#i think its really important to remember that not everyone is educated on things that may seem obvious :)

[satorugojoswiife]

girl gojos literally racist🤨

Genuinely curious, did you actually read the chapter or are you someone that only keeps up with the series through leaks and/or twitter/tiktok summaries?

Gojo mistakenly believes that Miguel's build is how it is solely because he isn't Japanese (and is black) and Miguel goes on to correct him saying that is an untrue stereotype.

I'm not sure where you live, but I've definitely heard people claim that some athletes have an advantage due to their race, which isn't actually true, but it is a common misconception.

So yes, what Gojo says is based on a racist stereotype, but there is a big difference between saying something racist due to ignorance and saying something racist out of malice.

Gojo didn't realize what he was saying was incorrect and a racist stereotype and once Miguel educates him he immediately apologizes (something gojo is known for not often doing)

Also please don't hate on gege for including this. He is using this as an example to educate his audience. It may seem super obvious to more western audiences, but to japan that is a monoethic country its more understandable that people wouldnt know.

This is how I interpreted the scene in this chapter. If you think I got it wrong or missed something, please let me know :) I like to stay as informed and educated as possible and continuing to be open minded to different perspectives is important to me.

[roseghoul26]

Charles Smith x gn!Reader

"Keeping your hand on his cheek, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. 'Although, I do think you looked rather beautiful.' He practically shuddered, a pleased smile on your mouth as you leaned back again. Keeping only a few inches between your faces, you watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning up. 'Yeah?' You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low." Synopsis: A brush with hypothermia forces you and Charles to camp out in an abandoned cabin. Having to resort to some more intimate means of survival, will you be able to keep your feelings in check for the hunter, or will the proximity force you to confess?

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hypothermia, Huddling for Warmth, yes this is a cuddle for warmth fic, idc if its cheesy, Oral Sex, Gender-Neutral Reader, Fem Anatomy for Reader, Face-Sitting, Love Confessions, but in a twist its not the reader who gets frozen, surprise!

Author's Note: listened to chappell roan the entire time while writing this (hence the title). i also got so distracted by stardew valley my addiction has returned also, there’s a moment where the reader touches charles’ hair. as a non-indigenous person, i’m not fully educated when it comes to hair and the importance it holds in native american culture. i did research, but i could still be wrong. if i have made any errors, please let me know, and i will change it. 

If you never had to see snow again, you’d die happy. 

Tightening the fur coat around your body, you tried to preserve what heat you had left in you. The cold air of Colter was like a leech, sucking you dry of any warmth and joy. And it wasn’t just affecting you, you noticed. Glancing around the room, everyone seemed to be in a similar situation, with as many furs and clothes on their bodies as they huddled around the laughably small fire. 

The gang had been in Colter for about a week, hiding away from the law after the disaster that was Blackwater. You don’t remember much from that day, most of it a blur in your memories, but you remember the bloodshed. Pointless, ruthless bloodshed. You hoped you’d never see something like that again. 

Shivering, you almost regretted giving your extra jacket to Abigail, who had wrapped it around Jack. You were only feet from the fire, but it might as well have been hundreds of miles away with the way it was doing nothing to warm you. With a huff, you rubbed your fingers together, simply sitting and passing the time until someone asked you to do something or you had to go back on guard duty. That was all you could do, really, the snow and remote location making it impossible for you to do your normal robbing and thieving. 

There were many times during this week that you’d debated leaving the gang after you all made it out of Colter. You’d only joined about a year and a half ago, Dutch personally inviting you to his group after hearing about your notoriety across the states. Sure, it was nice to have a group like this, but this wasn’t what you signed up for, especially the events at Blackwater. You were promised opportunity and freedom, not brutality and hiding and cold-blooded murder. You wondered, would it be easy to slip away?

Sighing, you slumped forward, and your  legs were numb from sitting on the hard floor. You were on the precipice of coming to a decision, but there were still some things preventing you from taking the leap. You’d become somewhat close with the members of the gang, your lone wolf attitude dissipating as you created bonds with the others. It was easy to get along with Arthur, the two of you becoming fast friends, frequently doing jobs together. You spent most nights chatting with the girls in camp, chatting until late in the night. You respected Hosea, and even Dutch for some time, the recent events shattering that respect for him. To some degree you’d created a connection with each member of the camp, keeping you tethered to one place. 

There was one person in particular, however, that kept pushing those thoughts of leaving out of your mind. Charles Smith, the taciturn hunter that you’d become weirdly fond of these past few months. You’re not sure what you’d call your relationship with the man. The two of you were friendly, maybe even friends. When Dutch sent you out on jobs together, it always ended well, working together quite decently, if you’d say so yourself. 

Still, you wished you were closer with him, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. You found it hard to try and initiate conversation with him, never quite knowing what to say that wouldn’t make you seem like a fool. And when you would talk to him, it felt like you were just talking at him, but if he was annoyed by you, he never showed. He’d just politely nod along, adding a few words here and there. 

But you knew he didn’t dislike you, finding him frequently looking at you around camp, just silently observing. Whenever you’d catch him, he’d just give you a polite smile, before turning away to do something else. Every time he did it, you found yourself grow bashful, your heart skipping in your chest. His starting was certainly not helping the infatuation you had with him.

Yes, your stupid heart had fallen for him, making it hurt to even entertain the idea of leaving. It was ridiculous and irresponsible to have feelings for him, and you knew that. They’d been there since he joined, and you figured that they would’ve gone away by now, but that was months ago. You’d never met a man like him before, someone so strong and fearsome, yet honorable and kind at the exact same time, and you figured that’s why you were so drawn to him.

Arthur knew about your feelings for the man, drunkley telling him during a night out at the bar in Blackwater a few months ago. He almost said something to Charles, who was somewhere in the same bar that night, claiming that ‘this life is unpredictable’ and ‘you gotta do somethin’ before it’s too late’, but you quickly shut that down with a swift kick to the shins. But that didn’t mean he stopped asking you if you’d done anything yet, and each time you’d respond with ‘no’. 

You knew that Charles didn’t think of you that way. You’re unpredictable, reckless, fiery, everything opposite of what Charles is. Where you were chaos, he was calm. Fire, water. And you didn’t want to ruin what relationship you had with him, so you kept your mouth shut (and never got too drunk around him).

A gust of sharp cold wind and the creak of a door broke you from your thoughts, a shiver wracking your body as you turned to see who just entered the cabin. In some cruel timing from the universe, the man who had just been haunting your mind walked in, a fresh dusting of snow hitting the ground as he shook out his jacket. A chorus of greetings came from the group collected around the fire, a gentle smile coming from you before you turned back to face the fire. Charles calling out your name had you slowly turning to him again. 

“Will you go hunting with me? The deer me and Arthur caught didn’t last as long as we’d hoped.” You now noticed the bow in his hand, along with a small quiver of arrows.

“I mean, sure,” you stood up, your cold muscles aching as you stretched, “but I ain’t much of a hunter, ya know. I usually end up scarin’ away animals instead of catchin’ ‘em. The others might be more well-suited for this.”

“But I’m asking you. And I can’t exactly do it myself.” Charles held the bow and arrows out for you to grab. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” Not like I could ever say no to you, you thought as you took the weapon and slung it over your shoulder, and secured the quiver on your hip. “Let’s go.”

With a nod, Charles opened the door, holding it open to let you step outside into the harsh Colter weather. Wincing at the bright light bouncing off the white snow, you were temporarily blinded as you made your way to where your horses were, Charles not far behind you. A light snowfall came down around you as you walked, not terrible visibility wise, but enough to be obvious. You just hoped that it wouldn’t pick up later. 

There was probably a good foot-and-a-half of snow on the ground, making your movement sluggish and awkward. From what little you knew about tracking, though, it meant that it would be easy to pick up an animal's track, so for that you were somewhat grateful. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach your horses, and you went to mount up, only to notice that your horse just wasn’t there. Spinning around, you looked to see if maybe she got unhitched and wandered somewhere nearby, but there was nothing. Whistling, you waited a few moments, seeing if you’d hear the sound of hoofbeats and winnings, but there was nothing. She was just gone.

As Charles mounted, looking equally as confused as you were, you turned and  looked to see who was currently on guard duty, thinking maybe they had seen something. “Javier!” You called out, the poor man nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden loud noise. “Where’s Hera?”

“Arthur took her!” He shouted back, and you couldn’t help groaning in annoyance. I’m gonna kill you, Arthur Morgan. 

“And you let him?” Javier had made his way over to you now, and you saw him open his mouth to respond, but you stopped him with a wave. “Nevermind, it’s not your fault or your responsibility. I’m just… frustrated.” You took a deep breath, and a cloud left your lips as you exhaled.  “Where’d Arthur go?” You heard the ground crunch behind you as Charles approached on Taima. 

“I dunno,” Javier shrugged. “Him, Dutch, Micah, and Bill went out a few minutes ago, he’s been borrowing everyone else’s horse since his died. Guess it was Hera’s turn.”

“Well, shit,” you sighed, crossing your arms. “You don’t reckon they’ll be back soon, right? Maybe they forgot somethin’?” You missed the way Charles let out an amused huff, your back facing him as you conversed with Javier. 

Javier lightly chuckled. “Look, if you need to go, I’ll let you use Boaz for a bit. It’s not like I’ll be needing him for a bit,” he gestured to the repeater currently in his hands. “If anything happens to him though…” he threatened, gesturing again to the weapon in his hands.

You were about to respond, but Charles beat you to it. “Or you could ride with me. If you’d like.”

You tried to keep your face neutral as you turned to respond, but you had to stop and glare at Javier who was sniggering. Apparently your facial expressions weren’t as subtle as you believed. Thank God you had your back turned, then. 

You turned again, and when you weren't so rudely interrupted by Javier’s childish antics, you responded to Charles. “Are you sure?”

He extended his non-injured hand to you as he nodded. “We gotta get moving though. Only a few hours of sunlight left.”

“Alright.” You linked your hand with his, letting him help you on to the back of his horse with ease. Javier had long since left, already halfway back to his guard post, not before giving you a knowing smile. As you wrapped your hands around his waist, you tried and failed to keep your breathing even, your heartrate picking up substantially. 

Sighing, you refrained from resting your head against his back. This was pure torture, but you knew you were going to enjoy it.

Thank you, Arthur Morgan… I’m still gonna kill you, though. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

He wasn’t quite sure why he offered to let you ride with him on Taima; he was just making it harder for himself to stay away from you. He scolded himself, because someone else had your heart, and he would just end up hurting his own if he kept doing things like this. 

The two of you had sped out of Colter, Charles setting a brisk pace that made the air bite at his skin. The pain was good, as it distracted him from thinking of you. You, who subconsciously shifted closer to him to shield yourself from the air. He felt you adjust behind him until his larger frame was shielding you entirely. 

He expected you to have started talking by now, making some comment about the weather or cursing Arthur out. When you didn’t he felt himself start to grow a bit panicked. Did I make you uncomfortable? Is this too much?

He kept his voice steady, and he gently called out your name. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I figure that must come as a relief.” 

I could listen to you for hours, he thought. I don’t ever want to stop hearing your voice. “Are you alright?”

He felt you shift behind him, your hands tightening where they sat on his waist. Your touch wasn’t even improper, yet he still found his breath hitching in his throat. Charles just prayed that the howling winds around the two of you drowned it out. “I think so. It just… this place is really terrible.” When he nodded in agreement, you continued. “And I’ve got a lot on my mind. Blackwater, the gang, my future… It's a little bit overwhelming.”

“Do you…  want to talk about it?” He offered, and you sighed. 

“I… I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout Blackwater, ‘bout everything we did wrong, what we should’ve done differently, the choices we made. But I especially can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout that girl that Dutch murdered. The way he killed her, no mercy or falter, I ain’t even seen nothin’ like that from him before. Or maybe I chose to look away before…” you trailed off.

“You’re not the one who pulled the trigger. Dutch is the only person guilty of that.”

“Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger, but I’m sure as hell ain’t innocent. I could’ve- should’ve done somethin’. There was plenty of time for me to.”

“Don’t go beating yourself up about the past. The only thing we can hope to do is learn from it and continue on towards the future.”

“But the future is just as terrifying as the past! I’m scared for the gang, for its future. We’ve become so bloodthirsty, and now all Dutch talks about is revenge.” Your voice was becoming more and more distressed. “Is that what we’ve turned into? A bunch of no-good killers who think with their guns? I ain’t- I don’t wanna be that. That ain’t what I joined up for.”

Charles didn’t know how to respond to that. He’d noticed that shift in the gang over the last few weeks, the members become quicker to jump to violence and bloodshed. He wasn’t a saint, the blood on his hands equal to yours, but he was even becoming disturbed by the amount of unnecessary killings happening. 

“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout leaving.” Your voice was barely a whisper, like you were ashamed to say it. Charles stilled, shock running through his system. “Once we get out of here. This… this isn’t what I wanna do. I don’t wanna be associated with the Van Der Linde gang if it’s gonna continue heaidn’ in the direction it’s goin’. And I don’t wanna find myself at the end of a lawman’s barrel, noose ‘round my neck.”

“Oh.” Charles found himself at an impasse; did he just keep his mouth shut, or say something that might reveal too much? If you truly wanted to leave, then he didn’t want to guilt you into staying by revealing his true feelings. He understood why you wanted to leave, those same thoughts frequenting his mind as well, but he’d found a reason to stay: you. He hadn't told Arthur that when he asked why Charles was still hanging around a few days ago. His conversation with the other man when they hunted had solidified his stay with the gang, for better or for worse.

Did you feel the same way? You fool, Charles chastised himself. They don’t want you that way.

“Does anyone else know?” 

“No,” you sighed. “You’re the only one.”

A selfish part of him was glad that he was the only one that knew, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away. “Well,” he began, “the only thing I can say is to not do something that you’ll regret… and just know that there’s a lot of people here that will really miss you if you decide to leave.” I will miss you so much that it hurts.

He felt your head connect with his back as you slumped forward, and he jolted at the contact. “Why can’t you just make the decision for me, Charles? I trust your judgment.”

Stay. Please, stay, he screamed in his head. “I can’t tell you what to do, how to live your life. Unfortunately, the decision comes to you,” was his reply. 

“You’re right. You’re always right, Charles,” you laughed half-heartedly. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Still got a ways until I have to.”

“Whatever decision you come to, I’ll support you.” Liar. “Just… don’t leave without saying goodbye, you hear?”

“I promise. Now,” your usual chipperness returned to your voice, “where are we headin’?”

He explained that he was taking the two of you to Lake Isabella, following the Spider Gorge down. The lake had started to melt, meaning animals were more likely to start coming out as the weather warmed. As the two of you rode, you kept close to him, significantly closer than you were when you left. 

Charles pretended not to notice.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

There wasn’t much to look at on the ride down. Everything was white, splashes of black rock breaking up the monotonous landscape, and the occasional tree made itself known. There weren’t any animals, not even a rabbit. It was like you and Charles were the only living souls in the area.

You only spotted a couple of buildings, two of them a small cabin that could house one or two people. One was absolutely destroyed, time and weather causing the ceiling to collapse in, only a skeleton remaining. The other still stood, smoke coming out of the chimney, but you had no idea if the occupants were home or not. 

Taking a mental note of the building, before returning your attention back forward. Charles seemed to be content with just riding in silence, so you settled against him, your head nearly resting on his shoulder. You hadn’t meant to spill so much to Charles, and you certainly hadn’t meant to tell him that you thought about leaving. It’s just that you felt so comfortable with him that you couldn’t help the words from coming out, and you felt ten pounds lighter because of it. 

You didn’t want to drag another person into your troubles, especially over something so trivial in comparison to what the rest of the gang was going through. A part of you wanted this to be the moment in all those cheesy romances you read where the love interest confesses their feelings in order to make the main character stay. But this was real life, and this was Charles you were talking about, the man who would put everyone’s needs before his, even if it hurt. And besides, Charles had never done or said anything that gave you the impression that he had feelings for you. From what you could tell, he saw you as a friend, and nothing else.

Right?

God, you were so desperate for the man you held on to. 

He made no comment when you did actually rest your head on his shoulder. If he did ask why, you’d just say you were cold. You knew you just wanted to pretend that he was yours. 

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. It did little to calm your erratic heart. 

Eventually, the partially frozen Lake Isabella came into view. This area wasn’t too unfamiliar to either you or Charles, having been there a few days prior to dispatch a group of O’Driscolls. Having opened your eyes a few moments prior, you were able to make out a few deer drinking from the newly exposed lake water. You gestured to them, but Charles had already seen them, bringing Taima to a halt behind a large bush.

By this time, the snow had begun to pick up, the sheets coming down obscuring your view ever so slightly. But it wasn’t enough to force you indoors. 

Dismounting as quietly as you could, you readied the bow in your hands, letting Charles lead the way as he snuck closer to them. It was almost supernatural, the way he was able to move so silently. For someone of his stature, you’d never expect him to be able to move so quietly and with such ease, yet here he was. You tried your best to move like him, taking a bit longer as you followed in his footsteps. Charles led you around the edge of the lake, the shore edge mere inches from your feet, occasionally splashing against your shoes. 

Luckily, the deer hadn’t noticed either you or Charles, still drinking without a care in the world. He had stopped by now, moving to the side to let you move ahead. The deer were in range by now, and you only needed to move a few feet closer, making you halt underneath a large tree. The branches drooped under the weight of the snow, a few globs falling off and hitting the ground around you. 

Weirdly enough, you felt at peace. Not because of the hunting, but because of the man who stood a few yards behind you. You felt safe under his gaze, like nothing could hurt you. As you drew the arrow back, you let out a confused noise as the deer suddenly scattered, spooked by something you couldn’t see. 

You turned to look back at Charles, but you realized then that you probably shouldn't've had your guard down so much. A large weight dropped on you from the tree, too heavy and too warm to be just snow. You let out a startled cry, blocking out Charles shouting out your name, panic seeping into his voice. 

Whatever fell on you landed on your back, your face pressed in the snow as you lay on your stomach. It clicked now that there was someone on you, a hand yanking your head back by your hair, warm breath assaulting your face as your attacker spoke. You couldn’t quite make out what exactly he was saying, snow and shock causing your hearing to be spotty. All you were able to make out were a few curses, the word “kill” multiple times, and some racist phrases aimed toward Charles.

Even before the initial shock had worn off, you were fighting back, squirming and moving desperately against the man’s grip. He just laughed, then you heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. He rested the barrel against the back of your neck, the cold metal pressing against the exposed skin. Dread washed over you, numbing your senses far beyond what the cold could do. With the way the man gripped your head, you couldn’t move it, and you strained your eyes as you looked around, desperate to find Charles. Is he alright? Please, let him be alright. 

You saw a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, and as soon as the weight was on you, it was gone. An alarmed yell left your attacker as he was tackled off of you, being pushed a fair distance before falling onto the frozen Lake Isabella. Rolling over, your hand fell into the cold water, and you quickly pulled it back.

Standing as quickly as you could, the world spun for a moment, your body confused with the many different orientations you were just in. Pressing your back against the tree for stability, you watched as Charles and your attacker rolled far across the ice. You saw the distinct green handkerchief around his neck, and you couldn’t help the exasperated groan that left you. No matter where you went or what you did, you couldn’t escape the O’Driscolls. 

Shouts from behind you had you spinning around, quickly drawing your revolver, the bow long since discarded on the ground. Three more O’Driscolls came running from the woods, only a few yards away from you now, their cries of alarm coming from the two bodies of their members lying in the snow, which you had just noticed. Keeping your aim steady, you took three shots, the gunshots cracking through the still air. The first one hit right in the heart, the second one finding a home between his eyes, and the third one hit the final O’Driscoll right above the shoulder, merely grazing the skin, and the only non-fatal shot. Still, it caused all three of them to hit the snow.

With the final man falling relatively close to you, you ran over to him. Pulling him up by the scruff of his shirt, you held your revolver right below his chin, the hot metal burning his skin. He could not have been more than eighteen years old, a sliver of childhood innocence still left in his eyes as he stared up at you, fear and pain rendering him mute. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You snarled, pressing the barrel harder into his skin. “Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here, boy?”

Your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other, a few tears leaving him as he stared at you blankly. He was shaking, and you wondered how long he’d run with the O’Driscolls for. He was obviously young, and if this was his reaction to being held at gunpoint, you gathered that he didn’t have a whole lot of outlaw experience under his belt. Against every instinct in your body telling you otherwise, you felt yourself loosen your grip on the boy, a pang of sympathy running through you. 

Sighing in exasperation, you holster your gun, a relieved noise leaving him as you did. Glancing forward, you saw two horses hitched to the trees, seemingly the rides that they came in on. “Go,” you waved. “You ain’t even grown.”

“Th-thank you!” He nearly wept, getting to his feet shakily. 

“But if I ever see ya again, especially as a damn O’Driscoll,” your hand hovered above your weapon. “I’ll not hesitate to put a bullet in your head. You hear me?”

“Y-yes.” He clutched at his shoulder. 

“Now go!” you shouted. “Get outta here! Before I change my mind.” As soon as he sped off toward the horses, you turned back toward the lake. Charles stood above your attacker, beating the life out of the man, his face pure crimson. He was using his injured hand, but he paid it no mind. Blow after blow, Charles’s strikes hit true, the thuds echoing across the water.

You really should not have found it as attractive as you did. 

You let yourself watch for a few moments longer, before you were snapping out of it. “Charles!” You called out. Immediately, he was looking up at you, the man below him no longer even on his mind. Wiping away a smear of blood on his cheek, he slowly made his way toward you, his steps slow across the ice. 

Concern etched across his features as his eyes raked over your body, looking for any injury or hurt on you. “Are you alright?” You asked, trying your best to push down the flush of your cheeks as he stalked towards you. He had an almost murderous glint in his eye, his movement predatory; you especially should not have found that attractive. 

“Did he hurt you?” He completely brushed off your question, his eyes wide with panic. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this disheveled and worried before. 

“Only my pride.” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but was promptly cut off when the ground beneath him gave way, the weakened ice no longer strong enough to hold him. Immediately, he was submerged under the water, but luckily he was close enough to the shore that it wasn’t too deep. He reemerged seconds later, sputtering and coughing. 

As soon as you heard the crack of the ice, you were running toward the edge, stepping precariously on the ice. In retrospect, it wasn’t the smartest idea, especially when you started walking towards where Charles fell through, but at the time you didn’t care. All that mattered was getting him out. 

Scanning around, you quickly assessed the best way to save him. The hole that was created was way big enough so he could get his arm up, but as soon as he pressed at the ice it shattered, unable to hold anything. As you stepped closer, you felt it begin to break as well, and you quickly moved back to the shore. 

“Fuck…” your hands went to you head, your gloved fingers pulling at your hair. A large stick from the tree you assaulted jumped down from sparked an idea. Grabbing it, you started chipping away at the ice, smashing and breaking it until a path big enough for Charles to go through was created. Standing at the shore, however, you realized  that neither your arms or the stick was long enough to reach the man, who was starting to get dragged down from the weight of the water in his clothes. 

Quickly unhooking your lasso from your belt, you created a loop for him to grab on to, throwing it at him with an accuracy from years and years of practice. It landed right in front of him, and he grabbed on to it as quickly as he could, his movement sluggish. Wrapping it around your hands, you began to pull him to shore. “Hold on!” you shouted at him, and he let out a noise in response. You’d take that over nothing.

It wasn’t incredibly hard to pull him closer, the water helping carry him over. But once he got to the shore, and you discarded the rope, pulling him up onto the land proved to be almost impossible. Grabbing underneath his arms, you pulled with all the strength you had, the muscles in your back and shoulders crying out in pain, but you paid them no mind. It took an incredible amount of effort, but eventually he was fully out of the water, laying splayed out in the cold snow. 

You didn’t let yourself get a moment to recover, instantly running over to his side. Turning his head toward you, you let out a sigh of relief when you say his eyes flutter open. He was absolutely drenched, his heavy winter gear made even heavier with water, and you watched him begin to shake and his teeth begin to shatter. And, if your luck wasn’t already terrible enough, a full on snowstorm had started, causing cold blasts of snow and wind to pelt your bodies. Chalres shivered even harder, and you let out helped sit him upright. “We gotta get you indoors, and soon. You ain’t gonna-” a lump formed in your throat at the thought. “It ain’t gonna be good for you if you stay out here. I’ll need your help, though. I can’t lift you on my own. Just… just find what energy you can to get up. Please.” You couldn’t help the panic in your voice. To say you were scared would be an understatement. 

You’re not quite sure he fully comprehended what you said, but he started to get up, and you forced him to lean a bit of his body weight against you as he did so. When he was up, you slung his arm over your shoulder, nearly sagging under his weight as he nearly collapsed. You called for Taima, whistlin the same pattern you’d heard Charles use for her. 

Within seconds, the sound of neighing and hoofbeats filled your ears, his loyal steed coming to a halt right in front of the two of you. She let out a worried snort, and you reassured her with some soothing noises. “Alright, Charles. Here comes the worst part.” It took quite a bit of maneuvering and effort, but after a minute Charles sat where you did on the ride there. 

His eyes, which were onced unfocused and confused, had regained some clarity to them, and you heard him mutter out your name. You smiled as reassuringly as you could, before you were mounting up on Taima, sitting in the saddle and the reins in your hands. “Hold on, darlin’.” You were too panicked to notice the name slip out, and you took the gasp from Charles as being from the cold. 

With little urging, Taima moved forward, almost immediately breaking into a gallop. You led her back up the trail, heading toward the cabin you saw on the way down. It would take too long to return back to Colter, and with the way the storm raged around you, you doubted either of you would be able to make it. 

As you rode, you felt Charles slump against you, exhaustion taking over his body. You reached behind with one hand, grabbing his knee and shaking him awake. “I know you hate me right now, but I need you to stay awake for me… please.”

He grumbled something in reply, his speech slurred and indecipherable. 

“I’m gonna talk at you, like I always do,” you tried to joke. “And you’re gonna do what you do, which is nod along and pretend you care. Just… just stay awake. You hear me?”

“I care…” you heard him protest, and you just shook your head.

“Uh-huh.” The wind was biting into your cheeks, and your eyes were watering, but you didn’t dare slow. You filled the couple minute ride with your voice, telling stories of your childhood, or random anecdotes you’d picked up from your travels, to recounting the bar fight you’d gotten into a few weeks prior. Charles, despite being exhausted, kept alert, giving one-word responses from time to time. 

He shivered the entire time, and you couldn’t tell if that was worrying or comforting. Panic was steadily bubbling in your chest, finding it hard to keep focus on your stories. Halfway through the ride, much like you did, he rested his head on your shoulder, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You suppressed a surprised noise as you felt the freezing skin against your own, his nose and lips unnervingly cold. 

“Stay with me, Charles.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

It was cold. 

Everything was cold.

Could hair get cold? It sure felt like it. Charles had never felt such coldness in his life before, and he never wanted to experience it again.

He should’ve never gone on to the ice, his brain was screaming at him.

But he had led with his heart, shoving the man off you and following him on to the ice. As soon as he had seen you go down, the other man on top of you, it was like time had slowed down. He had seen red, the two men attempting to hold him down quickly meeting their ends at the hands of his fury. 

He prided himself on being able to keep calm in situations, his anger rarely ever taking a hold of him, and it had never happened since he joined the gang. Guess that streak was broken now. Not that he had any regrets.

Well, he had a few.

He should’ve registered the footprints in the snow leading up to the base of the tree. He should’ve noticed something was wrong, should’ve not been so distracted by you. He should’ve said something.

Maybe none of this would’ve happened then.

But he’s just a man, and man is selfish. He was glad this happened.

Without this happening, he wouldn’t have his arms wrapped around your body, his face buried into your neck breathing you in. Without this, you wouldn’t have called him darling, causing his heart to thump erratically in his chest. Without this, he wouldn’t have been able to pretend right now that you and him were more than friends, a fantasy that he had played out a million times in his dreams.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make the words out. A shiver wracked his body, and he burrowed deeper. God, he was so cold. And so tired.It would be so easy to just close his eyes, to let unconsciousness wash over him… 

He was jolted awake by a hearty shake of his knee, and he heard your voice break through the fog of his brain. 

You had such a lovely voice. He hated how worried it sounded, and all because of him. Or maybe he was happy you were worried about him. He couldn’t tell. Everything was unclear. The only thing he was certain about was the fuzzy feeling in his chest that grew with each glance and each soft word from you.

He was in love with you.

Stupidly in love, in fact. 

He couldn’t stop himself, the words tumbling from his lips like a freefall. But it came out as gibberish, and he felt you shake your head, unable to comprehend him.

That’s alright. He’d repeat it as many times as you needed. 

And as another shiver tore through him, he felt you rub his thigh reassuringly. Despite the thick material of your gloves, he could feel the warmth of your skin, practically burning against his frosty skin. The butterflies in his chest bubbled to life, and he couldn’t stop the small laugh he let out. 

He was infatuated.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The short ride felt like forever, the monotonous landscape that had once been soothing now tormenting you as you searched for the cabin you saw prior. The smoke trail was impossible to spot out in the snowstorm, so you used what limited navigation skills you had to get you there. 

Eventually, the frame of the cabin broke through the sheet of snow, and you nearly cried in relief. You were starting to freeze, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Charles was feeling. Taima huffed as you brought her alongside the entrance, the steam from her snout dissipating instantly. Quickly dismounting, Charles nearly fell off when you moved, slowly slipping into unconsciousness. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” you snarled, roughly shaking him awake. Yes, you were threatening the hypothermic man. No, you did not care. You were almost inside, and you were not going to lose him. “Do not pass out on me, Charles Smith. Now, let’s get you off Taima.”

Charles muttered out an apology, his eyes reopening as he struggled to get off. His clothes were starting to solidify, clumps of ice forming across his jacket. You helped as best you could, catching him when his feet made contact with the ground, nearly sending you both to the snow. Again, you slung his arm over your shoulder, your other arm holding your gun as you entered the cabin, ready to clear out any homeowners. 

A blast of heat hit both of you as you creaked the door open slowly, and you heard Charles sigh with relief. A quick scan around proved that it was empty, and you gently set Chalres in front of the still burning fire. You realized now that the occupants were probably some of the O’Driscolls that just jumped you, and the cabin now stood empty for you and Charles. Relaxing slightly, you put away your gun, then added a few more logs to the fire pit, the flames lapping at the wood eagerly. 

To call the cabin small would be an understatement. It was large enough to fit both you and Charles comfortably, but you can’t imagine that the few O’Driscolls camping here temporarily had a lot of legroom . A single twin sized bed was lined up against the wall, cloth and other materials covering the windows beside it. There was a fireplace, a small stewpot, a nightstand, and a chair. Extra sleeping bags and rugs adorned the floor, a few cans of fruits and vegetables scattered across the floor. You saw the occasional empty bottle of alcohol, and you even found a pack of cigarettes. 

Charles seemed to wake some, the warmth of the fire breathing some life back into him. You saw him look around, body still shaking. He looked even worse than you thought, his normally warm-toned skin devoid of any color, and his hair was plastered to his face. As you crouched down in front of him, you went to push back a few strands, your gloves long since discarded, but you refrained. 

“A-Are you alright?” You heard him ask again through chattering teeth, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even though he saw freezing, likely suffering from hypothermia, he was more worried about your well being.

“I’m not the one who fell into the freezing lake. What were you thinking?” You weren’t angry, your words surprisingly gentle despite the fear in your heart. 

“I-I wasn’t… I-” his body cut him off, shivers wracking his body. 

“We gotta get these clothes off of you,” you picked at the offending garment, the material barely budging. You started to work the heavy coat off his shoulders, the roaring wind outside the only noise.

Suddenly, Charles was grabbing at your wrist, stalling your movement. You were halfway done with taking it off, the water melting off of it coating your hands. “Taima…” you heard him say.

“I’ll go make sure she’s secure,” you quickly rose to your feet. “Just get undressed. We need to get you warmed up.”

Stepping outside, the gusts hitting your body caused you to let out a curse. Taima was  still where you left her, stomping impatiently in the ground, shaking out her coat as she tried to keep warm. When you clicked your tongue, she came prancing over, ready to get out of the wind. 

You led her to the attached stall, which was in pretty decent condition. It blocked out a lot of the wind, and it shared a wall with the fireplace, letting some of the warmth to the horses as well. There was some hay left scattered on the ground, and you took off her saddle, setting it on the stand. You left the horse blanket on, giving her some extra protection. 

When you were done, you moved to leave, and you felt Taima brush affectionately against your head, nuzzling her snout into your shoulder. Laughing, you pet her neck affectionately before she removed herself to continue eating at the hay. Making sure the gate was secure, you headed back into the cabin. 

Charles was still undressing when you entered, his back to you. Even his undershirt was soaked through, the material clinging to his body like a second skin. It was at that point it clicked that the man you were infatuated with was going to be bare before you soon. You found yourself turning away, uncharacteristically embarrassed, shrugging off your own jacket and laying across the back of the chair. If it was any other person, you’d’ve not reacted this way, your lifestyle not allowing for much privacy. But of course it had to be Charles getting undressed in front of you, and you found yourself growing quite warm. 

Taking the lasso from your belt, you strung it across the room, making a makeshift clothesline to hopefully dry his clothes faster. His jacket, which was a wet pile of fur, was the first to be hung up, the rope creaking precariously under the weight. Luckily, it held, and you added each new item as he took it off. 

You made sure not to look directly at Charles, and you saw in your peripheral vision as he worked off his shirt. Your throat was suddenly dry, hands shaky as you continued to hang items up. Why, out of all people, did it have to be Charles? It was like God was tormenting you, giving you what, but keeping it just out of reach. 

You must’ve made a noise, because Charles was turning toward you, concerned. You finally let yourself look at him. He was partially done unbuttoning his shirt, the collar open, but you saw that he was struggling with the small buttons, his fingers barely working. “May I?” you asked, gesturing toward his shirt. The sooner he was out of the wet garment, the better.

He paused for a second, contemplating. “Yes,” he consented, lowering his hand at his side. Stepping forward, your hands resumed his work, quickly undoing the rest of it. Do not make a big deal of this, you repeated in your mind. You were simply helping a friend not die from hypothermia, not unbuttoning the shirt of the person you were hopelessly in love with. He shrugged it off, practically peeling it from his body. You were especially careful to only look him in the eye now, not daring to look at his newly exposed chest. 

Turning your back to him to hang up the shirt, the unmistakable clang of his belt hitting the floor had you stilling. Exhaling shakily, you heard him take off the remainder of his clothes, all making themselves comfortable on the floor. You didn’t dare turn around to grab them. Instead, you headed towards the bed, pulling off the heavy duvet. Walking backwards, you held it out to him behind you. You heard him murmur out a small thanks, taking the blanket from your outstretched arms. 

You gave him a few moments. “Are you… decent?” you asked, keeping your gaze up even with your back turned. When he gave a noise of confirmation, you finally turned back around. After situating his discarded clothing, you gathered some of the canned goods strewn about before setting your boots next to Charles’ beside the fire. You sat down next to him on the various furs and bedrolls. Charles had the blanket wrapped around his body, and you tried really hard to not concentrate on the fact that he was completely bare under the duvet. 

You opened one of the cans with your knife, tossing the lid of it behind you and handing it to the man beside you. “Eat. You need to get your strength up.” You saw him open his mouth to protest, but you cut him off before he could. “There’s plenty of food for the both of us. Now, eat.” You pushed the can of what looked to be sweetcorn in his hand, and he finally took it, tipping it back into his mouth and eating slowly. 

He was still shivering, but he was slowly becoming more and more alert, and his teeth had ceased their chattering. Quickly finishing the can of food, he placed the empty can beside him, rubbing his hands together beneath the blanket. You were looking into the fire, and you could feel his eyes on you. He didn’t say anything, just observing you like he normally did. 

This time, however, it felt like his eyes were picking you apart, like he could see every secret beneath your skin. Clearing your throat, you stood up, gathering up the remainder of his clothing and hanging them up. You were scared that the longer you sat by him, the likelihood of you having to confront your secrets would increase tenfold. “You need anythin’? More food? Water? Coffee?” You asked, drying your hands on your pants. 

“I’m g-good,” he responded. 

“Have you warmed up at all?” He shrugged in response, the action barely noticeable with the heavy blanket around his shoulders. You didn’t bother to hide the concerned frown on your lips as you crouched beside him. Running the back of your hand, you winced when you were met with deathly cold skin. “Shit…” you cursed, pulling your hand away, and you failed to notice Charles chasing after your warmth.

Standing up, you began to pace the room, trying to keep the dread you felt at bay. Your mind was running wild with thoughts, all ending in worse case scenarios. Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to keep calm, just for Charles’ sake. You wouldn’t do him any good if you were freaking out. You tried to think back on the basic first aid you’d learned through the years. Most of the things you’d already done, like getting him out of wet clothing, getting him food, getting him in front of a fire. Was there anything else you could do? Or did you just have to sit and wait and pray that what you did was enough.

You knew Charles was watching you pace, doing nothing to calm your racing heart. You ran your fingers through your hair, a gasp leaving your lips when you finally remembered. Body heat, which means… oh. 

Goddamn it all. 

You hoped you didn’t look too alarmed. It’s not that you were opposed to the idea, but it would make it significantly harder to bottle up your feelings. In fact, doing this might just smash the bottle all together, causing you to spill your heart to him. “So…” you began nervously. How the hell were you supposed to ask this?

“So…?” Charles repeated, raising a brow. 

“I-I… well…” you ran your hand over your face. The wall was looking quite interesting right now. “I was wondering if you’d like… I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anythin’... if you’d like for me to share my warmth?” That sounds so weird. “It’s just, you’re not gettin’ any better… and I don’t want anythin’ to happen to you. I couldn’t bear it.” The last part you whispered, and you doubted he even heard it. 

Something flickered across Charles’ face, too quick for you to recognize. He looked conflicted, and you chewed nervously on your lips. Did I cross a line? Oh God, did I make this weird? He’s gonna hate me-

“I’d like that,” his voice cut off your minds’ rambling. 

Letting out a breath of relief, you gave him a small smile, which he returned. Okay, this is happening. Again, do not make a big deal of this. This means nothing. Your hands, which weren’t steady, began to work at your button up. Charles slowly looked away, his eyes darkening slightly. “I’m not gonna take everythin’ off,” you reassured, taking the look in his eye as concern. Taking your gun belt off and setting it on the bed, your pants and socks were off next, joining the belt, leaving you in only your undergarments. 

Slowly, you approached him, your steps uncertain across the bedrolls and furs. You tried to keep calm, but the reality of what was going to happen quite soon was causing your heart to pound against your ribs. He watched you approach, head turned back around. You couldn't imagine it was comfortable for his neck, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

Finally, you stood in front of him, partially blocking the fire, which caused your shadow to cast over Charles. Without breaking eye contact with you, he pulled the blanket back, inviting you in. Your shadow, thankfully, blocked out any newly revealed skin, but you still found a blush creeping up your neck. 

Without giving yourself a chance to back out, you sat yourself on his lap. With your legs wrapping around his hips, your ankles were barely able to interlock. His following sigh sounded pleased, and you found yourself smiling as he wrapped the blanket around the two of you, creating something akin to a cocoon. He kept his hands braced on the ground beside him, refraining from touching you.

Charles was indeed freezing, and you let out a discontent noise at the contact. “Sorry,” you more felt than heard him say, your faces mere inches apart. 

“I should be the one who’s sayin’ that…” you sighed, and you rested your hands on his shoulders, beginning the process of warming his body back to a normal temperature. “I should’ve been payin’ better attention, then we would’ve never ended up in this mess.” Not that I’m complaining too much. 

The two of you sat together for a few minutes, letting Charles simply enjoy your body heat. “I don’t think either of us were expecting an O’Driscoll to come falling out of a tree.” You heard him say.

“It certainly wasn’t on my list of things to happen today,” you laughed, your hands moving down his shoulders to his biceps. Having him under your touch like this really put into perspective his sheer size. “And neither is this. Any of this. I’m sure you weren’t plannin’ on takin’ a bath in Lake Isabella today.”

“Can’t say I was. But, you-” Charles cut himself off, his eyes widening the tiniest bit. If you weren’t so close, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. You gave him a confused look, and he just shook his head. “It’s nothing. I almost said something foolish,” he tried to dismiss, embarrassment evident on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say somethin’ foolish the entire time I’ve known you.” You tugged at one of his arms, bringing it between your bodies after he shifted his weight on to the other arm. You clasp his uninjured hand between yours, blowing hot air and trying your best to return some life back to the ice cubes that were his fingers. “You know I ain’t gonna tease you for what you say, right?”

“I know,” Charles sighed, but he didn’t elaborate further. You didn’t push, not wanting to wreck this moment between the two of you. You felt him flex his fingers between yours, a relieved noise leaving him as more feeling returned to them. Eventually, you let go of his hand, but it seemed like he didn’t quite know where to put it, hovering a few inches above your waist before returning back to the ground. “You can touch me, Charles.”

You held back a content noise when you finally felt him grasp your waist, his fingers resting on the waistband of your undergarments. Occasionally, his fingers would brush your bare skin, your undershirt having rid up when you had sat down, and you felt goosebumps erupt across your skin. 

Moving to his injured hand, you eyed the now wrecked bandage, blood and water causing the material to practically dissolve. You tsked disapprovingly, and began to peel off the old wrapping, discarding them across the cabin. You were expecting to see the wound completely reopened, especially because of the punches he threw at the O’Driscoll, but were pleasantly surprised to find a pretty much healed injury. It was slightly irritated, sure, but it must’ve been healed for at least a day or two.

“And here I was scared that we’d have to chop off your hand,” you joked, flipping his arm over as you examined the now scar. “This has been healed for a day or two now. You’re probably only gonna have a light scar from this.” Realization dawned on you, and you chuckled. “Charles, you could’ve gone huntin’ on your own today.”

“I could’ve.” He didn’t even bother trying to deny it. “Still, I did want to do it with you, but I could’t just ask. I needed an excuse.”

“You never need an excuse, Charles. I’ll gladly go huntin’ with you, injured hand or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You felt him squeeze your hip gently, a playful grin on his face. It had your stomach doing somersaults, and you tore your eyes away to begin warming up his other hand. It was strange, seeing him so carefree like this. It was a look you’d never really seen on him, but you rather enjoyed it. “Only hunting?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you teased, drawing out the syllables. “Whatcha have in mind?”

“Not quite sure yet. But it’ll just be us.”

“Like a date?” You joked, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“Sure. Like a date.”

A giddy smile cracked across your lips, and you gingerly kissed the back of Charles’ hand before letting it go, where it immediately joined his other by settling on your waist. Your ears were burning, a flustered blush growing across your body. Here you were, sitting on a naked Charles’ lap, only the thin material of your undergarments separating the two of you, but the thing that made you bashful was him asking you on a date. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him chuckle, the hands on your waist moving up your back, keeping your body pressed close to him. The digits were still a bit chilled, but you didn’t mind. The blanket around the two of you was barely hanging on at this point, and you tried your best to keep it around him. Like he did on the horse, you felt him bury his face in the crook where your neck and shoulders connected. 

Although it was significantly less cold than the last time, you still shivered at the contact. You felt his lips brush against the skin, and you could barely feel the light kiss he pressed there, gone in an instant. So many thoughts and emotions were running through your mind at that moment. You mostly felt relieved, your feelings for the man no longer feeling so one-sided. Your mind was so loud, in fact, that you barely heard him mumble something against your skin. You realized that he was thanking you, and you responded with a confused noise.

“You saved my life today. Twice. I haven’t thanked you yet.”

“I wouldn’t’ve just left you, Charles. I couldn’t. I…” you trailed off, a confession ready to leave your lips. The bottle had cracked, its contents spilling out as you tried to damndest to keep it all contained. “If I remember correctly, you also saved me today. Nothin’ good would’ve happened if you weren’t there today.”

You felt him tense, an almost pained sound leaving him. “When I saw you like that… I don’t ever want to see that again.”

You moved back so that you could see him again, and you cupped the side of his face with your hand, relieved to find the skin significantly warmer than it was moments ago. “I’m alright. Thanks to you, I’m safe.” 

He relaxed slightly, but his eyes were filled with so much sadness that it had you frowning. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared before,” he whispered, resting his own hand atop yours. “The best thing in my life, and I almost lost it today.” Both of you seemed surprised by his words, but you didn’t let him backtrack.

“But you didn’t. You are the one who got that man off me, and showed him the error of his ways.”

He chuckled at that, but then another frown adorned his lips. “I didn’t… unsettle you, right? I… I saw your eyes widen after you called me off him. You’re not-”

“Never. I know you’d never hurt me.”

Relieved, you felt him go fully lax under your touch. His whole body had returned to a normal temperature, you noted, the heat under the blanket beginning to become sweltering. With your thumb, you stroked his cheek, feeling the raised skin of the scar across his cheek. He let go of your hand, moving it back to the ground to keep the two of you propped up as you leaned forward. The duvet fell slightly, exposing his shoulder to the air, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Keeping your hand on his cheek, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Although, I do think you looked rather beautiful.”

He practically shuddered, a pleased smile on your mouth as you leaned back again. Keeping only a few inches between your faces, you watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning up. “Yeah?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low.

You nodded, the fingers on his cheek moving to brush a few strands away from his face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown out but not because of the low light. “I always think you look beautiful,” you murmured. 

He hummed in response, and you felt the hand on your back creek up, resting at the nape of your neck. He didn’t pull you forward, he just held you. “Next to you, however, I imagine I look quite plain.”

“Oh, hush,” you chided while smiling. 

“I’m serious.” You felt him play with the hair at your neck, fingers running lightly through the strands. “It’s distracting, how beautiful you are. Whenever I walk into a room and you’re in there, you’re the first thing I look at, and I can never bring myself to look away. At night at camp, you look so at ease, the fire illuminates your face in a way that makes you look ethereal. I can do nothing but watch you, too stunned to speak. You plague every waking thought, and you haunt my dreams. You’ve unknowingly burrowed yourself into my heart, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You were at a loss for words, your mouth moving but no words actually came out. Choosing to ignore the way your heart celebrated, you let out an airy chuckle. “I think that’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk.” 

He laughed. “I can keep it short, if you’d like?”

“I didn’t mean that,” you scoffed. “What could possibly condense all that?”

Charles gave you a look, like he couldn’t believe you hadn’t caught on by now. A part of you knew what he was going to say, but you wouldn't believe it. You needed to hear it from his lips. The hand playing with your hair stilled, the only sound being the crackling fire behind you. 

“I’m in love with you.” 

He said it like it was the simplest thing ever, like it hadn’t just completely flipped your world upside down. He had taken your bottled up feelings and opened it himself. Taking your responding silence as a negative thing, you felt his hand fall slightly, a worried look crossing his face. You didn’t give him much time to worry, pulling him closer with the hand still cupping his face. Your foreheads connected, and your lips were almost brushing. “You mean it?” 

“Of course.”

“Well… for how long?”

“How long have I been with the gang?”

Surprised, you laughed lightly, and he visibly looked confused. “So this entire time, you felt the same way?”

It took a second for him to process your words, a wide grin appearing when he did. “I guess so.” He paused for a moment, and you felt him take a deep breath. “You love me?” He asked, his voice small and uncertain. 

You moved your face back an inch, giving you room to nod. “I do. For the same amount of time, too. I was too scared to say anythin’, I didn’t wanna ruin what we had. And I kinda thought I annoyed you to death,” you chuckled. “But if today reminded me of anythin’, it’s that this life is too unpredictable to have regrets.”

“Arthur gave you that lecture too?”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he didn't heed your warning about not playing matchmaker with you and Charles. But still, you might have to thank him later. “Despite what he claims, he’s a nosy bastard.”

He hummed in agreement, and a silence hung over the room, anticipation heavy in the air. With the lightest touch, you felt him bring you forward with the hand on the back of your head. “I wanna hear you say it,” you heard him ask. 

“I love you, darlin’.” Both hands now cupped his cheeks, and you hovered your lips above his. “Kiss me?”

“Gladly.” You felt his hand move to cradle your head, pulling you in the final distance until your lips were colliding. There was only a hint of chill left on his skin, easily melting away against your warm mouth.  His lips were soft, softer than you imagined, and you let out a pleased sigh. It was a surprisingly quick kiss, and you sucked in a breath when you felt him pull away, his eyes blown out. 

He was also panting, and his fingers wove into your hair, like he was grounding himself. Moving forward, you tried to reconnect your lips, but he moved his head so that your lips collided with his cheek instead. A jolt of panic shot through your body, thinking you horribly misread the situation. “I want… I want this,” he reassured. “But I want to make sure you want this. That you want… me.”

You’d never met a man like Charles Smith, and you’re sure you’d never meet another like him. Never, ever had you heard of or met a man explicitly asking for consent like this, and it got you more excited than you thought it would. “I’ve wanted this for a while now,” you admitted, resting your touch on the junction where his shoulders and neck met. “I’ve dreamed of a moment like this more times than I can count. I want you, Charles. I need-”

In a complete switch up, he crashed his lips against yours, muffling your words. If the first kiss had been gentle and hesitant, this one was hungry and confident, lips eagerly moving against yours. He was practically devouring you, like he couldn’t get enough of you. With every small noise that left you, he seemed to grow more bold, and you felt the fingers in your hair tug slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it caused your lips to part. Within seconds his tongue swept into your mouth, eager to explore you. 

The blanket had long since fallen off, bunched up on the ground surrounding the two of you. Pushing him lightly on his shoulders, you eased him on his back. Your hands planted on his chest when he made contact with the furs, your lips not separating for a moment. He was a pleasant temperature under your fingers, his skin surprisingly soft, just like his lips. You were straddling his waist now, your hands barely keeping you from laying your entire weight on the man. 

He had let go of your head, his hands moving to your waist to keep you secure. His grip was strong, but not enough to leave a mark. A part of you wanted him to, but you didn’t say anything. If he wanted you like you wanted him, then there would be a next time.

Rocking your hips, you felt a growing hardness barely separated by your thin undergarments. You felt him groan when you did so, and he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth. When he moved his head away to suck in some air, your hands snaked back up his neck, nearly covering his ears. You’d thought your attempts at warming him up were fruitful, but when you felt how cold his ears were, you made a concerned noise, your lust temporarily forgotten. “Your ears are freezing…”

He looked like he couldn’t care less, but then a mischievous smile crossed his face. “You gonna warm them up, then?”

“What do you think I’m tryin’ to do?” You giggled, and you made sure that your hands fully covered them. You had easy access to his lips, and you gave him a quick kiss. 

“Not with your hands, my love.”

You smiled at the endearment, but his statement confused you. Cocking your head to the side, you moved your hands off his face, settling them back on his chest. “What-?”

You didn’t get to finish your question, the hands on your hips effortlessly pulling your up toward his face. Your knees now straddled the sides of his head, your thighs practically where your hands were, covering his ears. You looked down at him with wide eyes, a flush creeping up your neck at the implications. Surely he doesn't want that, right?

Charles let out a satisfied noise, and with his hands now on your thighs he eased you on to him. You let him, but you kept a few inches between his mouth and your body. He genuinely seemed upset by that, and you felt him press a quick kiss to the inside of your thigh, causing a shiver to run through your body.

“Please, let me taste you,” he pressed another kiss to the inside of your legs, this one closer to your aching center. If he moved any closer, he was bound to feel your wetness through the fabric. “I want you to fall apart on my face.”

You exhaled shakily. “You want to?” You asked, almost in disbelief. This man was unreal.

He nodded, the action causing his chin to brush against your center. “Let me make you feel good, my love.” When he pulled you down again, you didn’t keep any distance between the two of you. You felt him press a kiss to your clothed center, a smug grin on his face when he felt your arousal. He didn’t say anything, just pulling you down closer to his face until your legs were fully wrapped around his head, no space between the two of you. 

You felt his tongue flick out, simply tasting you through the damp fabric. He did it again, and again, and his hands tightened on your thighs. He was indirect with his tongue, but each swipe had you letting out small moans. A mix of his saliva and your arousal was causing the fabric to become even more wet; they were most certainly going to be wrecked. 

The small kitten-licks were nice, but you needed more. Charles knew this too, and you felt him work his fingers under the material of your undergarments, pulling them down your ass and thighs. It took some awkward maneuvering, but eventually the garment was off, being tossed somewhere to the side by you, leaving you in only your undershirt.

He wasted no time, pulling you back down onto his face with a growl. Parting you with a pass of his tongue, he let out a pleased noise, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. Charles was insatiable now, lapping and drinking you like you were the best goddamn meal he’s ever had. His eyes were hooded, drunk on you. When his broad strokes turned into concentrated flicks on your clit, you moaned loudly, your thighs turning vice-like around his head. 

It spurred him on, working your clit with markman’s accuracy, bringing you closer and closer to your climax in record time. You heard him groan something under you, and you let out a breathy sigh when you realized he was groaning your name over and over again.  

This entire time, you had kept your hands to yourself, but you were growing more and more desperate to touch him. Reaching down, your hands tangled in his hair, and then almost immediately releasing it like it burned you. For a second, you panicked, thinking yet again you crossed a line, which seemed to be a repeating event this evening. You knew his hair was an important part of his culture, and you would never forgive yourself if you did something to upset him.

Without even slowing down a beat, you felt him grab your hand, leading your back towards his head. He closed his eyes when he felt you weave your fingers through the locks, his hips bucking when you tugged slightly. 

You were getting close now, and you felt yourself moving against his face in time with his tongue. “Charles,” you whined, and he hummed in response. “I’m- I’m gettin’ close, darlin’,”

As you neared your release, you heard the sound of skin-on-skin from behind you. Turning around, you saw Charles stroking himself, getting off to eating you out. “Oh my God… Charles…” you breathed out, barely able to tear your eyes away from the beautiful sight behind you.

His eyes were hazy with lust as he peered up at you from between your legs, and you could feel yourself begin to tip over the edge. Sighing out his name, you felt him grin. Before you could even process it, he sucked on your clit, pushing you over that edge as you came hard on his face. You were crying out his name, but your voice sounded distant to your ears, temporarily out of your body as you orgasmed. Charles kept his tongue moving as you came, drawing out every bit of pleasure from your body.

It took you a few moments to recover, and the first thing you were able to hear was the obscene noise leaving Charles’ mouth as he drank in your release. Secondly, you realized you had a death-grip on Charles’ hair, and you quickly let go, and you tried to apologize, but your words were jumbled. He continued to lap at you, but it quickly became too much, your body beginning to feel overstimulated. You rolled off of him, being mindful of the fireplace even in your post-orgasmic haze.

Glancing over at Charles, you found him already watching you, just like he would do in camp. With a soft smile, you scooted closer until you were pressed into his side. He gave you his arm to la on, and you felt him kiss the top of your head. It was silent between the two of you, simply taking the moment to catch your breaths and recover. 

You couldn’t help looking down, though, having to stifle a gasp when you saw how big he actually was, having only gotten a glimpse of him early. He was going to feel good, but you knew you would be sore for a few days after. Not that you cared. 

Looking back up at him, you let your fingers trail up his chest, resting right above his heart. It was beating erratically, just like yours, and you heard him let out a noise when your fingers “accidently” brushed over his nipple. You heard him whine out your name, and you slowly sat up. You were able to see him clearer now, and he looked like a mess. His face was covered in your slick, glistening in the firelight, and his hair was all tousled from your fingers. But the best part was the pure bliss on his features.

It was almost comical, the way his eyes snapped open when you pulled off your shirt, exposing your chest to him. “You’ve got somethin’ on your face,” you tried to joke, but your voice was quite hoarse. You tossed your shirt at him, giving him something to wipe his mouth with. He merely set it to the side, unbothered with the mess. Propping himself up with an arm, he offered you his free hand, pulling you forward when you took it in yours.

You nearly fell right on top of him, your muscles pure jelly. Laughing, you were just able to get upright before he was kissing you. It was weird, tasting yourself on him, but you found you didn’t mind. You didn’t keep your lips on his for too long, moving down his jaw, then down his neck. You weren’t straddling his hips, so the positioning was a tad bit uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. 

Moving down further, you trailed kissed across his collarbones, then down his sternum, his breathing growing uneven as you went lower and lower. A hand now rested on the back of your head as you continued downward, reaching a patch of hair that started at his belly button. It surprised you, the rest of his body being relatively hairless, but you weren't complaining. In fact, you were imagining seeing it peek out from under his shirt as he stretched, his clothing riding up with his arms. Even though it was relatively innocent in the light of everything else the two of you were doing, it had you pressing your thighs together, trying to relieve the returning ache between them.

Following the happy trail, you ran your fingers through the hair as you adjusted closer to his member. His was achingly hard at this point, and his breathing stilled when you ghost your lips over the tip. Leaning over him, you flicked your tongue out, licking up the bead of precum. The hand and your head tightened into a ball, and you could tell he was fighting every urge to buck himself down your throat. Next time, you thought. 

Moving down further so that you sat between his legs, you spit into your hand before you grasped him. He was velvety soft as you slowly began to stroke him, a mix of your name and a moan leaving his lips as you did so. With heavy eyes and part lips, he watched you pleasure him. “You feel so good in my hand,” you murmured, “butI think you’ll feel even better in me, no?”

His response was slightly incoherent, but you could tell he was agreeing with you. “In a second, darlin’. I wanna taste you, too.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Charles found his voice again, although it sounded very strained.

“But I want to. Don’t make me beg for it.” You weren’t really intended to suggest anything, but the look on Charles’ face at your comment had you grinning. “Unless you want me to?”

“I-” he was stunned, but you could tell he was imagining it, and liking it. 

“Please, darlin’, let me suck your cock,” you fluttered your lashes at him. “I bet you taste so good… just let me taste you, please. I need it so bad, darlin’. I need your cock-”

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Charles cursed, which was more arousing than you thought it would be. “Yeah, go ahead, my love.”

Pressing one last kiss to the tip, you flattened your tongue and ran it up his length, and you heard him moan. You did it a few times, receiving a similar reaction each time. Eventually, you slowly took the tip of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around while doing so. Taking more and more of him into your mouth, you were only able to take him halfway before he was pressing against the back of your throat, and you relaxed as best you could, not wanting to trigger your gag reflex.

Taking the rest of him in your hand, you began to bob your head up and down. Hollowing your cheeks until you reached the tip of him, you then ran your tongue across the slit, before moving back down his length, keeping your tongue flat. You repeated this action for a while, falling into an easy rhythm. You felt him buck up a few times, but other than that he kept his hips relatively still, letting you have your way with him. His hand didn’t push you further down him, he just simply held you, moving back the hairs that tried to fall in your face. 

You heard him moan out your name, and you groaned. “You feel so good, my love,” he praised. His words turned into a surprised moan, whe, with your free hand, started moving slowly up his thigh, moving inward until you brushed against his balls. He nearly jumped with the contact, causing his cock to go further down your throat than you'd like, causing you to rear back coughing. 

Immediately, he was apologizing. His hand was now on your cheek, wiping away the spit around your mouth as you recovered. “Are you alright?” He asked, and you nodded, not trusting your voice at that second. You could tell that he still felt bad, and you pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. 

“I’m alright,” you managed to get out, and you cleared your throat some more. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“So did you, touching me like that” he teased, his earlier concerns dissipating when he saw that you truly were okay. “I wasn’t gonna last long even before you did that.” Pulling you up to him, he kissed you, and you finally straddled his waist, his cock resting between your bodies. 

You weren’t given much time to savor his lips before your world was quite literally turning as he flipped you on to your back. The furs nestled nicely against your skin, and you locked your legs around Charles’ waist, grinding yourself against his member. His head fell against your chest, and you felt him brush feather-light kisses across your skin, much like you did. But a new eagerness had overtaken you, and you grinded again against him, and you felt him chuckle. “Patience, my love.”

“I’ve waited long enough, Charles. I need you in me.”

“You think you’re ready for me?” If those words came out of any other man, you would’ve laughed at the arrogance those words held. But you knew it came out of a place of genuine concern for your wellbeing, scared of hurting you. He was large, and you knew that it was probably going to hurt when he entered you, but your lust fueled brain did not care. You need him in you now, consequences be damned.

“Please,” you whispered, and he adjusted so that his face was level with yours. 

“Alright, but if at any point-”

Kissing him quickly, you smiled at him, brushing back a long strand of hair that fell in his face. “I will. I trust you. Now,” you kissed him again, “fuck me.”

He didn’t respond, pressing a kiss against the tip of your nose before you felt him press into you. He kept his eyes on your face, gauging your reaction as he slowly entered you. The initial breach was always the worst part, and you couldn’t help the slight grimace that crossed your features as he breached your entrance. He halted, but you urged him further by pressing your heels into his back. 

The stretch was unlike anything else you’d ever felt, satiating a need you didn’t know you had. Tangling your hands in his hair, you pulled your face against yours, resting your foreheads together. “God, you feel so good,” you panted as he pressed himself deeper into you. You were certain that he was going to ruin you for any other man. 

Hearing him chuckle made you realize you said that last part aloud. “After this, you’re stuck with me, my love.”

Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, and you were curious to see how deep his possessive side went, you pushed further. “Am I now?” Yes. 

For a second, it seemed like Charles couldn’t tell that you were teasing, but when he saw the playful glint in your eye he played along. “Do you think anyone else could make you feel like this?”

He was nearly fully sheathed in you, and you fought the urge to just pull him the rest of the way into you “I dunno. If I remember right, I asked you to fuck me. It sure don’t feel like you’re doin’ that.”

Finally, he was fully in you, your hips flushed together. You both let out content moans, and Charles gave you a moment to adjust. “You want me to fuck you?” He confirmed, and the words sounded even filthier coming from his mouth. 

“If you don’t, I’ll find someone who will.” 

Letting out something akin to a growl, he pulled out of you quickly, leaving only the tip in before he was slamming back into you, hands gripping your hips tightly. He set a brutal pace, and your head rolled back, your moans and cries filling the air. With the way your head was, it caused your back to arch, meaning your breasts were right in his face. With zero hesitation, he took one into his mouth, sucking and toying with the nipple in his mouth. Releasing it, he switched to the other one, making sure to give both apt attention. 

Tugging at his hair, you brought his attention upwards. Smashing your lips against his, your kiss was open-mouth and messy, more tongue and teeth than anything. His hips were snapping against yours, incessant as he pounded into you. 

“Yes! Charles,” you wailed, tearing your lips away from his to do so. He kept his lips busy, nipping and kissing the skin at your jaw and neck. A particularly hard bite had you gasping, and you felt him smirk against your skin. Your senses were completely overwhelmed in the best way; all that you could register was him, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he looked. 

He leaned over you now, broad arms caging your head in. His dark hair fell in waves around him, blocking out any other visual in the room. All you could do was look at him, and he was a sight for sore eyes. Color had long since returned to his cheeks, the skin there darkening with exertion. His eyes were locked on to you, dancing around your face and chest like he couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted to look at. His plush lips were parted, soft gasps of air leaving him with each thrust.

Another snap of his hips had you grasping at his back and shoulders, pleasuring washing over you as another orgasm began to build up. Your nails dug into his skin, no doubt leaving marks, but it didn’t seem to deter him. In fact, he let out a low moan, and it had your cunt clenching around his cock. 

Babbling his name, your nails ran down his back, leaving in its wake angry red lines. “You feel so good… like you were made for me.”

“My love…” he sighed, and one of the hands at the side of your head cupped your face,  bringing you right to his lips. His length was reaching places in you that you didn’t know existed, filling you deep and hard, just like you wanted. You were going to become addicted to him. 

“I’m so close, Charles…” Releasing one of his shoulders, you snaked your hand between your bodies, moving to start touching yourself. You weren’t expecting him to quickly grasp your wrist, bringing it out of the way and replacing your hand with his much larger one. He began to rub at your clit, slow circular movements that juxtaposed the fast in-and-out of his cock. His ministrations had you seeing stars, and you felt yourself reaching completion again that night. 

“Charles, I-”

“I know. Let me feel you fall apart.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

His slow movements turned rapid, groaning when he felt you clench around him. With a cry of his name, you came, pleasure rolling over you in waves. This one was stronger than the first, feeling like every nerve in your body had been set aflame. Your eyes rolled back, the world temporarily turning dark as your eyelids shut. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, a reverent look in his gaze. With the way your walls were fluttering around him, and the quickened pace of his hips, you knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

His arms went back around your head, continuing to move as he chased his own release. You heard him gasp out, quickly pulling out of you, and you let out a discontent noise as he no longer filled you. He stroked himself a few times, hand moving fervently up and down his length. If you weren’t so fucked out of your mind, you would’ve had taken him in your hand yourself, wanting to feel him as well. Moaning your name, you watched as he came, his release spilling over your stomach. His hips canted forward a few times as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You loosened your legs that were wrapped around his waist, and silence hung over the two of you as you both processed what just happened. A small laugh left you, breaking the trance, and you saw him smile back at you, mirroring his laughter with his own. You watched him grab the blanket that was still bundled up on the floor, and he tore off a section of it, the sound of fabric ripping startling you slightly. 

Wiping his release from your skin, he tossed the soiled cloth to some corner of the room. It’s not like this was your place, anyways. Opening your arms, you invited him to lay with you, and he gladly accepted. He was careful to keep his full weight off of you, but he still lay partially on top of you, his head resting on your chest. It was comforting, and you felt yourself begin to grow a bit sleepy. “Are you warm yet?” You teased, running your fingers soothingly through his hair, and you felt his chest rumble with laughter.

“I think so,” he responded, bringing the blanket around your bodies. The fire was starting to die down, but neither of you moved to add fuel to it. He murmured something, and you gave an inquisitive sound. “I love you,” he repeated, his brown eyes filled with emotion as he stared up at you.

“I love you, too.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he quickly shut it. “What is it?” You asked, and he sighed, his warm breath tickling you.

“Does that mean you’ll stay?”

In all honesty, you had completely forgotten about your earlier conversation. The vulnerability in his voice had your eyes watering, and it didn’t take much thinking to reach your answer. Sure, you were scared for the future of the gang, and you were scared that with each passing day you’d find yourself closer and closer to finding your end at a rope or a barrel, but none of those fears mattered, not anymore. Not when you finally had all that you wanted in your arms. And who knows, maybe you’d end up leaving in time, but you knew you wouldn’t be leaving alone.

“Yeah, I’ll stay. Besides, you still owe me a date.”

His responding smile solidified that you had made the right decision. Whatever the future held, you knew it would be easier with Charles by your side.

[nevesmose]

Bandages on Broken Souls: A Nostramo Culture/Lore Post

Sometimes I think about the wee lower-deck people that were all covered in bandages in the Night Lords Trilogy. Why so bandagey? (Bandagepilled wrapmaxxers, not beating the bandage allegations, etc)

She glanced at the wretch, who was unhealthily tall and sexless in its overcloak, keeping its face behind stained bandages. Several others lurked close to the door, whispering amongst themselves. It was impossible not to smell their sweat, their stinking, bloodstained bandages, and the rancid oil-blood of their bionics.

Those ones. The attendants providing for Octavia's needs as a Navigator. Octavia's attendants.

It turns out ADB does tell us a bit later on:

The chlorine reek of them offended his senses, the way it rose in a miasma from their antiseptic-soaked bandages, as if such trivial protections could ward against the changes of the warp.

This is very interesting to me for a few reasons since it can lead to various interpretations about Nostraman culture, even though it's important to bear in mind that what we're seeing is the degraded situation after however-many thousand subjective years of dicking about in the Warp, Eye of Terror etc.

They believe, or at least Ruven the POV character here thinks they believe, that warp mutation can be defended against with purely physical items i.e. bandages and disinfectant. While it's easy to point to examples of people from all kinds of cultures in the setting using spiritual or metaphysical ways to protect themselves from the warp, I find it interesting that this doesn't seem to occur to the Nostramans.

In fact, unless I'm remembering it wrong (always a possibility tbh) other than a small mention in one of the Gendor Skraivok short stories about there being a secret Lectitio Divinitatus cult among the serfs, there seems to be very little spiritual/religious belief organic to Nostramo itself.

That makes some sense, I think. It is after all Space Gotham, a world of armoured groundcars and looming starscrapers where everyone is living under some form or another of very high pressure just to survive whether that means getting their next meal or keeping their position in high level gang politics. Whatever beliefs the original settlers brought with them to the Sunless World were, I imagine, ground away over time as generations passed and people had other, more visceral concerns.

There are a few scenes in the 1984 nuclear war TV movie Threads that take place in the period about 10-20 years after the bombs have fallen. It's clear that the by now rapidly deteriorating survivors of the pre-war world are trying as best they can to provide some kind of education for their post-war descendants, but this is extremely limited and relies on what they can gather together from whatever books, VHS tapes etc happened to survive the war:

"The skeleton of a cat! A cat's skeleton!"

And we can see that it simply means nothing to the children and young adults whose entire existence revolves around basic survival - mostly food and the things they have to do in order to get it.

This, in a way, is what I think happened to whatever beliefs in anything beyond the material that may have ever existed on Nostramo by the time we see it in the Crusade/Heresy era. It's a sad, stunted little world and I feel immensely sorry for the nasty, skeevy people it produced.

Another factor affecting this would of course be the Night Haunter. You don't really need to have a spiritual/metaphorical figure or system dispensing rules and justice when Konrad is actually real and inside your home making it brutally clear what his views on law-breaking are.

So, in my usual roundabout way, we come back to the bandages again. My view, as I've expressed before in my ramblings, is that Konrad didn't truly eradicate crime on Nostramo so much as eradicate the appearance of it.

There's a legend from Ancient Greece about a Spartan boy training to be a warrior which I'll post as a screenshot below since I think we could all do with a break from my writing style for a bit:

"He could steal and suffer and die rather than be found out" is the relevant part here I think. Much like the idea that snitches get stitches or the mafia code of omertà where one's value in society and life itself hinge on a mutual keeping of silence against any and all authority figures.

We know that even before Konrad arrived, Nostraman society functioned on a gang allegiance basis, so already fertile ground for a very insular and secretive type of culture. But then we add the Night Haunter to the mix and the numbers spell disaster for you at Sacrifice the social pressure in this direction ramps up massively.

It's also made very clear pretty much everywhere that Nostramo is a vicious, predatory society. There's a description in one of the Skraivok stories of Phy Orlon, the canonical smallest saddest uwu-iest Night Lord:

It astounded Skraivok how such a vulpine little thing had made it through the selection process. Even bulked by legionary gifts, Orlon still managed to convey the impression of feebleness. Towards the end, Nostramo had been providing only the dregs of the dregs. No wonder Curze had levelled the place.

Weakness was like the scent of blood in the water to the Night Lords. Legionaries like Orlon would always attach themselves to those they deemed powerful, for protection. That explained the ridiculous batwings welded to the top of his helm in emulation of Sevatar, and why he had appointed himself as Skraivok’s adjutant.

It's like prison or high school. Even the transhuman supersoldier Nostramans still function this way. What hope do ordinary people have?

Not much at all, I think. Just in order to survive day to day it'd be necessary to conceal any injury, weakness or deformity at the risk of having it being ruthlessly used against you by just about everyone.

So we come back to the bandages again. Told you I'd get there eventually. We see that the attendants are in fact completely covered in bandages Joshua Graham style:

‘Lord,’ they hissed through slits in their faces that were once lips. Their bloodstained bandages rustled as they shifted and lowered their weapons.

[...]

She raised a bandaged hand, as if she could possibly bar the warrior’s passage with a demand, let alone with her physical presence.

I can imagine the impulse to cover up and conceal any weakness applies very strongly to warp mutations of any sort. Curdled and degraded over millennia roaming the immaterium in the bowels of a ship with the changes becoming worse and worse the longer they go on, it would be plausible for this to develop into a need to cover up and disinfect every inch of oneself in order to maintain some pretence, however flimsy, of being a capable human being.

The saddest part of it for me, though, is that all of the attendants are like this. It's a situation where everyone is quite literally in the same boat, undergoing the same suffering, and yet they still retain this deeply-ingrained need to hide and conceal themselves from each other. It feels like even here, ten thousand years after its destruction, Nostramo's poison is still influencing them, still flowing through their veins to keep them separated, afraid, and deeply alone.

Oh wow, a few paragraphs from ADB somehow led to a great long wall of text. Congratulations if you've made it this far!

PS: This being ADB I feel obliged to consider the possibility of Ruven either lying or being mistaken. I don't think this is likely since he is a) also Nostraman and b) a sorcerer meaning that if there was any spiritual aspect going on he would more than likely have the requisite cultural/magical knowledge or experience to be aware of it or otherwise detect it. Ruven is a conniving goth thot but he has no reason to lie in that particular bit of his own thoughts.

[bernardellinewsagency]

back with even more trigun x honkai star rail crossover thoughts, this time inspired by @jiinglespurs's veritas the punisher fanart :D though i'm not sure if i can call this just "thoughts" when it's turned into uh... several paragraphs of rambling and then a 2k word ratiorine fanfic about it. it's mostly unedited because i think i wrote most of it in some sort of possessed/fugue state where i was solely consumed by the need to have aventurine as vash, veritas as wolfwood, and for them to hurt my own feelings, but yeah in total this is around three thousand words in one post. i'm gonna hide it under a cut for everyone's sake :)

to start, no man's land is now penacony, of course. instead of seven cities, it's twelve, based on the twelve dreamscapes. now, most of these cities are just there to exist in the background and/or be destroyed. the lore important ones are midnight, sol, and morning dew (idk if the names should be changed to sound more like locations but trigun has cities named after months, names like morning dew aren't entirely out of the question).

midnight is where ships first crashed onto the planet, dooming humanity to a lonesome existence in this new world. however, despite being the vash and nai representative characters, this wasn't because of kakavasha and sunday. no, it was mikhail and gopher wood, the watchmaker and the dreammaster whose actions helped shape the penacony storyline in canon. these days, it's mostly a ghost town, the remnants of the first human civilizations on the planet. and morning dew is the july of this world, the location where shit will be going down, since it's where the dewlight pavilion is in canon so it'd be wherever sunday hosts his currently unnamed religious fanaticism organization.

in canon, sol is the dreamscape known for museums, libraries, and academies. thus, this becomes where veritas is from. to take more from wolfwood's backstory, he would've been an orphan there, brought up in an orphanage and not really able to get a proper education. luckily for him, i feel like he'd be a pretty self sufficient learner- he could've stolen books and snuck into buildings to help teach himself math, science, philosophy, etc. seeing his potential, the orphanage probably would've wanted to help send him to school, but he would insist that if they sent anyone, it would be the other kids who'd need it more than him, or that they save their money for food and supplies. a pity, perhaps if he did go away to school then he wouldn't have been taken and made into a killer rather than a scholar.

remember how i said that things would've been caused by gopher wood and mikhail? well, both of them are dead now. mikhail would've died first, which is rather unfortunate because then gopher wood would've been able to make a power grab and form the currently unnamed organization (though it'll probably be named after smth to do with the harmony or the order) incredibly powerful and influential within penacony. he would've had grand plans, and i think sunday should coup him before he could do much with them. kill his father, take his power, be more ambitious that he ever could.

speaking of this unnamed organization, its members are this au's versions of the gung-ho guns and can really be any character who shows up in the penacony quests. there's veritas the punisher, of course, and it's now led by dominicus, the name sunday goes just like how nai goes by millions knives. very transgender of both of them. then there's gallagher the hound, sparkle the fool, and while i don't have any ideas for robin, those three would be in the upper echelons of this group; both because sunday wants to keep his friends close and his enemies (of which gallagher and sparkle are certainly both possibilities) closer, and because the four remind me of the four harmonic strings, and sunday would definitely love the symbolism of that. i've also got two other ideas for its members: acheron the blade, an accomplished swordswoman known for never unsheathing her sword in a fight, and samuel the cavalry, an unknown young woman cloaked in both brutality and a fearsome armor made from lost tech.

why is kakavasha on the run from sunday and his organization? he's the vash adjacent character in this au, but he's not actually related to sunday, the two don't have any original closeness to utilize. but the glory of an au is that you can put canon into a paper shredder and say things like "maybe the avgins were there before anyone crash landed onto the planet. maybe kakavasha is still the last of his kind. and because i can, maybe he's got some fun powers that i can use to make him get homoerotic with veritas but can also serve as a reason why sunday is hunting him down." really i just need to be able to make him suffer more than jesus for my own entertainment.

and finally, i love the thought of eve being jade's real name, so it's jelena and eve who end up traveling with kakavasha across the world. they're meant to be like the insurance girls, financial sector employees who have ended up sticking with him because of the monetary disasters he keeps causing everywhere he goes.

ONTO THE GOOD STUFF. IT'S FANFIC TIME.

"what the hell were you thinking, blondie?" veritas yells, crouching beneath a half destroyed wall as the top of it gets riddled with bullets, spinning the punisher around and firing backwards without looking. he doesn't have to; they drilled him on trajectories and distances and angles so much he doesn't even need to run the numbers, his hearing helping to pick up on where the bandits are and his hands naturally guiding his aim. it's not a guarantee that he hit where he wanted every time, but he hears the first three bodies drop like apples from a tree, while the fourth cries out in terror and moves in time to flee.

"i had a plan, veritas! no one was going to get hurt!" he's a damn good liar, that kakavasha, because veritas can smell the blood coming from his arm, enhanced senses tuned in to everything around him more than he would ever like to be. now is not the time to be overwhelmed by all that. covering his ears, veritas remains crouched as another explosion sounds off behind the two of them, and then he takes off. keeping the punisher close to his chest, he counts the footsteps he can hear as he runs, the way kakavasha's catch up to him.

he's taller, but kakavasha is faster. veritas has shorter strides despite having longer legs, it's just because of the way he runs while burdened with such a heavy weight. kakavasha barely touches the ground as he sprints though, especially when they aren't yet back to the sand that surrounds the sprawling metropolitan city of blue hour. an ever-growing town situated with a monopoly of the largest body of water in penacony means the people here certainly wouldn't struggle with shitty roads, and it also means it's a shitty place for them to have run into the fool.

ten more steps. five more. two- kakavasha overtakes him, and veritas finishes counting down the beats in his head. keeping perfect time with the fool's rhythm, he spins, firing a single shot at the explosive doll that's launched towards them. it hits perfectly, and even though whatever charge sparkle put in this one is stronger than the rest, it's still within the parameters veritas had set. kakavasha is out of the blast radius, and the punisher absorbs most of the force of the shockwave and the shrapnel from it, leaving veritas to deal with just a piece that nicks his side and the searing heat.

no time to waste after that; he turns right back around and keeps running, easily falling into step with kakavasha as they both time their steps with each others’. "you think you could have a plan to deal with this? you've heard about the fool before, right? you can't predict what's going to happen next, there isn't any game theory about the best course of action you can apply to this!"

"you predicted that bomb!" kakavasha points out, both yelling to be heard.

"yes, as a one time thing, not a broad overview of this entire scenario! there's no strategy to minimize harm!" he tugs kakavasha into a tight left turn, hearing footsteps from the direction they had been headed. "sparkle doesn't play by any games' rules, only her own. the only way we might be able to deal with her is to get rid of her stage and her audience, and that's this whole damn town!"

he'd have to be more of a fool than dominicus' latest assassin to miss the way that kakavasha looks at him, unnatural eyes wide and staring through those obnoxious pink glasses of him. "you sure know a lot about her," he says once they manage to stop for a moment to catch their breath.

veritas very nearly doesn't resist the urge to go and snap those glasses in half. "well, you heard what miss eve has said before. i'm quite well learned, for someone like me. i'm more worried that you don't seem to know anything at all about the people hunting you down!"

laughing nervously, the way kakavasha checks the ammo of his revolver is one of the most obvious tells veritas has ever seen, second only to the way his fist is always held behind his back as he talks monsters out of mayhem to spare others' lives. it's a tell that reminds him entirely too much of this martyr's opposite, and he forces the thought from his mind. "i'd really prefer it if they didn't have to do so, you know, it'd make this whole journey much more pleasant. after all, i've already got you here with me, right? no need for anyone else."

for all that veritas is well versed in practical manners, his body and mind honed to perfection, the heart and feelings continue to elude his grasp. he has no idea what emotion it is that overtakes him- rage? confusion? fear? something else entirely? all he knows is that he looks over at kakavasha, and that idiot is just grinning at him, just smiling as if he isn't hinting at everything that's been threatening to tear down veritas' entire world.

moving without thinking, dust fills the air as he slams kakavasha against the nearest wall, a hand gripped around his neck and not letting go. "what the fuck do you think you know about?" he yells, tightening his hold. "you- you fucking bastard, how long have you known?"

in the split second attack, kakavasha's glasses must have fallen to the ground, because he's met with the full force of that multicolored gaze that always cuts quick to his very core. "since we met," he wheezes, "i've known all along."

veritas drops him, watching kakavasha fall to sit on the ground as something unfamiliar writhes within his gut. "you knew? and you- you didn't do anything about it? how in the world could anyone, even you, make a gamble with such high stakes? just because you think you know me? were you just going to let me get close to you- no, not even you, were you going to play with jelena and eve's lives like that? just bet that i won't kill them, that they won't end up as more innocent casualties because of you, stampede?"

"hear what you're saying?" kakavasha sounds too smug, too fucking sure of himself, like he's already won this argument, and veritas turns around so he won't have to see the same expression on the bastard's face. "you care about them. you wouldn't let them get harmed in a fight, you're not about to go and hurt them yourself. you're a good person, veritas, and i trust you-"

"no," he spits, seething with vitriol bubbling up to the surface. "you're naive, stampede, you're a gambler and a fool-"

"funny," comes another voice, lilting and feminine, "i thought that i was the fool here."

the argument seems to be unanimously paused as both whip their heads around to stare at the newcomer, guns drawn and at the ready. she just laughs at that, raising her hands to show that she's not carrying any of the dolls she's been using to wreak havoc across blue hour. "easy, boys, no need for such hostility!"

veritas makes sure he's aiming right between her eyes. "what the fuck do you want?"

more giggles. "entertainment, of course! and this little lover's spat is more entertaining than what the rest of the town has become. those girls you mentioned spoiled most of the fun for me, taking away my grand audience and actors, so i had to look for something else!"

jelena and eve got the citizens away. veritas sighs with relief at the realization. there will still be piles of bodies and rubble to clean up, but the girls must've come up with some type of evacuation plan after the four got separated. his grip on the punisher loosens slightly, but not enough to not aim to kill. "so, did you get the entertainment you wanted?"

"of course! and even though you're entertaining, i know that you won't kill me, punisher, and your little blond puppy over there definitely won't, no matter how thrilling that would be to see! so, i'll see myself out, as i'm getting rather bored here. toodle-oo!"

even he can't see where she got the last doll from, considering he hadn't seen any with her, but maybe there is something to how lucky kakavasha seems to be when it only explodes into a cloud of colorful dust and bright lights. by the time he turns back, sparkle the fool is long gone. "damn it," he curses, lowering the punisher as reality sinks in. "damn it, damn it!"

kakavasha's touch is what snaps him out of it, a palm placed right over where he got hit earlier. he hisses at the sting, already reaching for one of the vials he keeps within the punisher. no more need to hide it if blondie's known all this time. "wait," he hears, and he pauses despite himself, unable to stop himself from indulging kakavasha's gentle request.

a warm sensation spreads from where kakavasha touches him, soothing his aches as it spreads through his nerves and veins, through to where blood has already started to clot now that he's no longer prolonging the healing by moving around. the pain was already negligible and nothing compared to what he's faced in the past, yet suddenly it's gone entirely. if he were to look, veritas is sure that he would be faced with the familiar sight of his flesh stitching itself back together until there's not even a single hint that he had been injured remaining. he doesn't look though, keeps his eyes trained away from the man next to him. "i- you-"

"we should meet back up with the girls," kakavasha says. he draws back after a few more seconds, his work apparently done. he picks something up from the ground; his sunglasses, veritas realizes, and it's only once he's got those back on that veritas can face him again.

grabbing onto his wrist as soon as he can get an opportunity to, veritas takes a few seconds to wait for words to start working for him again before speaking. "what the fuck did you just do?"

"oh, that? that's nothing! think of it as just a token of my appreciation, mkay?"

however fast kakavasha can run is not going to help him run away from this. "that's- you know that's not what i wanted to hear, blondie. you just healed me with nothing but a single touch. the only thing i know of that can do anything like that is the healing serum that asshole has been able to cook up for people like me. even someone like you could understand how suspicious that is, and i know i've got no leg to stand on for this, but you-"

"veritas." kakavasha doesn't want to leave him any room to disagree with him on this. "i said, we should meet up with the girls."

"they're safe, they can wait- wait." pieces click into place within his thoughts. they're still hasty and disorganized, but they show him the steps to take through the right method. "heal yourself first, you damn gambler."

"who, me? i'm not hurt, veritas!" he snatches his arm away the moment that veritas makes a move to yank his sleeve up, as if the two of them can't see the blood staining the outside of his jacket anyways.

it's a reaction he had been expecting. "you infuriate me, do you know that? i was going to ask you what you are, considering your little special ability, but i already know the most important answer to that. you're a martyr, and you won't heal yourself even though you can."

"it's just not effective on myself?" kakavasha tries to counter.

"you and i both know that isn't true, but if that's the way you want to play this, fine. let's go back to the girls, and i'll make sure that jelena guilts you into letting me bandage you up properly."

a faux gasp. he's brought them back to more familiar territory. playful sounding bickering that still holds its edge, conceding to his wants while using them against him. half casual conversation, half the strategy of a hostage negotiation. "you wouldn't dare!" kakavasha exaggerates. "i'm her favorite, you know."

he grabs ahold of the unsaid conversation. "no, you're eve's favorite. jelena likes me more than you, she says that i'm more reasonable." in bickering about the two of them, it's what goes unsaid that means the most. they can talk like this because nothing is going to change between the four of them. kakavasha isn't going to tell them anything, for better or for worse. "listen, gambler-"

"no need to say anything, veritas." his eyes don't look as odd when they're accompanied by a genuine smile. "we've all got our secrets, right?"

he looks away first, hauling the punisher back over his shoulder and letting the weight dig in uncomfortably against his back. "yes" he whispers, knowing kakavasha would still hear him, "yes we do."

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 2, Episode 4

This episode picks up immediately after the previous one, Felice has fled Wilhelm's room and he's panicking...

Subtext: Not sure if he writes that to reassure Felice, or himself. Or maybe both?

Subtext: Either way, Henry totally snitched. Maybe he just told Walter, who then snitched, but no matter, the secret is out, and now everyone knows.

Subtext: Since Sara has never dated or even pursued a guy before, she's completely clueless on how it's done, and doesn't really understand sexting emojis. I use Urban Dictionary to figure out what the dang kids these days are talking about, and 🍑 means booty! You're welcome. This is an educational Tumblr after all.

Subtext: This episode is littered with hints about Stella's sexuality, and it's kinda telling that she's a lot less bothered about others seeing her make out with Fredrika.

Culture: It totally is. Sweden has imported a couple of retail holidays from the US, Valentine's is one, but it wasn't really a thing until the 90's, and it's pretty watered down compared to that. There's a lost in translation here as well, because in Sweden the day is called Alla Hjärtans Dag - All Hearts' Day, but the Hillerska tradition is called Valentindagen, which literally means Valentine's Day, which is not the same thing as the retail holiday.

Subtext: Oh look, it's the Theme™ rearing its ugly head again! Instead of examining crappy traditions, the students are just perpetuating them mindlessly. That everyone was "a bit sexist" in the 1700's is no excuse to keep the bad parts of this tradition.

Subtext: To the other girls, Marie Antoinette is seen as a positive example of the time period because of the ostentatiousness and nobility, but Sara doesn't quite make the same association, and only remembers her for being decapitated during the French Revolution.

Subtext: She lied, like a liar.

Subtext: Walter's slightly desperate strategy also applies to Wilhelm. If Simon says no, Wilhelm has no plan B.

Subtext: Oh look, the Theme™. We're on a roll here!

Subtext: The chant that Walter starts goes "Alla är lika mycket värda" in Swedish, which is sort of how the Universal Declaration of Human Rights start in its Swedish version. This egalitarian phrase pops up in tons of places and mission statements where people and organizations want to emphasize human rights, and is very familiar to most Swedes. But then the chant continues about how only very few people are allowed into Forest Ridge, making a mockery of the implied equality. Because of course these rich assholes think they have more worth than everyone else.

Subtext: Earlier I reblogged a great post by @randomsmilingpotatoes about how this season shows us easier, simpler relationship alternatives for both Wilhelm and Simon. This scene is one example of that, because it shows that if Wilhelm had been straight and going after the other rich girls at school, all the Forest Ridge boys would have celebrated him, included him in their fellowship, and cheered him on in his "conquests". Everyone knows he had a thing with Simon, but because he's a boy, and not rich, they're not celebrating Wilhelm for that.

Subtext: As usual when Simon feels hurt by Wilhelm's actions, he reactively reaches out to Marcus.

Subtext: Marcus comes to the rescue and treats Simon to a lunch that is more appropriate to their social class, they're having pizza on the hood of his car. This is another example of how a relationship with Marcus would be simpler for Simon, here he doesn't have to mind his table manners unlike at the formal luncheons at Forest Ridge where he'll always be an outsider.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Of course Marcus has a Wunderbaum air freshener hanging in the rear-view mirror, like the low-brow pleb he is. I, on the other hand, am a man of high class and refined tastes, so I have a Pusheen air freshener in my car instead. Om nom nom ice cream.

Subtext: Yes Marcus, that is exactly what Simon wants to do.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: I'm cackling with laughter at Sara's expression as she tries - and fails - to take some sexy selfies.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Whoops, can't have a horse plushie in the sexy selfie, so she quickly throws it to the floor before continuing.

Culture: They're playing Spökboll, a Swedish version of Dodgeball, and a staple of many a gym class. Also, angry, jealous Simon has great aim!

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Simon's eyes are up here, Wilhelm. Stop ogling his body.

Subtext: In Simon's defence, it was Marcus who surprised him with that kiss, it wasn't exactly mutual. Wilhelm doesn't know how much Simon is actually struggling with moving on, but Simon isn't dispelling the notion either.

Subtext: Previously, the Queen emphasized how anyone dating Wilhelm has to deal with his position, and later in this episode both Felice and Nils will say the same thing. This is the point where Wilhelm realizes that maybe it'll never work out with Simon if this is non-negotiable on his part, because Wilhelm can't stop being a prince. And since Wilhelm walks out of the argument, Simon realizes at this point that he maybe went too far, Wilhelm might actually move on after this.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Wilhelm makes a hilarious puppy face when asking Felice to forgive him. Her calling him out on his enormous selfishness was pretty satisfying though, and well earned!

Subtext: And again, yet another example of easier alternatives for Wilhelm. There's no shortage of people who would want to date him because he is a prince, unlike Simon who is doing the opposite, making that relationship much more difficult.

Culture: Traditionally, there are fourteen lines in a sonnet. Each line also needs to be in iambic pentameter, and the whole thing needs to conform to a rhyme scheme. The most well known composer of sonnets was William Shakespeare, who mostly used the ABAB CDCD EFEF GG rhyme scheme.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Vincent never misses a chance to put down the other boys, and I can't help but laugh.

Subtext: This episode really piles on the relationship alternatives, and here comes Nils with his suggestion: Keep everything on the down-low. Be gay, but discreetly. Hook up with guys, quietly. Go to private, upper-class gay parties at some exclusive ski resort in Switzerland, and meet guys who in the same situation and that can keep quiet. You don't have to be out and proud, no-one needs to know.

Lost in translation: Nils uses "gay" here, which in Swedish has a less strict meaning than the English word gay, where it usually only refers to a homosexual man. In Swedish though it can mean "not straight", so who knows how Nils identifies.

Culture: Tim Cook, the CEO of Apple, isn't high profile enough for you, Nils? But he has a point, it's rare for people in that position to be out and open about it.

Culture: He's not wrong, it would be world news. I don't think there's any immediate family in the line of succession in any European monarchy that is openly queer. However, there's currently over 30 royal kids throughout Europe that are Gen Z or younger, the odds of every single one of them being straight is pretty much zero, so there's a chance that we'll actually see this in real life soon. Fingers crossed! 🤞🤞

Cinematography: Not content with dropping hints about Stella any longer, the show implicitly tells us that she wrote the poem to Fredrika by focusing on her face and her reaction.

Subtext: ...and follows it up with more hints in her dialogue.

Subtext: August has no qualms about standing naked in front of the window, with the curtains open. He doesn't need to hide his relationship with Sara, if someone were to spy on him, he'd be celebrated by the other guys instead.

Subtext: Even though August started the episode in a great mood after having the meeting with the Queen, here the trap of royal duty begins to close around him, and he realizes that it's not all positive. If he's going to be the spare, the royal court needs to control his future as well. Ten years sure sounds like a prison sentence.

Subtext: No, he lied, like a liar.

Subtext: As if the show hasn't already used Jan-Olof as a personification of systemic homophobia, here it's made explicit. The court needs for August to be straight, otherwise their backup plan might not work either.

Subtext: For Sara, this is possibly something she's heard her dad promise before, and that didn't turn out so well.

Subtext: Sara makes up an excuse for not going with August to the ball, but the real reason is because of loyalty, she promised the girls to go with them. She's also dating her best friend's ex behind her back, which is pretty disloyal as well.

Subtext: Felice is talking about Wilhelm, but now that Sara knows that August is Wilhelm's spare and a future royal, this suddenly applies to her too.

Subtext: Felice is loyal to her friends, which is why she turned Wilhelm down.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Vincent being his usual hilarious horrible self.

Culture: In Sweden, the drinking age is 18, so only the third-year students are allowed to legally drink. But since this is an official party for the entire school, the staff can't serve alcohol to the kids, which is why a lot of them are pre-gaming in the dorms.

Subtext: For August, dressing up as a noble is something he enjoys. He's always wanted more status, and now that he's Wilhelm's spare he's got it.

Subtext: ...while Wilhelm hates it, he hates having to dress up and play the part, because it's that exact thing that is stopping him from having a relationship with Simon. But at this point he's pretty much resigned himself to his fate, so he puts on the makeup and the dress, playing the part of a real prince, crying while doing so.

Subtext: August is normally a pretty confident guy, but here we see him being insecure and anxious for the first time, because he's actually in love with Sara and is afraid of fucking up his carefully planned classy little pre-party champagne date with her.

Lost in translation: Sara writes "Vi kan inte ses mer", which means "We can't see each other any more", which is actually kind of a break-up message. But the English subtitles make it seem like she's just standing him up for this one party.

Subtext: Simon was planning to only do his performance and skip the rest of the party, because he knew Wilhelm would be there. But now that Marcus shows up, ready to go to the party for Simon's sake, he changes his mind.

Subtext: The fish do have names, it's just that Simon associates that with a very happy memory of Wilhelm, and he's clearly thinking of that here.

Culture: We need to have a small intermission here, talking about the theme for the masquerade ball, and how this relates to the show.

In the early 1700's in Sweden, despite early successes defending Sweden on the battlefield against Denmark-Norway, the young king Karl XII embarked on a disastrous campaign against Russia that ended in defeat and weakened the military. On his return to Sweden he started a new campaign against Norway, but died in battle there soon after in 1718, which pretty much led to the end of the era of the Swedish Empire that had started a hundred years earlier.

These defeats and loss of military power made the monarchy pretty unpopular among the people, so when queen Ulrika Eleonora took over the throne after her childless brother, she was forced to give up a lot of power to parliament, and no longer had the unchecked power to rule over the country. The early to mid 1700's was also the time when the Age of Enlightenment swept over Europe, and philosophers like Voltaire and Rousseau spread ideals of liberty and equality and brotherhood, which in France ultimately resulted in the bloody French Revolution at the end of the century.

But In Sweden, these ideas led to the Age of Liberty, an era marked by rationality and science and civil rights, and Sweden started progressing into a proper constitutional monarchy, ruled by law instead of the whims of the current king or queen. However, parliament became more and more unstable, and in 1772 the newly crowned king Gustav III seized power from parliament in a coup, rolled back many of the recent changes, and restored the absolute monarchy.

And that's the dude in the painting above, sitting on the left, together with his two brothers, Prince Fredrik Adolf, and Prince Karl. This time period is the theme of the ball, and all the kids are wearing similar clothes; French fashion from the late 1700's, powdered wigs, cravats, tricorne hats, pearls and all. Because of course an upper-class school like Hillerska would rather celebrate a period marked by a strong monarchy and absolute rule, rather than that egalitarian wishy-washy nonsense of the earlier era.

In further parallels to the show, Gustav III was probably gay, had gay lovers among the nobility, and might not have been the biological father of his children, due to difficulties *ahem* performing the necessary act with his spouse, Queen Sofia Magdalena.

The king was a huge supporter of culture and arts, and under his rule, Sweden got its first opera house, its first ballet company, and a proper drama theatre, all of which are still in operation today. The king even wrote several plays and a few operas himself, and spent a lot of time directing these plays as well. However, him spending more time on his hobbies than actually ruling the country, combined with certain political reforms he pushed through, made him deeply unpopular among the nobility. So unpopular in fact that several nobles got together in a conspiracy to assassinate him. The king was shot at a masquerade ball in 1792 and died of the complications two weeks later.

All the conspirators were caught, the man who pulled the trigger, Jacob Johan Anckarström, was executed for treason, and a number of co-conspirators were either jailed or exiled. One of the leading co-conspirators' name was, and I shit you not, Claes Fredrik Horn. What's August's last name in the show again?

This lesson about queer Swedish kings in history is now over, back to the show.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: An alternative to pre-gaming is to smuggle in alcohol to the party and spike your own drinks with it. Fredrika Stella hid a pocket flask in her dress.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Stella is wearing a very anachronistic dollar-sign necklace. It does look fabulous, though!

Subtext: Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Stella doesn't dare make that gamble, and is instead settling for the unfortunately very common queer trope of secretly pining for your straight best friend.

Subtext: Throughout the entire party, Simon makes it so obvious that he's not into Marcus, and is just using him to make Wilhelm jealous.

Subtext: Marcus is pretty oblivious though, and he can't wait to get the hell out of this place, he's not comfortable, he wanted a quiet date-night at home with Simon, but this was the only way he could get Simon to spend the night with him.

Subtext: Throughout this not-really-relationship, Marcus has insisted on setting the pace, and here he does it again. He has now decided that they should have sex, which is why he showed up to this thing in the first place, and is nagging Simon to sleep at his place, while completely ignoring all the signs that Simon is on a completely different page.

Subtext: Alexander is completely in the dark here, he thinks Wilhelm and Felice was a serious thing, and he thinks that August still has feelings for Felice.

Subtext: August is pissed about being stood up by Sara, so he reverts to his usual scheming self. Planning the downfall of the king at a masquerade ball? Didn't I just write about something like that a few sections ago?

Culture: The tall thing in the middle of the table is called a Krokan in Swedish, which is more of a decorative almond cookie thing than a cake. The pink marzipan cake is called an Operatårta, which is a pink variation of the even more classic green Swedish princess cake. If you live near an IKEA, you can usually find mini versions of these in their restaurant.

Subtext: It's kinda ironic that Marcus has more in common with Wilhelm than Simon, but what does Simon and Marcus have in common, really? They clearly have completely opposite tastes.

Cinematography: Out at the party the lighting is pink and warm and romantic, but in the kitchen there's a sickly fluorescent glow instead, and it's filled with modern things that completely clash with the theme of the party. Wilhelm tried putting on a show, but as soon as Simon is out of sight, he throws away his cake and escapes the fake dressed-up environment by going into the kitchen, where we see his real feelings.

Subtext: It was at this exact moment Simon realized that he had fucked up. His attempts at making Wilhelm jealous has completely backfired, and Wilhelm is now finally letting go, just like he has been preparing himself for the entire episode.

Cinematography: Unlike the first season which featured cute moments between the two of them in almost every episode, this season started with a fakeout dream scene, and has since then withheld moments like this on purpose to build suspense.

We've been seeing both Wilhelm and Simon have intimate scenes with other characters, but there's been no chemistry, nothing in those scenes that make us want to root for those relationships.

But now it's time for the emotional payoff, and the show holds nothing back, it employs every single trick in its book to make us really feel this moment: The action is slowed way down, and all outside sounds disappear. The only thing we're hearing is their heavy breathing, just like in similar scenes in the first season, and the soundtrack switches to the [dreamy electronic music] used in the initial dream scene. The chemistry is insane, you can cut the tension with a knife, and you're all supposed to remember that this is why we're watching this show! This is why we're invested in this couple!

And then they kiss.

Can you breathe again? Do you need to take a cold shower? Alright, let's wrap this episode up. Yeah, yeah, Marcus interrupts the moment, and he sees Wilhelm, putting two and two together, who cares? They kissed! They finally kissed!

Subtext: The idea that no-one picks up on the fact that this song is totally about a lost love is hilarious, because it's so obvious to me. I have to squint and look at it sideways to imagine how it could possibly be about the school, not the other way around!

Subtext: Wilhelm is looking at Marcus at this line, because Simon got lost by trying to get together with Marcus, but just now found his way back "home" to Wilhelm again.

Subtext: He did remove the profanity and he did put Hillerska in there like the music teacher told him, so that everyone understands it's totally about the school! And not about Wilhelm, nuh-uh!

Subtext: In the same way that Simon's song is about his feelings for Wilhelm, afterwards the soundtrack switches to Beautiful Boy, which is about what Wilhelm is feeling for Simon, because in this moment he could really feel that Simon does love him after all. The way Simon is ignoring Marcus and only has eyes for Wilhelm might be a big fat hint as well.

[grissomesque]

15 Questions

thank youuu for another tag @curator-on-ao3, keeping me from writing like a good friend should. 🫡

1. Are you named after anyone?

nope. but. my mom had a dream about what my name should be, and she thinks this was, like, important. real. but my dad didn't like it. so it's my middle name, and i wish she'd stuck to her guns, because i've always hated what they went with instead.

2. When was the last time you cried?

earlier today, watching a thing.

3. Do you have kids?

I have one perfect child yes.

4. What sports do you/have you played?

per my last email survey, i fenced a little. not seriously. for no good reason except that it was expensive at the time, i still have all my gear.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

most of the time.

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

yeahhhh everyone's saying 'vibes' and i think i have to go with that too. i'm actually so very bad at noticing anything physical about a person that it impedes my ability to remember them later. like, students in particular. or i'll remember the vibes and the work, but could not pick them out of a lineup.

7. What's your eye color?

tom paris.

8. Do you prefer scary or happy endings for movies?

i mean, between these choices, happy. but i don't really watch happy movies. i also don't love most scary movies. complicated, melancholy, angsty endings are best. rip my guts out please and thank you.

9. Any talents?

ops.

10. Where were you born?

the pacific northwest babeeeeey.

11. What are your hobbies?

photography, writing, reading. i'm boring.

12. Do you have any pets?

not currently

13. How tall are you?

kathryn janeway without heels

14. Favorite school subject?

english

15. Dream occupation?

this is a great question. for much of my life the answer was teacher - early education first, and then, later, higher ed. now, academia is a hellscape. i think i'd like to do what i do now, but for a nonprofit. i probably just declined to apply for my dream job because of its location and i think about that constantly.

tagging everyone! tagxiety rules the day!

[megatruxfr]

Reviewing Dutch versions as a Dutch bc i can lol - Ferdinand (2017)

Well guys, today we are reviewing the dutch version of Ferdinand, a movie about a sweet careful bull that was originally bred for bullfighting, but he doesnt want to fight. I wont be out here explaining the whole thing - pls just watch the movie - but he ends up in a bullfight bc of being chosen by a matador.

I watched this movie in English and Dutch (i think its really ironic how this movie has a Spanish dub, just like how Turbo has a French dub) and i enjoyed both of them. But lets cover the dutch voices by my opinion.

Ferdinand

Voiced by: Rico Verhoeven

Holy shit, when i tell you Rico's role in this movie was advertised, it was ADVERTISED. I remember seeing ads about Rico voicing Ferdinand everywhere in 2017, but does it live up to the hype?

I have no idea how to say this so i will try my best. I will just start off by telling you that Rico Verhoeven is a really well known / popular kickboxer in the Netherlands, and we all know him, he has a lot of fans, everyone here has heard about him at least at some point. I never thought he would voice act, considering his career and what he is known for, but his work in this movie was surprisingly good for someone who has never had such an important role in a movie before. He had like background voices sometimes, this was his first major role (for as far as i know) and he handles it quite well. He was really proud of this movie and he loved being part of it, and to be honest, you can hear that. Rico really brings his own spark into the character, like how thats supposed to be. What i love about dubs is how all the actors have a chance to bring a new vibe to a character by giving them just a voice. Rico's performance in this movie wasnt phenomenal, but for his (i think) first major role, he definitley did very well and he can for sure be proud of this movie.

Valiente

Voiced by: Daan van Rijssel

Daan... oh, Daan.

You guys follow me for my Dinotrux stuff (Don't worry i know ;]) so what if i told you that Daan van Rijssel was the Dutch voice for Splitter in Dinotrux? Yes, i'm not kidding. Daan was in Dinotrux, so all i heard was Splitter (mostly bc Daan uses the same voice for Valiente and Splitter)

I seriously cannot get a clear explaination of the voice of this guy. His voice souds kind of raw, agressive, somewhere in between, and its strangely fitting for Valiente. Daan van Rijssel is genuinly a really good actor. He just has the right voice for this type of work, with these kind of characters. Especially in the fight scenes, i think Daan van Rijssel did one of the best perfomances in this movie. Just like he did in Dinotrux. He really suits his characters and makes them feel real. Respct voor jou, Daan! 👊

Lupe

Voiced by Plien Bennekom

(Sorry if the pictures in this blog are a bit low quality, these pictures are the same ones i use for template memes. Sorry.)

Out of all the characters in this movie Plien definitley has the memorable and regocnizable voice, next to Rico. Plien Bennekom is a Dutch actress who has played in a long running educational Dutch TV program that is to this day still very popular titled Het Klokhuis (in English: The Apple Core) wich is a program for young and older kids, it teaches kids about different topics every episode, with sketchcomedy and funny animated videos in between, and it did super well. I watched het Klokhuis a lot when i was young, and Plien played the role of Marie Louise, basically a really rich bratty woman, who contantly tries to buy expensive stuff or tries to get her way, but fails. So when i heard Lupe for the first time in Dutch, i immediatly remembered the voice from Het Klokhuis, i searced it up and it turned out to be Plien.

Now lets cover her job on Lupe. Honestly? Its hilarious. Pliens voice suits Lupe so ridiculously well, she adds her own vibe to this character and does it in such a way it makes me laugh out loud. Just like i was magically enough not annoyed by Lupe at all even though she's supposed to be the funny sidekick wich is a role i usually hate, Plien adds even more to Lupe. Her depiction of Lupe is genius. I can just imagine Marie Louise going EEEW EEN GEIT when she sees Lupe, omg i just got the perfect crossover fanart idea.

Angus

Voiced by: Mike Weerts.

Hear me out. I love it when Dutch dubs depicts accents. Angus is originally voiced by David Tennant, so throughout the movie he has a very heavy Scottish accent. Now it would be a total shame if they would let this guy speak formal Dutch, right?

Exactly, thats why they gave him a good old ✨️Brabants accent✨️

And it works... quite well actually.

Im very glad it wasnt turned into a very heavy Flemish accent, with a soft G that most Dutch people hate. Brabants is pretty much Dutch with a slight accent and a few added words. Het is niet ✨️irritant✨️, het is ✨️aMbEtAnT✨️

I honestly really like that they kept an accent in this Dutch version. If there is a Flemish version of this movie (i don't know if there is) it will prbb be very hard to add something new. I have never heard of this actor before tho :( continuing with

Paco

Who is voiced by a youtuber named Furtjuh, a Dutch YouTuber that is huge. This is honestly so stupid that movies keep inviting people that just have a huge name. Its hard to have a big name in the Netherlands so as soon as someone does, like Furtjuh, they invite em over to movies while most of the time they can barely even act or add anything to the character they voice. Furtjuh is a Youtuber, not an actor. Rico Verhoeven has a big name, but at least he CAN ACT and actually ADD something to his character. He sounds regocnizable, but GOOD. Furtjuh doesnt add anything nor does he necessarily sound good. He sounds regocnizable but not good. I don't hate it, i just don't think Furtjuh is a good voice actor, but thats my opinion

Anyway, that was my main review. The other characters, i dont really have a lot to say about, they just sound ok in my opinion •_• anyway thats it. Hope you enjoyed it mirmirmir 😁

[hot-take-tournament]

Goncharov shouldn't have been as big a meme as it was. The Goncharov meme is bad, especially for anyone with any unreality issues. Dead serious.

Yeah, you do make a valid point. Unreality memes are fun, but there are people with genuine unreality issues that were affected by the Goncharov trend.

That being said, I do think that a lot of the fan works - art, writing, shitposts, etc. - inspired by that meme were really fun, and clearly took a lot of effort - and the results were super impressive. So I think the fact that it served as a creative outlet for so many people shouldn't be discounted either.

But you're right, it wasn't a great experience for people with those issues with unreality - but my takeaway from that was the importance of content warnings and tagging things properly, not that the meme itself - or just unreality content as a whole - was bad.

I followed the Goncharov tag when it was at its peak, and I constantly saw people begging other users to tag their posts as #unreality - and while plenty of people were doing that, it felt like just as many weren't.

I don't believe for a second that people were seeing those posts and just choosing to ignore them, because one thing I have learned over the past 3-4 years is that the vast majority of people on this website do genuinely care about the wellbeing of others; and I know that for a fact because a) all you guys have been so supportive of me up until now (<3), and b) because I spent so much time in my shithead teen years sending fucking horrific abuse to those same kind, genuine people, and the way everyone rallied around each other against my scumbag ass is a testament to that kindness.

So I think it's far more likely that they simply weren't seeing those posts, and just didn't know that unreality content can be a trigger for some people - because I genuinely didn't either until the Goncharov meme came around and people started talking about it. It's the same way I didn't know until I started this blog that the things I originally wrote in the master post were triggering people's OCD to the point where they had to blacklist the URL.

At the time Goncharov was a thing, a lot of people were saying that people making content for it should've just 'educated themselves' and then they would've known to tag stuff '#unreality', so it was their fault their work was affecting people with unreality issues - but personally I think that just wasn't fair, because honestly you can't know to educate yourself on an issue that you don't even know exists in the first place. You first need to know what it is you don't know before you can actually learn about it and fill that gap.

I have no idea if any of that answered your question because I'm drunk out of my fucking mind, so I don't know if any of this made sense, and I probably won't remember it in the morning - so:

tl;dr - I don't agree that the Goncharov meme was bad, but I think it did highlight the importance of content warnings and tags.

...unless you thought the meme was just unfunny, which is a different issue - that's an entirely subjective opinion, but I can totally respect it. And that's coming from someone who learnt last week that they apparently Goncharov'd themselves on at least three separate occasions, and has yet to fully recover from that revelation.

Anyway, I hope that all made some kind of sense...

...you guys want a poll?

[ellorypurebloodculture]

Just realized that had Voldy won, Magical Britain would have likely suffered an economic collapse. Muggleborn and Halfblood families literally pour money into the magical community, but there are really no known instances of magical wealth being used in the muggle world. Because most if not all use of miggle goods is through imitation via transfiguration or the like.

And I doubt the people who curse muggle objects (like what Arthur Weasley works with) care to purchase them first.

Magical families who have books and cauldrons, witches gardens and potions, brooms and wands of their own passed through the family don't necessarily need to go out and buy extras, though at least for a some things they do. A family library only needs one copy of a book and everyone in the family can use it, but Muggleborns would each need their own copy as there don't seem to be public libraries in the magical world. A few semesters without Muggleborn students and some of the businesses in Diagon and Hogsmeade would have to shut down. I'd give it Three years max before the country starts to grind to a halt as the lower classes lose access to basic goods because of inflation and product scarcity.

In canon? 🤔

I mean, Voldemort's pure-blood supremacy agenda would have mainly left the pure-bloods and notable half-bloods, many of whom are canonically exceptionally wealthy.

There aren't many known Muggle-borns compared to half-bloods and pure-bloods in canon. The Wikia has a list of, if I counted correctly, twenty-three canon Muggle-borns across all the eras.

And we do have several instances of wizards and witches shopping in the Muggle World, I believe. Harry having seen several people (not just Order Members) at shops and such in the Muggle World. Am I remembering that rightly?

And I think the department was Misuse of Muggle Artefacts? Which would imply they're acceptable imports if not bespelled and misused?

But even the Weasleys buy things secondhand (like Ron's dress robes). And I do believe they had to buy each child (Percy, George, Fred, and Ginny) the complete set of Lockhart's books in CoS. 🤔

If I'm remembering correctly, Transfiguration is canonically the most difficult magical subject and many people struggle with it. If a mistake is made, things can get permanently stuck partially Transfigured and can't be undone or changed even by spells. So, Transfiguring things they need wouldn't be viable for many.

I also remember certain potions requiring specific cauldrons, and if one's melted, a new one being required, which implies they aren't magically repairable, perhaps due to the inherent magic in the potion? And something about cauldron bottom thickness being necessary for some potions, which might require a potioneer to own a great many cauldrons for brewing.

Plus, broom charms break down, rendering them unsafe for use, I think? I'm fairly sure it was canon that the school brooms were rubbish and needed to be replaced. Or, old models might not meet updated safety regulations and thereby become illegal to use.

And we know it's canon that wands only work well for those they choose/who won them, so hand-me-down wands wouldn't be the norm, I don't think. Charlie's didn't work well for Ron and Frank's was an awful match for Neville.

I absolutely believe there's a public library. Especially since canon makes such a big to-do about the size of the Hogwarts' library and personal family libraries. It definitely implies a library system, to me. It not having been relevant to Harry's adventures or interests, though, would excuse its absence from the novels.

Some jobs requiring specific O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s implies, to me, there are many opportunities of employment for those with a less advanced education. I sort of equate O.W.L.s to a certificate/degree/diploma of adequate education as Ron canonically said:

O.W.L.s are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything.

And Newt Scamander was allowed to keep his wand even after being expelled because he'd passed his O.W.L.s, while Hagrid, who hadn't taken or passed his, had his wand snapped upon expulsion.

And then I equate N.E.W.T.s as something like a bachelor's degree.

Because, let's be real here, Percy went straight from school, having gotten every possible O.W.L.--all 12; Hermione got 10--and a N.E.W.T. in every exam he took, and he went right to work for a Department Head in the government. The Department of International Magical Co-operation. So, he's basically the P.A. to a magical ambassador. At eighteen.

And the fact that "Charms Master" and "Potions Master" and such are canonical titles, implies to me a Mastery was obtained through even more advanced study, one which would qualify said person to teach the subject.

And I'm rambling now. 😅

But, I swear I have a point!

I think the economy would have survived, they'd have enough workers, especially with the low number of canonical Muggle-borns, (and I think only the Muggle-borns had to register and were sent to Azkaban, not the half-bloods, in Deathly Hallows), but the massive change in government policies would have been utterly stunning and harsh to many.

(This was a very interesting thought exercise! Thank you, blooms! I had fun. 💛)

[lets-all-calm-down-a-bit]

so, i don’t wanna come off as like rude or anything when i ask this, but i saw your post and it was about like the lesboys one ? i understood the rest of the points, but i just got stuck on that one. i want to educate myself, but i don’t want to get like blocked, and i can’t find anyone that i think will be able to accurately tell me like you would, again sorry if this comes off as rude, i just really want to educate myself <3

Yeah! No problem I'd be happy to explain. But first I would recommend you follow @genderkoolaid because ey are an awesome blog to check out if you're interested about queer intersextionality and/or history!

So I'll start off with the most basic, cut and dry reasons. Many people who identify as lesboys, boydykes, or he/him lesbians, have a complex relationship with gender. Some are bigender, intersex, nonbinary, or even transmasc. Denying them the right to explain their identity in the best way they can, is petty and pointless. (And both intersexist and exorsexist)

Labels within the queer community are purely there to best explain your own life experiences. It's going to be different for everyone. Historically many butch lesbians have opted for masc pronouns or gotten jiggy with their gender fuckery, and i find that awesome! Transsexuality is intertwined with butchness in a way that cant be untangled, and shouldn't be! not every butch lesbian is trans. a lot aren't. But some are! And there are a lot of records of that being a common identity in the past.

Ok now to go a bit more in depth. Time for some abstract thinking!

So gender is a social construct, right? It's an infinite spectrum that can be contradictory or overlapping, and really it's all bullshit we made up socially. That's pretty widely agreed on in queer (and scientific) spaces. However, if gender is a construct, then so is sexuality. We can't say "well these social labels are complex and infinite but THESE social labels that coincide with the other ones aren't." Its like saying "Hey this rule is dumb so we should ignore it," but when someone ignores it in a context you don't like, saying, "Hey wait no. Don't ignore the rule in THAT way. I meant only in the ways I find socially acceptable."

Alright lets get grounded again. no more galaxy brained thinking.

The most important thing to remember is that if someone else's identity doesn't make sense to you, it doesn't matter! that's how they identify. It doesn't affect you. Kindness and acceptance means being around people you don't understand sometimes. If someone isn't hurting other people, then who cares!!! we're all just animals on this earth anyway. What does it matter if they aren't hurting anyone? It's only harming the community to start fights about things like this.

Ok now I've been blabbering, and I'm not the expert on everything, so here are some links to posts better explaining some things here (some of them have links to very informative articles)! I hope this helps :]

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

Okay I 100% agree on the “general public with no clinical experience or proper legal licensing shouldn’t try to raise or rehab wildlife” thing but I will say there is a little more nuance to it

- country/location: in some people’s countries or regions wildlife rehabilitation centers don’t exist or are too far away to reach

- closures (my facility closed intakes due to HPAI for a period last year, many others did too)

I spoke with someone last year who was in the latter situation and handled it excellently. She had found a baby magpie who’s family had been killed by a local outdoor cat (with evidence). All of the rehabbers in the region (very broad radius) were closed due to HPAI. She contacted her region’s (utah) department of natural resources and explained the situation. She had previous experience raising baby parrots, already had a household setup for keeping birds since she had a couple pet parrots, and she was in contact with the (closed) rehabilitation facilities and one of them was willing to provide her with instructions on how to raise a baby magpie. The department of natural resources worked with her to issue a special permit for this. Obviously this isn’t ideal and the magpie is an imprint, however he will serve as an educational ambassador. Like, if you’re going to raise a baby animal without proper experience, this is the best reason and way to go about it.

I also spoke with someone from Ukraine, who had found a hawk (injured in some way, I couldn’t visually tell) but wasn’t able to get it to a rehab facility (either not open or safely accessible cus,, well it’s a warzone) so they were stuck by themselves. Not sure how this worked out, but the situation was perplexing.

Like.. there are some situations where it is genuinely not possible to get an injured animal into an ideal situation. Obviously this isn’t most situations and people need to learn to leave wildlife alone. But there is a little nuance. Obviously it’s NOT ideal and it’s risky for both the person and animal in question but like. Not everyone who is stuck in that situation should be demonized.

I agree with your sentiment but just think it’s important to remember like. Not everyone lives in a well developed country/region where wildlife rehabilitation resources exist. So sometimes if this situation occurs the best thing to do is offer in good faith advice to the person in that situation for what they can do with their resources. Obviously stressing that if they can get em to a rehabber to do that first.

Of course there are many things the average person or anyone else just can’t help, I’m all too familiar with finding a long dead bone jutting out the wrist of a hawk, or pulling maggots out of a half dead owl. And most people wouldn’t handle those situations well. But with situations where a rehabber can’t be reached but something can be done, people will try to do something to help even if it’s a bad idea (that’s just how some people are) and it’s better to direct them to do it in the best way possible.

I agree with you don’t get me wrong, I just think it’s important to remember that there’s a TINY space for nuance.

None of this is really “nuance” though.

The magpie finder contacted fish and game as well as the closed rehabs for proper input and a placement for the imprint was easy to find because of close contact with licensed individuals and issuance of a temp permit for this 1/1,000,000 issue.

I am very obviously not talking about people in active war zones when I say not to take in a wild animal that’s been wounded or orphaned, come on now.

Yes, if every rehabber in a 10,000 mile radius spontaneously combusts and there’s a baby owl sitting on the dead bodies of its parents right in front of you but you conveniently have a freezer full of mice and Government Steve gives you permission, yeah? I guess you can raise that baby owl in that wildly improbable and very specific circumstance, but this reads the same as when Ben Shapiro said “if there’s a bomb strong enough to level a city and only you know about the bomb and no one else believes there is a bomb and no one is around and the only way the bomb can be disarmed is for you to say the N word and no one will hear you, is it ethical to say the N word to diffuse the bomb?” I mean yeah. I guess so. That doesn’t mean there’s “nuance” to the fact white people shouldn’t say the N word.

I mean yeah. Yeah. In very extremely specific circumstances I’m sure you can think up an excuse for it. That doesn’t change the statement that an unqualified member of the public should not attempt to rehab a wild animal and should instead contact a licensed facility.

[letterslaura]

Reading as an articulating axis and practices involving Educational Technologies.

Coucou everyone!

You may have guessed by the title of this post that today our topic is around reading practice, so let's dive together into these letters:

Bursting with creativity was the best thing about being a kid, if you ask me. I remember making the most out of an afternoon in the backyard, by flying to whole new realities in my head. I owe that to all the books I read throughout my childhood. Thanks to my mom, who would always take me to the municipal library, reading was pleasant and satisfying. It was different than watching a movie, for I got some power over the elements presented in the form of words (although we have some world/character description, the final images in our heads might not be the same as what the author originally viewed), creating a deeper connection with the narrative.

As I got older, I tried to read books in English a few times, but it was frustrating. The impatient 15-year-old Laura did not enjoy the fact that she did not know a lot of English words, so the process of looking them up in the dictionary was quite overwhelming, and I could never finish a whole book. After giving up for a while, I tried bilingual books, which have each page in English and in Portuguese. Having the translation of every word makes the reading more fluid and natural, it keeps a story’s sweet flow. 

In school, English reading was not the focus. Most of the time,  the reading practice was limited to small texts, either on a handout or in the textbook. It was never as interesting as the reading activities in Portuguese, where we had to spot different textual genres and linguistic elements or reflect on the story’s morals. Even though these activities were sometimes not the most appealing,  they offered much more possibilities of engagement and comprehension. Today, Brazil’s National Common Curricular Base (BNCC), has taken reading in the English language in a different direction. The reading process should maintain its authenticity, taking into account many important nuances, such as interdisciplinary approach, cultural and linguistic diversity, digital literacy and critical thinking. Further on, the axis of reading in English in basic education is also known as “reading and viewing” and it englobes the skills of reading and comprehending texts in English. Following these guidelines, teachers should be able to work with interesting authentic texts in English, from traditional books to websites, social media posts, news and so on.

In my opinion, the best reading technologies to exist are the simplest and most traditional: google translate and dictionaries. It goes without saying that you’ll find any word you need in dictionaries. But there is so much more than that! In a dictionary you can find a lot of example sentences, synonyms and antonyms. That’s why they will never cease to be a reader’s most important tool, our best friend. Google Translate, on the other hand, might have caused some of you disgust. But it is, in fact, the fastest and most practical translating tool. There are many words that are better understood by translating and a lot of time can be saved this way. Furthermore, on Google Translate there's also the possibility of listening to the pronunciation of the words, which can enrich the reading experience even more.

I really enjoyed writing about the development of reading practices in school! How joyful are these memories! They really inspired me to read for fun more often. I hope that you also get inspired to read something! Don't forget to leave a comment below. See you!

XOXO

Laura

[salora-rainriver]

Its really funny and weird how, of all the european pagan mythologies, greek is the one white ppl know the most of by far.

Like, of course it makes sense, greco-romans were hailed as the peak of civilization by white european elites at least like, twice in history, but it’s still really wild like. We’ll know the names of every olympian and what exactly their deal is, know like 20 different random greek monsters who only appeared in like One Story,

but then u ask abt the british isles, site of a people who would eventually colonize the fucking world, and its like “uhhhhhh theres morrigan? Also some fairies. Is morrigan a fairy? I think there were some tree worshippers. Some dudes put blue paint on their body and had big shields i think?” and a book’s gonna claim there was an irish potato god and you’re going to believe them bcs you’ll be so wrapped up in the potato famine thing that you’ll forget potatos were IMPORTED FROM THE ANDES MOUNTAINS.

And then like folks will be familiar with like 4 norse gods maybe 5, know some words like asgard and ragnarok, but ask them who fenrir is and theyll be like “Is he important?”

Also if you ask them about germanic mythos they will draw a fucking blank bcs even tho the general public are familiar with at least a few germanic mythos things, we completely stripped out the germanic origins from them when we called them generic “fairy tales.” Same for france and the iberian penninsula i think. Also dont ask me which fairy tales come from where bcs i am a prime example of this, i do not fucking know, i just vaguely remember that they came from certain places and then spread from there.

Oh And absolutely FORGET about anything east of germany fucking forget about it. The slavic regions have a rich mythos and even ppl who are pretty knowledgable abt the stuff i said above won’t know shit about it, case in point, me! Go ahead! I know a bunch abt celtic stuff and norse stuff and a lill bit of german stuff, but ask me to bring up ONE slavic story! The only thing my brain is cookin up is that one about the lindwurm, and even that one i cant remember if its actually slavic!

Now Think abt how many white people claim heritage from places in europe that arent greece and italy. Think about how little those same ppl know abt their ancestor’s prechristian stories and beliefs. Im hispanic i know like one thing abt pre-christian spain and its that they had a funny word for fairies (i don’t even remember the name!), just as an example. Like isnt that fucking insane? You’d think a buncha colonizing douches competing with each other to take over the world would put a bit more effort into educating ppl abt the ancestral stories that set these guys apart from each other, but no, not really. And like dont get me wrong its not like this doesnt make sense. It does. The roman empire and later christianity overtook like all these myriad cultures years before colonialism and white supremacy was even a pipe dream, to say nothing about the internal strife that happened in the iberian peninsula and the british isles.

But at the same time, in recent years there’s been massive pushes to recover this lost culture (especially in those british isles places that arent england), and even with this effort, so much is unknown to a fuckton of people who, i repeat, claim heritage from these places. (In fact, one of those efforts probably set us back bcs it got caught up in bullshit ideology and mysticism and grabbed stuff from totally different people to support a bullshit point. Looking at you, nazis.) and it’s just kind of insane. Overall this is just a peak example to me of the hollowness and artificiality of the concept of whiteness. The master race can’t even remember their own ancestors, and ancient history had to be wiped away or made generic in order to support the notion that these people have something in common, and thus, something setting them apart from everyone else.

[oblivions-dawn]

Hi Senufriend <3

Excuse me marching in here unannounced. I decided to send some asks, and well, I thought that perhaps you might also like these questions. (Feel free to answer in your own time or ignore as your spoons allow. <3)

I know we love to talk about breaking the rules in writing and obviously, that not every piece of advice is one-size-fits all, but there is a lot to say about being able to speak with each other about what we have learned during our journey. I was wondering if you wouldn't share. (I also plan on poking some of the others to see what more we can shake out. The more the merrier, no?)

What is the most useful/helpful pieces of advice you ever received during your formal education in relation to writing?

Once you started to write, what was the most important thing that you learned about writing or its process?

Has your real life had any influence on your writing? If so, how?

What advice would you give to aspiring writers (be it fanfiction or original)?

Awwww hello Winter!! It's always a pleasure to see you in my inbox uwu These are all very good questions to ask and you'll have to forgive me if they're not very thorough--or not quite the answers you were expecting.

I think I've mentioned this before, but the best piece of advice I ever learned in college was, really, one I learned from myself, and that was essentially that I was good enough. I'm not going to please everyone and that's okay. I can also pick and choose what critiques actually help me and which ones are . . . more of a suggestion than anything else. I built confidence in my writing while in college after watching students struggle to give me solid advice and was often told that they couldn't find anything to say--that it was good enough. Believe it or not, that's a very, very hard lesson to learn, and sometimes I still struggle with my writing. But I'm all about dismantling this obsession with perfectionism and striving for an actual mountain I can reach, and that really has helped me immensely.

Oh boy. I think my first story I ever wrote . . . I was nine-years-old, and wrote a story about my friends and I unravelling the secrets of a ghost house. And I remember having so much fun. I didn't get into the realm of fanfiction until I was about twelve, I think? Now I can almost say that I've been writing for half of my life, which is wild to think about. I think the most important thing I have learned all this time--and why I still write to this day--is learning to have fun! It's my passion and I would rather die than give up writing. It's a lot more work than people believe it to be, but the reward is so worth it. Writing worlds and characters that come to life on a page or screen just from WORDS ALONE . . . To me, that was always magic. And I wanted to be a part of that magic, too. So loving my craft and having immense passion for it was the most important thing to learn about writing--at least to me.

OH ABSOLUTELY. From something as small as a nervous habit to something as large as a major life event has significant impact/influence in lots of different ways! I also have a habit of studying people and myself so yeah there's. Bound to be influence from my life in my stories perhaps more than I'd like to admit. My interests of course also influence what KIND of stories I write! I tend to stay in the same tropes/genres because I never get tired of them and I never will uwu

Hmmm! This may sound silly, but just keep writing! Don't give up! Writing is ART and you will only continue to improve if you keep at it!! Also write whatever you fucking want!!!! There is someone out there who wants to read and love your story, I promise!! There are never enough stories in this world and there's no harm in adding your own! The more the merrier I say!! Write as many as you like as often as you want! Your writing is fucking AWESOME and I know you can do it!! I believe in you!!!!

[tiiimezombie]

This video really caught my attention. The Game of Life and the sequel are pretty mediocre: you spin, you land on something that costs money, there's a small chance some Important thing happens to you that everyone else will also do (ie marriage, house). I used the play a version that only had life tiles which were like 50k x ( 1 - 5), so if a space didn't make you pay you get some mystery amount of money for say getting a patent or something.

I actually loved the cd-rom of Life I got from a Cheerios box back in the day, so the Game of Life has always had a place in my heart. Unfortunately, because its generally so flat its not a game I want to bring out to the table. This video has something a lot closer to where I'd need the game to be, so here's a post on getting it still better than that.

Back to setting the stage (context you'd see in the video) Not sure if these changes are in the updated game of life: salaries are tied to the job, pets/kids provide or take some amount of money and are factored into the end, landing on most spaces give you something random instead of a known board outcome.

Obviously, in the video they have some silly outcomes like "your salary is based on the whims of a third party", "you get 500,000 on payday but if you roll a 10 you lose it all", "your dick fall off :("

At least in this version, there are interesting amounts of money in this game - you're almost likely to pick up loans and clear them because large amounts of money being earned or demanded. There's greater chance for multiple things to happen on your turn - lose all your money on a 10, pass payday to make 500k, get a child and pay 200k for babysitting.

Its more interesting to "balance" or at least rein in their version because you can look at the paydays/salaries/likely expenses in a basic excel sheet, decide a range that's "normal" and assign stuff accordingly. Like dice blocks in that one mario party on switch where the average is like 3.5, where some dice have like 1, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 or 0, 1, 1, 1, 2, 10.

From watching their videos on this, monopoly, and Blood on the Clocktower, it seems like having a third party that's not "playing" the game is actually an easy source of comedy and dread. Fun but a minor part of their game this time.

What really got me is the heighted level of game interactions. One player had a couple things that a spin could affect, and it got me thinking like, if you could keep the stocks (get a small amount if anyone spins a number), include larger salaries, maybe include a minor bank or asset system to separate your salary into non-loosable currency, and then go with much more volitile events like "for every child in play pay 30k to take them to the amusement park" or "get mugged, lose all the money in your hand". Having a house accumulate value, and maybe be a specific size be required for the size family you have.

There's like up to 2 ways you can lose money based on your house iirc being Tree Falls On House and House Flooded (there might be a robbery one because i remember the animation for it but i think those are the ones that affect insurance). Like it's at least more interesting to have to pay another player because they have that related job, but otherwise there's so little interesting interaction for your car landing on something in the base game - I feel like if you could buy from an asset deck or get stuck with some recurring payments it would be a more interesting sequel than The Game of Life 2, where winning includes a small amount of money if you're "happy" or "educated" compared to the real goal of life: COLD HARD CASH

[cerebraldischarge]

They say, you have to leave in order to return.

But I have been both at home this whole time and far away from home. My body is a lumbering RV rolling through this ambiguous vacation. I see every new landscape through a window, without being a part of the scene. I have accepted that as my role, for the most part. Maybe that’s why the destructive whispers of most humans barely reach my ears anymore, let alone my heart. Or maybe I just got used to the fact that, by virtue of not being human like them, I will always attract suspicion with my unusual nature. The vitriol itself abated, too - perhaps they figured out that I meant no harm, and classified me as a non-threat simply because I’m just an observer. And yet, I still hope that keeping this travel diary can sort of count as participation. After all, I may be the only one who notices a certain thing on the road.

There’s one observation that I keep spotting out there, attracting my attention like an odd-shaped cactus in the dry orange sea.

This is it: What the hell happened to the queer community?!

Willem Arondeus, before being executed for resistance activities by everyone’s favorite German villains, made the statement: “homosexuals are not cowards”.

Amelio Robles Ávila, a trans man born in 1889, would shoot anyone who taunted him by calling him a woman.

Aileen Wuornos made the world a slightly safer place for women by taking out seven male creepers, then went to her death with the knowledge that she did nothing wrong.

But are we still not cowards? Are we still ready to fight in a revolution? Are we still willing to protect ourselves?

I won’t get into the statistics here, because they can be just as easily used to prove one thing as its opposite, but there seems to be a theme within the bulk of the queer community (and the allies) which puts a strong emphasis on peacefulness, warm and fuzzy feels, community-orientedness, and projecting a generally “cute and harmless” public image. That on its own is not really a problem, but the balance seems to have been shifted. In the content the community leaders share, there seems to be a lot of talk about how we are supposed to be afraid, targeted by the baddies, experiencing dread and hopelessness, being essentially a helpless victim and expecting to be validated by legislation and flashy, organized gestures of acceptance. Is this really necessary?

I don’t mean we should “be fine with” discrimination and actual rights being taken away, but do you think the people who legitimately want you dead (whether they admit it in daylight or not) will suddenly change and start giving a damn if you show them how miserable they are making you the hundredth time? And do you really think any politician actually cares? I don’t know who said this, but it appears to be truer than ever: people who think politicians truly represent their interests are the same people who think the stripper at the bar really likes them.

As for my personal reason why this bugs me so much: while projecting the image of “we love everyone”, nonviolence, peace-light-and-harmony, these same community leaders shut down any sort of disagreement or criticism with the help of technology, money, and clout. It’s as if some people (I’m not naming names because 1. It’s not important, 2. I don’t remember half of the names of the people I had this experience with) have a poor ability to distinguish between bigots and real enemies on one hand, and potential allies with a different perspective on the other. Let’s not mince words here: I have been banned, deleted, harassed, and made out to be the bad guy multiple times by my fellow queers because I dare to advocate for self-defense - both on a personal and on an organizational level. I try to educate and infect the community with my love for the Second Amendment and the ideas that often come associated with it, such as personal responsibility and economic sensibility, as well as restricted government power and mostly unrestricted discussion of ideas. (Am I the only one who expected this stuff to be part of the default American attitude package in the first place, by the way?) Occasionally I get a positive response, but most often I get called out for “bigotry”, “ignorance”, and “disrespectful” behavior.

I get it, y’all. You probably only heard stuff like this (especially the Second Amendment part) from actual bigots who 1. hate you without even knowing why, and 2. have less than zero idea about what being a sexual or gender minority even means and think that gays have been invented in the 1980s. That’s who gets on TV, that’s who gets to be heard - because perturbed emotions equal higher ratings, and you can’t sell a media product without covering some kind of conflict. The more exaggerated, the better. People - all people - have a ghoulish side to them: they want to “spill the tea”, “own the libs”, see someone fly high and fall down. We are drawn to gawking at tragedy, even if we hate it - at least it’s not boring, after all!

(one of my favorite songs seems relevant here: TOOL - Vicarious)

So, it’s natural to associate the words in my mouth with the rotten people who try to weaponize them against us. (Mostly the “religious freedom for me, but not for thee” crowd, who often have the audacity to display patriotic imagery while spouting their nonsense. I forgot the name again, but years ago I’ve seen a white-haired man preach the wrath of his god on anyone who isn’t 100% cis and straight - and he did this with the Preamble as his graphic backdrop. I remember that part, because it made me livid. You would never say that stuff if you have read the damn thing!)

But stop and think. As the popular slogan goes, “we don’t want to make your kids queer, we want your queer kids to survive” - if that’s really the case, what are we actually doing towards that goal? Could we be more effective? Have the years of dragging out statistics proving our victimhood changed anything? Yes, some minds can be changed through discourse, as the growth of the secular/atheist community has demonstrated. But some minds will not be changed and will not respond to anything gentle. In fact, I myself have been embarrassed to be associated with people who, frankly, appear to be weak and vulnerable. Yes, some of us are genuinely vulnerable, gentle souls who could never hurt a fly - even if said fly actively works for the KKK or something. But that’s not all we are.

Perhaps I’m painting too bleak a picture here - after all, Erin Palette and Gina Roberts, with their wonderful organizations, are already doing the work I’m trying to urge y’all to start doing. But there is still, in many places, this self-destructive resistance towards the idea of putting on some big girl pants and protecting our own community, and it’s just sad to see.

The government is not there to feed and save you. Not even if you sacrifice everything to it and let it micromanage all your choices and lives. If you let it control you in exchange for bribes and comforting feelings, you risk it turning against you on a whim - all it takes is an election, or one corrupt person, or an unforeseen situation in your life that the algorithm cannot handle. (There was a British series in the 1970s called Space: 1999, in which the main computer brain, when faced with a particularly difficult problem, ethical dilemma, or outlandish occurrence, displayed the words “Human Decision Required” on its screen. I’m sure you can think of situations from your life where, inevitably, human decision was required. Or even a moment when the option applicable to you was not present on a standardized questionnaire you had to fill out. I mean… do I really need to explain this to you, of all people?)