#it's supposed to be an anthology from all the ones they meet

[babyrdie]

Oh! I think so!

In the Greek Anthology there is text in which she sees the destruction that Phyrrus caused as a kind of revenge for the death of Achilles:

Thou hast made to cease all the heavy woe of my heart for the fate of thy father Achilles, whom mournful Troy slew. To the Greeks who were eager for it thou hast given the undying glory which the ten years of war could not accomplish for the whole host of the Danai.

Translation by William Roger Paton.

It makes the idea in Pseudo-Apollodorus of her marrying Helenus even more intriguing…what is it like for her to see a direct victim of a destruction she celebrated? Troy to her for a long time was just this foreign land that kept taking things from her. First who was supposed to be her husband, then her son. She was removed from that, Skyros was an island that had no involvement in the war in most versions. A princess isolated on an island who keeps losing loved ones to the idea of ​​glory promised in Troy…it's easy for her to blame Troy. But Helenus isn't Troy, Helenus is Helenus. Nor is Andromache Troy, she is Andromache. Married to Helenus and seeing Andromache return, I think it's impossible that she didn't eventually realize that Troy isn't just an idea, it's made up of people. People who were destroyed by Achilles and Neoptolemus, people whose destruction she was relieved about because it meant Phyrrus wasn't at risk.

Furthermore, in the lost play The Skyrians by Euripides, Deidamia has no mother because her mother died:

Skyrians, which begins, ‘O daughter of Tyndareus from Sparta…; the plot is as follows: Thetis, having learned of (the destiny) of her son Achilles, wanted (to keep) him out of the expedition (against Troy), and so (she concealed) him in a girl’s clothing (and deposited him) with Lycomedes the (ruler) of the Scyrians. Lycomedes was raising (a daughter) named (Deidameia) whose mother had died, and he brought (Achilles) up as a girl together with her, his real identity being unrecognized; and Achilles… seduced Deidameia and made her pregnant. Agamemnon and his comrades (were told) by an oracle not (to make their expedition) without Achilles…Diomedes…(they,) learning…

In other words, she had already lost someone before Achilles. Achilles was the second loss, she feared that Neoptolemus would be the third. She didn't have a mother to accompany her in the transition from girl to woman, she didn't have a husband she could count on, and in the end she might have become childless too. I think she might be very scared. In some visual depictions, Deidamia grabs Achilles to prevent him from going to war. In Philostratus and Quintus Smyrnaeus, Deidamia actively tries to prevent Phyrrus from going to war. Deidamia tries and tries, and she can never hold them back. In that sense, she's kind of like Thetis, fighting to keep alive those who are willing to die if it means glory.

So yeah…I imagine Deidamia had a strange relationship with Troy and what that meant for her and her family. Initially, it was a place she had no interest in. She only had sisters, she didn't have a brother! And so none of the royals of Skyros were suitors for Helen, so Skyros wouldn't have to care about the suitors meeting. But then Achilles is in Skyros and she cares about Achilles. And Achilles may not have been a suitor, but he was wanted because of the prophecy. And then he's gone and Troy, which was nothing before, is now the place that took away the one who was supposed to be her husband. And he dies, so Troy is DEFINITELY the place that took Achilles away. Then Phyrrus goes to Troy in and it's like Troy wants to rip her son away too. But the son returns alive, so Deidamia can celebrate. She can take comfort in the idea that she won't lose the one she loves anymore. But hey, she's married to a Trojan now, Neoptolemus gave her to him. And if she learned to love Helenus…how can she celebrate that Troy is destroyed? Phyrrus, her dear son, isn't even Phyrrus anymore. His name is Neoptolemus now. He used to play with the shepherds' children, but now he returns victorious with Helenus and Andromache enslaved and a look no young man should have. Did she really celebrate Phyrrus' return? Phyrrus no longer exists. And if Pyrrha doesn't exist, who guarantees that "Pyrrha" existed when Achilles died?

And then there is no more comfort in Troy no more existing. There is no comfort because Achilles was no longer Phyrra, he was no longer that boy who played the lyre for her and complained about hurting his finger while trying to spin and weave. He was someone worthy of being called "the best of the Achaeans," a sacker of cities. And Phyrrus didn't return, it was Neoptolemus who returned. And Neoptolemus is no longer the son of Deidamia, he is the son of Achilles. Not the Achilles that Deidamia knew, but the Achilles that Troy knew. And the Achilles that Troy knew… is the Achilles that Deidamia desperately tried to keep from existing by begging him to stay in Skyros.

Now the destruction of Troy brings no comfort. And now, looking at Helenus and Andromache it brings only guilt. It wasn't she who set out to destroy Troy, but it was she who celebrated its destruction. She celebrated the misfortune of the people who would become her new family. A family she would never have had if Troy hadn't been destroyed because then none of them would need to be in Epirus.

Deidamia has SO much potential.

Deidamia has so much angst potential

Yes, she does!

Deidamia was just a girl who was most likely sheltered, considering her father only had daughters. Her mother is never present in the myths, I wouldn't be surprised if her mother was either dead or not a present figure. She probably spent her days without many worries, having a princess education and then spending the day having fun with her sisters (as, for example, Philostratus describes). And then she had feelings for this new girl Phyrra, and she probably felt horrible about it because it was definitely not well regarded (something similar to the poem attributed to Bion of Smyrna). But the girl wasn't even a girl, and so Deidamia was in love with someone she didn't really know as much as she thought she did. And they were two very young people without proper supervision and now she's pregnant (Deidamia even took a while to realize this in Euripides' version), but she's just a girl and this child isn't even a child of the marriage. And now she's being forced to grow up fast, because she has to be the mother of this unplanned child. And not only that, but the father is leaving because glory is more important to him than her or their child. Achilles will become a man through the glory of war, she will become a woman through motherhood. And they're trapped in these gender roles and they will never see each other again because his destiny is to die in Troy.

She raises this child as a single mother, although at least she has support (father, sisters, maybe Thetis). We never really get her point of view…how is she viewed because of this? In some versions, Achilles marries her, but in others he doesn't. How is she viewed because she's a princess who got pregnant before marriage by a boy who didn't even marry her and who will never come back? At first, did people even believe the story that the father was the famous prophesied son of a goddess? Phyrrus is so sweet, playing with the shepherds' children, having fun with his innocent toys and he will never be like his father, a boy who gave up the opportunity of a home for the opportunity of war (inspired by Philostratus and Quintus of Smyrna). But then the news that Achilles has died comes and Deidamia is mourning, but she is mourning a person she hasn't seen in years. A person she last saw as a boy, who now that he is dead is a man. Maybe her memories of him don't even match up with what he is like now, but she will never get to know that. She doesn't even have much time to mourn, because soon the same men who took Achilles are demanding her son. They took the man who was supposed to be her husband, and now they're taking her son. And no matter how much she or Lycomedes try to stop them, Phyrrus is too seduced by following the ghost of a father he never knew and who his mother probably doesn't even know anymore. And then her son goes away, and perhaps like his father he will not return. Like his father he will die young in a foreign land because the seductive glow of glory has taken over his senses.

But he doesn't die in a foreign land like his father, he is alive. But he isn't Phyrrus, he is Neoptolemus. He is no longer the child who played with toys and shepherds' children, he is the person who chased the elderly king of Troy into a temple of Zeus and killed him without mercy or respect for the gods. He is alive, yes, but Deidamia doesn't really have her son back. And so either we don't know Deidamia's fate or, as in Pseudo-Apollodorus' version, she is married to Helenus. She is then married to this man whose home was destroyed by both Achilles and Neoptolemus. And maybe she loves Helenus, but she also loves Achilles and Neoptolemus. And how can she deal with that? How can she love Achilles and still mourn him, if the person who was in Skyros no longer has the personality of the person who died in Troy? How can she be happy that her little boy has returned, if he is not even her little boy anymore? At least, not in personality. And how can she rejoice that Neoptolemus is alive, if for that Helenus had to lose his home and the people he loved?

And then Neoptolemus is dead, and she is sad. At the same time, she cannot want Helenus to share this grief. He has a right not to feel this way. And Andromache arrives in Epirus and Deidamia has to face directly the consequences of what Neoptolemus did, while thinking about how Achilles must have done similar things. And Andromache and Helenus have a connection that Deidamia will never understand, she can never truly know what it's like to be in their situation. She can only learn to face the fact that you loving someone doesn't make them inherently good to others. Helenus is taken by the presence of Apollo when he prophesies and she just has to learn to deal with the presence of this god, the same god who killed her son and her son's father. But, having lived with Helenus and Andromache, can she really find their deaths entirely unjust? She's still sad, of course, but can she really throw her hands up to the heavens and scream that it's injustice?

In a way, I think Deidamia is a good representation of what it was like to be a woman, although it is more specifically the reality of a princess. She has to deal with being an innocent girl, she has to deal with thinking about the possibility of liking another girl, she has to deal with the idea of ​​sneaking around with a boy, she has to deal with an unplanned pregnancy, she has to deal with being abandoned by the man who was supposed to be her husband, she has to raise her son without a husband while constantly thinking that her son's father is going to die, she has to find out that her son's father really is dead, she has to watch her son go to the same fate, she has to deal with the anxiety that he doesn't come back, she has to deal with the relief of seeing her son again and the loss of him not being the same anymore, she has to deal with the consequences of the actions of the men she loves on the lives of other people she has grown to love. And most of this happens while she is on the island, looking at the sea and thinking that this is the same sea that Achilles and Neoptolemus set out on for a distant land. At least, that's how I interpret her situation.

She has SO much potential, but people ignore her potential. Most of the time, Deidamia is just used to say something about Achilles and Patroclus' relationship. It's really sad.

[starryevermore]

head full of petals: meet cute (1) ✧ eris vanserra

head full of petals ✧ an eris vanserra anthology | ao3

pairing: eris vanserra x tamlin’s sister!fem!reader; tamlin’s sister!fem!reader x original male character (brief)

series summary: it is not easy to be a female in prythian. it is even more difficult when you’re the daughter of a high lord. the expectations are great, and the punishments for failure are even greater. all you have known for your entire life is falling in line. yet, when you are expected to marry another, you choose to do something for yourself: run into the arms of your mate. or, a series of interconnected oneshots surrounding the life and times of eris vanserra and his blossom. 

chapter summary: in which you meet your mate, the first son of the high lord of autumn.

word count: 1,821

chapter warnings?: flirting, fluff, pet name (blossom), not proofread.

 A female’s job, your father, Hamish, always told you, was to be seldom seen and never heard. While your brothers were allowed to learn from him, to attend Court meetings and to learn how to one day take his place as High Lord of Spring, you were expected to remain put. To focus on your embroidery or your tending to your garden. Even when you gardened, you were not allowed to get your hands dirty. You could clip a few dead ends, water a few bushes, but that was the extent of it all. Anything further would be an embarrassment to Hamish, and he hated to be embarrassed. 

You supposed, that was why you and your younger brother Tamlin got along so well. Tamlin was, in not so many words, an embarrassment to the family. Well, perhaps that was too harsh. But it was clear to all that Hamish harbored little love for his youngest son. Tamlin was unlike Finley and Alistair. He was the runt of the little, and the least likely to ever inherit the title of High Lord. Tamlin was not worth Hamish’s breath. Neither you nor him fit into the perfect puzzle Hamish tried to carefully to piece together. And so, you both were cast aside. Left forgotten. 

Though, you supposed you were not all forgotten. As the daughter of a High Lord, you were expected to marry well and to be a dutiful wife. In the last few decades, all attention you received from Hamish was dedicated to the pursuit of finding you a worthy husband. A few months previous, his search finally turned up fruitful. Dashiell Buchanan, the eldest son of Hamish’s favorite courtier. A handsome male, to be sure. You were less sure, however, of his kindness. 

There was no proof, no evidence, that Dashiell was a cruel male. But males like him, males in positions of power, no matter how small, seldom let such cruelty be openly known. You did not wish to find out he was such a male after your wedding night. Your only saving grace, though, would be to find your mate, who had not been made known for last couple hundred years. Hope as you might, you knew he would not come in time. 

So, instead, you busied yourself with the few hobbies appropriate for a woman of your station as you awaited your wedding day. That was how you found yourself curled up on a chair in the drawing room, deep in concentration as you tied French knots. You did not hear anyone slip in until you were being spoken to. 

“Ah, Spring’s daughter. I was beginning to think you a myth,” a slow drawl sounded. 

You lifted your head, breath caught in your throat at the male before you. He was tall, perhaps taller than any of the males in your family. His auburn hair cascaded down his shoulders, a waterfall of fire. Amber eyes looked you up and down. You were suddenly aware that you looked far too comfortable in the presence of a noble son, so you stood, smoothing out your skirts. “I was not aware I was being looked for.”

“Who wouldn’t look for a female they say is so beautiful, she must be blessed by the Mother? I understand why your father has kept you hidden away, now that I have been so fortunate as to see your face.” He offered a wicked smile. “Lesser males have fought wars over lesser beauties. We are too soon out of the last war to ever risk another.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. You fought the urge to pick at the thread of your dress. Instead, you tucked your hands into each other and held them in front of you so as to create a barrier between yourself and the charming male. “Do I get to know the name of the male so desperate to win my favor?”

The male let out a chuckle. “How about we make it a game. Three guesses.”

You smiled. “What do I get if I’m correct?”

“Is the pleasure of my company not enough for you? Greedy girl. I should have expected as such from a High Lord’s daughter.” he said. For a moment, he pretended to think. “Let us see…If you are correct, you can ask me for any favor and I shall do it without complaint.”

“And if I lose?”

“You sit at my side during dinner.”

Your smile seemed to grow. Though you did wish to know his name, a part of you also wanted to lose. Maybe if you got to sit close enough to him, you could learn if he was as warm as he was making you feel. “I accept your terms.”

“Then guess away, beautiful blossom.”

Tapping a finger on your chin, you began to weigh your options. “My father told me he was expecting a visit from the Autumn Court this morning. You are too young to be the High Lord, so I shall not waste a guess on that. Nor can you be Lady Autumn. All seven sons, however, inherited the color of her hair. I think….I shall go with Lucien.”

The male barked out a laugh, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. “Lucien is hardly older than a babe! Try again.”

“Hmm, yes I suppose he is too young. Perhaps I should hedge my bets and aim for the middle. Perhaps Crispin, or maybe Heath?”

“Shall I count those as your remaining too guesses?” he asked with a wicked grin. 

“Hush, I’m thinking out loud!” you giggled. You felt so light with him. You had not thought it possible to feel so at ease with a male, much less you hardly even knew. “I shall go with Heath.”

He grinned, and took a step closer to you. “Not by a long shot.”

“Well, I have aimed for the youngest, and for the middle. Perhaps I should aim for the eldest now. Yes, I suppose I shall.” You stood a little straighter and declared, “You are Eris Vanserra.”

Eris stepped closer to you. A few more steps, and you were sure to be caught in a most scandalous position. You didn’t seem to care, though. “And what favor would you ask of me?”

“It’s no fun if I waste it now. I would prefer to save it for a rainy day.”

“And make me your eternal slave?”

You took a step toward him. Never before had you felt so emboldened. Hamish would have your head if he saw you now. “Something tells me you would quite enjoy that.”

Before Eris could say anymore, before he could step closer and ruin you for anyone else, a series of footsteps sounded down the hall. You took a quick step back. You needed distance between you and Eris. Dashiell entered the room first, freezing as he took in the closeness between yourself and Autumn’s Heir. Even with the space you put between yourself and Eris, it was not enough to stop suspicion from being aroused.

Perhaps you would find out sooner than you hoped if your betrothed was a cruel man. His eyes flashed as he stalked over to Eris, fists clenching into fists. 

“Ah, I see your daughter has already become acquainted with my eldest son.”

No, no, no. This was even worse. Your eyes snapped over to Beron and Hamish as they entered the room, Finley, Alistair, and the other sons of Autumn following after. You prayed that your panic did not show on your face. Something began to tug in your chest, desperate. For what, you weren’t sure. But it was beginning to hurt. How much trouble would you bring, how embarrassed would Hamish be, if you excused yourself to see a healer?

Eris stepped forward, ignoring your betrothed, and said to Beron and Hamish, “I arrived early than anticipated. I came to the drawing room to wait, when I realized the room was not empty. I was introducing myself to—”

Your chest snapped. “Mate.”

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Hamish’s brows raised. Beron seemed to consider you as if you were a meal. Finley and Alistair looked puzzled. Eris’s brothers sneered at each other, and him, as if disappointed that they weren’t the ones you were mated to. And Dashiell— 

A fist flew toward Eris’s face. Eris dodged it, easily, and caught the next fist that came. He gripped Dashiell’s fist so hard, twisted his arm just so, that the male crumpled to the floor. Eris snarled—the kind male you were just speaking to disappearing. 

“This is not a fight you shall win,” Eris said, baring his teeth. 

Beron turned to Hamish. “It seems we have more to discuss than trade negotiations, old friend.”

“She is betrothed,” Hamish managed. He watched as you stepped toward Eris, a hand resting on his bicep. Slowly, your mate released his grip on your betrothed. He stayed positioned between you and Dashiell, though, as if worried that the male would attack you next. 

“A betrothal is nothing compared to a mating bond,” Beron dismissed with a wave. “As I see it, she is now the property of Autumn.”

Eris tensed, just slightly so. 

“I cannot end her betrothal,” Hamish said. 

Beron raised a brow. “I would hate to invoke a blood duel, but it is within our right. Don’t let us end such a long friendship over something so trivial.”

“In Spring,” Hamish amended, “only the parties to be wed may end the betrothal.”

“I refuse,” Dashiell snarled, still knelt on the ground. 

All eyes turned to you, but you only saw Eris. He watched you carefully, trying to gauge whether you cared for the sorry excuse of a male on the floor. Dashiell, however, ceased to exist in your eyes. “Mate,” you repeated. “I want my mate.”

Beron, from the corner of your eye, seemed smug, but Hamish knew there was more to be done. He urged, voice tight, “You have to say the words.”

“I forsake my betrothal to Lord Dashiell Buchanan,” you said without a moment’s hesitation. 

Dashiell growled, but to everyone else in the room, he seemed to have disappeared. Ceased to matter if he wasn’t to wed the daughter of Spring. 

“Spring’s females don’t all seem to have heads full of petals,” Beron said. “You should be proud your daughter has any sense, Hamish.”

Hamish stared at you. He never looked at you with any ounce of love before, but now it almost felt like there was contempt. Was he truly embarrassed at you finding your mate? The circumstances weren’t the greatest—you could have done without the spectacle. But did you deserve the hateful look in his eyes? “You have until sundown to gather your things,” he said. “From this day forward, you are the burden of Autumn.”

You did not see Spring again until long after Hamish had passed. 

[attapullman]

Stupid White Car | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Pretty trees and cozy fire pit nights are all you expected when Robert mentioned wanting to landscape his backyard. And then the architect in the slutty white Benz shows up.

Word Count: 810

Warnings: none except sorry if your name is Alyssa 😬

A Note From Mo: The world's biggest shoutout to my favourite Bradshaw Baddie @roosterforme for coming up with this delicious idea and beta-ing this sake-written, jealousy-fueled oneshot for the neighbor!Bob anthology. Hope this satisfies everyone's appetite until Part III graces your screens.

The project was supposed to be done a week ago. No more white Mercedes in his driveway, no more lemonade on the back patio, no more mulch deliveries outside business hours. No more her.

When Robert announced he was finally landscaping his boring grass lawn while on leave, you had encouraged him. Dreams of sitting out there with him by a fire pit under some string lights danced before your eyes. But now you’re wishing he had kept his patchy lawn that turned into a mud pit at the slightest chance of rain.

Then she showed up.

You were working in your home office, deep into a spreadsheet, when you heard a female voice in the yard next door. Face pressed into the window, turning just so, a tiny postage stamp of his yard visible from your vantage point. Your sweet boyfriend walking around his desolate lawn, pointing out problems, while the most stunning woman followed him, smiling and nodding and jotting down notes. 

It should be illegal for him to look so good in faded jeans with grass stains. Or for her to pull off work boots so well. 

You missed your three o’clock meeting observing them from your hideout, having moved to the laundry room where you could see his yard better. Watched them sit at the little finicky table he needed to replace and go over pages in her catalog, pointing out the design features he liked and what she recommended. 

You didn’t know words like drip irrigation and concept plan could sound so…intimate.

Now it’s been weeks, and that annoying little car is always in his driveway. When she’s not “supervising” the subcontractor, she’s delivering supplies or needing to go over the plans one last time. The 15th has come and gone, and yet she’s still here. And you’re not sure whether it’s your imagination or not that her blouses suddenly have one less button done.

It’s a beautiful spring day outside, and you wish you were out there instead of holed up trying to make sense of this budget. The window is open to allow a soft breeze, tickling the skin not covered by your thin tshirt. An hour ago you shot Robert a text asking if he wanted to have dinner out tonight, try out that new bistro with the cute patio and enjoy the sunshine and some tiramisu. 

Maybe add in an evening walk along the beach? Ending with a night cap and him wrapped in your overstuffed comforter, enjoying his last night of leave blissfully unaware of the rest of the world.

Checking your quiet phone again, you settle down to your computer. And then you hear a perfect twinkle of a laugh. 

You abandon your computer and race down to the laundry, face pressed against the glass as emerald green jealousy licks along your skin.

No wonder you haven’t heard from Robert, his full attention is on his landscape architect as she has him choose between gravels for the stepping stones they’re finally installing. He’s brought out lemonade. Innocent blue eyes trained on her and laughing good-naturedly as she makes a joke about mortar. A joke a little too sultry for your taste.

You didn’t even hear her car pull in. When you talked to him last night he acted like all decisions had been made, one more full day of work and his backyard would be summer ready. It’s not a surprise she has weaseled herself into another visit.

Their hands accidentally brush as they flip between sample pages. Your entire being is rigid, the world in front of you an ominous red. How dare she touch what’s yours!

Before reasoning can interfere, you’re slipping on sandals and racing to the back fence. Pupils wild, heart racing, the green-eyed monster hot on your heels. 

The latch on his fence, newly installed, nearly pulverized in your jealousy-fueled mission. The gate swings open and there they sit, too close for your liking, her manicured fingers gliding along his forearm as she explains costs. 

Robert stands from his chair, shock and surprise written all over his face. He’s never seen this look in your eyes, this possession written all over your features. The woman raises her eyebrows to you, mildly shocked, mildly irritated you’ve interrupted her meeting with her favorite client.

“Alyssa, this is my, uh, neighbor next door…” he trails off awkwardly, realizing he’s never had to introduce you since that fateful night in your kitchen.

You see her smirk. Her revealing blouse. Her eyes that pity you. And from the corner of your eye, you see that stupid white Mercedes.

Rounding the rickety table, Robert’s eyes are filled with nothing but affection. A gentle reminder that she’s had his time, but you have his heart.

Your shoulders relax, returning her smug smile as you complete his sentence. “Neighbor…and girlfriend.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @erospecies @hangmanapologist @hauntedduckdefendor @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @livingoutsidethetardis @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @melsunshine @midnightmagpiemama @petersunderoos96 @pinkdaisies9285 @primroseluna @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @topherwrites @unpretty-reader @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist for any fic

[cloveroctobers]

NO STRESS — Armando Aretas [Fall Crumbles] 🤎

A/N: Going back to my roots of my first official drop on this man, which was a angsty-based Armando piece. It’s a kinda short thing and what I do best! Believe me I’m not pushing for a sad girl autumn by any means and I don’t think this is that?

WARNINGS: Language! + Moving onto bigger things? You tell me. Definitely inspired by current events but this won’t be too deep on that, especially if you’re looking for a break, yet I always find Novembers to be full of grievances but still looking at the positives towards the end of the month and thanks to this album dropping during this time…also helped inspired these chapters I’ve been writing.

SYNOPSIS: Set some time in the future in which every state in the U.S. solely has a president now and Armando Aretas holds that title. What happens when your easy going or dysfunctional? nature becomes too much after Armando’s new actions hits headlines?

ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ

“Mami, don’t piss me off.” Armando spews at you, eyes locked on you from the moment you walked through the doors of your shared palace.

The way you sauntered along the marble floor, natural sway in your hips, with a strut in your step as your heels clacked along the texture, and your jacket slightly hung off your shoulders as you made your way over to the grand table, implied you were onto something lethal.

You oozed luxury as you took your seat so elegantly at the opposite head of the table, fixing your Prada shades back along your fresh silk press, all while beaming to your right, Mike’s hand going out to grab yours with a smile, as you almost pressed your glossed lips to your other fingertips to silently kiss at him in greeting.

One of your young servers—named Romil—you did the simple task of learning all of your employees names, immediately came to your left, your fizzy speciality already awaited for you in a flute glass, which you plucked into your grasp and always thanked your workers with a warm smile, “Thank you, Rom.”

He quickly sent a smile your way with a dip of his head before moving to stand away from the table in one of the corners. The servers were always supposed to give those at the dinner table space, waiting hand and foot on you. At times you found it ridiculous, knowing you can do these basic tasks on your own, (which you often did) especially on holidays when they should be off with their own loved ones, but you always made it a oath that they were included on gifts every year.

As the First Lady of Miami (Technically it was Florida but “Miami” just sounded better, especially since that’s where you all resided), it was not in your nature to ever treat anyone as less then. You were not that type of bitch, Lady of Georgia, the nasty shady Southern Belle, gratefully held that title.

A loud clearing of a throat and a side of a fist hitting the table, made the utensils on the table jump, and eyes turn to Armando, except for you who took your time facing your husband as you swallowed the Prosecco.

“Excuse me? Did you hear what I said?” Armando hissed.

Your smile could make anyone weak in the knees but Armando looked right past that since you were irking his nerves, “Hello to you too, baby. And No, I didn’t. What’s wrong?”

The way Armando’s eyes went into slits while resting his elbows on the table and pressed his clasped hands to his lips for a moment made his father, Mike Lowrey mumble to himself, “Oh shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Armando repeated, “Where were you huh? You weren’t there at the press meeting—

With a dramatic sigh you interrupted as you picked up a utensil to stab into the kale salad, “You mean the press meeting where they slaughtered you for the fuck shit you’ve been pulling? Why would I need to be there for that?”

Armando raised his brows, “You’re my lady, did you forget? You’re supposed to be beside me whenever I speak to the public, why are you acting brand new?”

Covering your mouth as you let out some laughter, you finished eating your portion of an appetizer, “That’s the thing, I’ve been by your side and when I don’t want to? I won’t be. I had better things to do today. It’s that simple.”

Armando’s eyes went to everyone else at the table, to make sure that he wasn’t hearing things. It shouldn’t be a shock to him, neither of you two were strictly by the book and marched to your own drums, just ask the people of the state who were not a fan of you two, they automatically felt like Armando was and still is a crook. Then there were those who felt like you could do better.

The opinion of sheep in some cases, right?

He was just a businessman that got shit done.

Like it or not.

“A First Lady’s obligiation is to be involved in social affairs. That’s just one of many.” Armando states which makes you tilt your head to the side, laughing once more.

He should be the last one preaching to you.

“Sure and my obligation today was to prioritize self care.” You inhale as you return back to your plate of salad, “I’m glad that I don’t have to beg for your attention, since you apparently miss me so much that you care more about how the public is labeling you. That’s something you should have thought about before you picked the streets over your queen, no?”

Armando immediately knew what you were getting at. It was tossed at him by one of the journalists who outed that the woman Armando was seen spending many outings with behind your back, had been talking about their quality times together for the right price. Fresh off the press, it was something you were aware of at 2 this morning which was sadly confirmed by Dorn over the phone before it hit news.

You had no issue collecting your things around 5 in the morning, when you could have slapped Armando awake but you couldn’t bring yourself to be blind sided. It was suspected every time Armando extended his trips in Key West. You can’t fix stupid and choices have consequences. This has all come to a hilt and this is exactly what the people wanted, to see you upset so why bother trying to save face when you already knew the truth?

“Maybe we should let you two have this conversation in private?” Theresa, Marcus’ wife speaks up, already placing her handkerchief on the table.

Shrugging your shoulders you say, “We’re all a family here right? What happens in the palace stays in the palace. Except…not with what’s her name? Dinah. Thee aspiring photo journalist who comes from a lineage of racist assassins…I know her family is having a field day with this one. How many nights did you let her stay in one of these rooms or better yet, our bed?”

“It was never our bed.” Armando snaps, making Marcus widened his eyes, and lightly scratch at his ear at what his new nephew let slip through his lips.

This time you cackled with your head thrown back.

Armando glared at you, “I don’t know what you’re laughing at because ain’t shit funny.”

Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you nod in agreement as you stared over at your husband in the dim dining hall, “You’re right. It’s hilarious because I just realized I can’t be bothered anymore.”

This is what November’s are for. Saying no to things that no longer have use to you. Getting rid of things to allow the growth to start all over again.

So why was this man playing in your face?

It did sting because it felt like your time was wasted, with a man that should have loved you better. If he wanted to play around, he should have just said that instead of trying to make you out to be a fool. Shouldn’t have even married you if he was going to later second guess your time together. Maybe that wasn’t Armando’s intentions but you just didn’t have the energy to do too much back and forth tonight.

The both of you got into this position of power because of Armando’s mother mainly. Isabel and her husband, Benito—although Mexico City natives—had strong ties to Miami but with their power was also handed down to Armando. It turns out that this was what they were training Armando so hard for as a kid. It was an ugly business, gritty and brutal with the way it turned out but with the way the government was forever changing? Thanks to Benito who had connections with the (dirty) American government, Armando was next in line regardless and knew if he didn’t take his shot, he would miss out on this big opportunity and he wanted nothing more than to take you right with him. Once upon a time, Armando couldn’t picture anyone else ruling this state with him.

Power can make you do questionable things and Armando unfortunately fell into that.

“What does that mean?” Armando quizzed.

“It’s means you’re not as calculated as you think you are,” you pointed the fork in his direction, “And I’m going to move on. Consider this a lesson learned.”

Armando tightened his jaw at your words, “I should have known that you’ve been working against me.”

“No, no. Don’t try and spin this.” You express, “I’m the only one that gets to point fingers. I loved you through your flaws, which is why I don’t love you any less after you’ve been shitting where you shouldn’t eat. You don’t know who to trust and I’m your wife. We’re supposed to be some sort of a union but I guess we’re not. Doesn’t that sound problematic to you?”

Armando scoffed as he let his back rest against the extravagant chair, “What’s problematic is you secretly plotting against me.”

Kelly can’t help but to step in, although Dorn attempts to firmly squeeze her thigh underneath the table, a signal for her to not get involved but she shoves his hand off her, “Look Armando, I’ve been working with you for a good while on this term and your paranoia is out of this world. We can blame your mother for that sure but you got to work through that shit at some point man. You got in your head and now look at you, about to lose your wife. Someone you loved enough to want to spend an eternity with just to let this presidency get to you. It’s clown behavior, I’m just saying.”

“Well nobody asked you, Kelly.” Armando muttered with a strong side eye.

“I don’t care.” The dark haired woman sassed, “I’m not going to be the one enabling you. You’re a dumbass.”

That made you smile.

Kelly scrapped her chair back, looking at all the faces that sat at the table, “And neither should the rest of you, especially you two.” She stared hard at Mike who raised his brows at Kelly’s usual bluntness and Marcus who raised his hands in innocence, “I know where I’m going once you don’t win a second term.” She finishes, looking at Armando one last time before giving you a sharp nod and taking her exit.

Armando stared after her in disbelief, although his usual blank facial expression shielded that well. Yet when he settled his eyes on Dorn, who looked torn, since the two managed to build a solid friendship and partnership—it was actually Armando, Dorn, and Reggie that were the main faces of his term.

“Sorry man,” The blond found himself apologizing but Armando just shrugs his shoulders, knowing Dorn had no true aim on leaving—at least he didn’t have that conversation with Armando.

Wait a minute…

Armando tightened his gaze on you, “You mind telling me what Kelly is getting at?”

It was your turn to shrug your shoulders, “Not everyone can be yes men, ladies, or people. People want balance, I wanted balance. You couldn’t even give me that because you value chess over love and it’s really sad.”

The tone you were taking with him, speaking so at ease with a wicked smile at the corner of your lips, and the glint in your eyes did not feel warm. There was a chill right underneath it. The longer Armando searched your eyes, he started to feel his heart race.

And not in a good way.

“Oh those gears are turning now aren’t they, Mr. Soon to be Ex-President?” You grinned.

Armando stands up so fast that he knocks the chair he was sitting in back, “You can’t be fucken serious?!”

Giggling, you dabbed at the corners of your mouth, “Why wouldn’t I be? Always best to be a few steps ahead right? That is what you once said. And I have you to thank for that, so, thank you. Thank you for making me realize what’s worth my time since I’m not yours. Are you ready to be my First Gentleman?”

Armando felt his eye twitch at the ball you just dropped. “Did you know?” He turns to his father.

Mike shakes his head, “No ‘Mando I didn’t but can you fault her?”

“So you’re taking her side?!”

Christine speaks up so her husband didn’t also raise his voice, “Honey, I know you’re upset but let’s turn it down a notch and just hear each other out.”

Before Armando can say more, you shake your head, “I don’t have anything else to say quite frankly. I’m running and if I don’t win then that’s fine too but as long as you don’t get a second term? That’ll be even better. Too much stress isn’t good for the baby.”

All the older adults whipped their heads to you at this news.

“What did you just say?” Mike splutters out.

Christine and Secada both shared a deep frown.

Marcus said, “I know I’m in no position to ever speak on a woman’s body…were you not just sipping on some fizz?”

You scanned all the faces in the room, and the amount of times Armando caressed his facial hair made you think he was about to pass out.

“Ah, I had y’all going didn’t i?” You winked, which visibly made everyone relax, “Can you imagine? Me trying to take over the world while carrying a heir? Real queen shit but…hopefully Dinah doesn’t pop back up talking about a bundle of joy of her own within the next few days because I might just actually have to bury your ass, and pretend you went missing, I don’t know.”

You said all this with a smile that made Christine share a worried glance with Theresa who couldn’t blame you. Reggie quietly finished his meal, wanting to finish it all before they all got kicked out but it’s not like he would have said much in the first place but he was definitely listening. He was the only one who knew what Armando was up to with Dinah until you approached Dorn to gather information (hack into Key West’s cameras and common areas Armando would be at out there) that was slowly about to released into the world.

“Don’t joke like that.” Armando muttered, palms flat on the table.

You blink, “Why? You took this marriage as one.”

Armando shakes his head, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, so we’re gaslighting now? Were you or were you not involved with another woman?” You interrogated.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Armando tried to tell you, he wasn’t physical with Dinah at all but if he looked back at it, it was still a form of cheating.

“Screencaps say different. Yapper Dinah says different…but no stress…maybe there will be a divorce or open marriage if that’s more your speed…I’m not sure what I’m feeling just yet though. TBD?”

Armando clasped his hands above his head, low lidded eyes settled on you as he tried to control his breathing, “Are you loca?”

“Nooo! Don’t say that.” Mike immediately shook his head already aware that was the wrong thing to say, shifting his gaze from a collected you and his iritated son.

Marcus also tried to intervene, “Nope.”

Instead all at the table watched you give off another round of laughter. This was not a good sign, it sounded chaotic and everyone can sense you were over it.

Resting one arm along the table and resting your cheek against the knuckles of your other hand you respond, “I could show you but I’ll let the universe do her thing, baby.”

With that you take your entree plate and start to leave the table but not without saying over your shoulder followed by a wave, “Thanks for coming to dinner everyone, my apologies for my late arrival but most importantly, I’m sorry Arman wasn’t the best host. Have a great night, I know I will.” You sing-song, feeling giddy at tonight’s plans.

Armando began to walk after you but Mike was already up and on his feet as well. He latched onto his son’s shoulder, “Aye, you gotta eat this one. Let some steam off before y’all can have a civil conversation, without us being your audience, ya know?”

“You might need some witnesses just in case she murder yo ass.” Marcus attempted with a chuckle, just to be slapped on his chest by Theresa, “Ow! Y’all all heard what she said right?”

“Shut up, Marcus.” Theresa tells her husband before Mike can.

Armando felt his eyes close once the guards shut the door behind you. You being out of his life out of something so one sided, was frustrating and not only that? Now you wanted to run against him during the next election? Then on top of that, you were considering ending this marriage and being so at peace with it too? That didn’t sit well with Armando.

So yeah, he was stressed.

“You know, you screwed up right? When a woman is that calm over your mishaps…that means deep shit.” Secada tells Armando at the front door of the palace, who huffs and rolls his eyes, “Hey as your SecDef who did just see you get your ass handed to you, again, I’m just stating the obvious and trying to help.”

“If I wanted your input, I would have asked.”

“Don’t take it out on me.” Secada affirms, “Usually your defense is better than this which already tells me, whatever you got yourself wrapped into with Dinah, is clearly messing up your judgment and now there’s consequences.”

Armando waved his hand along, still holding the front door open, “Tell me something I don’t know, General.”

Secada placed her hands on her hips as she now stands outside, “…Sitting on top of the world can be lonely, Aretas. Look at your mother—hell just talk to Mike. Don’t let that be your story when you truly have someone who only wanted to be loved by you and has loved you in return.”

“…Heard you.” Is all Armando says with a dip of his head, and Secada can tell that he was taking that part of her words in.

With a final hug of the night to tía Theresa, Christine, and a unwanted one from tío Marcus, Armando shares another somewhat lengthy chat with Mike on not pressing the issue anymore but after Armando remembered that you were trying to go out tonight, that went in one ear and out the other.

He wasn’t shocked to not find you in the primary bedroom, searching one of the ten rooms, finding you on the east wing, tucked far into the palace and out of sight. Armando knew you were in there based on the music vibrating from the door and a bowl you had resting outside the door on a tray.

Armando knocks hard, knowing you should be able to hear him over the bass. You take your time, coming to the door now dressed in a corset, mini skirt, tall boots, and hair in a claw clip. There was no shame in Armando’s game as he drank you in with his eyes, damn you looked good, but that was not the point.

“Where you goin’?”

“A girls night out on the town and that’s all I’m saying on that.” You announce with your chin up in the air before spinning to head back into the room, “Are you going to try and hold me hostage in here? If so, then you’re really asking for a fight.”

“No,” Armando lifted his shoulders with his lips pushed out a bit, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t go out tonight though.”

With a long sigh, you picked up your necklace, placing it in Armando’s palm so he could put it on you. “Well…we can’t always get what we want, right? It’s just like auntie Whitney said, it’s not right but it’s okay, I’m gonna make it anyway.”

Once clasped you turned back to face your husband. Your fingers went to his forehead to smooth out the lines there, “Stress brings wrinkles.”

“Kelly keeps telling me to get Botox…just in case, although my melanin should work in my favor.”

You snort, “Your body your choice, baby. Anyways! I’ve got to run, don’t wait up.”

It was Armando’s turn to grab your wrist, which you halt although you wanted to snatch it right back. However you kept your breathing steady and slowly faced the brown eyed man, questioning what he wanted silently. Something the both of you commonly did, socializing with just your eyes.

“…I hope you’re not for real thinking about ending things?”

Brushing a strand that fell into your eye, thanks to tilting your head to the side you say, “is that really a conversation you want to get into tonight? It’s been a long day.”

“Mine’s longer.”

He was the damn president after all.

“Ah yes, a competition with my unfaithful husband.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

How else could he have meant it?

“What is it exactly you want from me?” You question Armando, “To yell, scream, or cry? All the above? Drag your name through the press so you really end this term in a dumpster fire? That’s not me, never has been and I thought you knew that. I’m just done…probably numb? If I look into your eyes long enough, I can feel my heart wanting to race because I’ve really adored all parts of you until now. Then there’s this stronger side of me that says, maybe I’ve had enough too and just waited too late to see that.”

Armando can feel you fading from his grasp but he only had himself to blame for that. He cleared his throat, scratching at the side of the bridge of his nose as he followed you down the hallway before speaking up, “I think we still owe one another a final convo…once we sleep on it.”

“Okay, Arman,” is all you say texting away on your phone to let him know you heard him but still dreaded that, you knew the most important part of that talk would be the election because over the last few years, that became more important than your marriage, “Goodnight, don’t let the thoughts bite.”

And he stops following you, letting you disappear from his sight.

In bed, Armando lays on his back staring up at the ceiling constantly checking his socials, skipping over the constant talk of his fuck ups with Dinah being put on blast, ignored her texts, and searched for you, to see what you were up to.

Ultimately he would be the one up all night stressed over you.

And if you really chose to think about it, that would be fine by you.

ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ

Read my final autumn anthology slice here.

[deathsmallcaps]

Ok when I reblogged this last night, I picked 3rd because that’s what I’ve heard, but I also said maybe a little bit #4? Because at the time I thought ‘well something not really mattering to you = a sort of rejection” so I was a little confused as to how they were separate options?

And then when I woke up and I saw this I remembered that the ‘rejection’ idea was an antisemitic talking point. As in supposedly you saw the undeniable truth of Jesus and were like nah.

So I’m not sure how else it could’ve been worded - it was quickly visible to me after a good night’s sleep - but I wonder how many other people were thinking similarly to me when they picked #4, and how many are genuinely antisemitic. But I hope there’s just a lot of confused people.

[aettuddae]

THE ANTHOLOGY — 1.

— kazuha, and the reason for things. [2/2]

⭑ synopsis: this series follows kyuin as she experiences the complexities of the korean entertainment world, and her encounters with two idols who arouse in her a strange interest.

masterlist | prev | next

[half written chapter]

kyuin was always trying to understand why things happened, so at the moment she kept going over and over in her mind the events that led up to this.

it bothered her that she couldn't stop her vicious circle of thoughts even though she had dared to drink a couple of beers, despite how awful they tasted, so she could enjoy the night more freely. she drank three, and she didn't know how much that would affect a person who drank them regularly, possibly not much, she was aware that it wasn't the strongest type of alcohol, but for her sober body it should have been enough. she had been able to notice, and her bandmates had told her too, that her energy had gone up a little, but she hadn't become fully intoxicated. it's not like that was her goal, the only reason she had endured that bitter taste was to reach the state she was in, to be able to lose her notion of limits a bit and be less reserved at least for a moment. maybe after the first one she already felt a bit happier and that's why she agreed to drink the next ones when chaeryeong passed them to her. but she definitely found it irritating to have been subjected to those three bottles and not even then be able to stop analyzing every move she made.

but whatever, she couldn't say that they hadn't affected her at all, it was obvious that there was something out of place. as complicated as it was for kyuin to be in environments with too many people she didn't know, she wasn't someone who would run away when a stranger spoke to her, she always stood there, listening with a dog-like face in the rain, trying to decipher what would be appropriate to say next, but staying silent because when she found something to reply, the other had already changed the topic. this is why when the girl with red hair, —who said her name was yunjin—, approached her and kyuin, though still losing timing at times and with her shy demeanor, followed the thread of the conversation almost successfully, the whole group, including herself, was surprised.

"it was a 7 out of 10." qualified lily after joking about how much it had amazed her.

maybe everyone was acting a little dramatic. it wasn't that kyuin was a freaking groundhog, she was just a very shy person who wasn't interested enough in developing that part of her personality. that's why she could sometimes seem cold to others, she wasn't a scaredy-cat, she just didn't feel like being social most of the time and was disinterested in trying to get people who she didn't like in the first place to like her.

but yunjin was friendly. maybe if it had been someone else approaching her, someone with a more dim personality, she wouldn't have used that confidence she had gained from the alcohol to talk back with her. but the girl appeared with a big smile, greeting all the members with the same enthusiasm and focusing on kyuin with dearness.

kyuin supposed it was because of the comfort the girl created around herself with her eloquence, charm and warmth that she hadn't put up any resistance when she invited them to join the group she was at the party with, or the combination of that with her mild intoxication why she hadn't asked many questions when the girl told her that she spoke to her because her friend was 'interested in meeting her.'

now, kyuin was smart and sharp to realize what was going on in her surroundings, but she was also distrustful and somewhat insecure about how others perceived her, so she never believed that someone could feel attraction to her, a woman could get down on her knees and ask her to marry her and even then she would doubt if she could ever truly like her. so when she heard the ginger's explanation she automatically blocked out any assumptions she considered unrealistic and chose to think that maybe the girl was a fan or had just seen her and thought she looked like someone with whom it might be interesting to develop a friendship.

the other novaHIVI members, on the other hand, evaluated interactions between people much less. they were simpler, if she wanted to meet her it was because she liked her, and that was exactly what they were looking for. despite doubting the new acquaintances, kyuin was aware of her friends' motives, and although she disagreed with that plan of theirs, she knew they would take advantage of the situation and not let her resist, another reason why they had ended up gathering up with the members of le sserafim and a couple of other idols.

thinking about it, she hadn't seen minjeong the rest of the night.

she was feeling a little guilty earlier for having gone to that apartment with the intention of spending the night with minjeong and barely even seeing her, but little did she think about the blonde's whereabouts when yunjin introduced her friends one by one until she came to a girl with long brown hair who looked shocked to have her in front.

"nakamura kazuha." the young woman introduced herself in a soft voice and polite manner, and kyuin thought her name sounded cool.

her laugh also sounded cool.

the vocalist was beginning to feel anxious as she noticed that it was also taking time for kazuha to open up to her, she guessed that was why it had been her friend who had gone to talk to her instead of her, so she was grateful that the members of both groups were so talkative, plus both teams were, unbeknownst to the others, on a mission to get those girls to end up together that night. with the intervention of the others, they began to exchange more words, until, almost suddenly, they were conversing just the two of them, and kyuin had successfully made kazuha laugh, and her laugh was pretty, just like her.

when kyuin got confident, she couldn't stop the barrage of stupid jokes that came out of her mouth, so she felt a warmth in her chest when the japanese girl began to respond with even worse jokes. they both made each other laugh, and few people made han laugh the first time they met.

and she blamed it on kazuha being a funny woman for why they were now standing on the balcony of the apartment where the reunion was taking place, leaning against the railing, her back to the big city of seoul, the brunette's hands holding her waist firmly and their lips intertwined and caressing each other in desperation.

they didn't know each other, they didn't have to act in love, no need to be romantic.

kyuin cupped the girl's jaw between her hands, using her thumbs that remained on her cheeks to caress her face, and sliding her touch sporadically down to the nape of her neck to pull her toward her, in search of more contact.

and kazuha sure liked knowing that the older one wanted to hold her closer and closer because every time kyuin drew her in to her body, she couldn't refrain from smiling over her lips. which made han melt inside at how attractive and tender she found the girl to be.

"and here i thought kyuin was obnoxious." commented chaewon from inside as she watched her friend and her catch go from talking and laughing to kissing and cuddling on the balcony. "or that kazuha was straight."

"and i thought kyuin had forgotten how to talk to a woman." replied xiaojun next to her, wiping away a fake tear.

[looneyleyle]

the self-destructive habits of a hopeless romantic ~ j. hughes

synopsis: monetizing one's self-sabotaging habits, surprisingly, has its downfalls. one of them being leaving that one attractive hockey player that is an absolute gentleman who loves you with his whole entire heart.

warnings: self-sabotage, self-deprecation, angsty (but with happy ending)

word count: 3425 words

note: once again unedited but i wanted to get this one out there

???'s pov

time and time again, the world has seen the self destructive habits of humans. well, that makes it seem serious. the world has seen the countless missed opportunities due to a fear of another's reaction. the world has seen the blunders due to saving face. the world has seen the heartbreaks due to miscommunication. time and time again, the world has seen how people sabotage their own lives for the dumbest reasons.

esther graham was no different.

in fact, she capitalized on her ability to put herself into the worst emotional distress possible. every heartbreak produced a great work of literature that would nearly sell out in bookstores all over the northeast. she wasn't a new york times best seller by any means, but she was a small town writer from mont vernon, new hampshire. she made a name for herself during her time at hamilton college in their creative writing program. in her junior year of college, she published her first book, woes of a teenage failure, a novel following what could have been for a young college drop out named sophia. the book was a hit amongst her peers and professors, and by word of mouth, ended up selling 200 copies. the book, as ms. graham remarked, was her own "what-if" story, as she almost dropped out of college the beginning of her sophomore year.

and how do i know so much about ms. graham?

well, because i am ms. esther graham.

and i'm here to tell you all about the biggest blunder of my life.

after my first book, i hit major writing block. i would stare at my computer screen for hours just to delete the only three words that i could come up with. i would sit in coffee shops, pen in hand, ready for inspiration to strike, and yet, nothing. i was nearing the end of my college career, riding on the coattails of my first and only book's success, and couldn't figure out how to continue. my professors taught me plenty of ways to try and combat writer's block, but nothing worked.

until i met ryan. a devilishly handsome man all the way from the cheese state of wisconsin, who was meeting up with some college friends for the annual boston beanpot. we had our meet cute at a nearby pizza joint, in which i sat down and started chatting with him, thinking he was a publisher that i was supposed to meet with. after realizing my blunder when he had absolutely no idea what an anthology was, he asked if i wanted to join him and his friends at the beanpot, as one of their friends had cancelled, leaving them with an extra ticket.

ryan and i dated for four months. we would take turns traveling between my college in new york and his in wisconsin until eventually it became too much, or should i say, too little for him, and he broke it off. in my rage and complete depression from the breakup, i wrote my next hit, until the sun sets, a 142-page anthology of gut-wrenching poems, which was eventually integrated into hamilton college's curriculum for their young adult modern literature class. i was quite proud of that.

after that, i found myself yet again staring at blanks screens and empty notepads.

that is, until chloe. a beautiful new york native whom i had actually met while dating ryan. she was a hostess at a restaurant ryan and i would always go to. she was pursuing her masters in psychology, which gave me fascinating insights and tactics to use in my books. we were never officially together, but we had something for almost three months before she was whisked off by some californian named ella. i never saw her again, which prompted my next book, the ninth floor, a murder mystery following a closeted lesbian couple in 1940's hollywood (it was one of the girlfriends the whole time).

at this point, when i hit a creative block for the third time, i realized that i needed my heart or brain to be in absolute shambles in order to produce my best work. i needed to be at some sort of life crisis, and the easiest way to do so was to love another and let that love be ripped out of your life.

so, i began dating for the sake of my career. it was like i sought out the most manipulative, scummy people in the world who were able to get away with it just because they were attractive. over the course of a year, my first year out of college, i dated a total of three men and one woman, and poured my emotions out into a collection of short stories titled lavender.

and that was when i met jack.

i was in new jersey for a book signing at this little bookstore which, as it turns out, was right by the prudential center. as i left the bookstore, i was nearly run over by an overly excited man-child with a giant bag slung upon his shoulder.

"luke, watch out, you nearly killed that woman!" a voice yelled from where the man came from.

"i'm so sorry about that miss, my brother can get a bit overexcited sometimes." looking at the person talking to me, i found a young, very attractive brunet with the most adorable smile. i straightened myself up instinctively, wanting to appear presentable.

"no worries. if you don't mind me asking, what got him so riled up that he almost trampled me?" the man let out a laugh at my statement.

"of course, we owe you at least that much for your near-death experience. he just got nominated for the calder trophy." he explained, as if those words meant anything to me. seeing my blank stare, he clarified. "a rookie of the year award. we play for the new jersey devils." the boy in question came up and joined us, grinning ear to ear.

"ahhh, i see. i'm not a big hockey watcher, which i know is absolute blasphemy for someone who grew up in new hampshire." his jaw nearly dropped.

"you're from up here and don't like hockey? we have to change that." he exclaimed. in my peripheral vision, i could see his brother trying to hide his laughter at his brother's forwardness.

"ill have to come and watch a game sometime." i mused.

"we have a game coming up next week against the blue jackets. i could maybe snatch you a seat in exchange for your number." he proposed. his brother snorted at that, having to turn around to hide his obvious laughter. the man paid his brother no mind, just looking at me with a big smile on his face.

"trying to bribe me mister?"

"is it working?" i put my hand out and he immediately put his phone in my hand, adding my information into his contacts.

"esther? that's nice, you look like a esther." i quirked an eyebrow at him, but continued on anyways.

"and you? what should i call you?"

"call me yours. or jack, either works." the brother was doubled over on the floor at this point, jack finally acknowledging him by kicking him slightly, making him fall over.

"anyways, ms. esther, we have to get going, but ill see you next week at our game." he put out his hand for me to shake.

"you've got yourself a deal jack."

and just like that, jack and i started talking. his eagerness was cute, he texted me no more than ten minutes after meeting me. we talked every day, mainly on calls, asking each other questions and such to get to know each other.

and sure enough, the next week, i found myself back in new jersey watching the brothers play. i assumed jack was going to be some sort of benchwarmer or something, but that didn't seem to be the case. despite my lack of hockey knowledge, i could tell the boy was good, and he had quite a fan base if the amount of women wearing his jersey meant anything. and i felt severely out of place, simply wearing a grey sweater and jeans, unlike everyone else in the stands, decked out in red.

after that, i found myself going to a couple more hockey games, for no particular reason. jack would try to explain the game over video calls and our occasional coffee meet ups, but i couldn't for the life of me wrap my head around it. why do they all get off the ice every five seconds? and what the hell is offsides?? jack always laughed at my confusion, telling me that i'd get it one day.

we spent a couple months thriving off of video chats and once-in-a-blue-moon hangouts, until i got a job as an editor for a local paper. i was good at editing, always having good grammar and an eye for design, but it wasn't my dream. despite it not being my dream, i needed a stable income, and fast. my mind was devoid of ideas, and it didn't seem like that would change any time soon.

plus, it helped that this stable income happened to be in new york city, putting me a lot closer to a certain someone. and, with me being closer, that certain someone would pop on by a lot more than before. and eventually, chinese takeout dinners turned into staying the night, which turned into coming up for the weekend, which turned into the line of friendship being crossed into something more.

and then, i made the dumbest mistake of my life.

i let him go.

now, i know what you must be thinking. he must have done something wrong, he must have cheated or neglected me or done something so completely unforgivable that i would just throw away the most amazing thing in my life. and i wish i was here to tell you that was the truth.

but it wasn't.

jack was nothing but a gentleman, and i was just a broken girl doing the only thing i knew how to do: leave. i like to tell myself that it was for my career, that i needed to write another book, that i wasn't fulfilled in my job and that i was putting myself first by doing this, but i was perfectly content with my life. i was an editor for a major publishing company, i started writing little happy poems about my mundane life with jack, and wanted nothing more. i had no reason to run away. i just woke up in his bed one day and realized that i wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, and i couldn't accept that. i had gotten so used to leaving people that i assumed that they would leave me if i hadn't done so first, and i couldn't lose the one real thing i ever had.

so naturally, my self-destructive, self-sabotaging self let him go, the exact opposite of what i wanted.

and when i got back to my apartment after writing jack a confusing and half-assed letter, i cried. i cried and cried and cried, and i always wrote about characters crying until they couldn't anymore, but that day, i couldn't find the end to my tears. for hours tears would either slowly leak or violently pour from my eyes, and they never did end, not even when i passed out on my couch from exhaustion.

and after a week, i was expecting to pick myself up and start writing my next best seller, coping with my writing. but i sat there, and my florescent computer screen simply sat there, staring back at me. and when i left my apartment for a change of scenery, the blank pages of my notebook mocked me. i flipped through past works, all of them being little poems about jack, and the waterworks continued, right in the middle of a starbucks.

after a week and four days, i couldn't take it. i had to make things right, i had to at least see him. it always worked in the books, right? someone makes a huge mistake, they break up, they see each other again and realize they're both miserable without each other and then get back together and live happily ever after.

when i knocked on the door to jack's apartment, i was met with an unimpressed looking luke. at the sight of him, the waterworks started up again.

"you're an idiot, you know that?" i nodded furiously at this, sobs wrecking through my body. i couldn't see through the tears in my eyes, but i could tell the luke hadn't moved a muscle.

"he deserved better and you know that." i felt my soul being crushed. "i mean, a letter? seriously esther? and a half-assed one at that. i know damn well you don't have a degree in creative writing for that bullshit."

i opened my mouth to explain, but nothing came up. what would i say, that i was a broken person? cop out. that i did it to everyone? not much better. that i got scared? fucking coward.

"if you think that you deserve to see my brother, then i'll let you in." he told me, moving out of the way, door open wide. i just stood there, staring at him through teary eyes. my brain cheered, finally able to go in, but my feet wouldn't move.

my heart still clenched and ached, and with every thought of moving forward, into that apartment, it hurt more. jack didn't deserve this. after all the nights of him reading my poems about him and praising my work, after all the sweet things he'd say when i was down, after all the little acts of kindness he showed me, after all the love he poured into us, he didn't deserve to be broken by me. hurt people hurt people, the scholars had that right. he didn't deserve to be broken.

and so, i got ready to leave, again.

"i'm sorry." was all i said, turning around with heavy legs and a heavy heart. i heard luke let out a sigh as i walked away, closing the door behind him.

a couple of days went by and i found myself back at their apartment. i knew they wouldn't be there, they had an away game in anaheim the night before, and i knew from my time with jack that they would always spend the night in the city before coming back, especially after a win, a 5-0 win no less.

i stood there in front of their door, a small box in my hands, contemplating. jack didn't deserve this, but a selfish part of me needed this. i placed the box gingerly outside of their door and left the building. if the box was taken by some nosy neighbor, or thrown in the trash by some janitor, then it would be fate. it would be a sign to move on. but, there was a chance that jack and luke would come back to their apartment, and would pick up the box, and jack would recognize my handwriting. and, instead of throwing the box in the trash like any normal self-respecting person receiving a box from their shitty ex, he would take it to his room, and open it up to see my notebook, with a bookmark starting at the pages when i first started seeing him. and he would read the poems and maybe, just maybe, he'd see the note written on the bookmark to meet me at the park near his apartment, and maybe, just maybe, he'd be willing to hear me out.

i went to that park every single day for exactly one month and six days, always arriving by 1 pm, never late. and i would stay there until 4 pm, waiting.

on the 37th day, i was sitting there, editing, funnily enough, a sports column about the recent devils and islanders game. i watched it, absolutely terrible game it was, the islanders beating the devils for the first time in the season. our sports journalist, while passionate and very knowledgeable about seemingly every sport out there, had a knack for writing long, run-on sentences that reflected his rambling nature. as i sat there on the same park bench i had been sitting on for the previous 36 days, a figure stopped in front of me. i finished up the sentence i was working on before looking up.

and while i hate cliches, the wind was absolutely knocked out of my lungs.

"h-hey jack." i started, immediately putting away my work, giving him my full attention.

"hey esther." a shiver ran down my spine from him just saying my name. it had been so long, and while it lost its loving tone, i welcomed it with open arms. jack moved, taking the spot next to me, looking out at the trees in front of us. when it became apparent he wasn't going to say anything, i started the conversation.

"i see you read the notebook."

"i finished it three weeks ago." he replied, voice lacking its usual emotion. tears welled up in my eyes. three weeks.

"oh."

"i came here immediately after finishing it." i felt my eyes bulge out of their sockets at that. he continued, "i went to that bench over there and watched as you fidgeted in your spot, looking frantically at everyone who passed by. i watched the next day as you sat in the pouring rain with no umbrella. i sat over on that bench every day that i was here since reading your notebook."

a silence fell upon us, my mind reeling, trying to figure out what he was trying to say, from his emotionless face to the fact that he came.

"do you know how much it hurt? waking up to empty sheets and some half-assed note with the lamest excuses on earth?" i hadn't really paid mind to the tears rolling down my cheeks until he brought that up, sending me back to that morning, quickly scribbling out some gibberish before leaving the best part of my life behind.

"i was going to wait another month, y'know. to see if you were still gonna come here every day."

"so why didn't you?" i asked, sniffling intensely, trying to calm down my sobs.

"luke said i was absolutely miserable without you. coach told me i wasn't focused. my teammates pointed out that i barely left my apartment. the icing on the cake was when my mom started asking if you would be coming over to the lakehouse this summer. i realized, as pathetic as it seems, that i can't live without you."

my attempts at stopping my crying were thrown out the window at that. i could probably fill the hudson river with the amount of tears i had shed over the past two months.

"how can i make it up to you. please, please let me make it up to you." i begged, fully facing him, my hands angrily playing with the sleeves of my shirt because if i didn't, i would be reaching out to the man in front of me.

"never pull that shit again." he bargained, looking me dead in the eyes for the first time in months. and in that moment, i saw just how bad he was doing. sunken eyes with heavy bags, his skin dull, hair slightly unkempt under his hat.

"never again." i promised, putting out my pinky to him, something he would always do when he promised me to not get hurt in games. he let out a hoarse laugh, looking away from me, and when he looked back, i saw the tears brewing in his eyes. he took my pinky in his and held it there, between us.

"now, i'm not gonna just take you right back after all that. that was really shitty and i need some time to get over that. but, as i've found out, i can't really function without you. so maybe you could start with coming to my games again, and i could take you out for coffee next week."

"sounds perfect."

i accepted my life as an editor for the local newspaper, accepted that i probably wouldn't write another page-turning sell-out book, accepted that i was completely content with whatever happened to me, so long as jack was there with me.

and with that, my self-destructive, soul-crushing, heart-breaking tendencies reached their end.

[powertaco]

What are your thoughts on WR development overall and your thoughts on WR being developed/made canon in V10?

Ugh I am going to ramble about everything here I can feel it...well you asked for it. I apologize for none of it, and if you all hate me at the end well I don't mind.

Volume 6 and before are pretty much great. They go from kinda at odds to tentative friends, learning to trust, and rely on each other, best friends, pining over one and other and V6 was a loooot of WR for us to feast on.

Afterward I felt like it got sidetracked. There could be various reasons for this (in hindsight I feel like Penny being given a way bigger role so her death could hit harder is to blame for part of this because realistically how long has Ruby known Penny? A month?)

Even if you don't like the ship they're supposed to be canon best friends so I take personal issue with almost all of volume 9.

I think it was sloppy writing that didn't move the story forward, and even though I don't care about Bees I feel like they still got shafted since they basically were forced to confess to move things along, and them doing so made them miss out on the sister/supposed friend and her problems, and only showcased the worst sides of the relationship.

For example Yang let's Ruby scream at Weiss but only moves to do something when Blake gets yelled at. Blake and Ruby still have...less dialogue than Ruby does with Ren I think etc.

Jaune was too present merely because his entire deal took away from Ruby's imo.

I've said it before but frankly Nora falling and learning who she is away from Ren so when she sees him in V10 she's ready for the relationship is far more satisfying to me narratively.

Leave Jaune above ground so he has to deal with the fact that he thinks he failed his friends and they all died and let him learn from that experience instead.

This also doesn't take into account that Jaune's one interesting change in 9 (being old) is taken away via random deaging (although I guess this makes deaging canon and hey young maria this is how dwr can still win! more at 11!)

Generally when characters go through a volume you want some sort of arc for them to go and change through. Weiss gets none of that. Out of all the characters nothing really happens to her, and she doesn't change at all. She's just sad about Atlas. Neat.

There's no time for it just like there's no real time for Ruby.

In Ruby's own words 'gotta help Jaune right?' and they do. Ruby removes herself from the census, which is how its framed, and they stop to...help Jaune.

There are a few moments that are WR'ish in 9. The Nevermore summon, Weiss believing in Ruby, and calling her name first etc, but overall Weiss's main job is to backslide.

I said it before but in the market Neo, the perfect assassin is after Ruby, and they split up. Weiss goes 'gross nosehairs', and ditches her best friend who she already knows by that point is NOT doing well.

This is not Volume 1. This Weiss is not that petty, and she's literally had to manhandle corpses. The fact that she wouldn't stay near her canonical best friend, and leader is asinine, and only happens so she can be alone to meet the smith.

Even if Weiss can't help Ruby fight Neo she's an extra pair of eyes (and Neo doesn't care how crowded it is in the market), and just being there for Ruby can help.

With all that said RWBY is big into symbolism. When WR are together in almost all the side spin off material it means something. Manga Anthologies has them making heart eyes and flirting like every other page. Ice Queendom was a love letter to WhiteRose (precious?). The movies, etc.

When their weapons rest next to each other on screen like the Bees do? It means something. When their flowers break ranks to be near each other (and Weiss's flower is the lily please note)? This means something.

Ruby can stand and jump from missile to missile but has to wrap her arms around Weiss to stay seated?

If Chibi continues it's pattern of predicting things in the main plot then the fact that Weiss is the woodsman in the fairy tale means a loooot as in several versions of that fairy tale the woodsman marries little red after helping her deal with the wolf problem (which varies by the story).

They're the knight and princess for each other. Ruby comes into Weiss's live turns it upside down, and helps her change. Likes her for her genuinely and wants to be her friend at the start. Through this she changes the world for Weiss, and helps her grow, and Weiss in turn helps Ruby be the leader she can be.

But yeah I guess that's just friends things and they should date some guys they've had like a half a dozen lines with instead? I don't get it really.

She and Oscar punch each other in the face, and they talk about strategy. Oscar has a younger kid crush on her, and Ruby is awkward because that's her headmaster in this kids head. Oh right he went in for a hug she ignored. Peak romance.

Jaune and Weiss have almost no interactions, and when he saves her at Haven her response isn't to be like 'omg i love you' it's 'keep doing it i have work to do'. Are they friends now? Sure, but that's about as far as it goes.

It remains that outside of group hugs the only person that's allowed to initiate contact with Weiss almost all the time outside of battle is Ruby.

Ruby knows when she needs help and will guide her away when she needs it, but other people don't' touch Weiss unless she does it first because they know she doesn't like it...except Ruby.

I have tried to look at other relationships for them, and I honestly don't see them as realistic.

Even Penny would need a lot more development to make it work. I get that it's cute and wholesome but they've known each other for again a month, and Penny just defers to Ruby.

Ruby needs a partner and equal not a submissive enabler. That's a relationship you have with a pet, and not a person.

Now if Maria were young and hot that'd be different...

Anyway...

Ruby and Weiss are partners. If they're allowed to have the much needed conversations they never seem to get, ie haven, ever after, Ruby's mom, everything, etc.

Then is it possible? Maybe. If they do go WR I suspect it'll be more hints, and slow ramp up until the final season.

I would expect it either on the eve of the final battle, or literally during it maybe as in Weiss gets feds up with waiting, and decides to do something about it.

More likely at this point is they'll both just end up single with maybe faint hints so fans can imagine what they want for it.

Would I prefer it if it was WR so the team can truly be family? Yes, but I don't even know if we're getting a volume 10 at all to be honest. The fact that it wasn't announced at the last festival, and we get an extended eppy, and then nothing after the last movie?

Not making me feel super confident. I could be wrong though. On many things. Except Young Maria.

[natrogersfics]

The Anthology - Chapter 7: But Daddy I Love Him

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Steve looks up to see Maria’s typically collected expression overcome with incredulity, and from his seat in front of her desk, he can only shift in place. “I don't know how much clearer I can be, Maria,” he says, watching as his agent remains unfazed by his clipped tone. “She was drunk and in no condition to go home alone. It was the right thing to do. Anyone-”

"Anyone would have done it," Maria finishes for him. "That's what you were going to say, right?" He lifts his chin up, as if daring her to say what they both know she truly wants to. She scoffs. "Be that as it may, not just anyone would have stayed the night. And even worse, been stupid enough to get caught!" 

“I didn’t realize whose couch I crashed on was anyone’s business but my own,” he volleys back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It is when it’s Natasha Romanoff’s couch,” Maria says, only to sigh at the dagger of a glare he sends her way. “For God’s sake, Steve, these pictures of you two are already tanking your follower count-”

“I don’t fucking care about my follower count!”

“Then what about future projects? Do you care about that?” Maria asks, undeterred. “Because just yesterday, I had a meeting booked with the studio to look into extending your three-picture deal. Today, they suddenly need to take a raincheck?” Maria shakes her head as she reaches for the tablet on her desk before handing it to him. “That’s not a coincidence, Steve. Not in light of all this... protest.”

“What are you talking about?” he says, his brows furrowing in confusion. Maria’s only response is to extend the tablet further out to him, and reluctantly, he takes the device to see the Twitter trending page pulled up on the screen, his name in bold font at the very top. An exasperated sigh falls from his lips as he taps on it. Call him old fashioned, but he had never come to understand the allure of an online presence. He had resisted building one for as long as he could, acquiescing only when the subject had become a sticking point in the new age of contract negotiations. Even then, he was only too happy to hand over the reins to Maria and her team. And as he skims through these responses now, he couldn’t be more thankful that he did.

“Jesus,” he says as he haphazardly drops the tablet back onto Maria’s desk, shaking his head as though the action will erase what he’s just seen. For those comments he’s just read – if they could still even be called that – are nothing short of vitriolic. How people could have the courage to release such vile things online, opining about matters they not only haven’t a scintilla of a clue about, but also absolutely no business casting judgment on, he couldn’t comprehend. “Where was all this outrage when I put my hands on that pap?”

Maria’s expression softens a touch at that, her silence a resounding confirmation of what he already knows. “Steve, I know you… care for her,” Maria carefully begins a beat later. “But, rightly or wrongly, they’ve already decided who and what she is. Don’t let her drag you down with her.”

A cold, humorless chuckle falls from his lips. “How is it that the person who’s supposedly dragging me down is the only one that actually lets me breathe around here?” Now more than ever, he could see it. The way people conflated him with the paragon of virtue that was Captain America, a mere character he plays. He gestures towards the tablet. “Am I even an actual person to these people, Maria?” He shakes his head. “And I’m just supposed to believe that all of this is just, what? Because they care about me?”

His hands curl into fists at the very thought, and before him, Maria can only press her lips into a line. For the reality is bleak. These strangers pontificating about their disappointment in his choices are the same ones who claim, adamantly, to have his best interests at heart. It didn’t matter that what they ask of him, what they feel ever so entitled to implore him to do, is the one thing that will break him. They’ve already set the rules, the price of his defiance already outlined – live up to the perfect, impossible image that they’ve built of him in their minds or be at their perceived mercy.

To hell with that.

The response comes to him instantaneously. For it's all clear to him now. In the end, it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Nothing about what the sanctimonious, faceless keyboard warriors say online changes the fact that he’s never been happier than when he’s with Natasha. It doesn’t diminish the joy he feels when he hears her laugh or when her verdant eyes are the first thing he sees when he opens his. Or the spark that rushes through his veins, making him feel more alive than he’s ever felt, when he has her hand in his. And, above all else, it won't make him forget that it wasn't until he had her in his arms, the both of them sprawled out in comfortable silence on her couch this morning, that he finally felt whole for the first time in weeks.

There isn't anything in the world that could hold a candle to any of that. He isn’t going to let there be – no matter what it costs him.

He rises from his seat, watching as a knowing yet still apprehensive look crosses Maria’s face. She sighs. “Steve.”

“It’s my life, Maria,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “My choices are just that, mine. And I choose her.” 

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 13: Tiptoe through the tulips 

Also entitled: do conventionally attractive dryads count as monster fucking?

Find the rest of the anthology here!

CWs: whipping; outdoor fucking; tribidation; bdsm dynamic; age gap if you think about it; power imbalance; graphic wlw fucking; cannabis use; alcohol use; mild foot worship

Author's Note: Another standalone episode today, do you folks prefer the standalone stories or the multi-parters? Vote in the poll at the end

Also, the ideas pad is getting raided pretty hard recently - my DMs and asks are open for any ideas, requests, whatever! Ask and you'll probably get something!

##########################################

Another year, another village garden competition to win. It's a bit of a tradition for you now. Every summer, the last Saturday in June, the village mayor, priest, and the chair of the local rotary club would do the tour of the village and rate all 40-something cottages on their gardens. You tended to win. From your immaculate rose bushes, to your lush gardenias, to the rows of tulips flanking your garden path, there simply wasn't anyone who could beat you. 

Granted, you're a nature-witch, which does come with advantages even if you have to budget for mouse bones. Most of the people here would laugh at you if you told them, so you never did, and you find yourself attributing your perennial prowess to a green thumb and a closely-guarded fertiliser recipe. Which was, you suppose, half right.

This year was different. You knew there was a new arrival in the village, news gets around in such small communities, especially ones with an average age of 65 and about two television sets per square mile. You made sure to scout the new house the morning of the contest, see what you're up against.

Your jaw dropped. Trellises of flowers and hybrids you'd never even read about. Plants you knew for a fact would fight to the death growing happily next to one another. There was even mint. Mint! Growing in the ground! And behaving itself to boot! There's only so much as can be done with knowhow and horticulture. Something is at play here.

You returned home and set to work sprucing your flower beds up. It'd take a miracle to beat that newcomer, but you were known for those. In an hour your roses were all blooming. Your tulips had formed ranks and stood to attention. Not a twig, not a leaf, not a single blade of grass was out of place. You'd broken out the good newt entrails to do this, you weren't so easily beaten.

The judges approached. Three old retirees, mopping their brows and fanning themselves with their clipboards. You made some smalltalk as they stood on your path, scrutinising your hard work and taking notes. You snuck a peak at the pieces of paper on the boards. You could only ever read the Reverend Green's handwriting, and it did look good for you, but they haven't been to the other cottage yet. 

When they left, you tagged along, under the guise of a pleasant stroll and still pleasantly chatting. Under the surface, your mind was racing. Even your teachers would have had a hard time pulling off what you saw, and both Grandmother Oak and Auntie Juniper would have scorned at such a frivolous use of magic. Even as it was they always called you vain for your garden, and at least most of yours is done with trowel and rake, rather than grimoire.

You turned the corner, discussing the local bus routes with the mayor, and saw her. That was how she did it. 

She stood in a sundress. Pale face and fair hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. You saw as she let you into her garden she was barefoot, as you expected, glimmering green eyes meeting yours as she smiled a smile as old as the hills, maybe older.

She was a dryad. No doubt about it. You're surprised you hadn't realised sooner. 

Your gaze faltered and you distracted yourself looking at her flowerbeds, trying desperately to avoid being recognised by her. 

You knew you already had been 

You made your excuses and hurried to the village square. A cup of tea and some deep breathing later, you were ready.

The three men took their position on the steps of the village hall, before making their proclamation.

Third place was Mrs. Simons.

Second place, you, as predicted 

First place: Acacia Rosewood. 

You don't think you've heard a more obvious false name in a while, and your teacher was calling herself Grandmother Oak.

You stepped up to receive a small box containing a silver plastic trophy and a bottle of wine, enviously eying the gold plastic trophy and identical bottle Acacia was given

"Come over later" she whispered so faintly you thought you'd imagined it. Her voice like the breeze in the treetops "We have a lot to teach one another"

You'd been warned not to cavort with ancient nature goddesses, especially ancient Hellenic nature goddesses.

But on the other hand, your mother didn't raise a coward.

It's a waxing gibbous moon tonight. Plenty of light to be getting on with, so you cut across the fields instead the road where the whole village can see your nocturnal comings and goings. You're carrying your bottle of wine, along with some fresh bread, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar. Either fitting offerings, or a nice snack for later. 

You reach her cottage, and knock on the door

"I'm here" came a voice from behind you. Warm and sweet, ancient and powerful. "I called in a favour from the winds so we'll have good weather for the night. Unless you've upset uncle Zeus?" She laughed 

"No, but he might get jealous of the..." You read the side of the bottle in your basket "2023 merlot and the supermarket brand olive oil" it was your turn to laugh now

Acacia took the basket off you and took your hand in hers, leading you around the back of her cottage.

The garden here was no less spectacular, flowers of all colours, manicured shrubs, climbing vines on trellises, in the centre stood a willow tree, fronds hanging down majestically.

Acacia sat under the tree and pat the ground next to her

"You're a witch then?"

You sat "Yes, of the Blackthorn coven, though I haven't been to meetings for a while"

Acacia wasn't great at feigning interest. She deftly opened the wine and took a swig before passing the bottle to you.

You felt like you were at school again. Drinking cheap red wine out of the bottle with a beautiful woman, the only thing missing was... Wait.

You smelled the air, and looked ove at Acacia as she sparked a lighter. That's what you were missing. She took a long rip from the bong she'd produced from somewhere and offered it to you.

The smoke and the wine went to your head. You could feel the warmth in your belly and the spinning in your head lowering your inhibitions. You could see she was feeling it too. She looked at you through half-lidded eyes, slowly biting her lips.

You help her drink the last mouthful of the wine, bringing the bottle to her lips and tipping her head back as she drains it. There's always more wine, but this is more important.

You're above her now. On your hands and knees in front of her. She taps your nose with one of her long, slender fingers "boop!" She giggles, and you kiss her. Long, slow kisses. You're worshipping her. Kissing her lips, her face, her neck, then collarbone. Slipping off her dress now. Kissing her sternum, her breasts, belly, then her pubis and finally you're between her thighs. 

It smells of honey and sap. Sweet and warm. You kiss the insides of her thighs, savoring the smell of it. You can see it glistening in the half light. The moisture seeping from between the lips. Her hands are in your hair, massaging your scalp as you kiss her sensitive legs.

Then they grip. You squeak as you feel the grasping hands pull your hair slightly

"Do you want to taste it?" Acacia's voice is different now. Like the creaking of tree limbs. Darker, deeper, "Do you?"

"Yes" you breathe

"Beg"

"Please, let me"

"I am your goddess, mortal. Beg properly" She boomed

"Please, goddess, let me worship you"

"That is sufficient, for now" Acacia buried your face into her pussy. The warm honey flowed down your chin as you ate, your tongue exploring her, swallowing down her essence as she rode your face. She wasn't letting up. Rubbing you harder and faster against her cunt as it twitched and gushed against your face.

She cried out. Holding you down as her juices flowed over you, coating you in sticky sweetness. Then she let you drop.

You both caught your breath a moment, then Acacia stood up "Bow for me, my mortal, grovel at my feet"

What could you do but obey? You crawled over to her on your hands and knees and started kissing her feet in the grass. She lifted a foot and you followed it, kissing her toes and licking the sole clean. Then she stepped to your side. You could hear her walking around you, the anticipation making you wet under your dress, waiting for her to touch you.

You looked at her

"Who said you could look upon me?" She was grinning as she spoke, a voice like a branch being rent free of a trunk by the wind "Ten lashes, for your impudence."

She grabbed a willow switch off the tree with a snap. "This will do nicely" 

You whined as she lifted your skirt. A finger traced the wetness escaping your slit "Bad girl. Is the thought of getting whipped turning you on? Well you're in luck"

Swish. Whack. Yelp

"One!"

Swish, whack, swish, whack

"Two! Three!"

You cried out with each impact, the sounds of pain giving way to arousal

"Four! Five! Six!"

You're shaking now, each stroke sending jolts of pain and pleasure shooting up your spine

"Seven! Eight! Nine!"

Tears are streaming from your eyes your pussy twitching in time with waves of stinging from your bear ass. 

The last strike didn't come. "Beg"

"Please!" You sobbed

"More" Her mouth was beside your ear

 "Please, pleasepleaseplease" your whines slurring into each other as you stuck your rear end out 

Whack! 

You screamed into the dirt. "Thank you, goddess, thank you so much"

Acacia knelt down behind you. You could feel her gently kiss the welts she left on your skin "Good girl, for that you get rewarded" her fingers caressed your folds as she kissed your stinging skin. Gently opening you up and pushing into you. Your whimpers turned to moans as she fingered you, faster and faster, drawing your mousture out and covering you in your wetness. 

She rolled you over and straddled you, rubbing herself against you. Your moans and gasps intertwined as you approached your peaks. You could feel the heat in her pussy against yours as they rubbed over one another, rubbing her clit with yours. You kissed as you felt her jerk and grasp at you. Her orgasm brought you over the edge, groping and grinding on one another, your juices mixing and coating both of you. 

You ground into one another, coaxing climax after climax out of each other until you sat, exhausted in one another's arms, panting and kissing. You fell onto your sides, still holding on to each other and let sleep take you.

You woke in a bed, it wasn't yours. Bleary eyed you padded out of the room and saw Acacia in the kitchen, still naked, cutting the bread you brought last night and pouring some oil into a bowl

Breakfast looked good 

######################################

And after that crime against verb tenses, comes the promised poll and a reminder that if you want me to cover a topic, kink, or situation, please let me know

The losing side won't go away, fret not, I just won't prioritise them as much

[princesssarisa]

I like adaptations of Cinderella or Donkeyskin/All-Kinds-of-Fur that draw on the oral tradition of the heroine giving the Prince a riddle about her identity, based on their earlier meetings when she was in her rags. But which don't have the Prince physically abuse the "dirty scullery maid" in those earlier meetings the way he does in traditional oral tales, and which base her riddle on something else.

In traditional versions of Donkeyskin/All-Kinds-of-Fur, where the heroine works as a servant at the palace, she typically takes off the Prince's boots for him, only for him to throw them at her, or fetches water for his bath, only for him to refuse to bathe in water touched by such a filthy girl and throw it onto her. (Or some other such things.) Or in some versions of Cinderella, she meets him on the road one day, he accidentally drops his riding whip, and she hands it back to him, only for him to swat her with it just because she looks so filthy and ugly. Then at the ball or at church, when he falls in love with the "mysterious lady" without knowing her real identity, he asks her where she comes from, and she replies that she's from the land of "Boot" or "Bath" or "Pick-Up-the-Whip." This traditionally happens three times over the course of the story.

This obviously doesn't work so well in a more modern retelling, since we're not so inclined to accept a heroine being abused by her future love interest, or a prince who's supposed to be the good guy casually abusing a servant or a peasant girl.

But a few adaptations find substitutes.

For example, Jim Henson's The Storyteller retells the story of Donkeyskin/All-Kinds-of-Fur as Sapsorrow, and has the heroine draw her cryptic statement at the ball from a verbal insult the initially-rude Prince gave her. The second time the Prince interacts with Sapsorrow in her furry disguise, he says that "cats chase mice, hens lay eggs," never the reverse, and that likewise he has (and wants) nothing to do with her. Later, at the ball, when he asks the beautiful princess where she comes from, she says she lives "where hens chase mice and cats lay eggs."

Then there's the classic 1973 Czech film Three Wishes for Cinderella. Cinderella and the Prince meets repeatedly before the ball: both in her ordinary rags, where they exchange some sassing and insults but earn each other's respect, and at a royal hunt, where she disguises herself as a boy and outshoots all the men. At the ball, when he asks her to marry him, she insists that first he answer three riddles: "Whose face is smudged with ashes but isn't a chimney sweep? Who has a feathered hat and a crossbow, but isn't a huntsman? Who wears a gown embroidered in silver, but isn't a princess?"

Then there's the 2011 adaptation of Aschenputtel from the German Christmas fairy tale anthology Sechs auf einen Streich. In that one, Prince Viktor and Cinderella meet twice before the ball: the first time, he accidentally causes her to fall face-down into a mud puddle, and the second time, she accidentally spills a sack of flour all over herself. Both of these scenes are friendly and funny, though of course far from traditionally romantic or dignified. At the ball, when he doesn't recognize her, she tells him that they've met twice before, and that their meetings were "first all black, then all white."

They all capture the essence of the older versions with their cunning, riddling Cinderellas, but without the uglier part.

@adarkrainbow, @ariel-seagull-wings

[aziraphales-library]

hello lovelies!! thank you all so much for all the work that you do!! y’all really are lifesavers.

i was wondering if you had any recommendations for fics that emulate the style of the original book/have a Pratchett-y vibe (footnotes, humour, structure, etc.)? i’d be especially interested in ones that are in this style but exist in the show’s canon rather than the book’s, but I wouldn’t mind either way!

We have a #footnotes tag, please check that out. Here are more fics with footnotes...

A Lot of Space Between Your Ears by nerdsandthelike (G)

“And you expect us to just waltz into Heaven, rob the archives, and walk back out?” “Yes.” “No.” Nearly a year after they successfully stopped the world from ending, Heaven obtains evidence that would result in Aziraphale being recalled from Earth. Crowley and Aziraphale decide to steal it back.

DIY How to build your own Garden of Eden by ximeria (T)

Post-not-end-of-days Crowley feels a change is needed, but he can't do it alone. Not to mention, he's not entirely sure what it is, this nebulous thing that he wants. He just knows it involves Aziraphale.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by divisionten (T)

“Well, Pulsifer, I can say with confidence I know exactly what’s wrong with your car.” “Oh? What’s wrong?” Newt peered down, looking at the undercarriage, as most people do who want to help but have absolutely no skill in basic car repair. “It’s shit.” (An anthology collection of the times Anthony J. Crowley, retired demon and occasional slumber party guest, and Aziraphale, forcefully instated Guardian Angel of the downtrodden, get summoned to deal with humanity.)

Yes and Please and Thank You by WyvernQuill (T)

"Go to alpha centauri, for all I care! Go now, this very instant, and never return, do you hear me, Crowley? Never!" Due to Crowley's firm conviction that "he need never know", Aziraphale has, for all the time they've known each other, been blissfully unaware of the obedience curse Crowley's been looping holes around since 4004 BC. You can't really blame him, is the point. Aziraphale had no idea what his unthinking words might do, and is already planning to apologise profusely at dinner... ...which might get a little tricky, seeing as Crowley has just been sighted in the vicinity of Pluto, and has concrete orders to never show his face on earth. Ever. Again.

Demon in Heaven, Angel in Hell by Hexqueen517 (T)

When the world ends, Aziraphale will be called back to Heaven and Crowley will be banished back to Hell, separated for eternity - unless they’re willing to listen to Beelzebub and Gabriel’s plan. Which is Beelzebub’s plan, of course, but they need Gabriel to act as a shield against plant misters filled with holy water. But not everyone in Heaven and Hell is on board with Beelzebub and Gabriel’s leadership. When everyone at the top of the Ineffable Bureaucracy has their own ambitions, the chances of averting apocalypse yet again may seem random. You never know who will come out on top when the dice begin to roll …

i have spent all my years in believing you by braveatironheart (M)

This is the story of how Aziraphale and Crowley inadvertently end the war between Heaven and Hell. The story of how they – indirectly, at least – avert the Apocalypse is in there, too, but I suspect you already know that one. If pressed and in an uncharacteristically honest mood, Crowley would have to admit he’d fallen for Aziraphale in the Garden of Eden. Things were not so straightforward for Aziraphale, who spent six millennia trying to ignore his growing fondness for the demon. He supposed the first time he’d felt drawn to Crowley would have been in Rome, eight years after the death of Christ. And what had he done? Invited him to lunch. It was no wonder, really, that he kissed him two thousand years later. How else was one to respond when one’s hereditary enemy saved one’s life and one’s books? 5945 years after they meet, Crowley and Aziraphale confess their love for one another. They certainly aren’t going to let anything get in the way, no matter what Heaven and Hell throw at them. aka Good Omens, except the only plot is Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship. Complete with original, lockdown-era plot.

- Mod D

[richincolor]

3 YA Black Horror Books for Spooky Season

Now that spooky season is in full swing all around me, it's time to turn to some spinechilling reads. It's been an amazing year for Black horror in YA, from an anthology (out October 17th!) to exciting new books that will keep you up all night long. Here are 3 YA horror books with Black protagonists for you to check out!

I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me by Jamison Shea

There will be blood. Ace of Spades meets House of Hollow in this villain origin story. Laure Mesny is a perfectionist with an axe to grind. Despite being constantly overlooked in the elite and cutthroat world of the Parisian ballet, she will do anything to prove that a Black girl can take center stage.

To level the playing field, Laure ventures deep into the depths of the Catacombs and strikes a deal with a pulsating river of blood. The primordial power Laure gains promises influence and adoration, everything she’s dreamed of and worked toward. With retribution on her mind, she surpasses her bitter and privileged peers, leaving broken bodies behind her on her climb to stardom.

But even as undeniable as she is, Laure is not the only monster around. And her vicious desires make her a perfect target for slaughter. As she descends into madness and the mystifying underworld beneath her, she is faced with the ultimate choice: continue to break herself for scraps of validation or succumb to the darkness that wants her exactly as she is—monstrous heart and all. That is, if the god-killer doesn’t catch her first.

From debut author Jamison Shea comes I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me, a slow-burn horror that lifts a veil on the institutions that profit on exclusion and the toll of giving everything to a world that will never love you back.

You're Not Supposed to Die Tonight by Kalynn Bayron

At Camp Mirror Lake, terror is the name of the game . . . but can you survive the night? This heart-pounding slasher by New York Times bestselling author Kalynn Bayron is perfect for fans of Fear Street.

Charity Curtis has the summer job of her dreams, playing the “final girl” at Camp Mirror Lake. Guests pay to be scared in this full-contact terror game, as Charity and her summer crew recreate scenes from a classic slasher film, Curse of Camp Mirror Lake. The more realistic the fear, the better for business.

But the last weekend of the season, Charity's co-workers begin disappearing. And when one ends up dead, Charity's role as the final girl suddenly becomes all too real. If Charity and her girlfriend Bezi hope to survive the night, they'll need figure out what this killer is after. Is there is more to the story of Mirror Lake and its dangerous past than Charity ever suspected?

All These Sunken Souls: A Black Horror Anthology by Circe Moskowitz (Anthology editor) -- Out on October 17th!

Welcome to the Dark. We are all familiar with tropes of the horror genre: slasher and victims, demon and the possessed. Bloody screams, haunted visions, and the peddler of wares we aren’t sure we can trust. In this young adult horror anthology, fans of Jordan Peele, Lovecraft Country, and Horror Noire will get a little bit of everything they love—and a lot of what they fear—through a twisted blend of horror lenses, from the thoughtful to the terrifying.

From haunted, hungry Victorian mansions, temporal monster–infested asylums, and ravaging zombie apocalypses, to southern gothic hoodoo practitioners and cursed patriarchs in search of Black Excellence, All These Sunken Souls features the chilling creations of acclaimed bestsellers and hot new talents, with stories from Kalynn Bayron, Donyae Coles, Ryan Douglass, Sami Ellis, Brent Lambert, Ashia Monet, Circe Moskowitz, Joel Rochester, Liselle Sambury, and Joelle Wellington.

[dearreader]

hello fellow members of the tortured poets department. i’m very excited to talk about this next song as i think it ties into a lot of other songs, specifically on evermore my favorite album. so let’s talk about i look in peoples windows

previous day's here:

standard tracks: masterpost

anthology tracks: the black dog, imgonnagetyouback, the albatross, chloe or sam or sofia or marcus, how did it end?, so high school, i hate it here, thanK you aIMee

this song is one of the shortest songs on the album but i think it says the most. so much so that i haven’t properly figured out how to articulate it. i actually came up with several different interpretations for each lyric AS I WAS WRITING THIS. it’s truly a masterpiece of a song and leaves so much for the listener to ponder and reflect on.

the song feels like it’s a part of moving on and grieving something. the wondering about this person you once were entitled to know all their whereabouts and now don’t know anything (a possible follow up or callback to the black dog and another interpretation of that same event or idea). you’re wonder what they’re doing and what would happen if you saw each other one more time.

while the actual meaning is simple the lyrics and story taylor tells can be taken in many different ways. which then leads to many different interpretations of what the song is or could be.

one interpretation is the song opening with her muse reviving her via mouth-to-mouth resuscitation (“i had died the tinest death/i spied the catch in your breath/out out out out out out” “do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?”). but they part ways, she’s northbound and is taken away while the muse board a train south. this idea of the muses air reviving her and being separated from it can be why she’s now “a feather taken by the wind, blowing” because she’s without him to guide her and she’s now unsure what life hold for her. because of that she isn’t sure where she is or where he is. so she’s looking for him again, wondering what could happen if they meet again and see each other. would she be swept back into his airstream? who knows.

another idea following this similar interpretation can be that after he revived her she was supposed to be northbound, but instead she got swept away in his airflow/jet steam as she followed his train south (“my baby’s fly like a jet stream” “windows flung right open/autumn air/jacket around my shoulders is yours” “life was a willow and it bent right to your wind … the more that you say the less i know/where ever you stray i follow” “when you blew in with the winds of fate”). this is a common idea that’s shown on the album, her making her life about whomever she’s with to show devotion and them not caring/reciprocating. so with this metaphor we see taylor describing how her whole world was him, which isn’t anything new, but the opening merely discusses taylor meeting this muse and not them parting ways. but by the time we hit the pre-chorus we’re shown she’s now alone, something happened and they lost each other. so now she’s floating aimlessly completely alone in a world she doesn’t know and is stuck looking for him.

the opening can also be referencing back to willow. the mention of a train and that he “borders your train south” meaning he didn’t take taylor’s train home. but this song is feel like ADDS a lot of context to willow. taylor describes her muse as being able to conquer any form she takes and guide through her. she’s the ocean on a rough, stormy night? he’s a boat gliding through it flawlessly. she’s a willow and he’s the wind blowing through her leaves, moving her every which way. this then lets us see that she let him in easily and guide her however he pleased because she loved him. this continues then when we hear “you know that my train can take you home/everywhere else is hollow”, she’s begging him to join her world, that no one else will ever match or compare. but with this idea i look in people’s windows then feels like a sequel, a sad sequel. he doesn’t take her train. he blows her away (i spied the catch in your breath/out out out out out out), sending her away while he takes a different train. separating them. which means she isn’t allowed to know his whereabouts (the black dog) and she’s cursed to look for him, meaning she could be hollow now because she’s without him,and wonder what would happen if they saw each other again.

those are just a few interpretations, and there’s probably more out there. but the second verse details her questioning the last thing she saw of her muse:

“you had stopped and titled your head/i still ponder what it meant/now now now now now now”

because any interpretation we follow can lead to this idea. the last thing she saw was him questioning his actions/watching her leave. like he was second guessing it was considering if this was the right thing or something else. she doesn’t know. that’s why she still thinks it over now. she’s still so lost in his world she analyzes everything trying to make sense of their goodbye.

from here on she describes all the ways she’s looking for him. people on streets, looking at christmas parities from windows, watching family’s sit down for dinner, etc. they’re all creepy. they’re all unsettling. and she’s openly admitting it. that she’s so hung up and lost without him she’s looking for him everywhere she goes. she doesn’t know what it will produce or lead to but she is cursed by not knowing and it’s killing her.

this is why it’s one of the best songs on the album. it’s very short and open to the listeners interpretation. but it really shows us an aspect of taylor we hadn’t seen prior of her write about prior. she’s being honest about her feeling lost and looking for him. it feels very honest and brutal. one of the top ten tracks on the album. i’m so serious.

[remnant-cain]

Final Frontier

Cw: Unreality, Body Dysmorphia, mentioned apocalyptic scenarios, Gore, Possession, Identity Death, Body Horror, Pluto Erasure

Author's note: I meant for this to be a longer anthology series but I fucked up and now it's a short story :/ Inspired slightly by Gemini Home Entertainment. Happy Halloween!

There are many wonderful facts about our solar system! Our eight planets are all uniquely different in a very interesting way!

Mercury is the closest planet to the sun, and the smallest planet. Named after the god of commerce and communication, this crater-marred planet is believed to have had an ocean of magma in the past and is still one of the hottest planets in the solar system.

Venus is the second closest to the sun, and is considered Earth’s sister because of their similar size and mass. However, it is unlikely that any of us will ever be able to live on this planet. Despite being named for the goddess of love and beauty, this planet has an atmosphere of sulfuric acid.

Our planet is the third from the sun, Earth. Also known as Gaia, a name taken from the goddess of nature, this is the only known planet to support life. This is due to the fact that Earth is the only planet able to harbor surface water that covers 70.8% of our planet.

The fourth planet from the sun, Mars, is known as the rust planet due to its rusty red coloration. The northern plains are much different than the cratorous bottom half giving us the term, “Martian Dichotomy.” Ice caps have recently been located on Mars, suggesting there was once water on the planet.

Jupiter is the fifth and largest planet in the solar system. As a gas giant, it has no solid surface, however its sheer size causes it to share a name with the chief Roman god. The eye of the constant storms, the Great Red Spot can be located on the face of this gargantuan planet.

 Saturn is the sixth planet from the sun, and it sure enjoys showing that off! On its North Pole, one can see a six-sided hurricane-like structure known as its hexagon. Being named after the god of wealth is fitting as Saturn is the only planet with visible rings and the planet with the most moons.

Uranus, despite its silly name, is the seventh planet from the sun. This ice giant is one of the coldest planets with the cause unclear. Uranus has very dark rings, however - like the planet - these rings are on their side. Uranus is the only planet named after a Greek deity.

Neptune is the eighth planet with a very strange origin. It was discovered due to causing deviations in Uranus’ orbital patterns. Named after the god of the sea, this planet, similar to Uranus, is an ice giant. This planet also has rings, although just like Uranus, they’re too dark to be seen. This planet was once believed to be a much darker blue, but is now known to be the same color as Uranus

—-

I’m frustrated. Tired. Hurting. Every step I take is a new wave of white hot agony. My body was never supposed to be in this form, I can’t even tell which came first. Me, myself, or I? A human body was never meant to contain this consciousness. Will I walk alone, forever, until I meet a person who can perceive me as myself? Is there anyone else like myself? Who would follow me to this place?

Let the records show that I was never a human. Let them show my red, empty eyes and my lungs only built to process poison. Let them show what they thought was a human body rotting away to a charred interior. Every trace of me will be destroyed in a manner that leaves them questioning if I even existed. And if I die, then I’ll take the world with me in a manner they never thought was possible.

I believe I am content with this fate. A fate which I am to experience all on my own. The weight of all life lay on my shoulders, and if I am to fail it would mean the end of all things. I am content with this. As long as this land continues to exist, to prosper, and to live, then I am satisfied. I wouldn’t wish this upon any other person but myself. I believe that I was worth it all.

Everything feels wrong. I’ve been tearing this form apart and rebuilding it to make it fit but barely anything works. I took a cleaver to my legs yesterday. Shredded them up nice and fine like they’re supposed to be. I bled and bled and bled, but I didn’t die. I didn’t die. I know how to fix myself now. I know what to do. I just need to rip myself apart and become an effigy to myself.

Why do people stare at me all the time? Nothing’s wrong with me, is there? Maybe they’re all just rude. They’ve never seen a doll this big before it seems. Although, it’s a little funny. This entire world is too small for a big guy like myself. I’m kinda lonely. I miss my friends, I want to see them again. I made dolls of them but they look nothing like the people I see around me. And why does my face hurt?

I’ve finished the last batch of tests and I can confirm that I am not the person I was six days ago. The person who began these tests isn’t me. I do not know her. And that scares me. Either I have replaced someone, or someone has replaced me. I do not know which is true. I don’t know who I am anymore. Is the name I remember really mine, or is it the name on this paper?

I’m cold. I can’t stop shivering no matter how many layers I put on, how hot I make the room around me, no matter what I eat. The thermometer always shows the correct temperature but I can’t find any peace. My skin feels rock solid as if it’s frozen over, and I can’t even blink because my eyes are stuck open. This is torture. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had really died.

Where are they? Something was taken from me, something I can’t remember. They would know. They always know. I’m nothing if not like them. All my originality stripped from me and I’ve become their own. And yet they’re always the one running to me. Hah. As if humanity ever knew anything. What was taken from me was taken from them too, and I need to see what it is.

[pterobat]

I want to talk about some of the tie-in stuff featuring Lance Bishop that I took in recently.

“Broken” by Rachel Caine, in the anthology Bug Hunt.

The idea that a previously-established character has to be special—bothers me a bit, and I can’t say why. I do know that I felt, after years of pushing back against the mechanistic/deterministic view of the Zentradi in Robotech and Macross fandom, it was time to accept that a character might lack something in the way of “free will” and might not be one of a kind—but still be sympathetic

However, Bishop didn’t put that egg on the Sulaco, Your Mom did, and he asked to be euthanized for firmly "human" reasons, not utilitarian ones.

Anyway, “Broken”, states that Bishop having a stronger altruistic drive than the AP norm, which very briefly leads to the possibility of him being scrapped, and then later lets him disobey orders and save some people in his non-actiony way.

It’s still mostly satisfying, except for two things: Bishop has “brothers” named after other chess pieces (except "Queen" because of cowardice), and while that’s cute, it’s at the expense of the Frankenstein-ish story in the novel below, where he shares the name with his "Father".

Secondly there’s the groaner when the last scene of the story leads right into Bishop meeting Apone’s unit after being repaired by Hudson and the Knife Trick getting brought up already.

William Gibson’s Alien 3 (Novel and Comic Version):

To steal from Dostoevsky, all versions of Alien 3 are stupid in their own way. It’s hard to think of where to go from Aliens, though it’s not my job to do so, right?

At least there’s no chance of Gibson’s version being lionized as a course-correction or a bold strike against some imagined saccharine future. Instead we get something that’s readable and likeable enough, but pretty bland. Kind of like Hicks as the main, really—nothing against the dude, but there’s just not much going on with him.

Part of it’s not the fault of Gibson: he had to write out Ripley, but man, you don’t have to give it a gold star just for otherwise trying. I can also see how the Xenomorphs as a Thing-esque virus would occur to writers, but it just doesn’t feel right.a

Also, for what’s supposed to be a riff on the Cold War and MAD, the Union of Progressive Peoples are cartoonishly silly, constantly thinking about “capitalism” while capitalism doesn't think of them, while the narrative makes a point of how run-down and crappy their tech is.

Even Bishop notices that without any spite, while the UPP are harsh towards him out of an understandable vision of worker’s rights, but in a Dolyist sense is only there to make them more unsympathetic and caricatured.

As for Bishop, he’s fun to follow because I like reading about him just being totally chill about everything, still without coming across as heartless. But he doesn’t have much of his sense of weirdness or of that awkward kindliness that makes his character more interesting than the average friendly AP.

Two more things: I was first harsh on the idea that an ovomorph would grow from Bishop’s exposed guts, but I came around when I realized it was an example of a slightly-more grounded Xenomorph evolution/adaptation than the virus, just putting more of the mechanical in bio-mechanical—plus it was the only example of gender fuckery to be found for miles.

Secondly, I liked his quiet little monolgue at the end that humanity ought to destroy Xenomorphs for their own good. It’s the usual trope of having a heroic character fascinated by monsters, who must prove they are still heroic by killing or opposing them.

Aliens: Bishop by T.R. Napper

It’s funny that this book came out last December, like it was waiting for me to start thinking about the character again.

Sadly, the original characters were not so entertaining, which is often but not always the curse of tie-in fiction. It’s another reason why it’s hard for me to be fannish about the larger Alien-a-verse besides not much of it sounding interesting.

It doesn’t help that the story starts out with a USC Marine mission lead by an Apone, with a male corporate stooge on board, and our new MC gets the nickname “Cornbread” within a few pages—come on with this. Otherwise, she’s like Hicks in the sense of readable and serviceable.

To go back to Alien 3 for a second, and franchising in general—they repeat themes and motifs because that makes the selling easy, and you can make a keen case for “The Real Enemy is Man” being a theme of the Alien universe.

Because of that, having Michael Bishop be who/what he said he was makes the most sense if you want not only a thematic through-line but the Frankenstein-ish subtext of the book which is like catnip to me.

Normally resurrection is thematically cheap in fiction, but given that Alien 3 comes off as cheap (lazy) to begin with, and we’re dealing with an AP, and the results are interesting, it doesn’t take much to win me over.

I don’t know how much research the author did, or if it’s just serendipty, but Henriksen said he played Bishop as an abused child, as a being who knew he was disposable but consoled himself by knowing he’d outlive those who could hold that over him. And even though they look the same age, the abusive-father subtext is all over this. Michael is nice enough until he doesn’t get what he wants after being “patient” and “giving”.

And speaking of franchises and theming, something about creator/creation in the Alien series no longer feels out of place in post-Prometheus world, even if the execution in those movies was a letdown.

Transhumanism also comes into the picture, and while it first seemed Michael would steal Bishop’s new body, instead Michael wants to transfer his body digitally and succeeds. It also feels out of place in the larger franchise, but I might check out a sequel.

I also wish the book were more creative about trying to do something with the Xenomorphs. Michael pretends it’s about something different as part of his manipulation, but alas it’s the same old militarization.

It’s kind of funny that Bishop meets the captured Morse who quirkily tells him a few things about how humans don’t value other humans. It helps Bishop get rid of the last vestiges of attachment to his Shitty Dad, and Bishop otherwise returns to the same place he was before, just with a new unit.

I was waiting for some other shoe to drop, but the Apone #2 unit appeared to have no ulterior motivations when it came to finding Bishop. Returning to a quiet status quo does suit him in a way, since Bishop is so chill about everything.

The book also establishes that Bishop asked to be euthanized because of grief. I didn't want a purely utilitarian reason like reaching a damage threshold that cheapie W-Y labelled unsalvageable--that doesn't work narratively/tonally/emotionally--but it was enough to think poor Bishop decided on death because he couldn’t ever reach adequate quality of life.

So a lot of fun here, even what with the brief moments where Bishop is emotionally demonstrative or fights physically and it’s cringe-inducing rather than an extrapolation of the character.