#Hollow Materials Online

[radioconstructed]

wait, why don't you want anyone to fix your pronouns on your warning poster?

⌖ It AMAZES me when the demographic that cares about ✨respecting pronouns✨ will

make extremely CORRECT sociological observations like "transsexuals face disproportionate challenges pertaining to social integration & acceptance" and "transsexuals are, socially, a group disproportionately on the receiving end of isolation, dehumanization, and various forms of predatorjacketing"

see my ✨catfish pinup✨, something meant to FURTHER my SOCIAL ISOLATION and continue a SMEAR CAMPAIGN against me, and

think that the ONLY ISSUE with it is that it has the WRONG PRONOUNS!

⌖ There's a gap in their NEUROLOGICAL CONNECTIONS, I THINK!

⌖ Updating the poster doesn't HELP ME! This is the sort of ANNOYING PERFORMATIVE ALLYSHIP I don't care for! GRASSLESS COUYONS with NO MATERIAL ANALYSIS! You're making it EASIER for people to recognize me from the poster! If you WANT to make my life MARGINALLY MORE TOLERABLE,

✨ just take the damn thing down! ✨

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Analysis of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - Introduction

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

I want to start this essay by admitting I’m actually embarrassed by its length. Why did I spend so much time on something I dislike? The truth is, I did not begin this with the intention of creating such an extensive, formal study of the Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo’s Nightwing run and how it reflects the wider problems with DC’s handling of one of their most iconic characters. I was just trying to organize the thoughts that came up during discussions with other Dick Grayson fans. Before I knew it, I had enough material, enough desire to challenge myself, and enough frustrations to vent to properly create this monstrosity.

I did not begin this Nightwing run determined to hate it. In fact, I was ready to love it. As Taylor promoted the run before the first issue was officially released, I was so excited for it. As I read short interviews where he discussed Heartless, I could not wait to have a new, incredible villain. Foolishly, I believed Taylor when he said he loved Dick Grayson. 

Needless to say, I was disappointed. Then frustrated. Then angry. The beginning of any story is a period where writer and reader form an indirect bond, and as the story progresses, so do the highs and the lows of said relationship. As such, a reader’s tolerance for negative factors will either increase or decrease depending on their experience up until that point.

In other words, if the writer fails to earn the reader’s trust and instead takes their attention for granted, even seemingly insignificant details become irritating in a way they would not be if presented in a better story. In such scenarios, the reader can no longer overlook those minor moments because there’s little good to balance them out with. It is a death by a thousand cuts. 

In the case of Taylor and Redondo’s run, along with those thousand cuts are also broken bones, internal bleeding, head trauma, and severed limbs. A weak plot, simplistic morality that undermines the story’s stated themes, and, most importantly, a careless disregard for Dick Grayson and everything he stands for utterly destroyed my enjoyment of this series. 

It is still too early to tell what sort of impact Taylor’s (as of time of writing, still unfinished) run will have on Dick Grayson’s future portrayals. But just because we cannot predict its long term significance, it does not mean we cannot critique it. Currently, we simply lack the benefit of hindsight. 

If this essay were to have a thesis, then it is this: Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo’s Nightwing not only fails to tell a compelling Nightwing story, but it also exemplifies a cynical, self-serving, and shallow approach to storytelling that prioritizes creating hollow viral moments to boost the creators’ own online popularity over crafting a good story, honoring the character in their care, and respecting his fans – fans who have, historically, often been women, queer folk, and other individuals who felt othered by a cisheteronormative patriarchal society. Taylor and Redondo’s thoughtless and superficial narrative not only undermine the socially progressive ideals they supposedly care for by propagating a cisheteronormative patriarchal worldview, but they also demonstrate a lack of love and understanding for the character in their care. At best, Taylor and Redondo have no interest in getting to know Dick Grayson, nor any respect for their predecessor and their contributions to this character. At worst, they despise Dick so much that they wish to reinvent him into something completely different, tossing away everything that was special to his fans in order to appeal to a readership that never cared about Dick Grayson. 

I structured this essay so that, hopefully, each part will build on the ones that came prior. Naturally, because all aspects of a story are interlaced, there will be overlaps between each of the sections. As it may have become obvious from this introduction, I’ll be focusing primarily on the writing of this run. That is not to say that I will not address the art, but writing is the field I know most about, and so it feels only fair to focus my critique on that. 

I hope that by the end of this essay, I will have successfully proved that this run’s mishandling of different narrative elements betray a cynical appropriation of progressive ideology and a disregard and disinterest in what makes Dick Grayson so special to so many people. This is an attitude that is present within DC Comics’ current ethos as a whole.

Now, who is this essay for? Honestly, it’s probably not for Tom Taylor fans. I do not believe I’ll be persuading anyone with my writing, and, to be quite honest, neither would I say I wish to do so. Taylor and Redondo’s run has won numerous awards and has many dedicated fans who adore it for what it is. If that is you, then I’m glad. I wish I could be among your numbers. I wish more than anything that I could love this story. But I do not, and I know many others agree with me, and it is to them, I think, that I’m speaking to. As Taylor’s run is praised to heaven and back, I needed a safe space to voice my thoughts. This essay became this safe space. And to others who also feel unseen by the constant praise this run is getting, I think this could speak to you, as well. To be cliche and cringe, this will hopefully let you know that you are not alone. 

Finally, I want to acknowledge some people whose thoughts greatly contributed to the creation of this essay. For around three years now I’ve been having wonderful interactions with other Dick Grayson’s fans, and those discussions were not only incredibly fun and cathartic, but also provided great insight into what needed to be included in this essay. My best friend especially gave me a space to vent when I got frustrated, and my original outline borrowed a lot from the messages I sent her, as well as notes I took for our discussions.  

I’ll also be directly quoting four different Dick Grayson fans (identified as Dick Grayson Fans A, B, and C in order to allow them to keep their anonymity). Their analyses were so critical to the formation of my thesis and for a lot of what will be addressed in this essay that I actually feel like they deserve co-credit in this essay. Dick Grayson Fan B especially deserves a shoutout in helping me track down a couple of pages used as supporting evidence, as I knew what pages I was looking for but was having a hard time remembering in which issue they were located. I’m quoting them with permission, and crediting their ideas and contributions whenever relevant. 

Now, without any further ado, let’s get started. 

[greatrunner]

Yep. Control the space, control the narrative. That's always the game when they're outnumbered (or not) in fanspaces.

IWTV Twitter and the so-called "Fake Black Fans" Invasion

Something that I've been seeing a lot after it gained traction on Max is white fans condescendingly talking down to Black fans, some of whom have been in this fandom longer than they have, and acting as if they don't know what they are talking about because of their critique including a concept or subtext they wish to ignore. I want to repeat that this doesn't happen in the same amounts to white fans who make analyses or memes, it seems to uniquely be Black fans speaking AAVE or with Black pfps (visibly black bc of this) being bombed in the comments for having valid opinions.

I reached about the fifth tweet of white women going onto posts of Black people (particularly older women on Black Twitter) talking about IWTV and saying "You don't know what you're talking about, read the source material/finish the show" or entirely saying that "You don't understand fandom culture". Prompting those Black people to respond curtly that they, in fact, have read the source material, finished the show long before they have, and have been a fandom elder since before they even rolled into town. I witnessed someone doing BABY talk to a 30-year-old Black woman who was talking about episode 5, with "Well you see, it's not my fault you can't read". And when the woman professed anger back, she was the one blocked.

I witnessed this backhanded shit FIVE TIMES over the course of this week. With different white women doing the job of whitesplaining fandom culture and Anne Rice to random Black fans who already know unprompted with a level of passive aggressiveness and annoyance that only comes with doing it repeatedly. I must assure you (white people who are doing this) nobody asked, you can put down your task and stop pretending like you are doing something Sisyphean. You are not legally required to explain and describe IWTV poorly while getting into screaming matches with far more educated Black fans on Twitter and Tumblr.

People are acting as if there's a rising population of Black fans who are "Fake Fans" and must be stopped, lest they start up the freaky discourse. OOHHH NOOOO! Whatever are we to do then???? And therefore it is completely normal and a civic duty to blast Black fans in the comments of everything that they say about the show or the books.

I've been seeing people unironically football tackle reaction posts of the show with paragraphs worth of text that is inflammatory and backhanded. This is even more apparent when the poster is visibly black or uses AAVE. The association is that Black people who use AAVE or memes obviously are uneducated, lack media literacy, and cannot consume content the way that "White" fans do.

It is an attempt to tone police Black fans away from creating new topics of discussion or creating/expanding the fandom space with the growing watcher-base. It always has to happen in their chosen language, on their time, in the places they can reach us and yell some more. They are very discomforted when Black fans have pockets in fandom where they can't be outnumbered and they do in fact control discourse in a way that isn't productive to respectability. (As much as I am a big fan of big words and rambling, that is somewhat what is expected in this fandom as a Black person to be considered "respectable" and I'm not willing to ignore or shy away from that).

This is also hand in hand with my previous thoughts about fans' dog-whistling about media becoming accessible/mainstream and how "Others" will ruin it and outnumber them. I noticed that in the IWTV fandom, it seems like white fans believe that the "Others" is just Black Twitter in general. Not just "Twitter" but specifically Black people who don't fit into their narrow respectability politics.

I hate to tell you all this, but Black fandom culture is still fandom culture, and Black people do in fact read and write. I should not be seeing a pattern of random white fans going into the comments of Black people who mention IWTV and automatically assuming that they have no clue what they're talking about.

Like clockwork, exactly as when the show came out, racist white book fans started up the discourse of "The Black people are going to ruin fandom with their racism discourse and spit on Anne Rice!" and then when that time passed, the show reaches Max, and here they go barking again.... We really need to get a muzzle.

[regular-dog]

Hey @five-rivers, happy truce! I decided to go with your prompt about danny attending a cultural ritual or event, and themed it around the far frozen. My explanation for it got a little longwinded so I've included it under a read more, along with a little extra art!

(tumblr’s probably gonna crunch all of these up a bit, so click for better quality)

I'll be honest, I haven't actually thought out the exact details of what this event would be, just the broad strokes - I tend to gravitate towards food as a source of celebration in my own worldbuilding, and I guess that bled through here as well in the form of “ice = water = probable fish based diet = important fish event?”

During drafting I couldn’t really decide between “event centred around observing fish migration and/or other seasonal habits” or “Danny being invited to come fishing with Frostbite and the other yeti”, but honestly I think either of those would probably fit. Originally I had planned to have one or two yeti characters swimming around with him to make the piece more dynamic, but a surprise attack from a migraine kind of cut into my plans a bit and I decided to downsize.

...at least until I got annoyed by the lack of a visible ghost friend in the piece and decided to paint a “small” “”extra”” “””doodle””” which rapidly turned into a whole other Thing,

There are shockingly few ghost fish in the show, apparently, or at least I could neither remember nor find images online of any examples, so I just kind of winged it. Their design is partially inspired by a short story you wrote a while back, although I ended up drifting away from the zebrafish motif as I was drafting them. I started thinking of them as maskfish as a stand-in name, and then promptly forgot to think of a better one, so. Maskfish it is. Here's some random notes I made while conceptualising them, because I constantly have specbio on the brain and couldn't not think about it

Maskfish flesh turns an opaque pale colour when cooked, and remains translucent when raw

Their eyes are covered in a clear, hard exterior, and can be hollowed out and sterilised for use in various crafts; along similar lines I could also see their bones being used to make glues, paints, and other such resources.

Their cores are located at the top of the spinal cord, in the head; their mouths are located on the underside, beneath the "mask", which makes up the entire top part of the head, and is a singular piece of a shell-like material.

Though they aren't particularly agressive hunters, they also aren't picky about their food, and will generally eat anything smaller than themselves.

Aaand finally, here's a bunch of isolated scans, since procreate ate a lot of the fine details in the collaging process.

[wachtelspinat]

i can't help but feel like my drawing days are kind of over. not entirely, i'll still be drawing from time to time. and deffo not because i want to. but i'm having this exact same feeling since mid 2022, since i was really struggling with my elective period, i kind of disconnected with art there and never truly found my way back. on top of everything that came after - moving, starting a job and working to be good at it which leaves such little room for other things because i can't handle my life well - there is just so much horrible shit going on. and i'm having a hard time comprehending it.

a part of me also feels very stupid for drawing one thing for almost 4 years now constantly, but another part of me knows "hey, but this makes you happy". it's a constant battle in my head because online spaces are like school grounds, and i don't actually wanna stand in the corner as that one kid that just can't shut up about that one character. but then again all i ever did was drawing fanart so... what does it. who gives a shit. be cringe and be free alright. but it kinda feels so hollow, esp. when you're at it for so long. a lot of mutuals move on. some are not even active anymore anywhere. and i wonder what happened. plus a huge chunk of the tone of the fandom has changed. also with the source material getting butchered so hard (since the release of ow2) it just kills the fun. playing this game used to be fun. playing this game was one thing that helped me getting through the last meters of university. it's like watching the downfall of the simpsons again without making the comparison too set in stone, just... this thing that used to be decent and nice and watching it getting ruined in real time (broken promises about pve, the recent gameplay changes?? the lore was fucked up from the start but they kind of tried, now it's just skins for 20+ dollars) while still having feelings for the characters is shit. anyway...

i recently went through a big folder of stuff i'd drawn at the age of 12-15 and there were so many fucked up but cool monster and cyborgs designs and just silly stupid stuff and all i could think of was that i felt so distanced from it, like i don't even know i think this is normal? because a lot of time has passed and a lot has happened and i knew i've drawn all this but i wasn't able to locate the person who did in my present me now and... it's just so normal that things move constantly forward but i feel like i missed huge chunks and passed a few stops and now i'm kind of lost.

i don't even know what i'm trying to say here anymore. i just feel sad because it feels like sth is slipping out of my grasp or sth has changed tremendously and i don't know how to make damage control.

i keep trying tho, i try to draw once a week at least. it's just like as soon as i take a step back and look at it i don't feel it at all. gonna continue tho, until it makes sense again i hope.

[insuke69]

“More of you to love, my darling.”

✰ Drabble of Hobie x tall!chubby!reader

You aren't small, by any means.

Its one thing being a tall skinny person, and it's be another thing being short and 'fat',

But you got stuck with the worst of both worlds, Chubby and tall. Not skinny enough to be able to wear anything comfortably low waisted but not curvy enough to be able to express these insecurities without being accused of seeking attention or being told how people would kill to look like you.

you were lucky to meet a man like Hobie--who is taller than you, loving, fun, overall perfect.

Maybe even too perfect..

He always tells you how much he loves you. he always says "You're beau'iful in my arms, darlin'."

Beautiful. That doesn't sound right, that is the oposite of what you've heard all your life. hollow complements of men oversexualizing your curves and beautiful smaller, thinner friends asking to borrow one of your jackets because it'd be 'cutely oversized' on them.

And it isn't that you're ugly either, you sometimes feel like the baddest bitch on the planet--before seeing the person in the mirror that makes you hate those rolls on your back. that pudgy stomach. the plump large hips that adorn the top of your squishy legs.

"What're you doing?" Hobie asked with a playful smirk as he looked over at you, you were trying on clothes you had bought online--biggest size and everything.

"These stupid jeans are meant to be baggy and shit but they fit me normally and don't even- zip!" you say back to him with slight exaspuration while trying to work the zipper of a pair of jeans that you really wanted to fit since they matched your style perfectly.

those jeans were too tight below your belly button and their supposedly baggy length fit you normally because of your height.

"Shh, sh. calm down, it's alrigh', we can return them and order the next size u-" He tried to tell you reassuringly as he walked over to you and put his hands on your waist.

"Thats not the point, these are already the biggest damn size." You groan as you suck in your stomach as much as you physically can to try and force the zipper closed or get the button through its designated hole.

"Woah, woah," He said as he put his hands over yours to stop you from forcing the fabric againts your skin and straining the material over your plump flesh. "We can go to the mall or something and get you jeans like these there, once we return these, get the money back and talk about whatever is actually bothering you." His tone is cool and calm while his hands start lowering the jeans from your hips to get them off of you.

He always knew that you would prefer to at least be shorter or at least thinner, while to him you're already beyond perfect. He hates going to the mall because of the branded clothing there that only further corrupts capitalism after every cent and here he is.

Offering that to you to make you happy <3

_______________________________

BE PATIENT WITH ME YALL IM BARELY A QUARTER DONE WITH P2 OF WHATS IN A NAME THIS DRABBLE IS TO KEEP YALL FED

[max-the-many]

Another skipped one:

'body a day' #22: satisfied

It really isn't just the urge to grab a sexy hunk. It is more than that, a feeling, that I can hardly discribe, a feeling, that comes in all shapes, sizes, variations, captivating me ever since I discovered that book, especially that spell that gifted me with such incredible possibilities.

I found it in the library I help sometimes, burried between heaps of junk, old books, magazines and stuff. It looked rather unassuming, the cover damaged and old, covered with old wrapping paper.

As I opened it, the smell of dust and ages of neglect emerged. I grinned as I read the content. Yet I couldn't help but get curious.

So I took it with me, browsing through the book every now and than. It all seemed so well written, so real. I dove into it more and more, playing with the thought of it beeing real up to the point, where I started to practice some basic focusing- excercises, gathering mterials as I stumbled upon them, getting others via dubious sources online.

Just weeks later I found myself sitting inside my room, feeling a rther strong tingle in my fingers while murmuring ancient lines, sending waves through my body I can only discribe as energy in lack of better words.

According to the book, the ritual I chose would let me do a procedure I didn't even know would create a craving I couldn't get out of my head. And as I got this far, I had to bring it further. I had to try whaat all these preparations were meant for.

The next days I hardly thought of other things, distracted, confused, fighting at times if I should do it, if I even have the right to do such a thing.

One long evening walk a few days past that intense sensation I still had only that thought, strolling through the streets, looking at people, guys, at myself in storefronts, still feeling the echo of that tingle, that energy. And like the days before, it grew, when I thought about it. At times I even started to chant the words.

When I walked around a corner, entering an empty alley, I couldn't stop it anymore. As I saw a guy entering from the other side I mumbled on, intensified my words, my focus, feeöing that emergy up until I reached out when we walked past eachother, touching his wrist when my body collapsed. Or rather it felt like that with a rush of that energy jolted through my fingers, my sight getting blurry, my body hardly able to keep itself upright.

And when I was able to collect myself again, I noticed a pile on the ground, a pile, where that guy just walked over, nowheee else to be seen. A pile of clothes, topped by... hair? I bent downwards, touching that strange, rubbery material underneath, cautiosly picking it up.

A moment of horror ran through my head when I recognized the features of that guy. But not only that. It worked!

But as I heared a sound I quickly gathered that lump of whatever was left of him, making sure to cover that skinlike material with his clothes before I rushed through the city back home.

Back in my flat I could still not believe it, sitting infront of that pile. Did I kill him? Did it hurt? Slowly I started to explore it, picked the clothes off the hollow body. Seeing him spread out on my bed, his deflated shape, sprinkled with hair, again, I felt the unease of all those questions in my head.# But now, that I had gone so far, I figured, I had to finish it. So I undressed. Again, standing infront of his hull for quite a bit before I picked him up, ashamed of the reaction below my belly.

When I turned it around, searching for the opening, described in the book, it seemed like the touch of my fingers created it alk by itself. So I went on, stuck my foot inside with a noticable shudder, sliding down to what was left from his foot, following by the other one. I was quite releaved as the material turned out to be very flexible. So I pulled it up and over my hips before I slid my hands inside, followed by pulling it over my shoulder.

Still unsure of how I should feel about it I went to the mirror. To see me, wearing this skinlike hull really gave me the creeps. It didn't really feel like skin and I was very happy about that as it otherwise would have been even harder to compensate. To see the frame of that guy stretched around me rather distorted was strange enough.

For the last step I thrn grabbed the mask, surprised to not smell anything at all as I pulled it over my face. I hesitated for a moment. When the mask was on that should be the final step. This should finish the process. Dispite everything else in the book worked out exactly as written so far I still was slightly concerned if something could go wrong. But eventually I pulled the mask that final inch.

And there it was. I could clearly feel the opening merging until there was no tracable seam. And along with that, my ehole body seemed to come in motion, shifting, stretching and shrinking while my head spun around, dizzying me to the point where I sank down to the ground. I nearly fainted, trying to keep myself somewhat up as I sat on the ground, having the world twisting, blurring before my eyes, my skin feeling like it melted.

I couldn't really tell how long it took until I recovered, until I was somewhat clear again. I even had to remind myself, what was happening again, starting to check my body. It felt... normal, yet different. Was it all an illusion? I couldn't really tell by looking at my hands as I was still kind of hazy, so I stood up.

When I ended up infront of the mirror though, I almost fell down again. Looking back from the surface was... that guy! In disbelief I lifted my hand, feeling my face. So did that huy. It was me, him, I was him! I... wore him. Again, a shiver ran down my spine with that thought.

But along with this utter discomfort, I couldn't hekp but beeing fascinated, mareled by the sight if that man. He was particularly handsome, quite average, in shape aswell, dark blonde hair, a slight belly, but not too much. But to experience myself in this different body was absolutely captivating and in some strange, and totally unexpected way it gave me this sense of... satisfaction.

[elijahmiles]

So, Miriel’s fate… I don’t think they’ll alter it but she’s already been chosen by the eagle (she was chosen, not Pharazon and I’ll fight anyone who says the eagle chose him, including that Belzagar guy) and she’s been spared by the sea monster so the Valar have twice shown her favour. Like, could they not do that a third time and protect her, a leader of the Faithful, when the wave comes 😭

HONESTLY. I haven’t read the source material but I know from online discussions that she dies in the Fall of Numenor. However at this point she should survive. I don’t care. Looking at it big picture this show has killed of enough characters of color (a part of me is shocked that Arondir didn’t die bc they kept doing it over and over again) so to have her die would be even worse at this point. I understand Miriel has a draw to her character and her arc of a Cassandra archetype, someone granted visions and who is bound to doom. However it would only feel hollow and tasteless, I think, unless it’s done exceptionally well, and even then, I’d feel uneasy. I also want her to survive bc she’s my favorite and I love her. I think there’s a way they could even acknowledge or play with Miriel’s death in the source material, like claiming that the Queen of Numenor dies with Numenor—while she, Miriel, survives. It could speak to the history of Middle Earth as Middle Earth remembers it being flawed, the truth of her personal survival something just for herself and not for the grand legacy of history.

[roseamongroses]

hold the nose

shuri/riri | 5k

Tags: Established Relationship, hurt/ comfort, Protective Shuri (Marvel) Long-Distance Relationship, Sexual Themes, Fade to Black, shuri's laugh cures all ailments tyvm, monster fucking erotica/erotica mentions, Five Plus One, Halloween, Grief, family death mentions Self-Blame, no beta we die like ironman

Summary:

Five times Shuri helped Riri feel less shitty.

-

+ 1 time Riri did the same

ao3

1.

Riri balked as Shuri’s eyes crinkled with poorly disguised humor.

“You promised not to laugh,” she complained, attempting to pull away, but she couldn’t get far. Their legs were entangled, a deceptively strong arm around her waist, keeping her snugly on top of Shuri. Riri braced herself on her forearms, trying to achieve some semblance of distance.

“I’m not-I’m not laughing,” Shuri insisted, lip quivering as she avoided their gaze, “It's just-”

“It's what?” Riri glowered as Shuri pinched her cheeks, looking terribly fond.

“You’re cute when you get all worked up,” Shuri shared, smile stretching wide--those damned dimples stealing the show. “I’ve always admired your passion.”

Thats-

Riri jerked her head away, “Stop that,” she grumbled, “You can’t talk your way out of this.”

First she bullies her into talking about her shitty day, then she laughs?

Riri has blocked her for less.

Shuri schooled their face, donning a serious expression, thumb pressing into the hollow of her cheek, “I’m very, very sorry,” she said, her soft voice crumbling Riri’s resolve easily.

Maybe she could talk her way out of this.

“...Sorry for what?”

“For laughing at you-” Shuri snorted, eyes shutting as she tried again, “For laughing at your unique and difficult situation,” her shoulders were shaking at this point as she rapidly lost her composure again.

“Shuri—!”

Shuri’s head fell back, no longer able to hold back a wheezing laugh.

“Ugh, you suck—“ Riri said. Although at this point she was fighting back a grin of her own. Shuri’s laugh was equally as infectious as it was infuriating.

And now that Riri thought about it… it was a little funny.

-

2.

Riri wasn’t sure how it started.

Maybe it was the long work hours, maybe it was the distance between them, but Shuri picked up the oddest hobbies.

Riri suspected the habit started long before the two started dating. Shuri didn’t hide the fact that they didn’t have a lot of close friends their age growing up.

The older Shuri got, the more responsibilities she took on--so most of the time her attention revolved around her lab. Most of the time.

Three months ago, while the lab was undergoing mandatory deep cleaning, Shuri decided to reconstruct early, 19th-century looms entirely of edible materials. Last month when they were getting fitted at the tailors, she drafted up plans on how to replicate the tiny people from Adventure Time on a napkin. If it wasn’t for the Wakandan Council, she’d be producing a 6-Act play with them at this point.

Riri had hoped they'd decide to watch Star Trek this month, but Shuri went in an entirely different direction.

Shuri claimed it stemmed from her ongoing interest in linguistics, communication, and literary practices. Which is bullshit. She lost a bet to one of her online friends and now was unironically hooked on reading the weirdest assortment of erotica known to man.

It was funny in the beginning, especially since Shuri started reading and recording excerpts and sending it over. Riri had no clue what was happening most of the time, but she liked hearing Shuri’s voice when they couldn’t call. She was also glad that this hobby didn’t create the second-coming of Ultron.

It became a problem when-

“-swept across your lower lip, softly parting your lips as she forced your chin up. In the flickering candle light, you shivered at the sight of The Princess, glowing and lovely. The silk of her robe slowly fell open as she leaned in closer. Soft lilac, a curling scent that filled those scant inches between you two. She was close enough that you could see the beads of water dipping between the valley of her chest, and feel the, heat emanating from her skin, fresh out the bath—“

Shuri had discovered that people wrote erotica about herself. But she wasn’t weirded out by it--no she was genuinely interested in it.

It was one thing to listen to stories about sentient, paper-clip schlongs and were-wolf orgies. It’s an entirely different matter to listen to her very attractive girlfriend read outloud, in remarkable detail, how attractive she is and all the filthy scenarios apparently everyone with internet access wanted to do to her.

“—you moaned, not caring who might hear at this point. A coiling heat ravaged your body, your mind. Your thighs trembled as her fingers curled inside you, dragging and cruel. You wondered how she looked at you in that moment, a disgusting cheater still crawling back home begging for more--”

Riri was losing it.

She had never been this horny in her life and Shuri wasn’t even there. It didn’t matter what she was reading at this point, her voice alone was more than enough, but it wasn't enough because Shuri wasn’t taking it seriously-

“--breath tickling the back of her neck, scalp stinging as she-”

Riri covered her mouth, stopping whatever sound was about to come out. She was uncomfortably warm as she pressed her thighs together—homework, thoroughly forgotten at this point.

After taking a few breaths to gain her bearings, she blurted out, “I hate you-”

Shuri stopped mid-paragraph, “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“How…” Riri made an attempt to phrase it carefully, setting aside her textbook as she picked up the phone to bring it closer, “Would you feel if I read porn about myself while you’re in a meeting or trying to get work done?”

“...Do the stories bother you now?”

“I don’t mind them,” Riri clarified, knowing she had more than a few of them bookmarked, “But we haven’t seen each other in awhile and the messages are leaving me a bit…frustrated.”

“Frustrated?” Shuri echoed, surprise flitting in her tone, “Sexually?”

Which, fair enough. They both had interesting relationships with sex, so it was never an issue before in their long-distance relationship.

Shuri’s sex-drive was lower and her interest in it was usually attached to her interest in Riri. Meanwhile Riri’s attention was often scattered, her sex-drive as well. She could barely focus long enough to eat, much less masturbate, without getting distracted.

So when they were together, they were together. When they weren’t, it was far too easy to forget about sex with their busy schedules. But with all the audio messages-- it kind of made her hyper-aware of Shuri in a way she hadn’t before when they were separated.

Riri tried to explain as much, “I’m not into everything you read, but I’m into you,” she said, picking the end of her braid, “I know it’s just a joke for you, but it’s kind of a constant reminder that I can’t even try a lot of those things with you…”

Sad and horny was a terrible combination for her grades.

Shuri considered this for a moment, before she asked, “Can you FaceTime right now?”

Riri agreed, although upon seeing Shuri, she immediately regretted it.

Shuri was laying down, arm tucked beneath her pillows. The camera was close, but not close enough to hide that she was shirtless. Ink crawling up the sides of her arm and chest, plastic sheen shining.

Unbearably pretty.

Catching her staring, Shuri’s pretty mouth twitched, before she said, “Do I make you horny baby—”

“I’m hanging up—”

Riri wasn’t sure what was worse, the accent she put on, or the fact that she still found them hot.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Shuri had the decency to attempt to look apologetic. Riri waited, eyebrow arching as her thumb hovered over the big red button, “Ri, you would’ve done it too.”

“But I didn’t. You did,” Riri muttered.

“Hear me out—“

“—Or I could hang up on you, possibly block you. Even break up with you,”

“You won’t,” Shuri said with the confidence of someone who regularly hears these threats, “You like me too much, can’t get enough of me.”

Riri rolled her eyes, letting out a long suffering sigh.

Taking that as unconditional love and support for her every action, Shuri continued, “It’ll be awhile before I can visit again, but there are solutions to our problem,”

“Uh-huh,”

“I can stop sending the messages all-together, I can go back to reading about creatures of questionable proportions—“

“Weird way to describe monster coc-“

“Or we can try something new,” Shuri suggested, adjusting her pillow underneath as she turned on her side, fighting back a yawn, “Do you still have class today?”

“No—it was canceled,” Riri answered, eyeing her curiously.

“So you can get off now, right?”

“Yeah,” Riri said with a frown, “But you know how well that works for me.”

Which was shit. She was better off trying to do her homework until she calms down again.

“Keep me on the phone this time,” Shuri explained, patiently, “If the stories help you stay in the mood I can keep reading or I could just talk you through it,”

That—-could work actually. She certainly thought about using the audio messages like that before, but felt weird about it cause it was Shuri’s hobby. Was it a hobby that involved sentient cars fucking, yes. But that didn’t mean it was sexual for Shuri. Sometimes Shuri’s interest in sex had no connection to her own desires, so Riri didn’t want to co-opt it.

Seeing her interest, Shuri added, “But, I want to see it all. No hiding your face,”

“I never hide my face—“

“You always try to hide your face,”

Ugh.

“…Can I at least keep my shirt on, it’s cold,” Riri grumbled, knowing it was a losing argument, “Or is that not allowed either, your highness?”

Shuri’s lips twitched at that, looking her over, “I’ll allow it,” she surprisingly said.

Riri was propping the camera up—belatedly she realized her web-camera would’ve been better, but she had no clue where that was right now—trying to find the right angle when she caught sight of what she was wearing.

It was Shuri’s shirt.

No wonder she looked so pleased.

Riri steeled her nerves, pushing back her immediate urge to take it off out of spite because it was in fact cold.

Then another thought occurred to her, “Did I even charge it—?” She asked out loud with a frown, sliding on her ear-buds.

“Probably not,” Shuri said--Riri decided to delay taking offense to that, “But I left something by your bed last time I was there, you can try it now,” she vaguely offered, a strange look in her eye, “I forgot I bought it because of that shark-man thing.”

Riri took a cursory glance over the edge of the bed, not immediately seeing the bag in question.

She crawled to the edge, reaching under the bed, searching, “Don’t even talk about that clown, he was so fuckin’ annoying“ she complained, feeling a bag and managing to grab it without falling, “What kind of a so-called ‘shark’ breathes air anyways? Lame-ass, bottled-nose dolphin lookin’—“ she unzipped the bag, falling silent, before asking incredulously, “…This was here the whole time?”

“I was buying you an extra charger since you kept losing yours and bought this while I was there. I already washed it but—” Shuri hurridly explained. At Riri's continued silence, she then asked, ,”Is it too much?”

Riri’s hands slid alongside it, thinking it over. Thinking about Shuri’s voice, a low, playful murmur in her ear—Shuri’s eyes dragging over her as she— “I never said that,” she said, with new-found determination, reaching for her side-table, “Keep talking.”

-

3.

Riri wasn’t a jealous person.

Shuri was a jealous person, even if she hid it relatively well. It was one of the more surprising discoveries when they started dating. It certainly started more than one argument because Shuri refused to admit when something bothered her, but they always got past it.

In comparison, Riri was chill about most things. She understood that her girlfriend was a public-figure, so she knew she’d get a lot of attention and be around people who didn’t always care that she was in a relationship.

But this? This was pissing her off.

Riri’s winter coat was falling apart at this point, so the two had gone out shopping to find a new one.

Somehow, this turned into an all-day event since Shuri wanted her to attend an event as her plus-one.So then they started looking for formal attire to match their regalia.

Then Riri remembered she needed to find new work-boots. Then Shuri wanted to find a gift for another dignitary, and so on.

Shuri was having a grand old time dressing her up and finding the little boutiques to look in, so Riri didn’t mind going along with it.

The problem started when they walked into some bougie boutique Shuri wanted to check out. The owner had been trying to sink her teeth into her girlfriend the minute they walked in and wasn’t even trying to hide it.

She’d been making passive aggressive jabs at Riri every time Shuri stepped away —about her hair, her clothes, her nails. Something about looking the part of being a kept woman, whatever the fuck that means.

Riri was trying to keep it together so she wouldn't ruin the day. Or that lady’s face.

Either way, Riri was about to sink into the lowest pits of hell if she doesn’t shut the fuck up about Shuri’s arms.

Stepping into the dressing room and closing the door behind them, she said as much to Shuri.

Shuri frowned, taking a moment to process the word vomit, “You’re usually not bothered by that stuff, did she say anything else?” she asked, zipping the dress down for her.

“I think ‘Destiny’ managed to find every possible way to call me poor,” Riri muttered, shrugging off the straps, dress sliding down.

“Which one is she?” Shuri asked, distractedly.

“She’s—“ Riri glanced at them in the mirror, following their gaze before she shook her head, amused, “No one important.”

Shuri stepped forward, arm sliding around her waist and pulling her close, hands wandering past her hips, “Exactly, no one important,” she said, squeezing as she nosed the nape of her neck, breath sending a shiver down her spine, “If someone doesn’t respect you, I don’t respect them.”

Riri nodded, leaning into their embrace with a reluctant smile. It was odd, feeling that building irritation washed away so easily, but she was right. She doesn’t matter and they didn’t have to stay here and put up with her weird-ass customer service.

“We should go look at suits, all these dresses are shit,”

-

4.

Riri blindly stumbled into the bathroom, a guiding hand on the small of her back. The door slammed behind her, lock clicking, the thumping music now muffled.

Utterly drenched in a sour smelling combination of jungle juice and expired food, her eyes were screwed tight, stinging, as she fumbled to turn on on the sink. She dumped her face in the sink, water splashing everywhere as she desperately rinsed her eyes.

“Fuck-ass white boy,” Riri spat, accepting the offered paper towels. She scrubbed her face, uncaring of the roughness against her skin, “It’s not my fault his daddy cut him off—“ she sneered, “What am I a charity?”

Now dry, she looked up, anger faltering as she saw the state of her costume in that dingy, frat-house mirror.

Patchy streaks of cheap makeup peeling up, puffy eyes still watering, and a busted lip stared back at her. The costume itself looked less like Frakenstein’s monster and more-so like she stumbled out of a bar fight—covered in crusting goop and an ever persistent smell of alcohol that was starting to make her head hurt.

A wave of disappointment settled over her as she picked at the costume. She had been planning this costume for weeks, dammit. It was Shuri’s first Halloween and the pair wanted to dress up so they chose Frankenstein's Monster and The Bride respectively. Riri had always been obsessed with the book, the movies, all of it and this was her first time dressing up.

Of course she couldn’t even enjoy this.

“I look like shit,” Riri said weakly as she fought back tears. But before she could scrub the rest off, Shuri gently pried the paper towels from her hands, tossing them.

Riri didn’t have much fight in her, begrudgingly accepting as strong hands lifted her up onto the counter. She let her eyes close, listening to the running of water. A gentle hand tilted her face up, dabbing away at her makeup.

Shuri didn’t speak right away, but she could hear them thinking as they cleaned her up. They didn’t comment on the tears running hot down her cheeks, only wiping them away as they fell.

Riri was thankful for the silence. It let her salvage what was left of her pride at the moment. She didn’t like crying about something so stupid. She didn’t like crying in front of other people, period.

Even if it was her Girlfriend.

Riri managed to calm down eventually as the last of the makeup was wiped away.

Riri picked at her nails, eyes downcast, “Thanks…” she muttered, “Sorry about all this.”

“…Why are you apologizing?” Shuri asked, chilly.

Riri stilled, looking up.

Shuri looked pissed.

“I…saw him earlier. I knew he still had problems with me and we should've left before all this happened,” Riri explained, hands fidgeting in her lap, “I let work shit ruin the night.”

Shuri looked even more displeased with her answer, lips pressed thin, “…Do your clients often retaliate ?” she asked carefully.

“Well—“ Riri started, then immediately realized where this was going.

Fuck.

Shuri wasn’t mad at her for ruining the date night she was—

Okay, Riri dealt with bullshit encounters on occasion. Nothing too crazy, all things considered. She didn’t just work with undergrads , so a lot of careers were on the line. But it wasn’t terrible. She’s had far more emotionally damaging encounters from dating then from her clients. But.

Shuri wouldn’t see it like that.

Riri looked off to the side, “It doesn’t matter…”

“You were hurt, of course it matters.” Shuri scowled, “I should’ve been there before it got that far,” she muttered, thumb still brushing over her now bare face.

Riri leaned into her hand, “I’m fine,” she reassured her softly. She watched Shuri's expression, dark eyes still colored with concern. Frowning a bit, Riri reasoned, “It was only food and drinks. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Shuri looked thoroughly unconvinced, but she still wasn’t saying anything. Only thinking, thumb continuing stroking Riri’s face, jaw screwed up-- tight betraying her emotions.

It only made Riri more nervous, mouth running before she could second-guess herself, “I can take care of myself,” she said, before seriously tacking on, “It’s not your fault.”

Shuri’s lips pursed at that, still thinking, an all familiar stubborn glint in her eye, “I know,” she said evenly.

Did she?

Riri sighed, covering Shuri’s hand with her own, fingers intertwining. Feeling the divots of her cool skin against her own, the smell of her lotion faint and comforting. Her body relaxed at the sensations. It was odd how easily she responded to them. How easily she succumbed to comfort and security after so many years of being tightly winded up over every little thing.

To Riri, Shuri was always safe in ways no other person or place could be. She didn’t have to worry if she’d always be there--if she’d survive whatever bad-luck trailed after Riri-- because Shuri was an inevitability that the universe could not deny. No matter the odds or outcome, Shuri always finds a way.

It was a shame she couldn’t grant them the same ease, far more trouble then not.

“You can’t blame yourself every time I get hurt,” Riri said, “You’ll be stuck feeling bad all the time

It’s something she’d picked up on before, but it seemed to only become more intense over time. Shuri didn’t half-ass anything, relationships included. Love, pride, and effort tangled together, complicated and precious in Shuri’s eyes.

Shuri couldn’t control everything. Especially when it came to Riri. Nothing ever went right when it came to Riri. She was always one miscalculation away from a major fuck up so there’s no point in getting worked up about it.

That all familiar stubborn look narrowed in on Riri once more.

Seems like she was done thinking.

“ …You can’t blame yourself every time someone hurts you,” Shuri finally said,

Riri’s heart winced.

The uncomfortable pressure in her chest climbed her throat as it fully sunk in. “What--What do you mean?” Riri said, a little bit desperate to make the feeling stop.

Shuri raised an eyebrow, “You know what I mean,” she said, patiently, “You always try to apologize for the fault of others, why?”

“I don’t do that,” Riri insisted, rather childishly.

Does she do that?

It was her business, her clientele. She knew the risks, but didn’t respond accordingly this time. Why would it be anyone else’s fault? Her inaction could have created a far more dangerous situation for everyone else.

Who else was there to blame--Why wouldn’t she blame herself?

If it truly wasn’t her fault, then why was she always getting hurt? Why did everyone else get caught up in her mess? Was she just that unlucky?

If that were the case, she wouldn’t be in control of anything.

Pressed against the cool bathroom counter, Shuri hovering over her, hands cradling her face, she had nowhere to hide. If Shuri wanted to press it, she could, but thankfully—

“We can talk about it tomorrow morning,” Shuri suggested.

The relief was immediate. But so was the--

Riri blinked rapidly, that choking feeling spilling over all at once. Painfully exposed, she tried to retreat, but was guided into Shuri’s arms before her tears fell. It took a moment for her to understand the nonsense that came out of Shuri;s face.

“Why are you apologizing?” Riri grumbled into their chest, hands holding onto their costume tight.

“I made you cry.”

“You can’t make me do anything and I’m not crying,”

“Of course you’re not,” Shuri easily agreed, “Cry has a different meaning in Wakanda. I misspoke,”

“You’re full of shit,” Riri said, fighting back a smile.

“I can help you reapply the makeup if you want?” Shuri said, changing the subject.

Riri’s mood soured once more at the reminder, pulling away reluctantly, “No, we’re leaving this stupid party.”

“We can always stay in costume and watch movies back in your dorm,” Shuri suggested, “I can order out, eat you out-”

This cheeky little-

“-It’s Halloween. We can’t disregard such an important holiday after all, we have to remain festive-”

“Uh-huh,” Riri rolled her eyes, listening to their spiel. All things considered, that did sound fun, “If you do clean up, we can do whatever you want.”

A sharp, crescent of a smile spreading across Shuri’s face at her words.

Before Riri could question them further, the pair flinched as someone banged on the door of the bathroom.

“HURRY THE FUCK UP, I GOTTA PISS," A woman bellowed, speech slurred

Shuri let out a startled laugh.

A warmth settled over Riri. That complicated swirl of emotions, stilling for one pleasant moment.

5.

-

“Ah, there she is—“ Shuri teased, crouching beside Riri’s bed. She reached out, caressing the sliver of exposed forehead peeking out from the mountain of blankets.

The mountain of blankets let out a muffled groan.

“…Go away,” Riri grumbled, shrinking further into her physical pit of despair.

She’d been losing the fight to a horrific wave of nausea and cramps for the past few hours. Her period effectively ruined any good mood she had about Shuri’s visit.

That bitch had the audacity to be early the one week Shuri could visit this month. She missed all the signs, assuming her emotions were all over the place because she missed her girlfriend.

“I can leave after I check on my patient,” Shuri offered.

Because of course she’d say that. And she probably meant it too, even though she was supposed to stay with Riri this week.

At that, Riri peeled back the layers of blankets. “You’re being too nice,” she complained, blearily staring at them.

Far too bright.

It was difficult to be properly irritated when it all bounced off of her. Shuri always thought her moods were cute, ugh.

Riri can’t be an asshole in these conditions.

Before she could kick Shuri out, her ears perked up, hearing the crinkling of bags, something being set down on her side table.

“I brought food,” Shuri offered, head tilting, innocuous.

“…You can stay.”

Riri rolled on her side, emerging to see what she brought.

Seeing her face, Shuri smiled, leaning forward to kiss her, but Riri squirmed away.

“M, gross,” Riri explained, nose curled at the thought as she picked up the chopsticks.

Shuri gave her a flat look, “You are not gross,” she said.

“Don’t be so serious,” Riri rolled her eyes, “I’m gross now,” she said, she waved the chopsticks in the air for emphasis, “Haven't brushed and I’m all sweaty and smelly—therefore gross.“ .

Shuri leaned against the headboard, “Do you want me to kiss you or not?” she asked.

Riri paused at the question, stabbing her food, “…Yes,” she muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

“Yes what?” Shuri teased.

Riri scowled, refusing to repeat herself. Undeterred, Shuri smoothed Riri's forehead with one hand, a soft smile pressing against her skin soon after.

Riri closed her eyes, now having to brace herself for the fluttering storm that threatened to take hold of her body.

Ugh.

It didn’t take long before Riri was coaxed into letting her into the bed.

Riri was nestled between the blankets and Shuri’s lap, mood thoroughly improved because of Shuri’s newest trinket. An excellent heating pad.

Riri lethargically stretched, eyes fluttering closed as she sank further into the sensation that could only be described as bliss. Letting out a sigh, she smiled sweetly up at her girlfriend and said, “Y’know I love you right?”

Shuri hummed non-committedly, fingers tracing circles into the back of Riri;s neck, “I can’t let you keep the heating pad,” she gently informed her, already guessing where this was going.

“Huh?” Riri blinked up at her, taking a moment to process it, “Why not?” she asked, although it came out like a whine.

It was a really nice heating pad, okay.

Shuri stilled, hesitating.

Riri perked up, “Does…” she reached under the blankets, a gleam in her eye, “Does this have vibranium in it?”

Shuri’s mouth was firmly closed, but her now firm grip on Riri’s wandering hand told a different story.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Riri challenged, wiggling her fingers half-heartedly to escape.

“I can neither confirm or deny that,” Shuri said, evasively, “But I can make you another one.”

“I like this one.”

It was a little funny watching Shuri’s internal struggle. It wasn’t often that Riri outright asked for something and normally she'd jump at the chance to provide.

“I can’t. You don’t have security clearance,” Shuri finally admitted with much difficulty, which isn't surprising. They had this discussion every other week.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Riri said, “It's just a little peek.”

Shuri raised an eyebrow, “And risk letting your mind ruminate?” she said, shaking her head at the thought.

Riri had managed to create a device that detected Vibranium, without access to the mineral itself. Shuri has witnessed the potential she had with unfettered access to it. A little peek for Riri was more than enough information for her to uncover a major scientific breakthrough,

“There are talks of certain agencies trying to scout you, so the elders have requested we restrict your access even further until--well-”

“Until what?”

“Until we get married.” Shuri couldn’t help but grin.

Riri paused, thinking, “That long?”

Shuri’s nose curled at that, displeased, “We could be married by the end of the season if you’d accept my proposal-”

“We’re too young.” Riri easily countered, rolling over to settle on her other side and idly adjusting the God-sent heating pad.

They also had this discussion every other week.

“Youth is relative,” Shuri insisted, “Both of our parents were engaged at our age. You’d get. Dual citizenship, your own lab-- fully funded-”

Riri closed her eyes, “That’d be nice.”

“A honeymoon in Thailand would be even nicer-”

Riri snorted, “What? Are you trying to bait me now?”

Shuri leaned down, “Is it working?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. Riri squirmed, trying and failing to keep a straight face as feather-light kisses attacked her face, a compelling argument indeed.

“We can have a long engagement,” Shuri whispered, a breath away, eyes flicking down, getting a bit distracted herself, “Don’t you want to go to council meetings and give your fiancé a break from bureaucracy?”

Riri opened her eyes to meet her intense stare, “Your girlfriend only wants to know how you made the heating pad,” she explained with barely concealed mirth, “That’s it.”

For now.

Riri slowly sat up to close the distance, but Shuri pulled away, a stubborn look in her eye. “Have you tried the next setting?” she asked instead, hand moving under the blankets once more.

All coherent thoughts left Riri. Her body sank back into the blankets, only managing to sigh as she curled around her fiance once more.

-

+1

Shuri’s face was impassive, illuminated by the seemingly never-ending stream of holographic images, videos, and text projected in front of her.

She scrolled through the files at a near frantic pace, but that itch beneath her skin only grew as she poured over the material. Every so often, she’d glance over at a smaller window; checking the security footage to make sure no one would discover her nightly activities.

Typically she wouldn’t have cared, it is her lab after-all, but-

Despite her best efforts, soft footsteps padded behind her, strong arms slipping around her waist and pulling her close.

Shuri sucked in an uneasy breath, body surrendering to the embrace.

Riri’s face pressed against the hard line of Shuri’s spine, letting out a throaty groan, “Your security needs to be upgraded, “ she offhandedly commented, sleep laden voice stealing the rest of Shuri’s attention.

Shuri glanced back, mouth lifting, “There’s not much I can do to keep you out,” she said quietly, covering her hands with her own, “You should go back to bed. I’ll be there soon.”

"Bullshit,” Riri said, not even entertaining the thought. Instead she asked, “Was the meeting that bad?”

Shuri’s mouth pressed into a thin line, “No it was fine,” she said with great effort.

It was more than fine. The ongoing negotiations between Wakanda and Talokan were progressing unnervingly well, all things considered. Part of her was relieved. The stronger the bond between the two nations, the better. An end to the violence, to the never ending loss, was more than she could ever ask for, but.

It was disturbing to watch.

Seeing everything fall into place so smoothly. As if the losses endured on both sides were necessary sacrifices for the greater good.

It was a pestering thought, a rotten sickness that stuck to her every fold and spoiled every crevice. Days, months, years could pass, but Shuri could never imagine being clean again.

Even if she got it wrong that time, there has to have been a solution she overlooked. Another way to prevent it all.

Riri said something else, but Shuri didn’t hear it, already captured in a slew of bitterness. Her silence must’ve stretched for too long, because

There has to be another way. Other options, anything she could’ve done to prevent it all.

Riri said something, but she didn’t hear it. Shuri’s silence must’ve stretched on for too long because she then asked.

“Do you regret not killing him?”

There was no judgment in her voice. The question was posed like any other thought she’d voice working at Shuri’s side. Curious, a refreshing bluntness that pierced through her complicated mess easily.

As such, Shuri’s response came just as easy. Her eyes closed, probing that deep ache between her heart and her throat, “Sometimes,” she admitted.

The pain wasn’t always fresh or constant. Sometimes the ease of her heart surprised her, spirit light as she could see the ultimate good being built with each passing day.

It was those small, increasingly infrequent moments of hurt that hit the hardest. A missing smile, an empty throne, wind-swept grass and no one to call out her name. It was a realization that compounded within her, growing more deadly with time.

It didn’t matter what technology she had, how many recordings she listened to, she’d never hear her Mother’s voice in person again. She’d never feel her Brother’s too-strong embrace or see her Father’s weary smile.

Then there were the undeniable big realizations. A hanging anxiety, swinging over her head, so large that it was easy to overlook. But you couldn’t forget it for long. Onee day you’d look up, an axe at your neck and blood pooling around your ankles.

It was easier when she was younger. Standing on that public stage, at her family's side, while the world’s hungry gaze narrowed in on Wakanda. Her country was simply another bone-- another nation to pick their teeth with. Now she was older, hands long-since dirtied by her inaction.

Prying eyes all falling on her in one dreadful moment.

Adulthood stripped her of all comforts and control. If it weren’t for family's wishes, she would’ve long since retreated from the world all together. It was their hope that kept her remaining pieces together, that pushed her forward, even as she was drained of everything her youth held dear.

She couldn’t change the past, but she could very well reclaim that long-dreamt future.

“-but right now, I don’t regret it,” Shuri settled on. It wasn’t much of a promise, moreso tentative acceptance for that moment in time, “The world gets stranger each year,” she murmured, eyes returning to that wall of flicking light, “We need to be prepared for anything so we won’t falter,” she then promised, hesitantly, “I’ll come to bed when I wrap this up.”

“...Alright,” Riri said, squeezing her one last time, before she pulled away.

Shuri listened to her retreating footsteps, a coldness setting in as she realized she was alone again.

She let out a breath, forcing herself to focus, but to no avail. She’d grab her sweatshirt and fiddled with the temperature, only to be distracted by the objects in the lab itself. The clicks and whirs of a machine prickling her attention in a way that it did not prior to her interruption.

A few minutes passed and Shuri briefly considered if she was losing her mind because of the strong-scent of coffee that now wafted into the lab.

Soft footsteps soon followed. Shuri was a little surprised to see Riri came back, a blanket wrapped around herself tightly as she extended a cup towards Shuri with an expectant look.

“We’re not supposed to bring drinks in here,” Shuri said as she blew lightly over the rim of her mug.

Riri raised her cup to her mouth, sipping pointedly, “If we want to cover everything before morning, we’ll need energy.”

“We…?” Shuri blinked, equal parts startled and relieved. Riri didn’t explain herself further, actions speaking far louder.

She wouldn’t leave.

A weight settled at Shuri’s side, blanket wrapping around the pair. There was a steadfast look on Riri’s face as she reached over to begin sorting through the windows herself.

She’d stay at Shuri’s side for as long as it takes.

The night stretched on, tedious and cruel as Shuri relived those frightful days and planned for a tenuous future.

And between those moments, Riri’s prodding words and unyielding grip pulled her back into the present. Again and again. And again once more.

If this is what Shuri needs, then consider it done.

[youremyheaven]

this might be a kinda niche observation but i have noticed women who are venusian plus saturnian are Not very nice 😭 i know two women who's entire chart is basically 50/50 venusian naks and saturn naks and one thing i've noticed they both do is try to remix traditional gender roles into some sort of female empowerment thing

for example, one of them is constantly going on dates with older rich men which by itself is like fine whatever but she tries to act like she's this genius feminist for doing it. like no babe.... you're still conforming to gender roles by essentially selling yourself to rich men to eventually become their spoiled housewife, if anything she's putting a capitalistic spin on it. i think this is because of the saturnian urge to conform to traditions meshing with the venusian urge to date lots and surround yourself with money and beauty

the second girl is obsessed with traditional beauty standards for im assuming the same reason. she literally often says things like "i love entering a room and knowing i'm the prettiest one there" and "walking down the street watching people gawk because i'm the most beautiful one here". it's so cringe and low vibrational, not to mention misogynistic yet just like the other girl she tries to put a feminist spin on it. she has a whole twitter account dedicated to unlocking your "divine feminine", which is a real thing but she does it in such an incorrect way like telling people what plastic surgery they need to be "perfect" and of course, how to attract a rich man. it's a combo of venusian vanity and saturnian rule following (the beauty standards being the rules)

also, they both HATE eachother 😭

that sounds about right ngl

I feel like Venusian women who are not drawn to the arts and are somehow unable to channel their creativity make it their sole purpose in life to pursue romance and 😬it kind of messes them up?? My grandma is Purvaphalguni Moon and she was a very talented singer back in the day and wanted to study Music in college but her family was against it and made her study to be a teacher and then she ended up marrying my grandad and also cheating on him and ngl it ruined her life,,, anywayyss I feel like Venusians were meant to pursue all of the themes of Venus, ESPECIALLY its creativity because art will fulfil you in ways no man or relationship can and in the absence of it, all this excessive materialistic pursuit of relationships brings out the corrosiveness of Venus.

Venus is capable of immense devotional spirituality, its not a shallow planet or influence by any means but to get to the spirituality (of any planet tbh) one has to transcend its more superficial material manifestations. I think Venusian fixation on romance, relationships etc can be very damning. I know a Purvaphalguni Moon girl who cannot be single for even a second and she said she can't get married because she will cheat on him 😭

I know several Venusians who are like you mentioned but damn that Venus and Saturn combination you talked about is lethal,, they can lead themselves to such a shallow hollow and empty life. Ngl I feel like all those "dating coaches" online who talk about "10 ways to marry a rich man" are all Venusian/Saturnian women and sorry to break it but I promise it never works out. If a man knows that you're with him for his money, I promise you no amount of money he throws at you will be worth the mind games and psychological abuse that will ensue.

I have a friend, Bharani stellium who is from a well to do family but she dreams of marrying someone filthy rich and being a housewife. She's also Saturnian lmao but I feel like her idealized visions of being someone's trophy wife will lead to some bitter experiences. Bc first of all Indian men are trash, second of all, rich people are trash and a rich Indian man and his family are probably capable of god knows what insanity. I think about that video of Shah Rukh Khan, aka the biggest actor the country has ever seen at Isha Ambani's (billionaire's daughter) twins birthday party where they'd brought out snakes??? (rich ppl things bc who tf would bring snakes to a toddler's bday party??) and Isha's brother picks up a snake and puts it on SRK's shoulder from behind, catching him off guard. Like ik its obviously not poisonous but like ??? thats so rude??? imagine just putting a snake on someone without their consent??? its that asshole's entitlement that makes him believe he can get away with anything. any video of the Ambani kids is a testament to them being rich assholes but anyways point is, rich people are fucked up and its insane to me that women want to sign away their autonomy by marrying into these families??? like are they dumb??? how naive do you have to be to believe that they'll be rich AND nice to you?? lol?? and you cannot raise a finger against them bc money will silence everyone, even the courts. look at what happened to amber heard and what's happening to angelina jolie. these are powerful, influential women, not housewives to rich douchebags but even then, they suffer. now what would happen to a regular woman???

anybody who dreams of being a trophy wife feels absolutely delusional to me. its so important to maintain your independence. like by all means i want to marry rich but i dont ever want to be in a position where im financially dependent on a man. THATS DANGEROUS. quite literally.

[ad-ciu]

What are sources+resources available for the mythological cycle / the tuatha de danann?

Good question! And, it is really good to ask about this sort of thing, so good on you!

While normally I would recommend reading the primary sources first and then delving into secondary discussions, the Mythological Cycle is probably one of a few areas where I would actually recommend people read discussions of the material first.

Why would I recommend this? Well, while all of medieval Irish literature has issues with widespread misconceptions, the Mythological Cycle is a big danger zone with these misconceptions, and I think it is best to go well-armed into the sources.

With this in mind, I have two 'introduction' level texts to suggest:

(A) The Mythological Cycle by John Carey, which is accessible, inexpensive, short, and written by the unquestioned world expert on the topic of the question of mythology in early Ireland.

(B) Ireland's Immortals by Mark Williams, which is more expensive and longer, but delves into the modern reception and relationship these texts have with modern revivalist faiths some of which diverge quite significantly from historic sources.

Having checked these out, at that point I would recommend digging into the stories. For some recommendations for these, I would point you to a post a colleague of mine made on the Association of Celtic Students blog which discusses notable texts with links to where to read them online. (Warning: links relying on the Internet Archive are currently broke'd because, you know, the Internet Archive is broken, but it should be up soon-ish?)

To build off that blog post, you can listen to me reading three texts from the Mythological Cycle if audiobooks/podcasts are your sort of thing. You can check out Dé Gabáil in t-Shída ('The Taking of the Hollow Hill'), Aislinge Óenguso ('The Dream of Óengus'), and part 1 and part 2 of Cath Maige Tuired ('The Battle of Mag Tuired').

After you have read some of those sources, I would then recommend checking out some more specific scholarly publications. For instance, I am a big fan of the recent piece: John Carey, 'Ireland: the Tribes of the Gods and the People of the Hills', in The Exeter Companion to Fairies, Nereids, Trolls and Other Social Supernatural Beings: European Traditions (University of Exeter Press, 2024). Here, John does that ever-so-important thing of actually bothering to put ink to page and provide evidence for the passively widely assumed stance of 'Oh, the people of the Otherworld have a society obviously structured similarly if not exactly the same as the people of medieval Ireland'.

I hope that helps, and if you have any further questions, feel free to reach out.

[cath-lic]

Hallo! I was pleasantly surprised to open up your profile to find out you're both trans and catholic!! (This might be a long read)

I'm the same! But in recent years due to my transness/queerness + my criticisms of the church I've kind of distanced myself from the church. I still go to mass and receive communion and do what is expected of me (I'm in a very catholic family) but I do it with a hollow feeling in my heart.

Almost paradoxically though, I really like Jesus, I think he's a cool guy, I have unending respect for him + I take bible classes and I find it to be really fun and interesting, esp the gospels and I guess the new testament in general. Studying the characters, the setting and the meaning of the story is always so cool to me and I really really love it.

However, the environment i grew up in and the Catholics I grew up with gave me a really sour feeling and I feel a lot of spite because of the blatant hate they spew towards lgbtq people/ their hypocrisy at times (things like defending isr4el's actions vehemently even though they're contradicting themselves to their face when they preach about love and anti harm and stuff) umm I lost my sentence, basically I feel like lgbtq people would be the last thing Jesus would consider a problem and I'm just soo sick of hypocrisy among catholics and Christians that it's made me almost resentful but I'm not quite there yet

What I wanted to ask was, how are you keeping your faith despite all these things? Despite all the horrible actions people commit each day in the name of Jesus and Christianity (just look at, say, the treatment of trans people in the US, Project 2025, all that, book banning, just... Blatant misuse of the faith, I hope you know what I'm talking about). I feel like the more I hear about stuff like this, the less I want to associate myself with the church. I feel ashamed, I guess. I figure that I've lost myself in all this, but any advice? I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

this ended up being a long answer, so i'll put it under a cut!

hello my sibling, i know exactly how you feel. i was lucky enough to grow up in a non-hostile and fairly liberal environment, but for similar reasons, i am in the closet as well.

seeing the violence and vitriol that so many christians espouse on a daily basis is extremely upsetting to me. i absolutely despise the fact that christianity has become popularly associated with hatred. at the same time, i acknowledge that many christians have wielded our faith in such a way that they are absolutely deserving of that reputation.

what helps me is having catholic friends IRL and online that make me feel sane. building this type of community online honestly helped me in so many ways—i no longer feel like one of the few catholics in the usa that aren’t associated with the alt-right.

another thing that helped me was, ironically, finding a different church. though i am still catholic, i go to an episcopal church. it’s smaller and friendlier, and i felt much more welcomed there as well, and i feel comfortable knowing that these are people who share both my values and (most of) my religious beliefs.

i think i become more gung-ho about the faith when seeing the horrible things that people do in the name of christianity, actually. i tend to post more when i’m riled up about it, because i KNOW they’re wrong! so basically, when i’m feeling down, i turn to the source material. more often than not, they reaffirm my faith and reaffirm that god has sanctioned absolutely none of the shit that republicans are trying to pull.

i want people to know that being catholic does not mean being conservative, so i yell about it in my own space here. i don’t want to, you know, proselytize to people—so i make sure that this is a blog they can block. i would like to attend pride events and bring my own signs, and protect others from protestors at some point.

i’m sorry i don’t have a more succinct answer for you, my sibling. i can only assure you that you are not alone, and that so many of us trans catholics feel the exact same way. sending all my love to you ❤️❤️❤️

[currently-evil]

Look into Rowan's Sidestep conversation

(Quick disclaimer, these are conversation's of my own Sidestep not generic Sidestep, mob boss, poly Ortega and Steel)

Ortega

Get well soon Ortega

When you have enough of Ortega's bs

When you fail to insult your bf

Birthday Boy - p. 1

Love confession - p.1

Kissing

How is therapy going?

How is therapy going? - p. 2

Hollow Ground

Hollow Ground - p. 2

Can I rizz you up?

Just Sidestep instability

Will Ratking ever get friends?

Random Chargestep conversations

Chen

I got your package

Could you resist?

Goodnight

Flirting is hard

Chen & Ortega & Rowan

I would die for both of you

Polycule Breaking Material

Oh, that dimple

Favourite Boyfriend

Polyamory is god send

Argent

There is no ignoring Lady Argent

You should better protect your online data

Friends be like

Food Revenge

That's not a good excuse

Herald

Why is he texting like this

Mob Boss' Crew

Nehal - Sugar Daddy

Pelayo - Worst Nurse in the whole Wild West

Nehal - A bad deal

Pelayo - Dog in the office

Nehal - Dog in the office - p.2

Zaza - But what if we do..?

Ward - Integration Party

[blysse-and-blunder]

in lieu of a commonplace book

saturday, jan 27, 2024

*brennan lee mulligan voice* heeeeeeeelllllllllllllloooooooOOOOOOOOO one and all and welcome back for another thrilling episode of...whatever this is. thank you for being here.

It's 2024! Say hi, intrepid heroes!

reading recently finished:

-orwell's roses by rebecca solnit (audio) - glad I listened, ultimately very gratifying - history, criticism, extremely lush garden-filled prose and love for growing things - nona the ninth by tamsyn muir - felt so much about [redacted] it made me cry. i can unblock ALL THE TAGS NOW - the blue sword by robin mckinley (audio) - catching up on old school fantasy continues -when the angels left the old country by sacha lamb (audio) - beautiful. not not in conversation with good omens but doing something different.

recently begun: -the ministry of the future by kim stanley robinson - can't decide if it's a scifi novel or a policy brief about ways to combat climate change- reading on my mom's recommendation -babel: an arcane history by r.f.kuang - withholding judgment, but i know you probably want me to hate it and so far i don't, really! to my own surprise -the shadow of the wind by carlos ruiz zafrón (audio) - spooky, post-modern but incredibly good at sounding like it is of the time it depicts. many thoughts on the audio book narrator's accent work, most favorable -one corpse too many by ellis peters. wild that i have only just begun reading the cadfael mysteries

listening last week was about discovering and putting on continuous loop the group trousdale on the recommendation of @m2pixie (!) and other trusted friends; the energy, the harmonies! they fill a girl group void i didn't realize i had, it feels like the best kind of throwback, like old chicks or something, some desperately needed bops. exhibit a: bad blood.

today my daylist introduced me to joy oladokun and i'm so glad it did. love her vibe, love this cover art. had to take a picture of my desk, the visuals were so satisfying.

watching the newest series of netflix's lupin!! so far i'm really, really enjoying where this season has been spending most of its time-- the new characters, the new heists, the new stakes. especially fun to watch with friends where we can all shout about the mrs doubtfire of it all, the betrayals, the misdirection, the 'he can't keep getting away with this!.' the original lupin series will always bring back memories of watching it in early lockdown; i'm glad that there's this now to think about and remember instead.

playing hollow knight hollow knight hollow kniiiiiiight. bought it a few months ago when it was on sale, after hanging out and watching @dimir-charmer stream for us a bit, but playing it yourself is a different game. i'm having a blast. it's becoming a problem. i'm having to be so so good and mature in how much i let myself just get suckered in to a full day spent in my little buggy maze adventures. the temptation to keep going until i've made a meaningful advancement of some kind (today: got the longer nail! last time: beat hornet! saved zote the mighty, got the baldur shell charm, and beat the gruz mother!) is very, very real. have also gotten around this by listening to lots of lo-fi hollow knight beats to relax and study to while being 'productive.'

(found this screenshot online, and holy extra health batman)

making pancakes. lots and lots of weekend pancakes. sent a bunch of mail since new year's, and have some new arts and crafts (charcoal pencils!! those little paper cone blender guys! better paper) to fuck around with next time i want to get ~artistic. watch this space.

working on teaching is so all-consuming. it's great, i love it. the course (maps class! if you see that tag, this is that) is going well, i think! first three lectures down. the students i've gotten to know i really like, the material has yet to get old (see one - do one - teach one is so real. i understand this class now, finally, in a way i don't think i did just being the TA, even after three times). it takes so much longer to just copy-paste-change color and font on slides than it should! i've regularly been getting four-five hours of sleep on monday nights before teaching on tuesdays, but it has meant that i don't have the brain space to be self-conscious while i'm 'on', i just. go. having fun selecting teaching 'fits, having (less) fun handling all the students who joined in the second or third week and need help with catching up, but it's not their fault there was a waiting list and lots of turnover.

(petrus roselli - portolan chart of the mediterranean, 1466)

non-teaching: - student letter of recommendation for dental school (DONE) - conference panel proposal (due 1/31) -submit revised conference paper for that prize (due 1/30) -send draft of grant application to A for her to be able to write a letter of recommendation (due IMMEDIATELY WHY ARE YOU ON TUMBLR) (you have until 2/15 to fix it but she needs the draft!) -chapter 3 edits (lmao) -read for that other course you're meant to be the TA for (oops) - give i. feedback on her thing (tonight) -RAship hours (c'mon these are actually paid work, please do them)

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

The other day I wanted to show someone a photo of something on my camera. This involved clicking through a LOT of pics.

On seeing some of my sculpted faces… “What do you DO with them?” Well, I sculpt them like doodles, take pics to post on Tumblr (and have a record if they break) during breakfast, and then wrap them in tissue before throwing them into a storage container. When the storage container is full I start another, but they never come out again….

I mean, what could I do? Little faces sculpted with little care, no work space or money to buy materials for casting or adding them to anything, and too fragile for a lot of handling.

I sculpt them because my fingers need to sculpt. I sculpt because it’s a quick and easy way to have made something at the end of the day. I sculpt to hold the hollowness of my existence at bay. The act of sculpting and having sculpted is all that matters. Turning them, reducing them really, into a product never crosses my mind!

On seeing my photos of the woods… “You need to make Tik Tok videos of them! People make a LOT of money on there and your photos are so good!”

Well, first, most people on Tik Tok probably don’t make any money at all. And the ones that get rich are the equivalent of community theater actors becoming movie stars. They are rare.

Secondly, TikTok means videos. I don’t even make video things I want to record (ex. those otters chatting and playing) because my very old tech is so rickety and out of memory. I can’t fit a video on my computer, and I can’t edit it. Plus my internet is so poor I doubt I can upload videos if I wanted to.

Thirdly, as far as I can tell without being on TikTok, it involves a lot of people filming themselves. I can NOT put my ugly face and hideous voice online as it might be considered a crime against humanity!

Look, there isn’t enough me for MORE social media. Just posting on Tumblr is getting to be almost too much for me. It has been YEARS since I posted on Facebook (hate it! That place does my brain in). I keep meaning to do something with my Ko-Fi, but I can’t even get around to adding more pics. I’d never have the time or energy for TikTok!

I get it though. I have heard it before. Someone once said there was “No excuse” for someone so “talented” (HA! That’s a joke!) not making money. They think it’s just a matter of throwing things out there and the world will flock to you.

It isn’t like that. Even if I were as talented as they assume, it would take at the very least a huge investment of time and energy I don’t have. I got soooo envious of a sculptor at a comic con who told me how her husband takes care of the business so she can make art. Not everyone has someone to help them. Mostly though, success is simply a matter of luck!

But there people go, letting you know that anything you do that doesn’t make money is a waste. It’s proof you aren’t trying hard enough.

There are people creating masterpieces out there that will die in poverty, but their making things is NOT a waste of time! It’s not a waste of time to make things that make you happy, even if you never make a damn penny! If your life is better for it, that’s enough!

And here I am, working my ass off to survive, living in isolation and wearing myself away, even cutting back on my own food to save money (grocery shopping once a month now…oh, joy!), and yet I am made to feel guilty for spending a couple hours at night sculpting or taking pictures during my increasingly rare and short walks in the woods. How dare I make myself smile instead of falling down dead chasing hypothetical dollars???

I’m barely sculpting anymore. I’m struggling to get to the woods at all. I’m so worn out I’m having trouble even finding these things fun anymore, and now I’m supposed to add guilt and shame because I’m not making a profit?

It’s like if you live in a desert but have a spring on your property. The stream is drying out, but you need it to survive. And someone rolls up saying, “Hey! You need food, so why haven’t you sold your water rights?? I’m being helpful here, but you just aren’t trying!”

People always assume I’m sitting on a gold mine I’m just too lazy or stupid to exploit. It makes me angry. And tired.

[fairylandblog]

The Derbyshire Mummified Fairy

In the early 2000s, the Derbyshire mummified fairy captivated public imagination. It shows the power of modern hoaxes and the allure of fabled creatures. This unusual tale took place in Derbyshire, England, noted for its undulating hills, historic woodlands, and rich folklore. London designer and prop maker Dan Baines' photos of a mummified fairy went viral in April 2007. The photos showed a hideous, desiccated humanoid creature with wings and sharp jaws. Baines said a Derbyshire dogwalker found the specimen, providing credibility. Reveal timing was intentional. Many enthusiastic believers disregarded Baines' choice to upload the photographs on April 1, April Fools' Day. The story went viral, attracting fairy fans, cryptozoologists, and curious observers. Within days, Baines' website had hundreds of thousands of international visitors eager to learn more about this incredible find.

Baines carefully described the fairy to lend credibility to the scam. The discovery puzzled anthropologists and forensic professionals who inspected the remains. They described an eight-inch creature with intact wings, teeth, and skin. Baines even indicated that X-rays showed a childlike skeleton with hollow bones like a bird. As the story gained popularity, it appealed to human cravings for magic and the unknown. Many viewers held the belief that fairies were indisputable. Some even claimed to have seen similar entities, feeding the Derbyshire fairy craze. Skeptics immediately pointed up contradictions and improbabilities in the story. The mummy's condition, its discovery's convenience, and the absence of scientific verification aroused concerns. Baines became embroiled in controversy as pressure for further evidence increased. Baines came clean about the fake a few days after the initial disclosure on April 5. He stated that the fairy was a complex prop he designed and sculpted. He constructed the body from wood and modeling putty, and fashioned the tiny wings from fish bones. Baines then added liquid latex to give the creation a dried, mummified look. Baines confessed, surprised at how rapidly and broadly the fraud spread. He said he wanted to remember the 1917 Cottingley Fairies hoax, in which two girls convinced the world they had photographed actual fairies. Baines' new variation on this classic hoax tested belief in the digital age. Despite the revelation of the reality, the Derbyshire fairy maintained its popularity. Many debated fairy existence, while others admired the prop's artistry. Baines sold the fairy on eBay for a lot after receiving many offers. The Derbyshire mummified fairy hoax is an intriguing example of folklore, art, and modern media. It shows how readily disinformation spreads online and the public's infatuation with the supernatural and unknown. The episode also highlights issues related to belief and skepticism in contemporary culture. It reveals how many people still believe in magic and mythical beings despite scientific progress. This desire for surprise and mystery can occasionally dominate critical thinking, leading to the rapid acceptance of remarkable claims without evidence. In the years after the prank, the Derbyshire fairy has entered modern legend. The analysis of online hoaxes, viral material, and the ongoing influence of fairy lore on modern culture is a common practice. The incident inspired artists and prop makers, demonstrating that creative works can reach global audiences. The Derbyshire mummified fairy story illustrates the delicate link between fact and fiction, belief and skepticism, in current times. It's a delightful yet cautionary tale that encourages us to question unusual claims while respecting our desire for enchantment and wonder.