crazy (maybe i’m way off base), but isn’t feminism meant to help All women, even the ones you dislike? even the ones you hate? like what’s going on here? am i missing something?

#like i definitely was one of those people who dismissed certain issues as 'white feminist' but honestly #i feel like in the long run that's done a lot more harm than good #opening up different websites gives me whiplash sometimes like. oh you HATE women here. ok. #and then watching the news like. oh so EVERYONE hates women. that's crazy! #or maybe i'm just a debbie downer #i'm black btw if it needs to be said. like this isn't me necessarily defending white feminism but honestly #even the most privileged silver spoon conventionally attractive white bread women deal with horrific sexism #we saw that with amber heard (for a very recent example) #just bc 'white feminism' has a lot of blind spots doesn't mean we shouldn't talk about feminism at all #and at least on tumblr that's what it feels like has happened. i could be living in a bubble tho. we all have our blind spots #rambles #feminism #this is very stream of consciousness i just had shit to say.

[bosspigeon]

some strange kind of euphoria

Rating: M Words: 6230 Pairing: Amir x MC Warnings: references to past homophobia, bullying, and emotional abuse, panic attacks, implications of kink, general horny content Ko-Fi <3

Amir answers the door wearing nothing more than his gauzy dressing gown and a smile, which drops as soon as he sees the look on Jude’s face.

In Jude’s defense, seeing Amir at all brightens him up a bit, but even offering his own smile doesn’t quite feel right. He’s tense, slouching, and he knows his sour mood is broadcasting loud and clear in more than just his expression and posture.

His face feels brittle, but so does the rest of him. “Can I come in?” he asks, wincing at the way his voice cracks.

He shouldn’t have come at all. He should have just… called Amir and asked for a rain check, but Amir penciled out this time for him, when he’s always so busy, he couldn’t just bail. He’s starting to think he should have anyway to save them both the discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, swallowing and backing away from the door while Amir stares him down, quietly assessing. “I shouldn’t have–”

“Did the doorman give you trouble?” Amir snaps, eyes blazing. Heat prickles along Jude’s skin, the temperature in the hall rising abruptly.

“Wh– No, he– Well–” He didn’t give him any trouble, per se, he knows Jude well enough by now as Amir’s guest that he didn’t say anything– just gave him the usual quietly critical once-over he does whenever Jude shows up on his own without Amir to shield him. It usually doesn’t bother him overmuch, but he’s… a bit more of a raw nerve than he usually is. Maybe more of an open wound.

“No,” Amir says slowly, calming down quickly as he examines the human. “Something happened.”

“Nothing serious,” Jude assures him, and he doesn’t resist as Amir tugs him inside. The hand curling around his wrist is soft and too-warm, and something in his body eases at the simple touch. “I just… had dinner with my family, is all.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is tense and weighted.

“...It didn’t go well, I take it?” Amir offers, his voice carefully neutral, his fingers tightening briefly around Jude’s wrist and then relaxing.

Jude can’t help but laugh, a single sharp bark that he stifles as quickly as he can. “‘Bout as well as could be expected,” he mumbles. He’s not sure what else to say beyond that, there’s so much tangled up in his head, in his chest, his whole body is tense and heavy with it.

He wishes he’d thought to change before he showed up. The crisp button-down and pressed slacks are uncomfortably formal, fitting too closely around his shoulders, at his waist. He feels stiff and stifled and… not like himself.

He’s sure Amir notices. Amir notices everything.

He leads Jude to the sofa and urges him to sit. He sinks into it with a grateful sigh, releasing as much of the tension in his body he's able to without medical or chemical assistance. Amir settles in next to him, curling close, and immediately starts plucking at the buttons of his shirt.

Jude huffs out another weak little laugh, lolling his head back against the cushions and watching those long, graceful fingers work.

“Talk to me, darling,” Amir says, slipping his hand under the fabric to rest against Jude's chest. The heat of his hand is comforting in its familiarity, lighting up his skin and settling his nerves. There’s a silky weight pressing at the edge of his thoughts, a presence that he’s grown used to at this point, warm like a physical touch. He’s not sure Amir’s even doing it on purpose, but it doesn't really matter.

"Mom asked if I was seeing anyone." It hangs between them for a long moment, before he manages to eke out, "She… didn't mean to."

She's never asked. Not him, at least. She's asked his brothers, his cousins, the kids of friends of hers or Dad's, but never Jude. She knows better than to ask questions she doesn't want the answer to.

He tries to elaborate, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, like the words are stuck behind a barrier, like there’s a big blinking roadblock between his brain and his mouth. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.

He’s so tired of talking, and even if he doesn't really need to say much of anything out loud with Amir, he's just so frustrated, like he wasted all his words on people who didn’t even care to listen. He groans and covers his face with his hands.

Amir's slide over them, tugging them away so Jude can't hide from him. "That’s fine. You don’t need to talk." He smiles a sly little smile that always makes Jude's pulse race, kisses his knuckles, and slips off the couch, taking his warmth with him. "I'll make tea, you get comfortable."

It takes a few seconds for Jude to catch on, his head is such a mess, but he feels the familiar whisper of Amir's power twining through his thoughts. Oh.

They've done this before, more than once, when Amir's asked about fantasies of his and he was too embarrassed to say them aloud. It took some practice, but Amir has always been careful, never probed too deeply, and never without Jude's express permission.

He focuses on the pleasant background noise of Amir moving around his kitchen, the gentle thrum of his presence at the edge of his thoughts, and tries to put them in order.

Dinner was… awkward, to say the least, from the start. Jude isn't a talker, never really has been, so it was mostly him listening to his brothers ramble. Seth's youngest is starting middle school. Gabe got a promotion.

Seth asked what he’d been up to, not that he cared. Gabe snorted when he asked, which only proved the point. Jude just mumbled something about work and avoided eye contact. Played with his food. Wondered if his hometown had anything like the things he’d found out living in the city miles away. The conversation moved on without him, like it always did.

His brothers stopped picking on him about the same time he hit a growth spurt and outstripped both of them in height and not just weight. Well, they hadn’t stopped, exactly, just… didn’t push their luck like they used to. Like they did when they caught him sitting happily while their cousin, Lacey, put makeup on him as "practice" for cosmetology school. Like they did whenever his hair got long enough for them to to pull, before Dad got sick of him “looking like a girl” and shaved it off.

"I've got three boys, not two boys and whatever the hell you're tryin' to be."

And then Jude got bigger than him too, and he left him mostly to his own devices. Not without those snide comments here and there, but he was well used to it at that point.

His family is good at ignoring things that upset them–once they've stifled the offending party into silence, of course.

Jude came out when he was a teenager. His mother wept like someone had died. His father looked furious, but bit his tongue–though he spent the next few years making little digs about how lucky Jude was he didn't just kick him out to fend for himself. His brothers weren’t there, but they found out ;ater, and though they couldn't do anything to him physically at that point (head and shoulders taller and nearly twice as broad–and the Marlowe boys all took after their father in stature, Jude just took it further than that) they made sure he knew he was still their punching bag one way or another.

So when his mother asked him innocently, not thinking, hardly looking at him so much as smiling glibly at her family, and they both froze… well, it said more than if Jude had just out and told them he was getting railed by a demon on the regular.

At least he's not like those fairy boys. At least it's not in our faces. At least, at least, at least–

He hates that he still feels guilty. Guilty for ruining his mother's picture-perfect family. Guilty for being a consummate disappointment to his red-blooded American father. For taking his brothers' "friendly teasing" too personally. For missing the way he felt when Lacey put makeup on him and styled his hair and just let him want the things he could never admit to out loud.

For feeling bitter that she left him behind to pursue her own dreams while he was stuck cowering in the shadow cast by everything he was supposed to be.

He doesn't realize he's hyperventilating until Amir's hands, almost scalding hot against his clammy skin, are pressing against his cheeks, tipping his face upwards. He can’t figure out why the demon is so blurry, swimming before his eyes, when he’s too busy trying to remember how to get air into his lungs.

“Breathe, darling,” Amir urges him, firm but so gentle. Jude tries, and at first he only manages a few pathetic wheezes, but a low hum picks up at the base of his skull, a prickle like static skittering down his spine. For a split second, he’s paralyzed by a foreign surge of guilt, but it doesn’t feel heavy the way his own guilt does.

He sucks in a breath, one that makes his lungs burn, and grabs for Amir’s wrist with trembling fingers. “Not you,” he manages to strangle out, listing forward until he can bury his face in the crook of Amir’s neck. “Happens sometimes,” he mumbles in an effort to explain. Amir’s relief settles over him like a blanket, and he clings to it, to him, desperately, until he’s breathing again mostly normally.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but Amir cuts him off before he can even form the words.“None of that." Firm, brooking no argument, but still kindly tempered.

Obediently, Jude stays quiet, and Amir strokes his hair until the kettle chimes.

Rather than parting from him for even the short time it takes to prepare two cups of tea, Jude follows Amir to the kitchen, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheek pressed to his silky hair. His thoughts are staticky and nonlinear, feel like they're coming from somewhere beyond the boundaries of his skull. It's strangely peaceful, feeling like he's floating outside his body, like he's barely tethered to himself by just a few fragile threads.

Amir always smells so nice…

He's not sure when they wind up back on the sofa but he's holding a warm, delicate little cup in both hands. They share tea in easy silence, and if Jude's fingers are still trembling against his cup Amir doesn't mention it. Muzzily, he notes how fancy the cup is, and now that he's adjusted a bit to the staggering opulence of Amir's world, he finds the little things like that so endearing.

Jude is sluggish and heavy when Amir guides him to bed, and it doesn't take long at all for him to doze off, their positions from earlier reversed, with Amir curled around his back.

He's just awake enough to feel a little bit of that fire humming along his spine, the banked coals of Amir's temper pulsing between them, and he mumbles a half-hearted, "Please don't fight my family," into the luxuriously soft pillow smushed against his cheek.

There's a bit of a huff against his hair, something close to a laugh, but sleep finally pulls him under and blessedly quiets his overworked mind.

His dreams are washed over with a filter of wispy pink, but he doesn’t really remember much of them beyond that. Honestly, it's a bit of a relief. He wakes in Amir’s huge, soft bed, buried in plush pillows and blankets feeling surprisingly well-rested. Of course Amir is gone already, but Jude doesn’t take it personally. There’s a hurried little note on the nightstand on a scrap of sketchbook paper apologizing for his absence and assuring Jude they’ll meet again in the evening once he’s free of his responsibilities.

Jude tucks the note into his pocket as he dresses and leaves, feeling much lighter than he did when he arrived the night before.

~*~

He tried to get as much of the grime off his hands as he could before he left work, but Jude knows he looks like even more of a greasy schlub than he usually does when he comes ambling into Amir’s building. He brought his car this time, so he doesn’t have to go through the main entrance and deal with anybody grimacing at the state of his clothes, but he’s got a bag of fresh ones over his shoulder and he’s looking forward to a long, hot soak in Amir’s shower.

“I know, I reek,” he says sheepishly when he makes it to the door to Amir’s apartment.

Amir smiles indulgently at him, and gives him a kiss on the cheek regardless (even if he has to rise onto his toes a bit to do it, dressed down like he is) and only scrunches his nose a little. “Just a bit. I wouldn’t mind the sweat so much, but…”

“Engine oil and cheap cigarettes,” Jude laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, my boss likes menthols.” He gestures to the bathroom with his bag. “Mind if I…?”

Amir doesn’t hesitate to usher him down the hall as soon as he’s tugged off his boots at the door, and Jude plods along after him.

“I’d offer to wash your back,” Amir teases, watching Jude intently as he undresses, making a show of biting at his knuckle just to see him blush from his ears to his chest, “but I’ve got a few more things to take care of. Shouldn't take long, I'll be right outside.”

"Y-yeah, of course," Jude stutters, hands fumbling at his belt. Amir leaves him with another peck on the cheek and a sly parting smile, and while he was hoping for a nice hot shower after work, he's debating whether or not a cold one might be a better idea.

In the end, hot wins out. Amir's shower is like everything else in his orbit—spacious and ridiculously opulent to a degree that Jude's almost nervous interacting with it—but he's starting to enjoy the perks that come with drifting into that irresistible orbit himself. The water is just the right temperature, the pressure pounds down on his tight shoulders and back until he can finally feel them starting to un-knot themselves, and while he makes sure to get himself clean, he also spends a long while just standing under the spray with his head down and his hair hanging around his face like a wet curtain.

At some point, he hears the door click, some quiet rustling, but he doesn't pay it much attention. It's Amir's home, after all, he can come and go as he pleases.

Besides, it's not as if he hasn't seen Jude naked before, even if the thought still has heat crawling up his neck.

The door shuts again, and his mind goes blessedly quiet. The water doesn't go cold at any point (another thing that makes showering in his own too-small bathroom even more of a downgrade) but he knows he can't spend the whole night in here, however much he'd like to. He came for Amir, not his shower, though a little part of his brain does offer the helpful suggestion of trying to entice the succubus into joining him.

He snorts to himself as he slides open the frosted glass door, wringing out his hair. As if any attempt of his to be enticing towards someone like Amir, who drips easy sensuality in every breath he takes, would result in anything more than Jude falling all over himself like an idiot.

At least Amir finds it cute.

He reaches for a towel and steps out onto the plush bath mat, and stops short when he looks around the bathroom and doesn't see his bag.

Instead, sitting on the vanity in place of his ratty canvas backpack, is a shopping bag. What he can only assume is the name of the store is embossed on the sturdy, matte black paper in looping gold that matches the designs etched along the trim, but it's not a name he recognizes. Definitely someplace far outside the realm of a scruffy mechanic, that's for sure.

But there's something niggling at him, tickling at the edges of his thoughts, that suggests it's—

No, don't be stupid. Of course it isn't.

"Amir?" he calls out, eyes still glued on the bag as he awkwardly towels himself dry. Of course, Amir has the perfect timing to come swanning in when Jude's scrubbing at his hair, leaving the rest of him bare.

Amir does not hesitate to ogle, because he never does, and his smirk as his eyes take a luxurious stroll over every damp, hairy inch of human is nothing short of salacious. Jude's hair is still wet, but he can't resist the urge to drop the towel to cover himself a bit, which only makes Amir smirk wider.

"Yes, pet?"

It takes a moment for Jude to remember what he was even going to ask, because the casual little endearment never ceases to scramble his brain a bit.

(He's heard more than one person refer to him as Amir's pet, and he knows it's supposed to be an insult, but… he doesn't exactly hate it.)

He shakes his head to get it back on the right track, and winds the towel around his waist, eyes lowered. "Um, did you move my bag?"

Amir's heaves a dramatic, put-upon sigh. "I am begging you to let me replace that thing.” He is pointedly not looking at the bag on the counter.

"It still works just fine," Jude protests, smiling to himself. It’s something they’ve argued about before, if it can even be called an argument. It’s sweet, how Amir likes to spoil him. He shrugs a bit, ducking his head and letting his damp hair hide his face. “It’s sturdy. Dependable.” He's had it so long, it's almost like an old friend.

“Ugly as sin," Amir adds helpfully, rolling his eyes. But there's a smile playing around the edges of his lips. "You're lucky I think that sentimentality of yours is cute."

Jude's ears burn and he stays hidden behind his hair, but he's smiling too. Cute. Nobody but Amir's ever called him that (not since he was a chubby kid, at least) and he does it so freely and so often, Jude's starting to believe he honestly means it, even if he doesn't see it himself.

He feels Amir slinking closer more than he sees or hears him, bare feet nearly silent on the glossy tile compared to those staggering heels of his, and his breath hitches. He peeks from underneath his hair and is met with those stunning golden eyes and that playful, slightly predatory smile. “I… My clothes were in there, Amir,” he protests weakly, shuddering when soft, warm hands slip around his hips, fingers wiggling under the edge of his loosely wrapped towel, sharp nails pricking at his skin.

“Mmhm,” Amir hums. “Don’t worry, I haven’t thrown them out. I just figured you wouldn’t need them for a while yet.”

A quick, shuddery breath rattles out of him, at the end of it, a tremulous, "O-oh? Oh."

Amir chuckles and pokes Jude’s nose playfully. “Mind out of the gutter, darling. Since you’re playing coy, I’ll just come out and say it–I’ve gotten you a little gift, and the suspense of waiting for you to try it on is killing me.” 

“I’m not… playing coy,” Jude protests weakly, but his eyes flick away from Amir for a split second, over his shoulder to the bag on the vanity, and like an eagle spotting a blissfully unaware rabbit, Amir zeroes in on the shift and leers at him, teeth bared like he wants to sink them into Jude's skin to taste the blood rushing to its surface, like the sweetest of threats.

"You're a terrible liar, but it's so precious that you tried," he purrs, smooth and dangerous. With a flick of his nimble fingers, the towel still clinging desperately to Jude's waist drops to the floor, and sharp nails dig into the meat of his hips just hard enough to make him whimper. "I think you've kept me waiting long enough, pet. Don't you?"

Amir doesn’t wait for him to respond (not that he’d be capable of it in the first place, mouth suddenly dry and tongue like lead) and simply herds him towards the vanity, and the gift on top of it. He swallows hard as he reaches out, glancing back as if to ask for permission before he even touches it. It’s given in the form of a silky chuckle and a not-quite-gentle pat to his bare backside.

 The bag feels just as unspeakably high-end as it looks, the paper heavy and textured, and he didn’t notice before that the handles are gold silk ribbons to match the embossed letters. The name on the bag still isn’t ringing any bells, and he can't even imagine what might be inside, but with the way Amir is watching him, those gold eyes so sharp and intense he can feel the heat of their stare pricking at his skin, he's clearly eager for Jude to find out.

He parts the shimmery metallic tissue paper as delicately as he can with his heavy, callused hands, and finds a long flat box lying underneath. His heart is in his throat as he lifts it out of the bag, turning it over carefully in an effort to guess what it might be without damaging its contents.

Amir sighs behind him, and if Jude’s entire body weren’t thrumming with nerves, he’d look back to see if he’s checking a watch he isn’t actually wearing to drive home the point that his patience is wearing thin.

He opens the box. He almost can't parse what's inside at first.

Lace. Lots of lace. Pale, dusky pink lace edged along sheer fabric and adorned with delicate ribbons and thin gold chains. 

Jude's no stranger to fancy lingerie—Amir wears it often enough, and he likes to model it for Jude, even if he's just as clueless about luxury fashion as he is about fine art. Jude's never once complained—in fact, he's found he really likes it, the textures and colors and cuts, the way the airy fabrics cling to the striking angles of Amir's body, the way he always chooses colors that compliment him so well…

Jude's mouth is suddenly very dry, the weight of Amir's expectant gaze pressing down on him, because he's seen the succubus in enough lacy underthings, and removed them enough, to have a rough understanding of the sizes he wears.

The pretty pink garments in the box are much too big to be meant for Amir.

He looks up, and Amir meets his eyes with a sly curl to his mouth. "Well?" he asks, stepping closer, watching Jude’s face, picking apart his reactions with an almost surgical precision. "What do you think?"

He’s not sure he can think anything right now, all of his thoughts a messy jumble of confusion and curiosity and (a bit shamefully) desire. He knows he shouldn’t be ashamed for what he feels, what he wants, but there’s a lifetime’s worth of it built around everything he’s wanted that wasn’t in line with what he was supposed to be, and he’s still digging his way through that.

He wets his lips with his tongue and stares into the velvet-lined box, still trying to make sense of everything he’s feeling. "Is it… are they… for me?" 

It’s a stupid question, but there’s a part of him that still can’t believe it, is still scared this is either a dream or some sort of joke.

Amir laughs, low and sultry, reaching out to curl his ring-laden fingers around Jude's bicep. The touch is so simple, so soft, but it still spreads warmth through Jude's body. "Of course. Not really my color, is it?"

It isn't, Jude knows. Amir prefers bolder colors, stark contrasts, shimmer and shine to draw the eye. He tries to say as much, but what comes out of his mouth is a fumbling, "Y-you look good in everything."

That laugh again, a smoky, rich thing that sinks beneath his skin, curls in his gut and leaves him aching to hear it again and again and again. "You're so sweet," Amir says, scratching affectionately at his scruffy chin with his free hand. He squeezes the other around Jude’s arm, the tips of his nails a tantalizing pressure that makes his chest feel tight, makes his breath quicken. “Why don’t you go try them on, make sure I got the sizing right.”

He did. Of course he did, Jude couldn’t doubt for a second he would. There’s no way the set isn’t entirely bespoke, too, considering there’s no tags in sight to indicate sizing. There’s a bit of embroidery on the inside of each piece (panties, garters, belt, a frilly top that he struggles to identify) that he assumes is a brand signature or something like it.

Amir ushers him back into the bathroom, smiling playfully as he closes the door, and Jude is left to stare at the box in his hands and try to sort through his thoughts.

It’s easier, with Amir there to distract him, when he can’t focus so much on his nerves, or what his family would think of him, or what he thinks of himself.

He keeps his eyes down, away from the mirror, as he carefully takes each piece of the set out of the box. There’s enough room on the vanity for him to lay them out one by one, and he tries to think of it the same way he thinks of disassembling an engine. You have to go into it with a plan, you have to know how the parts fit together, and in what order. He arranges them in the way he thinks (hopes) they’ll need to go on his body, and takes a slow, deep breath.

The most daunting piece, it seems, will have to be the one that goes first. He picks up the panties, wincing when the calluses on his palms snag at the lace. He frantically checks for damage, his heart pounding, and sighs with relief when nothing seems to be out of place.

He looks over his shoulder, towards the door. Amir is quietly waiting on the other side, probably keeping himself busy with organizing his ever-crowded schedule while Jude has a quiet panic spiral about underwear in his bathroom. But he’s been waiting long enough, and though he teased, he’s been endlessly patient with Jude, and kind enough to get him not just a gift, but an expensive, custom gift he literally plucked from the human’s deepest, most secret desires.

Jude takes another grounding breath, and meticulously, cautiously, pulls the underwear on.

He knows he’s in trouble when a shudder works its way through him at the way the lace feels sliding up his legs, softer than he expected. He’s achingly aware of it whispering up his calves, stretching around his thighs, and nestle over his hips. It takes a bit of… adjustment in certain areas, but given that they were made specifically for his body (and that’s still something he can barely wrap his head around) everything, uh, settles in with surprising ease. It’s oddly comfortable and, more than that, it feels right.

He swallows so hard his throat clicks, and keeps his eyes steadfastly away from the mirror as he reaches for the next pieces–the stockings– with trembling hands.

Amir’s bathroom is practically the size of a studio apartment on its own, and thankfully there’s a seat near the vanity in the form of a plushy padded stool. He sits down and feels the panties shift and stretch around his hips and ass, and gently scrunches the first stocking. He tries to remember how people in movies put them on, and goes from there, bunching it and then pulling it slowly up his leg. It shouldn’t feel so sultry to basically be putting on socks, but the opaque material edged with more of that soft pink lace scraping gently against his skin is thrilling him beyond words. The second stocking doesn't fluster him any less, and he spends a moment or two just staring down at his legs, trying to make sense of what he's seeing, and what it might be awakening in him.

The belt and garters come next, and those at least are fairly simple. The belt is broad and subtly patterned, nipping his waist in a bit without being too restrictive. He spends what feels like an age just running his hands over the smooth, satiny panels before he clips the garters with their tiny bows to it and attaches them to the stockings.

The final piece is the top, with its spidersilk-thin gold chains attached a smooth satin ribbon, and sheer ruffled fabric flowing down from the bust. There’s a touch of fear that it won’t fit him, that he’ll move wrong and tear it while trying to put it on, but it really was made to fit his body, and the way the hem floats around his (doughy, hairy, and sort of pale) belly does a lot to hide some of his insecurities. It does emphasize his chest in a way he’s not sure he likes, clinging and translucent, but when he carefully fastens the ribbon around his neck and makes sure the chains attached to it aren’t tangled, he forgets his stalemate with the mirror and looks up.

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

He looks like himself, still big, broad, and heavyset, with dense muscle padded with a layer of fat and dusted with dark hair, but the contrast of the dusky, pale lace against sun-browned skin and muted tattoos is something that leaves him feeling things he’s not sure he can name.

As if on cue, there’s a dainty little rap on the door, and he jolts, fingers twisting together. Amir is still waiting, and he has no clue how long he’s been in the bathroom—it feels like hours.

He turns and stands at the door, hand hovering over the handle, and feels his stomach beginning to tie itself into knots.

Amir sees something in him that he doesn’t see for himself, and he knows that logically, but his brain isn’t always the most logical place, especially right now. There’s a sense of impending dread taking root in his chest, leaving it  crowded and too-small, like his lungs hardly have the room to expand. He imagines, a bit panicky, Amir taking one look at him and bursting out laughing, or the more likely outcome of feigning interest, telling Jude he looks nice, then hurrying him to change back into his normal clothes and never speaking of this little venture again.

As if Amir senses the direction his thoughts are going, the door swings open, making Jude flinch and—pulse pounding in his ears, heart jumping into his throat—wanting to scramble for cover. But he’s frozen, a deer in the headlights, as the succubus drinks him in.

"Oh, look at you…" he croons, beckoning him out of the doorway (and, of course, he follows without thinking) so he can circle him like he's sizing him up, like he’s taking in every inch of him before he pounces. "So pretty."

Jude couldn't feel more bare if he were actually naked, especially with the way the succubus is pulling him apart with just his molten gold eyes. But he can't get too caught up in that when he's left reeling over one simple word.

Pretty.

Nobody's ever called him pretty before.

Something slots into place in his chest, settles in and unfurls, a shuddering realization of a desire he never knew he held being fulfilled.

He never knew he wanted to be pretty, but it… it makes sense. And it feels good.

“I’ll admit, I took a bit of a risk,” Amir says, and there’s no teasing to his tone this time, just quiet consideration, a tenderness that makes Jude feel just as weak and helpless as his bold innuendo and sultry purring. “It was just a little hint of something I saw after…”

His expression shifts, brows furrowing, mouth curling. There's the faintest hint of that simmering anger he works so hard to hide. He doesn’t have to say anything, and Jude is grateful that he doesn’t. His thoughts were all over the place the night he had dinner with his family, he’s not surprised Amir managed to find the things he didn’t let himself think about, things he’d been struggling to bury for a good two decades, when all his old hurts were bubbling to the surface and he didn’t have the strength to push them down again.

“It was a guess,” Amir continues, easing closer, looking up with his head tilted, hair spilling over his shoulder in a glossy fall that Jude wants to hide in, bend himself practically in half so he can tuck away somewhere he actually feels safe, but he’s rooted to the spot feeling more exposed than he’s ever felt in his life. At least here, out in the open, he gets to see the way a slow smile starts to curl Amir’s lips again, softly smug. “But I think it’s safe to say it was a good one.”

Amir is so close, the heat of his body is almost enough to have Jude sweating, scantily clad as he is.

That could just as easily be nerves, or rather, anticipation.

Without his heels, Amir's a good six inches shorter than Jude, but it doesn't matter much with a presence like his. He effortlessly fills any room he struts into, and Jude's been helplessly drawn to him since the beginning. The demon stares at him with smoldering eyes, a gaze that clings to his skin like honey, thick and molten and saccharine, dripping from the ribbon at his throat, the slender chains connecting it to the top, and lingering at the bust for a long breathless moment before sliding down to the belt, the garters–

Jude shifts on the spot, shivers at the alien sensation of the stockings rubbing against the carpet, and tries to be subtle when he drops his hands to cover himself a bit. Unfortunately, it's not really possible for a man his size to be subtle in anything.

And then there's a swirl of mild disorientation, the sensation of breath against his ear, and a whisper in his mind that sends a shudder through his body.

No hiding, darling. I want to look at you.

Amir's lips don't move, but his eyes are so intent it feels like a physical touch. He takes his sweet time looking Jude over, admires him from every angle. Jude holds still obediently, doesn't try to hide, and he’s rewarded for his good behavior when Amir finally, finally touches him again, fingertips tracing along where the lace clings to his skin, where the softness of his hip spills out over the waistband of the panties, the lines the garters draw down his thick, hairy thighs to connect to the stockings and back up to slip under the floaty hem of the top and prickle his nails along the band that’s doing its best to support his ample chest.

His skin is burning now, between the hearthfire heat Amir radiates and his own blood rushing, and he’s starting to feel the shift in the atmosphere from an almost artistic appreciation to something a little more focused.

He’s not sure he can take much more of that focus, but thankfully Amir is very good at distracting him when he’s starting to feel overwhelmed. It just so happens that, in the current case, that distraction comes in the form of crowding him back into the nearest wall and pawing at him.

"W…wait," he whines out, helplessly squirming against the wall. He’s been able to restrain himself up to this point, to manage the low thrum of arousal building up in his gut since he starting pulling on all the satin and lace, but he can already feel himself straining against the delicate panties with Amir grabbing two big handfuls of his ass and squeezing. "I don't… I don't want to… mess these up."

There were no price tags, but he knows this has to be one of Amir's more expensive gifts. He's heard enough women in his life complain that just the mass-produced stuff is pricey, much less bespoke luxury lingerie. He can't even begin to guess how much Amir spent on what he's wearing, and he's honestly afraid to think about it too hard.

Amir laughs, something low and throaty that echoes sweetly in Jude's ribcage, settles heavy in his belly, and he tugs the human down to his level by the slip of ribbon around his throat. "Oh, darling," he coos indulgently, honey-sweet and just a touch condescending in that way Jude has gotten a little addicted to, "do you really think I only got you one set?"

#tricity monsters #tcm amir #amir naltheri #tricity amir #tcm fanfic #pidge writes #oc: jude marlowe #unprompted #uuuuuh how do i tag this for slightly h*rny content without getting thrown into the abyss #lime? #lime #i think that's how we're doing it now #you like big men in lacy panties? reblog #also tell me what u think perhaps 👉👈 #iiiii uh hope this is like in character and also half decent i am running off a single chapter demo #and also just camping in the dev's ask box #i apologize i was simply possessed by the gay shit #it's also long and rambling and extremely stream of consciousness bc it started as like... a character study for a new oc #and turned into 6k words #i tried to trim this while editing #i somehow managed to add 10 words #i am so sorry

[britneyshakespeare]

So yesterday I read "Slimed with Gravy, Ringed by Drink" by Camille Ralphs, an article from the Poetry Foundation on the publication of the First Folio in 1623, a major work without which most of Shakespeare's plays might very well have been lost today, possibly the most influential secular work of literature in the world, you know.

It's a good article overall on the history and mysteries of the Folio. Lots of interesting stuff in there including how Shakespeare has been adapted, the state of many surviving Folios, theories of its accuracy to the text, a really interesting identification of John Milton's own copy currently in the Free Library of Philadelphia, and the fascinating annotations that may have influenced Milton's own poetry!!! Do read it. It's not an atrociously long article but there's a lot of thought-provoking information in there.

There's one paragraph in particular I keep coming back to though, so I'm just gonna quote it down here:

...[T]he Play on Shakespeare series, published by ACMRS Press, the publications division of the Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies at Arizona State University... grew out of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s plan to “translate” Shakespeare for the current century, bills itself “a new First Folio for a new era.” The 39 newly-commissioned versions of Shakespeare’s plays were written primarily by contemporary dramatists, who were asked to follow the reasonable principle laid out by series editor Lue Douthit: tamper in the name of clarification but submit to “do no harm.” The project was inspired by something the linguist John McWhorter wrote in 1998: “[the] irony today is that the Russians, the French, and other people in foreign countries possess Shakespeare to a much greater extent than we do … [because] they get to enjoy Shakespeare in the language they speak.”

Mainly it's the John McWhorter thing I keep coming back to. Side note: any of my non-native-English-speaking mutuals who have read Shakespeare, I would love to know your experiences. If you have read him in translation, or in the original English, or a mix of both. It's something I do wonder about! Even as an Anglophone reader, I find my experience varies so much just based on which edition of the text I'm reading and how it's presented. There's just so much variety in how to read literature and I would love to know what forces have shaped your own relationships to the stories. But anyway...

The article then goes on to talk about how the anachronistic language in Shakespeare will only fall more and more out of intelligibility for everyone because of how language evolves and yadda yadda yadda. I'm not going to say that that's wrong but I think it massively overlooks the history of the English language and how modern standard English became modern standard English.

First of all, is Shakespeare's language completely unintelligible to native English speakers today? No. Certain words and grammatical tenses have fallen out of use. Many words have shifted in meaning. But with context aiding a contemporary reader, there are very few lines in Shakespeare where the meaning can be said to be "unknown," and abundant lines that are perfectly comprehensible today. On the other hand, it's worth mentioning how many double entendres are well preserved in modern understanding. And additionally, things like archaic grammar and vocabulary are simply hurdles to get over. Once you get familiarized with your thees and thous, they're no longer likely to trip you up so much.

But it's also doubtful that 400 years from now, as the article suggests, our everyday language will be as hard to understand for twenty-fifth century English speakers to comprehend. The English language has significantly stabilized due to colonialism and the international adoption of English as a lingua franca. There are countless dialects within English, but what we consider to be standard international "correct" English will probably not change so radically, since it is so well and far established. The development and proliferation of modern English took a lot of blood and money from the rest of the world, the legacy of which can never be fully restored.

And this was just barely in sight by the time that Shakespeare died. This is why the language of the Elizabethans and Jacobeans is early-modern English. It forms the foundations of modern English, hence why it's mostly intelligible to speakers today, but there are still many antiquated figures within it. Early-modern English was more fluid and liberal. Spelling had not been standardized. Many regions of England still had slight variations in preferences for things like pronouns and verb conjugation. We see this even in works Shakespeare cowrote with the likes of Fletcher and Middleton, as the article points out. Shakespeare's vocabulary may not just reflect style and sentiment, but his Stratford background. His preferences could be deemed more "rustic" than many of his peers reared in London.

Features that make English more consistent now were not formalized yet. That's why Shakespeare sounds so "old." It's not just him being fancy. And there's also the fact that blank verse plays are an entirely neglected art nowadays. Regardless of the comprehensibility of the English, it's still strange for modern audiences uninitiated to Elizabethan literature to sit there and watch a King drop mad poetry about his feelings on stage by himself. The form and style of the entire genre is off.

But that, to me, is why we should read Shakespeare. We SHOULD be challenged. It very much IS within the grasp of a literate adult fluent in English to read one of his plays, in a modern edition with proper assistance and context. It is GOOD to be acquainted with something unfamiliar to us, but within our reach. I'm serious. I do not think I'm so much smarter than everyone else because I read Shakespeare. I don't just read the plain text as it was printed in the First Folio! The scholarship exists which has made Shakespeare accessible to me, and I take advantage of that access for my own pleasure.

This is to say that I disagree with the notion that Shakespeare is better suited to be enjoyed in foreign tongues. I think that's quite a complacent, modern American take. Not to say that the sentiment of McWhorter is wrong; I get what he's saying. And it's quite a beautiful thing that Shakespeare's plays are still so commonly staged, although arguably that comes from a false notion in our culture that Shakespeare is high literature worth preserving, at the expense of the rest of time and history. It is true that his body of work has such a high level of privilege in the so-called Western literary canon that either numerous other writers equally deserve, or no writer ever could possibly deserve.

The effort that goes into making Shakespeare's twenty-first century legacy, though, is a half-assed one. So much illustrious praise and deification of the individual and his works, and yet not as much to understanding the context of his time and place, of his influences, forms, and impacts on the eras which proceeded him. Shakespeare seems to exist in a vacuum with his archaic language, and we read it once or twice in high school when we're forced to, with prosaic translations on the adjoining page. This does not inspire a true appreciation in a culture for Shakespeare but it does reinforce a stereotype that he must be somehow important. It's this shallow stereotype that makes it seem in many minds today that it would be worth it to rip the precise language out of the text of a poet, and spit back out an equivalent "modern translation."

#this is just a stream-of-consciousness rambling. ignore me if im not making sense which im probably not #long post #text post #rant #shakespeare #also to clarify on that last point i am not shitting on the art of translation. AT all. #into other languages that is. nor am i knocking all modern adaptations of shakespeare's works #made with good intent. and also if you enjoy modern translated english shakespeare a la no fear shakespeare #genuinely good for you! that series has helped a lot of people and im glad for them to have that resource #HOWEVER. i WOULD like to challenge the idea that that is the best way to READ shakespeare #i think it's simply a shortcut. #and by all means take a shortcut if what you're reading shakespeare for is the plot. especially if youre new to him! #i DO on the other hand think it is entirely possible for any general reader to eventually be able to read shakespeare #in other types of editions. with the plain text and academic footnotes or annotations. #i do think enjoying the poetry of the works is as enriching as the characters or plot #in fact in the case of characters. the intricacies of the poetry of course enhance them! #you know. like i think the challenge is more doable than we ever really talk about in the mainstream #when you read him in high school you most likely had your english teacher holding your hand through every line #that's basically what the literal prose translations do too. in my opinion. #at least a la no fear shakespeare because those aren't meant to be performed like an equivalent art. #the translations are clarification. #again i think it's entirely possible to adapt the language of shakespeare and even a worthwhile project #but that's not. you know. the thing on the shelves to be read. #we can all still read shakespeare and we are all smart enough to do so. #if we think of early-modern english as another dialect rather than a whole different language #and there are so many mutually intelligible yet very distinct dialects of english around the world today #(the literature of which is also well worth reading) and if one seems approachable. well they all can be.

[iamonlyhereforthefreefood]

I think if you're a queer/neurodivergent/gender non-conforming girl then there was a high chance you had a "not like other girls" phase. And obviously there is a problem with the not like other girls thing because it demonizes girls/women who are more traditionally feminine which obviously there is nothing wrong with, however I do think when you're a queer not traditionally feminine woman or girl you start to feel disconnected from what allegedly is the typical female experience. I see so many posts and memes on Instagram that will be like "men won't get this" or "all women have had this experience" and it's something you don't get or something you've never experienced. And now as an adult I tend to ignore those memes because I'm older I'm aware that women aren't a monolith and every woman experiences life differently. But when you're 15 and see things like that you start to think "well if this is the typical experience girls have then clearly I'm not like other girls". A lot of "not like other girls" memes to have this sense of superiority "other girls are sluts, I'm not" "other girls are vain, I'm not" but at the same time I've seen plenty of memes that seem self deprecating and almost like they come from this place of isolation. I think a lot of girls who had a not like other girls phase really felt disconnected from their peers and those memes were a coping mechanism. I think most people outgrew the not like other girls phase because they grew up and met other women who were neurodivergent and/or queer, grew up and met other women with similar interests and hobbies, grew up and met other women who also had "not like other girls" phases as a result of feeling isolated in high school.

I'm not like other girls, because women aren't a monolith and I'm my unique own person, just like every other woman. I'm also similar to so many other women. I have so many hobbies and experiences that other women share, including the experience of being 15 and thinking you're broken for not fitting into society's idea of what it means to be a girl.

#long rambly post #not like other girls #it's almost 3 in the morning and a lot of this is stream of consciousness #but i just have a lot of thoughts about the not like other girls thing #because i feel like so much of society's idea of womanhood is very heteronormative and focused around femininity #which can feel isolating if you can't relate to it #and being neurodivergent on top of that... oh boy... #like as much as people want to pretend otherwise there isn't actually any real defined 'female experience' #but when you're told there is you start to feel very “oh i'm not like other girls” when you can't relate #idk i just think we as a society need to start differentiating between women who throw other women under the bus for male validation #and like a queer autistic girl who feels isolated because she can't relate to this mythical idea of the 'female experience' #that isn't actually real but that some people seem to think is #and now i've started to see people be called pick me girls for not being gender conforming #even though they weren't throwing other women under the bus #idk it's gotta stop

[all-seeing-ifer]

so it turns out you dunno as much about star trek as i assumed you did (i seen you reblog a few posts about it and thought you were a bigger fan). and tho star trek is like a big ol' franchise, for that osmosis meme, i'm sending you star trek and you can do with that what you will <3

You know what Sapphire I'm going to really try and flex my brain muscles for this one! I'm gonna see if I can do the whole franchise! Welcome to A Complete History of Star Trek, as told by someone who's seen the new films, like three of the old films, and a couple episodes of the original series, and is otherwise getting all of this from their friends and people they follow on tumblr!

We start with the original star trek! It's the one everyone thinks of when they think of star trek, with kirk, spock, bones, and all them lot! It's about the crew of a spaceship in the far future who go around exploring different planets and meeting new alien species. This also appears to be the premise of every other star trek show.

Kirk is the captain of the spaceship. I have it on good authority that despite what fans and the newer installments will try to make you think, he is in fact not an annoying womanising guy but is a very nice young man who respects women (and is maybe bisexual???) good for him!

The crew also includes his second in command, Spock, who is very logical except when him and Kirk are having gay moments. Then there's Bones, who is a doctor and talks a lot about being a doctor. There's Uhura, who seems to be kind of a girlboss and is in charge of... I want to say communications? I think she was part of the first interracial kiss ever shown on tv or something like that, which is pretty cool! good on you star trek! There's also a delightful russian man named Chekov, who was my favourite part of the bits and pieces I've seen, and a guy called Sulu, who is. there. I know nothing about this man.

The show is an episodic monster of the week show, where there's a new alien/threat of some kind in each episode. These threats include alien warriors called klingons, fluffy aliens called tribbles that can multiply infinitely, and a hive mind called the borg. dear god I am really hoping the borg is a star trek thing and not like battlestar galactica. A lot of the episodes are very horny, like the one where spock has to fuck someone or he'll literally die. This is despite it being made in the 60s when being horny wasn't allowed on tv, so good on you again star trek!

They also made some films based on star trek. The first one isn't very good, the second is about a villain called khan and is great! Spock dies in it, but don't worry, he comes back in the next movie! How? Great question, don't ask me. I think kirk's son also dies in one of these movies? Does kirk have a son? Did I fever dream that?

The most important film is the one where they go back in time to the 80s to save the whales. This was my favourite of the ones I saw, but I feel like nerds might hate it. It seems too fun.

After the original series they made star trek the next generation, which is all about patrick stewart as a new ship captain called picard. Much like kirk, he also has a second in command, but his second command is very impulsive and hot headed instead of being logical, so they have kind of the opposite dynamic. At one point, picard and kirk got to meet each other in one of the films.

Picard's crew includes a robot called data, who everyone loves!! Even I love him, and I've never met this man! He's a robot, and apparently he often comes across very autistic and/or aroace, so he's really racking up points with me! Other crew members include geordi laforge, who is besties with data and is blind and wears a visor that is presumably a seeing aid of some kind, and a klingon who's not evil like the other klingons!

After the next generation came voyager! This was the first star trek show with a lady captain, which was very exciting! Her name is Janeway and Voyager is mostly about straightbaiting the audience with her and her boy best friend (and also maybe time travel?)

Voyager was followed by Deep Space Nine, which was different to the previous star treks because it was set on a space station instead of a ship. It had many characters, one of whom was an alien called Odo!

Then they made Enterprise, which was also different to all the previous star treks because it was a prequel (presumably about the original crew of the enterprise) I don't think people liked it.

Speaking of things people don't like, they made a bunch of reboot films in the 2000s and 2010s! From what I remember of them I liked them quite a bit, but this seems to be a pretty unpopular opinion. They are very different from the original series that they're based on and don't characterise Kirk correctly and also benedict cumberbatch is playing a character who was originally played by an indian guy which is pretty weird, but at least they have a banging score courtesy of michael giacchino! What happened to that guy anyway, I feel like he hasn't had a memorable score in years. Come back michael. we miss you.

In the years since the reboots they have also made a few more shows, such as a prequel about a young picard, an animated series called lower decks which is more comedic than the live action shows, and a show called brave new worlds, which is the current series! They had a trans character for a bit but they got killed off, which people were very upset about.

and that's it. that's what star trek is!

#long post #ifer rambles #asks and stuff #sapphire don't worry about your response to me being stream of consciousness as you can see mine was exactly the same

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

like I feel like Sugar's "did you know I recently had a brother die, too?" does say a lot about how stuck in his own head Carmy can get but at the same time i don't think he's completely oblivious. the thing i keep coming back to is that he's actually very emotionally intelligent/intuitive, like he can read a room and empathize with people and on some level understand what they might be feeling, it's just that when it comes to trying to talk about it he completely stalls out. which is actually a major thing that's showcased in episode 5, is that he's really good at picking up on and kind of working with/bouncing off other people bc he is kinda intuitive like that!! it's just the communication aspect of it all that he sucks at. so you end up with stuff like the opening scene with Syd, just this kind of unspoken communication and half-finished sentences (bc I think she kind of has a similar intuition, just that her thing is that she can't NOT discuss stuff, which can be both good and bad as, ya know, anything can, but that's a different post), and you end up with that interaction he has with Tina about his mom and the smacksmacksmack of the spoon against his palm bc he can't figure out how to say what that conversation makes him feel, or you end up with him knowing that Sugar is gonna be upset and trying to mitigate that (to cut back on stress for himself but also maybe for her, too; like, to spare them both the argument), and you end up with the conversation he has in the alley with Marcus. like, yeah Carmy may be absolute crap at talking about feelings (even the scene with Marcus steers mostly away from emotions talk; except for the one line about making all his anxiety go away, it's all very grounded in actions and happenings) but he's not stupid. he's actually REALLY good at reading people, he's just crap at communicating. (but the thing is, he TRIES. he's Aware that he sucks at this and he is TRYING for his own sake and for the sake of everyone around him. and that's like... half the point, isn't it? choosing to get better [at things, or just in the way of healing]?)

#idk this is a bit stream of consciousness but i am having a big think rn #bc what i keep coming back to is that carmy is (or at least can be) really good with people he's just really bad with words #every other word out of his mouth is an f-bomb bc he doesn't know how else to convey all the emotion he feels #which is... honestly so fascinating??? #bc he CAN read a room he can read people really really well it's just. holy heck this guy is REALLY bad at communicating #but he tries!!! even after he screws up royally and hurts everyone around him very badly #he acknowledges what he's done wrong and chooses to try to get better #and i think that's what this show is all about. getting better. in every way. in SO MANY ways. #aaand i spent so long rambling about this that my ipad screen started to shut off shkddjskdj #Lu rambles #meta finding tag #the bear #carmy berzatto

[ghostdrinkssoup]

*crashes through window* it’s show and tell tonight so welcome back to my hannibal notes/reactions (s1 ep6) except it’s just the silly goofy ones:

omg this is the one with the will scene everyone thirsts over (you know the one)

will: as an insane person, I don’t wanna go into the psychiatric facility, they might not let me out tbh

jack: dw I won’t leave you here *screams in s2 agony*

^^ will: not today *SCREAMS EVEN LOUDER*

chilton my slimy little rat man <333 I missed him omg

the psychiatrists in this show are obsessed with will and I don’t even blame them I wanna pick his brain apart too

a bitch… a flirt… a rat… I hate him 🫶

yep this is the thirst trap will scene

^^ foreshadowing will’s slut arc, so necessary and vital

gideon was fucked for this… good thing he eats his own leg later 🥹

will: I’ll break some dude’s neck and make artistic sculptures out of rotting corpses and indulge in a little social cannibalism here and there but I draw the line at violence against women

“you never replied” “I never do” HE’S JUST LIKE ME FR

“more or less” SHUT UP WILL YOU’RE SUCH A BITCH

will is such a cunt this episode I love him with my whole damn heart

will rlly said UH I know the chesapeake ripper 🙄 stop impersonating my boyfriend

“will is not my patient 🤨 if he was our relationship would be really weird and inappropriate, god”

“we have conversations” yeah the freakiest conversations known to man, amen

“I see the ripper but I don’t feel the ripper” this line has no right to be as romantic as it is jesus christ

I CAN’T BELIEVEEE JACK OPENED UP TO HANNIBAL AND HANNIBAL WAS LIKE TEEHEE I’M GONNA TORMENT YOU SOOOOOO BAD FUCK OFF

zeller in his gaslighter arc like “jack… jack you’re crazyyyy you don’t even know what you’re hearing”

freddie really is a queen she’s the only one other than hannibal that can rival will’s inherent bitchiness

“here we are, a bunch of psychopaths helping each other out” that’s it that’s the show !

NOT HANNIBAL SEEING THE TEA ON HIS IPAD TAKE THE L KING

hannibal was like hold up… deadass? this guy is the one who’s impersonating me? funny time is over I am no longer giggling and twirling my hair…

HANNIBAL IS SUCH A FREAK WDYM HE SLEPT IN JACK’S BED JUST FOR THE LOLS I’m so obsessed with him fr why is he like this

HANNIBAL STOP THE GAY CANNIBAL PUNS NOW

the grape thing was so threatening like okay king…

well that phone call was very handy 👀

miriam’s suit was so slay sorry just had to mention it <33

BITCH RLLY TOOK OFF HIS SHOES FUCKKK

#I forgot to share my silly goofy notes so now I gotta go back and unleash them for the internet to see #these really are my unfiltered thoughts huh? my stream of consciousness. a peak into my brain #without the long rambly analysis ones ofc #I’m up to episode 10 now so I’ll come back and share my other thoughts for the gay awakening three-parter that is s1 ep 6/7/8 <3 #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannigram #ghost reacts #ghost speaks

[sacrificialmutt]

sat here getting all sad thinking abt hannibal like one man has sm influence on EVERYONE around him.. the way he genuinely altered wills brain chemistry, the way he framed will for murder and then turned the entire narrative that he crafted on its head, the way he had will traveling to lithuania BY BOAT and then to italy to find him?? (plus knowing will would seek him out and that will would know where to find him ugh i digress) bedelia literally became a new person in more than one sense because of hannibal. tbh who is chiyoh without hannibal? does she know? does will know who he is, after describing himself and hannibal as conjoined? you really cannot come back from that level of codependency (trust me ik). aside from that, hannibal went on killing people in INSANE ways for how many years and was only caught when he wanted to be. he has fed just about everyone he knows human meat without their knowledge. even if they aren't aware of it, simply crossing paths with hannibal lecter changed their lives. don't even get me started with muskrat farm, the way he held his composure and was even smiling throughout the whole thing, being told how his body would be prepared for mason to eat, being BRANDED?? and still being able to get margot and alana on his side because he's just always in control. they know it, he knows it.

#┈ ✴ ﹙rambling﹚ #hannibal #dont mind me im like pseudo depressed and ive been awake for too long #total stream of consciousness but like #one man should not have sm power