#but tragically I can only find one scene of each :(

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

should I drop my definitive ranking of all the Cyrano actors I've seen in full or

[prolifeproliberty]

Hey, I'm stumped on this objection, if it's alright, I want your input on this

"For these types of people I always give them a hypothetical situation for them answer So if you knew your wife was going to die by giving birth to the child would you let Your wife get an abortion or would you let your wife die in the child grow up without a mother?"

What do you think?

I would answer that the choice is never actually that simple. We imagine this cinematic moment where the doctor comes out to talk to the anxious husband in the waiting room and says “Sir, we can only save one of them. Should we save your wife or your child?” and he has to make that choice.

That makes a very dramatic movie scene, but it’s not real.

There are three categories of “life of the mother” situations:

1. Very early pregnancy. Mother has a life threatening condition and cannot be kept stable until the child reaches viability (now around 22 weeks with evidence-based best practices). Even in these situations, a direct abortion isn’t the life-saving care. Usually we’re talking about the mother needing a treatment for her life-threatening condition that risks the life of the baby. Most ethical choice is to treat the mother. If the baby dies as a result of the treatment, that is a tragic loss. If the baby doesn’t die, awesome! In this category, there is no way to save the baby without saving the mother, because if the mother died, the baby would too. Ectopic pregnancies fall in this category because there is currently no way to save the baby. If we developed the ability to get ectopic embryos to successfully re-implant in the uterus, that would become the ethical option.

2. Late-term complications. I’m going out of order here for a reason. This is anything where the mother’s life-threatening health issue starts after viability, but especially when we’re talking 30 weeks and on. Baby’s chance of survival with an early delivery goes up rapidly as baby approaches full term. In these cases, if the mother needs immediate treatment for a life threatening issue, she doesn’t actually need her baby to die. There is no reason to choose between the mother and child. A C-section is actually safer than a late-term abortion, since third trimester abortions usually still involve the mother laboring and delivering a dead baby. If the concern, as posed in the original hypothetical, is that she would “die by giving birth,” then she probably just needs a C-section (or a better doctor).

3. The third category is the most complex one. This is when the life threatening issue for the other begins when the child cannot yet survive outside the womb, but may be able to in a few weeks. This is where the difficult decisions are made. This category includes women diagnosed with cancer who might decide to delay treatment to protect their child until their child can be safely delivered. However, even here we can see examples of mothers who choose to receive treatment without first killing their child, and doctors who find innovative ways to treat life-threatening illnesses without harming preborn children.

The true answer is “save them both.” We can’t always - just as any doctor knows in a triage situation they can’t always save all the patients. The decision of who to save is never based on which patient is more human, more valuable, or more worth saving. The answer is instead based on how the doctor can save the greatest number of patients. If the doctor can save everyone, they do. If the doctor knows a course of action means for sure saving one patient, while another might not make it, but the alternative is losing both, then they will choose to save at least one. We almost never see a situation where the doctor has to arbitrarily choose between two patients - the decision is always based on the condition of each patient, the resources available, how much time there is, etc. There are algorithms for this kind of thing.

Basically I refuse to let unrealistic hypotheticals dictate actual policy on saving children.

Because people believe in the “we can only save one, choose!” scenario, we get doctors telling women that they will die if they don’t get an abortion, and then they cry to the media that they had to go to Colorado or California to get their “life-saving procedure.” The reality is that either the doctor could have treated the mother without first killing the baby and given the baby a chance to survive, or they could have delivered the baby and then treated the mother.

Anyone who says they couldn’t do the first option under ____ state abortion law is either lying or ignorant. If the mother’s condition is actually life-threatening, every state allows doctors to treat the mother. Killing a child doesn’t cure any illness.

[user2718273]

I think abt solomon tozer SO MUCH. His character revolves around what is and isn’t allowed in victorian masculinity, he has this great craving to express tenderness and care but he can only do so through certain avenues bc most caretaking is women’s work. He finds a way to do that by becoming a marine sergeant, where he can look after his men and care deeply about them and it won’t get him ridiculed (e.g. the way goodsir’s care for others does). That scene where he’s trimming heather’s fingernails and talking to him just says so so much about tozer. I think that’s when you see him the most relaxed in the whole series, that’s the thing that comes the most naturally to him. He’s a caretaker. Which makes him so much more tragic bc he’s one of the few characters with a clear calling and a passion in life that’s not related to colonial pursuits, but those pursuits end up robbing tozer of his purpose, too, bc once the expedition gets past a certain point of fucked up, there’s nobody he can really take care of anymore. There’s nothing he or anyone else can do to help. And I think that’s when he really breaks down and starts going along with hickey, bc I think the other really telling scene with tozer is when hickey holds his face. I think he follows hickey partly bc he’s fed up with the existing leadership (especially the way they’ve treated his marines, putting them on the front lines like cannon fodder, ripping his family away from him) but also bc hickey offers him the only scraps of gentleness he can still find.

I also think abt how irl tozer had a fuck ton of siblings, such that there were likely always older ones taking care of him and he was always taking care of younger ones, and now he doesn’t know how to operate except as part of a family. Also how he and edward little mirror each other with the dog motifs, cause tozer is used to operating in a pack but resorted to following a leader as the pack broke down, and little is used to being loyal to a master but was forced to become part of the pack as leadership broke down. Idk i just think about him a lot, if ur reading this pls think about him a little extra today for me <3

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: Two broken souls find solace in each other's arms. Two strangers in a support group, both scarred by their own demons. What started as shared vulnerability ignited into an electric connection, a fierce bond where Mike's protective instincts soon led to a heated desire neither of them could deny.

Requested from a really nice person here on tumblr. Hope you like it and sorry if i went overboard with your request <3

Tags: post event of Until Dawn. Everyone survived or Mike solo survivor, whichever one you prefer. Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Strangers to lovers. Scene of panic attack. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Riding. Anal sex.

Words count: 5000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 Part 2 of it

The room was quiet, the chairs were arranged neatly, giving an artificial sense of order to a room filled with emotional chaos and instability. The support group had just begun and already the air felt thick with vulnerability.

Mike Munroe sat toward the back, slouched slightly in his chair as if he didn't want to be noticed. His fingers tapped lightly on his knee, a nervous habit. He'd been to a few of these meetings now, always trying to blend in, hoping no one would ask too much of him. Sitting in this room surrounded by strangers, he was supposed to feel like he belonged, but he felt anything. He shifted in his seat, glancing around the circle, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who looked too open, too eager to share.

Then his eyes landed on you.

Sitting a few seats away, you were quiet, withdrawn. You didn't seem to be paying attention to the group as much as you were lost in your own thoughts. Mike watched you for a second longer than he should have, curiosity tugging at the edges of his mind.

You looked familiar. Mike squinted subtly, trying to place where he'd seen you before. Classes? Maybe you shared a course or passed each other in the hallways. It was hard to say, but Mike couldn't deny the instant spark of recognition.

He had definitely seen you around.

The more he looked, the more he noticed how cute you looked. Your quite demeanor only made him more curious, especially since you hadn't spoken yet.

There was a vulnerability that mirrored Mike's own in some ways. You were trying to hide in plain sight, much like Mike had been doing. He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had brought you here had left deep, unhealed wounds.

He didn't want to be another tragic figure, another story that people pitied. And yet, when he looked your way, there was something in your expression, a quiet strength that made him think you'd understand without judgment. His restlessness would ease just slightly when his eyes met yours, almost like it grounded him, bringing him out of his own thoughts

His thoughts drifted as he continued to sneak glances. He recalled seeing you once in the hallway between classes, maybe in a shared lecture hall, and he remembered thinking even then that there was something captivating about you.

Mike looked away quickly when you shifted in your seat, almost catching him staring. He wasn't here to be checking people out or getting distracted, but he couldn't help it. The way you sat quietly, as if trying to make yourself small, avoiding attention... it tugged at his protective instincts, the same ones that had kicked in back on Blackwood Mountain when everything had gone to hell.

The meeting was now over and chairs scraped against the floor as people stood up one by one, eager to escape back into their own lives.

You started gathering your things and as you glanced toward the door, you noticed Mike Munroe lingering by the exit. Your heart thudded lightly in your chest when he made eye contact with you, this time more intentional than the fleeting glances from earlier you noticed

There was something deliberate about the way he stood, hands shoved into his pockets.

He found himself hesitating for once. He usually bolted out of these things as quickly as possible. He watched you gather your things, preparing to leave, and Mike felt a strange pull to go talk to you.

His gaze flickers between you and the exit, caught in a moment of indecision.

Leave. Walk out now and avoid the vulnerability that talking to you would require. It's safe; it keeps him protected, doesn't risk exposing himself to someone he's only just met.

Take the chance. Go over and talk to you, risk the walls he's built around himself, and maybe find a connection that makes him feel whole again.

He takes a breath, steadying himself. And in a single, decisive moment, he makes his choice.

Take the chance.

A subtle shimmer appears, almost like a fleeting trick of light. A faint ripple in the air, the delicate flap of a butterfly's wings echoing outward.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

His heart pounded as he walked towards you, mentally rehearsing what to say. 'Hey, I've seen you around before' No, that sounded too stalker-ish. 'Mind if I walk with you?' Too forward.

He's close enough that you catch the faintest hint of cologne, something warm and subtly daring, like cedar and smoke. He clears his throat lightly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Well, that was intense," he says with a hint of playful sarcasm. "Almost feels like we deserve a medal or something, just for sitting through it."

You stifle a chuckle, feeling the tension melt a bit. "Yeah, definitely not how I'd choose to spend a Thursday night."

"Oh?" His brows lift, clearly intrigued. "And what would be your first choice for a Thursday night, then?"

"I don't know," you say, tilting your head. "Maybe something quieter... or a little less emotionally heavy."

"Quieter, huh? So no candlelit dinners or late-night rooftop stargazing?" he quips, his voice smooth and teasing. "Guess I'll have to cross those off my list."

The flirtation in his tone catches you off guard, and you glance away, feeling your cheeks warm. Mike seems to notice because he chuckles, leaning in just a fraction, his voice dropping lower

"I noticed you," You said, your voice tentative, testing the waters. "I've seen you around at Westgate. You're kind of well-known."

Mike's smirk grew a little wider, and he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing playfully. "So you've been checking me out, huh?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of Mike's question, but before you could respond, Mike laughed lightly, clearly enjoying his own teasing. "I'm kidding," Mike said, though the playful glint in his eyes remained. "But now I'm curious... What've you heard?"

"I've heard some things," you said vaguely, trying to stay neutral. "People talk."

Mike raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. "Yeah, people do love to talk," he said, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. "But most of it's bullshit. People don't know what happened. They just make up their own stories."

Your expression softened, sensing the change in Mike's tone. "Yeah, I get that," you said quietly. "People don't know the full story."

Mike glanced at you then, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Exactly," he said softly, his voice dropping slightly. "Not the kind of reputation I ever wanted, though."

There was a beat of silence between you two. You understood the need to avoid delving too deep into things that hurt, offering Mike an understanding look.

Mike caught the expression and quickly shifted the tone again, this time with a playful glint in his eyes. "But hey, I guess I'm kind of a big deal now, huh? Maybe I'll start signing autographs."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking your head. "I'm sure people would line up for that."

Mike took a small step closer, his voice dropping just a little. "Would you?"

Mike's gaze lingered on your face for a bit too long, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Your heart skipped a beat, unsure whether it was the intensity of Mike's stare or the fact that you felt seen in a way you hadn't expected.

Mike broke the moment with a soft chuckle, glancing down at his feet as if trying to shake off whatever had just passed between them. "Look," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm not great at talking about this stuff, but it'd be good to have someone who gets it, you know? Like having each other's back or something."

There was a vulnerability there, hidden beneath the casual and confident tone, and you found yourself nodding before you even realized it.

"Yeah," You agreed. "That sounds good."

Mike pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping quickly before he handed it over. "Here, give me your number. That way, you can hit me up if you ever need."

You hesitated for just a second before taking the phone, feeling the warmth of Mike's hand as your fingers brushed. You quickly entered your number and handed the phone back.

"Cool," Mike said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I'll text you later. You know, just to make sure you didn't give me a fake number or something."

You laughed again, the tension easing. "Yeah, I wouldn't want you thinking I was trying to ditch you."

Mike's grin widened, and for a moment, it felt like something was going to happen, something more than just words. But then Mike took a step back, his eyes still lingering on your face as he turned to leave.

The moment you stepped into your dorm, your phone buzzed eagerly in your pocket. Pulling it out, you saw Mike's name flashing on the screen. A grin spread across your face as you swiped to open the message.

Just making sure you didn't give me a fake number ;)

Day 1

Mike [9:35 PM]: Hey. Just making sure you didn't disappear on me after last night. Survived the rest of the day?

You [9:37 PM]: Barely but I’m still here. Didn’t think you’d notice.

Mike [9:40 PM]: Hard not to when you're the most interesting person in the room.

You [9:42 PM]: Pretty sure there were more interesting people there.

Mike [9:45 PM]: Nah, they were all talking about their problems. You? You're like a mystery I wanna figure out.

You [9:46 PM]: That's one way to get someone's number. Smooth, Munroe.

Day 5

Mike [11:22 PM): Do you ever feel like people are waiting for you to act a certain way? Like, they've already decided who you are?

You [11:25 PM]: Sometimes. People can be ruthless. You wanna talk about it?

Mike (11:30 PM]: It's weird. After Blackwood, everyone wants to know what happened but they don't really care, you know? They just want the story. I'm just someone who survived. It's not something I like thinking about.

You [11:35 PM): Yeah, I get that. People don't see what's underneath. They just want to know the stuff to discuss with others. It's tough. But you don't have to share that with everyone. You don't owe anyone anything. I'm sorry you feel this way, Mike.

Mike [11:37 PM]: Nah, don't be. I don't talk about it much, you know? But it helps. With you.

You [11:40 PM]: I'm glad I can help

Mike [11:41 PM]: You're the only one who doesn't see me as that guy from Blackwood Mountain.

You [11:41 PM]: You're just Mike to me.

Mike [11:42 PM]: that's why I like talking to you.

Day 7

Mike [6:05 PM): What're you up to?

You [6:10 PM]: Studying. You?

Mike [6:12 PM]: Thinking about how I hate that you're busy with something boring like that. We should hang out instead.

You [6:10 PM]: I've got an exam. Hanging out might have to wait

Mike [6:13 PM]: Exams are overrated I'm more fun anyway.

You [6:15 PM]: Flattery's not gonna work this time.

Mike [6:17 PM]: Who said I was flattering you? I'm just saying facts. I could help you study if you want. I'm great at, uh... distractions.

You [6:20 PM]: Right, because I need more distractions.

Mike [6:22 PM]: I'm an expert in distractions. Top of my class in Avoidance 101.

You [6:22 PM]: what does the final exam for that class look like?

Mike [6:25 PM]: It's an intense, highly advanced skill. Mostly it involves terrible movies and maybe some pizza. You're up for it?

You [6:27 PM]: Maybe later.

Mike [6:28 PM]: I'll hold you to that.

Day 13

Mike (3:15 PM): You free tonight?

You [3:18 PM]: Depends on what you're offering.

Mike [3:20 PM]: A walk, a drink, maybe we'll figure the rest out later.

You [3:22 PM): Sounds like you're trying to get me in trouble.

Mike [3:25 PM]: I'm just trying to get you to spend more time with me. Trouble's optional. You'll just have to put up with my charm for the moment ;)

You [3:27 PM]: Alright. Where are we going?

Mike [3:30 PM]: You trust me to surprise you?

You [3:32 PM]: Why not?

Mike [3:32 PM]: You won't regret it.

Day 24

Mike [11:50 PM): You looked good today, btw. Saw you in the library. Hard to miss when you're looking that sharp.

You [11:55 PM]: You saw me and didn't say hi? I'm offended.

Mike [00:01 AM]: Didn't wanna distract you. But next time, I'll make sure you can't escape me.

You [00:02 AM]: having trouble sleeping?

Mike [00:03 AM]: yeah. Another nightmare.

You [00:03 AM]: Want me to come over? We can hang out. No pressure to talk.

Mike [00:04 AM]: Yeah? That'd be great, actually. I could use the company. But only if you're cool with it. I don't want to drag you into my mess.

You [00:05 AM]: I'm already in it. Don't worry, Mike. I'll be there in 15.

It had been a few weeks at this point since your first meeting and the texts between Mike and you had become part of your daily routine. They didn't always talk about serious things. Most of the time they were just quick jokes, a random comment about a class or something funny one of you had seen on campus.

There had been that one night where everything seemed to shift between you and Mike. It had started like so many other nights, with the two of you sprawled out on the bed of your dorm room watching terrible horror films from sketchy free movie sites that Mike insisted on finding. The glow of your laptop screen illuminating your faces as you both leaned against the headboard.

It had become so normal to find him here, lounging on your bed or flipping through his phone while you studied or worked on assignments. In many ways it felt like you and Mike had been sharing this room for ages.

He strode in, tossing his jacket carelessly onto the back of your chair and remaining in a simple tank top, beads of sweat still lingering on his skin from the gym as he collapsed beside you on the bed. He immediately grabbed the laptop, pulling up the website you'd found for horror movie marathons.

"You really need to cool off," you muttered, half-joking as you hugged your hoodie tighter around you, trying to find some relief from the icy draft in the room.

"if you worked out with me, you wouldn't be freezing your ass off right now."

"I told you already that this week I couldn't" your voice was muffled by your hoodie as you reminded him of the upcoming exam you had, the warmth he was giving off made it hard not to scoot just a little closer.

"You're being dramatic. It's not that cold" The muscles in his biceps shifted slightly, not in an obvious display, but more like he was just getting comfortable, adjusting his position.

"You say that because you're like a human furnace," you shot back, trying not to let your gaze linger too much on the way his muscles flexed.

The screen of your laptop brightened up as the movie began.

The two of you had started a tradition of finding the worst horror movies you could dig up online. Free ones from obscure sites that had horrendous special effects and plotlines so laughable they were almost entertaining. It was like a competition on who could find the most hilariously bad movie.

At one point, Mike had shifted closer, closing the small distance between you. His arm had slid around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest as you both lay back on the bed, the soft glow of the laptop screen casting faint shadows across the room.

The last thing you remembered was waking up the next morning. It had taken you a moment to realize where you were, your body warm and heavy with sleep, but there was a steady pressure against your back

Mike's arm had been wrapped tightly around your waist, his sturdy chest pressed firmly against your back. He's breathing deeply, a low snore rumbling now and then, the sound soft against your ear, making the tiny hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

Mike stirred when he felt you shift, his arm tightening slightly around you before he let out a sleepy mumble. "Morning... Or, uh, afternoon?"

His morning voice was deep, husky, and the warmth of it against your ear made your heart skip a beat.

You turned your head slightly to look at him. "Afternoon. You comfortable there?"

Mike grinned, his face half-buried in your pillow. "You're the best pillow I've had in a while"

"Don't get too used to it. You hog the bed"

"I can't help it if I'm big and take up space," Mike teased, finally pulling away and sitting up. He stretched, his tank top riding up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned skin.

Something soon shifted between Mike and you after that moment.

It began subtly, with Mike showing up in the hallways just before your classes, waiting for you. He'd lean casually against the wall, his cocky grin in place as soon as he spotted you walking toward him.

"There he is," Mike would say, teasingly, every single time. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

You'd roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "You've got your own classes, you know. You don't have to wait for me."

"I know," he'd reply with a shrug, falling into step beside you, "but I have my priorities straight."

And that was the start of it. Before long, it wasn't just random meet-ups between classes. Mike was always there, hovering in the hallways, waiting for you after each period.

He also loved seeing you flustered, loved the way you'd get shy whenever he said something that was just a little too bold.

His once constant texts had dwindled, but only because he was with you in person almost every day. He'd walk with you, talking nonstop about everything and nothing, making you laugh with his over-the-top stories or complaining about how much he hated certain professors. He'd check in on you between classes, finding excuses to walk you to and from the dorms or to meet up for lunch.

He was everywhere.

It became so normal this routine of walking together that you started arriving late to class more often than not. Neither of you seemed to care much about the time, too wrapped up in your conversations.

There was also a different side to Mike, one that became obvious whenever anyone else tried to get too close to you. He'd start glaring at anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way, standing just a little too close, his expression hardening.

Sometimes it was in the quiet way he'd linger just a bit closer when people passed by or in the way his eyes scanned the crowd, arm almost always resting comfortably on your shoulder. He was always aware, always attentive

A late afternoon, the two of you were back in your dorm, this time working on Mike's classwork. He was propped up against the wall on your bed, legs stretched out casually in front of him as he flipped through his notes while you sat beside him, trying to help him with some difficult subjects from his class while you sat cross-legged near the foot of the bed, focusing on explaining a concept that clearly wasn't sticking.

You glanced over at him to see if he was even paying attention as you began your speech.

Mike gave you a lazy grin, his brown eyes half-focused on the notes and half on you, not even bothering to deny it. "I think I'm getting more distracted than enlightened right now."

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile. "Distracted? How hard can it be to pay attention for 5 minutes?"

"Oh, I'm paying attention," he replied smoothly, his eyes shamelessly roaming your body. "Just... maybe not to the notes"

Your cheeks flushed, and you swatted his shoulder, a half-laugh escaping you. "Keep talking like that, and I might actually make you study."

Mike leaned in even closer, his shoulder now brushing against yours. "There are other ways you could help me... without the textbooks.”

You glanced up at him, narrowing your eyes in mock suspicion. "What exactly did you have in mind?”

Mike smirked, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes. "I'm sure I could think of a few things."

"You're hopeless," you said, though his voice was soft, not unkind.

"Hopelessly charming," Mike corrected, leaning in just enough so that your shoulders brushed again, his proximity impossible to ignore.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the windowpane, drawing both of your attention to the world outside. Snow had started to fall, tiny flakes drifting down in a serene, delicate pattern.

Mike's smile faded

His body grew still, his expression unreadable. Mike's playful energy had disappeared, replaced by something colder, more distant. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his shoulders tensed, his posture rigid as if bracing himself for something unseen.

You glanced up, your brow furrowing as you followed Mike's gaze to the window.

"Mike?" You asked softly, your voice gentle, concerned.

His gaze was still locked on the snow, his breath coming in shallow, uneven intervals.

He was back on that mountain, back in the freezing cold, back in the nightmare that had nearly destroyed him.

His hand jerks toward his left hand, gripping it tightly, pressing into the spot where two of his fingers are gone, severed by that brutal bear trap. The memory is vivid, visceral, a searing pain that haunts him, sending shockwaves through his hand as he clutches it, trying to stave off the ghostly ache. His whole body begins to shake, and you can see his chest rising and falling erratically, his breaths turning into strained gasps.

The screeching echoes of the wendigos in his head are getting louder and louder, and he can smell the stale scent of blood in the biting wind.

His hand drops to his lap, trembling violently, and he grabs the edge of the bed, his fingers digging in, his knuckles white as he grips it like it's his lifeline. "No, no, not again," he chokes out, his voice a raw whisper, barely audible

You reach out and place your hand on his shoulder, your touch firm, grounding, and his eyes flicker, focusing on you for a split second before glazing over again. His breaths are erratic, shallow and quick, and his face twists with panic as he fights to stay present, his whole body trembling. "Mike, look at me," you say, your voice steady, trying to reach through the fog of fear. "You're here. You're safe. It's just snow, nothing else."

Slowly, he seems to register your words, his gaze flickering back to you, his breathing still labored but slowing slightly as he focuses on the warmth of your hand on his arm.

"I thought I was past it," Mike admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it keeps coming back. Like I'm right there again."

He trailed off, his voice breaking slightly as the weight of it all pressed down on him.

"You're not there anymore," you said softly, your voice full of quiet reassurance. "You're here. With me."

His eyes were drawn to your lips. The way they were slightly parted, the soft flush of color there. He hadn't realized just how close you were sitting until now.

Mike's breath hitched slightly as he swallowed hard, his gaze fixated on your lips. He felt an overwhelming pull, like gravity itself was drawing him closer, and suddenly, all the fear and tension that had gripped him earlier faded into the background. His thoughts narrowed to a single focus.

Pull back. The fear of what this could mean loomed large. He could stop now, retreat to safety, and keep his heart protected.

Go for it. Take that leap into the unknown, embrace the connection forming between you, and let the moment unfold.

Mike's breath quickened as he hovered just inches from you, the world outside forgotten. In that heartbeat, he made his choice.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Mike began to lean in, his body moving of its own accord, his instincts guiding him now. He paused for a split second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, any signal that he should stop.

But your gaze remained steady, your eyes soft, open, and Mike took that as all the permission he needed

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, testing. Then something inside Mike broke free. The kiss deepened, becoming more insistent, more demanding, as if he couldn't get close enough. His hand moved to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in, and the kiss grew rougher, needier.

Mike's other hand found its way to your waist, gripping you with a quiet desperation, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. His chest pressed against yours as he angled his head, deepening the kiss even further, his lips moving with a hunger he hadn't realized he was holding back.

You leaned into Mike's touch, matching his intensity. Mike's breath hitched as his tongue slowly flicked out, teasing your bottom lip. When your lips parted slightly, giving him the invitation he was waiting for, Mike couldn't hold back the groan that escaped him.

It was a low, deep sound that rumbled in his chest, full of need and relief. His tongue slipped past your lips, moving with a slow, deliberate exploration, tasting, savoring.

His tongue moved deeper, seeking out the warmth of your mouth, exploring with a kind of roughness, a hunger that Mike couldn't quite control. He groaned again, the sound muffled by the kiss, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist as he pulled you closer.

His body was warm, solid, and you instinctively crawled into his lap, seeking the closeness that both of you seemed to need in that moment. You straddled him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs, your hands cradling his face. The light scruff of his beard scratched against your palms as you kept kissing him deeply.

Mike's mouth found your neck, his lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His breath was hot against your throat and you tilted your head back, giving him more access. His tongue brushes lightly against your skin as his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you down harder against him.

You shifted in his lap, your movements slow and deliberate as you began to grind against him, the tension between you building with every passing second. Mike let out a low, guttural sound, his hands gripping you tighter as he moved with you, his hips rising to meet yours in a rhythm that grew more urgent by the minute.

"God," he muttered against your neck, his voice thick with need. "You feel so good.."

His hands gently rested on your ass, groping the delicate and soft flesh gently while he took off all the pieces of clothing protecting it.

He circled your hole gently before pressing his finger inside up to the second knuckle, leaning down to kiss you firmly

Working the two fingers in deeper, Mike watched for any reaction, kissing your lips over and over when you squeezed his shoulders.

Suddenly you let out a strangled cry of pleasure, hips bucking upward to press the two fingers in deeper. That was the spot you wanted. He massaged that little area over and over, biting little marks along your shoulders and upper chest.

After the third finger you were begging for more, digging your nails into Mike's shoulders and moaning against his lips.

With trembling hands, you reached down, feeling the heat of his arousal through the fabric that still separated you. The anticipation was a slow burn, an exquisite torture as you took your time, savoring the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

And then, with deliberate slowness, you freed him, your hands sure and steady as you positioned yourself over him.

His gaze never left yours as you slowly sank down onto him, the feeling so overwhelming that it stole the breath from your lungs. The sensation of him filling you, stretching you, was almost too much.

A low groan rumbled from deep within his chest as he watched you. His hands moved up your back, tugging at your shirt as he pulled it over your head, discarding it onto the floor without a second thought.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding under his shirt, your fingertips brushing against the hard planes of his chest.

Mike's hands found your hips again, and this time his grip was firmer, more urgent, as he guided you to rock against him with more intensity. The friction between you was almost overwhelming, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every movement, every touch.

His breathing was heavy, ragged, and with each thrust, a low, guttural grunt escaped his lips. He tried to lose himself in the moment, to forget the memories that haunted him.

As the intensity between you built, Mike's movements became rougher, more demanding. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you rocked against him harder, faster. You could feel the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable

Without warning, Mike grunted softly, his arms wrapping tightly around your frame as he lifted you off his lap in one smooth, fluid motion. You gasped at the sudden shift, your legs instinctively wrapping around Mike's waist as you were lifted off the bed. Mike was still fully inside you, enveloping you in a warm, secure cage formed by his strong, protective arms.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, keeping you secure as he lowered you onto the mattress with a quiet grunt, his body hovering over yours, never once breaking their connection.

His eyes locked with yours, filled with a mixture of desire and vulnerability, and he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips soft but insistent.

The moment you two were settled, Mike began to move again, his thrusts deep and powerful as he pressed your body into the mattress. His hands gripped your things firmly. He was doing everything in his power to please you, to show how much you were appreciated.

His eyes locked on yours as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. It was rough, desperate, filled with the same urgency that was driving Mike's movements. His tongue slid into your mouth.

Mike groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest as he continued to move, his pace quickening, his hips snapping forward with a roughness that sent waves of pleasure through your body.

His body pressed against yours, warm and solid, grounding you in the present moment.

With a final, powerful thrust, Mike let out a deep, guttural grunt, his body trembling as his release washed over him, sending shudders through his entire frame. You cried out, your own climax hitting you at the same time, the intensity of it all making your body tremble beneath Mike's.

Mike collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His arm draped across your waist, pulling you close and giving you the chance to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You could feel the tension in his body slowly start to fade, his breathing evening out as he relaxed into you.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough but filled with gratitude. His lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his arms still wrapped tightly around you as if he couldn't bear to let go.

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that he could hold you more comfortably, his arms still wrapped around you protectively. His breathing slowed further, the deep, steady rhythm of someone who was finally allowing himself to drift off, to surrender to the quiet peace.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Mike allowed himself to relax completely. There was no tension in his body now, no lingering fear or panic. He might not have been fully healed, but in this moment, he felt whole. And that was enough.

Mike let out one final, soft breath before sleep claimed him-peaceful, quiet, and free. For tonight, at least, the nightmares would stay away.

Note: If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 1 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1])

well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions

do you think it took Rio a long time to choose her revenge dress? did she agonize over every detail? I picture her process like, okay I need an outfit that says fuck you (threatening) but also fuck you (horny) and fuck me (very horny) and then circle all the way back to FUCK YOU THOUGH (VERY threatening)

as to why Rio goes from super soft to *that* - I see it as the equivalent of the TV trope where someone almost dies and their loved one is very concerned, but as soon as there's no danger they slap them around the head and call them a fucking idiot. this is Rio's WELCOME HOME, CHEATER moment (Agatha has been kiiiind of been cheating death, lbr)

this is the best way rio could choose to approach agatha too, and not only because it lets her express all that pent up anger. what would be the alternative? sit Agatha down and have a honest chat? Rio knows her too well, she knows it would be simply too much. Agatha *is* more comfortable with big bombastic scenes, with violence that is a lot like foreplay. Rio is looking out for her right now, she is making it as easier for Agatha as she can, while also not letting her get away with her bullshit any longer.

one little sentence, so many ways to read it

only physically. she's not letting you in. not anymore. you'll have to save her from herself kicking and screaming. dear god she's actually honestly crying. this is a WHOLE fucking deal. and it's also the first time she sees Rio while knowing WHO rio is. she's feeling all the feelings

girls. GIRLS. how am I supposed to take decent screenshots if you keep flinging each other at walls. keep STILL! (look at the furniture btw, isn't it a bit curved? I think they're still using a fisheye lens. reality is still shifting. almost as if we're in the presence of an otherworldly being)

oh the metaphor of it. sometimes you just have to reach out and connect, even if you get hurt in the process.

BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN SHIELDING FOR SO LONG TO HIDE FROM PAIN. OH MY GOD. did a 2000s emo kid write this

every other MCU fight wishes it were this perfect storm of hot and emotionally devastating

Rio cannot physically kill Agatha, it's not allowed, she's only the collector. So what is she trying to do, exactly? Has Agatha really been cheating death for so long that Rio has no choice but to bring her in? Or is she not here to collect at all and this is just her way to get back at her ex (and possibly win her back)? I adore both options, they're tragic in different ways.

time to bullshit! time to bolt! time to get to that escape route! this is what Agatha does best. anything but face the truth

funny how agatha usually has no problem looking undignified. it's almost like this is not the point at all. so let's review: wanda has stripped agatha of the powers that have been keeping her hidden from rio. rio comes over to confront her - and not kill her, she wouldn't be allowed anyway. she does it in a way that agatha would find less scary than having a mature convo. still, agatha has to face things she's been escaping for so long and it's simply too horrifying, too overwhelming. the fact that she's joking around so much (while her future conversations with rio will be sad, soft, dramatic) tells you just how scared and how miserable she is. She's begging rio to stop, because even fighting and flirting, which is their comfort zone, is proving too much. And what does rio do? She listens and goes away. only temporary, she won't let her off the hook now that she has found her. but she's still willing to go at Agatha's pace.

aubrey plaza I would die for your evil little face

can I just say that agatha trying to flirt right now is devastating? she is at the end of her rope. she does NOT want rio to stay, doesn't trust herself around her in so many ways. but she knows how much rio wants her and just... she tries to manipulate her with flirting. it's a desperate gamble, completely undignified, completely in character for agatha. she offers herself to rio, but only physically. when what they had was infinitely more than that, it was beautiful, it was sacred.

and rio... forgives her. she laughs another one of her little soft laughs and lowers the blade. plaza is so good here, the way she says "okay, agatha," is a perfect blend of resentment and tenderness. she knows agatha better than anyone ever had or ever will. she knows why she does everything she does. and she follows her lead. one last time.

agatha's relief. she's trembling, deflated but still on her guard. she looks completely traumatized. the masterpiece that this scene is: you feel smart when you realize that they're flirting rather than fighting. when it finally dawns on you the real weight of their encounter... it's too late.

"by the way there's a bunch of scary witches after you and I totally want them to kill you, that's why I'm telling you exactly who they are and when they're coming"

agatha tries with all her might to believe that rio is heartless. because anger is easier than sadness.

we're leaning, we're leaning, we're leaning!

rio licking agatha's wound to heal it perfectly encapsulates her feelings: anger, horniness, and infinite tenderness. what a power move. rio was the one in control this whole scene, and it wrecked agatha.

"te veo" (I'm gonna go scream in a pillow)

she's gone, honey, she's gone. breathe.

Billy walking on the two of them having sex would have been less awkward than this

she was a BIT preoccupied, kid

and episode 1 is in the bag!

next stop: IT'S LILIA TIME

go to episode 2 part 1

[cleabellanov]

"But Lokius isn't even canon! Stop making everything gay!"

...

The Loki series isn't just about romantic relationships and shouldn't be seen as so. However, there is a lot of subtext. Maybe this ship is not canon, but it was intended to be seen as so by the fans.

If Lokius isn't canon, then why were the last two shots of the series showing Mobius and Loki?

If Lokius isn't canon, why would there be so much touching and scenes so physically close to one another? (believe me I know they're friends. that just offers a solid base for something more)

If Lokius isn't canon, why is there an OFFICIAL track named like that?

Why is said track played or incorporated in different scenes of the series? like

-the first McDonalds meeting with Sylvie,

-the back-in-time conversation with Kang

- the ASCENSION to the throne?

Why is the Sylvie and Loki kiss never mentioned, by the producers, in the series per se, or even in the season 1 recap?

Why is Mobius the only one looking at Loki when he leaves down to the temporal loom?

And the other way around, why did Loki only make eye contact with Mobius in that scene?

Why is Mobius the only one to notice there is something wrong when Loki is still trying to fix the Loom?

Why did Mobius/Don on the original timeline, mention he's single, trust a complete stranger, invite him for a drink, AND offer to sell him a quite personal jet-ski?

Why did Loki, the LITERAL GOD OF MISCHIEF stutter and fix his hair and coat for no one else but Mobius (who by the way is just a jetski salesman on that timeline)?

Why is the timeslipping Loki had to go through directed to Mobius twice, him being the the only one he doesn't need a TemPad to "recruit"?

Why would Loki bring up Thor and Jane if it wasn't to mirror him and Mobius? (because, as he already was talking to Sylvie, he certainly wasn't implying it's about her. They were arguing, AND Mobius was implied in the conversation. Loki defended him in front of Sylvie, in case you forgot.)

Why would Mobius's voice be the one to echo back to Loki on his throne? let time pass time pass time pass

Why the RAINBOW?

WHY DID LOKI LOOK AT MOBIUS RIGHT BEFORE THE FAMOUS LINE "IT'S ABOUT WHO"? (important mention: Sylvie was behind him when he said that. why didn't he just turn around when saying it? nope, they know what they're doing)

Why is the shot cut to Mobi after Loki's "it was more about what I wanted" line?

Why the shot where 7 characters could've been showed (Mobius, Loki, Sylvie, B-15, Casey, O.B., Victor Timely) there are only 2: Mobius and Loki?

Why is Mobius the only one to tell Loki he can be someone good, and the first one Loki actually believes despite his tendency to do the other way around in the past?

Why does Mobius finally find insight, and reinvent his whole life at the TVA because Loki helped him do so? (they're not even the first Loki variant he faced, but something clicked this time)

Why does the bloody sleeve, representing Loki being hurt by Sylvie just because he "wore his heart on his sleeve" disappear on episode 2? (because he finally understands who he needs to be next to)

Why did Mobius risk his life on the first episode?

Why did Loki go to past Mobius for the final advice, not to the present one, not to Sylvie?

Why did Loki ultimately sacrifice his life for the ones he loves?

And why is Mobius left alone, with the door locked, after Loki leaves in the Loom's radiation?

Why would there be so much endearing looks, and smiles at each other, if not for a conscious acting choice?

Why why why why why if it isn't canon?

Nothing is for nothing. Especially in television, where everything counts from the light to the angles and the way the lines are spoken.

We don't need to see two characters kiss to know they are made for one another. In fact, I think implied canon is so much better for now, because it leaves free interpretation for the fans, and nothing to strike on for the haters.

Of course, that doesn't change the fact that the ending is still tragic, although it holds its sweet from bittersweet. But remember: there aren't tragedies without love.

[novaursa]

Aemond's Lament

- Summary: Aemond faces Daemon above the God's Eye, for you.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: I wanted to write something short and heart-wrenching, because I'm a tragic person. It's inspired by Bear McCreary's song.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 1 100+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sky above the God’s Eye is painted in shades of dusk and fire. The crimson dragon Caraxes cuts through the darkening heavens, and below, the still waters of the lake ripple beneath the thrumming beat of Vhagar's wings. Aemond Targaryen, his one good eye fixed on the sky, does not see the beauty of the scene. His heart is a hollow shell, echoing with the loss of everything that mattered.

His thoughts are not on the battle, nor on the death that looms close with each heartbeat. Instead, his mind is consumed by a single name, a single face. Y/N, his sweet sister, slain by Daemon's hand. She had been the light in a life filled with shadows, the warmth in the cold halls of the Red Keep. Now she lay beneath the earth, lost to him forever.

Alone, she sleeps in the shirt of a man…

The words sing in his mind, a haunting melody of sorrow and regret. His three wishes had been simple once, whispered to the gods in the dead of night. The first, that she be spared the pain of this world—the treachery, the blood, the horror of their family's war. Aemond had wanted nothing more than to shield her from it all, to see her smile remain untouched by the darkness that surrounded them.

But his wish had failed. She had known pain, known the fury of battle, the terror of seeing her beloved dragon, Silverwing, torn from the skies by the very man who now circled above Aemond like a vulture over a dying beast.

With my three wishes clutched in her hand…

His second wish, oh, how he had longed for it—for her to know love, true and pure, the kind he could never give her as her brother. He had wanted to see her cherished, but jealousy had burned in his chest whenever he imagined her with another. Still, he had wished it, even if it was a lie. Because how could she have ever loved another? Not when he had been there, watching over her with eyes that lingered too long, thoughts that strayed too far from what a brother should feel.

The love he felt for her had been a curse and a blessing all at once. A poison that had seeped into his veins, twisting his soul with desires that no man should harbor for his blood. He had never spoken of it, never dared, but it had been there, a constant ache that only deepened as the years passed.

When she finds love may it always stay true…

His second wish had been for her happiness, but what did happiness matter when her life had been taken from her? Daemon had stolen her from him, ripped her from the world like a cruel joke. The bastard had known what her death would do to Aemond, had done it with glee, had smiled that dark, laughing smile as Y/N and Silverwing fell.

Aemond’s fingers tightened on Vhagar’s reins, the knuckles white with fury. The rage that burned in his chest now was all that kept him moving. His sister, his sweet, beautiful sister, was gone. Her laughter, her soft voice, her teasing smiles—all gone. And he had not been there to protect her.

Daemon had known that killing her would be the only way to draw Aemond out from Harrenhal. It had worked. Aemond would not have stayed hiding behind stone walls while his sister’s death went unanswered. He had come, with Vhagar’s fire in his heart and vengeance burning brighter than the flames.

But wish no more…

The final wish had been the cruelest of all. He would have given anything—everything—to have her back. He would have traded his life, his soul, the entirety of the realm, just for one day. One day to hear her voice again, to see her eyes open, to feel her hand in his. One day to tell her what he could never say.

My life you can take…

He would have done anything. But wishes were for the weak, and gods did not listen to the cries of the damned. Aemond knew that now. There would be no waking her from the sleep of death. No return from the dark depths where her soul had gone. His wishes had been empty, hollow pleas to a world that cared not for love or grief.

To have her please just one day wake…

Daemon circled above, his dragon screeching in anticipation. The Prince of the City, the Rogue Prince, had been the cause of all of Aemond’s misery. This was not just about the war, the throne, or the realm. This was personal. This was vengeance. Aemond could see it in Daemon’s eyes as he descended lower, closer. There was nothing but hatred between them now.

“Come down and face me, coward,” Aemond snarled, his voice raw with fury. His eye glowed with the fire of vengeance, the urge to kill. “You took her from me!”

Daemon's laughter echoed through the skies, a cold, mocking sound. "I took what was always meant to be mine, boy."

The words ignited a deeper rage in Aemond, a fire that threatened to consume him. His hand reached for his sword, the weight of Dark Sister on his back a grim reminder that death was near.

"You will die for her," Aemond growled, urging Vhagar higher. "You will burn."

Daemon's smile was cold as ice, his own sword glinting in the dying light. "We shall see, nephew."

And then the battle began.

Caraxes dove with the grace of a serpent, his claws outstretched, and Vhagar answered with the fury of a storm. The dragons collided in the sky, their roars splitting the heavens, and below, the waters of the God’s Eye churned as if in fear of the blood about to be spilled.

Aemond fought with all the strength he had left, but his heart was not in the battle. His mind was with Y/N, his sister, his love. He could almost hear her voice, soft and gentle, telling him to let go, to find peace. But there would be no peace, not for him. Not until Daemon lay dead beneath his blade.

But fate had other plans.

In a final, terrible moment, the two dragons twisted together in a deadly dance. Claws ripped through scales, teeth sank into flesh, and the sky turned to fire. Aemond’s grip slipped, and he saw Daemon leap from Caraxes with Dark Sister drawn. There was a flash of steel, a scream of dragons, and then—Darkness.

The cold waters of the God’s Eye rose up to meet him, swallowing him whole. As he fell, his last thoughts were not of vengeance or war.

They were of her.

Y/N.

If he could have just one more day... one more day with her…

But there were no more wishes left to make.And so, Prince Aemond Targaryen, last of his name, died with his sister's name on his lips, lost forever in the depths of the God’s Eye.

[thehmn]

So far Jake Doubleyoo’s version of Loki is one of my favorites. The line “Wow this problem was actually super easy to fix. I wonder how I can ruin this situation for myself?” is perfect Loki.

Like most people who take an interest in Norse Mythology I went through the expected stages of Loki interpretations; He’s evil. No he’s actually good. He’s tragic. He’s actually a misunderstood hero.

But the truth is he’s just a trickster god who thinks he is too smart for his own good sometimes. He keeps doing stuff just because he thought it’d be funny or to see what would happen and well, he finds out what happens. He cuts Sif’s hair off for no reason while she’s sleeping and Thor immediately knows he was the culprit because he does shit like that all the time and when he’s told to fix it he keeps digging himself into worse trouble AFTER FIXING THE PROBLEM.

And thanks to Hollywood people think of Odin as a Zeus type but in reality Odin is a trickster god too. He and Loki have a lot in common and it makes sense that they’re blood brothers. In case you don’t know, blood brothers are men who were so close they decided to mix their blood, usually by cutting or pricking themselves and pushing the wounds together. They do a lot of the same stuff, only Odin is more focused on learning while Loki just wants to party.

I know “Loki turns evil because the gods treat him so badly” is a popular interpretation but if you actually sit down and read the texts you could just as easily interpret it as “Loki keeps fucking around and finding out and is mad that his actions have consequences” because the texts are so vague you have to do a lot of reading between the lines. Some texts even contradict each other. In one text both of Loki’s parents are jotun. In another his mother is a god. You can literally read the texts and their many translations in a million ways.

I personally like the version of Loki we get in the comic series Valhalla. In that version he is a trickster god to the bone who does stuff for shits and giggles or because he thinks he’s above the law. He’s never truly evil but he can’t be trusted either. You get a lot of funny scenes where he’s freaking out because the gods are onto him and he’s trying to talk his way out. Also, for the Aces out there, he’s implied to be asexual in this version. He does the sex sometimes but only to reach a goal.

This version is the base for a lot of Loki interpretations in Scandinavia and is worth a read.

[dearmyloveleys]

"Zhao Yuanzhou once told me that he often stared into space alone by the sea in the Wilderness. Because the sea never cared about his sadness and loneliness. The sea has a lot to worry about. Because, everyday, ten thousand waves are born from its embrace. And everyday, ten thousand lives fall into it and their souls sink into the deep sleep. I didn't understand it then, but after he left, I understood that bone-deep sadness. It was the base colour of his soul, like a broken song, vast, distant, and desolate."

- Zhuo Yichen, Ep 35 (Extra)

I’m not sure if this is has been raised by the fandom in the early days when the series started airing, but I find it so… it’s not foreshadowing, it’s just… (melancholic) now that we have the full view of everything. Zhao Yuanzhou’s name in Chinese characters are 赵远舟. 远 (yuan) — far away, 舟 (zhou) — boat. I recall there was an episode where he, ZYC and WX were making fun of each other’s names. Though, in that scene, they only mention his birth name, Zhu Yan, which funnily enough, the Yan (厌) does indeed stand for ‘annoying’ as the other two speculate. Yet it also stands for loathing, or be fed up with something. His birth name represents the slow grudge and despair he bears for his birth Demonic nature, the things out of his control. His human name doesn't fare any better. In fact, it is rather tragic.

Yuan Zhou — a far away boat, never docking on the shores of tranquility. It's a gifted human name from a person he cares about, yet, the humanity that this represents is innately unreachable. Gifts never have permanence in his life after all. He is always physically on the shore, looking out at the ocean of the Wilderness. He looks out to this yuan zhou, this metaphorical boat beyond his grasp, floating on this ocean of intertwining dreams and nightmares. The ocean is his ironic safe haven, as he finds that it "never cared for his sadness or loneliness". But his mind is simultaneously also the boat itself, drifting endlessly in sadness and loneliness. He looks out into the ocean where ten thousand waves are born and ten thousand lives are taken, each scenario representing the endless birth and death of his hopes and despair. He looks out at the ocean and sees himself in its waves.

As humans, regardless of culture, our names stand for our hopes and wishes. Names have power, in fiction and mythology, they are often a character’s prophecy. His human name reflects the human side of him that is unreachable and desolate, adrift at sea never settling on the shore - this human nature that is in sight but never attainable. On the other end, his Demon birth name reflects who he is and what he loathes, but it also comes with fond memories. To be a human or a demon? To which he says, "Be whatever you want to become". The tragic truth is, deep down, he cares for both his identities. He doesn’t want to solely become either. It wounds him that the two sides of him, the demon and the human can never truly reconcile. His nature eternally jostles with what he nurtures. Neither of his names comes with meanings of comfort — his prophecy is one of endless contradiction and encompasses his pain that is thoroughly evoked through the series. The base colour of his soul, like a broken song, vast, distant, and desolate.

Though there is hope, as the story reiterates. As far as mythological prophecies go, fate will bite you in the ass if you avoid it. ZYZ doesn’t avoid these prophecies. Instead, when a human and a demon shows him that both sides can be loved, he fulfils both identities of himself. His self-fulfilling prophecy that he expects from all his inner grief and turmoil, comes true, but not in the way fate expects. But fate cannot condemn him any longer. He still has met his dictated end, hasn't he? He hasn't tempted it in any way or form. Light shines through, and I believe the Heavens are chuckling away in a corner of their world. They let him go to be whatever he wants to be, and he becomes the guiding love that he has always wanted.

[queenvhagar]

Instead of trying so hard to make fans think of Daenerys when they see Rhaenyra, they should have tried to insert a bit of Daenerys into every Targaryen character.

Right now it's obvious the show is trying to make Rhaenyra a Dany 2.0 and doing everything they can to link this one character to Daenerys. The amount of scenes she gets with her dragon, the idea that Syrax's eggs are somehow Daenerys' dragons and it's thanks to Rhaenyra that dragons live on... likely all due to the writers seeing "dragonriding ruling queen" for both characters and then really overly forcing the connection at all costs even if it doesn't always quite fit.

What I would have preferred is to see all of Daenerys' ancestors within her and her in them. Show all of their connections to their dragons and their joy in flying. Show all of them as quick to anger and slow to forgive. Show all of them believing in the power and superiority of their dragon blood and the inherent right of their family to rule. Show all of them willing to use fire and blood to avenge what they see as injustices and being ruthless in their pursuit of that justice. Show me how each of these characters are as Targaryen as the next and how absolutely tragic it is that within this so similar family they only saw their own differences and their own ambitions, leading to them destroying themselves and the dragons that they loved so much and that gave them so much power.

All of this means not leaning so hard on showing Rhaenyra as just like Daenerys, but showing Dany's traits in the others. Show Helaena finding freedom, power, and independence on dragonback and savoring her strong bond with Dreamfyre, which comes more easily to her as an autistic woman surrounded by people playing the unspoken game of thrones around her. Show Aegon on Sunfyre after the coronation as he wears the conqueror's crown and reminds the people of his ancestral Targaryen power and right to rule. Show their children and their hatchlings. Let Baela have her own opinions apart from her betrothed and his mother and let her be bold in expressing them. Let Rhaena learn the importance of politicking and soft power in ruling and gaining allies and the balance between hard and soft power, and let the moment she hatches Morning at the end of the war be a melancholic moment, as she finally has a dragon but now is alone in this fact as one of the last living Targaryens.

We should be able to see traces of Daenerys in all of these Targaryens, and choosing just one to try to emulate Daenerys over all the others is a misstep and minimizes the impact of this story as a dynastic civil war of a family destroying itself.

[fleurdelily]

i will never shut up about the parallels between this scene and the one in re2 remake.

how, in both scenes, they find themselves in the same exact position. Both trying to pull the other up so that they don’t fall into the void.

but unfortunately their hands end up slipping, causing the other person to fall.

how both stretch out their hands in the hope of perhaps catching them, but it's too late. (also hearing leon's "no" of despair still hurts my heart)

both scenes feature the tragic fates of the characters. Helena saw her sister transform before her eyes, and tried to bring her back to herself, only to lose her.

and Leon, who bonded with a woman he thought was on the same side as him, only to learn that in reality she is a spy who wants to steal the G-virus. Despite the feeling of betrayal, he didn't want to lose another person in Raccoon City. Another person he couldn't save.

just look at his face when he realizes that he might not be able to save her.

it's an event that has left its mark on leon. And when he and ada watch Helena lose her sister in the same way they left each other in Raccoon city, the two immediately looked at each other.

you can see that it reminds them of the past. And for just a few seconds, their eyes meet. Leon seems thoughtful, or sorry for Helena, because he can understand the feeling of losing someone you care about like this.

even though the two scenes have different backgrounds, the parallels between them are quite obvious, and accentuates the painful aspect.

bonus : (if you can call it that) his face right after he thought he lost ada forever. I CANT DO THIS TODAY.

[thebookofcarol]

Carol and Daryl have the most beautiful, pure and selfless type of love. they would do anything for each other, but most of all, they would sacrifice themselves, their own happiness for the other... just like that!

Daryl telling Laurent he ain't going with him, Carol telling Ash how she ain't going with him back to the CW. and then both Laurent and Ash telling Carol and Daryl about the other's plan to be the one left behind. that was beautifully written!!

it's the total opposite of what Daryl found with Isa. Carol isn't asking Daryl for anything in return, she doesn't even ask him to stay with her. she wants Daryl to stay with Laurent and go back home, even if it means her staying behind in a foreign country, even if it means losing that one person who makes her feel like home again. it's just soo tragically beautiful.

and Daryl feels the same. there's nothing he wants more than to go home (that was his whole story in s1 and s2!), but not if it means Carol ain't safe. he would be fine if she took Laurent and went back home, but not if she gets left behind.

their quiet "i know" goodbye, and the looks they exchange, so much is said with absolutely no words. and I know people wanted another "i love you" scene, but i don't feel like it would be appropriate to do it again and again and again. when they say those words it has to mean something... something more than the last time they said it.

NO. i don't want pointless i love you's every time they get separated for some reason. the next time they say those words, they better mean i'm in love with you, and you're an idiot if you didn't get it the first time.

another scene i'm gonna be watching on repeat waiting for season 3 is the "it'll be different, we'll stay together." if that's not another profession of pure devotion and love from Daryl to Carol once again, i don't know what is.

anyways, so much stuff to unpack... since i didn't even mention Carol dealing with her trauma (Sophia! hallucination!) and Daryl dealing with his guilt (holy!Nun!Isa/Granddaddy hallucination!). in a way they were both absolved of their "sins," like a weight has been lifted from both of them... that can only mean good things!

for some reason, the show kinda dropped the "to find home is to find each other" tagline, however, it's still the most appropriate for this season.

neither of them gets to go home, but they both get what they need to fight another day - each other! poetic cinema!!

[canmom]

finished Carmilla. what a wonderfully silly novel that was. I need to download an ebook to count how many times Le Fanu uses the word 'languid'.

that said, reading with modern eyes, I think it's a bit of a victim of many subsequent novels elaborating on vampires, and some of the conventions of Victorian literature - in particular, the rule that the narrator has to survive in order to recount the tale, and the evil must be overthrown and tied up neatly. worse, Laura ends up an entirely passive character, with the final resolution seeing Carmilla killed by a couple of side characters, one of whom hasn't even been mentioned up to that point.

the novel is at its best when Carmilla and Laura are interacting. I would have liked to see Laura return Carmilla's affections a bit more, rather than just being like 'well that was weird' every time Carmilla lezzes it up or says something hilariously morbid. but there is definitely humour in her being very literally the straight girl.

I've seen subsequent adaptations of Carmilla, notably my friend Maki @mxmy's Dr Carmilla character, who's - at least in what is released so far - a space vampire with a habit of picking up waifs and strays and turning them into immortal pirates, something which tends to end badly for everyone. the other is (if anyone still remembers) the 2014 Carmilla web series on youtube, which is set in a college dormitory in the States, and presents Carmilla in a more positive light. in the end, I was a little surprised to find both these works take little other than the premise of 'lesbian vampire called Carmilla' and her relationship with a girl called Laura or Lorelei. the web series pulls in a few other names from the novel but completely reframes the situation, adding a new male vampire who is exploiting Carmilla to act as a villain (it was 2010s pop-feminism, you know how it goes). Dr Carmilla currently only vaguely hints at the relationship between Carmilla and Lorelei in the released songs, but involves a new apocalyptic scenario (I think that's about all I can say) - but it does at least keep Carmilla as an itinerant traveller, and keeps the tragic air of the story.

it is not entirely made clear in the novel if the waking Carmilla is aware of her vampiric excursions. it's easy to suppose while reading it that she's just a good liar who's taking them all for a ride, and I think that's still the best supported interpretation, but I think there's equally a reading where she's unaware of the whole vampire thing, and genuinely likes this daft straight girl Laura and before her, the general's daughter. if she is aware, she's really bad at covering her tracks, particularly with her disappearing act. the whole anagram schtick is explicitly named as a rule she has to operate under, but there's plenty she does to tip off her victims and their families. perhaps the point is that she's just charismatic enough to get away with it.

the character of carmilla's mother is a thread that never quite seems to get resolved. the natural assumption is that she's another vampire, dropping her daughter off in a new feeding ground - but since the ending acts like Carmilla was the only surviving vampire, I wonder if perhaps she should be taken as an illusion conjured by Carmilla, perhaps the reason she has to be sent away on a mysterious carriage ride as soon as possible in each instance?

the vampire is traditionally taken to be in part a symbol of the feudal past of cruel aristos persisting and corrupting the rational present, something that makes plenty of sense for Dracula, but in Carmilla's case, nearly every character is a castle-dwelling aristocrat of some sort, and the peasants and servants are treated as mostly beneath notice by the narrative and characters (one scene that stands out has Carmilla, feeling insulted by a trinket seller, idly talk about how in her day she'd have called for his bloody execution - a comment that seems to bother Laura very little). the main characters are even related to Carmilla's family. perhaps just a case of early iterations of an idea, not yet fully formed.

one thing I do like about Carmilla is the amount of physical affection - Carmilla is constantly touching and kissing Laura, and while Le Fanu probably didn't mean this the way we would today, it provides for strong images of sickly Carmilla draping herself all over her new object of affections, like she's acquired a new favourite doll. I can see why this is widely understood as a lesbian novel even though it's very Victorian; it's kinda dark yuri, like Carmilla is coming into the lives of these lonely girls and kind of lovebombing them with expressions of affection and devotion, and whomst among us... it would take many more decades of horny writers to really get into the eroticism of vampiric blood drinking itself though, which here largely takes place in a deniable way, while Laura is sleeping.

despite the reputation for Victorian novels to be long and rambling, this was a rather brisk book. I honestly wish it was a bit longer - a very obvious addition would be a chance for Laura to talk to Carmilla once she's finally figured out the vampire thing, instead of rushing to the ending. it seemed Le Fanu was more interested in explaining vampires (fucked up amirite), which makes sense for the time, but nowadays we all know what the deal is with vampires and instead the core relationship is the interesting part. ah well! it's worth the time to read.

[yinyuedijun]

KITCHEN | excerpt

1.7k word snippet of a sakura/fem!reader/suo fic, which is a prequel to sincerity! I'm only posting this excerpt because it's context for the deranged suo fic I'm about to post on sunday. if u choose to read I hope u enjoy <3

tags for this scene: hurt/comfort, non-explicit references to physical abuse experienced by reader and child neglect experienced by sakura. set post-canon – everyone is 18-19 years old. thank you to @/cafekitsune for the divider!

Sakura had always found your relationship with Suo strange. It's unsettling for him to witness, and sometimes he feels like he'd rather not see it at all.

It isn't as if Sakura dislikes either of you (even though Suo routinely lies to him for no reason), and it isn't as if he finds you individually uncomfortable to be around. It's just that whenever you're together—and you're almost always together on their days off—Sakura finds the two of you embarrassing.

You're just so damn touchy around each other.

Sakura swears that every other couple he's seen is less openly intimate than the two of you, though theoretically you're only friends. Theoretically. In reality, anyone with eyes would doubt that. Every time Sakura glances at the two of you, you're holding onto Suo by the arm as you lean in to tell him to some private joke, or you're swatting Suo’s hand away from your face as he teases you relentlessly, or Suo’s got a hand on your lower back as he guides you around the latest poor fucker who was stupid enough to harass you—usually knocked out cold, on the ground, courtesy of said martial artist.

All this touching is already bad enough, but coupled with Suo’s habit of flirting with you for fun—an activity that he seems to treat as a bloodsport—Sakura’s about ready to run every time he has to suffer being in the same room with the two of you.

(He once did try to sneak out the backdoor of Pothos after seeing Suo wipe a crumb away from the corner of your mouth, his thumb gliding fully, sensually, and unnecessarily along your bottom lip. Tragically, Sakura was spotted by Tsugeura, who dragged him back to the table and proceeded to broadcast his embarrassment to the entire cafe. Ah—so it's one of Sakura's virtues to be private about displays of affection! he’d proclaimed.

Suo then turned to you and said, with a smile so sly that it made Sakura want to crawl underneath the table, I guess I'm not a very virtuous man around you, to which you breezily shot back, Are you virtuous around anyone? But from your expression, Sakura could tell you wanted to hide under the table too.)

He can’t wrap his mind around it, actually—how often the two of you touch each other. The affection that each movement holds. He can't imagine someone putting their hands on him the way that you put your hands on Suo. For Sakura, being touched usually entails getting punched in the jaw or kicked in the face, or having his back slapped in laughter by Umemiya, or carrying Granny on his back when she doesn't feel like walking. But all of that feels different from the ways in which you touch Suo, and the ways in which Suo touches you. Or at least Sakura guesses it feels different—he wouldn't actually know himself.

But he can think of one memory where he knows for sure it was.

It happened several months back, maybe even a year ago now. It was, for sure, before you turned eighteen. It was a quiet night, and he and Nirei were on patrol, and it was so fucking humid that if it weren't for his duties, he'd have left his uniform at home. But the symbol of the Furin jacket was too important to give up, so he suffered with it on.

The two of them ran into you while they were passing through his neighbourhood—what a funny coincidence! you said. Nirei greeted you with a smile, but stopped abruptly when he noticed you were limping. Sakura paused as well. You’re generally not clumsy to injure yourself so severely, and Suo instinctively protects you from all other threats of physical harm. It's hardwired into him in the way that it is for a human being to breathe air. But there you were, with a noticeable limp and nasty discolouration on your cheek.

“Whoa,” Sakura blurted out, “what happened to your face?”

Nirei winced. “Sakura,” he scolded, “try to be a little more tactful, won't you?” And this would normally be the kind of interaction between them that would make you laugh, but you only looked down at your ankle. Sakura wondered if it was broken or sprained. He couldn't easily tell because it was covered, and he noticed then that for some reason, you were wearing jeans—a crazy decision, given the heat.

“No, it's fine,” you eventually replied. “I was sparring with Suo, and I lost pretty badly.” You smiled at them, and it was surprisingly convincing. “I'm super out of practice, you know. Our master would be so disappointed in me.”

Sakura turned to Suo, mouth agape. He couldn't imagine a world in which Suo lacked enough control in a fight to seriously hurt his opponent without intending it—and he’d never intend to hurt you. “For real?”

Suo looked at him for a moment, neither smiling nor nodding, then looked away.

“Sakura,” he said, “do you have a compress and bandages at home? The convenience store is closed, and so’s the pharmacy. I've got some at home, but it's pretty far, and she's in a lot of pain.”

Sakura's place was at the time barren and lacking in most of the essentials for human life, but he did have an endless supply of ice, compresses, and bandages. So the four of you went up to his apartment—Nirei and Suo supporting you as you hobbled up the stairs—where they then dealt with your injuries. Nirei searched furiously for potential diagnoses for your ankle (probably a sprain) and looked up the symptoms of a concussion (you likely didn't have one), while Sakura pushed a bottle of water and numerous painkillers into your hands. He squinted at your injuries, trying to imagine which movements Suo must have used to hurt you like that.

Suo, himself, gave attention to nothing but you. He didn't respond to Nirei who kept on fretting that you should go to a hospital, nor to Sakura who said multiple times that you should change into shorts—because if you sprained your ankle, then you should probably check the rest of your leg for injuries too. He didn't even react when Sakura said your story sounded like bullshit, or when Nirei quietly asked if this was something that Bofurin could help with.

It was like the two of them weren't even there. Like the entire world was irrelevant to Suo other than you.

Sakura studied him closely, trying to suss out hints for whatever happened. He watched as Suo held an ice pack to the bruise on your face, as his fingers ghosted over your other cheek. You didn't swat his hand away, for once. Then he asked you quietly where else you were hurt, and you whispered something into his ear, as if you were telling him one of your inside jokes. But Suo grimaced instead of laughing, and Sakura thought to himself that he'd never seen Suo look so bleak before. Nor so angry.

And when Suo knelt down to wrap a compress around your ankle, telling you that things would be okay as you wiped tears from your eyes, the thought struck Sakura that Suo never acted like this when he patched up his injuries. Nor Nirei’s. Nor Kiryu’s, or Sugishita's, or Tsugeura’s.

Suo handled you in a way that he had never handled anyone else, and also in a way that Sakura would probably not have known how to do for you. Sakura had only sprained his ankle once in his life, back when he was a kid and lost constantly in fights. No one asked him where it hurt, and no one applied a compress to his injury, and he didn't cry at the time because he knew that no one would hold his face and tell him it was okay. So until that moment, Sakura had had no fucking clue you were supposed to do any of those things for an injured person. Even with the guys in Bofurin, all he ever did was throw them a compress and an ice pack before grousing at them: If you're gonna pick a fight you can't win, at least call us first.

Not exactly words to offer to someone who was crying like you were.

So Sakura did nothing, knowing that he couldn't help. You were so fragile, and Sakura was shit at handling fragile things. But Suo was good at it, so Sakura let him take care of you, and Nirei did too, relenting in his questions. He only offered to call a cab—not to take you to the hospital, but over to Suo’s.

Suo gratefully accepted.

Nirei hung back afterwards, and the two of them talked about useless crap for a little bit before Nirei finally bit the bullet.

“Did they say where they had come from, before Suo brought her here?” he asked.

“No,” Sakura replied. “Why?”

Sakura wasn't stupid. He knew very well the kind of injuries that Suo left in a sparring match, and he knew even better all the signs of an actual beating. He knew there weren't many things that Bofurin couldn't help with, in a town like Makochi. Still, he asked, and he let Nirei answer—because he didn’t want to be the one to voice it, and because he wanted to be wrong. But if Nirei said it, then it must be true, and they would have no choice but to face it.

“I'm just trying to figure out,” he said quietly, “if it was her boyfriend or her parents who’ve been hitting her.”

“Her parents,” Sakura stated, because he also knew very well the signs of a shit home life.

He’s never heard from you or Suo exactly what happened, but he's pretty sure he guessed right. You never went home after that. You started living with Suo and his master, which you constantly reminded Suo would be a temporary arrangement, and which Suo constantly reminded you could easily be made permanent. You ignored him and dropped out of school anyway. Found a job in the red light district. Started eyeing the empty apartment next to Sakura’s, asked him numerous times about rent and utilities. Sakura didn't like answering you—said over and over that it would be better for you to stay with Suo—but he told you everything anyway. He understood why you had to find your own place. He understood it because he had to do it too.

After you turned eighteen, you started making money as a hostess and moved in next door.

I hope this wasn't too weird to read out of context rip. anyway. yakuza au sequel coming up on sunday hopefully LOL

[antimony-medusa]

Okay so, the thing about Boundaries, and why people keep bringing them up over and over again to creators, is I think there's a bit of a desire for what people are doing here to not be weird. Cause like, the creator signed off on it, so like, I'm fine and you can't make fun of me or get mad at me.

And like, I understand the desire to not be made fun of or have people get mad at you, believe me, I know, but I think we have all just gotta accept that what we're doing is— it's a little weird, bro.

Like by definition what fandom is is getting a little too much into your thing. Fan comes from Fanatic. We all saw some block men and we went way too hard with it. And I think that sufficiently viewed from the outside, there is just no way to do any kind of transformational creation and it not be weird to the wrong people.

Like, taking a character and making them miserable? One of the honourable fandom traditions, whether you're whumping them or if you go hard into comfort at the end. For someone entirely outside of fandom, that's just like why are you DOING that, bro, and when you add in the fact that we're using people's real names (well, gamer tags), there's no way for that not to be odd. "The creator said it was okay" is not going to make people go ??? any less. (Let me emphasize that this is fine, it's just like, also, you bring that up on the bus and peope go ????)

Let's look at fluff. You want to write about your characters in a coffee shop au? You want to write about your characters in a cuddly family dynamic, taking care of each other? You want to age down characters and write kid fic where they learn to face the challenges of the world and it's just so cute and you love them so much even if nothing really bad happens? I promise you that my non-fandom parents are gonna be like "why are you spending your time on that" and again, if you throw in the "is this real people" (it isn't, but that is a delicate thing to explain), you're looking at people staring at you in discomprehension and backing away.

Shippy stuff. Again, one of the honourable fandom traditions. You just love your guys and you want to write about how much they love each other (or maybe make it tragic about how only one person can make it out of the cactus ring). You spent all this time thinking about their feelings writing it out. You write out a kiss scene. It makes you flail happily. Most people don't do that! Absolutely fun to do? Yes! Something you can bring up as an ice breaker at the company potluck? Probably not! We are too much into the characters, and that's fine, but it's still gonna look a bit odd from the outside!

Plotty gen. You're writing an entire new story, but you're taking existing characters for it? Like it's original fiction, but you're using existing characters? Why not just write original fiction <I have had this conversation. Oh, you're writing a story about minecraft characters, and they— they get tortured? Like it starts with them being tortured? <also a fun conversation to be in.

I'm mostly thinking about this from the fanfiction side, but art, meta— we are just getting into things way too much. We're spending hours on this stuff. We drew the creators minecraft sonas in maid dresses. There are millions of words of fiction on the archive about every conceivable universe of good/bad things happeing to the characters. It is a primary hobby, where I could be learning piano or paying attention to sports. And I'm not, and like, that's fine.

I am here to tell you that people absolutely might find what we're doing weird, and also it's entirely fine. I just ran a poll about the sexiest minecraft character that got 68k votes on the most voted poll. And then I had to explain that to my doctor to explain why I didn't really have a normal baseline for the past week to compare to. (Doctor visibly thought it was weird but he was also like "you go" because he's a good doctor, but I had to start with explaining minecraft because he knew NOTHING about what I was talking about.) You just gotta accept that fandom is for a small segment of the population, we are all having fun with ourselves, and it's for us, it's not for the general population, and stop trying to make it palatable to people who don't care to understand. People on this site keep saying "racist white boys" and then they don't have the intellectual curiosity to pursue further as to why maybe that's not true, having a boundaries post is not going to make them nicer. It's fine. They're being jerks, we're just having fun.

And like, stop trying to get the creator to sign off on it. Accept that sometimes we're being weird and they can look at it if they want to see the weird fanatics going too hard with the characters. They will tell us if we're doing something they want to stop associating with their name, and up until that point, just accept that what we're doing is weird, and have fun with it.

We're weird.

Be more weird 2k23.

Have fun with it.

I wrote a time travel AU in DMs with a friend last night about a bird man and a minecraft piglin. Not normal. It's FINE.

[malewifeharem]

celebrity!danheng IL

彡- ,, a collection of my brainrots about dating danheng as diff types of celebs!

cw ⁞ none unless ur allergic to hot rich dragon fluff. not proofread.

an ⁞ i put my whole badussy into this from 3 am till 8. i wasnt gonna write so much for my first post but ehe.

imagine dancer!danheng who lets you join him during dance practice. you sit quietly by the side while you keep your eyes on his sweaty, concentrated form. the song he chose blasts in the background and his sneakers squeak with each of his movements. he's dynamic, powerful, sexy and everything you could ever dream of.

sometimes he worries that you'll get bored (as if) so he glances at you occasionally to check on you. the way you flare up in embarrassment at his sharp gaze is just a bonus. you really question how you managed to woo a water dragon twice your age (dilf?) but you try not to think about it too much.

he mutters a breathy "thank you, treasure," as you hand him his bottle. he doesn't realize you smiling like an idiot as you watch him replenish himself, your eyes once again locking in on your boyfriend's ethereal features. his slick-backed hair falls across his face as he tips his head back, revealing his crystalline eyes — divine, tranquil and pure, just like a river — much like his love for you.

imagine author!danheng who dedicates all of his time writing about his one and only muse — you. in fact, he's been writing about you for lifetimes now — in every new lifetime you two share together, he vows to devote his time to only you. when he's writing, he reminisces about your past dates together and pieces his heart and memories together and masterfully fits it into a vessel. once he's done, he proudly sends it to the publisher and patiently awaits the day he can show the finished book to you.

"how do you like it?"

he asks as he curls into you closer while cuddling (aw im gonna eat him i swear), eager to hear your opinion. Although he knows you adore whatever he writes, he still wants to see the way your eyes crinkle as you shyly giggle at the parts you recognize from your own dates. he wants — no, needs — to engrave the sight and sound of you in his mind so he can write it in his next script.

god forbid if anything happens to you. after inviting you into his life, he finds himself unable to write any angsty or tragic stories — he wonders why.

imagine actor!danheng who invites you as an exclusive guest to the film set. he's currently filming for a romance drama which involves him and another actress acting out a couple of lovey-dovey scenes — nothing more than that. that's what you tell yourself as you cringe, your brain conjuring up an image of another woman kissing him outside of set. you push your seething jealousy aside till you're both back in the dressing room. he doesn't miss the way you refuse to look him in the eye as he casually discusses dinner plans with you.

"what's wrong, darling? if this is about my acting during filming, i'll reassure you once more: whatever happens on set, stays on set."

he gently tips your chin up so you're both looking eye-to-eye. he relishes in seeing you all pouty for him, he can't help but chuckle when he observes the slight glossy look of your eyes — they hold a possessive, feisty glint in them that pulls on his heartstrings in the perfect way. he sighs sweetly before pulling you in for a warm hug, his tail coiling itself around your figure — caressing your back and relieving whatever doubts and worries you held before.

"let's create our own scenes tonight, my love."