#like nobody would tell someone who draws only women to draw more men that's also so rude????

[jacepi-time]

Internet society is just putting women back into a forced stereotype and mentality they want them to act as, under the guise of being progressive instead of letting women express themselves how they want without shaming them tbh

People are just reverting back to the 1800s along with eating mummified bones

And I'm tired of media trying to tell women what type of woman they should aspire to and shaming FREAKIn SNOW WHITE because she was a victim and needed rescuing?? And now we can't have romance in Disney ever because WHY APPEAL to a huge % of little girls who need positive romance representation in media! Let's just make everyone a supposedly progressive girl boss who hates men!

"There's not enough female characters everyone gravitates to the male characters" so the solution is let's add more women and give them the same personality and make them act morally superior to everyone else and gatekeep the female viewers who Will not relate to these types of characters. HAVING an all female cast is just as undiverse as an all male cast, the solution isn't to ham up one gender over the other the point is to maKE AN INTERESTING STORY WITH DIVERSITY. Sailor Moon did great with most of the characters being female as it FIT THE NARRATIVE and wasn't just shoehorned in. Why is it SO HARD to treat females like human beings instead of making them some kind of diversity bargaining chip.

And then women get shamed if they don't like these pandering movies just because a woman is in it, and yet ALL OF OLD DISNEY had a TON of female characters that became beloved movies over time so it has nothing to do with womens internal misogyny maybe your pandering stories just don't appeal to most women. Let women like what they like, stop forcing them to make a checklist of things of what someone thinks they have to do for the sake of what's inclusive, its fiction maybe focus more on actual acts of discrimination against women in the real world instead of assuming someone isn't being inclusive because of their media choices, the internet only shows a fraction of a person we need to stop assuming they're misguided or bad people and that WE know better than them.

[phone4pills]

IN THE BACK dealer!Chris x vet!Reader

drug dealing, car sex (only mentions), smoking and driving, use of y/n, slow lead up, no actual smut, long asf

You watched the blocks pass out the window, knee bouncing slightly as a cause of your nerves. Chris drove mindlessly, a blunt between his lips. Whenever you’d glance at him, his brows were slightly furrowed as he focused on the empty roads, trying to map out the dark city under the pale light of the moon. His window was rolled down ever so slightly to let out the smoke of his roll.

Each turn, each speed bump reminded you that you were closer and closer to your location. You’d agreed to being here, and you knew Chris wouldn’t have dragged you along. To be fair, he would’ve probably preferred that you stayed home. But you asked for it. You wanted the thrill. So he was giving it to you.

Eventually the car pulled up to some warehouse type building, slowly to a stop behind the place. Two or three cars were parked on the street. Chris made sure to park behind them, glancing at the ones in front to make sure nobody was inside of the vehicles. Then he turned opened his door slightly, head turning to you with a whisper. “Stay here for now.”

You nodded, grabbing his arm before he got out of the car. “Be careful.” The man chuckled. He chuckled. As though what you said was a joke to him. You weren’t surprised. He’d done this before, a lot. Like everyday. And you were telling him to be cautious. If anything, this was a game to him. A bit of fun. Fun and money, why would he be worried?

It was a few minutes before he returned. He helped you out of your side of the car and eyed you, in a way that you were unable to tell what was behind his eyes. You had a dress on, it was pretty short and it didn’t cover much, especially when it came to your chest. He sighed, taking off his hoodie and shoving it into your grip. You stared at him, confused. “On, now. They won’t be seein’ all that.”

You opened your mouth to argue but he shook his head. “Don’t start. You’ll be back in the car.” With an eye roll, you pulled the hoodie over your head and although you didn’t want to admit it, it was much warmer. Plus it smelled nice, like Chris. “As of now, you’re my girl okay? Don’t overdo it though, just try to imitate my pace.”

You nodded and the two of you made your way around the side towards the back of the building where there was a small door for entry. Upon your first step inside, your nose was flooded with the smell of drugs. You wanted to cough but you had to refrain from drawing attention to yourself. Men’s laughter and aroused groans filled the joint. There were older men smoking and drinking, laughing together and younger men making deals and discussing their ‘businesses’.

There were women of you age too, putting on what you could only describe as a show for everyone their. Some were on the floor, some on the arms of other men and even a good few grinding on laps and ‘who knows what’ in a more secluded area.

Instantly, someone approached Chris, a guy maybe his age or a little older. He glanced at you. “S’your girl?” He grinned devilishly, eyes feasting on your legs specifically. Chris nodded. “Yeah, so she won’t be doin’ all that,” His eyes flitted to the half-naked ladies on the sofas, “And I’m over here, quit staring.” His friend laughed, head falling back a little.

“I’m the least of your worries tonight with this pretty thing on your side. Surprised you’re claiming her, I’ve known you to come in here and entertain yourself with any girl that appealed to you. And you’d have em all with that kinda face too.”

You could tell he was trying to get some reaction out of you and though you were slightly uncomfortable, you were far from insecure. You knew Chris had his problems, and you also knew that you were different at the end of the day. All those girls could’ve given him as many dances as fish in the sea, but none of them compared to you. Hopefully.

As you became more immersed in the scene, you started to relax. Nothing was really a threat to you, as long as you stayed by a Chris. And you were starting to thank him internally for giving you his hoodie because the way the men in the room were eyeing any female. They were all as cocky as one can be, cat calling, pushing themselves against them, whispering things. It was just disgusting.

Chris found the guy he’d been looking for. He was doing shots with a few others when he saw Chris and grinned. “Finally. How many grams you got?” I reached into the hoodie pocket, feeling for the plastic bag with the powder inside. When I got it, I took it out and gave it to Chris. He held it out. “I got ya ten. The man hummed with approval, pulling a great amount of cash out of his back pocket and beginning to count it.

“Who’s this little miss?” He gestured towards me with his head. My eyes widened, assuming I’d have to introduce myself. “I’m, y/n. Im here with him.” The man handed Chris about three quarters of his money, then held out the rest of his notes to me. “Can I get a dance?” I chuckled nervously and I noticed how Chris’ jaw clenched.

“I… uh-”

“Fuck no. Y/n let’s go.” He took my hand attempting to lead me out of the place. I pulled my hand away. “But Chris, we’ve only been here an hour.”

The fire that lit in his eyes was enough to quiet me down. He really wanted to leave. I was grateful enough that he brought me along, but I wanted to get at least a drink. And beer pong looked sort of fun. “Don’t make me drag you, let’s go.”

You found yourself sat in the car with a frown on your face. You’d shoved Chris’ hoodie back into his hands the second you left and walked ahead of him. And now he was just making a joke out of you, taking his sweet time to get to the vehicle.

Finally, he arrived, but you were surprised to find that he’d opened your door instead of his. “In the back. Quick.” You didn’t have time to argue because he pulled you out of the car and walked you to the back. When you got in the back, you already knew what he wanted to do. There was a growing tent in his sweats and his movements were quick, getting in next to you.

“Chris… not here.” You couldn’t deny that you wanted him, maybe a bad as he wanted you. But you were scared. Embarrassed. It wasn’t the right place. And the windows were only slightly tinted. Either way, you found yourself removing your hoodie and pulling up your dress the second he asked.

Au tag list: @pvssychicken @sturnslcver @sophand4n4 @sofieeeeex @lovingregulusblack @spideylovin @leaningoutthewindow

Main tag list: @hearts4werka @pvssychicken @sturnslcver @sophand4n4 @sofieeeeex @lovingregulusblack @spideylovin

Aaaand done! Sorry guys, I cannot be asked to write smut rn. Shouldn’t be a problem since all of tumblr hates smut at the minute. Anyways, since we know that’s not true you guys can find smut in my MASTERLIST. But the part you’ve all been waiting for it coming in a few days!

- ©phone4pills

[thelyingjoke]

mashed my 2 favorite games together because from that mere passing reference i made to the other one last week i could Not stop thinking about it. so here. danganronpa v3 crossover with dialtown: phone dating sim :)

the premise of dialtown is that everyone has an object head, with default Men having Phones and Women having Typewriters, but they can also be swapped out for any other object if someone wants to for whatever reason, like for identity purposes, disability accomodations, jobs, etc. i Highly recommend it!!! it's a very lovable and bizarre game (and i mean it when i say bizarre. just look at the description on steam) and it's only 8 dollars, as well as also having a free demo that has hours of content in it to see if you'd like it!!!!! (also a fun webquiz i got karen tell me who you got in the comments below /j) anyway advertisement over below is a lot of thoughts and art about how i think the v3 characters would fit into the world :)

the things i will do for dialtown (render a drawing)...disclaimer the characters do not Actually have faces. i just think they're cute and like drawing them :) anyway!

For Kaede, as pictured above, I think she'd have a piano keyboard head! She still plays normal piano (she's gotta get her fingers moving), but now she can play on the go! And she plays almost all the time. You can typically hear her before you see her. The music she plays often reflects her mood, and if something surprises or shocks her or something similar she plays a silly little key-slamming noise. I think that, when she had a typewriter head, she would have often been typing too, just as a fidgeting thing—but the constant dings and clicking of the keys would have been too loud and annoying to others, and it would waste a lot of paper. So she got a piano head instead! It suited her a lot more and was more bearable to be around! Not only that, but now she can also play piano duets by herself (though she sometimes thinks it feels lonely and wrong to be the only one playing a song meant for two).

i started to get tired after that drawing so i didn't do many others, and rantaro was the only other one i shaded, so i will talk about him next!

Rantaro changed his head to a GPS shortly after his first couple of sisters went missing and he dedicated himself to adventuring in order to find them. I think his old head was a smartphone, since his family is rich it would be a status symbol, but while it did have more functions and would certainly house a GPS within itself, it would also be much harder to repair, thus where the status symbol part comes in. He could afford the healthcare fees required to repair it if it ever got damaged, certainly, but if he were ever caught in a tough bind he wouldn't necessarily be able to get to any medical professional skilled enough to handle it. So he switched it out for an older model of a GPS, to make any repairs that would need to be done much easier, and maybe even possible to do on himself if he had to. Some of his sisters would put stickers on his head. Most of them are faded and breaking away now, but he won't ever take them off.

i was running out of energy at this point so this and one other thing are the last things i drew (though i still have lots to talk about!)

Let's talk about the silly goober on the right first :) It's The Guy!!! D.l.C.E. in this universe stands for Dialtown league of Clown Enthusiasts (the I is secretly a lowercase L). They are a secret group of people that believe in clowns and plan to bring them back from extinction by participating in clown activities themselves. Their current mission is obtaining enough money ($4) in order to hopefully summon Frongles the Clown to them (by calling him on the phone). Nobody believes them yet, but Kokichi is certain that they will soon. He would love to masquerade as an evil supreme leader and cause mischief all around town, which he does, but unfortunately for him those roles are already both fulfilled by two other people (Mayor Mingus and Little Billy), and no one likes a copycat. His main concern right now, aside from the clown thing, is simply to entertain people in the best ways he can. Pretty much anyone who lives in Dialtown would need that. If he can make people smile (metaphorically), that's the greatest success he can hope for.

And now for the fella on the left! That is Gonta! His head is a candlestick telephone, like Abel—similar to Rantaro, it's a status symbol, though in a different way. But Gonta gets a slightly fancier one that Abel, because he is much cooler. I think in the Dialtown universe, it would be possible for reptites to exist. However, I think it's funner to imagine Gonta being raised instead by one of the cryptids in-game. I think Bigfoot would be the best one to do so. He lives deep in the woods and isn't believed to be real by most people, fitting with how the reptites are, and is just caring enough that I could see him actually manage to raise a child. For an explanation to that drawing: Bigfoot's name has been put down as the primary shareholder for a local restaurant business ('bear.', a reference to the developer's FNAF fangame series, Dayshift at Freddy's, which I also love hehe) because the owner doesn't believe he's real, and wants to collect the money himself. However, Bigfoot has somehow figured this out, and now regularly goes to the bank to collect his shares (which are given to him in the form of bananas). I think Gonta would sometimes accompany him on these trips :) I think he would get along great with Karen! They'd be besties! I think that every time Gonta goes with Bigfoot to collect bananas, he and Karen would exchange one (1) cool bug and horse fact each (if only there weren't a line, then they'd talk for ages). The power of two people with animal special interests... They'd also both appreciate each other being so honest (Gonta wouldn't have to lie to her about Bigfoot like he would with other people) and talking to Gonta is so much easier than most people for Karen. She doesn't have to watch out for sarcasm or worry about missing idioms, because Gonta doesn't use either. And he is always so respectful. And he gives her cool bug facts. What's not to enjoy?

I have considered, however, Gonta being raised by the other local Dialtown cryptid: Phonegingi. Realistically, I don't think this could happen; Phonegingi lives too close to the town, and has a lifestyle that no human could survive. However. The idea is VERY funny. I think if Phonegingi found Gonta, and decided to adopt him instead of kicking him or using him for child labor, and it somehow managed to keep him alive for 10 years, Gonta would be much weirder. That was the other thing I drew:

He'd still be Gonta, but, you know...being raised by the protagonist of Dialtown would mess anyone up.

those are all the things i drew for, but i still have thoughts about the other characters:

I think Kaito would be a Motorola StarTAC. Haha get it because Star. He also just seems like a flip phone kinda guy. I think Kokichi likes to terrorize him as a clown. Kaito would be scared shitless screaming "CLOWNS AREN'T REAL! STOP IT!!!" and Kokichi would simply say "Honk honk", leading to Kaito crying, even though he has no eyes. He would also, of course, get along amazingly with Norm. He'd be starstruck to meet not just any astronaut, but the only one who's ever been through a wormhole, and Norm would greatly admire Kaito's strong will and desire to do what's right.

And someone else who I think would have a fascination with Norm is Kirumi! Her interest in the Victorian era lends itself to having an interest in pre-Dialup heads, and Norm being the only person with one left would intrigue her, though she probably wouldn't say so out loud. As for her head...I feel like she could have something that relates to her job as a maid, considering how devoted she is to it, but I struggle to come up with something. I think it would have to be something practical, because I don't think she'd get her head changed unless it meant she could perform her duties better, but I don't really know what that would be. Another thought I have is keeping her as a typewriter head, but have it be the same model as whatever Marla Crown's was. Since she was the woman the typewriter heads were modeled after, with her and Callum being the sort of "Adam & Eve" of the Dialup world, it would be an example of how Kirumi is the "model woman", so to speak.

Maki would have a typewriter head, since her job is supposed to be inconspicuous, but she might have a hidden compartment to keep weapons, or something like that.

Tsumugi I think would have a small flat screen TV head. And she's the One who I think in-universe would have a face that shows up onscreen. It's a little funny—she says she's plain but has possibly the least plain head out of anyone in the group.

Korekiyo would have a hybrid head. The top, visible part would be a phone, and underneath the mask would be typewriter keys.

Miu would definitely have one of her own inventions as a head. Maybe the one that lets you work while you sleep? She gave herself the surgery, for sure.

Angie's an interesting one, because God does actually exist in Dialtown, and he is nowhere near impressive. Angie wouldn't be from Dialtown though, so she wouldn't know that. I feel like she would have a special head, but I don't really know what it is. Possibly one of her artworks? But then, people would keep passing out whenever they see her... It would be interesting to see her interact with Dialtown's God, though. Seeing his absolute apathy. Would she care? Would she deny that he's actually God, like Norm? I honestly have no idea, but it's a fun idea! I think she would creep God out. He doesn't exactly have much desire to be worshipped, especially to that level. The freaky knowledge she does have would scare him, too. Where did you learn those people's family members?!?! ...Maybe she's a void-gazer. Maybe the one she calls "God" is a different thing entirely.

Everyone else I don't have much thoughts on, I think they'd have default heads.

And one last thing—how I think Kokichi would get along with Dialtown's main characters, because of course I have to give him more relevance:

Phonegingi: It would go feral if Kokichi brought up his clown schtick in front of it. Potentially to the point of violence. It refuses to believe in a world where clowns could exist. (My personal thought is that Phonegingi is biologically a clown, and is in denial about this, blocking out all the memories. Kokichi would not be spared its wrath.)

Randy: He would be terrified of Kokichi. He would think "oh fuck, this is it, this is how I die, at the hands of a clown—" when Kokichi so much as approaches him. If Kokichi was not in clown getup, he would still be terrified, it would just take until Kokichi said a word to him, if Kokichi used his usual attitude. I think it would be like a Mikan in UTDP situation though—once he realizes how much of a wet puppy Randy is, Kokichi would actually be kind to him because he's so sad and his life is such a mess, it's not fair to kick him while he's already down. He'd try to get Randy to stand up for himself more often.

Oliver: He would think Kokichi's a blast! They'd have fun being silly little guys with each other! Kokichi would go off on a tirade about his secret evil organization, and how he's a liar, and Oliver would go "Groovy!" They're both a bit freaky. Oliver's also an orphan, who is not at all bothered by the fact that he is an orphan because he has such a swag found family, and I think they could find common ground in that. I think they have a likelihood to be best friends.

Karen: She would find him confusing and annoying at first. You can't get close to her without being honest, and I mean, lying's his whole thing. But I think, also, once she realizes he's joking most of the time, she'd actually find him quite funny, because of her secret love of absurdist comedy. And I think she'd actually notice that despite lying being his whole thing, he is actually very honest, in his own way. Because of her inability to read subtle emotive cues she's constantly putting everything she hears under scrutiny to see if it lines up with everything, and so she can actually detect lies quite easily. If something doesn't make sense, she will point it out and analyze it, and find the things that do make sense. Along with Kokichi's own willingness to admit he's a liar upfront before anything else, I think she'd actually start to almost appreciate this in a way, and be able to tell when he's lying pretty accurately. #Autism. I think this would kind of unnerve Kokichi in a way.

Bigfoot: Even as a clown-believer, Kokichi is still a Bigfoot-denier. This is one of his biggest mistakes and will be his downfall.

Norm: Kokichi wouldn't last long in a conversation with Norm before he threatens to shoot. Kokichi, not wanting to die, would run.

Mingus: Kokichi would be pretty insignificant to her. She thinks that this "DICE" organization is just some teens pranking everyone. Clowns went extinct years ago—no one would actually try to bring them back, right...? Kokichi knows better than to ever approach her, though he wishes to one day overthrow her. He really, really hates people like her.

Tango: Tango is nowhere near a main character, but I wanted to include him anyway. I think he'd be an enigma to Kokichi. Tango is just so incredibly positive and it baffles Kokichi because he means every bit of it. There's no lies. No hidden resentment, not even towards the people who would absolutely deserve it. Tango never has anything bad to say about anyone, and none of that is fake. If this was his DSaF counterpart, at least there's the explanation of how his programming won't allow him to be negative, but Dialtown Tango? He's just Like That! Kokichi can't believe that someone could be that optimistic, so he assumes he must just be really good at lying. Which disturbs Kokichi, because he has no idea what could be going on underneath that cheerful, empathetic, gullible facade. But he will never find out, because there is no facade. Scary stuff!

ANYWAY. that's all the thoughts i have right now. play dialtown

[beanghostprincess]

I wanted to rant about this to someone and I have nobody to so pardon me, you can ignore this

I have a lo to say about oda's work as someone who work in cinema, in animation cinema at that.

I hate how he's such an incredible story teller and has one of the best world building that I've ever seen but he can't desing characters.

Like Nami, I love Nami, she's so well written (too well that nobody seems to understand her at all) only to be reduce to boobs.

The same can be said about evry female character sadly.

Also evil female characters, they also follow the same patter of being more on the weird side of his designs and it saddens me a bit that he can only make variations of characters when it comes to vilians that you're not supposed to be attracted to.

This can be said for the men too but this whole post ts art style is a debate I have with "is it commercialism and the death of art under capitalism or is it that Oda genualy can't desing proper characters?"

But then again, pre ts style is also not that much better. Speaking of professionalism a studio looks how unique your style is and oda's old way of drawing his characters specially Robin or Ace were interesting and gave him something really unique and special (and that's on the socially attractive ones)

Now I'm looking at Nami copy n°10982 while all the men are getting beefier but at least they have more interesting and different designs.

It's something that makes me mad and it's not even the whole "no women in op has organs" way more of the "this same face sindrom can't go on for much longer" because at the end of the day his female characters tell us nothing about them wich tend to lead to people not caring for them or just going with "big boos=great character" because something really important in character design is that your character is clear and can be read from the siluette and acting and that is something no woman in op that's marketed as attractive has.

Sorry for the rant, character design is part of my job and if I were to present desings like oda has for his girls I would get fired and that got me thinking

Hope you have a great day :D

I agree mostly with this, but I personally think a lot of the damage was done because of Toei. Like, obviously Oda's style suffers from a lack of diversity when it comes to women and their sexualization, but Toei makes it SO much worse. Like- Right now I'm reading early OP (because I had just watched the anime and then caught up with the manga from Wano) and it was so much better back then. It got considerably worse with time but-- Yeah, I see what you mean.

[omens-and-more]

I saw another blog where someone had posted Noah's discord photos and videos, and it made me really sad that he just dropped social media. He used to be VERY active and VERY, VERY interactive. Then again, other than tumblr and tik tok where I'm anonymous because I just don't care to post my life or me, I left social media like 4 years ago. It became too much. Social media gives me anxiety and I'm not even a musician, so I can only imagine how the band feels. They didn't gradually get bigger like most bands too, and these bands had time to adjust to larger numbers of fans. They were baptized by fire - literally thrown to the lions. It is a major shift and shock. Further, I don't think the band minds criticism. Nobody likes to have negative things said of course, but they are grown men who have done this for years, so they can handle it. They really do not need us to stand up for them and I'm not saying this to stand up for them, but to understand them. Imagine you try to be interactive and people take your words and twist them. I read some people's comments and how they attack the band because of what they said in an interview and it's like "that is literally not what he was saying at all omgosh like it's not even hard to comprehend; how far did you have to reach to say that is what he said." This, unfortunately, has been the case of the internet for a few years where even if you tell people exactly what you mean, word per word, slow it down, draw a picture, repeat yourself, they will STILL twist it. It is truly INSANE. So, how in the world are they going to feel comfortable even being interactive? While I'm sure the stalking has had some play in their distance, it has been the making up of stories that scares them. They can't hug their fans now because 1. That fan may blow it out of proportion on social media, 2. If they don't, a jealous fan might and start shit about how that's stalkerish behavior, 3. If someone wanted to be that ill intended, they could even make insane accusations. And yes, let's go there for a bit. Yes, band members have been disgusting towards women and even underage women, but let's also not pretend that there are not any bad apples out there that diminish actual victims' voices by creating lies to defame an artist. And I just know that is one of their greatest concerns because they see it happening in the metal community, but also because Noah has brought up the double standards in an interview before. So, when we see them acting awkward in Meet and Greets or even keeping their distance with Poppy on stage, they are avoiding having ANY speculations with women for their sake and the band's sake. They haven't become distanced because they're better than us. Come on, now there are so many videos from a couple years ago of Noah and Jolly being so interactive and kind. It is because the internet and social culture has changed so much where they feel like they have to tiptoe around everything. In their case, might as well not say anything at all. Better to just put into lyrics to get the point across because if they tweeted it, they would get torn apart by their own fans. "I wish they said more things. Okay, maybe not that, I wish they would say this instead." "I wish they would do this but only the WAY WE think they should." Sorry, went on a rant here. But maybe we should all calm down, log off once in awhile, live life and let them live. Maybe if the fans stepped back and gave them room, they might come back. It doesn't have to be social media but at least come back to life when performing. They can't even enjoy performing anymore 😞

…

[shewantedtoandsoshedid]

This man text me to check on me after the storm...

I'm a little upset he didn't text me before the storm, but I didn't even think to text him at all tbf. I don't even think that he text his girlfriend beforehand; their relationship is so weird and distant to me. Far be it from myself to understand the intricacies of being Catholic and modern dating... Anyways I think her and I are probably the only two people he text... Our mentor probably text him.

Idk... Either I'm his only friend or there's still something there. Like if he gets married, his brother will be his best man, but who else will be standing up there with him as a groomsmen? He's too traditional to have a woman up there and honestly I wouldn't want to. Does she have so few close friends too that it works out? Will it just be uneven? Probably boy cousins if he has any... I'd join for a bachelor party, that he'll probably get roped into and hate tho.

None of this is actually my problem. They might be engaged already at this point, tho on his salary? I doubt it. I am one two people he cared enough about to make sure that I was alright and offer help to, outside of his family. Well if they've been dating this long, I suppose that makes her family... Okay so I'm the one person outside his family. Lol

Idk man. Someone said when you make guy friends effortlessly, it's called pretty privilege and you just have to make sure that your guy friends have the best intentions. Idk that that's true. I've always felt more like one of the guys, but maybe all the guys never saw me that way? Maybe I projected that they only saw me as one of the guys and really they saw me as a pretty and chill girl. As an adult most of the men I've been friends with have shot their shot or indicated that they wanted to at least.... Fuck, why did nobody tell me I'm pretty after like age 10?! That's when we need to hear it most! Yanno, a friend was talking to this guy on my behalf once in high school and asked what he thought of me... And his answer was, "she aight". I knew enough about self esteem to walk away from that dude, but I don't know that I ever let go of that mentality (funnily enough, his cousin was head over heels for me; but I'm fairly sure he just wanted to fuck, I bet he was pretty annoyed that I liked his tall, dark, and handsome cousin. Oh well, maybe don't be a lech; cause like this to be clear, the lecherous cousin wasn't ugly on the outside). I was not gorgeous, but not ugly, just me; just aight.

And so when my ex came along calling me beautiful I thought here's someone that sees me and isn't afraid to say it, but everything she ever said was just lies for her own personal gain. So where does that land me...? Determining my own worth again, someplace I'm very well acquainted with; but struggle to navigate. And honestly, while physical features have moved me, they've never been the most important thing I sought out in partners. All of the gorgeous men I've been friends with had to have good personalities as well; call me greedy.

What I want is the express opinions of every man I've ever met so that I can analyze all the data and draw conclusions. Especially if they found me attractive from the start or only after they got to know me, like I suspect. 🤔 I'm discounting the opinions of women because in general the women I hang out with would find anyone beautiful I think. They'd never call someone ugly because of their physical features. I also have to acknowledge the how much racism and exoticism might have factored into my experiences. 🙃

The data may be imperfect, but I still want it. I want to understand how others see me; how they value me. Sure I'm smart, that's never been in doubt, but what else do you value about me?

[akatsuki-shin]

Thinking about this HuaLian drawings by STARember... 😳

Young sailor Hong-er had just joined a pirate crew. On his very first sail, there was a storm and he was thrown off the ship. His crewmates couldn't pick him up and everyone, including he himself, thought that he was about to drown to death.

As he was dragged down by the rapid current, Hong-er suddenly felt someone - or something - pulled him up. His consciousness was fading, but he could still see, before his sight went dark, that it was a beautiful mermaid with gentle dark eyes and long black hair, a contrast to his fair skin.

Once the storm passed, his crewmates found Hong-er stranded, but safe, on a nest of big coral reefs - to which they could finally send a small boat to pick him up. They were astonished and asked him how he survived. Hong-er wasn't sure if he should tell them about the mermaid who saved him, so he only said that he was lucky to have gotten a hold of some floating plank, which he used to stay afloat until he reached these rocky areas and climbed to safety.

During that time and age, superstitions were common, people often believed legends and myths as truths to be sought. Some years later, there were rumors saying that the mermaids hid an abundance of rare treasures that they had amassed from the sinking ships. If one could bring back this treasure trove, it would be equivalent to all the wealth the world could offer, and one would live blanketed in riches down to their seventh generations.

As mermaids were generally seen as the enemies of sailors who often seduced men on the sea to crash their ship and drown them to death, many people began to get on board with it and the rumors itself grew wilder and wilder by the day.

Some said that eating a mermaid's flesh could grant one with immense power and immortality, some also said when mermaids were taken out of the water, they would turn into extremely beautiful women - and really, which men wouldn't love to have beautiful women by their side?  

In any case, it did not take long for these hearsays to become obsession and thus, a widespread mermaid hunt began. People started to race one another, fighting and killing off each other to fulfill this baseless ambition.

The pirate crew that Hong-er was part of certainly wasn't an exception. He saw with his own eyes how his crew mates devised various traps to lure the unaware sea creatures, catching them heartlessly as if they were merely going on a fishing trip.

No matter how much he disagreed in his heart, Hong-er, who was still just a young man and a mere lackey, couldn't do anything to stop them. He could only swallow down his grief and disgust whenever he saw his crewmates killing off the pitiful half human, half fish creatures, blocking off his ears in frustration so that he would not hear their heartrending screams and cries when these barbaric pirates killed them off one by one when the mermaids refused to talk and lead them the said secret treasure trove.

That is, until one day, he saw a familiar face amongst the mermaids that his crewmates had captured.

Even if many years had passed, there was never a time when Hong-er did not remember that stormy night when he thought his life was about to be swallowed down by the raging sea, when that certain figure swam against the mighty current to pull his helpless body out of death's embrace.

It was that very same mermaid who saved him that day. The moment he saw this creature being caught and was about to be subjected to the same torture the previous mermaids had undergone, his eyes went dark and he attacked his own crewmates, attempting to release all of the captured mermaids back into the sea.

Nobody would've thought that this skinny little lackey, whom they had been ordering around the ship like some slave, could be so vicious. He injured a great number of the pirates, tore off the massive nets huddling all of these mermaids, and urged them all to jump back into the sea.

But of course, this action was not without consequence. Not only did he suffer major injuries from battling dozens of his crewmates all by himself, losing an eye in the process, Hong-er was then branded a traitor. They beat him up until he could no longer move or speak, then tied him up to a huge rock. Just like that, the bloodied Hong-er was thrown off the ship to his death, this time for sure.

Yet there was no hint of regret on his face. In fact, Hong-er felt very much at peace. Even if it was only for a brief moment, he could meet his beautiful savior once more and pay him back in full. Closing his eyes, a smile appeared on his lips. He prayed in his heart for the kind mermaid to be able to live freely and happily with his people in the vast ocean, unrestrained by the greed of humans.

He had no idea that from the distance, a familiar shadow was swimming towards his sinking body.

The merfolks treasure trove was a big issue and remained so for quite some time, but for the men of the sea, there would always be new legends, new myths for them to gossip about while drinking in the taverns, to fight each other off while sailing on the ships. Rumors came and went like the changing of seasons, but it was not until ten years later that an alarming story began to spread among the seamen.

On the high seas, whenever the mermaids started singing, a "Ghost Ship" would appear quietly through the fog and mist, approaching unsuspecting ships with all of its otherworldly magnificence. The crewmates weren't rough and dirty pirates, but men and women so beautiful they looked like fairies instead of humans, as if it was not a ship that was sailing, but a palace instead. The captain of the ship was a gallant young man dressed in red, a rare, peculiar scimitar hanging on his waist. It was said that he had only one eye, and he was known by the name Hua Cheng. Beside him, there would always be an extremely beautiful person donned in white, and the two were never seen to be apart.

But who could testify how accurate these descriptions were? Everything was a mere hearsay, for every single ship who came too close to the Ghost Ship, bewitched by its glory, would disappear without a trace. Were they sunken? Were they eaten? Were they spirited away to the ghost realm? Nobody knows. This Hua Cheng and his Ghost Ship were like a harbinger of death disguised as gold and flowers.

Hence a warning was soon spread amongst the seafarers, "If you hear the mermaids' singing, turn around and never look back, for it means the Ghost Ship is sailing nearby, and those who laid their eyes on Hua Cheng and his beautiful companion in white would never live to tell the tales."

As for whether the merfolks really did hide a treasure trove equivalent to all the wealth in the world, or whether their blood could grant power and immortality, or whether they could turn into the most beautiful people out of water, who knows? Maybe skinny little Hong-er had a clue, but unfortunately he was no longer a creature of this world.

[zealous-whispers-of-us-redux]

a different kind of song

(A/N: no one ever asked for this, but there isn't enough merman!Bucky/reader fics out there, lol. Also, her song is basically "Siren Song" by Margaret Atwood)

Warning- allusions to sexual assault. Do NOT read if that bothers you!

Summary: The sea swallowed her whole, and she was reborn with saltwater on her tongue and webs between her fingers.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

She did not remember her life as a human. All she remembered was the war, and the hunger, and the men raiding her village. She remembered the sweat-soaked skin of a warrior snatching her up as she cried out for help. She felt the slide of his body, his blade against her throat. Then when he had finished, she remembered being thrown away into the deepest part of the sea, left to die. But she was blessed by the primordial sea god Phorcys, a child of Artemis, and was allowed to live again. Her new body was formed from misery and blood, and the reward for her suffering was eternal life with the chance to kill as many humans as she wished with no divine interference. The killing of human men, for men were the chosen victims of any siren. Women were not drawn in by their song, and if, by chance, a woman stumbled across a siren, that siren would leave her alone.

Slowly, she began to forget the trappings of humanity, the sound of her mother's voice, and the taste of human food. She aged with the world, hidden deep beneath the waves. Countless men fell prey to her beautiful song, and she learned how to kill quickly. She grew to love the taste of flesh, the sound of someone drowning. She forgot what it was like to be lonely. 

Now, she only knew starvation.

An all-encompassing hunger clawing at her belly made her whine with pain. Humans had avoided this part of the sea for a few years, and she last ate three months ago. She'd had to survive solely on fish, which, while technically food, were not filling nor even tasty. She was beginning to hate fish.

There were no boats; she checked three times in the past hour. It was dangerous for her to be so close to the surface because the air outside was toxic. There was also a very likely chance that she would be spotted by anyone who could harm her. But she was so hungry that she forgot herself. She floated just beneath the surface and sang, letting her voice ring out through the water, enticing any man into approaching. The setting sun shined down on the outcrop of rocks above her.

And there! A flash of something!

She sang louder, opening her eyes underwater. There was a man with darker hair than she had ever seen lying on a gigantic rock. He was acceptable, she guessed. She barely knew what that meant.

He had yet to notice her, dumb as he was. She could see her song was affecting him as his eyes started to close, and his hand inched unconsciously closer to the water. His finger just barely skimmed the surface before she lunged, yanking him into the sea with her. He began to fight back as she dragged him down to the sandy bottom. Thrashing against her hold, he scrabbled to gain purchase on her body, but to no avail. Her skin was as hard as stony coral and difficult to cut. She sang her trumph, mocking him as she brought him up to break the surface, only to bring him right back down.

But this man had a tail, and she did not realize it until it hit her in the face. She squawked in surprise, her song cutting off. The merman twisted out of her slackened grip. She snarled, baring her teeth as she swam at him. Sirens were stronger than mer, especially in deeper waters, so it did not take much to grab him again. They wrestled, flipping over each other. She sliced his side with one of her nails; his tail knocked the wind out of her. He pulled her lure too hard, and she made a pained sound, biting at his hand. He cried out as she ate clean through one of his webs. Blood leaked into the water, making her ravenous.

"This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible," she began, "The song that forces men to leap overboard in squadrons, even though they see the beached skulls!"

The merman ceased struggling. He stared at her, his eyes growing vast and dreamy. She grinned toothily. She had only had mer meat once before. It was harder to draw in mermen than human men, so because of that, she was only able to entice a single merman. But that was years ago, and he wasn't nearly as delicious to look at as this mer.

She dropped the tone of her voice to a seductive curl. "This is the song that nobody knows because anyone who has heard it is dead, and others can't remember. Shall I tell you a secret? And if I promise to, will you come nearer? I will tell my secret to you, to you, only to you. Come closer, closer to me."

She lifted her finger, tempting him to come over so that she could take a bite. The merman swam closer until their chests were pressed together. He said something in a language that she had never heard before.

"This song is a cry for help, my dear. Help me! Only you, only you can, for you are unique!" she cried sadly.

His tail curled around hers, and she frightened at the gentle touch broken out of her song. She spat and gnashed her teeth, but still, his tail stayed where it was. He opened his mouth and said something, but she still could not understand. She went to bite his nose off, but he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers so plainly that she stilled. She was not sure what was happening. She was not sure what she was supposed to be doing. She floated there, letting him mash his mouth against hers. His mouth tasted bizarre.

Finally, the merman stopped. He pulled away only minutely, still looking spellbound. Strange. Her song had ended. Why did he continue to look at her like that? He reached out and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. His own were darting back and forth across her face, searching for something. He spoke more things that she didn't understand.

"Uhh-h- hello," the merman said in a language she could understand. "Hi."

"Why were you crushing your mouth onto mine?" she asked.

"What, never heard of kissin' before?"

His smile was much too pleasant. That was unacceptable. Food was never supposed to look nice. She wanted to claw the smile right off of his face.

"Kissing?"

"Yeah, touchin' lips. Usually done as a sign of love or, you know, desire."

"Desire?"

"Sweet Thetis, you're fuckin' gorgeous," said the merman, ignoring her confusion.

His hand shot out to touch her lure, but he thought better of it and withdrew.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

His smile grew bigger, how funny: "Beautiful. Pretty."

"Pretty? What's that?"

"You know, like when you find a shiny thing, an' you wanna keep it forever?"

"I do not know," she grumbled (How dare this mer make her feel unintelligent!). "I have never had shiny things."

"Never had… Hold on, my pretty one."

Mystified, she waited just as he'd asked as he ruffled through a pouch that she had not noticed before. She had never seen anything like it and wondered where she could acquire one. Of course, she never had a reason to have a bag since she had no use for possessions. Perhaps it could hold weapons! Or bones to snack on!

"Ah-ha!" the merman said, thrusting something in her direction.

She stared at the thing in his hand.

"Looks even prettier underneath your lights," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"What is it?" she replied, her hand darting out nervously to touch it.

She pulled back almost instantly, but the merman grabbed her wrist.

"It's called gold," he explained, tipping it into her hands. "The humans use it to get other shiny things. D'you like it?"

"I am not sure. I do not know what I like."

"You can keep it."

"What kind of trickery is this?"

"No tricks. As I said, you're beautiful, and beautiful things should have beautiful things."

"No tricks, certainly, but what do you want in exchange?"

For the first time tonight, he looked sheepish. She noticed that his stomach was turning pink, but for what reason, she was unsure. She wondered what he was trying to work up the nerve to say.

"Well, er, matin' season is comin' up," he began.

"Not yet."

"Right, it isn't for a few months yet, but I was taught to woo the mer, er, the creature that I choose with shiny things. It's my first matin' season, you see."

"Mhm."

"An' the wooin' part takes a while. An' then there's the courtin' stage, which takes even longer."

"If you need a mate, there are mer all around this area during this time."

"Well- heh." The merman rubbed the back of his neck. "I-I'd like it to be you."

"Why?"

"Because you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Ah."

"I have more shiny things if you want 'em," the mer said, reaching for his pouch.

She shrugged. "I have no use for them."

"You don't gotta have a use for 'em. Where's your home cave? I can bring 'em there."

"I do not have a home cave," she said.

"Oh, right, where is your family's cave, then?"

"I have no family."

"No family? You mean, you're out here all by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you lonely?"

"What is lonely?" she asked.

"Sad, because you have no one with ya."

"What is sad?"

"Whaddya mean, 'what is sad?' It's sad! Don't you know what that is?" the merman twisted his face up like he was in distress, though what kind she was not sure.

"I only know hunger," she told him.

His eyes lost some of their shine. "Oh, yeah, right. How long's it been since you ate properly anyway? You don't look so good."

"I have not caught a human in months."

"D'you need help huntin'?"

"Can you ensnare a human with your singing?"

"No, but I know some good spots for fish."

"I am not in the mood for fish," she said.

"You just haven't found the right kind," the merman replied, closing his left eye.

He turned tail, swimming away from her before glancing back to see if she would follow him. The hunger in her belly was making her act quite strange in that she was willing to go along with this merman. She felt, oh, what's the word, she knew this, like mer, she was curious. She decided to follow him, keeping a bit of distance between them until the merman flipped around in an impressive display of tailfins and long dark hair, and decided they would swim side by side. His hand kept brushing hers, trying to grab onto her fingers for some reason. She tugged away, unsure of what he was trying to do. She still had not yet decided if she wanted to mate with him anyway. Sirens did not mate in the same way that mer did, that much she knew. They called it breeding, and it was over in a frenzy of teeth and claws. There were no gifts of shiny things or "kisses."

"What's yer name?" the merman asked.

The question stunned her. She could not remember her name before the sea took her in, and she had no use for a name now. No one else called to her. Her name was simply another memory, another casualty to add to her list.

"I do not know," she said.

"You know what a name is, right? Like, I'm Bucky, for example."

Her fingers drifted up to her lips, searching for her name. If she remembered the shape of her mouth as she spoke it aloud, perhaps she could remember the correct sounds. She thought back as far as she could, to the feeling of water filling her lungs, to the sounds of screams, to the smell of a fire burning down her village, to her blood staining her tongue. She wanted to remember her name. She had not even realized this was something she had lost until she needed it.

Then there was a flash of memory, jagged and cutting. Her heart began to race. In her mind, she heard it. Her mother had been crying. Her mother had been screaming at the men to stop. Her mother had been shrieking to let go of her, let go of my daughter. Her mother yelling at her to be brave, hold her breath, be strong, my love, my dear. Her mother. She remembered her mother.

Her lips parted, and she whispered the name into the water. The merman, Bucky, repeated it.

"Again," she said.

He did, and oh, she felt something new, something besides hunger. A hole opened in her chest. Her lower lip wobbled, and then she was singing a new song, never before heard from a siren. It echoed around her and Bucky, reaching out to the farthest depths of the sea. It was filled with desperation, isolation, and salvation, but it was hope and home too.

"Is this what sad is?" she asked Bucky once her song was over.

"Yeah, it is," he answered, curling his tail around hers.

When he went to wrap her up in his arms, she let him, falling into his embrace.

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[reachgirl]

On Buddie and them potentially being aware of their feelings

So we definitely see evidence of how Eddie might feel about Buck, how he clearly loves and trusts him. He absolutely relies on Buck a lot as someone who loves Christopher, as that person you go to who cares about your kid as much as you do. And he clearly doesn’t handle not having Buck around very well during the storyline that must not be named. 

He also looks at Buck like “you’re lucky you’re pretty”, a LOT. And he’s shown to think about Buck’s wellbeing and Buck’s feelings. For a guy who’s not usually great at ~the talking~, he seems to sense that Buck needs to hear him actually *say* things like that he trusts him, out loud. For Buck, someone who’s been told that he’s reckless and impulsive, not diligent, not reliable (and to be fair to Bobby, has been all those things at times, but is desperate to change that view of himself), to be told that he’s trusted - more than anyone else - with someone’s kid? That’s huge. And Eddie knew that he needed to hear that, he also knew that he needed to feel like part of something when Buck was depressed and hanging around at home after the truck bombing. And Eddie was the one who noticed Buck wasn’t around at the station. For Eddie, the fact that they “have each other’s backs” is so important, because, and it’s insane how this is not wishful thinking on the fandom’s part, he actually tells Shannon that she doesn’t have his back. So yeah, absolutely nobody is disputing that Eddie loves Buck.

And I’ve talked about how I believe that Eddie might be bi leaning towards more into men than women (his “not my type” and aunt pepa’s reaction to buck are the foundation for this theory), and his particular combination of upbringing, experience and location really messing with him admitting that to himself (Conservative religious culture, Texas, army, getting married young because of outside expectations). But many of the scenes we get from him could - FROM THE OUTSIDE - very well just show a guy who has a lot of love and respect (and occasionally some fond exasperation) for his best friend. Possibly more, but not in that active, pining way. Not like he’s truly aware of it, yet.

But Buck? He pretty much always looks at Eddie like he’s the best thing that has happened to him, ever, and he can’t believe his luck of getting to be around this man. The smile he constantly gives him, and - in seasons 2 and 3 - only him, is the actual “I want to sleep with you smile” from season 1 Buck. I don’t make the rules.

He constantly finds ways to help him out, reads up on things he knows Eddie is interested in or things that are for some reason something Eddie is dealing with (whether it’s baseball biographies or summer camp brochures), and absolutely always looks to him for approval anytime he does something well or remotely badass. Or even when he makes a joke. It’s almost like 95% of the stuff he does, he does so that Eddie will see.

He sees himself as part of Eddie’s family to the point of not feeling like he’s a guest at their house, he has proven he would actually die for Chris, and he spends much of his free time finding ways of making Chris, the most important person in Eddie’s life, happy. He shares in both the happy and the difficult parts of raising Chris, he gets involved in school problems, and he’s there for Eddie to talk through all the little things that come up when you’re a parent. Often times, with single parents, when the other parent isn’t around, the problem is that there’s nobody else in your life who shares the same love and enthusiasm or worry you have for your child. You could talk about everything relating to them for hours, but even the best meaning friends will at some point reach the limit of how interested they are. Not so with Buck.

But unlike Eddie, Buck is also aware, to a point, of how much he’s focused on Eddie. Where Eddie’s jealousy comes across as more spur-of-the-moment, not something he’s even aware of, Buck seems like.. he’s thought about how he feels about Eddie. Others definitely have. Maddie’s comment about his “man crush” aside, even a random christmas elf (long may she live) comments on it. Hen and Karen immediately agree Buck would invite Eddie, like, Karen knows about this even. Their reaction when Buck is acting irrational over how they might get Eddie out when he’s buried alive and most likely dead already is that reaction of “Oh fuck, this will break this person” that is usually reserved for the significant other or parent. Bobby definitely reacts to Buck in relation to Eddie the way a father would, carefully weighing being amused at how obvious he’s being, and concern over not wanting him to get hurt doing something stupid trying to save Eddie, or by falling for him when it might not be reciprocated. They all know that Buck’s a little (more than) smitten with Eddie. And Buck... of course he’s going to notice how his friends and family react. I think he’s been aware of it for a while and is constantly trying to navigate and balance this. 

Of course he hasn’t told his face about balancing anything at all yet, because look at that man’s face any time he looks at Eddie, look at that scene with the medal. He absolutely can’t help it. And sometimes it’s like he wants them to pick up on it - for example, pushing Maddie on the fact that he doesn’t consider himself a guest. And that’s completely understandable, sometimes you want people to pick up on something and maybe even comment on it (because their reaction reaffirms to you that maybe you’re not crazy) while also not wanting attention on that point. People are complicated like that. And Buck may be a himbo, but he’s complicated AF.

We get Buck being really weird about Eddie and Shannon in general - right off the bat. When Shannon shows up at the station and she and Eddie talk, Buck’s in the background and overhears that they’re sleeping together. He clearly struggles with this information, (and Chim possibly notices..) then he get’s real petty about them potentially getting married again (”Maybe you can get a discount”) - and he nopes out of the situation as quickly as he can - because he doesn’t want to risk saying anything snarky.

Then Chim and Buck go christmas tree shopping, and Chim comments on how Buck can’t let Eddie’s situation with Shannon go, and it’s true, he can’t stop himself. But when Eddie asks him for advice in front of the fountain (/metaphorical water penis as I like to call it), he’s suddenly all “I didn’t think it was my business” ... ok, sure, Buck. Then he basically tells Eddie to try and make it work with Shannon. In terms of character development, in a romance, this is the part where person A wants to be with person B but doesn’t think they have a chance, so makes the choice to try and settle for being their friend, which, heartbreakingly, involves pushing them into the arms of someone else.

Also, his kind of “oversharing” of Eddie’s situation with Ana to the rest of the team is, to me, a pretty clear indicator that the topic makes him uncomfortable and he’s trying a Ross Geller-I’m making Fajitas- “let’s show everyone how very completely normal I feel about this” approach, which.. it doesn’t.. work that well. And when does this ever work, it’s super easy to see through this, and it usually just serves to draw more attention to the fact that you’re uncomfortable with whatever is being discussed.

Buck also takes everything Eddie says to heart. Like, fucking takes it and will not let go of it. Half a season after Eddie tells him that he makes everything about himself, he breaks down telling Maddie he’s worried he’s making the situation with the old firefighter about himself again. During the kitchen scene (or “The actual how-to-guide of what to do when you thought the guy you have a crush on doesn’t reciprocate but then you have a fight and he really doesn’t handle being away from you so well so you kind of might as well see where being a little more openly flirty will get you”), Buck’s clearly thought about Eddie’s words from the grocery store fight, and he’s gonna call Eddie out. And maybe do other stuff.

Looking at what the writers are actually doing, to end the season, there’s the clawing at dirt of it all, Buck falling apart when Eddie’s buried alive. Buck being in almost all of Eddie’s memories when he’s close to dying. And Maddie’s comment about not wanting to set Josh up with Buck, which is innocent enough, but why throw that in on top of all of the above, if not because maybe what we’re actually looking at is that they’re setting up a sexuality crisis for Buck, and him realizing he’s maybe into Eddie, but Eddie not actually reciprocating (yet)? And say Buck is then somehow forcefully pushed to see the truth about how he feels, maybe by, i don’t know, coming across TK and/or Carlos on a call, and one of them asking him how long him and Eddie have been together? We might get Eddie with Ana, and a very long, drawn out process of Buck realizing what’s happening and trying to leave them alone, and Eddie being really confused about why Buck’s being like that. Then we would have two options (well, more, really, but these are two I like): 1) Eddie pushing Buck on that point and demanding an explanation and Buck just coming out with it because fuck it and sorry and please let me see Chris still 2) Buck’s sexuality crisis (or not crisis, if he’s always been pan/bi, which, look, nothing I’ve seen has disproven this theory) leading to him dating a guy and Eddie getting really jealous but not actually being aware of the fact what he feels is jealousy (because he doesn’t realize how he feels about Buck, see this whole essay you just read), and Buck being the one who confronts Eddie about why he’s being such a homophobic asshole about this, and Eddie straight up kissing him because he can’t not anymore.

[alleycat4eva]

look im not planning on like, stalking you and sending an essay refuting every radfem or radfem-adjacent post you rb. that would be patently ridiculous and i'll most likely just unfollow but regarding the "surrender linguistic boundaries" thing... what on earth is the point in that? thats just (broadly) a compilation of people talking about folks who can get pregnant. yeah theyre like, really clumsy about it- plenty of conservative women are anti-abortion and frankly are just as ghastly about it as conservative men. tons of horror stories about pro-life nurses actively traumatizing people who miscarried and had an emergency procedure removing the dead fetus before it starts to rot them from the inside out. theres always going to be marginalized people who are also... kind of stupid and choose to be compassionless even when their own issues are rooted in the same source. the thing about those posts is that my guess is theyre still learning. i bet if you asked any one of those people theres a solid chance they would thank you for the correction and reword it. one of them looked to be about a specific individual desiring a surrogate(?) so refering to him as a man or a dad is fine. some of them are reductive or performative in that you can tell they still have that "ugh, men" mentality trained into them and havent questioned that yet and just labeled all nonbinary people as woman-lite. some of them use "men" because primarily cisgender men benefit from and cannot be hurt by forced birth and they didnt think to use the addendum of "not trans men/gay men/infertile men/pro choice men". whatever. nobodys perfect and even if they were, society is imperfect and so even then theyre gonna slip up sometimes, its fine.

now all that said, what even is a linguistic boundary??? "i just dont want other people using any of this specific terminology to more accurately describe affected demographics"? if its your linguistic boundary then like... dont use them. say "women" and people will understand your point entirely. maybe someone qrts with "*uterus havers" and you go about your day. cisgender women are little under half the global population i think we'll be fine. this is not at all an issue of erasing women, "pregnant people" even still defaults the average mental image to that of a woman. including trans men just... doesnt hurt anyone. if the health article headlines prove anything it is once again, as it so often is that trans women are erased. really the only issue with those examples isnt that theyre denying that women exist its that they use "men" and dont elaborate. transphobia is the current default state of society, and i dont see the point in cisgender women rallying themselves against an already marginalized group when a) achieving transgender equality also hinges A LOT on gender equality between cis folks and b) even if trans people existing was a threat, we kind of have bigger fish to fry in the centuries of actual structural and societal oppression and those who uphold it. and in that the trans community can only be our allies.

if youre looking through radfem tags to see where your beliefs lie i would also reccomend "transphobia" or "cw transphobia". since transphobes arent likely to tag their bigotry as it is, thats where you'll find trans people talking about it of their own volition. those definitely get heavy so maybe "transphobia mention" if you want generalized discussion and not news articles about hate crimes. you'll also be more likely to find someone open to taking questions so long as youre in good faith and dont rock up to the first trans flag icon you see and like... harass some 18 year old stim blog about their stance on medical terminology.

I think you have a good point that maybe this needs to be a boundary I draw for myself and possibly not in general

I really do appreciate the tag recommendations. That really helps get aspects I wasn't able to view searching trans or trans ____

And this is maybe where it get controversial is that I see this language used to divide? Like are you here affected because of organs in your body? Then society sees you as x and you're captured here under this umbrella term because language is not precise.

But it also feels terrible to be reduced down to uterus haver and like . I never see it as testicle haver, never see legislation on that, or religious veneer using that. And I'm here talking trying to get what I'm missing and it's that language that is policed which is weird because I thought we were all stuck

I have been looking through more sources than just radfem blogs as I have been trying to inform myself. I can screenshot my search history if receipts are needed

[thedreadvampy]

ok the thing I'm struggling to find words for in my mind tonight is. a deep discomfort with the framing that complex relationships to sexuality and gender are something exclusive to queerness. that cishet people's relationship to sexuality and gender is by definition simple. and that's a tempting idea and like, yeah, there's much less impetus for a cishet person to examine their sexuality and gender. but that doesn't mean there's no complexity to it. and this isn't intended as a Don't Be Mean To The Poor Straights post it's just. observably not true that no cishet person has a complex relationship to sexuality and gender.

queerness is a complicating factor in people's relationship to sexuality and gender - we are made more conscious of the ways we don't fit what's expected, our sexuality and gender is often what is used to justify marginalisation and it comes with a whole host of pain and joy because of that, and the way that queerness is marginalised forces us into direct conversation with our sexuality/gender

but queerness isn't the only complicating factor in people's relationships to sexuality and gender. like as a woman who is pretty Definitely Cis I still have a huge ongoing wrestle with my gender - it's female, but what that means and how that's expressed and how that affects how i move through the world is still complicated and fraught and often messy and contradictory. that doesn't make me trans but it does feel pretty alienating that in a lot of queer spaces there's this implied assumption that the only type of gender complexity is a discovery of non-cisness.

(and tbh a lot of the time that's fair because a lot of people aren't cis and as I say like. it's much easier to Never Have These Conversations (with others or with yourself) if you're cis. so a lot of cis people never really name their gender troubles because they're not brought face to face with them.)

but there are a lot of things that affect your relationship to your gender. for me, I know I'm a woman, but how I'm a woman is a messy question wrapped up in trauma, in misogyny, in bisexuality, in autism, in body image, in the specifics of who I am and how I relate to the world and how I want to be seen and why. and there kind of is a thing in a lot of IRL queer spaces I hang out in where people jump straight to diagnosing me with Trans of Gender if I try to discuss a complex relationship with womanhood, or a desire to present as GNC, or a discomfort with being performed in certain gendered ways. and for a lot of people that is a step on the route but as far as I can tell it's not for me, I've spent many years trying out the shape of different genders because I had got into a headspace that any complexity in my relationship to genders must mean I was Not Cis, and for me it just didn't fit, womanhood remained the best fit. and I don't regret that, I think in an ideal world everyone should push themselves to question their gender and try out and see what good, and some people are just statistically gonna be cis like. it would be a weird numbers game for absolutely nobody's gender and sex to line up.

but I'm getting sidetracked. I was thinking about how cis and het people have the capacity for equally complex relationships to gender and sexuality as anyone else, and why that's important.

(I've never been straight or even thought I was straight, but I have occasionally talked to straight people and like. I have never met anyone, straight or queer, with a simple and uncomplicated relationship to their own sexuality - is it right, is it socially acceptable, there's shame, there's trauma, there's confusion, there's gendered and racialised and ableist baggage)

and like. it isn't that sexuality and gender aren't less of a fraught space for cishet people as a group than for queer people as a group. obviously in a group that faces a history and present of marginalisation and active violence on the basis of sexuality and gender, those are more intense complexities, and because of that there's also more intense joy as well as intense conflict. we are able to build community through marginalisation. we're brought face to face with our complex relationships to ourselves and because we can't ignore it we have built the language and community and frameworks to explore it and revert in it in a way many cis het people haven't.

but.

understanding intersectionality means understanding that as much as the marginalisation of queerness is bound up in the complexity of our relationships to gender and sexuality, so are power structures of race and gender and health and neurodivergence and wealth and class and geography and culture and language and religion and politics and education.

ultimately sexuality and gender are a huge element in how we relate to the world and our bodies and ourselves. and how the world relates to us. and there isn't a person on earth for whom that's 100% simple.

and idk I think a) to pretend that cishet people can't experience their bodies and themselves in a complex way is just a denial of reality, b) it simplifies out the many intersections of identity and power in all of us (even the straightest cisest manliest rich white dude) that make our social and personal identities messy and intricate and c) it gets in the way of us building meaningful intracommunity solidarity through a shared understanding of the beauty and pain and infinite variety of gender and sexuality

also idk. it's weird to me. to me it posits that to be cis, to be straight, to be allosexual and alloromantic, is a default whereas queerness is a deviation. and I just don't believe that, I don't think there's a 'normal' and uncomplicated Default State and then everyone outside it is a complication. I think there's value in embracing that othering in the world we live in, where we need to find strength in anger and in resistance, but I don't think it represents a truth about the world as much as a reclamation of the weapons used against us.

to me it feels similar to the way that white people thinking of ourselves as aracial and everyone else as racialised is an act of unconscious white supremacy. or the way that people are really keen to draw a sharp line between the Disabled Other and the Healthy Normal People. the idea that there's Normal People and Diverse People isn't...good...really? and this is in itself a messy issue because I do think there's a lot of power and value in taking pride in the complexity and thoughtfulness of queer relationships to sex and gender and I don't think there's some great evil in joking at the expense of the privileged. but when that starts to inform your actual serious thinking I think it can be counterproductive because erasing the complexity of cishet identities and acting as if any complexity in relationship to sexuality and gender means someone's Wrong About Being Straight/Cis is kind of reinforcing the otherising of queerness.

ughhhhh this is why I say it's hard to find words. because to me now it sounds like I'm saying 'don't suggest people might be queer' and like. do do that. we're in a world where that space isn't left open for the vast majority of people and straight or not, cis or not, allo or not, I think pretty much everyone benefits from having the space and community and language to have a conversation with their own identity. but that's kind of my thing like that conversation doesn't have a right answer. the conversation needs to have room for a model of straightness and a model of cisness that doesn't immediately slam the door on further exploration.

(also I've mostly been taking about cishet people here but let's be honest it's really a question of cis AND/OR het. one thing I'm finding really difficult at the moment is that there seems to be a lot of conversations about queerness and gender expression which conflate GNCness and a complex relationship to gender exclusively with being trans, and a lot of the time talk about how being a woman and being sapphic affect your relationship to gender are understood as less authentic explorations where they incorporate cis gendered identities. and a lot of discussions about complex cis wlw relationships to gender and womanhood get coopted by terfs who think that because their complex experience of gender is a cis one that means all complex experiences of gender are cis ones being wishfully misinterpreted (this is because TERFs have. no capacity or will to imagine experiences beyond their own, apparently) and that leaves. for me. often very little room to authentically discuss and explore with others my own identity as a cis wlw who uses she/her pronouns and still has a complex relationship to gender. and indeed as someone whose attraction to men (and no it's not straight but it's different-gender) is as textured and complex as her attraction to women. like it's a long way off the top of the list of Things To Worry About but I think about it a lot.)

[whitherliliesbloom]

lights, camera, duty commenced!

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #14 - commend ]

[ illya, g’raha & emet ] ★ [ 2,263 words ]  ★ [ actors au ]  passing mention of some friend’s ocs and illyanaud

commend: praise formally or officially

behind the scenes of the critically acclaimed long running tv show, final fantasy fourteen, g’raha tia is (almost) inconsolable after he reads the final act’s script

The not-so everlasting light shining down feels radiant and warm, but not scorching. In the distance, one can hear the push and pull of the tides from the nearby lake, as well as the rustling of the purple hued leaves that hung and swayed ever so gently upon the trees. A light baby blue canvas with dusty cotton candy clouds crowns lakeland, painting the perfect, serene vista for an uneventful day of shooting.

Though, Illya has to remind herself, as she looks up at the peaceful sky, and sighs in contentment that she was in the completely wrong headspace. Even though the sky above was bright and undoubtedly beautiful on this fine afternoon, she knows that all it takes is for a little bit of compuer-generated television effects magic to turn the tranquil landscape into a scene of naught but utter devastation and war.

Think termination. Think termination. You’re in the middle of a large-scale battle between Elidibus and the people of Norvrandt. The tone’s supposed to be somber and tense. You’re the warrior of darkness. You got this!

“Oh.... How could this be...?”

Her train of thought is rudely interrupted by the sorrowful moping of her co-actor, and she has to resist the urge to chide him for dragging his early morning sulking all the way into the afternoon. 

“G’raha, please...” the lalafellin sighs, though cannot help but to let a sliver of sympathy slip into her tone. “The next scene’s starting soon.”

“I know, I know... But...” the man heaves a heavy sigh, hanging his head low and letting his arms drop onto his lap so dramatically she’d almost thought that his flesh really was made of crystal and wasn’t just a product of the hard work of extremely talented make-up artists. “I can’t help it. I can’t believe that my poor crystal exarch is-”

Illya can say she at least empathizes - though perhaps not to the same extent. She’s been casted into roles of characters who would meet an unfortunate demise later, but to be fair, they weren’t often major characters within the narrative of the show or film she was playing a role in. 

The crystal exarch on the other hand, has played a key role as one of the many recurring supporting casts in the show. He’d lingered in the background as early as the first season, and was, to G’raha’s jubilation, finally given a main role in the fourth season they were filming. 

Only to be killed off in the final act - succumbing to the crystallization of his entire body, from head to toe, in the throne room of the crystal tower after the warrior of darkness’ battle with the ascian Elidibus. His death scene was to be an emotionally poignant one... and Illya herself has spent the last few days getting into the headspace of the protagonist - who would understandably be utterly devastated by the loss of a dear friend. 

It didn’t help that the crystal exarch was a considerably popular character within the international community of fans - and his significant increase in screen time was due in part to fan demands... though that perhaps made his long foreshadowed death even more of a cruel irony. 

And there was nobody in the world who was a bigger fan of the crystal exarch than the actor who played him himself. It wasn’t narcissistic either, in their line of work, it’s easy to get attached to the roles they play... even more so when they’ve hovered within the headspace of their character for as long as 6 years - she would know, Liliya Liya is as big a part of her as the crystal exarch is for G’raha now.

Thus, though she felt the urgent need to get G’raha back up on his feet in preparation for the remaining scenes on their schedule to film... she could not bring herself to so callously talk down his very real and personal attachment of a character he was meant to portray well anyways. 

“Oh come now... you should’ve seen this coming.” with a swagger in his step and lazy grin plastered over his expression, Emet Selch strolls over to the pair.... far too comfortable within his own role that he was speaking with Hades’ signature slur in his speech even while out of character. The man has always noted just how similar he was to the god of the underworld, and Illya wouldn’t be surprised if he’d claimed to not even be acting in his scenes at all.

“I...” G’raha pouts, looking up at Emet as his ears flatten atop his head. “I guess I was in denial of it. I thought they would maybe subvert expectations... but-”

“But that wouldn’t be a very compelling story to tell, now would it?” The older man shrugs, and Illya regrets to think that she’s inclined to agree. 

“I guess not..” 

The robed miqo’te man sighs, and she notes with an amused raise of an eyebrow as his tail that had once been tucked tightly to his side was now swiveling from side to side and puffed up in annoyance.

“Still! They could at least let him go out with more of a bang! Maybe... after he has a solo action scene... or give him a kiss scene to make things more dramatic!”

“Is defeating the big bad and saving the heroine not dramatic enough for you, already?” Emet’s voice is in part mocking as it is exasperated, his arms thrown up to his shoulders in a shrug. “Also I hope you didn’t mean a kiss scene with Liliya.”

“W-what-?? I-” Illya’s mouth hangs agape. 

“No! I wasn’t thinking anyone in particular, honest. Besides, she’s already caught in that love triangle subplot with the twins, isn’t she?” 

At the mention of the topic, the lalafellin woman’s smile fades.

“D-don’t remind me of that. I’m really not looking forward to acting those scenes out.” 

She’s already read the script for the fourth season in it’s entirety... and though she has incredible respect for the masterful writing and the wonderful character dynamics that has only gotten better with each passing season... she has never been... entirely comfortable with the romantic aspects of the scenes involving the elven twins. Scenes of the pair vying for her attention, scenes where she held hands and even got unsettingly close to kissing them... 

Though, she will admit... her own uncertainty over her competence in filming those scenes are a result of her own, very personal emotions... something of which Emet Selch seemed to be more than aware of.

“Is it not because you harbor actual feelings for one of them? Would having scenes of you being close to him not be a blessing for you, then?”

The miffed glare Illya’s shoots up at Emet rivals moments of shadow possession Liliya experiences throughout the show, and he can only shrug with a cocky grin as her star-spangled swirl with indignation. Anger aside, heat is spreading across her cheeks in the form of a burning red hue that reaches the tips of her short, pointed ears.

Please stop. 

Her expression spells out. She’s as annoyed as she her frightened about something.

Oh dear. 

“Relax. Workplace romance here is nothing new.” His words only serve to worsen the already infuriated gleam in her blazing, shimmering eyes. “Mint certainly isn’t shy when it comes to showing she’s in a relationship with Estinien. Nor your friend Laurelis for that matter. She’s still keeping in touch with Haurchefant, no?”

Illya doesn’t say anything, but her silence and the paling of her complexion speaks louder than any words she can spill from her lips. 

It’s precisely because he doesn’t know. So please, please shut your mouth.

He still cannot understand why on earth she would stay so adamant about keeping her feelings a secret anyway. For all he knows, the entire cast of actors... and the whole final fantasy crew for that matter, was fully aware of their pining - and Illya’s feelings towards her close co-worker and friend wasn’t unrequited either. 

Just like in the show, the pair are completely oblivious to their attraction to one another... something he’ll just have to fix with his bare hands then... 

But the matter is neither here nor there, and there was something of greater urgency to rectify now. 

Emet Selch turns his gaze back down to G’raha, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet... and sensing his seriousness, Illya too diverts her attention back to the sulking redhead. 

“You know... you’re a very talented actor. It’s so very rare to find someone who can capture the emotions and nuances of a character as well as you do.” Emet is the faster of them to speak, and Illya can barely believe the words she’s hearing leave his lips. 

Compliments and praise, genuine ones at that, coming from one of the cast’s eldest, most experienced actor who is not only known to be critical when it comes to the art of acting - but is a certified acting coach himself? The monumental honor is not lost to G’raha, as his ears perk up and he whips his head up with widened ruby eyes to look at Emet.

“Death is difficult to portray - dare I say, almost impossible. After all, how can we, who have never experienced death... truly capture the sorrow and despair in it?”

Emet Selch pauses, drawing in a breath before he lifts his hand up to gesture at the pair before him.

“Which is why this is your biggest opportunity to showcase your talents, to move the audience with not just the story, but your very acting! The only thing we can do, as men and women of this field, is to act as vehicles and carry the emotions of the story into the hearts of the fans.”

The man finally sighs, shoulders falling and arms flopping lazily to his side, the sentimentality of the words he just spoke tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Besides, even in death there is a beauty. The crystal exarch lived his life fulfilled and having realized his wish at the end. I expect you to remember that when you eventually see him off.”

There’s a silence that hangs and festers in the air for a moment, before the fur on G’raha’s tail stands and his chest puffs up in a show of renewed determination.

“Y-you’re right, Emet! The crystal exarch dedicated his life to finding a way to save others... There is no better way to end his legacy than to see the world he’s protected for so long finally saved!” 

Standing onto his feet, the miqo’te clenches his hands into fists and nods before casting a glance down at Illya.

“Illya! I will act my heart out to the best I can! I’ll act so hard that I’ll make you cry on set for sure!”

The corners of her lip tugs upwards into a wide smile, glowing as the afternoon sun basks down and reflects upon her snowy white hair and the blossoms of her amethyst eyes. Even with the black of the garments she wore and the eastern patterned ribbon that held the braid around her head in place, she was luminous and blinding in her radiant presence... not unlike the heroine of their story.

“Of course! And I’m sure the rest of the crystal exarch fan club will too when they watch that episode.” 

“Illya, G’raha!” A pink haired lalafellin calls out to them from a distance away, her olive green eyes wide and excited as she waves her hands high above her head. A raven haired man stands just behind her, his dark blue eyes narrowed as he reviews the script in his hands intently. “We’re starting soon! Get over here!”

“Coming! Just give us a second!” G’raha waves back with a grin before turning back to look at Emet Selch with an apologetic, yet grateful bow, his relaxed tail swaying gently from side to side behind his back. 

“Thank you, Emet. I won’t soon forget your encouragements. I’ll do my best and make sure to not let everyone down.”

“Yes, yes. Spare me the nauseating mush. I was just making sure you didn’t drag your co-actor down with your sulking.” 

The elder man now glances at the starry eyed girl with amusement flashing through his expression, and Illya can already feel her earlier lighthearted elation fade as quickly as it came. 

“By the way... I’m sure if you asked Yoshida properly.. he’d be willing to consider writing in a kiss scene with Liliya and-”

“If I were the warrior of darkness, I’d take my crescent moon cane and stab you with the end of it......”

------

Meanwhile, a little distance away from the trio, Kaye lets out a low hum as he reads and re-reads the words upon the small stacks of paper he held, expression doubtful and confused.

“You sure this is the script to Endwalker?”

“Yeah, I am! Alphinaud gave this copy and said that he got from miss Ishikawa directly! Apparently he’s playing another major role in the next season, which is why he got the script early as a heads up.”

“But... it says here that the crystal exarch gets reincarnated? Assuming that’s not gonna be changed... that means G’raha’s gonna be...”

Kaye’s head lifts and turns, eyes wide and brows furrowing in bemusement only to see an impish smile glimmer upon Lily’s face.

“Should we tell him?”

“Hm...? Nah... He’s gonna film the exarch’s death scene soon, right? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the little surprise later, anyways.”

[janeyseymour]

Nobody Loves Me

a prompt from @givethispromptatry: "Nobody loves me -Are you calling me a nobody? "

WC: 1999

Katherine Howard had convinced herself that she was living alone in this world. Not physically- she had five other housemates- but mentally and emotionally. She was brought into this strange world with no one, or so she thought. 

In the beginning days of them being brought back to this world, the young woman had finely adapted to the strange ways of the world. She was able to use her cell phone and most of the electronics that surrounded her in an efficient manner (far better than say... Catherine of Aragon and Jane Seymour). She quite liked that she could dress the way she wanted and wasn’t forced to be with men she had never wanted to stand within six feet of. If she so desired, she was able to leave the property that their house was on without much questioning (although we would be lying if the third queen hadn’t once asked her where she was going so late at night). On the other side, she was also able to stay within her room and request that no one bother her by simply closing the door. She didn't much mind the new world that she found herself in- a far different place than she had seen five hundred years before. The only blaring similarity to the former queen? Nobody loved her. 

The five other queens had quickly put aside any differences that they had from the past. Katherine didn’t have any outstanding complications with any of the queens, not that she knew of. If she could remember correctly, Anna of Cleves had even said she loved her all those years ago. Her housemates had somehow formed a family dynamic that just didn’t quite make sense to her. She decided early on that she probably never would understand how the other five ex-wives of one man could reconcile and become friends. She never saw herself belonging to the odd little family they had created between them.

She kept her distance. Anytime another woman in the house would offer for her to join them, she declined- telling herself that they didn’t really want her to join in on whatever antics they had planned for that night. They pitied her; she wouldn’t fit in since she was much younger than the rest. 

That came to head one day when the third queen insisted that all six of them turn their Saturday into a group day. The thought of spending all day with the five women she had lived in a house with for six months and hadn't spoken more than a few words to alone made her nauseous. Having to talk to one of the others about skipping out on the day was decidedly just as much of a daunting task. 

Given that she wasn’t prepared for the blonde’s declaration of a family day, the clever woman knew she couldn’t fake illness. It would be evident that she was trying to get out of the “group bonding time”, as the third queen had stated. So, she did the only thing she could think to do as a last resort of evading having to spend time with the five older women. She went to speak to Jane Seymour in private.

Her heart pounded as she knocked on the door to the grey room, not quite sure how Jane would react. At this point in time, it was a conundrum how the blonde would act. She too was still getting used to the oddities of the new era they found themselves living in and was either warm and light or held onto her heart of stone.

“Come in!” Seymour’s voice floated through the air. The pink haired queen slowly opened the door to reveal herself. It was clear that Jane had expected someone- anyone- other than the lonesome Katherine Howard, her body freezing, dropping the hanger she was holding. “Katherine?”

All the fifth queen could mutter out was a quiet, “Hi,” as she fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, clearly not knowing what she was going to say to convince the third monarch to let her stay home.

“This is a surprise,” the silver queen chuckled as she bent down to pick up the object. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m-” she bit her lip. “I’ll just-” she bit it harder, almost violently enough to draw blood. 

“What is it Katherine?” Jane continued on with her laundry, although not before throwing the flustered queen a look of concern. “If you keep gnawing at that lip of yours, you’re going to draw blood.”

“I don’t think I should come out with you all today,” Katherine’s mouth blurted out before her brain could process what she really wanted to say.

The blonde, who had now made her way over to her closet to hang her clothing, turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m just not feeling well,” the younger woman lied through her teeth, and not very convincingly at that. “I don’t want to be a-”

“Were you feeling ill this morning?” Jane set the shirts on her desk before promptly making her way over to the girl still standing in the doorway nervously and resting her hand on the youngest’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm to me? Is it your stomach?”

Katherine mulled over this for a second. Technically, her stomach was bothering her. She nodded.

“Is it cramping?” A shake of the head. “Stabbing pains?” Another no. “Burning?” Again, it was a no. “Nausea?”

The thought of being forced to engage with the five others at once did indeed make her stomach flip, although the pink haired queen knew it wasn’t the nausea the elder queen was thinking of. She shrugged.

“Nerves?” Yes. The fifth queen nodded slowly. Contented that she had pinpointed Katherine’s ill feelings, Jane let out a sigh. “About spending the day with us?”

Katherine looked at her with pleading eyes. “Please don’t make me.” Jane’s gaze softened significantly, for she saw through the pleading and instead saw the fear that held itself in those young eyes of the woman in front of her.

“If you really don’t want to, I suppose you don’t have to. I’m sorry I tried to force it.”

“It’s just-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself Katherine. I understand that it must be really hard to adjust to this world after all that you’ve been thr-” Jane laid a gentle hand on the pink queen’s shoulder, but the way she jumped back would make a bystander think that she had burned her. “I- I’m sorry.”

“That’s just it!” The fifth monarch snapped. “I have adjusted to this world! I understand technology. I understand most of the culture that surrounds us nowadays. I’ve adjusted to the modern times, but there’s one thing that’s never changed! And that’s that nobody loves me! Nobody has ever loved me! It’s all out of pity that anyone shows me any sort of kindness. ‘Oh you poor thing having gone through everything that you’ve been through!’ ‘You’ve been sitting by yourself for some time now, why don’t you come join us?’ It’s all out of pity! Nobody really and truly loves me!” 

The blonde’s stature had somewhat deflated, startled at the commotion the teen in front of her had caused, before she adjusted her posture to be standing as tall as she could. With a glint of defiance in her eyes, she cooly questioned, “Are you calling me a nobody?”

“What does that even mean?” Katherine looked at her bewilderedly. 

“It means dear-” the pet name slipped off her tongue before she could stop herself. “-that I love you.”

“How could you love me when you barely know me?” It was clear the pink haired queen was growing frustrated. 

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Jane smirked. “We’ve lived together for the past six months, and even though you’ve barely spoken a word to any of us: we’ve all come to learn a lot about you, and we’ve all come to love you just the way you are.”

“Prove it. You don’t know a single thing about me.” Katherine crossed her arms in front of her body and gave the silver queen a daring look.

“You, Katherine Howard, like to re-dye your hair when no one else is around. You like to stay stocked up on granola bars because sometimes it’s the only thing you can stomach. You would choose peanut butter over chocolate anyday. You love nature, and you seem to always be at your most peaceful when you’re under the starry sky. You bite your lip when you're nervous, and you often play with your sleeves. You’ve been able to figure out how to make your way through this house silently at night, and-”

“You don’t know that,” the younger queen cut her off.

“I do. Do you know how I know that? During the day, we can all hear you moving around in your room, but once Aragon goes to bed, you’re silent. I’ve used the lavatory after you in the dead of night, and you never once make a noise retreating back to your bedroom. I’ve seen you travel back to your room, granola bars in hand silently at two in the-”

“How on Earth have you-” Katherine began to question her.

“Sometimes I sit in the sitting room and sip tea. You’ve just never noticed me. We know a lot more about you than you think we do. And we love you for it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh but it is. Even though you never speak to us, almost as if you’d rather just blend in with the walls- we know you care about us. We care about you. Not once have we ever considered not caring about you. We’ve only been giving you the space you need to-” Jane was not cut off by words this time, but rather she was cut off by the younger girl flinging herself into the blonde’s arms, almost knocking the wind out of her with a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Of course Kat,” the nickname slipped out naturally. “We love you.”

“Thank you,” she let the tears roll down her face freely as she clung to the third queen with everything she had in her. “I love you guys too, and I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to-”

“I won’t hear that you haven’t shown us you love us. You make sure you’re quiet at night when the first one of us goes to bed. We’ve noticed that you spiffy up around the house when the rest of us are out. We’ve discovered that we are almost never out of all of our favorite things, and we’ve all pinpointed that you’re the one replenishing our stashes. You love us, you just show us differently than the rest of us. And that’s okay hun. We love you for it. We love you for you, just the way you are, right now. We just hope that you’ll begin to realize that and let us in a bit more. We care about you.” Jane gently pulled away so she could get a better look at the girl in her arms. “Do you think you can believe that we really and truly do care about you? It’s not a pity, I promise you.”

“I-” Katherine smiled, a bit teary-eyed still. “I- think I can try?”

“That’s all we’re asking,” Jane replied genuinely.

“Do you think I could still join you for today?” She asked hesitantly. After all the fuss she had made, even though the third queen had made it quite clear they would love for her to join them, the fifth queen couldn’t help but feel it would be out of pity.

“We would be delighted to have you join us Kat.” 

“I- I kinda like when you call me Kat,” the youngest queen admitted sheepishly. “It’s... like I belong.”

“Kat,” Jane pulled her in close again. “You do belong. You’ll realize it soon enough, love.”

[dolliedarlin]

a love like rodger and jessica ⏤denki k.

s u m m a r y : You and Denki have a love like Rodger and Jessica Rabbit

l e n g t h : 2k

g e n r e : fluff ; praises ; body worship ; supportive kaminari ; best boi kaminari ; precious baby 

w a r n i n g s : mentions of lovemaking

p a i r i n g s : denki k x f.reader

a / n : this is a quick little headcanon I came up with at three am and needed to get out as soon as possible before I lose the will to write it. I hope you all enjoy the read! Feel free to comment and like - tell me what you think, constructive criticism is always welcome.

❥ You're a self-made millionaire, CEO of a successful skincare and beauty company, investor and supermodel. The level of success you've been able to accumulate over the years is nothing to sneeze at, especially with your young age of 21.

❥ However, you draw more eyes for your beauty and body rather than your accomplishments. It's rather annoying but you've grown used to it.

❥ It isn't a lie that you're as stunning as they come. And with a body that elicits lust and unspeakable fantasies in the men and women around you, it can be said that your beauty has more power than what any of your achievements could ever provide you with.

❥ It's disappointing how you've worked so hard but still seem to achieve so little despite the empire you've built from the ground up.

❥ You've turned many young and handsome, accomplished men down, no longer your naive self. Even with their own triumphs and wealth, you can see their true intentions when looking into their greedy eyes.

❥ They only want you for your body and only regard you with contempt - there was no love, there was no honesty, they never did anything to make you feel comfortable or smile.

❥ That was all you wanted.

❥ But, perhaps, it's too childish to think about such things now.

❥ You had given up all hope and with that loss of hope came a hardened shell that nobody could break. Deep inside your heart, you still wished for a fairy tale romance and a happy life where you could smile freely and be comfortable, which is why your piercing glare, harsh demeanor and cold speech manifested in defense of those desires.

❥ It was a normal day at work; you had several meetings to attend concerning collaborations with other brands in the morning before you needed to head off to attend a photoshoot for a magazine concerning skincare.

❥ You had just been on your way to said photoshoot, in fact, when a villain attack hastily painted an image of red and blue lights, panic, destruction, and screaming people before you.

❥ Upon realizing that you were in the line of attack, you rushed to exit your car. You have been a victim of your own clumsiness many times in the past despite their rare occurrence, but ill-luck had you tripping over in your attempt to flee, causing a stinging pain to shoot up your right leg.

❥ With your back turned and crumbled to the floor in pain, you became an easy target and didn't register the careless attack directed towards you until you heard a shout of warning.

❥ "Woah! Watch it, lady!"

❥ Behind you was the Stun Gun Hero himself: Chargebolt! You had never interacted with heroes but you greatly admired their work, heroism, and sense of justice. Keeping the peace and putting villains in jail brought on a sense of security that you never took for granted. However, you had never been more grateful for their presence than that moment.

❥ "Hurry and run away!" at his command, you attempted to stand and run off but instead was painfully reminded that during your fall, you had managed to sprain your ankle.

❥ What terrible luck.

❥ "I-I can't-" you almost sob, hating how powerless you were feeling in that moment, "I think I sprained my ankle,"

❥ You heard him mutter a curse before shouting at the other heroes on-site to cover him whereby he then took the chance to rush in carrying you in his arms and run to safety.

❥ "P-please be careful," you plea, worried about his welfare as you wrap your arms around his neck for security.

❥ "Don't worry about it!" he flashes you a toothy grin, "Just hold on tight and I'll get you somewhere safe! You can count on me!" for once in your life, even though you were still in a dangerous setting, you felt comfortable and safe.

❥ In this stranger's arms, you felt protected - it was a wonderful feeling. It made you lean even closer into him, catching a whiff of his husky scent combined with his sweat. What a pleasant aroma.

❥ Maybe you should make a perfume inspired by it and have him model in the commercial?

❥ This wasn't like you, you're embarrassed to admit. Even though you're in danger, you would still do anything to keep him close to you or see him again. You weren't some lovestruck school girl, you needed to get a hold of yourself!

❥ Finally at a safe place, he set you down as he panted heavily, "Damn, I need to get better at cardio," huffing out a breath, he checked you over, "you alright?"

❥ "Other than the ankle, I'm good," you smiled up at him, trying to convey your gratefulness.

❥ "Great! The ambulance will be here soon for any casualties so-..." he pauses. In the heat of the moment, his priority had been your safety and so he hadn't really taken the time to look at you, really look at you, and see how beautiful you were. Now that he had caught his breath, and began to process that he had carried a beauty in his arms, who was now smiling up at him, a dangerous heat crawled up his neck and blew steam out of his ears.

❥ "A-are you okay?!" had he been hit by something while he was carrying you off?

❥ "So beautiful..." he muttered, continuing to stare at you, your face, your body, even straining his ears to better hear your sultry voice.

❥ "What was that?" with a tilt of your head, Kaminari had to turn his gaze away so as not to get even more flustered and possibly die from too much blood rushing to his head. Beautiful and cute - a dangerous combination to have in a woman. He could fall to his knees and submit to you right then and there, shamelessly. It took everything in him to hold back.

❥ "Y-you're just really beautiful, sorry."

❥ For once in your life, someone was being honest with you. Yes, many people have called you beautiful but their reactions were never as raw or red as the hero standing before you. It was amusing and made you want to keep him close.

❥ "Thank you..." you had to say, he was pretty easy on the eyes as well, "you are also very handsome,"

❥ "Why thank you, pretty lady~" he sent you a playful wink which made you giggle, only spurring the male to continue his flirtatious act. It might have been out of habit or maybe it was a defense mechanism since he's never come across someone so beautiful before, either way, he was already dropping another cheesy pick up like before he realized what he was doing, "but, you know, you're very pretty and I'm cute..."

❥ "Hmm?~" you raised a brow, where was he going with this?

❥ "Together, we'd be pretty cute,"

❥ You didn't mean to offend him but you laughed and laughed and laughed, not realizing how his once grinning face had turned downcast and flourished red with embarrassment.

❥ "You have a point there," you giggled, catching the male off guard and almost making him self-combust, "whatever shall I do?~" you ponder aloud, looking at him with a twinkle in your eye.

❥ "Well...it just so happens that I'm writing a phone book," time to shoot his shot, "can I have your number?

❥ "Of course, you can~"

❥ Meeting Denki was a blessing in your life.

❥ He's a goofball with a heart of gold that was always getting overlooked by women, as he's told you on one of your many dates together.

❥ "It's their loss," you hum as you cuddle up into his side, his arm laying across your shoulders, "because you're mine now~"

❥ Truly, he was your ideal man.

❥ He never took you for granted, he was always honest, he praised you and worshipped you like a goddess and he made you feel loved and comfortable being yourself, which is what mattered above all else.

❥ In return, you were his ideal woman.

❥ You freely loved him for who he was, when people told you you deserved better than him, you shut them down quicker than a lightning strike, you actually liked his cheesy pickup lines and flirted right back. The achievements he's been able to get as a hero, you still praised no matter how small, as if he was the number one hero himself - you would even go so far as to say that he's your number one in everything. And, for a bonus, you were the beauty amoungst all beauties!

❥ All those rejections, all the insecurities he had to go through by being rejected by multiple women was all worth it because now he had you in his life.

❥ "Where have you been all my life, Denki? How did I ever live without you?" you sighed into the crook of his neck, straddling his lap as he hugged your waist and gave you a kiss on the temple.

❥ "Babe, that's my line," he chuckled.

❥ At first, he was always so flustered around you but over time, he's grown a reasonable amount of immunity. That didn't mean he stopped praising you for your achievements or worshipping your body whenever you were in bed together, however. He still did all those things.

❥ If others praise you, he didn't stop them because he knows you deserve all the praise but when he found out that you didn't take their words to heart like you did his and explained why, he made sure to be off patrol that night and kept you with him between the sheets until sunrise. For hours, he worshipped your body like a temple made of gold. Between kisses and gasping breaths, he applauded you for your achievements and assured you of all flaws you saw in yourself.

❥ That night you realised the true meaning of 'making love'.

❥ In hero awarding events, you'd accompany him dressed elegantly, with your hair and makeup done and smelling as intoxicating as you looked.

❥ "DEnKi How DArE YOuUuu!" his close friend, Mineta (you think it was), sobbed at the sight of you and him together on the red carpet as a couple. Even though they were friends, Kaminari instantly stood in front of you so as to shield you away from Mineta's perverted gaze.

❥ "Thank you, Darling~" you cooed, giving your blonde hero a kiss on the back of the neck before nuzzling in between his shoulder blades.

❥ On the outside, Denki allowed himself to grin and pull you into his arms with a cool air about him, seemingly unaffected by your actions but you knew him better than that. It was only because cameras were around and he needed to keep up his image. Inside, he was melting into a puddle of goo and you know it. He, very well, could've brushed you aside to appear better like all the other men you unfortunately dated before but, instead, he makes you feel special and loved.

❥ "I know I'm the luckiest guy in the world but please be more respectful Mineta," his arms tighten around you securely, shielding your curves from prying eyes. Appreciating the gesture, you turn his face to capture him in a kiss. It's a kiss that still makes his knees weak even after months of dating.

❥ "Let's go to our seats, dear," you lead the blonde away by the tie, knowing how your kisses can sometimes leave him releasing small bolts of electricity from his palms and fingertips. It was cute how a simple kiss could turn him as dumb as he was when he overused his quirk would, only in a slightly different way.

❥ Vice versa, whenever you had a big company party or event, Denki always made it so that he could attend the event with you. He wanted to be there to protect you and shut the men down who tried to approach you with ill intentions.

❥ With your human Pikachu around, you came to love going to events. It was a time where you could dress up just for him and eventually get undressed by him the moment you arrived home.

❥ Endless praises, endless love, endless comfort, endless laughter. That was what it felt like to be with Denki.

❥ He was your Rodger and you were his Jessica

bnha mlist . 

[whumperscorner]

Hello! I've just discovered your whumpy FFXV fanfics and oh my gosh I absolutely adore your writing and ideas! I love a whumpy Prompto story! I've looked over the whump bingo and I think Prompto and "Strapped to a bomb" would be a really interesting/whumpy story! Of course please don't feel pressured to write this if you don't want to and I'm so sorry if this comes across as rude. I hope you have a lovely day!

Ah thank you anon! Don’t worry it definitely doesn’t come off as rude :3 I’m really happy you’ve enjoyed my writing!

Decided to try someone kinda new with this, going with Cor’s pov for the first time, so hopefully that will still be somewhat enjoyable eheh

BTHB #6- Strapped to a Bomb

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Prompto Argentum, Cor Leonis, Nyx Ulric (a little bit)

Whumpee: Prompto Argentum

Word count: 2568

Warnings: none

This work can also be found on ao3 :3

Cor lets his eyes finish skimming through the document in his hand. Then he throws it onto his desk along with all the other documents he’s read through and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s been a very long, very uneventful day. Glancing at his watch, Cor is relieved to find there’s now only a little over an hour until he can leave. Though of course then he has to make his way through the traffic of the streets surrounding the Citadel, which is always a nightmare at this time of day. Now with the furrow between his brows made even deeper than usual, Cor returns to the paperwork. He’s moving on to what he thinks should be the last document in the pile when heavy breathing and rushed footsteps sound through the otherwise empty corridor.

"Marshal-"

"What." Cor's voice is tinged with irritation. This better be damn important for someone to barge in right at the tail end of his workday.

"You’ve been summoned at the entrance," says the breathless recruit. "it’s something about your son."

It doesn’t even take a full second for Cor to react and be up on his feet. He grabs his jacket and phone and hurries out of the office along with the recruit. Not that it’s out of the ordinary for Prompto to come to the Citadel, whether it’s Cor he’s coming to see or Prince Noctis whenever he’s around. Normally he would just let himself in though, and that along with the frantic look on the recruit’s face - no, something has to be wrong.

"What’s the situation?" Cor asks, not bothering to look back and just assuming the recruit is following him as he strides down the hall.

"I don’t know, I was just told to get a hold of you quickly." Comes the answer from behind. Cor almost has time to get annoyed at the lack of information, but the recruit keeps going. "Glaive Ulric and Glaive Altius are there already, and when I left they'd started working to evacuate employees outside of the Glaive."

Cor curses under his breath. Evacuation of the other employees? He trusts Nyx and Crowe enough to make that call, but since they have it has to be something serious. Cor enters the elevator and taps his foot impatiently on the floor, infuriated by how slow the descent is seemingly going. His mind races through all the different possibilities for what could be going on, and how Prompto could be involved in it.

The familiar dingand the sound of elevator doors opening cannot come soon enough, and the second it does he's on the move again. It takes him almost no time at all, though still too long in Cor's mind, to make his way to the doors at the main entrance. From the vantage point there he can already see parts of what's going on. Further down the staircase are multiple glaives already at work. Cor recognises Crowe where she stands at the side, gesturing to the people around and obviously in the midst of the evacuation work. He spares a short moment to send the recruit, who is still following behind him, over in her direction with orders to assist in the evacuation work. Then he sees Nyx, standing a bit further down, and then finally he sees a familiar tuft of blond hair. Prompto is talking to Nyx. Cor can't hear what they're saying as he makes his way towards them, but he can tell from meters away that something is wrong with Prompto. It's the way he's holding himself, tense and unnaturally stiff in his movements.

When Cor is close enough, he sees Prompto’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens in a silent plea. Cor lets his own expression soften some and sends him a reassuring nod. It’s at least intended as one, but he’s not sure it helps. Prompto still looks so very scared, and it pricks Cor’s heart painfully. He's about to turn to Nyx, to demand an explanation as to what's going on, but his attention is caught by something else. Peeking through behind the half-open zipper on Prompto's hoodie is some foreign object.

"Open your hoodie Prom, let me see that." Cor says. His mouth feels too dry all of a sudden, but he keeps his voice low and calm despite it. Prompto shifts uneasily but complies. With two shaky hands he fumbles a bit with the zipper, eventually getting it up. What reveals itself is a jumbled mess of wires and various cylindrical objects in black and grey, all fastened together with tape and zip-ties, strapped around Prompto's stomach like a horrid belt. It's most definitely home made, but there's no mistaking it. Cor recognizes explosives when he sees them.

"The hell-" Cor hisses. Though he immediately regrets that and cuts himself off when Prompto shrinks in on himself as if the curse is directed at him. Worry and disbelief swirl around in Cor's stomach. He turns his head to Nyx so fast his neck nearly twists. "What's going on here?"

The look on Nyx's face mirrors Cor's own emotions, and the crease to his brows deepens as he answers in a hushed voice. "Crowe and I found him standing here just earlier, says someone put that," and he motions with his head towards the device. "on him and dropped him off here with orders to go inside. He didn't see their faces."

Now anger flares up in Cor along with all the other conflicting emotions. Someone had dared to put a godsdamn bomb on his son. Cor feels his body tense up, and his hands balling into tight fists. He wants his hands on them, to make them regret ever thinking they could touch Prompto. But that will have to wait, Cor knows it. The top priority has to be getting that thing off of Prompto safely. He bites back another curse by pressing his lips into a thin line and wills himself to loosen the fists, though the tension still lingers in them.

"Bomb squad?" He asks.

"Already called, should be here any minute." Comes Nyx's answer, and Cor nods. He'd rather they were there already, but pushes that thought aside, they'll just have to wait. He then turns his attention back to Prompto. His son's eyes are wide and fearful, darting in between Nyx and Cor. His hands clutch the ends of the hoodie hard but even then, Cor can see them trembling faintly. Now that nobody's talking anymore, he suddenly becomes aware of Prompto's breathing. How strained it is, coming in short, shallow gasps. As if he's trying not to breathe at all.

Now every part of Cor's body urges him to rush to Prompto's side. To reassure him and tell him that everything will be alright. He knows he can't do that but takes one calm step forwards regardless. "Prompto-"

"No!" Prompto gasps, jerking back a step and stumbling slightly. It catches Cor completely off guard, and he stops dead in his tracks. Lifting his hands in a placating manner.

"Wha-"

"Don't come closer, please." Prompto's voice is barely more than a whisper, but to Cor it seems he might as well have been shouting. "If- if it blows, I don't want to hurt you."

Cor feels like he's just been hit in the chest with something hard. This isn't how things are supposed to be. Prompto, his sunshine, should not have to be this scared- for himself or for Cor. Cor sucks in a sharp breath, and despite what his brain is screaming at him to do he takes a step back to where Nyx is standing. It takes considerable effort to keep his voice calm when Cor speaks up again. "Okay, okay. Prompto look at me," he urges, trying to hold his son's gaze intently with his own. "I'm going to be fine, and you're going to be fine. Do you understand?"

After another moment Prompto nods weakly, even as his eyes glaze over with unshed tears. Cor sighs, and wonders what on earth is taking the damn bomb squad so long. He's about to turn to Nyx with this same question when, as if on cue, Prompto's breath hitches and his eyes fixate on something over Cor's shoulder. He turns around and there, finally, he sees a group of about seven or so men and women prepped with armoured suits making their way down the staircase. It draws some stares and gasps from the few not in the Glaive who are still there, but thankfully the evacuation work has come so far that there aren't many around.

Cor lets his shoulders sag ever so slightly in relief as the woman who seems to be in charge of the group comes over to him and Nyx. They exchange a few words and what little information they have on the situation, and she nods in affirmation and begins her work. Ordering three of her people to secure the streets and immediate surroundings to the bottom of the staircase, and the rest to come with her as she movies calmly towards Prompto. Cor tries to send him another encouraging nod, but he looks possibly even more terrified than before. The wide, unsure eyes and trembling lips are not something Cor wants to see on his son's face ever again if he can avoid it.

"They," Prompto tries, but it comes out more a choked gasp than anything else, and he hurries to try again. "they said not to touch it." The words almost trip over themselves in the rush to get out, and Prompto sends Cor a pleading look. Almost desperate as members of the bomb squad are getting closer to him.

"These people know what they're doing, kid." Cor urges on, thankful that his voice carries such authority and doesn't betray any underlying worries. "Let them help. I promise it will all be fine." Anything else is out of the question, he thinks, but he doesn't say that. Instead opting to take on as soothing and confident an expression as possible.

Prompto nods again, but doesn't look any more convinced, letting slip a tiny whine when the approaching bomb technicians are close enough to touch. The woman orders the hoodie to be removed, and her associates make quick work of it. It's close to torture, Cor finds, having to stay where he is and only watch. Prompto stays stiff and unmoving as the hoodie is removed and thrown to the side, where Nyx goes to pick it up. In the clutter of people now around him, Prompto looks like a forlorn kitten, fixed to the ground and scared to move in any significant way.

"Timer?" asks the woman loudly.

"None ma'am." comes the answer.

At this the woman turns her attention back to Nyx and Cor. "We're sure it's timed?" She asks. "No chance it could be remote controlled?"

Cor opens his mouth to answer but to his great surprise, and the woman's too it seems, Prompto beats him to it. "It's timed," his voice shakes slightly as he speaks. "they said so when they dropped me off… f-fifty minutes." he stammers, then his voice dies down again.

A moment of stunned silence goes by, then the woman curses loudly. "You should have said so sooner!" She snaps. Cor sees how it makes Prompto shrink in on himself and hears his stuttered apologies. They need to figure out how much time they have left, and the last thing he wants is for Prompto to panic now. So he takes a careful step forward, intent on getting Prompto's attention away from the lady.

"Prompto look at me!" He implores loudly, cutting Prompto off in the midst of his train of apologies. "Just look at me. I need you to tell me how long you stood here before anyone arrived, can you do that?"

"I- 6 maybe 7 minutes, I think." He answers, swallowing hard. Cor nods at him again then hastily checks the time on his phone. It's been almost 30 minutes since he left his office, though to him it feels like much longer than that. Still, that doesn't leave them with much time, only a little under 20 minutes. Cor relays the information out loud, to which the woman nods and goes back to her work, not wasting another second on talking.

Through all this Prompto has been keeping his eyes locked on Cor, exactly as told. So Cor sees it the second he returns his attention to his son. That now with the working hands of multiple people back around his waist, and the knowledge of just how long he has left until an eventual untimely death- a little under 20 minutes, it's all too much. Cor can see it all swirling around in his head, can read it in his face. It's one of the effects of having cared for someone from when they were a small child, Cor knows his son, and he knows the breaking point is coming.

"Prompto," he begins softly, "keep your eyes focused on me, okay? Only on me, ignore anything else." Prompto nods, chokes out a sob, and lets the first few tears come. Cor sees them rolling down unhindered, and the wet streaks they leave on freckled skin. "It's okay," he hushes, barely even noticing that he's taken a few more steps towards Prompto. "you've been brave today. Now just let us fix the rest, okay? It'll be alright."

Cor keeps speaking softly like that for what somehow feels simultaneously like an eternity and no time at all. The tears are still running down Prompto's face, but he's managing to keep his attention mostly on Cor and not on the rest of the situation. It's working exactly how Cor was hoping it would. When, after some time, the bomb loosens from around Prompto's waist and movement surges all around it catches Prompto entirely off-guard. But not Cor. Cor rushes forward the second he sees that the explosives are removed and Prompto is being shoved away from them for the bomb squad to finish their work, and when Prompto stumbles Cor catches him. Relief floods through Cor's body like a breath of fresh air, and he wastes no time before dragging Prompto a few secure steps back. He's holding his son, and it's okay now.

Prompto cries for another while, not at all surprising given the rush and tension from the day, but he's at least safe. In a move uncharacteristically tender for Cor when they're anywhere other than the privacy of their home, he runs his hand through his son's soft hair and places a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You're okay Prom, you're okay."

The two are awarded some peace and quiet before Nyx comes to check on the two of them and provide them with the news that the bomb has been properly taken care of. When he does Cor gives him a grateful nod. He knows it's time for him to take Prompto home, but before that there's one last thing he needs to do.

"Make sure the security footage from today is thoroughly checked." Says Cor, his voice every bit as serious as the situation calls for. And now it's Nyx's turn to nod, knowing without needing to be told what he's on the lookout for. "I want them found and identified."