#I could literally go on for 1500 years

[inu-sunset]

inuyasha is like that knuckles comic where when kagome clocks his faggergie egg aura and asks him what his pronouns are he’s like stop cursing at me

[tyracaterinagrant]

the REAL tragedy of having my phone stolen is that i'm gonna have to rebuild my meme folder from scratch 😔😔😔😔

[inseparabiles]

dear diary

I am afraid

[steviescrystals]

my dad confuses me on the daily

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[kxsagi]

Hii! I have a request. Can you please make part two of drunk in love but with Kaiser? I was literally giggling while kicking my feet

How I imagined you writing it:

“𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭”

a/n: LMAO THE PIC I CAN'T ILY 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

original post is here!

(art credits go to v3raxyy on X)

“she’s gone.” 

ness’s voice is calm, like a surgeon delivering tragic news. 

kaiser groans from the driver’s seat, tipping his head back against the headrest. “define gone.” 

ness looks vaguely toward the bar entrance. “she’s telling the bartender that he reminds her of a cinnamon roll. she cried for three minutes because he gave her a straw.”  

“ah.” kaiser says, exhaling slowly. “stage five.” 

“stage five,” ness confirms solemnly. “good luck, captain.” 

you’re standing by the bar like you’re delivering a TED talk to a group of invisible, adoring fans. 

"you guys..." you slur, dramatically grabbing a napkin as if it’s a microphone. “i just wanna say that my boyfriend’s name is michael kaiser. and he’s soooo hot.” 

there’s a small smattering of confused applause from a group of strangers nearby. one guy even raises his drink in agreement. 

kaiser watches from a distance, arms crossed, jaw clenched in both exasperation and love. you are an absolute menace when drunk. but you’re his menace. 

"okay, okay," you shush your imaginary audience, stumbling slightly on your heels as you climb up onto the barstool like it’s a stage. “but have you seen him?! the jawline? the hair? the thighs?! he’s got protagonist energy, people!” 

kaiser squints. “how many drinks did she have?” 

“enough to confess her undying love to a nacho platter,” ness says, scrolling through the photos he took for blackmail. “she named one of the chips ‘miguel’ and kissed it goodbye.” 

“of course she did.” 

kaiser strides over just as you begin shouting, “MICHAEL KAISER IS SO HOT I WANNA–” 

he clamps a hand gently over your mouth. “okay, let’s not finish that sentence in public, liebling.” 

you blink up at him, wide-eyed like you’ve just seen god. then you gasp. loudly. 

“GUYS. GUYS, HE’S HERE. HE’S– LOOK AT HIM. HE’S EVEN HOTTER IN PERSON–” 

you reach out and grab his face like it’s made of gold, squishing his cheeks together. “look at this bone structure!! you’re so lucky i’m your girlfriend. wait. am i your girlfriend?” 

“yes, angel.” 

“phew.” you collapse dramatically against his chest. “that would’ve been so embarrassing. imagine yelling all that for someone else’s man. i’d be in shambles.” 

kaiser wraps his arms around you with an amused sigh. “you already are in shambles.” 

you look up at him with the purest, goofiest smile. “i missed you.” 

“i was gone for twenty minutes.” 

“but emotionally? i missed you for years.” 

ness quietly walks by holding your purse and says, “she also told the bouncer she has a boyfriend who could beat him in a sword fight.” 

kaiser looks down at you. “did you think we lived in the 1500s?” 

you nod seriously. “you’d be such a good pirate.” 

“a pirate?” 

“yeah,” you mumble, eyes starting to flutter shut. “you’d steal all the hearts... and treasure... and maybe like, emotionally destroy a few people too.” 

“sounds accurate.” 

you refuse to get in the car unless kaiser opens the door “like a gentleman.” then you climb in with the grace of a tranquilized goose, nearly face-planting before rolling over and waving at the ceiling. 

“do you want water?” he asks once you’re buckled in. 

you lean toward him with a conspiratorial whisper. “michael kaiser… i want you.” 

he blinks. “… you already have me.” 

you pat his face. “then i’m winning, baby.” 

in the backseat, you start singing a made-up song about him. 

🎵 “michael kaiser, you’re my little disaster, you score goals so fast-er, i love you foreverrrr~” 🎵 

kaiser covers his face with one hand, trying not to laugh. “please tell me you’re recording this,” he mutters. 

ness is already filming. 

you wave your hand dramatically and say, “i’m gonna marry him. and then i’m gonna take his last name. and then we’re gonna have little soccer babies with perfect hair and they’re gonna look in the mirror and be like: ‘whoa. i’m hot.’” 

“so humble,” ness mutters. 

you glance between the two. “wait, are you both real or is this a dream? this feels like a dream. a hot dream. is this a dream?” 

kaiser sighs, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “no, liebling. but you’re gonna wish it was when you wake up with a hangover.” 

“ugh.” you groan dramatically. “future me is such a buzzkill.” 

by the time he helps you into his apartment, you’ve gone from chaotic to clingy. 

“i don’t wanna sleep,” you mumble as he pulls off your shoes. “i wanna cuddle. and talk about our future. and maybe watch a documentary about otters.” 

he deadpans. “that’s oddly specific.” 

you beam. “otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t float away.” 

“… do you want me to hold your hand while you pass out?” 

“YES.” 

you jump onto the bed and dramatically flop onto your back, arms out like a starfish. “carry me to our dreams, captain.” 

kaiser chuckles, pulling the covers over you before sliding in beside you. “you’re lucky you’re cute.” 

“i know.” you tuck yourself against his side, fingers curling into his shirt. “you’re cute too. dangerously cute. like, i’d rob a bank for you.” 

“please don’t.” 

“but i would.” 

“noted,” he says, brushing a hand through your hair. 

after a long pause, you sigh dreamily and whisper, “i still can’t believe you’re my boyfriend.” 

he looks down at you, surprised by the softness in your voice. “you say that like it’s hard to believe.” 

“it is,” you murmur, eyes barely open. “you’re everything. and i’m just… me.” 

kaiser frowns. he turns to you fully, slipping a hand beneath your cheek so you look at him. 

“you’re not just anything,” he says firmly. “you’re my everything. sober or drunk, loud or sleepy, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

your smile turns shy. “even when i’m yelling about your thighs in public?” 

he smirks. “especially then.” 

you fall asleep curled into him like a koala, muttering something about nachos and pirate ships. 

kaiser presses a kiss to your forehead, eyes fond, hand gently holding yours like an otter in love. 

“sweet dreams, liebling.” 

he glances at the ceiling and adds, “and god help you in the morning.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dixons-sunshine]

I Never Lived For The Applause | Daryl Dixon x Former!Celebrity!Fem!Reader

Summary: Before the world quite literally ended, you were a famously known singer. However, your celebrity status didn't do you much good in the apocalypse, despite most people in your group giving you privileges that you didn't want. Thankfully, a certain redneck archer treated you like a normal person, unwillingly becoming the guy who caught your attention.

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Era: The quarry; the farm; the prison.

Warnings: Swearing, usual TWD warnings, suggestive themes.

Word count: 3.9k.

A/n: Okay but the former!celebrity!reader x Daryl was such a unique idea that an anon requested! I never would've thought about that on my own. I thought that this idea would be great combined with a few other requests, and this was born. There's a few time jumps and this is honestly not the best. I scrapped over 1500 words and this is all over the place, and it was supposed to be smut, and I don't really like this, but I hope you like it nonetheless.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Before the apocalypse came to be, you were a famous singer and songwriter. You had multiple hit singles that made the charts and your concerts always sold out. It seemed like wherever you would turn, there would be someone there who would want an autograph or a picture. It seemed like you could never escape the spotlight.

Not even now, when the dead started rising and the world came to an end.

“Amy, I told you, I'm fine. I don't want your food. You need it more than I do.”

Amy shook her head defiantly, practically shoving the paper plate into your hands. “I insist. You're my idol, and I'll be damned if I let my idol go hungry when I have food I can give her.”

You sighed and reluctantly accepted the plate. “This is unnecessary. I already had my share, sweetheart. You don't have to give me yours when you also have to eat.”

“I'm fine. Rather me than you.”

Before you could protest, Andrea called Amy's name. Amy gave you an apologetic smile and bid you farewell, walking over to her sister and leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sighed and turned around, heading over to the tent you shared with your daughter. You opened the flap and stepped inside, seeing your twelve year old daughter, Nicolette, busy sketching in her sketchbook.

She looked up when she heard you step inside, sending you a smile. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Nic,” you greeted her, sitting down on your cot opposite hers. “Why aren't you outside with the other kids?”

Nicolette shook her head, closing her sketchbook and sitting up in her cot. “Most of them treat me funny. They keep asking me if I can sing or if I can write songs, and if I got free stuff because you were famous. Only Carl and Sophia treat me like I'm a normal kid, but they're with their mom's right now.”

You sighed, guilt gnawing at you from the inside. Never once did you regret having your daughter, but sometimes you regretted having to raise her while you were in the spotlight. The paparazzi were relentless, and your daughter more often than not had to pay the price for that. It was unfair, and you wished that you could've just faded from the spotlight to raise your daughter in peace.

“I'm sorry, baby. If I knew back then what my fame could do to you, I never would have signed on with that record label. I wish I could take it back.”

Nicolette shook her head. She got up from her cot and sat down next to you, leaning her head on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around her, placing a tender kiss on her head.

“It's not your fault, Mom. I don't blame you. You shouldn't, either.”

You shook your head. “That's easier said than done,” you replied, before adopting a more lighthearted tone. “But let's not talk about that. I've got some more food for you if you're hungry.”

Nicolette smiled at you and nodded eagerly. “I'm starving. Thanks, Mom.”

You smiled at her. However, before you could respond, a ruckus could be heard outside your tent. Both yours and your daughter's heads snapped in the direction of the two voices, instantly going quiet to hear what was happening.

“M'tellin ya, man. S'a fuckin' waste of time. We should jus' cut our losses here and scram. Take a few guns and food fer the road.”

“Merle, fer the last fuckin' time, we can't leave righ' now. It's too dangerous. We should wait 'til the heat dies down 'fore we go.”

“Wha' m'hearin' s'tha' yer a pussy. Wha's the matter, Darylina? Scared the geeks will get ya? 'Cause yer too incompetent to handle 'em?”

“Fuck off, Merle! It ain't like tha'. I jus' dun' wanna risk our lives if we dun' need to.”

“Whatever, man. M'goin' back to the tent.”

The man who's name you had learnt to be Merle left, his retreating footsteps growing fainter until you couldn't hear them anymore. However, you could clearly see the silhouette of the other man still outside your tent. You could hear him quietly muttering to himself.

Turning to Nicolette, you gently placed the plate with the food—cooked squirrel with some beans—onto her lap and stood up. You turned to her and leaned down to place a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“Eat up and get ready for bed. I'll be right back and then we'll continue reading that book.”

Nicolette nodded, and with that, you exited your tent. The man stood with his back to you, but a simple slight twitch of his head in your direction showed that he had heard you. His body stiffened visibly, and you frowned at that.

“Hey. You're Daryl, right?” you asked him, prompting the man to turn around.

However, he didn't meet your gaze, finding great interest in the ground below. He simply grunted his acknowledgement, a slight upwards nudge of his nose confirming your question.

“I'm Y/n. It's nice to officially meet you,” you introduced yourself, extending your hand to his for a handshake. Daryl made no move to shake it, however, making you awkwardly retract your hand. “I, uh, just wanted to say that you were right.”

“Wha'?” Daryl asked in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing. He hadn't meant for the question to slip from his lips, trying to just remain quiet until you got the message that he was in no mood to socialise, but he failed.

“That argument you had with your brother. You were right. It's way too dangerous to wander off on your own right now. Personally I feel like you shouldn't be wanting to go at all because it's safer with a group, but that's not my call to make. Just thought I'd let you know that your instincts are right. Don't listen to your brother.”

Daryl was confused by your niceness. He was even more confused by the fact that you agreed with him. He was so used to women taking Merle's side instead of his all the time, so this was something entirely new for him.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he replied awkwardly, nervously chewing on his lower lip.

You smiled at him before nodding. “Okay, well, just wanted to tell you that. Oh, and to ask you not to argue in front of my tent again. I have a twelve year old in there who doesn't need to hear all of that.”

Daryl ducked his head, an embarrassed blush flushing over his face. “Sorry.”

“I guess I can let it slide this time,” you said with a smile. “And thanks for the squirrel. Thanks to you, my daughter doesn't have to go to bed hungry tonight. Never thought we'd have to resort to eating squirrel, but it's not that bad. It's actually kinda delicious. It's way better than—” Realising that you were busy rambling, you shook your head and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Just, thank you.”

Daryl didn't know why, but he felt an unexplainable pull to you. Maybe it was the way you showed him kindness without even knowing him, or maybe it was the fact that you were the only one who seemed to actually appreciate the food he brought back from his hunts, even if it was squirrels. Despite their hunger, everyone else mostly refused to eat anything he brought back if it wasn't deer. Yet there you were, thanking him for bringing back something as mediocre as squirrel.

And it certainly didn't help that he found you absolutely radiant.

“S'nothin',” he finally responded. “M'jus' glad yer lil' girl can eat tonigh'.”

“You're the one who brought back the squirrels?”

At the sound of a small voice, both you and Daryl turned around to face your daughter. Nicolette walked up to your side and beamed brightly up at Daryl, catching him off guard. The other kids in the camp were terrified of him and wouldn't even glance in his direction, yet this kid was not only looking at him, but willingly talking to him.

“Yes, he is,” you confirmed, smiling fondly down at your daughter.

Nicolette looked up at Daryl, realisation dawning on her. “You're the man with the crossbow! And the vest with the angel wings! You're so cool, sir. Do you think I could maybe shoot your crossbow one time? It's okay if you say no, but can I maybe see how you shoot it so that when I get my own crossbow one day, I know how to use it? Or—”

Daryl's lips subconsciously twitched up into a smile. Her rambling was so similar to yours. Like mother, like daughter, he thought to himself as he looked between the two of you. There were over a dozen similarities between you and Nicolette. She looked just like you.

You placed a hand on Nicolette's shoulder, halting her rambling. You turned to Daryl, giving him a smile. “We should probably get ready for bed. Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night, Daryl!” Nicolette greeted him enthusiastically, following you into the tent.

“Night,” he whispered.

“Oh, and by the way, don't be a stranger. I'd love to see more of you.”

Daryl blushed and ducked his head. He hummed, not trusting his voice at that moment in time.

You smiled and finally entered the tent, zipping the tent closed behind you. He stood there for a couple of moments before turning and walking back to his own shared tent with Merle.

Daryl couldn't explain it, but for some reason, in that short conversation, he felt drawn to you. It was unnerving, but felt nice at the same time. And your daughter was downright an angel, your exact copy.

“Wha' were ya doin', sniffin' 'round tha' popstar?” Merle asked when Daryl entered the tent, catching him off guard. Daryl had assumed that Merle would've been passed out by now, high off of whatever drug he was using that night.

“Popstar? Wha' the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?” Daryl questioned, plopping himself down on his cot.

“Tha' woman ya were talkin' to, she was a singer 'fore all this. Real famous, too. Used to see her on TV and in magazine's all the time.”

Daryl's mind swarmed with questions. You were a famous singer? How the hell did you end up there, with a bunch of nobodies? And why had you thanked him for bringing back something as simple as a squirrel? If you were famous, you had probably eaten banquets of the richest, most delicious food out there, yet you enjoyed squirrel? And to top it off, why would you willingly want to hang out with him of all people?

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Daryl, oh my god.”

At the sound of your panicked voice, Daryl slowly sat upright in the bed in the guest bedroom. He looked up and locked eyes with you, seeing the worry written all over your face. You hurriedly sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and gingerly reached out to touch the bandage around his side, careful not to add too much pressure and hurt him.

“M'fine, sunshine. Dun' have to worry 'bout me,” he replied, waving off your concern and gently grabbing your hand to push it away from the bandage.

You scoffed in disbelief and shook your head. “You're my friend, Daryl. Of course I'm going to worry about you. I care about you, and you expect me to not worry?” you asked, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek.

Friend. That word reminded Daryl of how you viewed him. It had been two months since your first interaction at the quarry and his affection and attraction to you had only grown stronger. However, it seemed to him like his feelings weren't reciprocated, so he settled on being your friend.

Little did he know that you felt the exact same way. You just didn't know it yet.

“Heard ya punched Andrea fer shootin' me. Any truth to those rumours?” Daryl asked, diverting the attention away from his now pounding heart as your fingers gently pushed his hair back.

You smiled sheepishly. “My hand slipped?” you tried, shrugging your shoulders.

Daryl smirked slightly and shook his head. “Sure. Whatever ya say, sunshine.”

You let out a sigh, reluctantly drawing your hand back from his hair. “She had it coming. We told her not to shoot and she didn't listen, trying to boost her own ego instead. She almost killed you, Daryl. That's not something she should be allowed to get away with, but Rick and Shane aren't gonna do anything, so I took matters into my own hands.”

Daryl smiled softly. “Not bad fer a popstar.”

You giggled. “Hey, I got into a couple of fights before my career took off. I know my stuff. I know how to shoot a gun, too, but that's a discussion for another day.”

Daryl chuckled and nodded. He shifted back against the headboard and gazed at you, simply admiring your beauty for a moment. It amazed him that a beautiful, kind, caring, smart woman like you would ever wanna be associated with the likes of him. You were perfect and he was, well, him. It didn't make sense, but he dared not to question it.

“Can I ask ya somethin' personal?” he blurted out before he could think about it.

You nodded at him. “Sure.”

“When ya talk 'bout yer career, it sounds like ya hated it. Why'd ya become a singer if ya hated it so much?”

You remained silent for a minute. Daryl feared that he had asked the wrong thing and was about to apologise, but you spoke up.

“I was nineteen when I signed with my first record label. I didn't want to be in the spotlight because singing was more of a hobby to me, but my parents forced me to. Growing up, there wasn't ever really any money around and my parents made it out like it was my fault. They made me feel like I owed them for everything they did for me, and they forced me to sign with that record label. My parents were my managers and all the money I earned for the songs I wrote and sang basically went to them. That went on for a couple of years until I met Nic's father. He was a bass player in a band I was collaborating with. I fell in love way too quickly, jumped into bed with him when he made an advancement and ended up pregnant. The guy didn't want kids and bolted, leaving me a single mom. My parents hated that and basically disowned me.”

“M'sorry to hear tha',” Daryl replied sympathetically. He didn't really know how to respond; he never knew that about you. You chose to keep your life before you had Nicolette private, and he respected that. He had his own demons he preferred to keep quiet.

“It's okay,” you reassured him, shaking your head. “He was an asshole. And I was better off without my parents. I managed to sign with a decent enough record label and the rest was history. I got a ton of backlash from haters for being a single mom. There were even rumours that I had cheated and that's why the guy left me, but that wasn't true. But none of that matters anymore. My reputation doesn't matter anymore. All that matters now is keeping my daughter safe and keeping the people I care about alive. People like you.”

“Ya shouldn't care 'bout me. S'a bad idea.”

“Well, bad idea or not, I care about you. And so does Nic.”

As if being summoned, Nicolette knocked on the door and hesitantly stepped inside. Daryl adjusted the covers over his body and sent her a tight-lipped smile. Nicolette gave him a small smile back but he could clearly tell it was strained. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying.

“Are you okay?” Nicolette asked, crossing her arms over her chest as if to make herself appear smaller.

“M'fine, kiddo. Dun' worry 'bout me,” he reassured her. “Hershel fixed me righ' up. I'll be outta here in no time.”

Nicolette looked to you for confirmation, and you nodded. “He's right. He'll be fine. Some antibiotics and he'll be up and at it in three days. You'll see.”

“Okay,” she nodded, her eyes flickering between you and Daryl. “I'm glad you're not dead, Daryl.”

Daryl chuckled at the girls forwardness. “M'glad m'not dead, too.”

You smiled at the small interaction between Daryl and Nicolette, your heart swelling with fondness. You stood up from the bed and motioned for Nicolette to follow you.

“C'mon, baby. Let's leave Daryl to get some rest, okay?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could maybe stay?” she asked timidly, nervously fiddling with her hands. “It's just... I wanna stay.”

You looked at Daryl, and he shrugged nonchalantly. Despite his nonchalance, Daryl's heart swelled with fondness. This little girl, who owed him nothing, wanted to stay with him. He couldn't believe it.

“Okay, you can stay for a while. I'll be back later, okay?” you relented.

She nodded and sat down on the chair. You gave Daryl's hand one last squeeze before heading out, sparing one last look at the two. Nicolette was starting to retell some of the events of what her and Carl had gotten up to that day, and Daryl hummed in acknowledgement before looking up and locking eyes with you.

With one last parting smile, you headed out and made your way back to the tents. On your way there, a startling realisation hit you like a ton of bricks, one that would change the way you saw Daryl forever. Despite the fact that he could be snappy at times, and that he was known for being grumpy, he treated you with respect. He didn't care about who you were before the end of the world. He didn't care about your mistakes, about if you were famous or not. That didn't matter to him. He only saw you, the person behind the old tabloids, and he had become close with your daughter. He even took the time out of his day to teach her how to use his crossbow, even if she was a slow learner. And in that moment, you realised something:

You had feelings for him.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Y'know, m'glad Nic didn't have to meet her father. She's better off.”

You turned your head to Daryl, a look of confusion spreading across your features. “I agree with you, but why do you say that? You didn't know the man.”

Daryl shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from you. “Ya said back at Hershel's tha' he never wanted kids. If he had stuck 'round, god knows wha' he would've done to her.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, turning your attention back to the darkness ahead of you. “She is better off.”

The night was relatively quiet, save for the distant sound of walkers groaning outside the prison's fences.  Daryl was on watch that night in the guard tower, and you had taken the initiative to join the archer that night. Everyone else had retreated into the prison for the night, leaving only you and Daryl awake.

“So are we gon' tell Nic 'bout us or not?” Daryl broke the silence, taking the last drag from his cigarette before putting it out next to him. “S'been over a month now. She deserves to know.”

Unbidden, flashes of that night a month ago arose in your mind. The feeling of his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body and the way he felt pressed against you. The feeling of your bodies becoming one was one that you wouldn't forget anytime soon, but the one memory you'd hold with you forever was the confession from the man next to you. After the heated, pleasurable moment you'd spent together, feelings were revealed, and you and the archer had unofficially started your relationship. You had both agreed to keep it a secret, but Nicolette was starting to get suspicious about the two of you.

“I'm okay with telling her tomorrow. She deserves to finally have confirmation on her suspicions,” you told him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “She already sees you as her dad, anyways.”

Daryl couldn't argue with that. Flashes of his own arose in his mind. A couple of days ago, he had returned from a run, battered and bruised. He could barely walk and both you and Nicolette were distraught. However, after he was patched up and resting in his cell and you were up in the guard tower for your shift, Nicolette had come to him in tears. He had hugged her tightly to his chest, acutely aware that she was transported back to that day on the farm when he had been shot. That night was the night Nicolette had confirmed that she saw Daryl as a father figure.

“Please don't leave. My mom needs you. I need you. We both need you in our lives. Please, Daryl.”

In that moment, even though she didn't know yet that you and Daryl were together, he knew that he wouldn't be able to live without either of you. You both were his entire world. Nicolette was his little girl. You were his partner, and there was no way he was letting either of you go.

“Dun' worry, Nic. I ain't goin' nowhere. I promise ya tha'.”

Shaken from his thoughts by your lips on his exposed shoulder, he turned his head to you, coming face to face with a mischievous smirk. He instantly knew what that smirk meant, and he helped you climb onto his lap.

“But,” you began, pulling his attention back to your previous discussion. “Let's worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, it's just me and you.”

Daryl smirked and attached his lips to yours. You may have been a popstar before the apocalypse, a celebrity living in a mansion, but in that moment, you were simply you. The woman Daryl cared for deeply, the woman Daryl was never gonna let go of.

Because in that moment, you were nothing but his.

[balrogballs]

Hi hi hi! I just finished reading The Sword Tree and I'm still unwell about it so I hope it's okay if I rant in your ask box for a sec. I'm South Asian and the bit about celebrian saying there's more to their national diagnosis of sea-longing hit so close to home because the rhetoric around returning to valinor is so similar to partition where the rhetoric was (and remains to this day at least in pakistan) that all the Muslims of the subcontinent WANTED to go to Pakistan because they wanted a Muslim homeland. Which is just - patently untrue as evidenced by the fact that MILLIONS of Muslims chose to remain in India and doesn't take into account any of the hundred of reasons people actually chose to migrate, the threat of violence being not least amongst them. The way returning to valinor is framed as this glorious homecoming when really so many of the elves would have been fleeing from violence, would have been going because they had no other choice, because it was that or fade is soooo ASHDHSGS it drives me insane. But at least now I can think of celebrian taking them to her forest so yay <3 thank you for that

You’ll have to excuse me nerding out being a complete freak and writing a whole ass impromptu 1500 word meta essay at midnight in the hour since you sent this though, because this ask scratches a good 100% of my brain in a wonderful way + I have a lot of THOUGHTS + it touches on some non-fiction stuff I was preparing for Mereth Aderthad… so thank you very much ily as you can see here I am just as unwell 🥹🙏🏽🫶🏽

I’ll put the actual content under the cut since it’s long, but it may be interesting to anyone else keen on my silly meta/theory ramblings re: postcolonial South Asia, Tolkien elves, Valinor, Indo-Pak (obv a thematic comparison rather than a direct equation since the circumstances, cost and setting is entirely different), slow violence and the diction of genteel exile… plus, Frodo comes into it at one point!

Forgive me if I repeat myself here because I’m not sure how long you’ve followed me so idk how much Balls Lore™️ I’ve dropped btw… so I’m not religious but my paternal side (who we’re culturally closer to as a family since my mum’s side don’t really practice their religion/culture) are actually Indian Muslims from Kerala, which was one of the v few Indian states that had both a high Muslim population yet saw almost no northward movement towards Pakistan, partly bc it was so far south and the people don’t speak any of the Indopak “border languages” but also because there wasn’t much communal violence or structural discrimination (relative to the rest of the country, I mean…) so life was at the time not particularly hostile or difficult for Muslims in Kerala, at least on the basis of their religion (caste is a diff story though 🥲).

And so people just stayed, because, as you say, they COULD. Because why the fuck would you choose to leave the place you were born in, trek across the entire subcontinent and face unspeakable violence, if you had literally any other choice!!!

And your point about “glorious homecoming” is also super interesting to me especially in the context of the RSS/Indian RW’s “Musalmanon ko donon sthan, Pakistan aur kabarsthan’ (Muslims have two places: Pakistan or the graveyard)” chant, by now a vicious majoritan sentiment which simultaneously contradicts their other unhinged viewpoint, aka “Pakistan technically belongs to India”. And that kind of diction is in turn echoed and mirrored from the Pakistani side, where anytime anti-Muslim violence breaks out in India, the PK broadcast media/politicos begin their “we told you so tee hee we told you you should have come here, who asked you to stay in India? 🤪” world tour like they’re talking about children who dropped their ice creams 🥲

Which is unsurprising of course, considering India and Pakistan have spent nearly 80 years constructing their national identity as the moral and civilisational antithesis of the other one… ie Pakistan as a “sanctuary from Hindu majoritarianism”, India as a “secular (lmao) republic against Islamic theocracy”… and like w Valinor and Middle-earth, these imaginaries are less geographic than mythic (thinking about Eärendil’s journey here, or Tuor just… as a concept sksksk): each land continuously reifies itself by casting the other as failed or impure, and the rules of performance and belonging keep shifting…

The very structure of Valinor's inaccessibility aka requiring divine permission, reserved for the select, where rules can be broken only if the divine powers will it to me resonates w how citizenship & belonging are gatekept in the subcontinent and how those with hybrid or marginal identities (like Ëarendiil) are often asked to prove their fidelity to the nation (“choose elves or men”) in ways the majority never is, as if access to the country of your birth was a conditional gift rather than a birthright.

And I’m thinking again about the Peredhel choice, and Elwing and Eärendil being forced to choose to belong to either men or elves at great cost, quite literally punished for hybridity, and for stepping foot in Valinor as the “wrong kind”, the kind who aren’t allowed to enter… and this punishment lasts for several generations of their line, right down to Arwen… so again that “homeland” projected not as a shared horizon of peace but as a fantasised ideal purified of the other’s existence…. an unsoiled homeland that can only keep moving forwards by erasing those whose identities speak to entanglement...

And with “Indo-Pak”, that metaphysical distance between Valinor and Middle-earth is reenacted as militarised borders and cultural opposition... each made from the blank spaces in the other’s mirror. And so in India, much like for other minorities in Pakistan, or former East Pakistan prior to the liberation of Bangladesh… those who don’t fit the moral geography of Partition ie religiously intermarried families, religious minorities, borderland communities, secular dissidents, queer folk, etc, are not only excluded from nationalist narratives but seen as aberrations, or intruders… India must inversely reflect Pakistan, and Pakistan must inversely reflect India, because if they don’t, then neither country can be said to exist.

And yes absolutely, for ME elves (ie Elrond for instance) the “return” is not some triumphant homecoming, the journey West is sorrowful and final… less a political return and more an admission that Middle-earth, the “contested space” so to speak, can no longer sustain the presence of its most wounded or burdened beings. Eg Frodo’s departure, like Celebrían’s sailing, being a spiritual evacuation rather than a physical one, not in itself necessary for healing, but because healing is no longer possible where the wound was made… like, the tragedy of people needing to convalesce from their own country is just 🥲

and I think the ending of the Return of the King showcases this splendidly: by ending with a *departure* from ME rather than an *arrival* in Valinor. And that’s what makes it tragic to me, bc in Tolkien’s world, the sailing to Valinor marks the end of the narrative for the reader, but in South Asia, this desire for purified homelands continues to regenerate new forms of violence…

What I’m trying to say here is, I assume you haven’t read my India AU (Prayers to Broken Stone) since I remember you mentioning the sea serpent one was the first Maedhros and Elrond story of mine you read, which is why I am EXTREMELY shook (in a good way aka I am insanely impressed, whatever our souls are made of yours and mine are the same etc etc) at how you’ve hit the nail right on the head when it comes to a major undercurrent of Prayers, which I don’t think I’ve even mentioned explicitly on Tumblr either—the overarching thematic parallel between the fading of elves and the postcolonial trajectory of the Indian Muslims who chose to stay because they wanted to, where the opportunity for a “glorious return” to an unknown land is no opportunity at all, and is in fact nothing but a great and violent sundering. Like that is the main thematic framework there, far beyond any positionality-politics about the Noldor and the Sindar or whatever. Just including a bit from one of the chapters which I think illustrates exactly what I mean (context, this is set during the Emergency following the Fëanorians as a Malayali Muslim family, where Maedhros is a former freedom fighter).

———

———

I wanted to convey in the fic how in post-independence India, Muslims were not formally expelled, but their political + cultural + historical centrality was increasingly made to fade, ie transformed from participants in the national story to spectral reminders of an undesirable past… thinking about that alternate LOTR ending where Sam talks to his daughter Elanor about Celeborn staying alone in Lothlorien, and her calling it “terribly sad”… artefacts/relics/remembrance etc etc…

+ in Tolkien, fading is often accompanied by a refusal to speak of the past. Sam, after Frodo’s departure, speaks little of the Ring or of what was lost, or with Celebrían, the narrative has nothing to add about the year between Cel’s capture and torture, vs her sailing, ie what it was like to make the decision to sail after the act of violence. Similarly, in India, public discourse around Patrition + postcolonial antiMuslim violence is marked by silences, half-truths, and amnesia (similar to how the Bangladesh War of Liberation is taught in Pakistan, from what I hear from a cross-border friend…). And this silence is absolutely not accidental but functional: they allow the nation to perform coherence by concealing rupture.

Eg just as the memory of Frodo’s pain is only buried under the peace of the Shire and never truly gone, the memory of communal violence in India is buried (quite literally sometimes, thinking about Babri masjid…) beneath the rhetoric of secularism, progress and unity. IE like Maedhros realises in that snip above where he “loses” his name, India tells itself that it must forget the past in order to survive the future… and in doing so, renders certain kinds of survival indistinguishable from death 🥲

So yes, I absolutely think it’s exactly that “violence of belonging”, where to belong fully often requires the erasure of the other, where even the sacred return is structured by exclusion. Ie the “offer” of “returning” to an imaginary, idealised and ultimately inert “homeland” is more a euphemism for removal, or a horizon made visible only through loss.

The political grammar of “sundered” states require a sort of continuous re-inscription: new Others, new exiles, new purity tests. and in both Tolkien + postcolonial India, gesturing the “fading people” towards a redemptive “homeland” doesn’t signify the endpoint of suffering and victimisation, but rather serves as its ongoing justification. Eg is it homecoming or is it exile? 🥲

Hope my very incoherent midnight thoughts make sense! You really put my brain on speedrun mode jsjsjsjxjd this is the fastest I’ve run to answer a meta ask hahaha. And I also wanted to say thank you so much for leaving all those fantastic comments on my fics, I normally respond in bulk because I’m only logged in to AO3 on my desktop, but I just wanted to say they have TRULY been making my week…

[ms-demeanor]

So these computers will be mostly be used for CAD but also video editing. The time we are looking for is in the next few months. It will be running autodesk fusion which at minimum needs 2 cores, recommends 8 for cpu, needs 8gb of ram recommends 32gb, and needs aleast some sort of gpu and something like a nvidia quadro is recommended though I am mostly sure we would do fine with a 40s or 50s series GPU.

This is very funny to me because this is actually quite similar to the conundrum I had buying computers earlier today. Workstations are currently a bitch to get (and also that means that $1500 per device is somewhat unrealistic in the opposite direction of what I was initially thinking, especially given the graphics card)

------------------------------------

Hi Anon!

Thanks for the details! We're beginning to see some stock availability issues with hardware so I'm not finding anything that's a perfect match out-of-box for your needs but I believe I've found a solution that should be comfortably within budget as long as you've got in-house IT or an affordable contractor to help with the build.

What I've found is a Lenovo ThinkStation P3 Tiny that comes with a 20-Core, 14th gen i7 processor, 16GB DDR5 5600 MHz RAM (SoDIMM), and an Nvidia T400 4GB graphics card. The workstation includes an upgraded Lenovo Premiere warranty with next-day onsite service. The ThinkStation has one RAM module soldered to the motherboard but two free slots and can handle a max of 96GB, so I'd recommend purchasing this device and adding 16GB Crucial modules.

Just to be sure, I did verify that the graphics card with this device is on the list of compatible cards from Autodesk.

I'm finding the workstation available from a number of vendors at about $1200, and the RAM is available for around $50. With tax, that brings your per-unit cost to around $1400, leaving just under $100 per machine to account for the labor cost of installing the RAM.

Let me know if this sounds like a solution that works for you, or if you have any further questions.

Given your timeline, you could choose to place orders from vendors who are not carrying the full 30 machines right now, but considering the possibility of scarcity I'd recommend making a decision sooner rather than later.

Thanks! Ms-D

--------------------------------

Part of what I was struggling with on my quote today is that my employer doesn't want our techs mucking around with desktop hardware; we're not supposed to be ordering and upgrading before we send things out the door but that is not a limitation that an end purchaser has to live with so you (reader or anon) have more options and more flexibility when looking for computers than I do *IF* you make sure to check that you can do upgrades. It's not hard to add RAM to a desktop unless the RAM is soldered to the motherboard with no free slots, in which case it's impossible.

You can save a ridiculous amount of money on buying machines and have a LOT of options for dealing with scarcity if you know what kind of hardware is easy to fuck with.

In this instance, I wouldn't upgrade the GPU or by a card separate from the workstation (this computer has a 300W power supply and the computer itself is the size of most power supplies, so I wouldn't want to try to find something teeny tiny to work together), especially because there's a budget-friendly option that will allow the necessary programs to run available pre-built, but literally it would cost like five hundred dollars more to get something with more RAM. So save yourself a few hundred dollars by getting a fifty dollar RAM module and paying someone to install that in the machine or doing it yourself.

I don't think we're going to get to a point of completely empty shelves, but I do think we're likely to see fewer options that exactly match what we're looking for without doing some extra work. Large Bastard has been vaguely making noises about getting a new computer for the last two or three years and he's still on the fence and my comment to him was that I'm sure there's always going to be something available at a high enough cost, but there are going to be fewer choices if he has to replace a computer quickly (which, given the age of his desktop, he might have to at some point).

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Heya! Apologies if you’ve answered this in another post but I’m just curious; do you think Harry was an oops baby? Because there’s no way Lily and James were actively trying for a kid at 19 years old in a middle of a war lmao

I mean, there is a way, it's always possible. We know Molly and Arthur started having their kids during the very early days of the war: Bill was born in 1970 when Molly & Arthur were 20, Andromeda and Ted had Nymphadora at 1973, when they were around 20 too. Narcissa & Lucius had Draco in 1980 too, and while they were older, they were still young, only 25 years old (most of Harry's year were likely born at the height of the first war to young-ish parents). Bill and Fleur also married very young (Bill was 24 and Fleur was 20) and the war literally crashed their wedding. Nymphadora and Remus got married and had a kid the moment the second war started, basically (in their case I think it was an oops baby though).

So, it seems to be common and not just a James and Lily thing. Wizards seem to marry young, and I believe during the war, more so. Irl, war causes people to marry young and have children young. There's a reason Baby Boomers are called Baby Boomers — this is a response to war we see in the real world, too. When you think you might die tomorrow, you go through life milestones faster because you want to accomplish them before you die. It's natural. It's human.

But, let's look at James and Lily more specifically and what we know of their timeline.

Harry was born on July 31st, 1980, so he was conceived around late October or early November of 1979.

James and Lily graduated in June of 1978, and they married "shortly after they graduated" so they got married either later that year or early in 1979, and conceived Harry soon after.

They were both actively fighting with the Order at the time, but it's possible Harry was still planned, it's also possible he wasn't. To answer that, I kinda wanted to think about birth-control in the wizarding world and if they use a contraceptive of some kind or natural solutions (such as following the menstrual cycle or pulling out).

I think it's very likely they have some kind of birth-control potion. Throughout history (even back in ancient Egypt), there were many attempts at various birth-control tonics made from various herbs and later chemicals, so it makes sense wizards would have such a potion. Also, condoms made of sheep guts (for the most part) were a thing for a while and have been prevalent  in Europe since the 1500s as a way to stop the spread of syphilis. They have been used commonly-ish in England in the 1800s (I saw ads in gentlemen guides to London for "french letters" and it took me a while to figure out "french letters" is Victorian English slang for condoms. The more you know). So I feel it's reasonable to assume wizards would have access to a birth-control potion and condoms.

This means that if a couple wanted to lower the chances of getting pregnant, they likely could. And I assume the potion has a higher success rate than the muggle equivalent.

If James and Lily didn't want Lily to get pregnant in the middle of the war, I feel like they would be responsible enough to take the potion or whatever else the wizarding world has going on. So, I think it's more likely Harry was planned (and so were most of the other kids born to young parents during the war).

(I mentioned I think Teddy was an oops baby, mostly due to Lupin's reaction to the pregnancy. Additionally, both of them tend to be more reckless with their own safety than James and Lily. For all of James' faults, he puts effort into being responsible when it comes to people he cares for (he stopped Snape from going into the shrieking shack for Lupin, not for Snape). He isn't likely to want to risk an unplanned pregnancy. I also don't think Lily would be reckless about this sort of thing).

[larluce]

I had an idea for a Post canon merthur AU!!

I don't know if you have seen Sakura Card Captor? Well, there is a character called Yukito that has double personality/two alter egos. One that is a regular human being with sunshine personality called Yukito and the other that is a literal Angel/powerful creature that is cold and merciless called Yue. The interesting thing about this character is that, while Yue is aware that Yukito exists and can access to Yukito's memories, Yukito doesn't have the same privilege. Yukito, as far as he knows, he is just a regular teen student that sometimes has mental gaps.

So I wondered, what if Merlin, due to all the trauma he went through or maybe through a spell he did to himself, splited his personality in two so he could handle the long wait for Arthur's return better? One would be Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer that ever lived that also incarnates the worst aspects of him, basically Dark Merlin in all his glory, and the other one would be a Merlin without his memories, ergo, without all his traumas, his personality would be series 1 innocent Merlin, but this Merlin doesn't have magic (or rather he has it, but is blocked) and he thinks he is a common mortal man.

So one night Arthur finally returns and it's Merlin who finds him when he comes out of the lake (Emrys made sure Merlin always lived close to the lake). Of course, he's startled an somewhat scared but a feeling inside him urges him to help this stranger. The man is wearing a knight armor and talks old english for some reason. (Merlin never thought his extra studies in old english that he took for fun would actually come on handy). The man only says nonesense as he helps him out of the lake and takes him to his home thought. Apparently the stranger firmly believes he is King Arthur and that he is Merlin the wizard. He has to repeat him several times that he isn't, but they do share the name though.

Merlin: (gives Arthur a change of clothes and says in old english) Here. These are the biggest clothes I have. They might fit you and I put some blankets on the couch for you to sleep.

Arthur: (doesn't take the clothes and just stares at him)...

Merlin: (thinking he didn't speak the language correctly) I said-

Arthur: (heartbroken) You really don't remember me, do you?

Merlin: (sighs) No. I don't know you. I'm sorry.

Arthur: (almost desperate) You do! I don't know what they did to you or what happened to this place, but I'm going to figure it out. I promise!

Merlin: (smiles) Sure you will. (Thinks) He must have some mental affliction, poor man. (Says as he leaves the clothes on the couch) I'll get you some hot chocolate. (Makes a move to go to the kitchen, but has a sudden headache and faints)

Arthur: Merlin! (Runs and catches him before he hits the floor, worried) Merlin, are you alright? Please, wake up! Merlin (shakes him)

Emrys: (opens his eyes that are glowing gold) My king (his eyes water) You are back. (Craddles Arthur's face)

So Emrys explains his condition to Arthur and also that 1500 years have passed and there's probably a catastrophy coming their way since Arthur is now back and all. Obviously, it's a lot to process for Arthur and he doesn't take it all well at first, but he calms down and accepts everything eventually. Arthur can't help but notice this version of Merlin,despite crying for him at the beginning, seems void of emotion most of the time.

Emrys does a spell on Arthur so he can speak modern english and tells him he will switch back to being Merlin soon.

Emrys: (serious) You can tell him you were delirious due to almost drowning or that you had some mental affliction. He already believes that anyways.

Arthur: I'm not going to lie to him, Merlin.

Emrys: I'm not Merlin. He IS Merlin and he's not going to believe you are King Arthur.

Arthur: Why can't you stay like this?

Emrys: I'm too dangerous when I'm in control for too long. Merlin is harmless and can actually be your friend.

Arthur: You are my friend!

Emrys: (coldly) No, Arthur. I'm your weapon, your protector at best, but nothing more.

Arthur: I don't believe that!

Merlin: Believe what you want. (Turns his back to Arthur)

Arthur: And I won't lie to him either!

Merlin: Tell him what you want (Eyes glowing, about to switch)

Arthur: Mer-I mean Emrys! (Stops him by holding his arm and Enrys turns to him) When will I see you again?

Emrys: When I'm needed or when you call me. Don't abuse though. Merlin might get suspicious if he has too many mental gaps. (Switchs back to Merlin and faints again)

Arthur: (catches him before he hits the floor) This better not become an habit.

Time goes by. Merlin still believes Arthur is crazy, but at least he speaks english now. Merlin does find strange the Arthur has no document, nor he is register in the sistem apparently. Merlin doesn't have the heart to get this "King Arthur" out of his house though, since he clearly has no where to go so Merlin lets him stay. Not for free of course, he makes Arthur help with the cleaning and stuff and doesn't stand for prat behavior when Arthur acts all kingly.

Arthur gets why Emrys told him this Merlin was his Merlin despite him not having his memories or his magic. He is clumsy, he jokes, he smiles, calls him out when he's being mean, but also is there for him when he needs him. Is the Merlin he knew but more... happy. Without burdens of destiny or traumas of the past.

Meanwhile Emrys just appears when they are investigating or when there is danger coming their way, like a magical creature attack or a car Arthur failed to see when he crossed the street. Emrys never smiles or small talks, he just goes to the point and gets the job done. He is dark, but overall he is... broken.

Arthur heart eaches when he realises... he is the one who took Merlin's light. He was the one who broke him.

And that's all I have for now. I don't know how merthur would get together in this AU. What do you think?

[pleasuretrade]

several sentences sunday abandoned fic friday

ok @stereobone tagged me last time and i've been rly busy n fucked up so it's late but here is for u roooooo

wrote ~1500 words of this and then abandoned it for various reasons. probably like the second thing i ever started writing for mota, before i was even active on tumblr abt it. was gonna be a summary of a years-long escalation of what they started in flight school. and no idk if you actually had to continue combatives training in flight school and i refuse to research it

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 Combatives was a given in Basic. Gale hoped he never had to use it, less scared of the high chance he’d die in the air or hitting the ground than he was of coming face to face on land with a nazi, not that he’d ever tell anyone that, ever, except Bucky eventually. Naivety and misplaced optimism told him that combatives training wouldn’t follow him into flight school, but of course he was wrong, as that’s where his optimism always got him.

 Naturally, he’d sparred Bucky first and frequently. They’d become fast friends and worked together well, despite all odds, and in the service that meant staying together. Becoming brothers was a valuable token, gave you a higher chance of staying alive; they’d drilled as much into every man. It was never lost on Gale, the way that his place in things had become interwoven with John’s, so much so that it could literally keep him alive someday. Buck and Bucky, dependent on each other and allowed to be so by Uncle Sam himself. It made the thing in Gale, the sick, confused thing, that much hungrier. He’d put a muzzle on it, tied it down with strong rope and a long stake, told it to stay, boy, stay, and told himself he had it under control.

↓↓↓↓↓↓

 They were grappling clumsily, Bucky always better at it, just broader and taller and stronger enough to have the physical upperhand. And all of the sudden it hit Gale like a freight train, like a stray dog snapped loose from its rope. John’s leg pressed between his, tangled, bones held tight, his arms around Gale like a vice, breath against his hair—Gale was hard in his trousers.

“Bucky,” he said lamely, meekly, pleading before he could stop, wanting this to be over before his friend realized what was happening.

“Yeah?” And John pressed his leg into Gale harder, spitting the word, amused and teasing like a schoolboy and definitely knowing.

 It knocked the wind out of him. The terror, the shame, the guilt, the arousal. Gale panicked, twisting like an animal, only the motion and the friction weren't helping, and Gale was letting John work him over in his attempt to escape, cock weeping a single bead of dampness that Gale felt like a rush of cold water. This was it, this was the end before it had really started, before Gale ever got over there and saw his first mission. He was going to be sent home, and his dad was going to send him to the sanitarium, and he wouldn’t have Bucky in his life anymore, wouldn't be Buck anymore.

“Bucky, stop.”

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of, Buck, happens all the time,” John said, grunting only a little, collected even as Gale struggled in his arms. Pressing into him like he wanted to drive a point home.

“Stop!” The sound punched out of him, desperate and getting angry.

 And finally John let him go, rolled off and threw up his hands.

-

 Gale was on his bed in their room, clothes still on and not about to be taken off. He would sleep in his clothes if he could, too ashamed to touch himself even just to take them off, too angry to remove a layer between his dick and the world. When John opened the door Gale already knew how it would go, how John was going to act like nothing happened, how it was going to be an awkward nothing, how it would sour their friendship even as they try not to let it. Or at least, he thought he knew.

 John finished scrubbing at his hair with a towel, tossing it on the edge of his own bed, and Gale had to do it now or he would never do it.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage at first, too many words churning in his head.

“Sorry for what?” And there John went, pretending nothing happened.

“Not gonna say it out loud, Bucky.”

 John scoffed. “Jesus, Buck, always so serious. A little wood isn't gonna scare me away, alright?”

 It made Gale boil, hot up from his neck and down across his thighs. How Bucky was so flippant about it. How he didn't understand. It wasn't a misfire, wasn't just his body reacting errantly to physical stimulation. Gale was sick, and he was sick for John, for Bucky. His handsome face, his dark curls, his confidence, but more so his kindness, the soft meat under his tough masculinity, all the things he kept hidden away that Gale was finally piecing together, bit by bit. Gracious even now, when he had no reason to be.

“It won't happen again.”

-

 The very next time they did combatives, it happened again. Gale had spent the hours leading up to it agonizing, churning, making a mental list of things that repulsed and repelled him so he could conjure them on command. He braced for a punch that he tried desperately to tell himself didn't have to be inevitable. Over and over, reminding himself that it wasn't normal, that there was no reason for his body to do it, spiders, frog eggs, soured milk, the bright red tinge of his father’s vomit that Thanksgiving when he was eleven years old.

 It was useless, in the end. Gale tried and tried to stay upright as they grappled, and then to stay on his knees when he couldn't, and then when that didn't hold he would simply give up, flop to his stomach, take the loss. Lost and lost and lost until their commanding officer noticed, brought attention to it with a sharp bite of reprimand that set Gale's body to burning guilt.

“Just warmin’ him up, sir,” John told him, covering for Gale easy as anything.

 Their CO cut them a sharp look and moved on, skeptical and suspicious in the way that Gale excelled at nearly everything and why wasn’t he excelling at this?

 John assumed the position, stance wide and braced low, hands out and eager. “Come on, tough guy, give it to me.”

And the words made Gale want to be sick, to keel over and vomit or orgasm, his dick getting ideas before the physical contact even hit, spiders, spiders, spoiled milk, frog eggs.

 Like he was looking for it, like he wanted it, John had him again in no time. Thigh wedged between Gale’s, pelvis pressed tight, the crease of his hip meeting where Gale’s hard cock strained in his uniform. “Bucky, I give, stop,” rushed out, a plea. And when John didn't give up, when he shifted against Gale, teasing, taunting, punishing, “John.”

 John’s mouth close to his ear, low, low, only for them to hear, almost a whisper as he shifted his body in something too similar to a thrust, “I like when you say my name.”

 Gale almost came in his trousers just as John released him, laughing, rolling off and patting the dust off of himself, smiling, satisfied. Sick in some way. But he couldn’t be sick like Gale. Could he?

[dresshistorynerd]

I've seen a post you've reblogged and added to, among many things about women showing nipples. Can you recommend any ref material (articles, videos, etc.) are share your knowledge about this? Cause I'm curious about that, as nowadays going out in a shirt without a bra makes you indecent, while in like 90s it was okayish? I wonder how it was in previous centuries.

There is a really cool academic paper about bare breast dresses in 17th century England specifically. I think anyone can read it by creating a free account.

Abby Cox also has a good video about the cleavage during the past 500 years in which she goes through also the nip slip phenomena.

I don't have other sources that specifically focus on this subject, though many sources about specific decades touch on it, but I do have my primary source image collection, so I can sum up the history of the bare nipple.

So my findings from primary source images (I could be wrong and maybe I just haven't found earlier examples, since the paper above mentions briefly that there were bear-breast styles as early as 15th century) is that the Venetians were the first ones to show the nipple for courtly fashion. At the same time in other places in Europe they sported the early Elizabethan no-boob style that completely covered and flattened the chest. In the other corners of Italy the necklines were also low but less extreme. Venetian kirtle necklines dropped extremely low as early as 1560s and they combined extremely sheer, basically see-through partlets with their kirtle. First example below is a 1565-70 portrait of a Venetian lady with the nipples just barely covered waiting slip into view with a movement of arm. There was an even more extreme version of this with the kirtle being literally underboob style, still with a sheer doublet. Though I believe this was not quite for the respectable ladies, since I have only seen it depicted on high class courtesans. They were not exactly respectable ladies, but they did have quite good social position. The second example is a 1570s depiction of a courtesan, which is revealed by the horned hairstyle. By the end of the century this underbust style with only see through fabric covering breasts, had become respectable. In the last example it's shown on the wife of the Venetian doge in 1597.

Around the same time, at the very end of 1500s, the extremely low cut bodice fashion enters rest of Europe. The low cut style was present in the bodices of all classes, but the nipple was really only an aristocrat thing. The lower classes would cover their breasts with a partlet, that was not sheer. Bare breast was ironically from our perspective a show of innocence, youthful beauty and virtue, and to pull off the style with respect, you also had to embody those ideals. Lower class women were considered inherently vulgar and lacking virtue, so a nipple in their case was seen as indecent. Bare boobs were also a sort of status symbol, since the upper class would hire wet nurses to breastfeed their children so they could show of their youthful boobs.

Covering partlets and bodices were still also used in the first decade of 1600s by nobles and the nip slip was mostly reserved for the courtly events. The first image below is an early example of English extremely low neckline that certainly couldn't contain boobs even with a bit of movement from 1597. The 1610s started around 5 decades of fashion that showed the whole boob. The first three were the most extreme. Here's some highlights: The second image is from 1619.

Here the first, very much showing nipples, from c. 1630. The second from 1632.

The neckline would slowly and slightly rise during the next decades, but nip slips were still expected. Here's an example from 1649 and then from 1650-55. In 1660s the neckline would get still slightly higher and by 1870s it was in a not very slippable hight. The necklines would stay low for the next century, though mostly not in boob showing territory, but we'll get there. But I will say that covering the neckline in casual context was expected. Boobs were mostly for fancy occasions. It was considered vain to show off your boobs when the occasion didn't call for it and covering up during the day was necessary for a respectable lady. You wouldn't want to have tan in your milk-white skin like a poor, and also they didn't have sun screen so burning was a reasonable concern.

1720s to 1740s saw necklines that went to the nip slip territory, though they didn't go quite as low as 100 years earlier. The nipple was present in the French courtly fashion especially and rouging your nipples to enhance them was popular. Émilie Du Châtelet (1706-1749), who was an accomplished physicist and made contributions to Newtonian mechanics, was known in the French court to show off her boobies. An icon. Here she is in 1748. Here's another example from this era from 1728.

The Rococo neckline never got high, but in the middle of the century it was less low till 1770s when it plunged into new lows. In 1770s the fashion reached a saturation point, when everything was the most. This included boobs. The most boob visible. There was a change in the attitudes though. The visible boob was not a scandal, but it was risque, instead of sing of innocent and did cause offense in certain circles. I think it's because of the French revolution values gaining momentum. I talked about this in length in another post, mostly in context of masculinity, but till that point femininity and masculinity had been mostly reserved for the aristocracy. Gender performance was mostly performance of wealth. The revolutionaries constructed new masculinity and femininity, which laid the groundwork for the modern gender, in opposition to the aristocracy and their decadence. The new femininity was decent, moral and motherly, an early version of the Victorian angel of the house. The boob was present in the revolutionary imagery, but in an abstract presentation. I can't say for sure, but I think bare breasts became indecent because it was specifically fashion of the indecent French aristocracy.

Here's example somewhere from the decade and another from 1778. The neckline stayed quite low for the 1780s, but rose to cover the boobs for the 1790s.

The nipple didn't stay hidden for long but made a quick comeback in the Regency evening fashion. It was somewhat scandalous by this point, and the nipple and sheer fabrics of the Regency fashion gained much scorn and satire. The styles that were in the high danger nip slip territory and those that allowed the nipple to show through fabric, were still quite popular. The sleeves had been mid length for two centuries, but in 1790s they had made a (rough) split between formal and informal wear. The evening sleeves were tiny, just covering the shoulder. Showing that would have been a little too much. Like a bare boob? A risque choice but fine. A shoulder? Straight to the horny jail. (I'm joking they did have sheer sleeves and sometimes portraits with exposed shoulder.) But long sleeves became the standard part of the day wear. Getting sun was still not acceptable for the same reasonable and unreasonable reasons. Day dresses did also usually have higher necklines or were at least worn with a chemisette to cover the neckline. Fine Indian muslin was a huge trend. It was extremely sheer and used in multiple layers to build up some cover. There were claims that a gust of wind would render the ladies practically naked, though because they were wearing their underclothing including a shift, which certainly wasn't made from the very expensive muslin, I'm guessing this was an exaggeration. Especially though in the first decade, short underboob stays were fairly popular, so combined with a muslin, nipples were seen. Here's an early 1798 example of exactly that. The short stays did disappear eventually, but in 1810s the extremely small bodices did provide nip slip opportunities, as seen in this 1811 fashion plate.

Victorian moralizing did fully kill the nip slip, though at least they were gender neutral about it. The male nipple was just as offensive to them. In 1890s, when bodybuilding became a big thing, bodybuilder men were arrested for public indecency for not wearing a shirt.

[dannielricciardo]

was telling my mom how embarrassing it is that max lapped his teammate and how every driver since daniel ricc has sucked, and she asked why red bull/f1 got rid of him … Why Did They? was it just that they thought he wasn't performing well?

an opportunity? to infodump about my special interest? for me??? thank you. you do not need to read this at all - i just got extremely emotional about it. of course, this is my recollection of what happened and why he was dropped. we will likely never know. here follows 1500 words on daniels exit from the sport.

it's 2018 and things in red bull are looking dire. the car they made was extremely unreliable going into 2018, but it was a clear issue that was carried over from 2017 and it only got worse. significantly worse. what a lot of people seem to miss is that in 2018, daniel had something going wrong for him IN EVERY RACE (but spain). be it loss of power or bad strategy or gearbox issues in quali, daniel was absolutely shafted in 2018. there's a good write up about this on reddit. at the same time, it was feeling like........... daniel was no longer the favourite child. like, perhaps, more often than not they were starting to bet on max.

so daniel booked it out of there. to renault and then to mclaren. i'll skip some stuff and get you straight at the scene of the crime.

"why red bull/f1 got rid of him … Why Did They? was it just that they thought he wasn't performing well?" so at the end of his stint with mclaren, daniel was not a hot commodity anymore. sure, he was their first winner in 10 years, but it seemed like he had peaked and that was it, so it was time for him to either go to a below midfield team (haas was extremely interested) or simply wait out the contracts that were up in 2023. daniel picked the option to wait it out and see what opportunities might arise, also taking the made up tHiRd driver title which is hilarious because red bull literally came up with it for him. like they just decided they wanted a third driver in a two driver series. and they had him around alllll the time. he wasnt a driver but they were like "thank you max and daniel. also present: checo", it was obviously going to lead into something RIGHT

and lead it did, into a test for red bull and pirelli, at silverstone. and would you believe it, this man did not randomly forget how to drive. they put him in the rb19, which was so good, and he was so familiar with it because he was tag teaming the sim with his former race engineer at milton keynes. so they put him in a fast car, that was being developed with his feedback in mind and GUESS WHAT. he was fast as fuck. he was so fast, in fact, that if the pervious weekend he was on the grid, he would literally be next to max. mind you, this is the same car that max was winning nearly every race with; checo, on the other hand, was p15 on that same weekend.

it was obvious, right? that ricciardo is so fast. so red bull, in their infinite wisdom, did the sensible thing and........ stuck him the alpha tauri?? that was so fucking bad it was a miracle it could finish a race weekend.

important, but unmentioned character so far is the ever present sponsor that checo has - mr. carlos slim, a mexican billionaire. checo, of course, being the son of a politican, has a nice sponsor who just so wants to have a mexican driver on grid that he will shell out nearly an infinite amount of money to keep him there. daniel, on the other hand, comes from a middle class working people family that, unfortunately, does not have any billionaire friends.

anyway, what happened next was we all expected that daniel would be in the red bull in 2024, right? of course the alpha stint was to see how he copes with the team, ease him back to work, right? just give him something to ensure red bull's commitment for 2024, right? WRONG daniel was going to drive for vcarb in 2024 haha cool cool cool im being extremely normal about it.

SURELY they wouldn't bring him back for nothing......?

all that follows here is full on gossip and ALLEDGED so take it with a massive grain of salt. we will likely never know.

throughout the year we were hearing rumors that ~sponsors were told to expect an imminent announcement~, that ~vcarb was told to expect a mid season swap~, that ~red bull and daniel's camp were working on marketing and strategy - thats why it was constantly max and daniel in promo for the main team~. everyone was convinced that daniel was coming back, it was not a question of if, but when.

the when, seemingly, was spa. video of daniel talking to mekies and horner leaks. they have a long talk, then daniel smiles and shakes hands with christian, leaving with a massive smile on his face. he has a fine race. then another video hits the timeline - daniel and max leave the track together, one carrying a bottle of wine, the other carrying both their helmets. believe it or not, a THIRD video hits the timeline, this time posted by max verstappen himself, a man who notoriously does not run his instagram, of them in a helicopter all smiles and thumb ups. marko is saying "we will be looking into our driver line up next week" post race in media. all seems poised to happen in the next few days, right? rumours are swirling that the verstappen camp is fully expecting to have daniel back and are happy about it.

and then it doesn't happen. insiders are absolutely baffled. people who have been hearing rumours for MONTHS are completely flabbergasted why it didn't happen - all signs and leaks were pointing towards daniel, right? except. except.

except.

rumours emerge liam lawson has a clause in his contract that's according to some "use me or lose me" OR guaranteed 6 races this season. which is fine, when you consider that the plan was to use the performance clauses in checo's contract to drop him, move daniel to RB, give liam the vcarb seat for a year/two, give daniel a good final year or two.

suddenly, allegedly some calls are made. some pressure is put on red bull. a certain billionaire wants a mexican driver on the grid. after all, if he brings 30-40 million to the team per year, "then there is no better pay driver in formula 1" :).

daniel does not have a billionaire backing him. daniel does not have 6 races promised to him before the end of the year. daniel does not have honda paying for his seat.

daniel unfortunately only has his pure god given talent and his endless charm. but he does not have the money in a sport that increasingly has stopped caring about racing ability and has moved on towards being pay to play.

the narrative shifts overnight. daniel has not beat yuki convincingly (daniel was averaging p13 to yuki's p12. to this day no one in vcarb has matched daniel's peaks there). daniel was washed and talentless, he needed to make way for younger, hungrier drivers, like liam lawson, the next max verstappen. he needed to move aside so that people who paid their dues can get their time in the main team before their national sponsor leaves the team fully. marko suddenly starts claiming it was never in the cards.

what ended up transpiring in singapore is one of the most shameful events ive ever seen in my life and everyone involved should be haunted by it until the end of time. daniel arrives all smiles. the rumour mill starts running, set off by ralf. everyone is asking about it. daniel is denying it. everyone else is dancing around the topic. you can tell, in real time, that it's beginning to dawn on daniel that this might be it over the weekend. max glues himself to daniel in a show of clear support. blake the manager is seen running around the paddock on sunday.

daniel gets in the car. he has an abysmal drive due to the car being completely unstable and fully loose on the rear, many people commenting that he is more fighting it than driving it. mind you, this is not the oversteer he prefers - this is a fairly balanced car that has a set up so bad the rear end looseness is not controllable. he also has another abysmal strategy, which was a reoccurring theme during his time at vcarb. he was always put on the worse strategy. he got undercut, stuck in traffic and chewed his tyres. on the last lap, he pits for fastest lap and sets the lap record for the track. he exits the car and an honor guard welcomes him to vcarb hospitality, organized by meikes.

according to reuters, horner informs daniel in there that he is likely jobless by the time he leaves.

daniel ricciardo left the paddock at 1:46 am. he has not been on an f1 track since.

[ducky-dawn47]

Could I have some Oubing headcanons plsplsplsplspls😭😭😭 Also what do celestials, demons and humans think of each other? I know there's racism in your Au but just how bad is it? Like you've mentioned that Mk couldn't go to a hospital because he was half demon or was it because Tang and Pigsy were a couple? Sorry I need to reread the earlier chapters 😓

Since there's 3 questions in here I'll reblog with each answer!

Oubing Headcanons!!

The East Sea Third Prince, Celestial Half of the Spirit Pearl, Guardian of the Lotus Temple, Ao Bing;

Race/Ancestry; Chinese Cold Water Dragon

Age; 2,621 years.

Birthday; May 22nd.

Self Expression; Cis Male, He/Him, Homosexual.

Self-Care; Is also a Reptile that doesn't shed, so like Mei, he has an extensive, bougie self-care routine to maintain his skin and scales. He also really enjoys Hair Care.

Hobbies; Weaving, Sparring, Practicing on his favorite instruments; The Piano and Harp, and he actually enjoys cleaning and cooking! It makes Nezha embarrassed to be taken care of, but Bing is a home-body to the core, and as he grew it developed into Home-Maker traits! He isn't opposed to travel and adventure of course, but he's long since had his adventures from when he was literally 3 years old to about 1500 years ago.

He just wants to live quietly at the moment.

Secrets; is JUST as prone to anger and rage as his husband. Just alot more quiet and elegant about it. Nezha actually picked up on alot of Bing's mannerisms in order to survive life in the Heavenly court.

Literally.

Powers; Cryokinesis, Hydrokinesis, Advanced Healing Magic, Draconian Strength and Speed, Dragon Form. Immunity to most poisons (he made himself immune while practicing apothecary)

Weaknesses; Nezha. His Father's anger. Extremely High temperatures, tightly Enclosed spaces.

Quotes; "Oh- Nezha dont...!" "*sighs*/pos" "Hahaha~!" "I'm happy to help!" "It would be an honor." "Zha Zha!"

Occupation; Guardian of the Lotus Temple- Nezha's & his House. While he spends alot of time on his hobbies, He also protects the temple -and what's hidden inside- with an unmatched level of seriousness and ferocity.

Ducky's Notes; This man is downright gorgeous. Utterly stunning. Completely beautiful. Everyone was super jealous Nezha managed to pull that. And he will forever wear a shit-eating grin about it when its brought up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Third Lotus Prince, Demonic Half of the Spirit Pearl, Protector of Children, Li Nezha.

Race/Ancestry; Celestial Lotus Creature (noone actually really knows?? So they kinda just gave him that when he was born. Not a Demon, But the demonic half of the Spirit Pearl, but also definitely not a Bàntiān since both his parents are Celestials- its complicated.)

Age; 2621 years

Birthday; May 22nd

Self Expression; Cis Demi-boy. My man ROCKS a dress and loves makeup. They/He/Him/Them, Homosexual.

Self-Care; Pretty much mimics Bing's routine. Just minus the scale-care. It's easier, the stuff is already there- he's not lazy its just what works- NO MORE QUESTIONS ABOUT IT!!

Hobbies; Sparring, Training the Traffic Trio, visiting schools and orphanages(he really likes making kids toys) carpentry, toy making, jewelry making, and he plays the Violin with Bing occasionally.

Secrets; Is terrified of still being seen as a demon, or worse- a child. He might still be the youngest member of the Heavenly Court. But he fights tooth and nail to be seen as someone worthy of respect. But despite this lingering inferiority complex, he does his best to not let it affect him when he's with Bing or his loved ones. Its hard, but he does remember that he doesn't have to compete with himself for their respect- he already has it.

He will never forgive himself for what happened to Liu'Er and the Monkey Demons.

He knew Mk was alive the entire time. And deliberately kept it to himself from Heaven- even from Bing.

Powers; Lotus Weilding, Pink Pyrokinesis, His Ribbons, Rainbow Spitting, his Wheels, His Lotus Spear, Super Strength and Super Sonic Speed, War Form.

Weaknesses; Bing. Mk, Wukong, Children. Extremely Low Temperatures, Lack of/Low Oxygen, Is glamoured to HIGH HELL. And constantly keeping track of the spell weighs on him when he's tired or injured.

Quotes; "Kids../pos" "KIDS...!/neg" "MEI DONT YOU DARE-" "BingBing!!" "Of course." "Thats Right.." "You're a good kid, Mk.." "You've come a long way, Hai'er."

Occupation; The God of Children - Answering prayers from kids and parents, able to detect a pregnancy, able to detect a child in severe distress, a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT of paperwork. Heaven's beurocracy is a pain in the ass.

Ducky's Notes; Also stupidly pretty and refuses to admit or fully acknowledge it. Will only wear a dress for Bing on private dates. And that is IF Bing bribes and begs enough. Has recently been more comfortable wearing makeup more often. Glamoured self looks like LMK Nezha, Unglamoured looks like 2025 Movie Adult Nezha.

[miryum]

I had a thought—

So Hogwarts was founded around 990 CE, right? Up to when Harry attended, that gives us about 1000 years that Rowling didn't cover or explore. And that means 1000 year of troubles that I have questions about

1000-1300 CE: Okay, so like, medieval times. Can we talk about the sexism that would be here? How did the professors handle that? The girls would have to wear these horrid clothes and expect to have flying lessons? Or were flying lessons only for the boys? How much of Hogwarts was gender segregated? And the Holy Roman Empire was all the rage. That means ultra-Christianity. What if a kid from upper Scotland came in and worshipped polytheism? What then? Would the other kids have burned them or killed them?

1400 CE: This was when witch burnings/huntings were getting popular. I'm assuming that the kids were safe when they got to Hogwarts, but what about Muggleborns? If a guy dressed in robes came to this peasant's mudhut and said "your daughter's a witch!" you're telling me that those parents wouldn't burn their daughter at the stake? And yes, wizards/witches could easily hide their abilities once they graduated, but what if they had a kid that came out magical? How would you explain that your baby is levitating to the townsfolk? Or what if you married a muggle? Would you have to hide your identity your entire marriage? Would you have to hope your kids weren't magical like you? And what if you're a woman who then marries an awful muggle man and you know you're stronger than him and can kill him extremely easily in his sleep, but you can't because it's 1400 CE?!?!

1500 CE: We're getting to the Renaissance right now, okay? So all these kids are beginning to explore literal magic and you're telling me they didn't mix that with the new inventions of the era? Was Galileo or Michelangelo really a wizard? And if all these inventors/thinkers were wizards, who else? Magic has spanned all of time, apparently, so were the pyramids built with magic? (sorry, that was a small side tangent.) And then the Reformation came along and split everyone into different religions. Were there tensions among Catholic/Lutheran students? What about the teachers? What if a Lutheran fell in love with a Catholic at school? What then?

1600-1700 CE: Now lemme ask about social classes. How big of a problem was that? And I think we all know that this problem spanned much longer than just the two centuries I'm giving it. Imagine if a Dutch aristocrat's daughter was admitted to Hogwarts and "oh, it's just a fancy boarding school?" you tell the parents, "great! she can go" so then she gets there, all dressed to the nines with the ballgowns and big wigs and finds out she has to room with a peasant girl and an artist's daughter. Can you imagine?! And yes, maybe they would've become friends, but realistically, probably not. The daughter would demand her own room, but the headmaster couldn't do that, so what would happen? Would she order her new roommates to help her get dressed each morning? Would she look down her nose at them? Would there be different tables in the Great Hall for the upper class? I'm assuming that the professors would have different viewpoints concerning what their background was, so would the Dutch daughter be aghast when her professor (who used to be a blacksmith's apprentice) takes her down a notch and hits her in front of the whole class? And what would recreational activities be like? Yes, everyone would have the same uniforms during class, but can you imagine a guy walking up to you on a lazy Sunday dressed in his powdered wig and golden coattails with their weirdly high white socks and buckled shoes?

1800 CE: Slavery. We know that had to have been racial segregation, right? And even if Europe was all progressive and abolished slavery starting in the 1400s, some countries definitely still had slavery. And don't even get me started on America and Ilvermorny. Being a Southern belle and then having to take classes and eat in the same room from the same plates as someone that looks like the slaves your father owns? (What about the fucking Civil War?! Confederates and unionists in the same school?!) And I'm sure the same thing happened in Hogwarts! And I didn't even mention the Transatlantic Slave Trade in the 1500-1800s!! How did Hogwarts handle racism? If they just banned all non-whites from the premise, then they lost a large chunk of the next generation of wizards and witches. And those poor boys and girls they banned. Imagine having all these strange phenomenons happen your entire life and have no idea why or trying to hide them because you didn't go to Hogwarts and learned what they were or how to channel them!

1900-2000 CE: Oh my fucking god. Where to begin? The style is drastically different from the 1600s. Now students are coming in with flappers dresses and their hair slicked back and everything and professors are like, "what the fuck?" Did the Yule Ball have different types of dancing? I'm assuming so. Were their more dances because the students loved it? And then the fucking Great Depression hits and now most students can't even buy the necessary textbooks to come to school. Most are needed by their families for work (AND ALSO!!! I didn't mention, but in medieval times, did parents even let their kids go to Hogwarts? They needed them to work the fields or stuff.) Then, growing anti-semitism starts up and some of the students are discriminated against because of their religion, just like back in 1000-1300 CE. The World Wars happen and what if a German kid (who's being indoctrinated and I can go on a whole other rant about children in Germany I swear, don't get me started because I will defend the kids until my last breath) is proudly wearing a swastika just like his daddy and then sees a Jewish kid and starts yelling slurs, just like his dad does? How many kids did Hogwarts save from concentration camps? Did the magical kids beg for the muggle siblings to come and stay at Hogwarts to save them from Auschwitz? Then there were hardly any boys for a generation because they were all off fighting a goddamn war! Things started to chill out for a while until kids came into Hogwarts wearing bell bottoms and tye-die and the girls were burning their bras and were the boys cheering them on or was there serious backlash? How much fucking weed was passed around in the 70s? (This is the marauder era btw.) Did the gay wizards/witches finally feel safe enough about coming out? Or were there too many people against them still? OR, did the homophobic people learn to be more accepting because they had to be? Because they were in the same classes, same dorms, same everything as gays? What about magic birth control? Or, was everyone too worried about Voldemort to burn their bras and come out as gay? How much did Voldemort truly influence the Wizarding World? And then Harry fucking Potter came along, the 90s happened and now, his kids have just graduated! I'm assuming Hogwarts has to have changed with technology, but how much? Do professors think magic is losing the battle to technology or are Muggleborns actually still more fascinated by magic than their phones (I'm assuming if you saw someone change from a human to a cat, that'd be more cool than a TikTok, but who knows?!) Does Hogwarts have WiFi and outlets? Or are kids forbidden from technology? And how did kids from the 80s-90s keep up with technology? Did they all just trapse down to a small town by Hogsmead and have to catch up with all the blockbuster movies there?

In short, I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS