#in some way it does but it does really stray away from canon heavily

[sethdomain]

I used to obsess with this fic so hard

Idk if its as well written as I remember, but i think its was very cleverly written if i remember and i love morally questionable bamf ctommy sometimes

[peawinkls]

why jfabe is NOT!!!! boring and lifeless and proving that wrong, an informational thread discussing their relationship and dynamic, because honestly im getting tired of ppl saying their boring

contains s3 spoilers!

The relationship between JFK and abe from Clone High is something alot of people within the community discussed, especially before s3, being talked about more after s2's finale. Many speculated that the two would remain friends or even become more than that.

Now with season 3 out, we have a lot more things to work out with, specifically episode 3. It's something a lot of people are too afraid to admit, but jfabe/abefk would make the show a lot more interesting, rather than its repeatable joanabe plotline.

So, I'm here to talk about the inner workings of this pair, why their so interesting, and why they work out so much, whether platonic or not. If ur not a fan of jfabe/abefk, or heavily dislike the ship, I'd recommend turning away from this post.

Introduction, the who, the when, the why, the how...and their differences n similarities

So, we all know these two characters. JFK the beloved, Abe the hated. Something that many people picked out of the 2020 clone high fandom. But what if i told you that the beloved and the hated were truly meant to be together from the start?

What we already know is that they are the complete opposite of each other in many ways. JFK is meant to be a parody on 90s jocks from highschool movies and tv shows. Abe is the weak nerd who desperately wants to be cool.

JFK is buff and shorter, Abe is tall and lanky. JFK is a douchebag, Abe is the nicer guy. The list goes on and on. And they even have stuff in common, such as the fear of abandonment and the fear of ruining things.

But one difference i can note is that Abe is way more naive than JFK, JFK is portrayed as empty-headed, but not empty-headed enough to not realize whats going on. Of course, despite the differences, both characters make a really good team.

And this was even evident in s2 ep10, aka the finale, where they both realize that they make a great "duo of bros who'll remain friends for the rest of their lives". Jfabe shippers were FEEDING on this shit back then you have no idea

So with this stuff out of the way, it's time to talk about my favorite episode out of season 3.

Bible Humpers: A Much Needed Praycation

This episode revolves around JFK getting tired of having meaningless sex with girls and partying hard, and decides to seek out a new life when he and Abe discovers the prayer pals club, hosted by Lady Godiva. And at first, Abe is happy to see that JFK is taking on new opportunities.

"Where the slut goes, the wing slut follows."

But eventually, JFK starts straying away from Abe and his friendship, to the point of even FORGETTING about the broniversary that Abe had planned for the both of them (he literally baked a giant cake for him, look at me and tell me thats straight cmon now).

Seeing how Abe had already lost Joan and Gandhi, he didn't wanna lose JFK either, and does everything he can to make him happy and thats so clear. And even at the end of the episode, it's revealed that Abe even respected his choice on ultimately choosing celibacy.

He really does care a bunch for JFK, liking him for who he truly was (compared to JFK's other dates) and respecting his choices. And despite choosing celibacy over Abe, the two still remain close, which really tells you how great their bond is.

So something HAS definitely changed throughout the years, from them hating each others guts to potentially becoming clone highs next couple...which didn't happen, and I'm still petty about it i will admit.

But even if they didn't become canon at the end, you could really tell that some people who worked on this episode wanted them to be a thing, and that's a good enough sign for me that they could hopefully become canon in the next season if we ever get one (still petty though).

Let's circle back to season 1 again. I'm not making a jfabe thread without mentioning Litter Kills: Literally, which is another episode that jfabe shippers fed on. In this episode, JFK's close friend Ponce dies, and he's left to grieve over him.

And in this episode, we see a side of JFK that we never saw before. He starts wondering why the hell he's feeling all of these emotions, because he's a Kennedy, and he's not used to them. But Abe helps him realize that emotions like this are normal.

And even if the two hated each other, Abe apologized to him in the end and finally realized his mistakes. It seemed like Abe disliked him, yet he cares about him. Abe never knew what if felt like, because he hasn't lost a friend close to him.

So he starts berating Cleo for comforting JFK and was even aggressive towards JFK as well, believing that he was only doing all of this just to take Cleo away from him. That was all because he NEVER knew what it was like. But he finally understood.

He was sorry, but he felt like he couldn't do much to help because he didn't experience the same thing. So he just hugged JFK and held him...for a really long time.

But that was just enough for JFK, all he needed was comfort, and Abe chose to do that. So even at the episode, he couldn't help but ask JFK if he was alright. And by the next episode, JFK was already feeling better. All it takes is someone to tell you that its gonna be okay.

So what I'm trying to say is despite their own anxieties, flaws, characteristics, whatever, their PERFECT for each other. I don't like how people label them as "boring", when their so much more deeper than that.

Jfabe/AbeFK is one of my comfort ships for this exact reason. Their lore, dynamic and relationship goes beyond that, i don't ship them just because i think their cute, but because their interesting, and it may seem like im going insane over a white boy ship, but i truly, truly, from the bottom of my heart, love this ship to pieces, and hopefully people can see that through me. Thank you, clone high.

[eponastory]

Well, now that the Tylenol and other pain meds have kicked in, I want to talk about war.

Yeah, yeah, cut the crap Dai Li. Your lies are boring.

Many of you know that I have a thing for history. Well, I know for a fact that as long as man has walked this spherical (shut up flat earthers) rock floating in space, there has been some kind of conflict with one another. Over things like religion, politics, resources, women (looking at you, Troy), etc... it's a bloody business.

I'm going to give my grievances about Aang and his role in the war.

1. He really isn't there for all of it.

Remember, he ran away the night of the Air Nomad Genocide. That was the true start of the war. War is complex. You sometimes have more than one side playing a part, and then you have the antagonistic side. Aang did not have any part in the war for one hundred years. He was a child when it started, and he was still a child when it ended.

2. Growing up in war time is going to change your perspective.

Psychologically, trauma shapes a person into thinking a certain way. War is trauma. People who grow up in war time are shaped to either fight or flight. Since Aang was only there for the very end of the war, his separation from that war time trauma is there.

Think of it as witnessing 9/11/01. If you were alive to see it, then it really shaped you. It did for many people I grew up with, who did end up enlisting into the military to fight in the War On Terror. I was twelve years old, and I remember that day very well. It definitely made me see things a lot differently. Those who were born after that often joke around about 9/11 because they didn't witness it as it was happening.

It's an absence of understanding.

3. Aangs role in the war and how he is unprepared.

First off, when he is woken up, he has no idea what has really happened in the last hundred years. That's okay. Then he, as a child, has been put into this role of life or death, but he still acts like a child. I can understand that. It's anxiety and a whole bunch of other things he has to face in a world that moved on without him. He isn't irrelevant, but he missed a good deal, and now he has to live up to expectations.

So how does this affect relationships?

Oh, it does. It heavily impacts relationships. Which is why I'm going to get into this little debate here.

Aang is infatuated with Katara because she represents an outlet for his anxiety.

There, I said it!

That is also why this relationship is... not good. That and he doesn't seem to put her feelings into thought because she is a soothing mechanism. He relies on her for comfort and relief because, well, she is the Heart.

Remember what I said about Katara having to bury her feelings to take care of everyone else's BS? Yeah, that's what is going on here but in a much more selfish way. Aang can't let her go because she is his balm.

I cover this in my story by the way.

But yeah, let's say we stray away from Canon and Katara leaves him...

Yeah, he would likely lose his shit.

Just an opinion, but the way their relationship is set up is just... it screams that sort of dependency from Aang.

But this is because he missed the majority of the war and had to all of a sudden save the world... as a twelve year old. You know what my two younger brothers were doing at 12?

Playing with freaking Legos. (And still do to this day)

Legos.

Okay I'm ranting now, but this topic came up while I was working on my story.

You can ignore it. It's probably all over the place like my ADHD brain is right now.

Peace and ❤️

[thyshadowwriter]

Hi<3 Could you write some headcanons about the ragnarsons having a dominant s/o (separately)

Have a great day!

Ty <3

Ubbe:

The trickiest one among his brothers.

He’s used to the commanding role and he likes giving orders.

He’s pretty dominant himself.

It’s not that he won’t open up to another dominant s/o, but they’ll have to be on his level.

The dominance in the relationship would be balanced. One time it’s him and another it’s his s/o.

He’s a simple man when it comes to sex. He doesn’t need a lot of stuff to make it work or to get him in the mood. Usually likes simple, but effective positions.

It’s more about the general mood that sets who's turn it is.

A look, a certain way of touching, something subtle like that.

That’s not to say if something gets on his nerves, which a lot of things do but he keeps his cool, he won’t shove his s/o on the bed (or wherever they have privacy) and ride them till sunrise.

Fight training is also a good way to get him into the mood.

Hvitserk:

It’ll be unusual to him given that he’s always the one chasing new lovers and thus, being more dominant.

Still, he keeps an open mind to sex.

And noticeably, he likes to please.

As strange as the proposition may sound, he has no problem allowing his s/o to be dominant with him.

Say what you want out of him, leave him begging, he has no problem. Just don’t degrade, humiliate and neglect him, he has plenty of that in his life already.

He does appreciate being taken care of for a change, but will still want to be the ‘protector’.

He has someone that makes him happy, he likes to know he can protect them in the violent world they live in.

You’ll get the more playful and easy going side of him because he feels happy in the relationship.

Temperature play is off the list.

Ivar:

Oh boy, do you get a handful with this one.

Ivar is a very dominant person himself. Rarely you get any moment of vulnerability or one he’s not heavily guarded.

It would have to be someone he trusts, really trusts, for him to consider surrendering for a while.

It’s a plus if they can fight. Looking at you, Headmund.

Earning his trust is the long run. Don’t lie to him, don’t make him feel weak or like a burden for his disability, don’t treat him with pity. Things like that.

Before he surrenders, he must feel secure enough in the relationship that he knows his partner won’t stray for someone else.

Very much likes praising.

As he surrenders, you get the bratty, spoiled and impatient boy he truly is. Work your magic from there.

Bjorn:

You mean canon.

Look, this man is the best fighter and hottest viking of his generation. He knows that, you know that, everyone knows that. He doesn’t have anything to prove and his confidence reaches Valhalla.

He has precisely zero problems with a dominant s/o.

Bae, be as dominant as you want, this man is a freak in the sheets.

He’s up for everything, at least trying. If he doesn’t like something, he’ll tell straight away.

Might be a good way to keep him from straying…

Sigurd:

Honestly, the hardest nut to crack. (No pun intended)

He was neglected his whole life because of Ivar and doesn't have a relationship as close as Ubbe and Hvitserk.

That left him spiteful and with abandonment issues.

Before he even considers submitting to a partner, they must prove they care about him.

In a way, he’s like Ivar. His s/o will need to prove he, and only he, not one of his brothers or someone else, is their priority and that they only love him.

Earning his trust is a long game, but the payoff is great.

He doesn't mind his s/o taking a dominant role, but he has a lot of hard no’s.

Degradation and pain are the top no’s. Being bound is also on the uncomfortable side.

Simply tell him what to do and not to do and he’ll oblige.

But keep in mind he's a prince after all and he’s very much proud of his status, so you’ll also get the moody, demanding and bratty attitude.

Most of everything, he likes to be reassured he’s the only one in your heart and if you put that into or after the play, he’s a happy man.

[metalempire]

🔥 digimon

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion

ohh this is going to be very spicy to most millennial digimon fans

digimon, as a brand, and as a fanbase, needs to move on from digimon adventure.

it's been nostalgia milked for years, its characters have been milked for years, its archetypes have been milked for years, the show itself for marketing has been milked for years. the fanbase too, largely focuses on this one canon for years, on the first ever tv show, its sequel, its other sequel, and some movies. the adventure canon gets the most attention and add-ons, and most digimon fan content also focuses heavily on adventure. even the "digimon artstyle" people latch on to tends to be the adventure style of drawing humans and digimon.

digimon itself has grown past adventure, the designs and artstyle gas evolved, the stories its tried to tell have slowly crept out of adventuee's shadow, there's new and creative stuff being done with the brand, in video games, tv show, manga, and more, yet bandai and the fanbase keep latching on to 90's era nostalgia. adventure even got a 2020 reboot, because the characters' image is so popular that they'd rather have just recycled them than do something original until ghost game.

appmon, one of the best seasons of digimon, was completely ignored by the fanbase, who believed it to be "too different" even though digimon has always been trying new stuff and reinventing itself, in the show, manga, video games, and even vpet devices, yet people too stuck in their nostalgia and too attached to adventure as the idea of what digimon should be, refuse to move forward with the franchise, and miss out on something genuinely great. digimon has always gotten by off of a loyal internal fanbase, but the above attitudes contributed quite a lot to appmon being a flop, and adventure 2020 being done as a "safe" way to get people's attention again. the difference in quality between the two is night and day.

now i like adventure (1999), its good, a really good first attempt for the tv anime, set a great groundwork, and had a great cast. but as time went on, its flaws have begun to show when really good seasons, good manga, and good video games have surpassed it, but bandai still leans too hard on adventure, and the fanbase eats it all up, never really appreciating what we've got. hell, digimon even has the "charizard problem", but even worse. agumon, gabumon, their evolutions, and particularly omegamon, get so many alternate forms, evolutions, mode changes, etc, that they end up in fucking everything, to a point where even some digimon take direct inspiration from them, and it feels as though we're never getting away from the same design core.

even the "genwunner" problem is more pronounced in digimon due to the smaller fandom size. there's just a lot of fans who rarely stray outside of adventure, adventure content, and adventure-era digimon themselves. there's a genuine wealth of varied, high quality digimon content out there to find, but it does feel as though the brand and the franchise is afraid of it.

adventure is getting another movie coming up soon, and while i am looking forward to it, i do wonder what it would be like if something like tamers, or savers, for example, got the same level of love from bandai and the fanbase at large.

i'm not saying adventure needs to be abandoned, disgraced, or forgotten, but i do feel as though digimon as a whole needs to rely on it less, and the fanbase needs to let go of it a little, and be willing to try new things, and enjoy a wider breadth of what digimon as a franchise has to offer. right now it just feels really odd to be a digimon fan, since it feels as though a noticable portion of the fanbase doesn't seem interested in anything other than stuff that came out over 20 years ago now, and is really missing out.

this was really long huh. uhhhhh go try out a season of the anime you've never seen, go play a video game you've never tried, give one of the mangas a shot if you like to read, go wild. i promise you bros, this shit's just as good today as it was 20 years ago. give it a chance.

[krispdreemurr]

ok so the "own flavored tea" is like my favorite piece of Deltarune lore bc it instantly provides insight to character relationships without anyone needing to say anything, which is important to understand relationships that won't be spoken out loud or haven't even been realized by the characters themselves yet. how Person A's tea tastes depends entirely on how Person B perceives them (usually correlated to a scent/flavor they correlate with A), which is why everyone's OWN tea tastes like water to them: flavorless. the "opinions" people have on themselves, they take as "facts," because they ARE themselves. (Part 1)

moving onto notable relationships revealed by the tea: Kris refuses to show their reaction to Ralsei or Noelle's tea. they do get slightly more health back from Noelle's, implying they trust her more than Ralsei (which makes sense), but they explicitly don't give away their feelings... EXCEPT to Susie. when they drink her tea, they stare directly at her as they chug it. they cannot control what we, the player, make them drink, but they want to communicate to Susie that they trust her the most out of anyone. as for people's reactions to Kris's tea, Susie tastes apple juice (due to their apple-scented shampoo mentioned in flavor text) and chugs it, Noelle tastes cinnamon (due to Toriel's pies that she probably baked for both of them as kids) but notes there's an unusual aftertaste (due to the Player's influence, which affects Her Specifically), and Ralsei tastes... blueberries. which I will theorize about in a moment. (Part 2)

ok last part. this strays a bit away from heavily implied canon (how the tea works) and more into theorizing territory, but I think it's fun to point out: while most Tea flavors are associated with certain memories (e.x. Kris Tea tasting like apple juice to Susie) or personalities (e.x. Ralsei Tea tasting like marshmallows to Susie), ALL of Ralsei's reactions to the various Teas... seem to be solely based on a first glance. Kris is blueberry. Susie is grape. Noelle is "soft and sweet" (no easy color correlation). which DOES make sense if Ralsei only just met everyone and doesn't know them very well, but personally I'm sus of the fluffy goat boy and he sure seems to know more than he's letting on. Susie even says "huh, really?" in response to what Ralsei claims about both Susie Tea and Kris Tea. so personally, I think Ralsei is actually LYING about what he tastes: maybe to the characters, but even moreso to us, the Player. there are plenty of instances where Ralsei says things while we're stuck watching a different cutscene play out. I don't know what it is they don't want us to know, but personally: I think they drink Kris Tea and they taste BUTTERSCOTCH. but if they said that aloud, we'd KNOW they know way more about Kris than they let on. so they grab the first color association they can think of (blue) and run with it. (Part 3)

THIS IS REALLY NEAT... i definitely agree with your takes, and i'd never even considered "ralsei is full on lying about kris". him tasting the butterscotch while noelle tastes the cinnamon has some interesting implications for what ralsei's still not picking up, too... he's still pinning kris into the role of Hero, even if he knows more about them than he lets on. he just gets pure sweetness without anything else.

also i think noelle picking up the aftertaste is partially that she's more susceptible to red and partially that she knows kris really well - even in ch1, before she got a chance to join the party, she knew something was Off with kris. she's back-of-mind aware that this is not quite the kid she grew up with, in a way that susie can't be yet. so like maybe a note of 'player' is there for everyone, or their flavors for kris are influenced by how they understand them + player, but noelle knows what kris 'should' taste like and this isn't it

also just to finish up: i agree with your kris thoughts (and love the idea of them like Pointedly Making Eye Contact with susie lmao). i'd just like to note that my headcanon for them + ralsei tea is that it tastes like store-brand hot chocolate made with water, not milk. it tastes fine, it's perfectly okay, but it's not quite what they want to be drinking, and mostly it serves to remind them of that.

(susie tastes like a really good energy drink - wakes you up and revitalizes you. noelle is eggnog which they once drank a whole carton of at the holiday house and felt kind of sick)

oh as one more tiny note: i do think it'd be theoretically possible to get teas w negative effects/that hurt you, altho it's not possible in-game bc the kids like each other. that said, if there was a berdly tea and noelle drank it immediately after the whole ferris wheel incident,,,

[napeoftheneck]

Rivers of Crimson (Ymir x Reader)

I absolutely can bestie!  I had a hard time trying to find out what I could do for some angst without being yk. One of those “I’m not Christa :(“ fics, so here’s some hurt/comfort w/ some extra angst mixed in !! Angst is my absolute favourite to write, I’m so elated that it’s is my first request. Especially with Ymir, too !! Thank u <3<3 

Title: Rivers of crimson  Genre: Angst w/happy ending, hurt/comfort  Warnings: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of injuries, angst, swearing, Ymir being kind of a meanie, fighting, implied comphet if you really REALLY squint  Word count: ~1.7k

IMPLIED SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 OF ATTACK ON TITAN !! 

(There was no specific request for a WLW reader, so I tried to keep it as gender-neutral as I can :>) 

-

Ymir had never really felt helpless since her youth. Even then, in those moments, she felt as though she had been ruling, that whatever she could do would bring praise and gratitude and triumph. It was only after she had been adjudged when she realised that the reason she sought after that feeling of authority for so long was because of just how dependent she had actually convinced herself she was. 

Becoming a god was the loneliest feeling in the world, but solitude brought a power not many had; it brought independence. She never had to worry about others. 

She often found herself watching her fellow cadets when they returned from battle. Ymir would often follow as they broke down, crumbling to their knees in wracked sobs upon hearing of the demise of their loved ones. She would listen to the hums of commiseration from other soldiers or watch as they would help the mourning fighter to their feet and lead them away from others' scrutinising eyes. She wouldn't pity them. The feeling of sympathy was foreign to her.

Ymir had been fighting for a grand portion of her life now. She had held herself to those same beliefs since her first day of training, so she was specifically surprised when she had taken such a liking to you.

She fought it for a while. Whenever you would sit with her at lunch, she would make an effort to seem uninterested when you spoke of your day. When you stumbled during training, she would correct you, but would mask whatever tenderness that found her voice with a sigh or a comment implying that you “need to suck it up”. 

Yet, despite how she pushed and strayed from you, you remained a constant in her life of inconsistencies. Eventually, you were the closest to what she could call a friend. 

Ymir ignored how, whenever you would patch her wounds or link to her on cold nights or how often you would sleep in the same bed, she was far too mercenary to label you as something other than a friend. Even that was stretching it. 

Though, in moments like these, Ymir wished that she was raw enough to let you know. Because, in moments like these, she would be terrified to misspeak. 

You wouldn’t fight often. Not like this. 

You had mentioned having to “get up early” off-handedly during dinner when excusing yourself from the table. Ymir asked about it and you mentioned a scout that had been injured, whom you volunteered yourself to replace for an outer-walls mission. You said it all so casually. Ymir couldn’t grasp any sarcasm in your voice or crack in your authored facade as you brushed through your hair in the mirror of her chambers. She didn’t see you make eye contact with her once. You spoke to her coolly about how happy you were to finally be able to sleep, about the dinner and how it was cold that day, about how Jean had snuck some of your apple at lunch that day.

Ymir just stood in silence, considering and rejecting things to say in response. 

“Were you gonna tell me about how you’re leaving tomorrow, or was I just supposed to wake up without you and put it together myself?” She spoke before thinking. You hesitated, hovering over your cupboard.  “Ymir, it’s not a big deal,” you finally sigh, running a hand through your hair the moment it’s freed. “I said it was just a capture mission. Hange said we won’t go far-“  “You can't go.”  You narrow your eyes. You had now frozen in your tracks completely; no longer pacing around the room to place things in their correct spaces.  “I’m not a child,” you speak gently, as if to a rabid dog. The blaze in her eyes was enough to pardon it. “I don’t have to ask your approval to work. I don’t need you next to me,” you deride lightly, insignificantly, as you turn your back to her. You didn’t plan to sound so dismissive.  “Are you seriously being this fucking petty right now? You could die out there,” Ymir, however, fully intended her venomous rhythm. She towers over you, if not just in her tone alone. “You’re being stupid. You know you're not strong enough to fight with that squad.” Your breath hitches in your throat. Ymir regrets her words immediately, but she doesn’t waver in her stance. “What the fuck is your problem?” you sneer. “You insist on how little you care about me, but as soon as I do anything without your permission you yell at me?”  “That’s not what this is about, (y/n)-”  “Then what is it about, Ymir? Why are you so scared?”  “I don't give a shit about what happens to you! I'm just-” Ymir catches herself before she can finish her sentence. “No, I-”  “Exactly,” before she can correct herself, though, you are biting y our lip the way you do when you're biting back tears and you are in front of her. “Move. I need to go to bed.” 

She is wordless as she steps to the side and allowing you to pass her. It isn't until she hears your footsteps down the hall when she speaks. 

“If you come back, I won’t be here.” She hears you stop. Ymir doesn't expect you to come running to her, arms open and folded clothing discarded into a pile on the hallway floor. She isn't entirely sure why she's digging such a hole for herself - she doesn't mean what she's saying - of course she doesn't, she adores you, so why is she so set on pushing you as far away as she possibly can? Why does she feel that she needs to?  “Good.” you reply. The footsteps continue, then you are gone.

You are gone for three days. 

Ymir, at first, didn’t count the hours.  She stewed in her angst alone for a grand portion of the morning without you; she dutifully avoided talking about whatever mission you had left for at the table that morning. 

Despite herself, Ymir had to eventually confront her weakness after the third consecutive “Are you okay?” Of that day that she wasn’t doing as good of a job of hiding her worry as she had thought. 

She thought she didn’t seem too bothered when your name was mentioned at the breakfast table. 

She thought she didn’t look too obviously intrigued when, 30 hours since you left (she swore she hadn’t counted), she heard Captain Levi murmur something about a retrieval squad. She thought she didn’t sound so desperate when she attempted to bring it casually up in conversation, yet she couldn’t fight the cracks in her voice and she couldn’t stop herself from wringing her hands over her wrists in worry when she thought nobody was looking. Helplessness went from being a stranger to a thorn at her side in a matter of hours.

It had been the dawn of the fourth day when Ymir was awoken by a creek by her door. She remained stiff as she listened to light footsteps approach her bed, but she softens when she hears you. When she sat up, unsure of whether you were actually there or if she had just been consumed by grief and began to hallucinate, you winced. 

She blinks. 

There are no words exchanged. Ymir debates speaking, though her body moves before she can and, in minutes, you are sat in the bathroom and she is kneeling in front of you.

Ymir isn’t certain (it seems like she hadn’t been certain about anything at all for the past week) why she wasn’t crying. She isn’t sure why she’s so terrified to touch you, or to speak, or to maintain eye contact for longer than a millisecond. 

You were in frightening shape. Had she not been petrified to talk, Ymir would be swearing under each breath.  Blood still seeped from your open wounds, cascading in small, splitting rivers of crimson down the side of your face. It had likely been far too long since you had fought any kind of titan, Ymir thought. Their blood would've been long since steamed. It was your blood. You must have noticed her hesitance as she wiped it, gently, dreading that she would uncover another wound, because you broke the abundant, pregnant stillness

“They lost two scouts.” “Oh.” Ymir responds. An unfamiliar feeling settles uncomfortably in her gut. “I’m sorry.” You nod, then you are silent again. 

Ymir takes a moment to resume her conscientious work. 

There is no obligation between either of you to say anything more. Your eyes are fixed downward, resting heavily on Ymir as she squints at the cap of some kind of disinfectant. She’s biting her tongue.  “I didn’t mean anything I said,” Ymir spoke to you suddenly and without looking you in the eyes. You’re thankful because it told you that you weren’t the only one too frightened to do so. “I do give a shit about what happens to you,” You laugh insignificantly, shaking your head. “I thought you died. I thought I lost you and the last things I said to you was that I wouldn’t be here, but I will. I’ll always be here.” She is desperate, rambling until she realises it and lulls herself. 

You would say something dismissively comforting had it not been for the silence Ymir’s hand brought as it raised to your cheek and gently brushed a stray tear away. It is so small and trifling, yet it is gracious and fragile and kind and it means the universe to you. 

“I know,” you respond.  You don’t need to hear a long-drawn, significant plea. You don’t need it because, truthfully, you knew you likely wouldn’t get it from Ymir in the first place.  However, as she guides you gently back into her bed, engulfing you in the white sheets, and places a small kiss on your forehead, something settles within you. 

It was a feeling one would associate with the moments after receiving an apology; it is warm, tender, relieving. 

You were home. You were safe. 

You were loved. 

Although she hadn’t said it, it wasn’t needed, because as Ymir’s arms tighten around you, you certainly felt it enough to maintain a sleepy smile as you drifted off alongside her.

[melon-official]

⚖️🤕 linus, 💀💧 dolly, 💰⚡ lily (or pick n choose if that's a few too many oop)

are u kidding of course im going to answer all of them🕺im putting it under a cut tho cuz it’s long

⚖️ What is the biggest crime your OC has committed? Are they a thief, a cheat, a liar? What is the smallest, most petty crime they’ve committed? Or do they not do crime at all?

for a squid who knows so much but talks so little, their life isn’t as mysterious or dangerous as some tend to think it is… they spend most of their free time holed up in their room or being dragged along to wherever their friends are going

no actual crimes besides shoplifting, technically, there’s been an item or two they’ve swiped from the craft store they work at cuz the product was voided and would’ve been thrown away otherwise. and they ring their friends up with the employee discount

🤕 What is the worst injury your OC has ever suffered? Do they have any scars or lasting physical reminders of it? Do they get sick often or have any lasting medical conditions?

their first and worst flare-up left them and july with the most psychological damage, but jules was the one left with lasting physical injury in that incident. so, no permanent changes for lin

that being said, their kraken syndrome has affected the way they navigate life for as long as they can remember. they won’t even let themself feel upset well through middle and high school. eventually they start paying more attention to their body and learn to experience their emotions in a healthy and non-landing-themself-in-the-hospital way

-

💀 Has your OC ever lost anyone to death? Multiple people? People close to them? How does the loss make them feel?

it’s the other way around, really. dolly lost every bit of herself to kamabo except for the ghost of her old personality. she doesn’t miss anything about the life she left behind; she fully believes that landing herself down here was the best thing to happen to her, and she can’t remember her past in the first place

💧 What makes your OC lose hope, what makes them give up and feel helpless? Have they ever given up on something really important or let go of a dream? What are some of their biggest regrets? Would they ever try again (if they’re able to)?

this one’s heavily dependent on context. dolly in canon is literally incapable of feeling helpless. hell, she’s incapable of feeling sad. her default outlook is just smug indifference and she hardly strays from that

despair plays a gigantic part of that emotions au, though… dolly and zev end up arguing over her files in kamabo’s archives, and it’s in this brutal-honesty vs blissful-ignorance conversation that she actually starts experiencing other feelings for the first time. finally starts to accept that terrible things happened to her, instead of pushing it all away

-

💰 If your OC had all the money they could ask for what would they do with it? Where would they go and what would they buy? Are they the only one who benefits from this wealth?

honestly, having all that money would make her more than a little anxious. she’d definitely pay off her tuition right away, use some of it to upgrade the nss’ equipment or even start paying for the apartment she’s been renting. but constantly doing background checks tracing the money and trying to figure out how to get it off her hands in the most helpful way possible

⚡ What are your OC’s phobias? Is there any reasoning behind these? How do they calm themselves down after getting scared? What are they like when they’re afraid? Is there any chance of them overcoming their fears?

oh yeah. lil has a major fear of shaky or moving ground. she has a better handle of it than she did just after the octavio fight, which is where the phobia developed in the first place. but she would still rather walk down those long ass airport hallways instead of using the conveyor

tartar left her with a handful of issues as well- splattack! and the word “target” are pretty tied to the metro for her. ames has xer own, similar issues, and the two often end up grounding each other

[bluejayblueskies]

Could you do "things you said at 1 am" for MarTim? Romantic or platonic is good. I'm loving all these prompt fics so much!

warning for some discussion of canon-typical worms

.

Tim sets the box of Martin’s things at the foot of the cot in document storage and makes a show of shaking out his arms and hands, even though it really hadn’t been that heavy. Mostly clothes and toiletries and other necessary amenities—though Tim had snuck in a small faux-leather notebook and a picture frame depicting a family he assumed to be Martin’s standing in front of the sea. Martin couldn’t have been more than five in the picture, but Tim recognized his auburn curls and button nose.

 If Martin’s going to be stuck in the Archives for the foreseeable future, he may as well have something personal to keep him company, Tim figures. So, he’d packed it away, gathered the rest of the items on the list Martin had provided him with, and brought it all back to the Archives. Sasha was already gone by the time he arrived, and Jon’s office door was shut, though a thin line of light escaped from below it.

 He’s been working later and later, Tim’s noticed. And if the cot already tucked away in document storage is anything to go by, he’s also been spending less and less time at his flat.

 “There we are,” Tim says, flashing Martin a warm smile. “You’re all set to live in the company of hundreds of years’ worth of dusty documents. Not exactly bedtime stories—unless you prefer the spooky sort—but, you know…”

 Tim trails off with a small shrug. There’s an ache beneath it, one that grows stronger when Martin curls in on himself slightly and says, “Better than the worms.”

 “Yeah,” Tim says, and some of it leaks out—a guilt so thick it hurts his teeth. Two weeks, and he hadn’t even thought to check on Martin.

“We would have come,” Tim finds himself saying, quiet yet too-loud in the space between them. “If we’d have known, we would have come.”

 “I know,” Martin says, his words ragged around the edges. “It- it’s okay.”

 “No,” Tim says, surprised at the conviction in his voice. “It’s not. You were trapped for two weeks by a worm-infested woman and- and we just took her word that you were out sick.” Tim feels revulsion bubbling up within him, a sickening nausea. “I texted her. I thought it was you, and I- I was sending her the things I would send you, little jokes and pictures I thought you’d like and offering to come over. But every time, you said no. Said you didn’t want me to get sick, and it was such a you thing to say that I just accepted it! After a week, I should have just come by, if only to see if you needed- Christ, groceries or something.”

 Martin hugs his arms tighter to himself. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “I- I don’t know what would have happened if you did.”

 Tim knows that Martin’s right. He’d probably be dead. Or worse. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that if he’d just cared enough to check in, Martin wouldn’t have that scared, haunted look on his face that he’s trying very hard to hide. “Yeah,” Tim says, that same guilt laced into his words. “You’re probably right. Doesn’t make it better, though.”

 Martin just nods. For a moment, they stand there in silence. Tim doesn’t know what to do, how to make it better. He hadn’t been there for Martin when he’d been trapped and alone and terrified, but he’s here now. He’s here, but he’s never been good at comforting people, at smoothing the pain from someone’s face or knowing the right words to chase away fear and sadness.

 So, eventually, Tim shrugs off his jacket, folds it on top of the box, and says, “You know, I have some playing cards stashed away in my desk, as well as quite an impressive selection of crisps and chocolates. I have to tell you, though—I’ve never lost a match of Go Fish.”

 Martin’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are wide with surprise. “What?”

 Tim shrugs and smiles, a practiced motion that keeps him grounded even when pain and sadness threaten to tear him apart. He hopes it does the same for Martin. “Thought we’d make a night of it. A good old-fashioned sleepover, if you will.”

 “Why—?” Martin cuts off, shakes his head once. When he speaks again, his voice is cracked down the middle. “You- you don’t have to stay, Tim. I’ll be fine.”

 “I know,” Tim says, a bit of that guilt pushing into the edges of his words again despite his best efforts to keep it hidden. He lets it take over, for just a moment, and says, “I thought you might not want to be alone. And I’ve been told that I’m excellent company.”

 Martin lets out a small, shaky laugh. “Do they?” he says, humored, and something warm spreads through Tim’s chest, nestling next to his heart. “I- I suppose… I’d like that.” He nods hesitantly and repeats, “I’d like that.”

 Tim flashes Martin another grin before heading off to retrieve the cards.

 They stay up late, into the very early morning even as exhaustion drags Tim’s eyelids down with every passing hour. Tim’s always liked spending time with Martin—on Friday nights at the pub or on the occasional movie night or even just in passing, taking a moment to chat at Martin’s desk before moving on to his own work. He finds himself moving closer and closer to Martin as the night wears on until their thighs are pressed together as they lean against the wall, the cards laying forgotten on the floor in front of them as they just talk. About frivolous things, like the kinds of flowers Tim likes and Martin’s favorite pastries. About personal things, like Martin’s visits to his mother in the home and Tim’s brief affair with Sasha.

 The clock rolls over into single digits, and Martin says, quietly, “I lied on my CV.”

 Tim looks over at him. His hands are fidgeting in his lap, but his mouth is set into a thin, determined line, like he’d been working himself up to this for a very long time. Martin must sense Tim’s eyes on him because he continues unprompted, “I- I mentioned that my mother is in a home, and- and she’s been unwell for quite some time, so I had to drop out of school when I was 17 to support us. Didn’t have time or the qualifications for a degree, but I needed the money, and- and nowhere was hiring, so I- I faked my credentials. Said I had a master’s in business or English or history—anything that might get me a job that paid enough to support us. For some reason, my lie about parapsychology got me an interview with Elias, and then… he hired me.” Martin sucks in a small, shaky breath. “I- I’m only 29.”

 Tim’s reeling a bit. He doesn’t really know what to say—what can he say? Eventually, what comes out is, “You’ve been here since you were 22? Without a degree?” He turns so he can face Martin fully and says, completely serious, “Martin, that’s amazing.”

 Martin flushes a bright crimson. “I- I don’t really think it’s- I mean, it’s not really something that I earned—”

 Tim puts his hand on Martin’s knee, and Martin’s mouth snaps shut. “To jump straight into an academic job without any prior knowledge? Yeah, maybe it’s not conventional, but it doesn’t negate the fact that you’re just as good a researcher as me and Sasha.”

 Martin’s flush grows deeper, and he mumbles, “Yeah, I- I guess.”

 Martin’s hands begin to twist around each other again, an uncomfortable gesture, and after a moment’s hesitation, Tim takes one of Martin’s hands in his, trying to offer support and reassurance in the brush of his fingers against Martin’s. He hears the way Martin’s breath hitches as he does so, and affection curls in his stomach. “I’m glad you told me,” Tim says sincerely. “And I hope you know that I’m not going to tell anybody, not unless you want me to.”

 Martin shakes his head firmly. “No, I- I really don’t want to be fired. I, er. I kind of need this job.” He lets out a small noise that could almost be a groan if it weren’t so laced with nerves. “Christ, if Jon found out. After the dog incident, I- I think he’d just fire me on the spot.”

 “Or maybe,” Tim says, “it might finally convince him to stop berating you for every little mistake.”

 “Tim,” Martin says, pleading.

 “I’m not going to tell him,” Tim says softly, squeezing Martin’s hand once more to firmly convey his point. “I promise.”

 The tension in Martin’s shoulders bleeds out, and he sighs heavily. “Thank you. For- for everything, I suppose.” He pauses a moment before saying, quieter, “For- for this. For staying with me.”

 Tim knocks his shoulder against Martin’s and then makes the split-second decision to leave it there, pressed against Martin’s. “Yeah, of course,” he says lightly. “We’re friends.”

 “Friends,” Martin echoes, like the word’s unfamiliar on his tongue. After a moment, he squeezes Tim’s hand in return and leans more firmly into Tim’s side. His curls brush against the shell of Tim’s ear, and Tim has the sudden desire to feel Martin’s lips against him, ghosting across his jawline and light against his temple. For a moment, he considers asking—taking Martin’s hand and raising it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to Martin’s knuckles and his palm and the inside of his wrist.

 He doesn’t. Instead, he gives Martin a wide smile and says, “I like you, Martin. Me and Sasha and- and even Jon, I bet, underneath all that prickliness.” He gives in to his desires, just a bit, and lets his free hand come up to the side of Martin’s face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “How could we not?”

 Martin’s cheek is hot beneath Tim’s hand, and he can feel the motion of Martin’s jaw as he says, quietly, “I… I like you too.”

 “Flatterer,” Tim says. He loves the way Martin’s smile at that feels against his palm.

 They go to sleep soon after, Martin flat on his back on the cot and Tim sprawled on top of him despite Martin’s protests that we’re not both going to fit, Tim, the cot’s not really built for two. Tim can feel the motion of Martin’s chest as he breathes; he wants to curl up into Martin’s side and stay there forever.

 “Goodnight,” Tim mumbles, sleep already overtaking him. Maybe that’s why he lets his lips brush against Martin’s cheek as he says it, a slight enough motion that he doesn’t know if Martin feels it.

 He’s not awake for long enough to know for sure. But with the feeling of Martin beneath him, soft and warm and safe, he doesn’t really mind either way.

[kakiwrites]

Tamaki has always been ostracized due to his origins as an elf, the only person that treats him with kindness is the daughter of the town druid Aizawa (reader)

falling into a flowery paradise

Genre: slight angst then fluff

A tamaki amajiki x reader

Synopsis: A time where elves, fairies, dragons, and other wonderful creatures live in harmony, how would you choose to live? On a pirate ship? Making potions? Who do you stumble upon along the journey? A soldier, a poet, a king? Well, that’s for you to decide.

 (masterlist is under navigation!)

 a/n: hey guys! Time to write for more elf Tamaki. Honestly, I feel like Tamaki can be canonically some kind of elf, either that or because of his genes, he has those cute pointy ears. Idk, I have a small soft spot for the anxious baby~ I kinda changed this request, hope you don't mind anyway, requests are still open so please don't be shy to leave anything in my inbox! Let's begin!

 "I hereby decree that Tamaki Amajiki will now be banished from the land of the elves."

 His heart dropped to his stomach. Why did he do it? For once, he finally gathered the courage to stand up for himself against his bullies but that got him here, prosecuted by the court. His bullies' smiles piercing through him and pulling him down into the abyss even more.

 Tamaki did no more but nod his head, dragging his feet out of the court and into the wilderness. He brought this among himself. If he just stayed quiet then he wouldn't be banished.

 But maybe being away from his kind is a good thing for him.

 He was considered as one with his kind. He was always considered the black sheep. Everyone shone and he was there, blending into the shadows. While everyone tried to stand out, he stayed the same. It did the opposite effect he wanted. He stood out. He wished that he wouldn't be a target.

 And targeted he was.

 He was picked on for everything imaginable, his appearance, his personality, and how he presented himself. He had to endure years of harsh words and shoving. His inner demons started eating at him each passing day until the day arrived where he couldn't handle it anymore and stepped up to them, fighting with the same flame they used to burn him down over and over.

 But nobody cared, they turned a blind eye and made everyone believe he was a monster.

 A monster?

 Maybe he was.

 Maybe-

 Tamaki sat up to see the orange sky. Did he fall asleep? He looked around to see he was in a beautiful flower field. The wild grass and flowers following the direction of the wind. He got up on his wobbly feet and walked blindly in a random direction before stumbling onto a small cottage, vines growing up its foundations, flowers blossomed in its cracks. Smoke started to rise from the chimney just as a cool breeze went through him.

 It was going to a cold night.

 Should he approach the house?

 No, the inhabitants wouldn't like that.

 The elf was just about to turn back the way he came when he saw a figure walking towards him. The person wore a dress made out of thick vines and flowers. her hair was dolled up into a bun, little petals stuck into it.

 Wow.

 you looked like a goddess.

 Tamaki was frozen in place as he watched you walk toward him. He could finally see your face, A druid people always praised and worshipped. You were the daughter of the village chief, Aizawa and you were raised to be humble and help everyone in need and that included the smallest of flowers that need more sunlight. You finally stood in front of him, hands resting together. The townsfolk weren't lying when they said you were a blessing from the gods.

 "Tamaki amajiki correct? One of the wonderful elves?" you started. Little strands of hair started to fall out of your bun. Tamaki decided to fix his attention on there instead of into your (e/c) eyes. He always got anxious when he had to look someone in the eye but why did he feel that same dread when you were the one staring at him with kindness and patience. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice.

 "How are you? What are you doing far away from your village?" you asked. You started walking toward the little cottage. Tamaki hesitantly followed behind you. Was he even allowed to follow you? You didn't seem to mind his presence.

 "i-I was b-banished a-after standing u-up for m-myself," he muttered, thinking that you wouldn't hear him.

 But you did.

 You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him. This was the first time he saw you without your smile. It was replaced in a frown. "now that's just not right." you simply said. It looked like you wanted to say something else but you decided against it, turning your back and continue down the path to the cottage.

 Tamaki just followed you.

  He met your father soon after. He was a stern-looking man but he had a good heart. He let Tamaki stay in his humble abode for as long as he wanted to and even talked to him like a son. For once, Tamaki felt happy.

 It was the first time he felt like he belonged.

 Don't get him started on you. You've been anything but mean to him. You've treated him with compassion. He felt like he could talk to you. He found your life interesting and in turn, he started falling in love with it, even joining you when you planted some new flowers in your little garden or when you fed some stray rabbits hoping around.

 You found out that Tamaki had a soft spot for life, especially animals. He can usually talk to them and calm them down quicker than you. You admired him for that.

 You went out to the village with your father while Tamaki stayed home with the cats and the bunnies. He never really minded. It was the least he could do.

 You got home to hear him humming to his favorite bunny,  thumper. He stopped for a moment before piping up. You pressed your ear against the door to catch his muttering. "you know thumper, ever since I came here… I feel at ease. Mr. Aizawa treats me like a son and (y/n)… don't get me started on her." your hand went to your mouth to stifle a giggle. You could tell from his voice he had the soft smile on his face you love seeing on him.

 Love. You loved him.

  "(y/n) is so kind and caring. Not just to me, but to you." he paused to think of his next words. "i-I think I love her, thumper."

 What?

 You felt your face heat up at that. He… loved you back. You opened the door, making a flustered Tamaki jump up from his seat on the floor. His face a crimson red and you could tell from his expression that he knew that you heard him.

 "i-I c-can explain-" he tried to say before he could, you ran over to him and pressed your lips onto his. He stiffened up for a moment before easing in and kissing you back. You could feel how soft his lips are and how sweet he tastes. Just like you imagined him.

 He pulled away, breathing heavily. For the first time, he finally gathered the courage to look into your (e/c) irises to see them swimming with happiness and affection. His embarrassed smile grew wider.

 "s-so does this m-mean…?"

 "yes Tamaki, I love you too."

 From that day on, all of the plants bloomed brighter and vibrant as ever.

 And there you have it! It was kind of short but hopefully, you guys still enjoyed even though it was kind of short. Working on the noremma fic tonight, hope you guys are as excited as I am! Love you 💖💕❤️

General taglist (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below): @tokyoghoose @macaronnv @reogou @lnarizakis @midnightangelfox @wumboho @seiijixcia

series taglist  (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below!): @astrxrism ​ @kurookinnie @isentsworld @inkumistuki

[crownshattered-moved]

BUNGOU STRAY DOGS VERSE INFO:

She’s a psychologist working for the Port Mafia!! She’s actually from Germany herself but traveled a lot with her father when she was young. During the Great War her father was part of the Order of the Clocktower but he ended up leaving afterwards and moving to Yokohama, taking little Ada with him.

Her dad is a psychIAtrist for the Port Mafia. An ACTUAL doctor who went through med school, while Ada has a PhD and is a psychologist. They’re BOTH “Dr. Mesmer”

She works heavily with experimentations within the Port Mafia. She’ll give psychological checkups for all the mafiosi and for those with more complicated disorders, she and her father work more closely with them (probably trauma from all the death and stuff)

For those who have more severe problems, Ada will sometimes experiment on them. She’s interested in the pursuit of knowledge regarding hypnosis and using it as a treatment for these patients, which is easy given her ability (which I’ll explain later). She rarely uses her ability on patients unless NEEDED to, since she wants to find a method that other people can use as well.

SHE IS NOT ABOVE DOING SOME REALLY MORALLY FUCKED UP METHODS TO EXPERIMENT, SADLY…… In her canon, she would deny patients who needed pain medication the medicine and would even put them through electroshock therapy without any medicine to ease the pain just for her experiments to see if she can take that pain away with hypnosis. AND SHE’D DO IT AGAIN HERE.

Her ability is called “Discipline” (yeah like the skin lol) and it allows her to use her whistle as a way of hypnotizing someone. This ability is mostly used to take someone’s pain away (and partially reflect it onto herself in the form of stress) but it can also be used to straight up hypnotize someone!! The only reason she doesnt usually do this is because it doesnt benefit her experiments, which are what drives her. If she was ordered to use her ability, she wouldn’t hesitate.

In this verse, she never meets Emil unless plotted.

When she’s actually working, she wears her usual outfit (that kind of faded white dress) but when she’s not actively working, her outfit resembles more her “DISCIPLINE” SKIN. (nooooo thats TOTALLY not bc im obsessed with that skin hahahaha……)

I’m thinking about giving her a side verse for when she DOES meet Emil. She would break him out of the Port Mafia and they would both run and go into hiding. Maybe afterwards they work for the ADA, or at least are connected to the Armed Detective Agency in some way (maybe ada gives them ACTUALLY HELPFUL check-ups.??)

In this side verse, she isn’t ALL THE WAY a better person, but she’s learning with Emil. She doesn’t experiment anymore. The only thing that matters to her now is Emil and his safety and happiness.

[daddyembo]

A short analysis of the Harry Potter Fandom

One of my favorite things about the Harry Potter fandom is how we react to JK Rowling's biases, be them manifested in subtle in-text exclusion or overt statements on social media.

Rowling created a rich literary universe that preaches inclusion and equality while simultaneously implying the opposite. In her writing, we see moments where she strays from the positive message she attempts to maintain - moments where her unconscious biases peek through, whether she intended to let them in or not. We are all familiar with one example of this: Rowling imagined Dumbledore as a gay man, but she never confirmed this in text - in fact, she might never have imagined this in the first place, but waited to edit her own character until years after the books were published. So, what does this say about Rowling's bigotry? Some might say that bigotry did not play a role in her textual exclusion of Dumbledore's orientation, which is, context aside, an insignificant detail. However, without arguing over semantics, her decision was biased. Dumbledore cannot serve as representation when there is no evidence of what he is supposed to represent. In this way, Rowling implies her belief that LGBTQ+ people are acceptable - as long as the cishet majority is not made to think about them. A similarly biased reader can read the entire Harry Potter series without once being forced to confront how they feel about a major character being gay.

To quickly add a few other examples: Remus Lupin and Sirius Black have a close relationship that can easily be interpreted as romantic; the text does not state so, but it doesn't deny such a relationship exists, either. Rowling did that herself, after the fact. Rita Skeeter, a "manipulative" character we are supposed to despise, is described explicitly as bearing masculine and ungraceful features, implying the gross caricature of a trans woman so often seen in popular media. I recommend Contrapoints's youtube video on JK Rowling for a wonderful, in-depth analysis of Rowling's transphobia and related bigotry - it's thorough and empathetic, so you don't have to worry about your favorite author being unfairly eviscerated. It's all pretty fair.

Anyway, you get the picture. JK Rowling gets so unbearably close to including positive representation of LGBTQ+ communities and other minority groups in her writing, but at the last minute, her biases slip through the cracks and withhold the necessary pieces. However, wherever representation is close to the surface, this fandom is ready and willing to snatch it up.

Since Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban was published, fans of the books - mostly LGBTQ+ readers - picked up on the disappointingly subtextual relationship between Remus and Sirius that we are all familiar with. If it had been overtly stated in the book, fans would've written plenty of fanfiction anyway, but it wasn't - and thus, the Marauders fandom was born of spite for what could've been. Readers reimagined a second, equally vivid universe that took place before the events of the Harry Potter series, and what makes this universe so special is that it was created as a direct response. It was a rebellion - an outcry against Rowling's frustrating biases, and a declaration that even a universally loved series like Harry Potter could be improved greatly.

After the events of the last two years - you know, JK Rowling's infuriating essay and everything that went along with that? Yeah. The fandom has used that same rebellious energy to slam Rowling's worldbuilding right back into her face. Marauders content is gayer than ever. Drarry is somehow - despite never really going away - making a resurgence. For every character, LGBTQ+ headcanons have doubled or tripled - and I think what I'm getting at here is that Rowling did this to herself. It was her pseudo-representation that prompted her readers to create their own, solid representation.

In conclusion, I'll say it - we are rewriting the Harry Potter series. What other piece of media is so heavily edited and embellished in the communities of its fans? Media is open to interpretation, no matter what JK Rowling says about authorial intent. We took what was once subtextual and made it canon, in a way no less valid than the original text. I know this is long, but if you've gotten this far into my ramblings... just think about that. Think about the creative power of a community together. Think about how this fandom fights against Rowling's biases not because we hate her work, but because we love it. And please - keep it going.

[folderolsfollies]

Sangyao Arranged Marriage.... III

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Word Count: 2.7k  Rating: T Warnings: None to date (Besides discussion of canon events)

Nie Huaisang idly notes that it had taken three servants blanching and running through the halls of the Jinlintai at the sight of him freely wandering through its gilded passageways before he’s caught. He tears his gaze away from a beautiful and entirely inaccurate mural commemorating Jin victories during the Sunshot campaign. There’s Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun in front of him, pieced out in larger-than-life gold. Jin Guangyao, the hero of the Sunshot campaign, is absent from the scene.

He fully turns when he recognizes a quiet but unmistakable pair of footsteps. Jin Guangyao, alone, moves with a leopard’s prowling grace.

“San-ge, thank god you’re here! I got so lost…” he lies hurriedly before Jin Guangyao can say anything, clasping onto his arm. This close, the warm, spicy smell of cloves curls towards him. “Oh! You smell nice,” he says, entranced into losing his train of thought, and leans forward, to where the scent is deepened by the heat radiating out from Jin Guangyao’s jugular. “Have you remembered my trick with the incense?” he says, remembering frozen nights in Qinghe carefully draping his long sleeves over the incense burners. At the time, Meng Yao had kept his sleeves sensibly bound to the wrist, but Nie Huaisang had noticed the hungry way that he had stilled to watch all these invisible tricks of the gentry from out of the corner of his eyes, even back then. It had been the first time anybody had wanted to imitate Nie Huaisang. It had been the first time Nie Huaisang had felt the urge to impress someone, stirring new and strange within him.

“I will always remember your kindnesses, Nie Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao replies in the present, polite to a fault, and admirably suppressing his clear desire to ask what exactly Nie Huaisang is doing in Koi Tower. His San-ge, always so thoughtful! “The Jinlintai welcomes you.”

Nie Huaisang finally remembers his twice-stated promise, and, releasing his arm, darts backwards from him like a startled fawn.

“Jin-er-gongzi, thank you for the hospitality,” he says formally, and bows as deeply and as properly as any Lan.

Strong hands catch him from beneath the elbows before the arc of his bow is complete, and he’s hauled back into a standing position. They stand there for a long moment, with Jin Guangyao’s hands wrapped tight around his forearms, and Nie Huaisang’s hands gently draped on his arms. For a moment, Jin Guangyao’s face is startled into openness, as he looks at Huaisang with his large deer-soft eyes, and Huaisang looks back at him.

There’s a lock of Nie Huaisang’s hair, braided for the dust of summer travel, curling around Jin Guangyao’s sleeve and tickling his wrist. Jin Guangyao swiftly tucks it behind Nie Huaisang’s ear, his thin, cold thumb briefly brushing over Huaisang’s cheekbone. His fingers flex against Nie Huaisang’s scalp, briefly, before he releases him, and Huaisang beats down the brief impulse to envelop those cold hands in his own warm ones.

“Let’s go to my office,” Jin Guangyao finally says, and smiles, a small, reflexive thing.

The room Jin Guangyao brings them to is bright and well appointed, and utterly impersonal. There are no decorations. It is the office of a bureaucrat. It is the office of someone who can leave it at any time. Nie Huaisang, kneeling across from Jin Guangyao at his plain desk, feels suddenly desolate at the idea of bright Jin Guangyao entombed in this dingy room. Even in Qinghe, stark as it was, Meng Yao’s office had a few scattered effects, even if it was mostly scraps given by Nie Huaisang. Huaisang wants to give him something beautiful, something that would chisel him into the very walls.

He’s been silent too long. “San-ge, if I get you a fan, would you hang it there?” Nie Huaisang says, pointing randomly at an alcove in the corner. He’s sure to make the words sound artless, casual. Nie Huaisang knows enough to spare Jin Guangyao the sensation of pity.

It must work well enough, because Jin Guangyao says indulgently, “Of course, Huaisang.”

“Don’t just agree with me! What if it’s awful?” Nie Huaisang says.

“I doubt you would ever choose anything that was not in exquisite taste,” Jin Guangyao demurs.

For some reason, at that, Nie Huaisang flops on his elbows and sighs heavily. He thinks he sees Jin Guangyao’s lips twitch up briefly from the corner of his eyes, but when he darts a glance up at him his face is smoothed into placidity once more.

A servant comes in, bearing a tray laden with the dainty little walnut cakes Nie Huaisang favors, placing them on the table to Jin Guangyao’s polite murmur of thanks.

When she leaves, Nie Huaisang leans in, hiding them both under his fan. “Ah, San-ge, what was her name?” he asks.

“Tang Zhu,” Jin Guangyao says in response, and doesn’t ask why Nie Huaisang was curious, sparing Nie Huaisang from having to answer that he simply wanted to see how quickly he would answer, plucking facts out of his well-ordered brain. Sometimes Nie Huaisang’s thoughts spin out from him, wild and untethered and frightening; at those times, Jin Guangyao’s straight-pathed mind settles something deep within him.

When Meng Yao had first entered the Unclean Realm, there had been a long stretch of months when Nie Huaisang had been anxious and sulky about this new addition to Qinghe’s roster, the slight figure at his brother’s right side who carried no saber and who had nevertheless earned such a large portion of his brother’s respect. It had lasted until the day Huaisang had trailed him silently through the secret passageways of the realm to see him pinching off crumbs of bread for one of the stray cats that jostled around the gates. He had felt an affection tinged with the bloody edge of loneliness. He’s like me, he had thought. He could be like me.

He had looked at him then. Jin Guangyao, only two years older than Huaisang, had seemed to have a steady presence that burned brightly within him, outshining any golden core. And Nie Huaisang never really stopped looking at him.

He spreads his fan in front of his face. He has a sudden hope that Meng Yao remembers how they’d use his fan as a silent method of communication with each other back in Qinghe, the way a brisk tap meant rescue me, a shift from hand to hand meaning, watch out! Da-ge coming. When he twists his wrist he thinks with each flutter: trust me, trust me, trust me. “Jin-er-gongzi, how are you settling in?”

Jin Guangyao looks trapped between exasperation and banked amusement, and Nie Huaisang feels such a rush of nostalgic affection that it makes his teeth hurt. “It would be best if you do not refer to me as such in Koi Tower,” he says instead of replying, lightly scolding. “Our positions are dissimilar.”

Nie Huaisang tilts his head unhappily, but smiles to cover it. “Then you’ll be my San-ge. What would you like to do while I’m in here distracting you?”

“I’d like to do my work , Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, pointedly, picking up a sheaf of papers on the table.

It gives him pause. In Qinghe, Meng Yao was as familiar to him as the downbeat of his own heart; Jin Guangyao in his Lanling gold has new expressions he doesn’t know how to read. Has he been presuming too much on a friendship grown stale through time? He doesn’t know. He has to know.

“Then forgive me for encroaching on your time, San-ge,” he says, penitently. He may have pulled the words from a drama. “I can see myself out.” He stirs to leave.

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, and stops. Hope blooms in Nie Huaisang’s chest like a rose, flowered but barbed. Jin Guangyao’s lies are quick and fluent, easy to surface. Deliberation means he’s close to the truth. His smile is a little sad at the edges. “I can spare some time,” is what he settles on. “What brings you to Lanling?”

“Mostly, just avoiding Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, shamelessly. He feels giddy, pricked all over with excitement at the familiar cadence of the conversation.  “He’s been after me to keep to a training schedule.”

“He only worries for you, you know that,” Jin Guangyao says patiently.

“Ah, I know, I know that,” Nie Huaisang says, “but this is peacetime! Surely the point of the war was to actually enjoy the rewards of peace.”

“Sometimes leadership demands sacrifice, even if it is peacetime, Huaisang,” says Jin Guangyao, offhandedly. Nie Huaisang puts his fan on the table.

Are you happy? He thinks. But then again, when he knew him best, Jin Guangyao was many things, and happy wasn’t necessarily one of them. When he thinks that he feels such a melting tenderness towards his old friend he has to hold his own hands.

“You always work very hard,” Nie Huaisang agrees. “But San-ge, shouldn’t you enjoy some of the rewards of peace too?”

“Nie Huaisang, you are not subtle,” Jin Guangyao chides, but his smile has turned more fond.

Caught out, Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “I’ve badgered Da-ge into finally letting me host a yaji for the next full moon, you should come, if you can make the time.”

“If I can make the time,” Jin Guangyao echoes neutrally.

“San-ge,” Nie Huaisang, pouting, “I’ll even sweeten the pot; should I invite someone for you?” Jin Guangyao will suggest Lan Xichen, who will be a good buffer between Da-ge and San-ge; he waits for confirmation.

Jin Guangyao looks down at his papers. “It would be a good opportunity to strengthen your relationship with some of the tributary sects. Some of the smaller sects produce fine artisans, like Laoling or Dingtao,” he says, neutrally.

Nie Huaisang tosses his hair back in exasperation. Jin Guangyao looks up again, tracing the arc of its movement. “You know that’s not what I meant, San-ge - wait, since when does Laoling produce artisans?” Laoling, a minor city kissing Lanling’s borders, produces golden maize in the summer, sticky purple jujubes in winter; it does not, to Nie Huaisang’s knowledge, produce any scholars of the Great Arts. Jin Guangyao’s smile freezes; Nie Huaisang feels triumphant. “You’ve been holding out on me, San-ge! Who’s in Laoling?”

Jin Guangyao ducks his head, affecting a modesty Nie Huaisang is sure is feigned: “Lord Qin’s eldest daughter. Now that my brother’s engagement is secure, it’s time to start thinking about my own marital duties.”

“You wish to marry... Qin Su?” Nie Huaisang asks, astonished. Qin Su is sweet, Qin Su is pretty, in a delicate fashion, and Qin Su has a winsome manner that would, Nie Huaisang imagines, make a person who cares for such things want to sweep her up in their arms. Nie Huaisang would rather be swept up, but he is not blind to the appeal.

“She is a generous and loving woman, and she would make anyone a fine wife.” says Jin Guangyao, and there is an admonishment cloaked in his even tone. There’s Jin Guangyao’s protective streak again, and it sends warmth into Nie Huaisang’s chest even as it feels odd, to hear it directed on the behalf of someone else.

“No, I know that,” says Nie Huaisang, so blankly that it seems to mollify Jin Guangyao. “But I had thought… Zewu-Jun…” he trails off, suddenly aware that he is shown more of his hand than he had planned, but helpless against the rush of curiosity. Zewu-Jun is the top cultivator of the cultivation world, the pride of Gusu Lan. Nie Huaisang could never possibly strive to his heights - it exhausts him thinking of trying.

That would be the caliber of a suitor that he would find for Jin Guangyao. That was the caliber of a suitor he had thought he had found for Jin Guangyao.

Jin Guangyao’s eyes glint, and for a second Nie Huaisang is pinned under a piercing gaze. Jin Guangyao has not looked at him like that for a long time, and there is a small, hungry part of Nie Huaisang that would take the anger, if it means having the honesty. “You should be careful about what you think, and who you tell your thoughts to,” Jin Guangyao says. There you are, Nie Huaisang thinks.

Nie Huaisang makes his mouth twist. “Ah, I’ve upset you,” he says mournfully, “I only want you to be happy.” Jin Guangyao doesn’t smile, precisely, but his gaze softens slightly.

“I’m sure you do,” he says.

But something within Nie Huaisang thrums like a badly plucked qin. So that’s the type he likes, he thinks, without knowing why. Agitated, he taps blindly at his wrist with his fan. It’s then when he realizes that to many, a betrothal to Jin Guangyao would be seen as an insult. It feels like a betrayal to remember, but a greater betrayal to have forgotten.

(Once, Da-ge and him had overheard a chef say “What a pretty child the young master is, too bad about the mother.” Da-ge had her thrown out the next day.)

“I’ll set aside your usual room, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, in lieu of asking how long Nie Huaisang is planning on staying, which is rather deft of him. Nie Huaisang squirrels the phrasing away for safekeeping and raises his hands placatingly.

“Ah, no need, no need, San-ge, I just stopped by to say hello before proceeding to Lanling! Between the two of us, it’s a little difficult going shopping in Qinghe, everybody knows Da-ge there,” he says, knowing that his face is steadily turning more flushed and batting cool air at his face with his fan.

Jin Guangyao’s face is as smooth and impassive as a creamy block of white jade. “And what would Nie-er-gongzi need in Lanling that you wouldn’t want your brother to know that you’re buying?” He tilts his head, smiling as serenely as ever.

Nie Huaisang squirms and points at him with his fan accusingly. “Ah, you’re teasing me! That’s so unfair, nobody would ever believe me if I tell them that you have a sense of humor.” He wrinkles his nose against the laughter that threatens to bubble out of him. Decorum, Huaisang.

Jin Guangyao raises his eyebrows. The dimples deepen. “And who would you plan on telling?”

Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “You know I can’t tell anyone, you’re the only person I can actually gossip with.”

“I don’t indulge in gossip, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says primly, which is an obvious lie, and has been since the day Nie Huaisang had first met him. “It’s frivolous, and detrimental to the spirit.”

“But San-ge, I’m very frivolous,” Nie Huaisang points out. “Spare a thought for us lost causes.”

“You’re not a lost cause,” Jin Guangyao says, and for a moment he looks almost angry, the raw emotion rippling across his features the way a shark fin breaches water. He calms, and smiles placatingly. “You’ve been raised to this, you and your brother both.”

Jin Guangyao lies. Huaisang knows this. But sometimes, he lies to craft the world into a better shape than it is.

Nie Huaisang smiles at him. “I’ll invite the Qin family at the end of the month; I want to help you.”

He watches Jin Guangyao come to a decision. “You’d be putting me in your debt,” he says, as if doubtful.

Nie Huaisang thrills. “No debts between us, San-ge, we’re brothers!” he says, full of innocence, and watches Jin Guangyao relax in increments - softening his brow, the corners of his eyes, the rigid line of his shoulders entombed in layers and layers of fine silk. That’s never been true, but what would the thoughtless Second Young Master know about obligation? The trick with trapping a wild animal is that you can’t let them know that you see them, or it gives the whole game away.

“I have to go now, there’s only so much time before Da-ge figures out I’m not actually at Lotus Pier,” Nie Huaisang explains, with a trace of regret. He places a hand on Jin Guangyao’s slim wrist as he moves to leave, silk and skin nearly indistinguishable to the touch. “But it was good to see you again, Yao-ge.”

Jin Guangyao blinks slowly down at the hand at his wrist, and then upwards at him. “The pleasure was mine entirely, Huaisang.”

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: a Great Album that your average rock critic would actually agree with me about! Find out how Kate Bush got her groove back with her fifth LP, Hounds of Love, and whether she ever came down from that hill. Full transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Ever since I first conceived the idea of Great Albums, I’ve always intended it to reflect nothing other than my own personal “canon”--not necessarily a list of albums that were influential, successful, or acclaimed by anybody’s standards but my own. But in this installment, I’m making a somewhat uncharacteristic move, and diving into an album that really doesn’t need me to advocate for it: Hounds of Love, by Kate Bush, often considered Bush’s greatest masterpiece--if not one of the greatest albums of all time.

Released in 1985, Hounds of Love was Bush’s fifth studio LP. Her career had started off surprisingly strong in 1977, with the release of her debut single “Wuthering Heights,” written when Bush was only 19 years old. With a high-concept theme, based around the titular novel by Emily Brontë, it would set the template for much of Bush’s subsequent career: irreverently eccentric, high-concept art-pop with the intensely personal passion of a singular singer-songwriter. But just how much patience for that sort of thing does the general public have, beyond letting the occasional “Wuthering Heights” through as a sort of novelty hit? Bush’s subsequent work in the early 1980s met with inconsistent reception, with her fourth LP, 1982’s The Dreaming, marking a particularly low point. The first album that Bush produced all by herself, The Dreaming took even more radical creative liberties, pushing her sound into increasingly experimental territory.

Music: “Get Out Of My House”

Following the fairly cold reception of The Dreaming, Bush took several years to produce her next album, but it would prove to be the one that redeemed her career, and arguably turned her into a bigger star than ever before. Hounds of Love managed to stay true to the core principles of the Bush aesthetic: moody and introspective, full of rich and complex narratives, as well as musical risk-taking. But it honed and refined that sound into something that was also remarkably pop.

Music: “Running Up That Hill”

“Running Up That Hill” was one of the biggest hits of Bush’s career, and arguably dethroned even “Wuthering Heights” as her signature song. I think the secret to its success is its ability to balance Bush’s experimental impulses with an intuitive, deep-felt emotional quality that makes her best work resonant in an accessible way. On paper, “Running Up That Hill” is as high-concept as anything else in Bush’s catalogue--a song about making a deal with God to swap sexes with your lover, and feel what life is like in another body? But at the same time, the song has an ability to “work” even if you don’t know all of that. Who hasn’t longed for a way to bargain with supernatural forces, for a chance at the impossible? There’s a certain applicability to its themes, which I think is a chief reason why it’s inspired so many covers and reimaginings over the years. But even when one listens to the original, the stately washes of digital synthesiser and the powerful conviction that propels Bush’s vocals make it easy to sympathize with. It feels grounded and physical, rooted in the most carnal aspect of the human body. Positioned as the opening track of the album, “Running Up That Hill” feels like an obvious lead single--in the best way possible. But it’s worth noting that not everything on the album is quite so radio-friendly.

Music: “Cloudbusting”

Perhaps one of Bush’s most compelling narratives, “Cloudbusting” is also, ostensibly, fairly high-concept, portraying a heavily fictionalized episode from the life of Wilhelm Reich. A controversial figure both in life and legacy, Reich is best remembered for his work in psychology, heavily influenced by the spectre of Sigmund Freud. But “Cloudbusting” focuses on his later-life fascination with the physical sciences, and his belief that a mystical energy called “orgone” was responsible for both human emotional woes as well as disturbances in the Earth’s atmosphere. Reich attempted to develop a machine that could manipulate this energy, and hence achieve the longtime dream of technological weather control, but there’s no evidence his “cloudbuster” really worked, or that there’s any such thing as “orgone.” But Bush’s “Cloudbusting,” and its accompanying music video, portray Reich as a tragic hero, silenced by government authorities who sought to destroy what they couldn’t understand, conflating his work with cloudbusters with his censure by the FDA for his questionable medical devices.

The song was inspired chiefly by the memoirs of Wilhelm Reich’s son, Peter, with Bush explicitly portraying Peter’s naive childhood perspective on his father, and that does allow for some substantial nuance here...but at some point we have to ask ourselves what responsibility an artist has to the truth. “Cloudbusting” is the musical equivalent of a film that’s “based on a true story,” and I see no reason why music can’t be just as capable of spreading misinformation as the Oscar-bait biopics of Hollywood. Just how accurate, or how beautiful, does a work of art need to be, for us to allow a bit of playing loose with the facts for the sake of a great story?

Setting aside these quandaries presented by its subject matter, “Cloudbusting” undoubtedly delivers musically. Across its sprawling runtime, it develops and earns a sense of grandeur, building from its infectious percussion and cresting with Bush’s fragile, but assertive prayer: “I just know that something good is going to happen.” If you listen closely to the percussion tracks on the album, you’ll notice that there’s no cymbal or high-hat utilized anywhere, which helps give the album its particular hazy, meandering ambiance.

That effect is perhaps even more pronounced on the second side of the album. Hounds of Love is divided quite sharply into two sides. The first side, also sub-titled Hounds of Love, opens with “Running Up That Hill,” and finishes with “Cloudbusting,” which serves as something of a bridge between the two, combining a singable hook and a pop-like verse-chorus structure with a taste for more visionary narrative. While the first side is home to all four of the album’s singles, the second side, sub-titled The Ninth Wave, strays much further away from the standard expectations of pop.

Music: “Under Ice”

Going by the tracklisting, there are seven tracks that make up *The Ninth Wave,* though their smooth transitions and willful defiance of verse/chorus structure create a seamless oratorio or song cycle feel, not unlike many of the great “album sides” of the prog tradition. The Ninth Wave also departs from the feel of the first side in its instrumentation. While the Hounds of Love side has its fair share of exotic instruments, such as a balalaika on “Running Up That Hill” and a didgeridoo on “Cloudbusting,” The Ninth Wave is more richly baroque, with elements like that jarring violin on “Under Ice.” As it progresses, the breadth of timbres increases, climaxing in the Celtic-inspired “Jig of Life.”

Music: “Jig of Life”

The explosion of folkish, backward-looking sounds of “Jig of Life” and “Hello World,” with their fiddles, whistles, and full choir, represent its protagonist’s return to the realm of the living, after the trauma represented by earlier tracks like “Under Ice.” The abstract, though affecting, narrative presented by The Ninth Wave seems to be a tale of death and rebirth, with a narrator who drowns themselves, only to be reborn--whether literally revived from a failed suicide attempt, or metaphysically reincarnated after a passage through the realm of the dead.

Much more has been written about the themes of *The Ninth Wave* than I’m getting into here, but suffice it to say that many people consider it the relative highlight of the album. But I think it’s worth questioning that a little bit, and taking the time to look at Hounds of Love a bit more holistically. Just because the first side is a bit less overtly experimental doesn’t mean it doesn’t have just as much to offer, artistically, or that it isn’t a part of what makes this album truly great. At the end of the day, I think we can probably agree that far fewer people would have ever heard The Ninth Wave if it weren’t for those more accessible singles on side one, moving copies of the record and adding to Bush’s widespread acclaim. Without “Running Up That Hill,” Hounds of Love might have gone down in history as a fairly niche cult classic like The Dreaming, instead of the era-defining album that it got to become.

On the cover of Hounds of Love, we see an image of Bush reclining and embracing two dogs--who were, in fact, her own pets. The image’s saturation in purplish pink and Bush’s perhaps sultry expression combine to create an impression of traditional femininity, which resonates with the album’s themes of gender and sensuality. Framed in by large white borders, we might read the composition of the cover as evocative of a personal locket or memento, a sort of furtive glimpse into Bush’s more private or intimate essence, fitting for the introspective and emotional focus of much of the music. This “framing” is perhaps also evocative of the idea of the domestic sphere of life--and hence, again, of femininity.

While the title track of the album portrays the “hounds of love” as figures of menace, who are said to “chase” after its narrator, the submissive and comfortable-looking canines portrayed in the cover art seem like a foil to that idea. In the history of European art, dogs are often used as symbols of fidelity, particularly in the context of romance. Titian’s Venus of Urbino, painted in the 1530s, is often considered the progenitor of the Western “nude” as an archetype. Alongside the titular goddess, paragon of eroticism and the feminine, the painter has also included a lapdog, peacefully dozing beside her. It’s tempting to see the composition of the cover of Hounds of Love as doing something similar, invoking confident sensuality alongside a symbol of faithfulness to portray the essence of idealized love.

After the release of Hounds of Love, Bush would once again take several years to produce her next LP, 1989’s The Sensual World. More closely related to The Ninth Wave than the A-side of Hounds of Love, it was nonetheless another commercial and mainstream success for the artist.

Music: “The Sensual World”

From the mid-90s to the mid-00s, Bush took an extended hiatus from music, focusing instead on her family and her personal life. Despite uncertainty surrounding the future of her career, she would eventually return to the public spotlight in the 21st Century, and remains active, if somewhat intermittently, to the present day. At this point, it’s safe to say that Bush has a fairly enviable position, having lived long enough to become a cultural institution, and able to bask in the cult following her unmistakable and distinctive work has earned her. For as much as I’ve praised the more commercial side of Hounds of Love in this piece, I still believe in the power of the truly unfettered creative soul, and I’m still happy for Bush that she’s achieved that kind of freedom.

My favourite track from either side of Hounds of Love would have to be “The Big Sky.” In the context of the album, it stands out for its rousing, triumphant crescendo of energy--a marked difference from the languid, introspective sensibility that dominates most of the material. And it manages that without bringing the cymbals back, either! Thematically, its emphasis on weather and the sky prefigures that of “Cloudbusting,” perhaps providing a more hopeful and naive vision of what weather can do, which resists being “clouded” by political drama. That’s all I have for today--as always, thank you all for listening!

Music: “The Big Sky”

[degenerate-perturbation]

Viv Reviews: The Witch’s Heart by Genevieve Gornichec

Being as I am contractually obliged to read all Loki-the-mythological-being fanfiction, I dive bombed this book like a seagull espying a stray french fry on the boardwalk. I had never heard of it before I saw it on the shelf at the bookstore, but reading the summary and the first page, I bought it immediately, started it within a few days, and finished it over the course of approximately four baths. Usually the lag time between me becoming aware of a book and actually reading it is anywhere between a year and a decade, so this is pretty incredible performance.

And this one was actually good! Really good! Or it could have been, if it didn’t absolutely cheese it in the second half of the story.

The first half is extremely solid, if somewhat conventional. It follows the myths, centering on Angrboda and Loki’s relationship. I had a pre-existing attachment to Loki and enjoyed all of this greatly. Was it stunning literature? No. Was it a really solid, satisfying fanfiction? Yes. And I will give the first half of the book solid marks on that front.

I’ll be honest. I read this book for Loki. But I really enjoyed Angrboda as a protagonist here. She minds her own business. She doesn’t hold grudges. She doesn’t want revenge for the trauma and wrongs visited upon her. She doesn’t cling to pride. Overall it paints the picture of an admirable person, who never strays into the saccharine or unbelievable. I like her. Even though I am a Loki apologist through and through, when they part on bad terms, I was fully on her side.

I also really like this Loki. In this book his key flaw is identified not as dishonesty or disloyalty, but as an excessive desire to be accepted. Loki is willing to do anything to continue to be accepted by the Aesir, or rather tolerated by them.  He is ready to suffer any humiliation, any degradation, any pain, any loss, all to keep his tenuous, heavily-conditional place among them. For all us faggots and retards and adjacent undesirables in the audience, this is a familiar emotion. I clapped my hands in delight to watch it all play out; Loki the weird kid who eats dirt trying desperately to keep the cool kids laughing so he can imagine that they are laughing with him, not at him, even if it means betraying his own family.

There is another interesting element to this story and that is the hint of Angrboda/Skadi as the endgame relationship. It’s built up nicely; Skadi and Angrboda are good friends, jealous of one another’s husbands and not talking about it, all the while we the audience know that Angrboda and Loki’s marriage is doomed to explode. When Angrboda is nearly killed and all she loves taken from her, Skadi is the one who is there for her. Aha! I think. So this is why Skadi hated Loki so much, and why Angrboda left Loki to his fate! Hohoho, I can’t wait to see this play out.

And then it just fucking doesn’t.

At the midpoint of the book, the tension drains away, there is no structure to speak of, and Stuff Kind Of Just Happens.

Having healed from the attempt on her life, Angrboda decides to set off on a journey to rediscover her magical abilities. She gives Skadi the standard “I have to do this alone” line, and...Skadi just goes, okay, bye then, and lets her go. And then she just isn’t in the story for a long time.

At this point Angrboda’s goal is to find her daughter, because she knows her sons are fated to die during Ragnarok. Angrboda is unable to die; she always comes back. This is one of the first things established about her and the audience is reminded of it when she fails to die when she is killed, at the midpoint. Aha! one might think. Angrboda will be so desperate to see her daughter that she will repeatedly try to die, and be unable to! Only once she has exhausted every option and given up on despair, only then is she able to access her magic and travel to the underworld without dying! Only by choosing to live can she truly heal and progress in her goals!

But that is not what happens. What actually happens is that Angrboda putzes around for a few years Finding Herself and making friends with local wildlife.  She relearns her magic because Freyja--a character who has hardly been mentioned in the story up until this point--teaches her. Because Girl Power, or something. When she finally does reach Hel, it doesn’t feel like an exciting emotional climax, it’s just kind of another thing that happens. Poor structure!

Here is another example of poor structure: the eventual Angrboda/Skadi relationship.

After they randomly part ways just at the juncture where serious relationship development would reasonably be happening, they next speak to each other after Ragnarok has started. Skadi comes to visit Angrboda. She tells her about the binding of Loki, but leaves out her role in it. Later, she guiltily admits that she was the one who added the snake, because she wanted to make Loki suffer for hurting Angrboda. This makes Angrboda realize that Skadi loves her, and they become lovers. Several months later, Angrboda decides, for no particular reason, that she should free Loki.

Look. I’m not any kind of screenwriting genius. But there is an obvious way that this should have played out according to every law of dramatic tension. Here it is:

Skadi goes to see Angrboda at the start of Ragnarok, and, driven by the impending apocalyptic events, confesses her feelings. They become lovers. Skadi hides her role in the binding of Loki for the duration of their relationship. Angrboda spends months or even years lost in the haze of complacent gay love and resignation to fate. Then, much later, Skadi tells her the truth. This horrifies Angrboda, and is the catalyst which makes her decide to free Loki. The realization that she still cares for her good-for-nothing ex-husband spurs some character development.

But Angrboda and Skadi can’t have any drama or emotional conflict or tension in their relationship. Because Girl Power.

And when she gets there, and witnesses her ex-husband, the father of her children, horrifically tortured and maimed as a direct result of the actions of her current lover, what does Angrboda do? She takes a moment to have a little pow-wow with Sigyn and let her know that there are no hard feelings and we women have to support each other you know. Because Girl Power.

The rest of the story is an incoherent soup of Stuff Just Happening. It has that fanfiction vibe of just trying to get through all the canon plot points while the characters we’re actually focusing on have nothing to do with them. There is one cool part where Angrboda realizes that Hel has a weak heart--so she cuts out her own and gives it to her, and this allows Hel to survive Ragnarok. Loki was the one who returned Angrboda’s heart to her at the start of the story, so this is quite sweet and fitting. But it happens offscreen, and then we are subjected to Hel & Baldur’s romantic banter which is gratingly exactly the same as Angrboda & Loki’s romantic banter.

There is a skeleton of a good story here. But that’s really the best I can say for it. I’m not really sure what happened here--other reviewers have suggested a lack of imagination on Gornichec’s part, and maybe that explains some of it, but I suspect the Girl Power themes also have to do with it. So many scenes and plot points seem only to exist to affirm the theme of Women Supporting Women. I vaguely get the impression that Gornichec is shying away from centering the Angrboda and Loki relationship, too, Because Girl Power. Only this doesn’t work, because it is quite clearly the central relationship, and acting like it’s not just makes for poor storytelling.

I’ve said before that a mark of a good story is one whose prose, plot, characters, and world all uniformly and point in the same direction, creating a coherent Theme. Here it’s more like the Theme was dropped into the middle of the plot by a dumptruck and left there, getting in the way of the actual story and messing up the structure. And structure is seriously important! The book I read immediately after this one was The Rise of Kyoshi by F. C. Yee, another published f/f fanfiction novel, and I won’t be reviewing that one, because it was damn good - in large part due to its tight, coherent structure.

The Witch’s Heart could’ve been it, but ultimately turned out a disappointing fanfiction. Compare Miller’s Circe - but Circe was a better book by far.

[otonymous]

The Taming of the Fox: Lucien’s Firsts (NSFW Headcanon)

Hey Dear Nonnies,

Thank you both for your incredibly kind words and for waiting so patiently for these Lucien headcanons 💕You are absolutely right...I am a total hot mess when it comes to Lucien, and with the King’s birthday coming up on November 15th, I figured now’s the time to finally finish up this WIP that’s been lingering around for months 😂

Warning: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised.  

Naughtiness ensues after the cut! 

Dark Knights In White Coats: Your Relationship With Lucien:

Things will never be "just comfortable” with Lucien, as he has a knack for keeping you on your toes.  He’ll make your heart race with the slightest touch, the briefest of glances…the most lascivious words spoken with the elegant voice of a gentleman

This will be the case regardless of how long you've been together.  In a sense, your relationship will never lose that initial spark of excitement

The man is a scorpio and has a lot of traits that typically characterize natives of this sign (according to the numerous astrology websites I’ve combed through in my lifetime LOL - no offence meant to any lovely scorpio readers!): tall, dark and handsome, intense, guarded and mysterious.  Full of an effortless sensuality and prone to jealousy

He’s the type of man to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he’s binding your hands to the bedpost or has you bent over his knee

With Lucien, there is always something new to discover, and there are times when you feel like you will never fully understand the depths and complexities of this man.  And like a moth drawn to flame, this will both excite and disconcert you

But one thing will always, always, be crystal clear and unshakeable: the strength and sincerity of his love for you

Lucien is seemingly a man of contradictions, capable of drawing people in with his allure while simultaneously setting them on edge (this is canon)

Get ready to be the envy of all the girls: women are making eyes at Lucien left, right and centre wherever he goes, but he never spares them a single glance — the man only has eyes for you

Lucien is an INTENSE lover in addition to being the perfect gentleman: he will make you feel like the only other person in the world

When he’s with you, you’re the sole focus of his attention: he’s looking you in the eye, nodding his head while you speak, asking the right questions and making appropriate insights.  It’s not so much a casual conversation than really connecting with one another, practically spiritual at times.  He’s not one for meaningless small talk

Even when you’re not with him, you’re never far from his mind.  He’s frequently showering you with gifts for no reason other than the fact that they reminded him of you in some way: a bouquet of your favourite blooms that he saw in the florist’s storefront, a knitted scarf because he remembered the way you pulled up the collar of your coat when he last picked you up from work, a delicate pendant necklace because he can’t get the contours of your collarbones out of his head

He’s kissing your hand, opening doors, pulling out chairs, draping his coat over your shoulders as you walk through the park at dusk on a cool fall evening

He’s tucking stray hairs behind your ear and walking on the outside of the sidewalk to shield you from traffic

He’s also whisking you away into shadowy corners and dark alleyways, kissing you breathless as he presses you up against cool brick — his fervent hand exploring beneath your skirt before he hoists your legs to wrap them about his muscular waist  

You’ve never felt this way about any one else before, and you know you never will again

Being in love with Lucien is like riding a roller coaster: exhilarating, and not for the faint of heart

Kiss Me:

Your first kiss with Lucien is as contradictory as the man himself: objectively tame, yet the most sensual kiss you’ve ever received

After inviting you to an evening screening of Hitchcock’s Rear Window at the cinema, he sees you to your door, patiently waiting as you rummage through your purse for your keys

The man is standing so close that the intensity of his gaze on the back of your neck is practically palpable, so much so that you almost drop your keys when you find them

And when you finally manage to open the door, you’re lingering awkwardly at the threshold, trying to think of any reason at all to stave off that awful word, “Goodbye”

Lucien suddenly reaches out a large hand to gently finger an earring before those elegantly tapered tips graze the sensitive skin of your lobe, sending electricity down your spine and goosebumps blooming across your neck and chest

“I’ve never seen this pair on you before.  Could it be that you got them especially for our date?”

Embarrassed to be found out and not wanting to own up to how eager you were to see Lucien outside a professional capacity, you avert your gaze, staring intently at the ground as your face flushed red

Leaning in closer, the handsome tease chuckles softly, breath hot against your ear when he whispers: “Would you think me foolish if I told you that makes me very happy?"

You're positive your heart is going to beat its way out of your chest

Then slowly…slowly…Lucien’s lips cross from ear to cheek, torturously close to touch as his breath drags light across the ultra fine hairs of your skin

In the meantime, the professor's hand has travelled to the nape of your neck, thumb drawing gentle circles on your skin even as his other arm wraps around your waist to pull you impossibly close

And when those soft lips hover mere millimetres away from yours, you’ve already fallen so deeply into those dark violet eyes that the press of his mouth on your own is as natural as breathing, your lips parting in a desperate plea for him to deepen the kiss

Then, the tip of his tongue lightly traces the inside of your lips, grazing the edges of your teeth before Lucien pulls away to leave you breathless and wanting as he whispers, “Sweet dreams,” with the most devilish smirk

Forget sweet dreams, sleep itself will prove elusive as you spend the night incredibly pent up, knowing a mere wall is the only thing separating you from your seductive neighbour

Say I Love You:

Note: this portion of the headcanon was heavily inspired by Lucien’s Autumn Blaze date

It will take a while for Lucien to tell you he loves you

But when he does, the force and solemnity of his confession leaves absolutely no doubt that this is no mere lip service, that even if you doubt whether the sun will rise the following day, you cannot doubt that — body, heart and soul — Lucien loves you with every fibre of his being

The professor makes good on his promise to take you to visit the Maple Trail in Canada

And there, the two of you wander through a wooded area, secluded amongst the serenity of maple trees with their lush, crimson foliage

Suddenly, a wind blows, soft but insistent to gently shake the boughs until the bright blue sky is momentarily a blazing blur of red, leaves pulled from branches to float to the ground like tiny dancers, as if you and Lucien were encased within some fantastic snow globe

Completely fascinated, it isn't until you turn to Lucien to point out the swirling colours that you see him already staring intently at you, the yearning and melancholy etched into those dark eyes and handsome face made more poignant by the swirls of red that occasionally cut across your vision of the man standing a short distance away, the afternoon sun filtering through a dwindling canopy to bathe him in dappled brilliance.  He never seemed more dignified in his long, black coat as he did amidst a backdrop of vermilion bursts

The man looks almost ethereal.  And for a moment, you're afraid to even speak, let alone touch him, for fear his very being might disperse like mist before your eyes

“I love you.”

His voice is so soft and low that you wonder whether you imagined the words, carried away by an unforgiving gust of wind as soon as they formed on the tip of his tongue.  And just as you open your mouth to respond, you freeze…a nebulous sense of dread rendering you still and mute

You finally regain your senses at the sound of leaves crunching crisp under the soles of Lucien’s shoes as he approaches, but it isn’t until he says, “You’re cold,” that you realize your hands were shaking at your sides.

The professor swiftly unbuttons his wool coat and gently pulls you to his broad chest before wrapping it around you both.  His radiant heat and fresh, clean scent  — simultaneously arousing and comforting — stirs up a keen ache from the pit of your stomach that is quieted the further you bury your face into those hard pecs, allowing the steady beat of his heart to calm your own

Wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and willing your touch to transmit the emotions you couldn’t find the words to convey at the moment, the absolute euphoria you felt to hear those words fall from Lucien’s lips frightens you.  Because you know, in your heart of hearts, that no matter what happens, you would never love another person the way you loved Lucien.

The First Taste:

As with the professor's confession of love, Lucien isn’t one to rush into sex

When you finally get to doing the deed, it will be passionate, intense, and the closest you'll ever get to a spiritual experience

It will feel like merging physically and emotionally with a soulmate.  Like being reunited with someone who has loved you deeply in every single incarnation of your past lives

It will also absolutely ruin you for anyone else

That first night, you are both almost crazed in your passion, swept up in such a frenzy you’re already clawing at each other’s clothes before the door is even closed

It may have something to do with the fact that the two of you have wanted to jump each other’s bones since day one, despite the fact that you have magically managed to hold out till now.  The delayed gratification will make the act all the more sweet and intense

Lucien’s large hand has got your wrists pinned together above your head even as he’s kicking the door shut, his body pressing yours insistently against the wall as your legs part around his muscular thigh.  Meanwhile, his other hand yanks off his tie, fingers unbuttoning the collar of his dress shirt, which has grown altogether too constrictive, much like the crotch of his pants 😆

The rhythm of his breath is hypnotic as the professor licks the delicate column of your neck in broad strokes before sucking on the tender skin just at the jugular, Lucien deriving indescribable pleasure to feel the minute beat of your pulse against the tip of his tongue

And when he sees the colours that bloom on your flesh as a result of his attentions, he cannot help but smile in admiration at how beautifully marked you are as his woman

You bury your face in the silky strands of Lucien’s ebony hair, surrendering to this man as you drown in his intoxicating scent: the sweetness of freshly-snipped grass and the vitality of rain-drenched earth.  And everything about this moment — about you and him together  — just feels so natural, kismet.  Meant to be.

Then suddenly, the heat that had been simmering beneath your skin flares, and you positively burn for want of his touch on your bare flesh.  So when his hands grip the silk of your blouse to rip it open, your chest heaves in relief as you moan into his kiss, prompting Lucien to deepen it by slipping his tongue further into your mouth

At this point, you're tearing at Lucien's dress shirt and shamelessly grinding onto his thigh, seeking even the slightest bit of friction to ease the intense yearning for release

Your knees go weak when Lucien unhooks your bra to gently slide the straps down your arms, a reverent look upon his face as he takes a moment to admire your breasts before bending to suck a nipple into his wet, hot mouth — one hand pinching and rolling the other to a hardened peak as the other reaches down to feel the moisture dripping between your legs, making a mess of his pants even through satin and lace.

His fingers drive you insane, stroking the swell of your folds through the slick fabric before hooking around to touch you directly, the tight circles he drew about your clit making you twitch before you clenched around his index, middle…and then ring fingers, diving deep in unison until the wet sounds compete with your panting breaths in an otherwise silent room

When the professor finally removes his hand from your pussy, he brings those glistening digits to his lips, making a show of licking your arousal from each finger as he remarks in a deep, husky voice about the sweetness of your taste

Finally pulling off his dress shirt to reveal the perfection that is his broad chest, defined torso and muscular arms, Lucien drops to his knees, gently pulling down your skirt and underwear before he drapes your leg over his shoulder, hands steadying you as he tastes you directly, lips pressing soft on the inside of your thighs before his tongue is running greedily along the length of your folds as if he were trying to slake an unquenchable thirst

Just when you’re about to topple over from a shuddering climax, Lucien wraps your legs around his waist and carries you over to the bed, gently laying you down and kissing your forehead before he rises to step out of his pants

You bite back a gasp when you finally see his erection.  Sure, you had palmed it many, many times before during countless make-out sessions, but you had never seen the full extent of Lucien’s length and girth.  

You secretly thrill at the thought of taking such a well-endowed man within yourself, biting your lip to think of the bittersweetness of pleasure mixed with a hint of pain 

Fighting to control the impatient way your hips lift towards the professor as he coats his cock in your juices — his heat searing as it teased about your entrance — you focus instead on the intensity of his eyes, solemnly locked on yours even as his jaw trembled to feel you envelop him, impossibly tight as he began to push into you

Ever the considerate lover, Lucien pushes in gradually, giving you time to accommodate him - every inch by delicious inch - until he is fully sheathed to the hilt, your pussy clenching even as you breathed deep in an attempt to relax and open yourself further for him

Then, when you smile up at him, Lucien begins to move again, hips slow at first to give you a taste of things to come before he builds up speed, throwing your legs over his shoulders to allow himself to plough deeper into you.  You can literally feel him at the pit of your stomach.

At this point, the headboard is hitting the wall in time to Lucien’s hard thrusts against your body (you make a mental note to apologize to the neighbours later and say you were hanging pictures in the middle of the night)

When the professor suddenly adjusts his angle and hits that spot, his fingers reach once more between your legs to rub at your clit and you fall apart in the midst of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced in your life

Pressing his mouth to yours in another desperate kiss, Lucien's release follows soon after.  And there is something so incredibly satisfying about feeling him spill hot and deep within your body, the man leaving behind a piece of himself like the way he made a home within your heart

And as he pulls you close within a warm embrace, you lay your head against his chest, the gradual descent of his heart rate lulling your pleasantly exhausted body to sleep

“Goodnight, my little butterfly," Lucien whispers, watching your eyelids flutter under the influence of sleep like delicate wings.  His heart has never, ever, felt so full.

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You made it to the end! 😆 Thanks so much for reading, and check out more of my work here! 📚