#for any lesser man this would be proof that they are soulmates.

[sciderman]

Wait i just...injust realised something.

Peter and Logan are both self-proclaimed loners, they have both serious anger issues and are kinda assholes who tend to lash out at people, one of their coping mechanisms (if i noticed it right with Peter) is to just leave a situation in anger and self-isolate themselves, they both seem to fall in love with most people around them (poly kings), and alot of people (including multiple villians) have a "God you piss me off so much! I wanna fuck you so bad! I HATE how atractive you are to me!" thing going on. They both lost their fashion style for the most part during the early 200s (70s and 80s were a fashion peak for them), transmascs seem to see them as transition goals, they both had their original love interest they intended on marrying and when that didn't work out (Gwen and Mariko), they had a period of being with a wild thrill-seeking lady in black bodysuits (Black Cat and Yukio), and they're both more skilled, smart and powerful than alot of people seem to think, they're also kinda hypocrites in the sense that they preach what others should be while not exactly being that themselves. They also have a Samurai and Ninja dynamic going on a bit. Like...no wonder i love both and no wonder Logan did that whole native american "blood brother" ritual with Pete, they're so similar in alot of things.

this is called batman syndrome and it effects one in every 5 superheroes. there is currently no cure. one like one prayer

[queerhannibal]

Feel free to ignore this if you don’t share the same opinions or don’t wanna start this discussion but this has been on my mind a lot lately – i would die for hannigram but i really hate the way fandom treats jack, esp compared to Hannibal. Ppl write him as being horrendous in fics bc of “what he did to will” while in the show he actually gave will an out, will just didn’t take it bc he wanted to keep saving lives, even if it cost him his own. He had actual agency in the situation, (1)

while he wasn’t even *aware* of the shit Hannibal was putting him through. Jack was desperate, his wife was dying, he was a pushy boss and he wasn’t aware of how badly will was affected bc *will didn’t tell him*. He put *himself* at risk of getting worse (i love will but he was *losing time* and yet didn’t tell anyone besides Hannibal? That’s… irresponsible to say the least i’d be afraid to go out of my house lmao). But he got his revenge on Hannibal and they’re soulmates so he’s fine (2)

while jack deserves to die in fics i guess?? It’s the same with Beverly. Ive seen multiple times people call her a bitch for how she treated will while he was in prison and it’s like… she’d seen definitive proof that her friend and colleague had eaten someone. Would you not be suspicious/confused/guarded in this situation? She got herself killed for him and that’s still not enough for some people. (3)

Idk man, i come from fandoms with a lot of racist attitudes among the fans, for a while the Hannibal one seemed different but it seems everywhere people just refuse to treat characters of colour with the same respect they do white ones. It’s not everyone of course but it’s still noticeable and no one seems to care. (4/4) (sorry for the rant, again, feel free to ignore)

Man I mean I admit that I myself am not a big fan of Jack Crawford but you’re absolutely right that this is a huge problem in the fandom

I’m hesitant to say it’s all rooted in racism (especially with regard to Jack) bc the show definitely paints Jack as a far less sympathetic character than it does Hannibal. But certainly a lot of it is reinforced by the racist attitudes to which we’ve all been exposed

Jack isn’t a terrible person, and he’s certainly not half as terrible a person as Hannibal is; maybe he’s not a Great Guy and certainly he doesn’t show as much care and consideration for Will as I would like him to, but as you say there was an awful lot that Jack didn’t know about how Will was doing and it’s difficult to demand someone accommodate a person for things that person is intentionally concealing.

Also, not being a great boss and arguably manipulating someone into helping you save lives is an inherently lesser evil than any of the things Hannibal has done

It is however a more mundane evil, and I think that’s why a lot of people latch onto it; it’s really hard to care about Hannibal’s brand of evil in a personal way, bc it’s a type of evil that very few of us have experienced. He’s awful in a way our everyday monsters are not. Jack, on the other hand, is the kind of shitty boss I think a lot of us have had and hated, which means we react in a more instinctive way to his kind of awfulness

The Beverly stuff though... that I really can’t explain away. She was as good a friend to Will as anyone could possibly have expected her to be. Of course she was wary of him when she found out about all the evidence that he’d killed people: there was a TON of evidence, and she even references that when talking about it. It was too much evidence, too subtly planted, for her to think “he probably didn’t do this”

And she knew he’d been acting off, and it was discovered at the same time as his arrest that he had a brain disease—even if she believed that Will (who she really hadn’t known that long or had much chance to get close to!!) wouldn’t normally do something like this, there was reason to believe he’d been out of his mind in a way that might make him act out of character, and, again, tons of evidence that he was the killer

Beverly is a scientist, of course she’s going to listen to provable facts over her feelings in a situation like that one

And she did end up believing Will!! When he pressed her to go back and look into other things, she gave him that benefit of the doubt and did so fairly and found that he was right!!! What more do people want from her, honestly. She literally died for him

I’m white so like I don’t have authority here but it’s bad lol

[roccinan]

Thoughts on Andrés being dominant over Martín? In fics I often see them portrayed like this (dom Andrés, submissive Martín), but I just don't see this dynamic between them, and even less so after s5.. both are dominant people normally, but not with each other. their relationship to me is very equal-equal. (And the kiss scene when Martín is pushed to the wall doesn't seem a proof to me, that Martín is the submissive one.)

Hi anon! I already gave my opinion on this topic here (and someone unfollowed me right after LOL, no hard feelings but OK?). My thoughts still stand, especially after s5 with the riding lol.

Again, my opinion is just mine and nobody's obligated to share it or take my word as law, even if they agree. We'd be a boring audience if we all saw everything the exact same way, no?

I'm sure you're a whole different person from this other anon, but there's been this 1 anon going around intentionally asking people the exact same question (while knowing full well that the OPs in question don't share the same opinion) about *squints, because I can't believe I'm seeing this backwards discourse in our fandom* top/bottom discourse?? I absolutely do not approve of this anon's form of stirring petty drama over the most laughable petty shit (I swear I saw the same ask sent to 3 different people or something). So just to clear the air, I am not getting involved in that LMAO.

Anyway, same anon- I tried, I literally honestly tried my best to get into the dominant Andres submissive Martin thing (and I'm not talking about bedroom roleplay, just their day-to-day behavior). I tried to enjoy it. I tried to see it in canon, legit tilted my head to find it... and just utterly failed. They just seemed like equals in every interaction to me, unless I did some intense mental gymnastics. Neither of them ever canonly looked down on the other one or saw the other one as weak. They were both at their happiest when they see each other happy. I don't think they'd be "soulmates" otherwise. Why would a narcissist/egomaniac want to be bffs with someone he perceives as inherently inferior? That'd mean degrading himself to compare himself to a lesser man.

[[But I will admit I'm biased with this because 1) I don't relate or sympathize with either Martin or Andres 2) overly submissive Martin is disgustingly unattractive to me- I cannot fathom even being friends with this guy for 2 hours, let alone 10 years]]

And outside their interactions with each other, both of them are very domineering towards (maybe with the exception of Sergio) literally everyone else in their lives. Dom/Dom and Top/Top is really the dynamic that I saw in them (which is why I usually write them as verses). They see themselves as superior to everyone except each other and the only person they're willing to submit to is the other one because that's the only person they perceive as "worthy."

Besides, dom/sub is NOT the same as top/bottom anyway. Ex. character A can submit to B in all aspects of life, and still top the shit out of B in bed.

Lastly, LOL same, I don't see the wall-push as evidence of anything either. It was just a kiss, they weren't having sex (and even if they were... soft doms/tops exist???). Plus, that wasn't one of their regular interactions, and Andres being aggressive here doesn't mean Martin was passive (he wasn't). And again, Martin "letting" Andres leave doesn't make him a sub (case in point! See the ask scenario I answered below this one. any other option is dubcon or noncon, neither of which Martin would do to Andres).

Also, if we're using that as proof, I don't think Martin being shoved against a wall is even comparable to Bogota grabbing Andres and bending him over a rail. I don't take that as absolute 100% proof that Andres is a whiny whimpering sub at Bogota's feet, for the same reason I don't take the wall as proof that Martin is a powerless sub.

[yeehawbisexualold]

I’ve Lived A Long Bloody Time

Captain Duckling Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with a soul mark that only has one match. The day you reach 20, you stop aging until you find your match. (1/?)

For my lovely valentine @princess-emma-of-misthaven. Sorry, it’s a little late. I loved talking to you these past weeks and I hope to chat more.

Killian Jones has been plagued his whole life, a lot of bloody years, by the swan beneath his collar bone.

It's a simple soul mark but a rare one.

Simple in it's design, it consists of two lines—a thick curving line in the shape a hook, swooping down and out, thinning into a gentle curve like that of a closed eyelid and another, slightly rippled line starting about two-thirds of the way down from the first, rising, falling and then rising again, flicking up like wave smashing against rocks.

It's rare in two ways. Soul marks tended to be made up of dark colors: black, dark grays, and varying shades of browns and reds. His was white like an old, faded scar. Most soul marks don't resemble much of anything. People usually have thick misshapen blobs or odd squiggly lines. Occasionally one finds themself with the markings of a constellation or something resembling the outline of an object. He once met an extremely horrid woman with the distinctive design in the middle of her shoulder blades—an ugly, jagged heart, ripped in half. Her daughter had the curves of a snake on the inside of her wrist. Lovely family that.

His brother had a wave on the back of his calf.

Killian was done with the soulmate business after the death of his brother. He wanted to find his soulmate and get his bloody miserable life over with as soon as possible. Were he a lesser man, he may have taken his life himself. But he knew Liam wouldn't approve, that his brother would want him to continue on and live to the fullest.

When he met Milah, he thought maybe she could be the one—maybe his life wasn't destined to be an endless void. But her mark was an odd, brown crescent shape on the inside of her wrist.

He didn't care much that their marks weren't a match. They loved each other and together, life was no longer miserable. She brightened the darkened corners of his heart and mind, brought color into his life he hadn't seen since the loss of his brother. He could happily live on forever with her at his side.

He couldn't imagine anyone else out there being the one. He couldn't imagine anyone being a more perfect fit for him than his brave, brazen, raven-haired beauty, a woman who fit so perfectly on his ship, amongst his crew, and between his body and the wall of his cabin.

Frankly, he didn't want to find said person.

Milah claimed that the spineless man she was married to wasn't a match. He didn't care much about that either. He trusted her. And even if she lied, at least he would be able to have her for the rest of her years.

What few years he actually got.

After her death, his life continued on an endless span of rum, anger, and misery.

The crocodile continued to live with his dagger.

He continued to live with his unmatched soul mark. Most days the only thing keeping him going was the anticipation of the revenge of his love lost.

—

Emma Swan has never had much interest in her soul mark. For most of her life, it had been nothing more than a nuisance—something she’s had to take great care to keep covered (too many high-necked dresses, cloaks, scarves and carefully placed jewelry) lest someone spot it and falsify their own in an attempt to wed the crown princess.

Her parents are living, annoying proof of how well soulmates work out—imagine her father’s surprise when the woman he had caught in his net bore a mark matching his own on the back of her hand and, likewise, her mother’s when the man she’d smacked in the face with a rock turned out to be the one.

One would think having such perfectly matched parents would cause her to be hopeful in finding her own soul mate. One would be wrong.

Really, only the thought of outliving her parents an unreasonable amount of time kept her from writing off the stupid mark altogether.

She’s been twenty for five years now.

It’s not an absurd amount of time—she knows it took her Aunt Ruby just over 11 years to meet her match Belle—but she’s heard tales of people waiting nearly a hundred years. And with every sign her parents show of aging, her heart clenches.  

—

The only true alone time Emma gets is when she takes Buttercup, a beautiful champagne colored horse with golden hair, out riding. It’s a casual affair and that’s what she most enjoys about it, the simplicity.

On days when she’s feeling lost or unsettled or just in need of some familiarity, she takes her usual beaten path: a straight shot from the stable, a curve around the abandoned nymph tree, a stop near the weathered cliffs overlooking the sea, and back to the stables. Other days, when she’s feeling bored or particularly restless she explores. Some days she does a mixture of both.

Upon one of her many adventures, she discovered a now beloved spot. It’s a narrow but deep ravine, rocky walls reaching higher than her head in some areas, located beyond the tree and just past the tiger lily meadow. The first time she followed it she found that it leads out to a different section of cliffs, creating a waterfall and dropping off into a small pool, which then juts out and drops into the sea.

Usually, she stops, removes her shoes, and dips her feet in the pool, lifts up her skirts and wades out until the water is flowing around her calves, spins around with the feeling of pebbles and sand slipping between her toes.

On trips when the air is especially sultry, she strips down to her small clothes and swims around (a secret just between her and her trusted steed, not even her parents are aware of.) She’ll rest amongst the plush flowers, letting the warm sun evaporate the droplets of water off her skin and dry her smalls.

Today the weather is slightly brisk, the sun clouded over and the wind bordering on unpleasant. Usually, when faced with this weather, Emma would forgo riding.

But she just finished arguing with her mother over a trip to Arendelle. She simply wants to visit her friend Elsa for a fortnight and return before the annual soulmate ball but Snow insists that she stay an extra week to see if there are any gentleman that carry the potential of being her true love. “We just want you to be happy, my dear,” her father chimed in.

She knows that the queen can be a conniving little thing and if she leaves before the disagreement is settled, her mother will do something like instruct the ship’s crew not to leave until the ball has passed.

Emma would normally wait her mother out, leave at a later time, but the year is drawing to an end and if she doesn’t leave soon she’ll run the risk of facing unbearable weather and unrelenting storms.

So, with her and her mother no closer to an accordance, Emma dawns her favorite cloak, made of a thick pure white material and lined with swan feathers on the inside (her parents’ idea of an inside joke) and heads out.

With the air being as bitter as it is, the wind trying its damnedest to pierce through her cloak, she doesn’t even entertain the idea of removing her shoes, let alone entering the water. She simply dismounts from her horse and walks out to the edge of the first set of cliffs.

Scanning the sea, she sees a ship docked a little ways down, near a small shore, far from anywhere a ship should be docked—the nearest port at least half a mile from her location. The colors of the ship are decidedly not from any nearby kingdom and she doesn’t see any men aboard which, in Emma’s mind, is more concerning than if it was full of crewmen.

Just as she’s decided to head back to the castle and inform her parents, something startles Buttercup and before Emma can say “settle” she being flung over the cliff.

—

The last thing Killian Jones expected, when departing from his crew and wandering up the side of the hill near the small shore he anchored the Jolly at, was to find a woman. And even less expected was to see her go tumbling off a cliff.

After a brief moment of shock, he runs over to see if the lass is alright. He heard no screams and, alarmingly, no sound of pain upon impact. He looks down and sees the girl sprawled out on her back, eyes shut and one arm twisted in a distressing fashion behind her back. The sight of her, unmoving, causes a swooping sensation near his navel.

He estimates the fall to be about ten feet and is about to jump down when he sees a declining section of land perfect to walk down. When he reaches the girl, he puts his fingers to her neck and, thankfully (he’s a pirate but he’s got a moral code and would not feel pleasant at causing the accidental death of an innocent stranger), discovers a pulse.

He sits back on his haunches and properly takes her in and bloody hell she’s a wondrous sight—long, golden hair, cutting cheekbones, and soft pink lips. And he’d be a damned horrible pirate if he didn’t behold her beauty and lavish clothing and conclude that she was the crown princess.

What a mess he’s gotten himself into.

He gathers the lass in his arms and trudges back up the slight hill and attempts to coax the horse into letting them mount. It’s a smart beast and seems conflicted due to the obvious state of trouble its master is in but after some cajoling, it allows Killian to heft the girl onto her and mount up behind her.

He gathers the princess tightly with his right arm and wraps the reins around his hook and heads off into the direction he believes the castle to be in.

Nearing the edge of the forest he pauses to pull the hood of the cloak over the girl’s face, knowing it won’t do much to hide her identity but hoping for a miracle nonetheless.

A miracle he gets. The castle grounds, assumingly due to the weather, lack people. He’s tempted to get as close as possible, lay the princess down, let the horse loose and run off. He knows arriving to the castle with the prone body of Misthaven’s crown princess in his arm will not bode well for him. But the idea of leaving her unattended doesn’t sit right.

He shouts “I mean no harm!” at the first person he sees, a disgruntled looking dwarf.

He narrowly avoids getting his head flung off and does a serious amount of explaining and appealing. “If I wanted the princess dead I wouldn’t have brought her back to the castle and if I wanted her for ransom I wouldn’t have ridden up, alone and unarmed. I’m a might bit smarter than that.” And bites his tongue to stop himself from insulting the angry little thing.

Eventually, the dwarf allows him to help bring the golden haired beauty into the castle, where he hands her off to curly haired, fur cloaked guard.

He isn’t allowed to leave right away, though. He’s taken to a room and sat down, surrounded by six guards.

He waits for what feels like hours before the king comes walking through the doors.

“So, you found my daughter and brought her back, huh?” the man challenges, his voice gruff.

“Do I get a medal for this?” he smarts. With the situation he’s in, he should really watch his mouth, a point which hits home when the king moves his hand to rest on his sword, but he truly can’t help himself.

“Where were you and what were you doing?”

“Well, my crew and I docked near a small section of land. They disembarked and headed into town but I needed some alone time on dry land. The sea is a wonderful lover but even with the best of mistresses, sometimes a man needs a little time alone. I was wondering through the trees and came up a hill just in time to witness that horse, startled by something or another, send your daughter toppling off a cliff. As for the exact whereabouts of our location, I’m assuming if the princess didn’t inform you herself, it’s probably a place she wants to be kept hidden and who am I to go about spilling the lass’s secrets?”

His hand grips the hilt of his sword a little tighter. “Emma doesn’t tell us where she goes when she takes off with Buttercup. It’s not very conducive to keeping her safe but it’s one of the few things she feels she has any actual control over so we let her be.” A look Killian can’t quite place passes over the man’s face, something a mixture of love and melancholy.

Killian feels a small pang in his chest for the princess—Emma. How isolated she must feel stuck in this looming palace for most hours of the day—a woman with the world at her feet and her land’s people in her hands, to one day lead them all, but having little control over the aspects of her day to day life.

“Look,” the king continues, his expression firming, “the queen and I are grateful that you found her and returned her to us. It couldn’t have been easy and in doing so you risked your head. We have no laws here against pirates making port in our land. As long as you don’t cause any trouble, you’re free to do as you like. But do make sure to dock your ship in a proper port and if you’re ever involved in my daughter being caused harm again, I will have your head. Are we clear?”

He steps back and allows Killian room to stand.

“Yes, your majesty,” he says, smirking but taking a slight bow. The king offers out his hand and as Killian grasps it, the king’s eyes wander down his chest and a look of horror crosses his face.

Abruptly, the man drops his hand and takes off through the doors he’d just came through.

“What caused him to startle like that?” the agitated dwarf from before ponders, looking him up and down. His eyes seem to land on the same spot as the kings but instead of a look of fright, the dwarf bursts into laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

—

“You’re quite certain, David?” Emma hears her mother demand as she awakens.

“Yes!” her father nearly shouts. “He stood up and his shirt fell open, revealing an absurd amount of chest hair and a white swan, clear as day beneath his collar bone.

“Fuck,” her mother exhales and Emma feels it on a molecular level.

“Who—” she starts, her voice cracking. “Who is it?”

In sync, her parents whip their heads to face her. Neither of them looking very much like they want to tell her.

“A pirate, dear,” her mother informs her. “His name is Killian Jones. He’s the man who brought you back to the castle after you’d fallen.”

“From the ship I saw?” she wonders aloud.

Her father simply nods.

“Well, there’s no use in waiting around. Might as well get it over with,” she sighs. She struggles to get out of bed, her head pounding and one arm throbbing, secured tightly to her chest.

“You hit your head pretty hard and landed on your arm,” her mother informs. The cool touch of her mother’s fingers against her head, gently pushing her hair back, is heavenly. “It was dislocated at the shoulder and it’s broken in two places. You need to rest. If you want to meet the man, we’ll have him brought up here.”

“A pirate in my room? How scandalous,” she muses and ignores the look of disgust that crosses her father’s face.

Snow returns shortly with a rather handsome man in tow. He’s got striking blue eyes, dark hair, a reasonable amount of scruff, and an unreasonable (absurd as her father put it) amount of chest hair.

“At least you’re easy to look at,” Emma concedes.

“Let me assure you that you are beyond easy to look at your highness,” he responds with a bemused smirk, his chest falling forward into a perfect bow. “Captain Hook at your service. But pardon me, if I’m confused as to what���s going on here.”

Emma hesitates. She’s uncomfortable with the idea that from the moment she was born she was predestined to meet this man, that some unknown forces have put her life on hold until a specific time that they would meet. Nobody should be in control of her destiny but her.

She could tell this man it was a misunderstanding, send him on his way.  It’s possible that now that they’ve met she’ll begin to age again. She’ll be able to live out her life, serving her kingdom and not feeling as if she’s been trapped by the powers that be.

But she’s never heard of anyone choosing not to be with their soulmate. She doesn’t know if parting from his so soon will force her into not aging again.

Her mind made up, she takes a deep breath and pulls the neck of her dress down.

“With your parent’s in the room love? That’s—” His words cut off, his mouth falls open and his eyes widen, the pupils shrinking down until their almost nonexistent and she stares into his impossibly blue irises. She’s grateful he’s stopped talking; she didn’t want to hear where his sentence was going.

“Bloody hell,” he croaks, looking as if he’s about to faint.

With her free arm, she pats the empty space on the side of her bed.

“Please sit,” she implores. “I’d hate for you to collapse on my floors.”

Hesitantly he sits by her knees, his back straight as one of her mother’s arrows, looking for all the world as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Isn’t this every pirate’s dream? To be matched with a princess?” she challenges. She’s feeling rather irritated at his response. She’s the one that just found out some dirty pirate is her soulmate. She should be the one in shock and uncomfortable.

“Not this pirate, love” he sighs. He must realize that he’s offending her because he hurriedly adds, “Nothing against you. I’ve just lived a long bloody time with this mark hanging over my head. I never wanted to meet my mate.”

“How old are you exactly?”

“Two-hundred-something I believe. I’ve lost count at this point. All I know is that it’s been too long. All I’ve wanted for many years is to just kill the crocodile and finally rest.”

“The crocodile?” she prods, no longer angry just confused.

“Aye, Rumplestiltskin,” his eyes flash something deadly.

“But that’s impossible!” What has the dark one done to him that has given him the foolish notion that he must kill him?

“Nothing’s impossible if you’ve got the will. I have the will and I will find a way,” he growls.

“Well, no one’s forcing you to stay,” Emma grumbles. “If you’re so opposed to having a soulmate and hellbent on your revenge, far be it from me to hold you back.”

“Emma, if I may interject. I’ve come up with an idea,” her mother announces and Emma eyes her warily. “I think some time away will do you some good. You shall go on your trip to visit Elsa and bring Killian along with you. Stay for as long or as short as you’d like. Obviously, the desire I had for you to attend the ball has been… changed.”

Emma feels as if she’s been through enough today. She’s argued with her mother, fallen off a cliff, and met her soulmate who is just as adverse to the idea as her. Her entire body aches fiercely. Her nerves feel as if they’ve been prodded with needles. She’s tired and cranky and her head feels fuzzy. And now her mother has lost her mind.

Snow senses her reluctance and continues, “The only thing we need in life is for you to be happy, my dear. I’d hate the thought of you throwing away your chance at true love. This trip will give you time to get to know each other and to sort out your feelings. If it doesn’t work out, then that’s that. But please, all I’m asking is that you try.”

Emma looks to her father but his face is a carefully composed mask.

“I’m willing to try if you are love,” the man sitting on her bed says carefully.

She feels as if she’s been doused in cold water. Was he not, just moments ago, saying how he never wanted to find her? Suddenly he wants to go on some lovers voyage?

“Do I have a say in the matter?” she queries, resting her head back against her pillows.

“Of course you do,” her mother responds, sounding affronted. “I’d rather you say yes, though.”

Translation: she has a say but her mother will argue her point until Emma’s is whittled down to nonexistence.

“I guess, if he’s willing, something can be arranged,” she addresses her mother and then turns her attention to Hook. “Don’t expect anything from this.” He nods solemnly. “And we’ll be staying in separate cabins.”

At that, he laughs. “You say that now, but we’ll see what your thoughts are by the end of the trip.”