#been obsessed with this inverted look lately

[tendrilarium]

07°10°2023

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #17 Cinderella

Imagine dis…

Danny has many types of occupations throughout the fandom, from being a member of the JL or JLD to a humble engineer or café barista that wants to live a somewhat normal life. But what if we turn him into a janitor working at the prestigious Gotham Academy

…

Danny never would have thought he would end up being a janitor at an academy for rich kids in Gotham, a thought passed by as he mopped the floors diligently.

Despite his early years of being a vigilante, he hangs his cape the moment he noticed other heroes popping up as well as being able to fix the Infinite Realms. The JL members used to look for Phantom to offer their tillage and wisdom but when the Ghost King, himself, was able to have some sort of compromise between the humans and ghosts, Amity became a hotspot for the paranormal under the protection of the Ghost king when the Ecto acts had been destroyed in favor for the meta law.

Phantom disappeared, it was one running theory that he finally left to rest, or even that he became a permanent ghost knight for the king as some sort of knighthood for protecting both humans and ghosts during hard times.

The explosion in the Nasty Burger still happened but instead of having all of his loved ones die in that tragic fate, he managed to save his best friends as well his sister. Vlad tried to take them in as a way to show his good faith as well as to show remorse for the things he had done and now trying to make it up to the children. At first, the trio and sister are skeptical as both siblings are the last remnants of his beloved Maddie. But he had proved himself to be a better person despite his quirks, which is his obsession that turned into some sort of protection/obsession/love towards the people he considered family after their deaths.

Danny is now free to enjoy his remaining human life before he joins the afterlife permanently. As much as he wanted to go and join NASA in space, he couldn’t even pass the physical exam to join the program. So, he took his sister’s advice to enjoy his life to the last bit this world has to offer. Even if he still wasn’t crowned king, he started acting king as well as attending various lessons to become king. Vlad offered Danny to be his heir at his company but he refused stating that being a king is already hard work. Add to the fact he had a limitless and infinite amount of funds that he could simply travel the world as many times as he wanted as well splurge money as if it was candy he would still have infinite funds in his treasury. He had joined his now daughter to enjoy the wonders of the world as well visiting and touring to the endless worlds that connected to the Infinite realms. But once he had finished his travels, he had exponentially grown into a fine man in his late 30s. Gaining Jack’s height whilst Maddie’s built, he is a very definition of a twink.

But he wanted to lay low, something mundane, something that can keep him busy as he was itching to do something ever since he returned to his hometown. As much as he had grown, he is still having the mind of an impulsive teen in his teens and threw a dart in which state to settle in and took a computer generator to choose which job to do.

Gotham and the janitor were the ones that showed up and landed a dart in. He thinks it is perfect as not many would be looking into a janitor.

He packed up his things and applied for a job in Gotham Academy as a janitor and immediately settled in his small apartment in Crime Alley when he received approval for his new job.

…

It has been a week in his new job and he couldn’t be prouder than being able to blend in without the use of his powers. Messing up his hair to make his head a rat’s nest as well as adding some soot in his face, hands, arms, and overalls to make him look like a homeless who had got the job out of pure luck as he kept his back hunch like Clark Kent, Yes he is not slick in hiding in plain sight as he had gotten away in inverted colors but those glasses are not doing a great job.

This new school year he felt that there has been a new buzz in the atmosphere as real Blood Wayne is now attending. The real son of Bruce Wayne one of the rumors said, he had observed in the far at the kid and he looked like his father aside from his colors.

He noticed the kid is not comfortable around the others who tried to talk to him. Broke some spoiled kid’s nose for talking too much about being friends in the right sort. Some girls tried to get close to him by touching his shoulder or being too near his bubble and broke the poor girl’s wrist. Talked too formally and weirdly that he didn’t have any friends aside from Superman’s son, honestly that poor disguise is being passed from Superman to the son at least Bruce Wayne has the sense to have separate personalities from his playboy persona to his Batman persona.

Honestly, he couldn’t even blame the kid for the things he had done that landed him in the principal’s office.

…

One day when he was taking his lunch in a hidden place in the academy when the door suddenly slammed open and quickly entered the Blood Prince aka Damian Wayne, and immediately relaxed at the door being shut. He quickly looked alarmed at the stranger in the same room but after telling to Damian that he is the school’s janitor by showing his id to prove immediately and visibly relaxed. But to Danny’s eyes, he still looked ready to pounce at Danny for breathing wrong.

A small grumble of stomach destroyed the tension in the room, as Damian Al Ghul Wayne began to feel embarrassed for not only forgetting his lunch, not noticing the janitor, and even being cornered by kids who wish him harm. Damian still didn’t understand why his father had forbade him to fight anyone who are disrespectful to him, leaving him no choice but to run like a coward. The janitor that he had seen a few times around the academy offered him his sandwich which he tries to deny as he is vegetarian, the janitor Daniel, pulled out a vegetarian sandwich that he kept, as he explained that it became a habit of him when his friend who is also a vegetarian forgot their lunch.

Reluctantly Damian received and thanked the janitor and hesitantly took a bite but was surprised at the flavor of the generous amount of vegetables as well as some substitutes that gave so much flavor. Then Daniel, call him Danny he insisted, and offered him a small Tupperware filled with various fruits as dessert. Both began to chat about mindless things up until the bell rang as a reminder at lunchtime ended. Danny called out that Damian is always welcome at this little hidden place to escape or just have a quiet time by himself, Damian just nodded silently and the next day Damian appeared at the door and asked for Danny’s permission to enter the room which Danny laughed and gestured Damian to enter.

From that day on a bond formed between the two.

Damian would spend his lunch breaks and free time in the safety of the hidden room and he is always greeted by Danny still in his soot-filled overalls and messy and rat-like hair in a corner. As they both eat their respective lunches each day, slowly but surely Damian became open to the humble janitor, He would pop different questions starting with the mundane and normal questions and about the vocabulary of normal teenagers that his brothers use some absurd words that left him frustrated at the meaning nor the action behind it. Danny happily answered Damian’s question as Damian would come home each day becoming a real boy.

This made some of the Wayne kids horrified at who taught this demon spawn what yeet means. Some cackled at what could they do to further corrupt Damian. Damian let the rest of his supposed siblings come up with whatever theory on how he learned such vocabulary as it was, he and Danny’s little island of secret and peace at school, away from his imbeciles of brothers as well his noisy classmates.

…

Danny stared at the piece of an envelope as if it had offended him. Vlad asked him if he could be his plus one at the upcoming Wayne gala for another charity by Bruce Wayne and since Brucie Wayne was not getting younger he had thrown a masquerade ball as a theme in the said gala since it was nearing the Halloween season. Danny had thought about denying the invite but with the thought of Vlad rarely asking Danny things he reluctantly called Sam. Despite distancing herself from her surname she kept some of her connections during her teens and got Danny a good tailor for a suit that resembles during the Victorian era with the color scheme black and silver add a toxic green and silver mask which he crafted himself that goes well with his suit that covers his entire upper face leaving his mouth and hair visible.

When Vlad picked him up, he noticed that he got him got slacked jawed at Danny’s overall appearance. Maybe it is because he had straightened up his back and showed his real height, maybe it’s because of his tiny waist that is visible despite wearing a full vest and suit or maybe it is because of the mysterious air that Danny seemed to surround him with as he demands command and respect just standing silently as he let Vlad gawk and compare between the badger and feral little shit during his teenage years to the person sitting across the limousine looking like a noble right out of the Victorian era.

…

Bruce didn’t pick for tonight’s gala theme but due to Dick’s insistence that Damian never actually experienced a masquerade ball along with Jason’s persuasion to attend the gala so that he could live out his nerd self-made, Bruce made it real. Now all of his children are scattered and he could see Tim at the edge of the window the verge of passing out. Dick drags Damian to enjoy the theme while Jason is releasing his inner theater kid using the other higher population of Gotham as his supposed audience for his dramatics. Since no one can see which masked guests contain the Waynes made it is easier to ignore and evade both media as well the upper socialite of Gotham.

He was about to grab a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter when he fainted slipping to enter his Brucie persona when he was immediately grabbed from his waist as if to watch him.

As he is about to thank the man for catching him, he wasn’t about to slip, when he suddenly forgot how to talk.

A man a lot taller than Bruce himself has a slim build but Bruce could see some muscles that seem show themselves just for Bruce to see through, wearing a Victorian-style suit that seemed to complement the mask that covers the man’s entire upper face showing for Bruce to see a wolfish grin at him as a fluffy amount of hair rests on top of the man.

The man introduced himself as Nightgale and both men seemed to hit off. Both felt comfortable in each other’s company so they both escaped the main lobby that contains the guests as they both chat amicably at the porch without noticing the cold wind bothering the two. Bruce never once went into his Brucie persona nor he felt the man was lying.

Bruce was about to introduce himself when he heard the loud crashing of the window allowing Joker and his goons to enter the gala thus destroying the mood.

Bruce didn’t let it show but he is annoyed at the Joker’s timing as he tried to escape to change into Batman. Suddenly Nightgale grabbed him by the wrist and carried him outside bridal style, Bruce didn’t suddenly feel his heartbeat suddenly getting faster he didn’t feel his ears getting warmer as Nightgale seem to carry him out to safety, no he didn’t. Some goons tried to stop the two but Nightgale continued after he had quickly disposed of the goons that blocked their way. He didn’t feel his heart skip a beat at the fact that this man seemed to protect Bruce, the Batman like he was some princess in need of saving.

Both he and Nightgale suddenly found themselves in a hidden garden that only the Waynes knew of. Bruce didn’t feel his breath taken away by this mysterious man when he let Bruce onto his feet once again as the moon shines at them making Nightgale look so ethereal.

As soon as Nightgale heard the stroke of midnight he left Bruce after kissing the back of his hand as he kneeled in revelry.

Bruce didn’t freeze at the spot; Bruce didn’t get himself tranced at the event and had Alfred fetch him and drove him back to the manor. Bruce didn’t act like a girl in high school, squealing at having her crush notice her and ask her out as he sat behind the car back to the manor.

After teasing their father at his predicament, they are now invested in the man who seemingly took their father’s attention as well as able to develop some sort of crush on him at the gala. Jason is fully invested as he read too many novels and now sees Bruce as a main character in need of help to find his prince charming.

Danny is just minding his own business as he kept sneezing at random times and asked himself if the dead can get sick.

…

 PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 47

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

Damnit, Pidge by spirkylurkey

Pidge has some top-secret-classified-don't-tell-Keith-info that she accidentally lets slip to, you guessed it, Keith. Lance is an embarrassed mess. Keith isn't faring much better, to be honest.

this one made me LAUGH the way that this all pidge's fault and she's literally like. well. you shouldn't be so gay then. and she's right!! they're so dumb i love them

2. Operation: Faking It by @writeonclara

“What the hell, guys?” Pidge squawked, wrestling away from Matt. “Why are you pretending to be a couple?” Or: Matt and Lance pretend to be a couple because Shiro and Keith are clueless as hell.

do you guys remember shatt?? i remember shatt. adashi will always have my heart but shatt will literally always be funny bc ofc thats ur fic name. anyways. this fic is mostly klance but the entire concept is just so ridiculously goofy that u have to laugh. do you like lance and matt? do you like fake relationship to real relationship? do you like inverted tropes? do you like pining? do you like comedic jealousy? then this fic is well and truly for you because it has all that and more

3. all's well that ends well to end up with you by @coruscatingcatastrophe

Keith's jacket gets ruined, so Lance decides to be a good Samaritan and give him his. This is the beginning of the end.

megan's fic literally make me want to eat cement i'm so serious. i've read and been obsessed with TONS of her stuff but this one???? this fucking one???? oh god the slowburn kills me. the blossoming realisation that oh god we've been dating this whole time huh. the CHIVALRY...............a romance novel in the truest of senses and i am going to fry

4. as long as it won't separate you from me (i'll be fine) by @coruscatingcatastrophe

A little intrigued—not that she’d ever admit it—Pidge begins to climb the stairs. But before she even reaches halfway, the door—slams shut. All on its own, or so it seems. Pidge pauses, brows creasing in confusion, as she turns to look down at her dog. “Did you see that?” she asks. Peculiarly, she notes that Bae Bae’s fur is bristled, and he growls at the door before barking twice. That’s weird. Bae Bae never growls. Turning back to the door, Pidge feels unsettled, but she tells herself not to jump to ridiculous conclusions. There’s a logical explanation for everything. Maybe there was a gust of wind from the air conditioner, or the doorframe isn’t level. Whatever it is, she’s going to figure it out. - Or, a Beetlejuice au (kind of). Pidge isn't a fan of her new house, Lance and Keith are the ghosts haunting her attic, and together they hatch a plot to convince Shiro and Adam to skedaddle out of the house. There may be demon summoning involved. But seriously, Adam. Getting your hair set on fire really isn't that bad.

HAPPY (late) HALLOWEEN!!! ive been thinking about this fic all october and finally let myself reread it. ive never loved beetlejuice more than when i read this. it's so fun!! so interesting!! pidge gets a chance to shine!! klance are so!!! the way it had the story of beetlejuice but adapted well!! im!!

5. never thought i'd see the day in my life by @coruscatingcatastrophe

But Keith has somehow gone even paler in the short amount of time he’s been at the table, and he shakes his head. “No, something is . . .” His gaze flickers back to Lance, and he’s startled to find that Keith’s eyes are purple. They’ve got to be contacts. Ridiculous. As if the mullet and gloves and personality weren’t enough. Keith pushes away from the table abruptly, looking incredibly put-off now. “I, uh—gotta go,” he mutters, before angrily gathering up the backpack he’d dropped into the chair next to him and storming out of the cafeteria. “Huh,” Hunk says. “Well, that introduction could have gone a bit better. Don’t take it personally though; sometimes Keith’s just like that.” - Or, a Twilight au starring Lance as Bella, Keith as Edward, and the rest of the Voltron gang as themselves. Lance is insufferable, Keith is awkwardly trying to figure out why Lance is the way he is, and along the way they fall in love, or something. It's probably, definitely the best love story since Twilight itself.

now ive never read twilight and i refuse to on principle. but i didn't find this one creepy and instead it was super fun and dweeby and lance is indeed a ray of sunshine, thank you megan for noticing, and it turns out when the story isn't a hetero mormon wet dream it's actually a good time!!

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

[sunfish-exotics]

what got you into breeding reptiles? especially for the species that you have available!

Sorry for taking me a bit to get back to you! I mainly use tumblr from mobile and if I don't answer asks immediately when I see them I tend to forget ;-;

When I was in my late teens I got REALLY into aquatics and had a ton of tanks set up. I was going through a lot of medical treatment at the time and had a good bit of time on my hands. Started dabbling a bit in breeding fish / aquatic inverts after I had a few successful spawns in community tanks. I worked as an aquarist / in commercial fish breeding and sales for a large private aquarium / LFS in my early 20s! But anyway, there's a lot of overlap between the aquarium & reptile hobbies and although I had a few amphibians (African clawed frogs mostly) growing up I don't really count them as my first herps- when I was 18 I got my first REAL reptile and got hooked on keeping them pretty quickly. He's actually still around! It's Jojo my poor old man leopard gecko. He's got to be... hm.. 15 or so? He was an adult when I got him so he's at the very least 14-15. Maybe older. Who knows! Still doing great and as grumpy as ever.

I started breeding reptiles slowly, I bred my first pair of leos in 2015 and only produced 3 hatchlings since I had to work out the kinks of egg husbandry and some issues with my first incubator. I'm glad I started slow! It really helped me to gain experience at a healthy pace and gave me time to work on building a solid reputation / get used to selling and working with reptile customers. I don't actually remember when I got my first snake? I have major time blindness so I would have to look back into my records but it was maybe a year or so after getting Jojo. Snakes initially intimidated me more than geckos but after gaining some confidence they definitely became my main obsession. I love to research and learn so it's been a fun journey for me. I started keeping with very "typical" beginner snakes but eventually found myself interested in more uncommon species that really do deserve more hype in the hobby! I was initially not going to attempt species like those due to their size and typical temperaments because of my lack of confidence with larger snakes!

I'm rambly today but ANYWHO. As for the species I have available currently (western hognoses, leopard geckos, and mexican pinesnakes) I love keeping and producing them for a lot of reasons!

Hognoses are SO much fun! They have so much big snake personality squashed into a teeny tiny body. They can be a bit of a pain to get started but are (honestly) pretty damn hardy too. Their venom is a bit of a turn off especially for parents with young children but I do still think they make great pets for a lot of beginning and advanced keepers alike!

Leopard geckos are what I consider the absolute BEST first reptile for most hobbyists! They're so hardy (almost to a detriment at points), usually have really personable little attitudes, and you can play around a lot with how you setup their cages and interact with them. They also are a great stepping stone for learning basic reptile husbandry.

And then we have Mexican pinesnakes! They were a dream species of mine for SO long and I felt so fortunate to be able to start working with them in 2017. They're incredibly intelligent, interactive, and confident snakes and I just love them to pieces. They have attitude, and let you know how they feel about things but the adults are typically very mellow and easy to work with after building a relationship with them. They're easy feeders, but do have a few quirks with regards to husbandry and feeding that could make them challenging for a first time snake owner. They also take a very long time compared to most other north american colubrids to hit maturity AND start out as "ugly ducklings" before gaining their brilliant colors so I sometimes just need to gush about them a bit because they definitely deserve to be more popular in the hobby than they are currently.

Sorry for the long post! Hope that answers your questions though~

[broke-on-books]

✒️ please!!

Send me a ✒️ and I'll pick a poem I think you'd like

After flipping through my notebooks I decided to go with my first instinct for you, which was "A Toast to the Alchemists" by Laura Gilpin. This poem hasn't been published online officially, so they're aren't a ton of sites that have it that I could find with a quick Google search. However I've attatched photos of a reddit post with it along with my version in my journal.

I picked this poem because of its themes of time and the passage of time, as well as magic and giving emotional significance to the most mundane and clinical of things (atoms and elements). In other words, taking magic from the world around us, especially through a lens usually seen as lacking wonder or whimsy. Also vibes, I mainly did it based on vibes.

Some other poems I considered in my search/additional recommendations are listed under the cut:

If you liked the writing of this poem, and haven't read it already (or have) I definitely recommend "The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin. It's by the same author and is her most famous poem and is fairly well known and also soooooo good. So good.

Poems with similar themes:

Poems with similar themes to "A Toast to the Alchemists" are

"Dusting" by Marilyn Nelson 💘 (literally cried to this. To be fair it was 10 minutes after I finished the HDM finale so it was mainly because of that but still. Great poem.)

"The Sciences Sing a Lullabye" by Albert Goldbarth

"Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (90% sure you've read this one its the time theme but inverted and it's great if you haven't)

Rejected picks/Poems that gave me Anu vibes (many for no particular reason):

Poems by Ted Kooser for some reason??? NO idea why they're very different from the ones above but some of my faves are "Selecting a Reader", "In a Country Cemetery in Iowa", "The Constellation Orion" and "Flying by Night" (I'm v much questioning this pick now but I'll keep it up here just in case)

Honestly a bunch of random unrelated stuff was popping out at me ("Listen" by Miller Williams, "Cartoon Physics, Part 1" by Nick Flynn, "Snow" by David Berman) and like a million billion more which I all got from the same anthology (Poetry 180, edited by Billy Collins) so if you want to read a bunch more poetry, based on vibes alone, I'd say look for the book, the website, or the sequel. The poems from that book aren't too similar to the one above but it's really one of two books I generally recommend people right off the bat (it was my lit teachers favorite lol) because it's meant to get young adults and teens into poetry and introduce contemporary poetry in general. Idk how much poetry you've read whatever but even if you aren't new to it it's still a good compilation of late 90s/early 00s poetry that makes you think but isn't super long/totally incomprehensible

Anyways that got WAY longer than I anticipated or anyone probably wanted but poetry is an obsession of mine and recommending poetry is much more complicated and harder that it looks, even for the people you know best in the whole world AFTER interviewing their opinions on poetry, not to mention how difficult it would be for internet friends on tumblr. But anyways there's a couple poems, I got the vibes as close as I could with the poems I had on file. (Although i do feel like I'm missing something big 🤔) Anyways thanks for the ask Anu! Hope you thought my pick was alright!

[denimbex1986]

'In most auteur filmmakers' bodies of work, there exists a movie that functions as the summation of their particular themes and interests, a film that essentially "unlocks" all of their other movies, throwing them into a new light. Sometimes these movies arrive late in a director's career, acting as more of a true culmination, such as Steven Spielberg's revelatory "The Fabelmans" from just last year. Other times, these films act as statements of intent right out of the gate, as I'd argue Steven Soderbergh's first feature "Sex, Lies, and Videotape" does.

It's not unusual, however, for such a movie to arrive somewhere near the middle or back half of a director's career; after all, Martin Scorsese didn't make "The Last Temptation of Christ" until he was 46 years old and 11 films deep. In other words, these kinds of films arrive when such an artist feels both comfortable and ready to reveal themselves in a big way.

"Oppenheimer" seems to be exactly that film for Christopher Nolan. Of course, such a claim could be disproved by whatever his very next feature turns out to be, but for now, the film appears to put together as many elements of Nolan's prior work as possible while also blending it with aspects of his personal life. In this way, "Oppenheimer" — the 52-year-old's 12th film — is the most "Christopher Nolan movie" that Nolan has made.

It's tempting to call Nolan a science-fiction filmmaker, especially as a large number of his movies concern such out-there concepts as people making clones of themselves ("The Prestige"), carrying out heists in other people's dreams ("Inception"), traveling to distant worlds ("Interstellar"), and stopping an invasion of "inverted" material from the future ("Tenet").

Yet while Nolan is undoubtedly intrigued and inspired by the dramatic implications of these fantastical concepts, he's equally driven by their grounding in real-world science and physics. This interest likely stems from his childhood: he obsessively watched Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey" while attempting to make his own home movies, helped along the way by his uncle, a NASA employee who built guidance systems for the Apollo missions.

A large part of the character of J. Robert Oppenheimer (played by Cillian Murphy) in "Oppenheimer" concerns his obsession with seeing a hidden world beyond the naked eye, one filled with fusion and fission waiting to be harnessed. In other words, a world of possibility that would have seemed like science fiction before Oppenheimer and his fellow scientists made it possible. It's that ethos that fuels Nolan's sci-fi, apparent in everything from those aforementioned films to even the "Dark Knight" trilogy, where a comic-book superhero like Batman is given tech and abilities grounded in science fact.

Nolan has even gone so far as to form a working partnership with an actual theoretical physicist, Kip Thorne, who himself was friends with the likes of Stephen Hawking and Carl Sagan. Thorne has consulted on almost every Nolan film since "Interstellar," and "Oppenheimer" is no exception.

Ever since his first feature, Nolan has been obsessively pursuing new ways of experimenting with the storytelling possibilities of cinema. While some of these experiments have been resoundingly successful — we would not be living in a world where narrative films regularly premiere in the IMAX format without Nolan — others have been off-putting to some folks, resulting in even fellow filmmakers complaining to Nolan about his controversial sound mixes, for instance.

While every single Nolan movie is challenging enough to not qualify as something to watch passively (the man is too much in love with classic cinema to allow for the Netflix-ification of his movies), he's also not some smarmy snob looking to make an audience have a bad time. Each of Nolan's films essentially comes with an instruction manual tucked within the body of the movie itself, with the director dutifully laying out the rules of not just the story and its stakes but how the movie itself is to be viewed.

These orientation tutorials are different with each film. Sometimes they're literally exposition, as in "Inception," where orientation arrives in the form of a literal training montage, and in "Tenet," where the infodump is hand-waved away with a beautifully empowering line of dialogue: "Don't try to understand it. Feel it." Other times, these tutorials are structural instead: in "Dunkirk," Nolan provides a trio of on-screen titles indicating that the three plot threads in the film are unfolding over different periods of time, and in "Memento," the presence of black and white photography is a visual cue that those scenes are unfolding differently than the scenes in color.

It's these latter two devices Nolan intentionally revisits in "Oppenheimer," as the film's two interconnected perspectives are denoted by both on-screen titles at the beginning and the contrast of color and black and white film.

In "Tenet," Nolan used the fictional time-shifting tech of that movie to introduce the concept of what he calls a "temporal pincer movement," wherein forces from the past and the future converge on a single moment in time. For "Tenet," that time was the present, a period turned into a continual secret battlefield over the future of the planet thanks to an unnamed scientist in the future discovering a doomsday device connected to inversion tech and becoming, as one character succinctly puts it, "her generation's Oppenheimer."

For Nolan, the turning point in all of human history seems to be the events just before, during and subsequent to World War II. It appears to be no accident that the only two films of his career so far based on actual events are "Dunkirk" and "Oppenheimer," which both largely take place during the war. This idea is borne out within "Oppenheimer," as the film's structure — bouncing back and forth between the mid-1930s and the late 1950s, using the 1940s as its center — tends to resemble a "temporal pincer movement," with the creation of the atomic bomb an event whose gravity sucks everything towards it.

Another theme recurring in Nolan's work is the idea of an impending apocalypse or armageddon. In some instances, this apocalypse is literal: in "Interstellar," the citizens of Earth must find a way to survive the dying planet, in "Batman Begins" and "The Dark Knight Rises," Gotham City is narrowly saved from total destruction, in "Tenet," the unseen people of the apocalyptic future wage war on the past that created it, and in "Oppenheimer," the physicist foresees the small but significant possibility that testing the atomic bomb may literally destroy the world.

In other instances, this apocalypse is more metaphorical and internal, as seen in the moral rot of the characters of "Following," the loss of identity and purpose for the memory-loss protagonist of "Memento," the loss of the characters' sense of self in "The Prestige," the potential corruption of Gotham's soul in "The Dark Knight," and the total loss of reality in "Inception."

All of this stems from Nolan's childhood during the final years of the Cold War being fraught with anxiety over mutually assured destruction. As he told USA Today, "My friends and I thought we would die in a nuclear Armageddon at some point in our lives." It's fitting that Nolan has found a way through his art to face the man indirectly responsible for those deep-seated fears.

Perhaps the most major recurring feature in all of Christopher Nolan's films is the idea of a main character weighed down by an enormous sense of guilt. This may have stemmed from Nolan's initial trilogy of films ("Following," "Memento" and "Insomnia") being rooted in the traditions and tropes of film noir, a genre that includes flawed and moody protagonists as a prerequisite.

It certainly continued to crop up in various ways in all of his films after that, whether it was about a self-appointed superhero who couldn't save his parents (and maybe not even his city) from being victims of corruption, or a husband mourning his role in the loss of his wife, or a father knowingly leaving his family (especially his daughter) behind forever, or an army having to retreat.

In this way, J. Robert Oppenheimer is the ultimate Nolanesque flawed hero: a man who sought to unlock secrets of the universe and was only too successful, resulting in the realization that he may have doomed himself if not his entire species. He even has a "dead wife" to mourn (arguably the most memed Nolan trope) in the form of the suicidal Jean Tatlock (played by Florence Pugh). Just as "Inception" metaphorically details the efforts behind filmmaking, wherein a team puts together a spectacular narrative with the intention of eliciting an emotional response from an audience, it's possible that Nolan sees a similar kinship within Oppenheimer, where the scientists stand in for artists who don't realize where the corporate and political interests of those who've employed them will take their creation until it's far too late.

Yet there may be another deeper, darker, and more personal connection between Oppenheimer and Nolan then merely a metaphorical kinship. As it turns out, Nolan has both a younger brother (Jonathan, a screenwriter and producer of numerous films and TV) and an elder brother, Matthew. This latter brother is barely spoken about by Nolan in interviews and the like, in large part because Matthew has been accused of making his living as a real-life hitman.

Further complicating this connection is the possibility that, according to court records dug up by the site How Stuff Works, Matthew Nolan used an alias to make contact with his alleged target, going by the name "Matthew Oppenheimer." A coincidence, maybe, due to all the Nolan brothers growing up in the same household, with Matthew paying somewhat dark tribute to the anxieties his younger brother harbored since he was a kid.

Still, with this information, it's easy to see "Oppenheimer" as not just Nolan's latest film but as a work of destiny, something the filmmaker had to finally face up to and address. Nolan's complicated family history turns him into his own Oppenheimer-esque guilty hero, a man burdened with knowledge of things he cannot change, who has a brother he must find a way to embrace as well as deal with. In addition, Nolan's own obsessions with theoretical physics, the future, and the love of his family have him seeing visions of potential, encroaching destruction not unlike the man who built the bomb nor his own childhood self. For all these reasons and more, "Oppenheimer" is — and may remain — the ultimate Nolan film.'

[heroisagirlsname]

Okay, I'm coming off anon to respond to this. This topic is so close to my heart that I find it hard to be articulate about it. So thank you so much for letting my yell incoherently into your asks and then saying something so smart and insightful in response.

Ideally, you'd have feminist characters more representative of the feminist or proto-feminist views of their era where the work is going for historical accuracy to honour the different points of where we were in history and also acknowledge the flaws of the movement at different points in time (1994's Little Women versus the hilariously bad 2019 version comes to mind), and certainly there's an element of repetitiveness in this character type, but this is seldom if ever the criticism I see.

I absolutely agree. There's this Catch-22 I've observed where female characters who express any feminist point of view at all are simultaneously expected to be palatable to modern fourth wave feminism but also in keeping with their time. It's completely unwinnable and 90% of the time I think that's by design. Because I very rarely see discussions about how to do those kinds of characters right, or to add nuance and realism: overwhelmingly the intended takeaway is that they're bad and we should stop writing them. Which I do not and will never accept.

You really hit the nail on the head with "raining on the parade of arranged marriage fantasies." Because part of the fantasy necessitates focusing on the beautiful costumes, the luxury, the aesthetic and not thinking too hard about the fact that married women could not own property, could not refuse their husbands' advances and had no custody rights to their children in the event of a separation. And I think part of the visceral hatred that Eloise evokes is that she's spoiling things by pointing out the way patriarchy is baked into the setting, to the point where economic and/or social need for women to marry and the Ton's obsession with female "purity" is what provides much of the conflict and stakes in the plot.

I keep saying it, but a certain type of liberal feminist are now using "NLOG" the way it was socially acceptable 10-15 years ago to call someone a lesbian/homophobic or transphobic slurs because they didn't wear makeup or want a boyfriend.

I've been saying similar things for a while too. The original point of NLOG as a term was that it was ridiculous to say "I'm not like the other girls" because the other girls weren't all the same. And somehow we've got to a point where the original meaning has almost inverted, to the point where anyone who falls outside a very narrow gender conforming brand of femininity is automatically assumed to be an NLOG. (Because if Performing Femininity Correctly is just a natural part of being a girl then anyone who deviates must be doing it on purpose to prove a point, right?) I think part of it is that the term spread through visual memes, so naturally focused on what people looked like than intangible things like what they thought or said. But also I think that society/culture has a way of chewing up ideas that challenge it and digesting them into a bastardised version that reinforces rather than challenges.

And thank you for mentioning neurodivergence as well. I'm late diagnosed ADHD and it makes me so furious the way terms like NLOG are used to bully and harass neurodivergent women. I'm sure a lot of us would have loved to be Like The Other Girls growing up because then maybe the other girls (and guys) might not have bullied us so much. Being different isn't always even a choice or a bid for "attention": some of us are just stuck playing this endless game where everyone seems to understand the rules but us and as soon as you think you figure them out they change. I absolutely did not live through all of that to let people retroactively frame me as the aggressor in that situation for resenting the people who bullied me. Something a friend said ages ago which has always stuck with me, is that in a conflict between two women, the more feminine one will usually be perceived as the more innocent, regardless of who instigated it.

Hearing comments hating on angry, outspoken girl characters can be really draining for former angry, outspoken, unpopular little girls. And tbh I'm starting to think that that's by design as well. So thank you so much for speaking out and articulating everything so much better than I could.

Re anachronistic feminist characters, you are absolutely right and you should say it.

Maybe people who want to read "write women who sew" type stuff should just go do that instead of trying to make every single female character fit into their worldview. Because I don't want every character to be Eloise, I'm fine with variety, but a lot of people seem like they can't stand even one woman challenging gender norms.

No amount of faux progressive language will change the fact they sound like highschool bullies picking on girls who are too GNC or too "weird."

Thank you so much! Ideally, you'd have feminist characters more representative of the feminist or proto-feminist views of their era where the work is going for historical accuracy to honour the different points of where we were in history and also acknowledge the flaws of the movement at different points in time (1994's Little Women versus the hilariously bad 2019 version comes to mind), and certainly there's an element of repetitiveness in this character type, but this is seldom if ever the criticism I see. The truth of the matter is that in fact many early feminists did denigrate work designated as feminine, but we can acknowledge this as misdirected anger at having one option deemed valid.

Instead, we've somehow arrived at "wanting to be treated with human dignity is internalized misogyny because it really cramps my ability to romanticize the past". As you say, nothing wrong with valuing the labour more frequently done by women, but the fact of the matter is you can do that and show that there were always many people who resisted or did not fit into the tight boxes that society forced them into. Instead of, you know, ridiculing them for wanting to break the boxes while enjoying the fruits of having to fit into fewer boxes than our predecessors precisely because of women who loudmouthed and fought back and didn't fit into certain people's fantasy of being a submissive little princess. The kind of girls you made fun of and ostracized in high school, one might say.

To address a particular point you raise that I think is the most important in this entire ongoing discussion:

No amount of faux progressive language will change the fact they sound like highschool bullies picking on girls who are too GNC or too "weird."

I keep saying it, but a certain type of liberal feminist are now using "NLOG" the way it was socially acceptable 10-15 years ago to call someone a lesbian/homophobic or transphobic slurs because they didn't wear makeup or want a boyfriend. It is absolutely high school bullying mentality and has gone from an imperfect attempt at addressing internalized misogyny to active misogyny and latent/often overt homophobia and transphobia.

This is what the numbskulls making video essay after video essay about the apparent 'NLOG crisis' fail to grasp. The Heathers and the Plastics are not 'demonized for being feminine', they are accurate representations of how under patriarchy, social capital is gained through strict, obsessive adherence to white, Western beauty standards (which corporations can profit off of endlessly by manufacturing infinite insecurities, so bonus to the rich girls) and excelling at heterosexuality and pleasing others, and this system self-reinforces by the 'winners' bullying those who do not conform as easily. Jo March, queercoded dynamo that she was, took nothing away from the sisters who were happier with more traditional lifestyles because she wanted better for herself and the girls of the future, and represents so many women who fought for just that. You're not actually an intellectual for thinking Daphne Bridgerton has more value than Eloise because she was designated the season's Diamond, a literal in-universe (and true to life) Prize For Being Correctly Female, and unquestioningly accepts being paraded around like an ornament and smiling at being auctioned off to the highest bidder while Eloise fought back, criticized, and wanted an education more than any boy until they forced heterosexuality upon her. You are in fact a vanguard of the very patriarchal system the franchise even presents as backwards, because you don't want anyone raining on your arranged marriage fantasies.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing feminist, about snarking girls who do not like or for whatever reason, cannot or will not perform conventional femininity.

There is a certain sour-grapes defensiveness that comes from beig ostracized and punished for Failing At Your Gender if you weren't good at what was expected of you/resisted it. Femininity is derided, but it is also imposed (the two work in tandem to oppress women); and if you fail at its imposition, it's natural to try and gain protection by participating in the derision. Hell, I theorize that people who proclaimed themselves "not like other girls" in the contemporary age often did so out of resistance at the fact that we're supposed to perform (cisheteronormative) sexiness from the time we hit our teens, and of course the panopticon self-reinforcement that is how Other Girls treat you if you, an adolescent girl, shirk performance of femininity in any way. Certainly, I've also read much about GNC girls (of various identities) and neurodivergent girls equally having turned to this, which makes sense, as they're frequently targets for such bullying.

I do also think - and have personally experienced - it was an often imperfect articulation of queerness in many cases. The societal ideal of women under a patriarchy is cisheteronormativity; our value is derived from our appeal to men, and from the time we start maturing, sexual availability and appeal to men is the highest virtue. Therefore, women whose sexuality is not limited to men - or heaven forbid, doesn't include them at all - 'fail' gender, and accordingly often feel a sense of alienation and ostracism from other girls when they don't get as excited about dating boys. Also, in many cases (anecdotal I admit from people I know, but still significant), people who had a phase of asserting they "weren't like other girls" were in the process of discovering that they weren't girls at all!

And in some cases - again, I've mentioned that I was an Eloise for all the handwringing about how girls of that era wouldn't say that or do that and it would never occur to want more than what they had (...okay, so why are things different now?) - it's a frustration from the outspoken feminists and reformers at not being able to get other girls on board with us, because deviation from expectation will make you the weirdo who gets punished and rejected because ugh, annoying! As one historical costuming youtuber I won't name so charmingly puts it in her godawful video essay, "the women who made a big show of fighting back were freaks." (Way to convince us you care about feminism...)

All this to say the anti-NLOG brigade have utterly worn out my patience, and at best seem ignorant of the battles that have won us the freedoms we have today because it's not fun to consider how your escapist fantasy might be problematic (understandable, you don't always have to reflect on this to be aware), and at worst? They're getting the chance to be the mean girl in high school again/that they never got to be, they're just dressing it up in the bastardized language of feminism.

[bakacentipede]

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA X READER (AU)

Part 2

Kazuha x fem reader

Warning: Smut, 18+ content, Breeding kink, overstimulation, creampie, degradation, hitting, unprotected sex, praise kink, foreplay and idk what not!

Disclaimer: MINORS DONOT INTERACT(NSFW).

-×-

THANKS FOR WAITING!!!!!

I was pacing around the house the whole time, I was so nervous hoping it won't be awkward. Since we were just gonna study, I decided to put on my most comfortable clothes and that being my dad's t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I'm pretty much dressed like the wattpad "pick me" girl but you we all know oversized outfits hit different.

I'd been so nervous that I cleaned out the whole house, prepared some snacks and even tidied up my desk for us to work and also burnt some incense around the house and then i waited impatiently for him to show up.

4:15

He was 15 minutes late.

wait-

what if I got stoop up???? that would be disappointing-

*doorbell rung*

okay he's here, calm down y/n it's going to be okay just take a deep breath just try not act stupid.

I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door and there is he was with his lips put into a big smile, his teeth shining and his eyes formed into an inverted U waving at me, "Hey y/n thanks for having me today!!" I moved aside to let him in, returning back the smile "Welcome Kazuha, please make yourself at home!"

He walked into the house taking in every detail, "You have a very beautiful house" his smile intact. "Thankyou so much, our home is just my mom's little canvas." i answered, truthfully. My mom is obsessed when it comes to taking care of our little place.

"Would you like some water? or anything else to drink? Its a hot day today." i asked, trying to be a good host. "Water sounds lovely and indeed, it is a hot day today." He sighed looking out at the scorching sun, "it's better we start already, I want to finish this assignment as soon as possible." Kazuha said as he kept his gaze outside.

it already looks bad, I really don't think he wants to be here right now.

"ah yes, have some water first." I passed him a glass of cold water, "You can head to my room before me I'll be there in a few. My room is upstairs, the left door at the end of the hallway."

He nodded and went to the direction of my room.

*sigh*

"I'll get the snacks and join him then."

I grabbed a few snacks and walked towards my room. Kazuha was already seated at the desk flipping through the textbook. He turned towards me as he heard the door open. "I got snacks" I said putting everything down on the table. "You really didn't have to go all the way and prepare snacks!" Kazuha exclaimed looking at all the snacks. "It's for me too, silly. i can't study without having anything to eat." I smiled a little.

My feelings for him are so deep, it aches a little when I think how there's hardly any chances for us to be together and after what he said earlier, i think its probably impossible.

We started working on the assignment, it isn't as difficult as we thought. I mean having Kazuha as my partner probably made it easier for me because although I knew he was smart but this man is SMART smart. He has such a creative mind, I like how he explains his new ideas with so much passion in his eyes.

I won't deny I'm quite creative myself but when it comes to university stuff, my mind gets as blank as an empty slate. But I try to think and come up with something and think of anything that might be of help and that's what I've been trying to do for the past hour, thinking and speaking it out as soon as possible so as to not forget about it.

"-OMG AND THE WARM SUNSET-Y TONES!" I've been rambling about what we can write next, quite excited because the thing I came up with sounds absolutely magical and that's when I noticed Kazuha looking at me with his autumn coloured eyes, face resting on his palm and his soft lips turned into a gentle smile.

a shy smile creeped on my face as I looked at him, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I never knew you looked so beautiful speaking your mind, its a sight to be cherished so that's what I'm doing, cherishing the sight." Kazuha said without any hesitations.

oh-

omg that escalated quickly.

"ahaha what? Don't be silly, it's not like-"

"Before you say anything, what I said is true and I truly find you beautiful not just when you're "speaking your mind" but genuinely, you are beautiful. I've always thought so ever since I saw you for the first time." Kazuha cut me off and kept on speaking without taking his eyes off of mine.

I was completely frozen, I didn't expect him to be such a smooth talker and the fact that we had an actual conversation JUST today I was shaken to the core.

"-i know I know you must be thinking I'm being too forward right now and I'm extremely sorry about that. I've been wanting to say this for some time now but I never had the chance since we have only one class together and you always come late to the class and leave right after the bell rings." Kazuha wasn't wrong, as I mentioned earlier I don't like being in Literature class so I usually entered late and left early.

"But you always seemed like a quiet kid and I never thought you'd wanna have something to do with me so I never really approached you. Although I wanted to but I was afraid I might come off as, I don't know, annoying to you." I said truthfully, I really thought he was one of those smart kids who come to the university/school just to study and even avoid having friends.

"well I'm an introvert, its really hard for me to make friends or talk to someone unless someone approaches me first" He giggled shyly "But I'm not going to lie to you, the first time I saw you I wanted to have you as my muse, I know I'm sorry it sounds too much knowing damn well we just became friends..but something about you took my breath away." Kazuha finished what he wanted to say and inched closer to my face, his eyes not being able to decide what to look at, my eyes or my lips.

Is this happening right now?? it's too much for me to process but I can't miss out on this golden opportunity! what is he, soft in the streets but dom in the sheets???? , my head was racing with too many thoughts I can't-

"why are you so quiet y/n? say something." He said in a low demanding voice, "Don't tell me you haven't thought of us like that, I've seen you alot of times stealing glances at me. I've also noticed the amount of times you walk past my other classes." Kazuha said bringing his face even closer to mine that I could even feel his minty breath on my lips. "Oh and how can I forget the thing you do that l love the most. Do you know what is it?" he said with a mocking chuckle.

"I don't know what you're talking about Kazuha." my voice hitched and my heart was beating as loud as the drums and my breaths were getting shorter, I bet he could hear my heart thumping clearly. "Don't act so innocent y/n, you know when Mr. Bradley asks you to give out important notes, how you always drop something right next to my desk by "accident" and then proceed to pick it up and bend down slowly" his voice was getting raspier, I couldn't help but squeeze my legs tighter in order to subdue the growing heat in my core. He noticed and with a sly smirk, "May I?" he asked for my consent. Does he really think I'd say no???? After what he's doing to me????

"Y/n, Y/n, Y/n my dearest, you know how much I want to bend you over and fuck you on the table when you bend down in front of me at uni like that." He said chuckling while his hands started moving towards my aching sex.

"please" I whispered, desperation clear in my voice. "Please what darling? What do you want?" his hands roamed around my body achingly slow as he avoided all my sensitive areas. His face was only a few centimeters away from mine yet he didn't kiss me, torturing me slowly. He wanted me to know who has the upper hand here.

"Please Kazuha, I want more. Kiss me, just touch me please." I whined desperately trying to get close to him,unconsciously grinding my clothed cunt against the chair.

"Can't do that my dearest y/n, atleast not right now." He said as he swiftly backed away from me taking his hands off too, I sucked in a harsh breath, the sudden lack of his warmth made me feel hollow. I looked at him with desperation in my eyes but all he did was stare at me straight into my eyes with his head slightly hung low, an evil grin forming onto his stupid face.

Kazuha relaxed into the chair, manspreading, as he continued to stare daggers into my soul. "it's time to start working on the project" Kazuha brushed his hands against my thighs slightly as he diverted his eyes on the assignment.

I had no other choice but to do the same, sighing, I picked up my pen to start working too, the urge to touch myself was getting stronger every passing second.

I put my free hand on his thigh and started moving it closer to his crotch, I just want him to ruin me."What do you think you're doing darling?" he growled harshly holding me by my wrist, stopping me midway. "You like to be a brat, don't you?" he turned to face me, eyeing me up and down.

"it's not like tha-" he cut me off by pulling me onto his lap and harshly pressing his lips onto mine, and I mindlessly moaned into his mouth. "So you like to be treated like a rag doll in bed? Good for you I like that." He smiled against my lips. His kisses got gentler, filled with affection while his hands explored my body still not caressing my treasures.

"please touch me", I stuttered against his neck "please who, darling?" Kazuha said proving his authority. "Please, dadd-" I spoke but "daddy? who taught you that, love? it's Master." He cut me off, his voice daunting me. "Master" I whispered.

"Good girl" Kazuha spoke as he picked me and threw me onto my bed, I balanced myself on my elbows looking up at Kazuha as he threw off his sweatshirt exposing his defined body. I felt a bit ashamed because I'm not toned at all so I turned to face the wall in embarrassment.

Kazuha came closer to me, his hands next to my frame supporting himself and his right knee resting next my legs, "Why are you looking away darling? Am I making you uncomfortable?" his face dripped with concern.

"Oh no I'm a bit shy about my body." I truthfully replied, "Keep your mouth zipped lovely, you'll know how beautiful you are soon" he said connecting our lips again. I pulled out his hair tie and ran my fingers through his silky hair getting a slight groan from him in return.

He roughly pulled me out of my t-shirt and my sweatpants, revealing a black lingerie set. It isn't very sexy but it makes me feel a bit more feminine with the flowery lace covering up the material. "Were you hoping for this to happen my love?" he smiled hungrily looking at my body. "Um maybe, maybe not" I giggled in response.

"oh so we're gonna do that now" he smirked as he kissed my stomach gently moving down to my inner thighs. His grip got rougher as he started biting and nibbling all over my body, exploring my sweet spots. He felt proud of himself everytime he heard me moan. Kazuha got impatient, "Darling as much as I love to admire you in this black lingerie, we don't need it right now. it's getting in my way." Kazuha roughly removed my lingerie leaving me vulnerable in front of him.

"You're so beautiful, i could write uncountable poems about you and your soft skin" He spoke with adoration in his eyes. His thumb brushed against my erected nipples earning a moan from me. Kazuha dipped right onto my left mound licking and sucking my sensitive area and his other hand kneeded my other breast. Kazuha kept whispering dirty things against my skin. He started kissing down my stomach and my thighs, leaving trails of hickeys everywhere.

His finger slowly rubbed circles around my heat "So wet for me" his breath tickling my clit. "Mhm master touch me more please, don't tease me." I moaned as I tried to hump his finger harshly. Kazuha dipped his face into my womanhood, his tongue exploring my folds rubbing circles around my clit with his tongue. "You taste so good darling, I could go on for hours between your legs" The dirty slurping noises made me want him more, I couldn't contain my moans anymore, i moaned his name and begged for more. He gently invaded my aching hole with his two fingers, his long fingers easily reaching my G spot. I was close to my high and he felt it too as he felt my walls clench around his fingers. "Not so fast darling" he pulled out his fingers as i whimpered with the lack of contact.

He pulled me up and connected our lips again, I could taste myself in his mouth, "Taste yourself too, darling." He said against my mouth as I hummed in response. Kazuha pulled down his pants along with his boxers and I just stared at his member with wide eyes. It was beautiful, it was thick and long, his tip rosy pink. I pushed myself up to feel him in my mouth but he stopped me by my neck, "Not today darling" he pushed me back as a tear trickled down my eyes with desperation. "Aw you want your Master's cock in your pretty little mouth darling?" he looked down at me, "please master" I begged. "Shush, my lovely, today I'm just gonna ruin your pretty little cunt" He said, positioning himself right outside my hole.

"You better take it all like a good little slut, alright?" he said sternly. I closed my eyes and threw back my head waiting for us to become one. He slowly pushed himself into me, I squirmed underneath him because of how full I felt and yet he wasn't fully in. He choked me down, "Stop squirming or I'll stop before I even fuck you" he said pushing ne down onto bed further. He pushed harder this time, completely invading my cunt, I screamed in response because it was ALOT. He shushed me, kissing down my neck and whispering praises into my ear.

He started moving and gradually increased the pace, his hand still wrapped around my neck firmly. "Yes, mhm, look at you swallowing me whole like the little whore that you are." I was being fucked senseless, the side of mouth dripping with my own saliva.

He manhandled me as he flipped me over onto my stomach and I rose my ass up for him. He smacked my ass and thrusted into me harshly, "Good girl" he praised. My brain was in a state of euphoria and all I could do was scream his name. He praised me when he liked what I said or degraded me, called me his own little play thing as he continued to break my back.

He pulled me against his chest by my arms, hitting the deepest spots where my fingers never reached. He nibbled and bit my neck bruising my skin blue and purple. "I want you to bear my children princess that way you can forever be my muse, forever my little toy to play with. I want to fill your tight little pussy with my cum, tell me you want it too darling." He said pulling onto my arms harshly, his other hand rubbing my clit, overestimulating me. "Say you want my cum inside you before I punish you." He growled in my ears. "Yes Master, I want it please." I begged teary eyed.

He threw me into a mating position, his body pressed onto mine, tongue exploring my mouth. He pushed himself into me as I screamed out his name when the tip of his dick hit my cervix a bit to hard. His thrusts got faster and deeper, leaving me breathless and a bulge was forming on my lower belly. He looked at the buldge on my belly and gently massaged it, "That's my girl" he praised.

The squelching sex noises and our moans synced together. The bed rocked back and forth, it seemed like it could break any minute, the smell of sex invaded my nose along with Kazuha's misty smell. He scrunched his face in pleasure, looking down at me as called me dirty names. He was taking over me, my eyes blinded with pleasure and my stomach turned into knots indicating me of my high. He realised it too as my walls clenched around his length and my breaths got messier. "Don't cum just yet, wait for me I'm there too." He ordered in a low raspy voice. I couldn't hold it in any longer and came all over him yet he kept thrusting through my orgasm making my legs squirm and shake. He came right after too and painted my walls white with his cum, he slowed down and gently pulled himself out. My lips trembled as I felt the emptiness in my cunt. He smiled proudly at what he's done to me, how he absolutely destroyed my hole. His cum leaked out of my cunt but with his two fingers he pushed it back in "Keep it there until I get the bath ready, make sure you don't even spill a little bit or I won't hesitate to go for a round two." Kazuha smirked at me as he went to get the bath ready and yes I had to give him the directions to the bathroom even though i had no energy to even speak.

He came back into my room, a towel wrapped around his waist. I was still laying in bed like an empty doll. He laughed at me and came to examine if any of his cum spilled out or not and to his surprise I was trying my best to keep it in. "You're so beautiful y/n now let's get you cleaned up darling." He gently picked me up and took me to the bathroom

He gently put me into the bath tub and joined in as well. He sat behind me, my back resting on his chest. He gently cleaned me up and cleaned my whole body. Kazuha looked so proud with his artwork, the way he painted my body with red, blues and purples all over. My lips pink and swollen because of his harsh kisses and my cunt all beaten up and ruined. He loved how I looked so helpless underneath him.

Kazuha dried me up and dressed me too, "Let me take care of you please darling, you deserve this much." He kept saying and tugged me into bed after he threw the sex stained sheets into the washer and tidied up my bed with new sheets. He tugged himself too cuddling me from behind as his arms snaked around my beaten down body. It was like a dream come true I thought to myself before my eyes shuttered close. I was half asleep as i felt him move closer to me and whispered, "I like you darling, I wish to give you all the things you deserve."

I drifted off to sleep not really knowing whether I was dreaming or not but one thing I'm sure of, my feelings for him are deeper than before but one thing I've realised, Kaedehara Kazuha is a man that brings trouble along with him and I'm ready to take whatever he throws at me.

THATS ALL FOR THIS STORY GUYS!! I KNOW THERE ARE A SHIT TON OF GRAMMATICAL ERRORS AND ITS NOT THE BEST BUT THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SMUT SO- ฅ(≚ᄌ≚)

CENTIPEDE SAMA APPRECIATES ALL THE LOVE YOU'VE SHOWN SO FAR(o´▽`o)

Please request if you wanna read something new! And Reblogs are appreciated!!

THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT

- centipede sama(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

HERE'S THE LINK TO PART 1

[livingalifeofasimp]

Heyhey! I don’t know if I already requested this, and if I did I’m sorry I forgot. But I was wondering if you could write a yandere childe x reader where the reader has been abused. So when he kidnapps her the darling is kinda willing since she feels safe with him? What would childe do to her abuser? Thank you for your time :>

♚ Yandere Childe x Reader ♚

Thank you for your patience ❤️

Disclaimer : This content contains Yandere themes, if you are sensitive please refrain yourself from reading it. It's purely for entertainment purpose, arts are not mine credit to their respective owners.

❤️Childe interest sparkled in you probably when he saw you being nice and kind to everyone, how you made everyone happy. Always willing to give your helping hand to anyone who needs it, like the way you smile at people and try to make them feel comfortable. Childe wondered can someone actually be this good? Either way he wanted to talked to you. "I see a pretty lady here, wanna fight I can't seems to find anyone here and you don't have any company", you were surprised when a strange guy suddenly appeared and challenge you. Without wasting anytime you ran away feeling overwhelmed leaving Childe shocked "I just wanted to talk".

❤️As you were walking home after being tired from work wanting nothing more than to jump on your comfortable bed, you saw the same guy leaning against the wall, his eyes wandering around  in the ocean of people ,not wanting to get caughted by him you slowly turned your head and started walking away. After covering safe distance, you inverted your eyes to where the previous stranger was standing but he wasn't there, good grief then suddenly you felt someone behind you whispering in your ears "I bet you are looking for me", flinching you turned around scared, seeing you so afraid of him, Childe quickly apologized "Oh forgive me I shouldn't have appeared like this", "Ah no it's alright", as polite as ever Childe thought smiling. "How about a drink? my treat", and waited for your permission to hold your hands.

❤️"Oi your are late", Childe flicked your forehead, holding your head you answered breathing unevenly "I am so sorry, I just got so busy, I won't be late next time", you nervously laughed as Childe got annoyed with all those people who take advantage of your kindness. He pated your head and walked towards the table since you both decided to have dinner together tonight. You passed a dish towards Childe "Ain't you spoiling me", "No way I know that's your favorite", showing you his infamous smile he holded your hand with his two "I don't even know what I will do without", your laugh and Childe's favorite moment was ended by a guy who intruped in between.

❤️"Hey Y/N what are you doing here? you promised me to help with my work", as you tried to recall you heard Childe growling. "How about you do your own work, you got your own hands right? Or should I cut them off" something in Childe's voice warned the guy to not bother you again if he don't want to die. "Childe why did you do that?" You stood up to ran after him only to be pulled back by Childe. "Why are you going behind him? Why are you so good to people even though they do bad to you, I don't like him I know I shouldn't ask you such but I just don't want you to get hurt and that guy he is so fishy". Sighing you sat down again, maybe you need some free time "Alright", his smile changed the dark aura from surrounding to brighter ones. Not caring about the world and pressure to impress people feels good at least with Childe you can be how you really are he never judges you, even tho he can be jerk sometimes.

❤️While collecting some flowers Childe thought about you oh how happy would you be to see the flowers he is gonna bring to you. Near your house he saw a different guy flirting with you. Even if it was just a normal talk Childe was afraid that they would try to take you away since you are so good, caring and comforting people with your presence. Of course everyone will try to take you away but they will never know how to take care of you like he does. You are so pretty and caring such an angel that one of kind a girl who is perfect for him. Childe's last string to sanity was cut off when he saw them making you laugh, his jealousy and possessiveness clouding his decision. You are his, he only wants to be the only you love, imagining you with someone else burns his heart making him want to to go insane, the obsession and love he have for you made him take you away from the selfish world he is confident he can take care of you and your interests.

❤️You woke up finding yourself into a room that is decorated with all the expensive items whatever it is, this isn't your room panic rised in you chest as you jumped down the bed knocking on the door with all your force. On hearing the noise Childe unlocked the room, he realized that you calmed down after seeing his face, fluttered his heart "Child you are here, did I passed out anyways thank you so much for helping me", you said passing through him when you felt yourself being lifted up by strong arms and gently putting you in bed.

❤️"Y/N stay here", "Childe I appreciate this but I need to go I think I am good now", he pinned your hands on bed. "You are going to stay here and that's what I have decided", Childe said with his low voice binding your wrist to the chain attached to the bed post. You clearly were confused is this some kind of prank, he is capable of doing that. Your watched his movement, stroking your cheeks "How happy I am, you don't know", everything about him felt sick and foreign something is definitely wrong. "Re-remove this chain, why isn't it coming out? You said stuttering trying to remove chains."Childe its wrong don't do this".

❤️After rejecting Childe for almost a week you realized that he gives you all the love and affection one desires. He provided you with everything that you needed making you feel protected and happy, you were allowed to roam inside resident that he owned sometimes Childe does get paranoid but finds you in garden admiring the flowers. It was everything Childe ever wanted, he was the best he could ever ask for in his life, when he realized his darling loves him back and returns his hugs and kisses it's makes him smile like a happy toddler. He opened the doors of your room only to find you crying frustratedly did you had a nightmare? He rushed towards your curled up form, to comfort you and to protect you from them. He asked you what could possibly make you feel like this?

❤️ Instead you cried even more seeing you in this form made him really sad. Childe hugged you, letting you crying on his shoulder while his hands ran through your hair. He pated your back softly making you feel calm and forced you into telling him everything. Childe's face turned pale how can someone hurt you this bad? Marks on you skin he failed to realize it was given by your abuser? How could someone-? They are wishing for death ain't they and now it's going to be granted. His gorgeous s/o was hurt by them, they are going to taste cruelty, he wondered if he should skin them alive or kill them slowly. Childe's attention shifted on you, you were crying he wiped your tears "I am always here for you no one can harm you or else they will not go unharmed you will always be protected my love", he kissed your forehead slowly tugging you back in bed. You holded his hands close to your face and he hummed you a soft song filling you with positive yet comforting affirmations. 

❤️It took Childe no time to find those jerks who hurt his s/o due to his connection and a sweet tongue someone will die a brutal death tonight, after wiping their disgusting blood off his face. Childe smiled now his darling can sleep peacefully, she must be waiting for him. He felt happy truly.

[angelic-ish-phantom]

Sam crept through the graveyard set on the outskirts of Amity Park.

Tucker hadn’t been able to get away tonight. Really, his parents had seldom let him out of their sight since… the accident. It was a trial for him to convince them to let him go out so late to hang out with Sam at the cemetery, and Tucker wouldn’t go behind parents backs, even for something like this.

Sam had no such issue with sneaking out every night. Her parents were just as bad as they had always been, the only difference being now they were a lot more adamant about her not going anywhere near the Fenton’s. Which was dumb, because why would she? There wasn’t exactly a reason to interact with them anymore.

The frigid night air sunk into her bones suddenly, colder on another level. Sam shivered as she walked on, towards one of the newest headstones.

Here lies Danny Fenton.

It didn’t hurt the way it had before, when she was all guilt and fresh pain. It was still her fault, no matter what anyone said, but she was making up for it.

A twig snapped and Sam whirled around; no one could be here. Not now.

Not even an inch from her face was a technicolour mass of shadows, blacker than night, bright like a headlight. Two green holes bore into her, a glowing green mimicry of eyes.

“B o o.”

The voice was laced with static, half not there, half loud and too clear, a ringing echo in Sam’s ears.

She flicked him in the forehead.

“You aren’t funny.” Sam deadpanned at the half ghost as Danny clutched his forehead, curling in the air with a Yelp.

“Why would you do that!?” He cried melodramatically, hands dropping to reveal a glowing green crack where she’d hit. Sam shook off the fuzzy feeling clinging to her hand, squinting to focus on Danny’s hazy form.

“Because you,” She jabbed at him again, and he snorted, holding back a giggling fit, “Are an idiot. Boo, Seriously? You aren’t scary and your attempts are actually getting sad.”

“I am too scary!” Danny defended indignantly, aura sputtering, “And I totally got you that one time-“

“One time. You startled us. Once.” This was, of course, a complete lie. Danny had terrified her and Tucker when they’d first found him like this. It had taken longer than she would like to admit to stop flinching every other time he floated into view, to meet what was left of his eyes, to shrug off the not-real soul deep chill that followed him. To touch him. It had hurt him though, the fear, so the both of them had fought that primal thing, that impulse that went deeper than instinct, that saw what Danny had become and screamed runrunrunRUNRUNRUN-

Sam took a calming breath.

Danny might have pouted, then he perked up, scanning the graveyard, eyes casting green light like a flashlight as his head turned.

“Tucker couldn’t make it.” She answered before he could ask. His everything slumped in disappointment, despite the fact he’d known, logically, that Tucker wasn’t going to be here. He’d gained an unsettling, albeit comforting ability to know how far away they were.

“…But you’re here?” Danny pushed cautiously. She knew he was really asking her to stay. And how could she keep her best friend from his obsession?

“All night.” She assured, opening her arms. Danny literally brightened and she had to blink her eyes rapidly.

Danny rushed forwards to hug her.

Her limbs locked, her heart fluttering uncontrollably, it’s rabbit rate dropping as Danny settled. She held tighter.

Sam felt the fuzzy, half there feeling of Danny’s surface settle into something some solid. He was still light and otherworldly, but when she pulled back, he looked like himself. Albeit, the colours were all wrong: hair white, skin burnt, eyes acid-neon green, and he was in that suit she’d wished she’d never have to see again, inverted or no. But it was him.

And with half of his obsession there, anchoring his ghost half, his powers were under his control.

A green portal, opened at the headstone in a blink.

“Shall we?” Danny asked with a grin, voice more clear, as he beckoned towards the entrance to the Ghost Zone.

“Fuck yes!” Sam said excitedly, jumping through the portal.

“Language…” Danny murmured idly, flying in behind her.

And then the graveyard was left in silence.

.

.

.

Danny was half ghost; half of him was a ghost, but not enough. He was untethered and wild, but enough to exist given the stability of his other half.

His other half…

Danny’s other half was human. So Danny’s other half had died, dead and buried in Amity’s cemetery.

Danny hadn’t found much time to care about that between “sleeping” in his body in attempt keep himself together, and trying fly away from it, go to the Ghost Zone like any other ghost. But Danny’s fraying threads hardly qualified a core.

He should have been cursed to dwell within the cemetery, am intangible shadow, broken by an imperfect death.

But then they had come. And Danny had been fully real again.

His obsession, the two he cared about most in the world. Sam and Tucker who he had remembered missing, before he had remembered his own name.

And with them, he had his powers, he had solidity beyond his heavy, horrible body.

With them, he had an entire other world at his fingertips, and if they gave him the ability to do so, he would share it with them.

[thesleepy1]

All In Endearment, Dear

A/N: My friend really liked that last fic and they wanted another one. I am so glad they liked it. One of the only positive things that happened in a while, hahaha. To anyone who comes across this, commenting, anything, even if it's just a smile makes my day. I finally get to feel that little surge of happiness when my fics are being read. It's a nice feeling, not going to lie. And to top off all of that, @queenofchaos7 requested that I continue this fic. So here we are.

Pairings: Merlin x Arthur

Summary: In an attempt to be more direct with Arthur, he takes Merlin out hunting with his knights. Something so intimate and a clear show of his loyalty, that Merlin could not mistake it as anything else. And in the middle of the forest, Arthur would not be able to chicken out like a coward, lest Merlin gets lost in the forest.

Word count: 3,824

Part 1

Part 3

Warnings: language, suggestive language, crude jokes, violence, blood,

Merlin was ignoring him. The man just had to be. Sure, Merlin came when called, was present in the council meetings, and everytime Arthur “accidently” injured himself Merlin would be there to nurse his wounds. It was just that Merlin rarely ever made eye contact with him anymore unless absolutely necessary. Merlin rarely ever lingered when called anymore, quickly leaving Arthur’s side to do who knows what.

Everyone already knew that Merlin was a wizard. Arthur was in full support of Merlin’s power and his ability to be useful among the court. For once in the brunette’s life that is.

There was no reason why Merlin should be avoiding him like this. Had he done something to make the man upset? Was it the rain comment from the week prior? Whatever it was, it was making him lose sleep. Arthur had long admitted that he was infatuated with Merlin, in love even. Though that was a big word. But obsessed to the point of losing sleep? That was where he drew the line.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled in that way of his. So distinctive that Merlin subconsciously curled up deeper into his nest of blankets. “Merlin!” Arthur yelled again, banging on Merlin’s door in Gaius’ quarters. “I know you aren’t at the tavern. I checked already. Wake up and come out here or I’m going in!”

Begrudgingly, Merlin rolled out of his straw stuffed bed and unlatched the door for Arthur. The king immediately stepped in before Merlin could close him out. “Do you realize how late it is?” Merlin asked in a sleep filled voice, not expecting Arthur to reply.

“Early actually, Merlin. The sun will be up in an hour or so,” Arthur replied, trying to hide the effects that Merlin’s sleep filled voice had on him. The king was so glad that the room was too dark to properly see.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re in my room, you twat,” Merlin groaned, trying to make Arthur out without magic. If he didn’t know any better, it looked like Arthur was in his hunting outfit.

“Would it be absurd to say I just wanted to see you?” Arthur asked in mock jest, watching Merlin’s face in the dark of the room. Even without light, he was shining.

“You see me everyday, remember? I work for you,” Merlin countered, turning on his heel to beeline for his bed.

“But you’ve been ignoring me.”

Merlin ignored him in favor for getting back into his bed.

“Merlin,” Arthur tired again. “I’m here for a reason, you know.” When Merlin didn’t reply Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you hunting.”

That got the wizard right out of his bed. “What?” he exclaimed in confusion, his hair stuck up on one side. Arthur was tempted to fix it back into place.

“What do you mean, what? We’re going hunting in the forest.” Arthur approached the bedside slowly, as if coming up to a sleeping lion in its den.

“Is that an order?” Merlin mumbled against the bed, pressing his sagging pillow against his head to hide away from Arthur. His shirt was riding up his chest from the movement and Arthur had to quickly look away.

“I-it is,” Arthur stuttered, suddenly very interested in Merlin’s walls. The wizard had a little parchment picture of a bird nailed to his wall. The sketch was quite accurate, though Arthur could not remember for the life of him what kind of bird it was. “We’re going hunting with the knights.”

“Couldn’t this wait until morning?”

“It is morning, Merlin,” Arthur inched toward the door, suddenly very aware that Merlin had gotten up from his bed and was currently undressing behind him. “J-just hurry or else we’re leaving you behind.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Merlin snarked, shrugging into a new tunic. “You might stab yourself with your own sword if I’m not around.”

Arthur turned around, offended that Merlin would say such a thing, “Well I would have you know-” Merlin had yet to put on a new pair of trousers. Arthur ran from the door without saying another word, scarred for life at what he had seen. Merlin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion until he heard a distant shout. “I still expect you to be there, Merlin!” Groaning at the unfairness of life, Merlin stepped into his trousers and made his way to the courtyard.

Arthur and the knights were there waiting for him, everyone disregarding, Arthur looked just as exhausted as he was. One of them was barely holding onto his mount. “Dear god, Arthur, what are you doing?” Merlin asked with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Take the lot of you hunting for a great beast or something the kitchen staff could roast for us!”

Merlin was ready to leap off a cliff. “At this ungodly hour?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Of course, Merlin. Do you really expect us to hunt at night?” Arthur answered with a smirk on his lips. The knights of the round table all looked as if they were ready to kill their king as well. Gwaine was half asleep on his stallion. Lancelot was sleeping with his eyes open, the lucky bastard.

“I expect you to hunt without me,” Merlin shook his head, turning his back on Arthur to saddle his own horse. The mare was purposely stronger than the others, a more reliant breed that had the best sense of home. If anything were to happen while they were hunting, Arthur wanted Merlin safe.

“Come on, Merlin. It won’t be that bad,” Arthur sounded, ordering his knights to flank him as they rode off into the forest. “Really, it could be worse.”

“It really couldn’t.” Merlin rode to his left, Percival to his right. For knights of his court, none of them except Leon seemed to be properly awake. Even Elyan who used to get up before the break of dawn to help his father was trying to not doze off. Arthur was frankly disappointed in them.

“It could be fun, Merlin,” Leon gave him a reassuring grin, reminding Arthur of a golden retriever. “If anything happens out here, we’ll be here to protect you.”

“It's more likely that Merlin would get himself into a spout of trouble. He’s a magnet for that sort of thing,” Arthur butted in, suddenly aware of how close Leon was to Merlin despite their protective formation. His knight looked bright and cheerful even when the sun barely broke the horizon. “Don’t worry, Merlin. We’ll be sure to save you from yourself,” Arthur added, playfully punched Merlin on the shoulder.

“Ouch, that hurt,” Merlin groaned, rubbing against the spot Arthur had hit.

“You’ll live,” Arthur hid the guilt that ran through his system well. “If you can’t take a punch then you won’t survive out here, you clotpole.”

“First you take my sleep then you take my insults, what next, my breakfast? Oh, wait,” Merlin snarked, holding the reins to his mare tightly. Arthur had made Merlin carry all of their supplies, his horse being the strongest and all. But the wizard didn’t know that. He just saw Arthur as dead from the head up inconsiderate.

“You haven’t had breakfast, Merlin?” Elyan asked in a concerned tone. When Merlin shook his head, Elyan quickly glared at the back of Arthur’s head. “We should catch something for you then. The rest of us had bread and cheese before departing,” Elyan informed, grabbing the box strapped to his back to notch an arrow and be on the lookout.

“He’ll be fine. Missing one meal won’t kill him,” Arthur brushed off Elyan’s concern. His knight was a much more skilled archer than he was. If he was to impress Merlin then he would need all the chances he could get. Perhaps taking his most skilled knights into the forest to hunt for sport was not the most brilliant idea.

But if it were only him and Merlin, then the wizard might have suspected something amiss. Arthur rarely went outside of the city outskirts unless it were for a diplomatic meeting. And he never hunted before day break. It was unsafe to do so alone. However, Arthur wanted all the time he needed to confess to Merlin. So, really, bringing the knights was the only smart choice.

Arthur was beginning to regret his intelligent decision.

The sun finally rose to signal that morning had truly arrived. And with it brought disappointment. They had spent the entirety of the morning running around like cocks with their heads chopped off. Not a single one of them could catch even the smallest of blue jays. No one had any luck.

Arthur even begged Merlin to cast a spell to make something fall at their feet but the wizard had refused because he found it too cruel. The king agreed but at the same time, they would be killing the creature for supper either way. Did it really matter, how?

According to Merlin, yes.

And that was how they ended up here at the river. Noon had just passed its peak and the soft morning sun was blistering with heat. Everyone was sweating in their armor and gear. Practically begging Arthur to stop for a dip. Pleading that they’ll try to catch some fish while they were at it.

Only Merlin sat fine as can be in his faded blue tunic and red handkerchief. The fabric so worn and loved, Arthur could only imagine how soft they were. Though, those two items seemed to be the only things in Merlin’s wardrobe. That and the inverted of the two, faded red tunics and blue handkerchiefs. The wizard’s sense of style was lacking to say the least.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“Besides arrogance? Not that I know of,” Arthur answered defensively, turning his back on Merlin for the second time that day. All the knights had piled their armour and clothes on the ground, running head first into the river. The wizard clearly didn’t want to be left out.

Arthur may join them in the water but there was no possible way he could compete with them. They were soldiers, training from morning till evening and then some more. Their bodies were muscular, hair greased and unruly, their scars gleamed in the sun. Arthur couldn’t help but stare at them, watching as droplets fell from their rippling chest. His face grew bright red, heat making him dizzy as he resisted the urge to look lower.

Merlin was having no such complications.

The wizard had just taken off his drawstring trousers. His boots laid next to the knight’s pile of clothes. The horses were tied to a nearby tree and happily grazing. Arthur noticed these simple things so as to not stare at Merlin’s figure. As much as he would like to make fun of Merlin, there was nothing to make a mockery of. For a simple servant, Merlin was quite fit.

“Come on, Arthur! The water is great,” Gwaine yelled from the river, splashing on shore where Arthur was still standing with his gear on. His back was to the group, but his knights knew damn well why he was not looking their way. They had found out about his little crush on Merlin after he had one too many tankards. And since then, they had not ceased in their teasing.

“There could be leeches in there for all you know,” Arthur replied, watching a family of birds high up on the tree branches.

“Leeches are harmless,” Merlin said in a cheerful tone. He could hear the man swimming and splashing behind him. “If you’re worried about the leeches’ well-being, Arthur, they’ll be fine. Missing one meal won’t kill them,” Merlin laughed in a way that made butterflies flutter in Arthur’s stomach.

“Ha, ha, very funny, Merlin.”

“The river feels wonderful,” Leon added as well, looking like a glowing greek god come alive. Sure, all of his knights were good looking, but he saw the way the soldier looked at Merlin. Just because Leon knew about his crush, doesn’t mean the man wasn’t willing to steal Merlin. The knight was so clearly flaunting his muscles, tousling his bright blonde hair with his veiny hand. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Please, Arthur?” Merlin pleaded, the sound going straight to Arthur’s heart and perhaps somewhere lower. “It will probably fix your sour mood.”

“I don’t think anything can fix that,” Percival said with a grin that took up the entirety of his face.

“I think only one thing could.” Arthur could feel Gwaine’s wink against the back of his head. He resisted the urge to gag in the back of his throat. If he loses to Gwaine, he’ll never forgive himself. Leon was worthy at the very least, Gwaine drank too much. To lose to a pig was an under disgrace.

“Fine!” Arthur yelled to his hunting party. He tugged off his gear, his tunic, and then eventually his trousers. It was all a very frantic dance to rid himself of layers, he felt like an utter git. “Are you happy now?” he turned to ask his party, preparing himself to jump into the river.

“No pants, my lord?” Elyan asked in what could pass as a concerned tone, but Arthur could hear the snicker in his voice.

“Well- Aren’t you all naked as well?” Arthur stuttered, flushed as red as the day he was born.

“Even I have my pants on,” Gwaine grinned widely, floating on his back to prove his point. The man was wearing white cotton pants with pink sewn hearts. It was quite comedic if not for the fact that Arthur was standing butt naked in front of the man of his affections.

Arthur quickly grabbed his pants and stepped into them before struggling to jump into the river. He failed to properly jump due to searing eyes on him and belly flopped into the water instead. “Gah!” Arthur cursed under his breath, surfacing with a grimace. “The water’s so cold.”

“There’s no need to feel ashamed, my lord. Performance issues are normal for someone your age.”

“Stress and lack of usage I hear are big factors in the issue,” Merlin added, grinning at Arthur playfully.

“Shut it, Merlin.”

“I think you might be scaring all the fish away, Arthur. You would think that little shrimp of yours would attract more of them.”

Having enough of their rude jests, Arthur pushed his hand through the water and splashed the nearest men. That only awarded him with six grown men thrown into a water battle. It wasn’t fair that Percival was large enough to create a tidal wave of a splash or that Merlin could use his magic to protect himself and attack the others. So when he had ran for his own horse to wade through the water, it was all within the rules.

“Cheater!”

“Traitor!”

Arthur only laughed out loud, “The horses want to be a part of the fun as well!” He had quickly grabbed ahold of his clothes and putting them on with one hand was proving to be more difficult than it seemed. “Catch me if you can-” A strong gust of wind appeared out of the blue and knocked Arthur right back into the water, his horse swimming to the other side.

“What were you saying about fun, Arthur?” Merlin looked down at him, those blue grey eyes staring right at his heart. “Are you willing to play fair, now?” Merlin said in a whisper of a voice.

Arthur parted his mouth to speak, but Merlin took his breath away. This was the moment to tell him. To confess how much he needed Merlin in his life, wanted the man without hesitation. He would never give away his kingdom, but for Merlin…. For Merlin he would consider it. A kingdom was not one without its kings.

He could not place the exact moment he fell in love with Merlin, but he had always loved the fool. “I l-”

His horse on the other side of the river nighed in warning, the steed whining in fear. Bucking up on high legs, Arthur had to hold onto Merlin’s arm to steady himself. There on the shore was a beast he had never seen before. A bear as large as a house stood on four reptilian feet, the fur of the thing made from pure glistening metal. The creature had three sets of violet eyes and radiated heat like a furnace.

Before any of them could react the bear opened its maw to reveal dozens of rows upon rows of teeth. They were sharpened to a point, serrated edges that tore through the horse with a rigid form of fiery. In the blink of an eye, the horse was gone.

“Get back on your horses!” Arthur ordered his men, back stroking onto shore for his sword. “Prepare yourself!” A breeze brushed against his back, goosebumps littering his pale skin. His men were behind him, but Merlin, the bastard that he was, was in front of him. “Merlin, get your ass back here!” he yelled, gripping his sword in hand, chest and clothes soaked through.

“He’s starving!” Merlin shouted back as if that explained everything. The brunette’s lips were tinted blue, his pale skin a purple bruise from their earlier rough water fight. He looked so small then.

“Get back here before I drag you by your ear. You are not to engage!” Arthur threatened, quickly looking out of the corner of his eye to make sure the rest of his knights were alright. They all stood prepared to give their lives for the block headed wizard. Swords at the ready, amour and gear laid askew on the floor, chest bare. Their lives for the thief that stole Arthur’s heart.

“Don’t attack!” Merlin yelled back, wading towards the bear with vigor. His chest heaved with each breath labored by fear. “The poor thing is starving,” Merlin repeated, holding his hands out in a reassuring gesture.

“Merlin,” Arthur warned in a hushed voice, afraid that if he spoke any louder the creature would feel threatened. “Get back here, it's not safe you, utter git,” he hissed between his teeth, eyes darting between the two beasts

“I’ll live,” Merlin called back, eyes glowing light amber and gold.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Lancelot muttered under his breath.

Merlin’s lips twitched upwards at the comment, “Make sure Arthur behaves if I’m gone.”

The mere implication of such a thing had the king of Camelot rushing forward. Arthur would die before having to live a day without Merlin. He was seeing red as he waded through the water, pulling the wizard behind him. “Never!” Arthur yelled louder than intended, the creature whipping its head at them.

“You bloody-” Merlin’s curse was shortened by the blood curdling roar that erupted like a volcano from the beast. It reeled back onto its two high legs, claws as long as Arthur’s arms slashing forward. The underbelly of the thing was made from thick places interwoven, almost as if it knew that was where Arthur was planning to strike.

“Bold of you to assume death could get you out of this relationship,” Arthur quipped before diving underwater.

“Relationship? If you think you could confess to me and then go off to get yourself killed, then I’ll kill you myself.”

“Hey, lovebirds! Have your lover’s quarrel after you’re not in immediate danger,” Gwaine shouted, joining Arthur underwater.

“All of you are going on a fool’s errand,” Merlin said exasperated, climbing onto shore. Leon and Elyan pulled him up with their free hands, pushing him behind them the moment he was on his feet. He rolled his eyes at this, absolutely done with his hunting party. Turning on his heel, he found his horse with all of their supplies. “The bear hasn’t eaten in days, have you seen the state of this forest?” Merlin pulled out a small sack of fruits and bread he had nabbed from the kitchen before running to meet Arthur.

The remaining knights looked onto him in concern, none of them completely used to the words and voice Merlin used when practicing magic. It was a low hiss of words, his eyes illuminated by liquid sunlight. If he weren't on their side, they would be slightly fearful of the wizard. Especially when he made the small sack fly through the air like a canon smelling of freshly baked yeast.

The bear whined low in its throat, the sound like gravel being thrown by the handful at glass windows. It caught the flying sack in between its rows of teeth, tearing through the thing thread by thread like it had the horse. Arthur was within attacking distance when the beast unhinged its maw and let put the most rancid burp.

Arthur and Gwaine fainted where they once stood. The creature lumbered away like it hadn’t just killed a member of their cavalry and scared them lifeless. Merlin swam across the river without hindrance, slapping both Arthur and Gwaine across the face the moment he touched shore. “You two better have a pulse or I’m feeding you to the bear,” Merlin threatened, feeling at their necks and wrists.

“Please, mercy,” Gwaine groaned, “The thing smells like my grandfather’s cooking.”

Merlin chuckled despite himself, the sound causing Arthur to stir. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” the king murmured more to himself than to the rest of the party.

“Really? I would have never guessed. I assumed you had planned this all out, being killed by a beastly bear included. Was that not a part of your little list of Hells for Merlin?”

“This was supposed to be a date,” Arthur said instead, struggling to sit up properly. The smell of the beast lingered and Arthur could have thrown up. “I was supposed to impress you and confess.”

“Well call me impressed,” Merlin brushed Arthur’s hair out of his hair. It was soft to the touch, even riding in a forest for the whole day couldn’t ruin it. “But I’m planning the next date.”

“Next date?”

“Oh no, no, no, a concussion isn’t getting you out of this relationship,” Merlin shook his head with a grin and a gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t have a con- Ow!” Merlin smacked him over the head. “That hurt!”

“Really? It felt like I was just hitting rocks.”

“You can’t say that to me, Merlin. I’m your boyfriend.”

Merlin couldn’t hide the blush on his face and to be honest, he didn’t want to. “I say that because you’re my boyfriend. It's said with endearment, dear.” Arthur grinned at the pet name, Merlin returning the smile as he pulled the king close. Pressing their lips together should have been done ages ago, it was breathtaking. Merlin tasted of faint crisp apples, Arthur of something utterly his own.

Arthur tasted of something delicious, Merlin decided. And he was starving.

[indigobackfire]

HPHM April Prompt: Day 7

Prompt # 7 - MC's first kiss

@stupendousbookworm | Uuuhhh, I might have to cheat on this one, because my MC's first kiss was not with her #endgame love interest — spoiler alert, it was with Ben, — but I had written some of this already and it's WAY more exciting. So Barnaby's and Indigo's first kiss together. One day late but I had to do it ;P

An arrogant Gryffindor challenges Barnaby Lee to a fight the old way, and when defending Indigo's honour is more important than keeping himself out of trouble, he can't help himself but accept.

And when amends have to be made, their feelings might come into the light.

Characters: Indigo×Barnaby, Chiara chameo.

Timeline: End of year five-ish — I haven't even got half way through year five so if anything sounds out of place I just haven't been there yet.

Content Warning: Violence, blood.

///

"What did you say about her?" Barnaby asked the cocky Gryffindor one year below them, Derek Vonner. Impressively snob for a muggleborn and infamous for his arrogant attitude.

Indigo and Chiara who were having a chat in the courtyard with Barnaby, and who also overheard the insults shared a look, but before they could say anything, the boy smirked and continued. "I said she's a lunatic and an imbecile." He looked straight at Indigo. "Your cursed vault insanity is bringing all of Gryffindor down, just like your brother did."

Indigo couldn't be bothered, it had been a while since someone had made this big of a fuss about the vaults and her brother, but then again, it wasn't the first time. She was somewhat hurt but not much fazed by it.

Barnaby standed like a wall between them. "Now, you offend her, you offend me."

"Is this a threat?"

"If you want it to be."

Indigo stepped beside the two who were standing face to face. "Guys, please, he might've offended me, but dueling is still prohibited out of the club."

"Please, Barney," Chiara pleaded with her soft voice.

"And I'm still Gryffindor's prefect so-"

"Silencio," Vonner casted nonchalantly with a flick of his wand towards Indigo. "Just shut up, wil you?"

Barnaby became livid in a way nobody, not even the Slytherins, have ever seem him like, gripping the cocky Gryffindor's cardigan by the collar.

While that happened, and more people surrounded them, Chiara undid the silencing charm and made sure she was okay.

"Hey, I still mean it, no dueling!" Indigo shouted once she had her voice back.

"Why don't we resolve this the muggle way then?" Vonner suggested with a smirk.

Not Indigo nor Barnaby had much muggle blood in them, but they both knew what that meant. Chiara scooped closer to Indigo, afraid the boy might pull out a knife or something of sorts, but it was simpler and safer than that.

"Barney, please," Indigo said when she saw the shine in Barnaby's eyes — they were much alike in this aspect, always hungry for a fight.

He handed her his wand. "Hold this for me."

And Vonner imitated the move offering his wand to one of his friends who were laughing excitedly at the scene. He also took off his cardigan and cracked his knuckles to set the mood. Vonner, at least by the looks of it, seemed like he could stand against Barnaby in a fight — reasonably strong and tall.

But too much of a show off or perhaps watched too many fighting movies, as while he bounced around and mumbled threats under his breath, Barnaby punched him cut and clean.

Chiara gasped, but Indigo had to hold back a laugh from how funny and gracious it looked.

But the Gryffindor wouldn't stay down for long, swinging for the first time which Barnaby swerved, then again hitting him on the side of his face making a loud sound when his fist meets his jaw. But it's when Barnaby moved his mandible with a loud crack to get it back in place that everyone cringed.

The Slytherin then smiled in a way that would've fooled even Indigo into thinking he's a wicked boy, raised his eyebrows and while Vonner stepped forward for another punch, Barnaby swerved again, hitting him right on the stomach in a way it pulled sounds of wincing from the small crowd. Vonner curled to his knees with the pain.

"Seems I'm quite good at the muggle wa—"

Vonner thought quick and while Barnaby was distracted, swiped a leg behind his feet and pulled him to fall on his back. Vonner straddles him and begins a punching fest that makes even Indigo's stomach turn.

Barnaby's face became as red as Godric Gryffindor's soul. Covered in blood.

"Is the Silverwood bitch worth the beating, you himbo!?" He shouted at Barnaby's face nearly spitting.

But Lee is stronger and in a single blind punch makes Vonner draw back. With a swift move of his leg, Barnaby inverted the scene and pushed the boy to the ground and punched his ear with force.

Vonner stopped for a moment, holding his ear and writhing in pain and dizziness. Beside Indigo, Chiara moans in agony.

"Make them stop, Indigo. He could've damageed his ear!"

While Chiara's speaking, Vonner reacted and started trying to retaliate without much success. With his face pressed down to the ground, one foot awkwardly kicking Barnaby's leg, there isn't a chance for him. And Indigo knew that Barnaby had the strength to knock him out cold if he wished to — if he loses his control.

"Barnaby!" She shouted.

He looked at her with sweat dripping down his forehead, those tiny green eyes still sparkling. He stepped back leaving room for the boy to sit up, letting down his guns, to which Vonner responds by punching Barnaby straight on the mouth.

And before either of them can do something about it a shout cuts through. "The cat's out of the box!" Which every Gryffindor knows, McGonagall is making her way there.

And while most rush to get themselves as far away from the confusion as possible, the three friends stand there frozen. Vonner stumbles his way out of the courtyard followed by his friends, and despite his terrible attitude, Chiara can't shut down the healer inside her.

"You mind if I go check on the boy?" She asks Indigo hastly. "I know you can take care of Barnaby but those idiots... I wanna check if his hearing is okay, he could've hurt his eardrum."

"No problem and don't worry about us, if needs to see Madam Pomfrey, make sure he does."

Indigo kneels by Barnaby's side while Chiara runs after the others. He's still taking the blow from the punch, his torn lip bleeding — besides his nose and eyebrow.

She runs a thumb over his bruised cheekbone making it dissapear with some magical focus. "You are such an idiot, Barney."

"I've been told that before."

In the low murmur of the courtyard in which people are still watching the two of them from the outskirts, they can hear the tap of McGonagall's heels on the stones getting louder, his eyes widen.

"You are so screw—" she began saying.

But with a single pull, gripping her loose tie, their lips met and with all the adrenaline overflowing in his bloodstream, he couldn't feel a drop of pain, just the ecstasy of finally kissing her. A built up of years, months in which every second counts, but now meant nothing, because he was kissing Indigo bloody Silverwood.

In her stomach, the flutter of wings made her nearly dizzy as his lips move ever so softly over hers, the taste of his blood seeping through when she corresponded, taking the collar of his shirt in a fistfull, a low hum coming from her throat.

It's the third time McGonagall called their names when they finally attended to her angry reprimand. "What on Merlin's name is going on here? And what happened to you, Mr Lee?"

They both raised to their feet.

"I punched him," Indigo spits out.

Minerva's eyes widen. "Wha— Punched him? What for?"

"Because—"

Barnaby wiped the blood off his chin only to create a smear. "I asked her. To punch me. I did. I wanted to see what it felt like. The first times were too weak then I asked her to do it again. She just went a little too hard on the last one, but it's okay," he spoke nearly without a pause.

She looks at Indigo flabbergasted. "Is that it, Miss Silverwood?"

"I didn't mean to hurt him, professor. We're friends after all. We were being idiots to say the least."

"Mr Lee is then sweating like that because?"

They share a look. He shrugged. "Because I'm hot?"

She looked at them more confused than ever before, wondering at what to make out of the scene and their explanation. She scanned the courtyard but everyone was making a not so good job of pretending to mind their own business. Yet people all around watched perplexed, some laughing, some anxious to see what Minerva would do to them.

"And the... public display of... affection? Right here on the open of the courtyard?"

"That's my fault," Barnaby promptly said. "Couldn't help myself."

"Right… I'm not punishing you for the punch as it was… consensual, nor for the kissing as it isn't technically prohibited in school grounds, but for the scene you cause. This is no behavior for a prefect. Specially Gryffindor's prefect."

"I'm sorry, professor. I promise none of the sort will ever happen again."

"I do hope so. Detention tonight for both, I'll send an owl with your due obligations."

"Sorry, professor," Barnaby said, looking down at his feet.

"Sure, Mr Lee, just… clean yourselves up. There's blood all over your faces."

Barnaby raises his head and looked at Indigo's face, his blood on her lips like smudged lipstick, a deep shade of red burning on her cheeks.

***

"Why did you kiss me, Barnaby?"

They had moved away from the crowds, by the edge of the forest, sitting side by side on a stone bigger than an Acromantula. She hadn't gotten news from Chiara, but hoped she had the situation handled or else it would blow on their faces sooner than later.

"So professor McGonagall would think that was what we were doing before," he said proud of himself. "I saw it in a... what did she call? A film Penny showed me over the last school break when I visited London."

She would've been a tad jealous of that if she didn't know Penny's obsession over Skye Parkin which was a bit too intense for just some regular Quidditch supporting.

"Well, that I was kinda aware of, but com'on, Barney. Come clean, what did you really do it for?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I'm not mad, I just wanna know why."

He looks her in the eyes. "Because I wanted to. I've been meaning to do that for a while. Because I really really like you. For the longest time."

"Me?" He nodded, confused at her confusion. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I tried to show you but you never seemed to notice. Also cause I remember you saying you liked Charlie last year and then you helped Ismelda try to get to me."

She sighed. "I had a crush on Charlie but I kinda gave up on it, everybody knows he only cares about dragons and will probably marry one." He laughs softly. "As for the Ismelda situation… I felt bad for her and she seemed to like you a lot, and maybe on the right occasion you would have liked her too."

"I couldn't like her, not because of anything she is or is not, but cause I liked you."

She stared at him for a moment, her heart racing in her chest making all that silence very loud. She had closed his cuts with her wand, the little crust of dried blood over them as the last sign not to mention the bruise on his jaw, legs and clavicle she wasn't able to vanish entirely due to her nervousness. Still, he continued to look as breathtaking as always.

"If only you had told me," she said finally looking away.

"I was convinced you wanted someone smarter. I'm not the brightest, you know that."

"Since when do you like me?"

He smiles, a faint blush to his cheeks. "Uh… I always had my eye on you. But I guess when you stood up for Ben against Merula our first year. It was so brave. But then she convinced us to hate you, to fight for those stupid vaults. I turned my admiration into anger."

First year, they were kids and she didn't remember much of him from that time except from the sorting hat ceremony and the lake crossing. And the fact that with one look she knew, at that tender age, that he would break many hearts. Sure enough, she was right — didn't expect, though, one of those to be hers.

"Must've been fun to spy on me then," she laughed, nudging his shoulder, "back in the third year. Well, up into the point you straight up told me."

"It was worth it. I did memorize your schedule after a while, better than anything from any class. It was a good excuse for my fixation." He laughed a bit louder. "And when you tried to fool me with your clones?"

She laughed too. "We spent so long on that Polyjuice potion, only for you to ruin it all this quick."

"I could still tell which one was you because… I just knew you." He took her hand in his, much bigger and both warm. "I would still know you with my eyes closed."

She rested her head on his shoulder, solid like bedrock, and held back his hand.

"But then you tried to convince me to leave Merula's side," he continued, "I was the happiest I could've been. I was just playing hard, y'know? You could've convinced me with way less."

"You did tell me your life's story in one sitting over a glass of butterbeer."

"I wanted you to know me. The whole school knew Indigo Silverwood the Hogwarts curse-breaker and how her brother did this and that, and I was so jealous cause I wanted you for myself, to know your secrets and your dreams. When I couldn't have that I chose to give what I wanted from you."

She was one breath away from breaking into tears. "Sometimes I wonder if they love me or hate me."

"Who cares? You know, I was completely fallen when we duelled for the first time. You were so fierce and talented and cunning. I swear I would've won if you hadn't mesmerized me."

And with that she breaks down, she could take the love confession but the correct use of big words to describe how he felt, made her heart go into a pace so fast, her chest was hurting. "This isn't fair!"

"What?" He asked embracing and comforting her.

"That you look so dreamy and that you're telling me all these wonderful things while the only thing I can tell is that I never even tried to approach you that way because I never thought I'd have the chance."

"Why wouldn't you have a chance with me? We've been friends for ages."

"Because you're the most handsome guy in all of Slytherin, not to say the sweetest, most caring, most loyal, the strongest, the kindest, and half the school is in love with you and I'm by far not the best looking one of them nor the most considerate, dragging you all into this cursed vault and R dangers."

Barnaby's stomach is flooded with butterflies at her words, wanting more than anything to melt in her arms.

"I'd go anywhere, fight anything for you. I think you're the prettiest and smartest and my favorite person, I don't know how you didn't see that." He took a deep breath. "Didn't see that... I love you, Indigo."

She looked up at him, his eyes glowing green and wild like the Scottish highlands, cheeks a shade of pink, lips wet and red. She brushes her thumb over them. "Barnaby," she whispered getting closer.

"That's me."

She rested a hand on his shoulder and pulled him nearer until their lips are touching softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. The taste of yearning came clear to her as he pulled her even closer to him, parting his lips, seeping his fingers into her hair, holding her face as if she was water about spill from his palms.

When they parted, both pulling for air, he looked at her like he discovered the answer to a charade, like a niffler before a pot of gold, the way he looked whenever she complimented him. Indigo felt like she did flying on the back of a hippogriff when she looked at Barnaby. That boy, buckwild, alive, beautiful, and in love.

"I love you too," she said without having to think much, because it was true. And one doesn't have to think much to state the skies are blue or the grass is green. She loved him before she could call this love romantic.

He smiled and hugged her to the point of nearly crushing her in his strong arms.

"Oh, okay. Barney, you're stronger than you think, love."

He let her go. "Oh, sorry."

Without thinking much, she ran a hand down his biceps which gave him tingles in his stomach. "Poor Vonner to be on the other side of your fist."

He crossed his arms. "Pfft. I don't like hurting people, but I was over my head and he deserved it."

"Let's leave him behind us." She took his hand and uncrossed his arm. "Perhaps we should go out some time."

"Tonight," he responds automatically with a smile.

"We have detention tonight, B."

"Oh, yeah. We can have a detention date then. A datention."

She snickered. "Alright. Anywhere we're together is the best place I could ever be."

[serpentsapple]

I’ve read a couple of Chinese and Japanese gay male romances lately, and I’m wondering if there’s a parallel to be found. The helpless woman who’s swept along in the wake of the powerful, charismatic man seems similar to the helpless bottoms I saw swept along in the wake of powerful, charismatic tops.

Indeed.

It isn’t surprising: very often, those romances are written by women for an audience of women. The entertainment and eroticism offered by such works should be understood from an external point of view, then - that of a woman instead of a man having experience with men. This informs the way the characters are written, the way they behave, the way they have sex... for then what matters is less authenticity than satisfaction felt by the target audience as to how it conceives what male homosexuality should look like. It proves especially pregnant in regard to sexuality, should it feature such scenes: it answers the fantasies of a woman watching two men, plus what she imagines they ought to do and feel.

Precisely, you evoked “tops” and “bottoms”! Regardless of what one could wish it did not mean, those terms are effectively used to classify personalities on the sole criteria of sexual acts, both in fandom and in a lot of works themselves. Here comes again the familiar obsession with penetration... and what it means, for women or for men. Penetrating is still used as an implicit - sometimes overt - evidence of superiority, in strength or in will, a proof of control over the self or one’s partner. Penetratrion is linked to violence, becomes an attack, a sort of infringement on the body of someone else; it is conquest. To be penetrated is to yield, in some way.

Further: to be penetrated is to be like a woman. To take her “role” as biology would “predestinate” her so. In a sexist society, that makes the man “imitating” a woman in sexual acts shameful and unmanly. For a well-known example, see the ancient Greeks, the very particular ways a relationship between an adult man (penetrating) and a younger man (penetrated) should play out. To deviate from such a script would be perversion and, again... lowering oneself to the level of women.

Moreover, let’s remember that homosexuality has been - and depending on the beliefs, still is - conceptualised as an “error” of some kind, a “displacement” at birth. A man loving men possesses a “woman’s soul” or a “woman’s brain”, he’s “inverted”; in other words, in a world that legitimises heterosexual desire only, he should have been a woman. Thus he is akin to them, acting like them, having sex like them; eunuchs similarly inspired such suspicions and curiosity, for they lacked the one characteristic that supposedly elevated their sex. Who is a man who does not penetrate? barely different, barely more than a woman.

With all this cultural baggage, it’s no wonder that such stereotypes still crop up in gay romances, still influence the way people who aren’t gay men “understand” their relationships. It remains, even subconsciously; and the cultures you speak of aren’t particular generous towards women, in reality just as in fiction. Romances featuring a woman operate on the same sexist assumptions as the ones evoked in Maas’ series, with perhaps more prominent societal pressures depending on the genre and the authors’ sensibilities. Those preconceptions related to romance, women and homosexual people feed and permeate the imaginations of creators. Heterosexuality being the paradigm, it follows its romantic tropes will be used as a baseline to express gay stories.

But I would add: the target audience being so clearly women instead of men, it also follows that a certain amount of projection will take place. In the case of erotic material, it would be difficult to find more immediately personal content. Thus it adapts itself to its public and what’s popular with it. And, at times, it forgets to uphold the charade and lets it slip that it all was but a thinly veiled disguise.

What do you think? Does this align with the stories you have read?

[dwellordream]

“Having established friendship’s intimate links to proper womanhood, and having demarcated the unrequited passions, obsessive infatuations, and conjugal relationships often conflated with friendship, we can now turn to female friendship itself. What repertory of gestures, emotions, and actions defined friendship? How did women mark their friendships and how did friendships evolve? How did friendship interact with kinship and marital bonds, religious belief, and the Victorian gender system? 

One of the most striking differences between Victorian and twentieth century friendship is how often Victorian friends used “love” interchangeably with weaker expressions, such as “fond of” or “like,” and how often women used the language of physical attraction to describe their feelings for women whom a larger context shows were friends, not lovers. In 1864, when Lady Knightley’s beloved cousin Edith died, the twenty three-year-old offset her grief with a romantic quotation: “And yet through all I feel sure / ‘Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all’” (71). A year later, Knightley rhapsodized that a new woman, also named Edith, “has come to bless my life. . . . I have grown to love Edie very dearly” (105–6). 

…Lifewriting provides many instances of a woman recording her attraction to other women or boasting of being “intimate” with other women in youth and adulthood; Ann Gilbert recalled how as a girl, her sister became “by instantaneous attraction” another girl’s “bosom friend” (24, 78). In an 1881 memoir published in 1930, fifty-one-year old Augusta Becher recalled a youthful meeting with a young woman who “proved just charming—took me captive quite at once” and went to dinner wearing “lilies of the valley I had gathered for her in her hair” (37–38). Ethel Smyth’s autobiography discussed her own sexual affairs with women in coded terms but openly described how her mother and the children’s author Juliana Ewing “were attracted to each other at once and eventually became great friends” (68, 111). 

Others wrote of loving (rather than liking) women; in 1837, Emily Shore (1819–1839) wrote of her friend Matilda Warren, “I love her more and more. . . . It is difficult to stop my pen when once I begin to write of her.” The two women argued fine points of religious doctrine but concluded “that, after all, we agreed in loving each other very dearly.” Addressing her friend Catherine Marsh in 1862, twenty years after they first met, a married woman wrote, “My Katie, you were mine in 1842, and you have been twenty times more mine every year since,” reveling in friendship as the proud possession of a beloved intimate (40). 

Such expressions of love between friends, as we have seen, were perceived as fulfilling the social function of feminization that led Sarah Ellis to promote friendship alongside motherhood and marriage as one of the duties of women. In The Bonds of Womanhood, historian Nancy Cott influentially argues that in the United States, domestic ideology promoted friendship between women as one way of confining women to a female world and to female roles, even as female friendship also laid the foundations for a feminist movement that sought to open the male worlds of education and professional work to women.

But even women who were not active feminist reformers enjoyed the ways that friendships allowed them to go beyond the limits assigned to their gender without being perceived as mannish or unladylike. Friendship was both a technology of gender and an enactment of the play in the gender system. As friends, for example, women were able to exercise a prerogative otherwise associated with men: taking an active stance towards the object of their affections. In an 1880s memoir about the 1830s, Georgiana Sitwell, later Swinton (1823–1900), recalled a governess who “was romantic, worshipped the curate, and formed a passionate attachment to our newly imported French governess.”

…Counseled to be passive in relation to men, women were allowed to act with initiative and spontaneity toward female friends, and friendship enabled women to exercise powers of choice and expression that they could not display in relation to parents or prospective husbands. Bonds with parents and siblings were given, not chosen, and friendship was for many girls their first experience of an affinity elected rather than assigned. For women who grew up in families with over ten children, friendship was also a girl’s first experience of a dyad rather than a swarm. 

While women had the power to turn down marriage offers and had subtle ways of attracting men they wanted as spouses, they were not allowed to choose a mate too overtly; only in Punch lampoons did women propose to men, and it was considered equally improper for women openly to initiate courtship. It was perfectly acceptable, however, for a woman to make the first move toward friendship with another woman, or to solidify amity by writing to a female acquaintance, calling on her, or giving her a gift. Aristocratic women had exchanged gifts, miniatures, and poems for centuries, and in the Victorian era the practice became widespread among middle-class women of all ages. 

One of adolescent Emily Shore’s several intimates, Elizabeth, gave her a “chain made of her beautiful rich brown hair” before leaving England, which Shore considered a token of her friend’s affection and looked forward to displaying as a sign of social distinction: “I have generally worn a pretty little chain of bought hair, and when people have asked me ‘whose hair is that?’ I have been mortified at being obliged to answer ‘Nobody’s.’ Now, when asked the same question, I shall be able to say it is the hair of my best and dearest friend” (269). 

Mature women painted portraits of friends and composed poems about them that they then bestowed as gifts, creating a friendship economy based on artifacts whose praise of a friend’s beauty, loyalty, and achievements also implicitly lauded their maker for having chosen so wisely. Female friendship allowed middle-class women to enjoy another privilege that scholars have assumed only men could indulge—the opportunity to display affection and experience pleasurable physical contact outside marriage without any loss of respectability. 

Women who were friends, not lovers, wrote openly of exchanging kisses and caresses in documents that their spouses and relatives read without comment. Women regularly kissed each other on the lips, a gesture that could be a routine social greeting or provide intense enjoyment. Emily Shore, whose Bedfordshire Anglican family was so proper they did not allow her to read Byron, described in a diary later published by her sisters the “heartfelt pleasure” she obtained from a visit to her friend Miss Warren’s room: “She was sitting up in bed, looking so sweet and lovely that I could not take my eyes off her. . . . She made me sit on her bed, and kissed me many times, and was kinder to me than ever [and] held my hand clasped in hers” (203). 

Female amity gave married and unmarried women the opportunity to play the social field with impunity, since a woman could show devoted love, lighthearted affection, fleeting attraction, and ardent physical appreciation for multiple female friends without incurring rebuke. The editor of Emily Shore’s journals noted that when Shore wrote of loving Matilda Warren her diary was also “filled most especially with her passionate love” for a woman named Mary (207). Thomas Carlyle wrote indulgently about Geraldine Jewsbury’s affection for his wife Jane as well as about “a very pretty . . . specimen of the London maiden of the middle classes” who “felt quite captivated with my Jane.”

Marion Bradley, wife and mother, wrote of her deep bond with Emily Tennyson and in an 1865 diary entry observed more casually that her new governess was “a gentle, lively, wise, cultivated little creature. . . . I love her and hope always to be very thoughtful for her and good to her.” Equal latitude was afforded to unmarried women. The biography of Agnes Jones (1832–1868), written by her sister and published in 1871, narrated her life in terms of two arcs: achievements as a nurse and love for various women. In adolescence, her sister’s “ardent affectionate nature was drawn out in warmest love” for a teacher, followed by an “attachment” to a fellow missionary that “ripened into a warm and lasting friendship” as well as a close connection with another “devoted friend” (15, 21). 

In an era that saw no contest between what we now call heterosexual and homosexual desire, neither men nor women saw anything disruptive about amorous badinage between women, and therefore no effort was made to contain and denigrate female homoeroticism as an immature stage to be overcome. Only in the late 1930s, after fear of female inverts had become widespread, did women’s lifewritings start to describe female friendship as a developmental phase to be effaced by marriage. Since then, erotic playfulness between women has either been overinterpreted as having the same seriousness as sexual acts or underinterpreted and trivialized as a phase significant only as training for heterosexual courtship. 

…Victorian society harshly condemned adultery, castigated female heterosexual agency as unladylike, and considered it improper for women to compete with men intellectually, professionally, or physically. But a woman could enjoy, without guilt, the pleasures of toying with another woman’s affections or vying with other women for precedence as a friend. In maturity as in youth, women delighted in attracting and securing female friends whom they often singled out for being beautiful and socially in demand. In a letter to her brother in 1817, the unmarried Catherine Hutton of Birmingham (1756–1846) boasted, “I have been a great favourite with a most elegant and clever woman.” 

To a married female friend who often gave her fashion advice she wrote of acquiring yet another “new” friend: “[S]he is beautiful, unaffected, and to me most friendly.” Female rivalry over men was discouraged because it implied that women fought for and won their husbands, but women were allowed the agency of competing for one another’s favor. Lady Monkswell crowed about having “supplanted” one woman as the “great friend” of Mrs. Edith Bland, and the relative who edited her published letters and diaries included many other instances in which she bragged of similar successes (12). 

Such relish in contending with women over women was possible without any loss of ascribed femininity, even as it took women well beyond the parameters of womanhood as defined relative to men. Just as women boasted of making conquests of female friends, they also openly appreciated each other’s physical charms. Women commented compulsively in their journals and letters on the appearance of every new woman they met, even when they did not know the woman personally. 

Adrienne Rich has influentially argued that “compulsory heterosexuality” works by stifling all kinds of bonds between women, from the homosocial to the homosexual, but Victorian society’s investment in heterosexuality went hand-in-hand with what we could call compulsory homosociability and homoeroticism for women. The imperative to please men required women to scrutinize other women’s dress and appearance in order to improve their own, and at the same time promoted a specifically feminine appetite for attractive friends and lovely strangers. Conduct literature praised female friendships for developing in women the loyalty, selflessness, empathy, and self-effacement that they were required to exercise in relation to men. 

Women’s lifewriting shows an acceptance of that idealized and ideological version of female friendship; few women left records of conflict or rivalry with friends, though some acknowledged engaging in jealous competition with relative strangers over prized acquaintances and intimates. At the same time, friendship provided a realm where women exercised an authority, agency, willfulness, and caprice for which they would have been censured in the universe of male-female relations. Female friendship provided women with a sanctioned realm of erotic choice, agency, and indulgence, in contrast to the sharp restrictions that middle-class gender codes placed on female flirtation with men. 

A woman who wrote of spending time alone with a man in his bedroom or giving him a lock of hair without being engaged to him would have transgressed the rules governing heterosexual gender, but to write of doing so with another woman was to describe an accepted means of forming social bonds and acquiring social status in the realm of homosocial gender. The celebration of women’s friendships shows that femininity was defined not only in relation to masculinity but also through bonds between women that did not simply tether them to the gender system but also afforded them a degree of play within it.”

- Sharon Marcus, “The Play of the System.” in Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England

[chiseler]

Ballard’s Abandoned Landscapes

If you set reality at noon on an analog clock, most science fiction would range from about 4:30 to 6. Philip K. Dick might ring in at 7:30. J.G. Ballard? 9 pm or your personal bedtime.

I’m talking about early, ‘60s Ballard, simply because that’s what hit me first and still hits me hardest. I recently bought (downloaded to my Kindle – interesting to think where that might fit into the Ballard world) his complete stories, but I’ve stopped dead, for now, at “Terminal Beach,” one of the finest short stories in the English language. So that’s the era I’m going to talk about. I’m an old fart and entitled.

It’s hard to pin down what defines any writer, what sets him apart from any other writer. In Ballard’s case, beyond the bizarre settings and sprung mental framework, I think it’s the unique uniting of personal isolation and claustrophobia with a sense of unbordered physical and internal space.

Many of the stories are set in deserts or uninhabited/disinhabited, windswept nowheres. He seldom introduces more than two or three characters, who often interact like cyborgs hurling dogturds at a target close to each others’ heads. Things happen without explanation and often without resolution.

Several of the stories deal with Vermillion Sands, an artistic community of the future where the world of art has run aesthetically and conceptually amok. Statues move and crawl, poetry drifts on the winds, ideas (and ideals) that were set up to evolve across the landscape peter out like grandpa in his dotage. But if you look at the impetus behind the individual elements, most of them have been realized, in one form or another, in the half century since Ballard wrote these stories.

At the uber-level, he knew. He saw. He envisioned. Many writers of SF’s “Golden Age” pictured isolated developments surprisingly well. They understood how technology would (or might) unfold. What Ballard saw was the human drive and how, in a technological society, it could be revealed. He was like Bradbury that way, and it may be the universe’s quiet salute that they died so temporally near each other.

I might have made it sound like Ballard was dreary or empty, a drum beaten in a deserted warehouse. Sometimes he was. Not every story is a resonant gem. But at his (often) best, he brought together characters, or a character and an environment, with such understated intensity that they caught fire without oxygen. People you would never want to know, never want to meet, never want to think about sizzle and sparkle in their own personal skies. I don’t know if that gives any kind of useful image, but it’s as close as I can come to pinning them against Ballard’s backdrop.

So let’s look at a few of those stories from the late '50s, early '60s.

Along with the sense of abandonment, there is often a dissolution of personal experience. In “The Last World of Mr. Goddard,” an unexceptional man living in a closely locked house keeps a miniature world alive in crate. How real is this tiny world and how connected to his? We find out to his and our chagrin. (It might make you think of Theodore Sturgeon’s “Microcosmic God,” but it goes in an entirely different direction.)

“The Watch-Towers” presents the landscape overseen by an evenly-spaced grid of floating towers, obviously peopled, but no one knows by whom, from where or why. Nor, like the inhabitants below, are we allowed to find out. The towers simply are. But there are repercussions for ignoring or disdaining them.

The completely isolated characters of “Manhole 69” are subjects of an experiment that has removed the need for sleep. They live and interact without mental pause 24 hours a day. What happens to their unrelieved minds? And can they tell how much of the crushing claustrophobia is outside, how much in?

“Mr. F. is Mr. F.” merges two of Ballard’s obsessions: isolation/dissolution, and time as an inexorable enemy. Mr. F., confined to his bed and managed by his overbearing wife, is becoming younger by the day but not internally stronger. The cycle he goes through is especially terrifying for being, in that confined bedroom, absurdly mundane.

The battle with time in “The Garden of Time” is even more isolated, as a couple keep the depredations of an advancing war rabble at bay by picking a time flower each evening – while the flowers, which refuse to bud anew, ever dwindle in number: Time can be held at bay, but it will be the victor at ages’ end.

“Chronopolis” is a deserted city, the result of an edict which forbid clocks, watches and all observance of time’s passage. We follow the underground progress of renegade isolates driven by the need to know when.

Again, from these descriptions it may seem that Ballard ignores character for theme and textured absurdity. Actually, almost all of Ballard’s early stories are driven by character, fully realized human beings set in skewed or inverted situations and let go to wend their way, accepting the impossible even while battling against it.

Mangon, “The Sound-Sweep,” operates a sonovac. Like your Hoover or Electrolux, it ingests the unwanted and untidy, but in this case the refuse is sound, suctioned with exquisite care. Mangon can remove the harsh overlays of a cathedral’s yattering tourists while leaving intact the chant-soak of the stones. But what most defines him is his love for the over-the-hill opera singer, Madame Gioconda, and his sad, resigned response to her gift of derision.

Ballard for the most part ignores humor. It simply doesn’t fit into his dense, choking worlds. But he lets loose a volley of exuberant howlers in “Passport to Eternity.” A couple with all the solar system at their disposal for a vacation attempt to plan the perfect getaway. This leads them to investigate a scattering of underground firms offering … what they outline in half a dozen pages would fill an entire Philip K. Dick novel. Ballard slaps one bizarre and tortured idea after another onto the page, held in place by Laurel and Hardy glue.

And, of course, there’s “The Terminal Beach.” Wandering alone among the concrete ruins of Eniwetok, the island staging grounds for atomic and hydrogen bomb tests, Traven (B. Traven?) loses himself inside the maze of pseudo-buildings erected to examine the effects of mankind’s most unrestrained energy on its most vulnerable structures.

He talks with his lost family and to the skeletal remains of a Japanese flier tied to a porch chair. He is visited by a scientific team who cannot coax him to leave his vigil, because he is trying to find – what? Justification? The past? A sense of why he has no future? Afterwards, you might think Borges, or in some sense Nabokov. But while you’re reading it, you won’t think of anything else.

by Derek Davis

[aion-rsa]

Things Heard and Seen Ending Explained

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Netflix horror film Things Heard and Seen is an unusual mix of crime thriller, supernatural horror, and philosophical musings based primarily around the theories of Emanuel Swedenborg and the paintings of George Innes, which were in turn inspired by Swedenborg. 

What starts as a saga about an unhappily married couple who move into a haunted house grows into an existential horror with a bonkers ending. Fear not though, we are here to break it down for you.

George (James Norton) and Catherine (Amanda Seyfried) move with their young daughter Franny to a small town when George gets a job lecturing at the local college. Almost as soon as they move in, strange things begin to happen in the house and a pervasive smell of petrol fills their room at night.

It is revealed that a murder-suicide occurred with the house’s previous owners – Calvin Vayle killed his wife Ella Vayle and himself (using car fumes), orphaning their two sons Eddie and Cole.

As well as the house being haunted, it becomes apparent fairly quickly that George is not a good man. He begins cheating on his wife with Willis (Natalia Dyer) and shows casually threatening behavior to Catherine’s new friend Justine (Rhea Seehorn). We also learn that he fraudulently claimed that he painted pictures done by his late cousin and also forged a recommendation letter from his university to secure his current job. 

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Intolerance about his wife’s eating disorder, and an off-hand remark he makes about Justine eating a lot of lasagne (!) might also indicate that George has something to do with Catherine’s condition (though it’s a bit of a stretch). 

Backed into a corner when his boss Floyd, (F. Murray Abraham) discovers his recommendation letter was fake, George decides to murder him by pushing him off his boat, which he also manages to make look like a heart attack. We understand that by this point George is being egged on by the male malevolent spirit in the house – that of the murderous Mr. Vayle.

On the way back from drowning his boss, George runs into Justine. He’s still soaking wet from presumably jumping overboard and swimming back to shore to disguise his part in Floyd’s murder. By now Justine has also clocked the scarf she made around the neck of George’s young mistress Willis and confronts him about this. George knows Justine witnessed his conversation with his former college professor pointing to the recommendation letter forgery. Knowing she’s another loose end, he runs her car off the road, leaving her in a coma.

Meanwhile Catherine has learned that the spirit of the dead woman who inhabits her house is benevolent. She also strongly suspects that it was George who killed Floyd and ran Justine off the road. While George is out she packs her bags and dresses her daughter presumably planning to leave when he’s asleep. 

When he comes home, the two fight. George discovers Franny is dressed and the car is packed and he becomes aggressive with Catherine. He also pushes her to drink one of the protein drinks she has as a food supplement. But, eek!, he seems to have drugged it. Before Catherine can take Franny and run she passes out. Encouraged by the evil spirits in the house, George hacks Catherine to death with an axe.

When Cole comes over to babysit Franny he finds a note telling him Catherine is asleep and is not to be disturbed, and that he should give Franny her pre-prepared drink (also drugged? It’s unclear) and leave once she is asleep – all of which he does.

This is George’s alibi. Which is a bit ridiculous since he basically kills Catherine then goes to work, and the fact that he’s told Cole, in writing, specifically NOT to disturb Catherine while he is out looks pretty damn suspicious… But still, the police let George go and he immediately takes Franny to stay with his parents. Is he really going to get away with murder? Turns out no, but only (it seems) because Justine has finally woken from her coma and remembers everything.

But George isn’t about to go to prison. Instead probably inspired by the dead cousin he was obsessed with (and whose artwork he claimed credit for), he takes the boat The Lost Horizon and basically sails out into a storm and through the gates of hell, becoming the subject of his own George Inness-inspired painting. It’s a riff on the actual Inness painting “The Valley of the Shadow of Death,” with the cross in the sky inverted and the colors more infernal. As George sails into hell, the voices of Ella and Catherine whisper creepy epithets in the background.

George Inness’ painting “The Valley of the Shadow of Death”.

That’s essentially what happens, but what does it all mean?

The title of the film comes from the name of Swedenborg’s book Heaven and its Wonders and Hell From Things Heard and Seen.

Essentially the philosophy of Swedenborg suggests that everything in the natural world has an equivalent in the spiritual world, and death is not the end but a new beginning. The philosophy, as explained by Floyd in the movie, also says that evil spirits are only attracted to evil people and good spirits to good people.

In the house Catherine has moved to, two women before her have been murdered by their husbands. The first was Mrs. Smit – she died in suspicious circumstances and her strict Calvinist husband marks her in his Bible as ‘Damned.’ The second, Ella Vayle, is the spirit that is drawn to Catherine and unites with her ghost after Catherine is killed. Ghost Ella expresses that ghost Mrs Smit was there for her in the same way as she is now there for Catherine.

Conversely, evil George attracts the spirit of evil ghost Calvin Vayle, who taunts and encourages George in his evil acts. 

When George sails off into Hell, he is beginning a the next step on his (damned) spiritual journey. Indeed, the Inness painting the ending riffs on was inspired by Swedenborg, with Inness imagining a hopeful moment of transition between life and death for someone who’s achieved salvation. Meanwhile, as George goes down, the murdered women are united in some sort of liminal space.

Is it a triumph for them? Not really since they were all murdered by their abusive husbands, but if we are to believe in Swedenborg’s theory and the afterlife is just a new start, they at least have that. The closing images and ghostly whisperings suggest that the three are united and grow more powerful, and we see that Mrs. Smit wears the same ring that Ella and later Catherine wore.

Things Heard & Seen is available to stream now on Netflix

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