#like obviously it never could have been and that was an unfair standard for me to hold it to. but DAMN IF THEY AREN'T EVERYTHING

[cluescorner]

On my Earthspark wishlist is: Dot wielding Megatron in his gun-alt mode. Because I find the gun alt-mode fascinating because of what it can be used to portray and Megatron letting the person he trusts most wield him would rule. It's like the ultimate trust exercise. He's putting the power of destruction that he once misused into her hands and trusting her to only pull the trigger when it's needing. Meanwhile, Dot gets to be an action hero and demonstrate that she IS worthy of the trust Megatron has placed in her. We'd also get to see them interact a lot in interesting ways. How does Megatron react to this alt-mode and the fact that he has become a tool of destruction again after previously being a transport vehicle? Dorothy is comfortable wielding a gun, but how does the fact that she is literally holding her best friend in her hands affect the experience? Do they have some sort of psychic link while it's happening or is Dot just trusting that Megatron is ok with everything happening and Megatron trusting that Dot would know what he wants to do in a given situation?

Plus they would fuck shit up together and that would also rule.

[leahwllmsn]

so high school

alexia putellas x reader

You know two things about Alexia Putellas.

Alexia Putellas is the school’s football captain and troublemaker. From showing up late to most of her classes, to getting caught smoking under the bleachers—usually when the name Alexia Putellas is mentioned, it’s not anything good.

That’s why the second thing you know about Alexia Putellas is that you have to stay far, far away from her.

You are the picture perfect high school student. Straight A’s, president of the student council, president of the debate team, all the teachers love you, and all the students envy you. That’s why you promised yourself that you’ll never associate yourself with someone like Alexia Putellas.

It worked out well for years. You’ve been in the same school ever since you were kids but you have never said as much as a ‘hello’ to the brunette.

You’re happy about that.

Staying as far away as possible from Alexia Putellas means you will never get in trouble.

So with the years of experience of avoiding Alexia Putellas, you don't know how you get to this point. Maybe the universe wants to teach you a lesson, maybe the universe just doesn't like you, or maybe you have simply run out of luck. Because one moment you're taking down notes and the next, your history teacher has paired you up with the person you swear you’ll never interact with.

When class is over and everyone rushes out, you go up to the teacher because this is unfair, Alexia Putellas isn’t even in class today. And when he answers your complaints with a shrug and a tone so final that you know he won’t change his mind, you know you’re screwed.

-

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Me neither,” your best friend sighs, unwrapping her lunch. “Can’t believe Ona is sick today and I have to put up with your ass alone.”

You roll your eyes. You’re sitting at your usual table at the cafeteria, the spot where Ona usually sits empty. “You would be nicer to me if you knew what just happened to me.”

“Did you get detention?”

“As if,” you scoff. “Now that I think about it, this is worse.”

Aitana turns to look at you, eyebrow raising in question. “What could be worse than that in your standards?”

“This stupid history project.”

“You calling an assignment stupid? That’s a first.”

You let out a sigh, placing your head on the table. “It’s because I got paired up with Alexia Putellas.”

“No way.”

You don't have to look at Aitana to know that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You grunt in reply, your friends always seem to make fun of you every time you’re miserable about something.

“You know, y/n,” Aitana nudges you, causing you to lift your head. “She’s actually not that bad.”

You furrow your brows. “You’ve talked to her?”

“Obviously,” Aitana looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “She’s captain of the football team. I’m on the football team. Or did you forget?”

“Right,” you grimace as you remember that Alexia Putellas is Aitana’s captain. “Wait, but you’re actually friends with her outside of the field?” You shudder at the thought.

Aitana rolls her eyes. “You sound so dramatic right now.”

“I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re friends with Alexia Putellas.”

“Stop saying her name like that,” Aitana laughs. “Sure, she brings trouble wherever she goes, but she’s not as bad as people made her out to be. And she’s a fantastic footballer.”

“She’s bad news,” you cross your arms. “Do you remember that time when she showed up to school one morning with her face so bruised up, all we could see were bandages?”

“Yeah,” Aitana says casually, taking a bite out of her lunch. “She got into a fight with someone from the men’s team.”

“Exactly!” you slap Aitana’s arm repeatedly. “She started a fight with the captain of the football team. She’s insane.”

“Men’s football team,” Aitana corrects your statement. “And was it the captain? I swore I remember it being that good-for-nothing defender. Anyway, I’m sure she had her reasons.”

You shrug. “She’s still bad news.”

“And she’s also your history project partner,” Aitana grins at you. “I have her number if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” you sigh, once again placing your head on the table. “I’ll go look for her after school.”

“Cheer up, grumpy. I have a feeling you’ll like her.”

You scoff. “I think you’re way off, but sure.”

-

tana: oni, first day without you here and y/n is a grumpy mess

y/n: I’m in pain. Stfu.

oni: what’d I miss

tana: y/n’s on her way to talk to alexia

oni: ????

y/n: It’s not what you think.

y/n: I have to talk to her about our history project.

oni: ...goodluck?

y/n: Thanks, I need it.

tana: vry dramatic

-

You have never imagined yourself to be where you are right now. Everyone knows that under the bleachers is the spot where people go when they want to do things that they don’t want the teachers to see—like smoking, or maybe making out with someone. Or other things, you don't really know, because you have never been here.

And you won’t ever step foot in here if it’s not because of Alexia Putellas.

The second you step under the bleachers, the faint smell of smoke wafts up your nose and you have to blink back a couple of times because it’s not as bright as you expected. You figure it’s probably because it’s going to rain soon.

As you takes more steps forward, you realize that no one was there and that maybe you should’ve accepted Aitana’s offer of Alexia Putellas’ number.

You sigh and pull out your phone from the pocket of your jeans. You’re about to press the call button on Aitana’s contact when a voice startles you.

“Looking for me?”

You turn around and standing in front of you is the person you’ve been looking for.

(And you don't know why but the sight of Alexia Putellas in her leather jacket and messy brown hair is making your heart beat faster than it should.)

“I am.” you reply, walking towards her.

“The y/n l/n is looking for me? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

(You hate the way Alexia Putellas’ smirk doesn’t do anything to calm your racing heart.)

“You weren’t in history class today,” you cross your arms. “Why?”

“So you’re worried about me.”

“Why would I be?” you narrow your eyes at the brunette. “We’re partners for a project.”

“Cool.”

You want to scream at how frustrated you are at this whole thing. Alexia Putellas doesn’t care about her grades, she has proven that many times when teachers have always used her as an example of having multiple failing grades. You wonder if they’d expel her if she isn’t the superstar captain of the women’s football team.

“Look,” you rub your temple. “I’m not thrilled about this either—”

“Who says I’m not thrilled?”

“You’re Alexia Putellas, I highly doubt you’d be thrilled about an assignment.”

“Maybe for once I’m thrilled because I have you as a partner.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “As I was saying, you probably don’t want to do this, right? Which is fine, because what I’ll do is that I’ll get it done and I’ll still put in your name.”

Alexia gives you a confused look. “So you’ll do all the work?”

“Exactly. We don’t have to interact at all, problem solved.”

“You don’t want to hang with me?” Alexia pouts. “I’m sad, y/n.”

And you’re starting to feel the heat rising to your cheeks—no, it's not because of the pout on Alexia Putellas’ face showing just how plump her lips are and it's definitely not because of the sudden thought that flashes in your mind about how those lips would feel on your own. No, you will argue that it's not because of all that. It’s because it has started raining and it’s making it even stuffier under the bleachers.

“I’m going to leave now,” you announce. “It was good to talk to you.”

When you walk past her, you don’t expect her to grab you by the wrist (and you don’t expect Alexia Putellas’ touch to be so gentle).

“Wait,” Alexia starts. “We’re partners, right? I should at least contribute to something.”

You look down at your wrist, still seeing Alexia’s hand around it. “Uhm, I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Alexia lets go of her hold (and you would be lying if you say you don't feel the slight disappointment creeping in). “It’s not because of that,” Alexia clarifies. “I just want to do it.”

You still look unconvinced and Alexia must’ve noticed too, because she rolls her eyes and murmurs, “Is my reputation really that bad that me wanting to participate in my own assignment is such a surprise?”

“Yes? It’s a two-month long project. Even I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”

Alexia ignores your answer and proceeds to pull out her phone. She unlocks it and hands it to you.

You look at her questioningly and Alexia sighs. “Put your number in.”

“My number?”

“How should we contact each other about the project?”

You stay quiet for a moment, taking in Alexia’s face. She looks determined and it’s weird to you because you figure she would just accept your offer of doing all the work for her. “You’re serious about this.”

“Just put your number and we’ll figure a schedule out.”

You’re still looking at Alexia skeptically but slowly reaches out to take the phone and put your number in nonetheless.

And when you see that her phone wallpaper is a picture of her smiling (adorably) at the camera next to her dog, you don’t think that’s how a troublemaker should look like. You wonder just how much you know about Alexia Putellas.

-

Their first meeting doesn’t go well—you expected this.

You agreed to meet at the library after school the next day and you have been sitting there, waiting for an hour until you decide to give up because stupid Alexia Putellas is nowhere to be found. You are so pissed.

You get up and slings your backpack over your shoulder. You make it to the parking lot and are about to unlock your car when you hear a voice call out to you.

“y/n!”

You don't have to turn around to know who the voice belongs to. It’s the same voice you heard yesterday under the bleachers (and the voice that somehow made it to your dream last night, but you will never admit this).

You ignore the calls and keep on walking. You’re a few steps away from your car when suddenly Alexia catches up to you and jumps in front of you, making you jump slightly and halting your steps.

“Hey.” Alexia says, trying to catch her breath.

You cross your arms, scowling at her. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Ten minutes is late, an hour just means you never wanted to come in the first place.”

Alexia winces. “I do want to come, I swear. I overslept.”

You look unamused. “It’s 3 p.m.”

“I know,” Alexia flashes a sheepish smile. “I decided to take a nap while I wait for your debate thing to end, but I overslept.”

And you would have never believed that excuse if it’s not for the groggy voice and the pillow face she’s wearing. So you just sigh and motion for her to follow you as you walk towards the bleachers because that’s the only place you could think of going since the library is closing soon.

-

“I really am sorry for making you wait.”

You’re sitting at the top of the bleachers, you at the tallest step with your laptop on your lap and Alexia looking up at you from one step below.

“It’s fine,” your replies were short. You’re still a little bit annoyed at the whole situation. If you could’ve picked a partner for history class, it would be Ona. Ona will never be late and Ona will never annoy you this much.

But the way that Alexia keeps on apologizing every few minutes and looking away with a pout on her face when you don't respond, you’re also sure that Ona will never make your heart flutter the way it does around Alexia Putellas—and you don’t want to think of what this could mean.

-

After an hour of sitting uncomfortably under the hot sun, you figure out another thing about Alexia Putellas.

Alexia Putellas is incredibly smart and you’re surprised at how eloquent she is when she lists down everything she knows about the history of Catalonia.

“You fail almost all your classes.” you speak up.

“Yes,” Alexia nods. “What does that have to do with anything I just said?”

“I just wasn’t expecting you to say all that.”

Alexia grins at her. “Do you like surprises, y/n?”

“Uhm, I guess.” you stare back at her confused.

Alexia hums. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep on surprising you.”

You don't respond because you don’t know how to. So you focus your attention back to your laptop and try your best to type something down in order to take your mind off how Alexia Putellas is doing something to you and you’re not sure if it's a good thing or not.

-

Your next meeting starts off well. Alexia is early, you walk into the library to find the brunette already there, her usual leather jacket folded on the chair next to her.

It’s a week after your first meeting and you will never admit it, but you have been looking forward to this day for the whole week.

(It’s because you just want to get this project done, you would convince yourself.)

(Not because in the classes you have with Alexia, she always sits at the back when you sit at the front, so you never really get to see her.)

(No, it’s not because of this.)

“Hi, boss,” Alexia smiles at you. “I didn’t oversleep today.”

“That’s good to hear,” you say, sitting down and opening your bag to take out your laptop.

“I know you’re proud of me.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile on your lips. “Where do you even take your naps?”

“Under the bleachers.”

“Seriously?” you raise your eyebrows. “That must be uncomfortable.”

Alexia shrugs. “There’s a bed.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“There’s this small mattress. I don’t know who it belongs to or why it’s there, but it’s there.”

You nod, a confused expression still on your face. “I see.”

“I can take you there sometime.”

You don't know if Alexia meant it in a flirty way, but judging by the smirk on her face, she did. So you just roll your eyes and type in the password to your laptop. “You should take me out to dinner first.”

“Okay, I will.” Alexia says it so nonchalantly and you wonder if Alexia’s stomach is filling up with butterflies too.

-

It’s not until the third meeting that you start to text each other with stuff unrelated to the project.

ale: did u know that chipmunks have 4 toes on their back paws but 5 toes on their front ones

y/n: No?

ale: well now u do :-)

y/n: Did you know that you look like you’re part of the chipmunk family?

ale: ???

ale: heeey

y/n: What’s up?

ale: nothin, just thinking about u

y/n: Why

ale: just because

y/n: Are you expecting me to say that I’m thinking about you too?

ale: you are? :D

y/n: No.

ale: whatever ;(

y/n: Why was the chipmunk late for work?

ale: did I miss a conversation somewhere

y/n: Because traffic was nuts.

ale: …

ale: I love it

And it’s not until the fifth meeting that you realize another thing about Alexia Putellas, and that is: Alexia Putellas makes you smile a lot.

You wonder what people think about when the stupid smile on your face appears every time you receive a text from her. Even Ona and Aitana have been pestering you non-stop about it and you’re running out of excuses as to why with every notification you receive, your lips seem to curve upwards automatically.

ale: u look beautiful

y/n: ?

ale: just stating what I see

y/n: Smooth talker. You’re not even here.

ale: I am, on ur right

y/n: Oh wow.

y/n: Aren’t you always out smoking under the bleachers during lunch?

ale: you pay attention :D

You stop once you read Alexia’s text because you do pay attention.

Suddenly, you can’t count on your fingers anymore about how many things you know about Alexia Putellas.

Alexia has a ‘resting bitch face’, that's one of the reasons why people are scared of her. She never smiles when she walks down the hallway, her face barely shows any emotion.

Alexia likes to intimidate people, she does that when people stare at her too long and she glares at them in return. And when they scurry away, she would smile in amusement.

Alexia likes to get into trouble, it’s like she purposely wants to get into trouble with how she picks a fight with someone every week and how she always talks back to the teacher.

Alexia Putellas is exactly how people paint her out to be—a reckless troublemaker who doesn’t care about anything and is always angry at the world about something.

But at the same time, you know that's not everything about her.

You know that Alexia is ridiculously talented at football. You’ve come to their matches enough to figure out that every time she touches the ball, it’s magic. You were there in support of Aitana and Ona, obviously. Not Alexia. (But your YouTube history being full of Alexia’s games may be because you were interested in staring at her. Not that you would admit it).

You know that Alexia is warm and gentle and she has different types of smiles. Alexia has a small smile every time she locks eyes with you in the hallways. Alexia has that smile that reaches her eyes when she laughs at something you say even though you’re pretty sure it’s not even that funny. Alexia has a wistful smile every time the day ends and you leave in your car and she leaves in hers.

You know that Alexia taps her foot repeatedly when she’s focusing on doing something. You know that Alexia has the attention span of a five year old because every five minutes, she would whine about how she’s hungry or how she’s getting tired of the library.

You know that Alexia is funny and she makes you laugh so much that you have lost track on how many times the librarian has told you to keep it down.

You know that Alexia is sweet and charming and she says things that make you want to run home and hide because your cheeks would always redden up.

You know that you like seeing a smile on Alexia’s face a thousand times more than the scowl she’s known to have.

ale: hey? why are u spacing out

And even though you feel that you now know everything about Alexia, you realize that you still don't know one thing about her.

You don’t know why Alexia is so different when she’s around you.

-

You are a problem-solver. That is one of the reasons why you’re such a good student—once you encounter a problem, you immediately think of ways to figure it out and most of the time, it’ll only take you a couple of hours to do so.

And so, you are baffled at how you still can’t figure out the mystery of Alexia Putellas.

You’ve spent most of your time together wondering why Alexia seems to smile more when you’re there or why no one but you sees the sparkle in Alexia’s eyes that is brighter than any stars out there, but the answer seems to never come to you.

So when your project has finally ended and you would no longer have your weekly meetings at the library, you should’ve noticed the dejected look on Alexia’s face and that should’ve given you a clue to the answer you have been so desperately searching for.

But apparently you’re not that smart after all, because once your last meeting ends, you bid Alexia goodbye and go home to spend the rest of your day watching Netflix.

And when Alexia doesn’t text you at night like she usually would, you don't think much of it and let yourself sleep instead.

-

You don't see Alexia the following week. She’s not in the cafeteria, or in the hallways, or even in the classes you share once you look to the back of the classroom where she usually sits.

Alexia doesn’t text you either and you know you should’ve text her first, but you figure Alexia is just busy so you don’t reach out.

And when you don't see Alexia in school for another week but Aitana and Ona see her at practice, you realize that Alexia has been avoiding you.

-

You have never been good with feelings. Especially if it involves someone who you have swore you would stay far, far away from.

So you have been ignoring all these feelings inside of you, ignoring the way your heart speeds up at the mention of Alexia, ignoring how your dreams are now filled with Alexia’s sweet face.

But it’s reached a point where you can’t ignore it anymore because the ache in your heart after not having heard from Alexia in weeks was getting bigger and bigger.

It’s that yearning in your chest that causes you to walk to Alexia’s spot under the bleachers in hopes that she’s there. And when you see her leaning against a pole, one hand in the pocket of her leather jacket and the other holding a cigarette, you finally admit that you might be in love with Alexia Putellas.

“Hi.”

You could see Alexia slightly jump in surprise at your voice. She turns around and her eyes widen when they lock with yours.

“y/n.” Alexia says, her tone clearly showing that she’s not expecting to see you.

“Are you avoiding me?” you jump straight to the point.

“What? No. No?” Alexia stammers, throwing her cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. “What makes you think so?”

You simply scoff and step closer to her. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I know, you have straight A’s.”

“That’s not what I mean,” you glare at her. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

When Alexia doesn’t reply, you add in a whisper, “I miss you.”

Alexia still isn’t replying, she just keeps on staring at you with a look that you can’t comprehend.

A second later, when Alexia reaches forward and pulls your face towards her and you can taste the smoke on Alexia’s lips, you realize that the answer you’ve been searching for seems to be simpler than you anticipated.

-

Now you don’t remember why you promised yourself to stay as far away as possible from Alexia. And you don't know how you could be happy about never having spoken to Alexia before.

Because with the way Alexia picks you up in the classes you don’t have together just to walk you to your next class and the way Alexia always waits up for your debate club to end before driving you home, you can list down a hundred more reasons why you should always stay near to Alexia.

Because Alexia feels like sunshine and Alexia makes you feel like you’re always walking on clouds.

Now when the name Alexia Putellas is mentioned, you knows it’s everything good in the world all at once.

[centrally-unplanned]

Stumbled on this 1992 interview with Michael Crichton about his 90's Japan Scare novel Rising Sun, which is very fun. For one, Crichton is a Perotist!

Question: “Rising Sun” makes a strong argument that Japanese business is unfairly aggressive and Americans are foolish to have tolerated this unfairness for so long. Is that a decent synopsis? Answer: Not exactly. Let me just restate it. In the immortal words of my hero, Ross Perot: “It’s not a two-way street. It never has been a two-way street. It’s not their fault.” It’s our fault.

His 90's "Declinist America Needs Protectionism" vibe really comes through in the whole interview, you forget these days due to Trump how much of a Type of Guy that was and how intellectual-coded it could be in that era of dominant "unreflective" neoliberalism.

Anyway, we certainly did talk about race in the 90's!

Q: Do you consider the Japanese racist? A: [...] We’re talking about a historically inward-looking nation, an island nation, largely monoracial. That’s a good structure in which to have the rise of feelings of superiority about your own people as opposed to other people in the world. Of course, these broad statements can’t be applied to the individual Japanese person. One of the things that Americans, as a multiracial society, feel is a tremendous sensitivity to racial comments of all kinds. In the book, one of the things I tried to say to Americans was: Hey, while you’re tiptoeing around the race issue, your competitors are a monoracial country, very much aligned, and tend to hold in common beliefs that would astound you.

Narrator: America did not, in fact, "tiptoe" around the race issue.

But to be clear it isn't like this is super wrong or anything - 90's Japan absolutely was a "racist country" if such a thing is possible, most countries are, and its geographic isolation and relative lack of modern immigrants at that time certainly did contribute to that. What I instead find amusing is the idea that this is a threat to the US; the implication is that, because Japan is a racist country, when they rule the world economically they will in some way impose that racist worldview upon us. Which, I don't really think that is how free trade works? Might have watched too much Gunbuster on this one buddy.

We of course have the classics of Japan Scare:

Q: Has the continued decline in the Japanese stock market, their falling real-estate value and shrinking foreign investment caused you to rethink your views of Japanese-American business dealings? A: No, not at all. I’ve not seen figures on what the growth of the Japanese GNP will be this year. You hear stories about economic distress in Japan, but you see that the growth rate is going down to 4% from 5%. If this country had a 4% growth rate, we’d all feel like we were pumped full of testosterone.

-😬😬😬-

Narrator: it did not stop going down at 4%.

What i love most is how you see the same exact arguments about American "economic weakness" you see today, but with the dates/countries swapped around:

Q: What allowed us to contribute so willingly to our own weakening? Greed? Altruism? Shortsightedness? Arrogance? A: (following a large sigh) You have to look back at broad time periods. It’s possible now to argue that Americans have had no increase in real earnings power since 1962. Some economists would dispute that, and set the date at 1973. Either way, the country is in a steady, consistent and ongoing decline. Why? That’s an extended conversation. 

Obviously since then US living standards have gone up quite a lot! You definitely *cannot* argue that they did not go up since 1962, that is in fact an insane claim. You can't argue they haven't gone up since the 90's either. Even in Japan they have, they definitely have in Europe, economies grow in general. And of course the classic "American companies are all gambling now":

No one invests in a company anymore, in the way it was done in the ‘50s, say, because they believe the company is good. They buy because they think the price of the stock will rise or fall. What this means is that American managers are obliged to manage in the short term. There’s no incentive for an investor to hang on with a company for the long term. In Japan, savings--up to a certain point--are tax free. Why is that not also true in America? You want savings? Then don’t tax it as ordinary income.

I will leave posting a list of the most high-value companies over the past 30 years as an exercise for the reader; you don't need it, you already know them. But I certainly see versions of this dancing around today, and you definitely saw it in 2008 all over the place.

No real skin off Crichton's back, to be clear - prediction is hard, he isn't an economist, most will be wrong. Just funny how the ideological churn keeps spinning.

[merlinmarvelandother-oneshots]

Hello, good morning/afternoon/night.

(this was written with a translator, in case there are spelling errors)

First of all I want to tell you that I adore everything you write and the way you do it.

And second, could I place an order?

I'm still learning how to use Tumblr, so I don't know how to do several things and I don't know if I'm writing this where I should.

I hope it doesn't bother you ir make you feel Uncomfortable!!

Lately I have had some situations in which a...family member...in an indirect and at the same time direct way has told me that I am...overweight/fat...and that has made me feel bad, so only if you want, could you make some headcanon about how Undertale, Underswap, Underfell and Horrortale would react to me believing that.

(I mean, they would deny it and say nice things or they would laugh and make fun of me for it and highlight having a double chin and a belly and stuff like that...)

But of course, if you don't want, of course it's not necessary or if it seems like there are too many characters, you can remove them or if you want ignore this and I'll understand.

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

anon, i’m so sorry this happened to you <3 it’s unfair and nobody should have to go through that.

readers gender isn’t specified, but i use “beautiful” and “gorgeous”

Undertale, Underfell, underswap, and horrortale skelebros reacting to a reader who has been fat-shamed

Undertale:

Sans:

-his brow bones would furrow

-“wait a minute, who said that?”

-he’d nod when you tell him

-“listen, they’re wrong. you’re beautiful as you are. now, i don’t want you starting any diets or anything if they would just make you unhappy, because i’ve heard plenty of stories about them being terrible. your family members just plain wrong. ‘kay?”

-he’d hug you if you were still upset

-from then on, he would tell you how gorgeous you were more often

papyrus:

-he would be even more upset than you were, honestly

-someone would DARE say such nasty things about HIS s/o / friend??

-he would storm to their house, knock on the door, and that man WOULD. NOT. BUDGE. until your family member listened to him.

-he would be harsh but obviously be nice about it

underfell:

Sans:

-why do you give a fuck???

-he’s honestly so confused

-like, his brother told him the same thing (which also confused him, seeing as he is a SKELETON) and he just?? didn’t care??

-he tells you to stop giving a fuck

-that’s it

-“why do you give a shit about what they say? their opinions are ass. you look great”

papyrus:

-he doesn’t look up from his book when you say that

-“mm. you could stand to lose a few pounds, i guess”

-(you don’t think he quite realized how hurtful that is)

-if you tell him he’d ask why

-he thinks he’s genuinely looking out for your best interests.

underswap:

sans:

-“they told you WHAT!?”

-he would be FUMING with anger

-but, he would calm himself down enough to reassure you

-he would tell you that you look amazing, and you shouldn’t start a diet that you wouldn’t enjoy just to conform to their standards of beautiful or healthy.

-he would talk to the family member afterwards, angrier than he would normally like to be when resolving a conflict

-you never hear those words from your family member again, trust me

papyrus:

-“fuck ‘em”

-you appear slightly offended that he would say something like that about your family member, so he elaborates

-“they want to police you on how traditionally beautiful or healthy you are. you were happy before that, but now their words have upset you, for something that didn’t need said in the first place. so, fuck ‘em. that’s an asshole move”

-he would not argue this with you

horrortale:

Sans:

-hes so fucking confused

-where he’s from, food is a scarcity, and your family’s bitching about “too much?”

-he contacts your family member, whether that be finding their address from your address book or by finding their phone number on your phone, and gives him a piece of his mind.

-he would rant for HOURS if he could, or if he could keep his train of thought for that long, about how lucky they are for having food in the first place.

-afterwards he would encourage you about how beautiful you are, and how wrong your family member is

papyrus:

-he would look at you with concern

-overweight?

-he won’t pretend to be an expert on human weight, but even if you are “overweight,” that’s a good thing! it means you have access to food!

-that’s SO special to him.

-he would tell you that no matter what your family member thought, you were BEAUTIFUL

-he would be happy to talk to your family member if you wanted him to

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter six: I think he knows

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER FIVE: FUCKING SITUATIONS, CIRCUMSTANCES, MISCOMMUNICATIONS

warnings: language, alcohol consumption, self-deprecation, angst

word count: 1.8k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella

A/N: YAY! first chapter of phase two -- and guys, let me tell you she's juicy. much drama and angst to come! the next part may be super duper short, so the chapter after will come sooner than you think :)

It’s not as painful as you first imagined. The first week was hard, obviously. But when you never heard any of Bucky’s escapades through the wall — you assume he just waits until you fall asleep. Or maybe you’ve just been more tired recently, taking on as much work as you possibly can all to outrun your intense feelings, sprinting like it’s a fucking marathon.

At least he hasn’t caught on. He visits you, after workouts and spar sessions, holding treats and drinks, and even keeps you company when the system is down and you have to file everything by hand. Everything is good, and you’ve managed to dissuade everyone who knows the two of you that you like him. But you do, desperately. Pathetically.

Right now, you’re not focused on all of that. Wanda and Nat have roped you into a girls’ night. And surprisingly, Sharon is there. When Nat disappears to get her favourite bottle of white wine, an awkward silence descends upon the three of you, as even Wanda politely excuses herself to get some snacks. You look everywhere but at Sharon, afraid she’ll say something horrid about you. You pull at your dress and fiddle with your hair, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“I’m so sorry.” Are the words you didn’t expect to hear, at all. Your head shoots up, only to find her staring at you with a truly apologetic look all over her face, red lips pursed in more words still unspoken.

“W—What?” You hate the small stutter in your voice.

“I’ve been a downright bitch to you the entire time you’ve been here. I’ve been unfair. I’m sorry. When you got here, all I saw was that Steve wanted you, and I thought you wanted him too, so I lashed out. But I know now that that’s not the case. And even if you were interested, that gave me no right to take it out on you. If I’m feeling insecure, I should keep it to myself.”

Immediately, your nurturing sense of nature kicks in, ready to reassure her. “Well, no Sharon, you shouldn’t keep insecurities to yourself. There’s definitely healthier ways to go about it…and I’m not excusing you, but I understand it. When you like someone and they seem to have something with someone else…it’s quite crushing. Sometimes you do anything to fill that void, regardless of consequences. I understand.” She smiles at you.

“Thank you. But still, that doesn’t make what I did to you okay, by any standards. I was…I was hoping maybe we could start over? And maybe try to eventually be friends?” Her shy hopefulness gets the best of you. You nod. “Yeah. Of course.” 

This is definitely gonna come back to bite you in the ass.

“Plus, you’re into Bucky now, aren’t you?” She asks, and you’re taken aback. It feels like the narrative you’ve been cultivating for the past month or so has come shattering down. Have you been that obvious? “I can tell by the way you look at him. It’s cute, honestly.” 

You deflect. “Um, I suppose we’re close.” You wring your hands under the table where she can’t see and just like that Nat and Wanda both come barreling back in.

“Oh come on, don’t lie. You’re completely smitten by him.” Nat grins, holding up six bottles of wine. Six? How the hell are we gonna get through that?

“Okay and?” You ditch any pretense, knowing that if Sharon’s figured it out, then there is no point in wearing a mask when everyone knows of the hideous face underneath. “It’s not like he likes me back, so—.”

“So can I ask him out?” Sharon asks, her demeanour entirely changing. Then you realise what she was doing, she was trying to covertly figure out if you and Bucky are actually together, because she wants him.

Of course she does. And even though your heart splinters into a million pieces in your chest, you smile. “Yeah, go for it. Just because I have a tiny crush on him, doesn’t mean others can’t. Go ahead.”

“Do you know where he is now?” You feel the lump in your throat hardening, and refusing to dissolve even though you know you should answer her question, should speak.

“Yeah, he’s sparring with Steve.”

“Oh, I’ll go find him now then. Thank you so much!” She walks around the table and hugs you, and you don’t have it in you to pull away like you so desperately want. 

You don’t say another word until she leaves, then bow your head and let the tears fall. 

Dear God, what chance do you stand now? Sharon is prettier, skinnier than you. How could you even think to compete with her? Her hair is perfect, her body is perfect, her face is perfect. It makes sense. She’s the kind of woman Bucky should go for, who he makes the most sense with. Not you.

Once again, you are close to him, but you’ll never be the one he wants. You don’t register your shoulders shaking until you feel yourself wrapped in a hug. It’s stupidly childish, to be crying like this.

It’s not like she’s trying to steal your boyfriend — she just happens to have a crush on the same man as you. So why are you so distraught?

Because deep down you haven’t let go of hope. That maybe, if you’re nice enough, then Bucky will like you. For your heart. For your soul, for your mind. Maybe, he’ll be drawn to your kindness and generosity, and it’ll win him over. 

He’ll have to compromise with your looks, but…if he liked you enough, wouldn’t it be worth it?

But you forget that someone else who looks like Sharon can also do the exact same. And then, there will be no compromise. He’ll be happier. 

He’ll be happier.

“God, she’s such a bitch.” Wanda says, pulling you out of your thoughts. You lift your head, drying your tears.

“Wanda…you can’t just call women bitches. And she’s not that horrible, she apologised for the stuff she’s done before. She’s braver than me, she can actually ask out the man she likes. Don’t blame her.”

Natasha pulls away, glaring daggers at you. “Girl, you know I love you, but are you fucking blind? She got your guard down, to talk about if you and Bucky are a thing, and then pounced when you said you weren’t. She wanted to see if the rumours were true.” 

Both women pull away from you, sitting down as you wipe your cheeks clean. “What rumours?” Wanda uses her powers to pour you a glass which you down almost immediately, and then Wanda pours you another.

“Haven’t you heard? Word on the block is that you and Bucky are dating.” You sink into yourself, knowing what people must be saying.

“What? Well, we definitely are not, unfortunately for me. We’re just friends—well, I guess everyone’s gonna find out when she asks him out and he says yes.”

“He’s not gonna say yes,” Wanda breathes, laying a gentle hand on your arm.

“You guys don’t know that for sure.”

“We do.” They both chime in unison.

“How?”

“He looks at you like he’d rather gouge his eyes out than not. Plus, he’s well up to date with what Sharon’s done to you. He’s not saying yes. Trust us.”

You nod, deciding to divert the topic. “What about you guys, what’s new with you?”

Natasha tells you about the hot girl she saw at the gym, and Wanda recounts her latest escapade with Vision. The three of you gossip and talk for hours and hours, getting louder and louder as more alcohol enters your systems. 

You’re incredibly drunk as you head back to your room, stumbling in the elevator and giggling over Nat calling Thor’s new long hair “horse-shaped”. To sober you, it makes no sense. But to the inebriated version of you, nothing’s ever been funnier. 

Bucky’s standing outside your door, waiting for you to emerge. “Bucky!” You exclaim, voice full of love and adoration as you fall into his strong arms and warm chest, pressing a noisy kiss to the closest part of him which happens to be his neck. He blushes.

“Dear God, doll. You’ve had a lot to drink haven’t you?” He chuckles, amused. 

“Uh huh. Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off giving Sharon the pounding of her life or something?” You gaze up at him through your lashes, and this is the precise moment Bucky realises he’s falling in love with you. Flushed, round cheeks, sparkling eyes, and a fondness in your face that nobody else could ever replicate. And that dirty fucking mouth. You’re going to be the death of him.

“What? No. Absolutely not. After what she did to you?” You frown, and fuck he just wants to kiss you so bad. “But why would you let that stop you? She’s so pretty, and she’s so interested. She told me a few hours ago.” You open the door to your room, and he carries you bridal style. You snuggle into him, even as he sets you down. 

You thank your lucky stars you’re not wearing any makeup, so you can bury your face in the pillow all you want. But all you want is Bucky. So beautiful, how can you resist? He watches you, snuggling into the covers. He wants you so bad, it’s ruining his life. 

That’s what it feels like.

You reach for him, just as he plucks up the courage to offer you a half-truth. “Why would I want someone that cruel? And you’re a heck of a lot prettier, doll. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He moves closer to you, to tuck you in up to your chin in this freezing cold night, when your eyes crack open and you latch onto his arm.

“Please don’t go, Buck. Don’t leave me. I love you.” You pout, and tears escape you, disappearing into your hairline. He brushes them away, and the contrast of his hot and cold hands has your eyes flutter.

“You love me?” He chuckles again, because you’re just too damn cute. He quickly takes a picture and sets it as his lock screen, too enamoured by you to resist.

“Of course. You’re my best friend, and I love all my friends. Just—Will you please get over here? It’s fucking freezing.” Bucky quickly jumps under the covers, facing towards you and pulls you in. Your shivering subsides immediately, wrapped in his warm chest and his metal arm.

“I love you too.” He whispers, and you hum in agreement, not knowing the double meaning those four simple words carry.

You drift off peacefully, dreaming once again of desire-filled blue eyes, and a smile graces your face.

NEXT PART

[pixeldistractions]

August

There were two weeks left before the revised date of Stephanie’s wedding, which had Jordan occupied outside, much to Maria’s disappointment. She'd missed him while he was away with his boys. For the kitchen staff, it was still too early to start food preparations for the wedding, so their workload was the regular fare—catering orders and supper club prep. She wasn't too busy to steal five minutes to go find him.

The weather couldn’t be more perfect, and everyone hoped it would hold for the wedding, but it was still too far out to know for certain. The barn was scented with the light fumes of fresh paint. Those would dissipate in the next two weeks. Banners of gauzy ivory chiffon draped the ceiling between hanging pendant lights. The lights weren’t turned on yet, but Maria knew when they were, it would be breathtaking in here.

Jordan stood at the back door, gazing out, absently, somewhere beyond the trees. 

She stood next to him. God, I missed you, she wanted to say. Did you miss me, too? Did you remember me at all?

Instead, she booped his pink nose and said, “You’re sunburned.”

Oh, god, Maria, she said to herself, did you actually just boop that man on the nose? 

Yes, she did. Thankfully, he didn’t look unamused by it. 

“Heh, the sun hates me,” he said.

He was pink on the tops of his ears and the back of his neck. Elsewhere, too, she imagined, vividly. Perhaps his strong pink shoulders were striped by tank top straps of freckled ivory. But that was just a guess. Or a fantasy? He was still staring off at the horizon. She wondered then what he was thinking about—something weightier than sunburn, surely—but it didn’t take long before he filled her in.

“Isn’t it funny you can barely see the lake?”

“What?”

He pointed to a gap between the trees. “Look, it’s like a sliver. On the website, it says the hotel has lake views. Do you think that counts?”

Under a crystal clear sky, you could see the cerulean blue of Lake Michigan. Only just. A tiny sliver of blue between scattered trees under the billowy telltale marine clouds. “I never checked the website before,” she said. “Is that what it says?”

He nodded. “It’s like, this majestic life and you only get a glimpse of it, a little bite. Like all these tourists, sure they’ll drive the one-point-seven miles to the lake. It’s only a couple minutes in the car. But it’s just such fraud. Don’t get too tempted, don’t enjoy it too much. You’re just going back home to live your standard life again. What’s the point? Might as well forget it even exists.”

She stared at him, unsure what to say. Then, as if his own heaviness had become too much to bear, he said, “I’m still kind of hungry. Drake’s tacos are just lettuce.”

He looked like he needed a hug, but she also remembered he didn’t like it when she did that. So she wouldn’t.

“Fancy lettuce and sadness,” she quipped.

He sputtered with laughter, and a smile came to his face, a desperate one. It felt like, thank you, it felt like, save me. Better than his grave ruminations about the lake and life and the futile unfairness of it all. He gave her brain whiplash.

"So obviously you need to tell me all about the trip."

So they sat, and recounting the adventures brightened him a little. The kink party with real live furries. She would have died to see it. To be honest, she wouldn't have been above putting on a costume herself. Not a bear one, mind you, but it sounded kind of fun. Especially if Jordan was there. He told her about the incredible views, the grueling hikes, the rain and the sunshine. He’d texted her most of this from the road, but to see his face now, pink with sunshine and happiness, she loved to see him smile. It was the most charming thing. 

"…and Milo brought home twelve different species of bugs."

"You said bugs? Twelve species, so like, more than twelve bugs?" Maria cringed.

"They're the most fascinating things," Jordan said. "But Colette lost her mind when we brought them all in the kitchen. Obviously we weren’t gonna leave them there, but it stormed pretty bad that day and they couldn’t stay outside in the cardboard boxes." 

"You know, I actually can’t fault her for that." Maria shrugged. "But you should build him a little shed, so they can live outside."

Jordan nodded. "Yeah, that’s just what we were thinking."

“I bet a shed would be no problem for you, considering the whole barn. I love what you’re doing with this. It’s beautiful. You did a really good job.”

“Hmm,” he shrugged, terrible with compliments. “Well, Sharon found me some videos to follow. It turned out okay, I guess.”

“It’s beautiful, I said.”

He looked stunned. Quiet again, not exactly pleased. This man was a deep well of hidden emotions and complex feelings, or was he just thinking about tacos again?

“Thanks,” he muttered, turning his face to the ground.

Then he looked her in the eyes and said, “I think you’re my only real friend in the world.”

And it was so genuine. He really meant it. Friend. She was both honored and tragically sad if it was only just that. 

The friend zone is a real place, Maria, and you live there.

She wanted to think of it as the kind sentiment he meant it to be, but her eyes threatened to well up with tears. She couldn't look at him any longer. So she closed her stupid eyes full of their problematic tears and laid her head on his shoulder.

He stiffened. She remembered he didn't like hugs, maybe? Or maybe he just didn't want hers? Or not now? Or not anymore? Who knew? It wasn’t as if they’d never hugged before, or close to it—a squeeze of the shoulder, a pat on the back, the same generic happy new year embrace everyone got.

Just give me a minute, she hoped.

But then she felt his head rest on hers in return, his fingers on her shoulder, pulling her closer.

Oh. This.

— "why are you here? #4: then go" part 1 / 4

Next -> // WAYH #4 start // index

previously: the last time she tried to hug him was a little awkward // Colette crushed all his hopes and dreams

author's note: ha ha, longtime readers will you please pretend you don’t know what happens after Stephanie’s wedding in about fourteen days, so you can muster up a shred of sympathy for this poor sad puppy dog in her cozy friend zone. If we were all reading this scene fresh from the beginning, I suppose we would feel very sorry for her. She doesn’t know what happens next.

A fair point though, at this point in his life, another woman to please in the last thing he wants. But he does need a friend.

pose credits: "a dandelion for you" by Natalia-Auditore

[idonttakethislightly]

Matter over Mind

I've never read an X-Men comic, so I feel like I'm not really in The Power Fantasy's target demographic? So maybe this is all just massively missing the point, but...

I'm completely obsessed with Heavy, and I can't tell if this is me forgiving atrocities because it was a hot person who (nearly and/or indirectly) committed them, or if this is something else. I think I want it to be something else, but maybe I'm kidding myself.

Which is not to throw shade on anyone who's fascinated by hot people doing atrocious things! The whole point of fiction imho is that nothing has to work the same as in reality, including moral/ethical judgement. Even if I was going to pass judgement on people for their fictional crushes I sure wouldn't be saying so on Tumblr.

It's just... I didn't always understand myself as well as I do now. Let me tell you something I just recently finally articulated about my relationship to fiction.

Every time I fall in love with a story, it's because I'm repressing something big. There's a feeling or experience that's eating at my life, but it's not safe to let it be real. That's the only kind of time when I can find true fictional love, and it honestly kind of sucks because I don't want my greatest joy to only arrive in moments of acute pain.

It's also a known fact about me that I'm incredibly attracted to long hair on men, and to really good jawlines. So it's almost possible to tell myself a story where I'm ignoring the facts of Heavy's choices and focusing on his physical appeal. Which is sexual, obviously, but also-

I don't like having a body. I don't eat a good diet, or wash my hair enough, or exercise. There's reasons for all those things- a mixture of sensory sensitivities and executive function struggles- but they're all things I hate doing, and hate myself for not doing, and they're all things Heavy definitely does. (Yes, his hair is tousled, but it's got volume and it's drawn with silky strands instead of lanky clumps. Compare the texture of his hair to the texture of Jacky Magus's present-day hair. Do you see how hard I've been thinking about this?)

I'm also very impressed with Caspar's approach to stylizing the human body. He's got an eye for physical details- but not every character is physical in the same way. I mentioned Heavy's hair in contrast to Jacky's, but also look at Eliza's unrealistically-geometric bob- it's sharp and unnatural to the point of being less physically real. (As far as I can tell, that's her deal in general.) Look at how Jacky and Masumi are both (in my opinion) worryingly thin, but you see the cords in Jacky's neck more- for her it's conventional beauty standards, for him it's a clear neglect of his physical form.

I don't think I'd do a great job drawing the cast of The Power Fantasy. I'd struggle with Etienne's wrinkles because I don't understand facial anatomy, and his hair because I don't understand natural Black hair textures. I try to remember to draw folds in clothing, but I don't have Caspar's ability to differentiate fabrics by the way they drape. I can draw the idea of a person... but the physical realities of embodiment are beyond me. Let alone the unrealities. And I feel like my drawing style restricts my imagination, because what's the point of dreaming up things I can't draw?

I've gotten kind of disillusioned with the way I design transmasculine characters. I used to think that I drew them androgynous, if not outright feminine, because I wanted to see transmascs who look like me. But honestly, I think I've always just been projecting my own dysphoria onto every character I draw. If I don't get to be tall, muscular, square-jawed, strong-featured... nobody does. Even the cis men I draw look androgynous. I grew up on manga, not the X-Men, and I think it's cruel and unfair and needlessly stereotypical to say I draw like a girl, but the fact is I could never have designed Heavy.

Heavy's not real. He's not even lines on paper, to me- he's ones and zeroes in a file, that turn into lights on a screen.

I still feel like his body is more physically real than my own.

[werewolfdog]

Finally home from work and walk-in appointment so I can finally write my long af rant about this particular day coworker M and I regularly work with...

Across this week since we started joining the day program with the other group homes this passed Monday, my anxiety with this coworker ( I'll dub her TCA ) got incredibly bad. In short summary: I keep getting the impression from the ways she kept staring at me intensely, being more dismissive towards me, and noticing her talking about me to a few coworkers that she had some issues with me and she's not being communicative about them with me. I ended up having a cry moment today when I tried to ask one colleague for leftover pizzas that I could eat as lunch and she said it's for the clients, but eventually said I could have the extra pieces before I cracked. I cried because I got scared of TCA thinking I'd get in trouble if I tried to take the pizzas when I felt I wasn't working hard enough for her standards ( I've been experiencing food guilt with her lately, but that's a rant to share some time ).

A close friend to TCA saw me cried and told her about it. TCA and I had a Talk about it and she told me that even though she doesn't hold any personal issues or ill perceptions of me, TCA said I wasn't doing my job as being observant and initiative enough, along with how I wasn't really supporting and including our clients enough... One example I had asked her for is that she didn't like how M and I would play puzzles all day. The one thing that confuses me is, though... She does outings with a few clients in most times, so clearly, she doesn't get to see much of my performances. Over almost six months, I don't know much about her that I can't be sure how to work with her. But I as especially M have tried to include our clients with such as the block buildings and walks, but when they're over sixty and actively hold little interest in things, there's only so much we can do to include them who'd ignore us or eventually leave out.

I got upset TCA would remind me again, as we had a serious talk before when I had an issues with a different in-home coworker, I have to grow "thicker skin" and I need my character + personality to "approach differently" especially when working in this field. And she reminded ( not that I remembered she did tell me this before ) me I'm following the wrong person, M, ( as in like following his footsteps ) 'cause he doesn't do his job as she thinks he's lazy and overly playful. But I haven't properly worked with TCA... At All. And vice verse, so obviously she can't tell me basically that I'm not doing enough when I'm actually doing the minimum work as a day program assistant with seven disabled clients as few having challenging behaviours to support. She never really asks me for help either, so she can't be so terribly upset + frustrated with me if she doesn't communicate with me. And I've worked in-home for only five months while TCA already had her experiences in the day program with M before covid, so it's absurd when she stated I'm having trouble adjusting, like obviously, yes I am when I had no experiences and she even Knows that I have autism so I need more time to adjust. Yet she said it like this is all so easy.

However, I am most thankful TCA's close friend I mentioned was very supportive and understanding with me. She spoke to me along the line about how she understand how certain people in workfield can be rude and vicious, so it's hard to be able to work with those who are harsher. I know TCA had told her about our talk, but I'm so glad she could be actually empathetic with me and would help me see that I am actually doing enough in this agency and it is okay for me to be an emotional being. I told her that TCA said to me I needed to grow thicker skin, and she told me I just have to be myself while people like TCA have to be kinder on the other hand, which I didn't even think about that as how it's unfair I have to be stronger, yet folks like TCA would still be cold and harsh. Still, she told me that I am doing the most that I can while I should give myself grace, and it's okay I'd cry because it's not a sign of weakness but rather a way to process the situations, which this exchange made me feel a bit better.

TCA was someone who I had drawn her a favourite animal and got her a slice of cheesecake on her birthday last month lmfao I genuinely thought from there onward, we'd be on stronger terms, but clearly I can see now she has work related issues with me over something she can't really... judge and take as a real fault if she doesn't work with me the most as M does... I had actually spoken to the supervisor today if it's possible I can't be paired with her in group assignments when each group does a specific activity for certain clients, and she said it's not possible, but she'll try to put it into consideration. It's only been the first week of the day program and yet, TCA is giving me such a hard time about it, it's just ridiculous. I'm trying as much as I can, man. It's not getting easier now having to look after over twenty three clients and I'm not neurotypical like her so of course I've been taking this change poorly while I can't notice all of the cues. I just hope TCA will be more mindful and opening to me over time, but we'll see.

[house-afire]

Topaz, Ruby (pre-Ed/Stede, cosmic horror AU, warning for eye trauma)

Prompt: 100 words of responsible cult leaders

“Well,” Stede said, a bit nervously, “I like to think of myself as a pioneer in the cultic world. Shaking up the established ways of doing things. When you think about it, what does all that ritual human sacrifice really achieve?”

“Fair winds,” said Iz—Iggy, Stede amended with no small amount of venom. “Safe raids that don’t get your entire inept crew fucking slaughtered. Not, say, running your ship aground.”

“That only happened once!”

“Fucking mental,” Ed said, “doing it on your own like that. Cold-shouldering the sea takes balls. Takes vision.”

The word hung in the air between them.

His eyes. Stede couldn’t look away from them. Pete had sworn they were the reddest rubies, that Blackbeard had carved them out himself—“Do you think Blackbeard would really need someone else to cut his eyes out for him? Not in a million years”—and replaced them with gems bewitched for bloodshed. But they were the brightest topaz, the color of fire, of lanterns in shadow plays, of endlessly running sap.

Maybe he had cut them out himself, though. Pete could have been right about that much. Stede didn’t feel like he could ask, not when he still had the pair he was born with, which he was well-aware marked him as something of a disgrace among captains.

“So what do you do,” Ed said, “if you’re not—” He mimed slitting his throat, cutting off a finger, slicing down the length of his arm. “Dropping bodies, having a bit of maim. You getting by on blood?”

Stede had dabbled in some ritual bloodletting, but Jim was the only one who didn’t hiss and howl at the first cut, and really, it felt unfair to have it always be Jim.

“We’ve done a bit of blood,” he hedged. It was technically accurate. Last week, Lucius had cut himself shaving, and he’d sprinkled some of the blood on the mast! That must have done something! “But the crew’s responded best to what the French call la petite mort.”

Ed and Iggy both stared at him blankly. Stede had been thinking of them as such different men that it was disconcerting to have them look at him exactly the same way. It was even stranger to notice for the first time that Iggy’s still-human eyes held a kind of flat reflection of Ed’s topaz light. Was he a familiar? Stede had never met one before.

“The little death,” Stede said, flushing. “The climax of—carnal activities.”

“You’ve been appeasing the sea with orgies,” Iggy said. He sounded as though he were on the verge of committing ritual human sacrifice here and now.

“If you’re calling that a little death, mate, think you might be doing it wrong,” Ed said.

“It’s not me, it’s the French, and—I’m sure we’re all doing it right,” he added, a touch more defensively than he perhaps should have. Fine, it was true that he hadn’t been an active participant in the rituals, but he was endeavoring to maintain a responsible boundary between the crew and its captain. He was just being a good leader. “Do you just stick to human sacrifice, then?”

Ed shook his head. “You try to get by on brute force alone, you burn out in a year. I’ve seen it happen. Well, made it happen. To people who annoyed me.”

Oh. Stede very much hoped he didn’t annoy Ed. He rather believed he didn’t, though. He thought Ed was perhaps the only person he’d ever met who wasn’t somewhat annoyed by him.

“You want to alternate between sacrifices and trades, too,” Ed went on. “Eyes for gems—that’s a classic, obviously.” He tapped one of the topazes, and the clicking noise of his fingernail against the stone made Stede faintly nauseated. “Just make sure you pick the right ones the first time out, because I know a guy who kept swapping his around, and—” He winced. “Nasty.”

“He poked his fingers into his own brain,” Iggy said.

“That’s—vivid,” Stede said.

“Yeah, makes you nuts, jerking your life around like that. Takes an awful lot to make it work, too. Standard is one kill, one amputation, but there’s always a bit of wiggle room. I’ve got a friend who sacrificed her whole crew to make it work and get some nice ghosts to sail around with. She’s a bit of a dick, though.”

(Stede would think of all this again months later, when Ed’s hand tightened around his and he gasped his way back to life, ruby eyes wide open.)

[mllemaenad]

The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

Much like Gwen, I would very much like to know what the point of this is.

The first time I listened to this, I had a horrible fever, and honestly I think my only takeaway was that dying to the sound of that irritating Mr Bonzo song sounds tremendously unfair. That's a gross insult added to fatal injury situation right there.

Now, listening with a clearer head, I just keep thinking – this feels like a ridiculously convoluted way to achieve anything. So what are they aiming for, with all this rigamarole?

Most of the victims seem to be ... well, moderately important, let's say? They're throwing a bachelor party in a private room in what sounds like an upmarket strip club, so they have some money to throw around.

And this:

Norris/Jordan Bennett This lot weren’t the worst. Just a bunch of heavyset, middle-aged lads with names like Ozzer, or Rozzer or whatever. My guess was they used to be a school rugby team or something. The groom was fine, acted embarrassed even though he was obviously keen and they were easily pleased. – The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

... very much gives off private school old boys vibes. Er. I mean public school, since it's British. But regardless.

They're probably somebodies, up to a point. Successful in business or politics. Drive Audis or Lamborghinis, or whatever is fashionable these days (my entire understanding of what car people like may be derived from a couple of Top Gear episodes I saw over a decade ago). Vote Tory. Have wine collections. Send their sons to the same school they attended. That sort of thing.

But only up to a point. Jordan, the bartender doing the narration, pointedly doesn't recognise any of them. They're just more of the same sort she served every night. The Prime Minister didn't die in that strip club that day, nor did any famous film star, nor any CEO big enough to have been on the news defending his company's dubious business practices. Just some guys, presumably with a bit of money.

It took a bit to set up, too. All the business with the name and address in the envelope, which required a hand delivery to the monster. Then, of course, someone had to plant the lunch box – or I suppose it could supernaturally manifest itself, but that does not sound like less work. And it seems to have only worked because "Baz" the groom was genuinely a Mr Bonzo fan.

Norris/Jordan Bennett They started giving the groom gifts. Same old tat as always, cufflinks, poo gags, all the standard stuff. Then the groom spotted the last one on the table, this cheap yellow and purple kids lunch box. It looked old and shoddy and no one admitted to bringing it but the groom just squealed with glee and carefully opened it before pulling out a bunch old souvenir merch. Pencils, postcards, keyrings, all sorts of crap, all the same yellow and purple and last of all a cracked CD case. When they saw it the whole bunch gave this big laughing cheer. – The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

He had to like Mr Bonzo to trigger the trap. Had that lunch box been delivered to Jordan she would have tossed it.

It required research and setup, and access to exactly the kind of monster to which Baz would be vulnerable.

For an assassination, it's obviously absurd; there have to be thugs who'll do that job with less associated nonsense. It's entirely possible that somebody wants these guys dead, but that can't be why the OIAR did it. It's also a lot for the purposes of generating a scary story. I mean – the OIAR is drowning in scary stories. And if I'm honest, this one wasn't especially scary. I mean, don't get me wrong – it's deeply unpleasant and awful, but I've never been much moved by "monster on a rampage" tales.

But on the other side of it, it's much too small scale for a The Magnus Archives-style ritual.

There is Jordan, though. The thing about Jordan is that she is very much the sister of Dianne Margolis from Give and Take. If you subtract the specifics of the monsters, the stories are basically identical:

A place of business

A monster that is in some sense invited in

A massacre

A single, surviving staff member, traumatised and seeking compensation

Jordan and Dianne themselves are both professionals who find themselves wildly out of their depths when confronted with a supernatural interloper. And, crucially, both were abandoned by their superiors, and that isolation made them vulnerable. Dianne has a boss who goes on "personal development sabbaticals" and doesn't answer her emails. Jordan has a doorman who goes on unscheduled smoke breaks. Now, in fairness to poor Joey the doorman, it does seem as though Mr Bonzo took him out first. But there's a lot of plausible deniability to be found in that history – sometimes, Jordan is left on her own, and if something were to go wrong ...

Norris/Jordan Bennett All I actually want is my hand back so I can tend bar but that isn’t going to happen is it? So I’ll have to settle for the next best thing and sue you for everything I can get, because I don’t know what happened that night but it was in your venue and no one came to help. Not Derek, not another doorman, no one. So yeah, you’d better have one hell of a settlement waiting for me, or I'll see you in court. – The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

A bachelor party is an odd choice of a place to kill someone. This isn't Baz's address. He wouldn't be here long, and in practice might be hard to pin down: he could arrive late or leave early; he could decide to go hang out in the public areas for a bit. Jordan, though. This is her workplace. You can just about guarantee she will be there.

Monsters in The Magnus Archives were not primarily interested in killing people. I mean – they did kill people, obviously. Sometimes quite a lot of people. But they killed people because dying people are often afraid, or because if you're, say, trying to make people afraid of falling, throwing one guy out of a cable car will make an impression on the other passengers.

Killing wasn't the point.

We have, here, another semi-public murder with a surviving witness. Jordan is unlikely to convince herself this never happened because she has her missing hand as evidence.

Geraldine The witness statements from three murders over the last five years – Nigel (speaking over her) I told your producer this wasn’t going to be discussed. Geraldine – that claim a person in a Mr. Bonzo costume was at the scene? Do you think there could be a copycat? – The Magnus Protocol: Saturday Night

On her own, Jordan might just be a spooky story. But that's a fourth witness statement for Geraldine. There have been at least four cases over the past five years of something almost exactly like this: grisly murders, and someone left alive to tell the tale.

Something is trying to get everyone's attention.

And I wonder if the name Gwen gave Mr Bonzo wasn't Jordan Bennett.

As for who benefits, I have no doubt Alice is quite correct.

Alice What are you getting at? Gwen You never wonder what the point is? Who benefits from all this awfulness? Alice I don’t wonder. I know. Gwen (sitting up) What? Really? Alice (portentous) Oh yeah. I’ve known for a while. What we’re doing here, it’s all part of a grand plan to satisfy one of the most unspeakable evils known to mankind… Gwen’s on the edge of her seat. Alice (almost a whisper) …the UK government. – The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

Sure, that's one of those lines that sounds like a joke, but which actually speaks the truth. That's been the horror all along: the difference between The Magnus Institute, that had to coax people in, and the OIAR, which can just harvest the horrors, sometimes from very private sources.

And I have not forgotten this:

Alice Colin! There’s my guy! How's it hanging? Is it an app yet? Do we have a minimalist logo? I assume you’ve finished all the social features? Colin Don't you start. I swear I'm going to shove a cable down that prick's throat, pull it out his ministerial anus and floss him to death – The Magnus Protocol: First Shift

There's a minister behind this mess, somewhere, and he is likely the one pulling the strings.

The question, mostly, is whether Alice knows she's right. She does talk a good game about indifference, of course, but it's becoming abundantly clear that the OIAR does not hire people who are not marked by the supernatural. And something is already following her.

What could she tell you, if she were ever willing to talk?

Celia and Sam are what remains, of course, but that's just more put-a-pin-in-it-for-later stuff. Whether Alice does or no, Celia has things going on, but she won't talk until the plot is right for it.

[reblog-house]

An Alien Find

Characters: Gem, Pearl

Wc: 987

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 251, “Out There”

Ao3: Here!

When Gem settled on the mountain with her dwarf friend, Impulse, it wasn’t just because of its advantageous position, far away from civilization and with a river on the skirts of the mountain.

The landscape across from her… there was no word for it other than alien.

No, not magical. She knew magic better than most and it didn’t look like that. Hills that twisted and rolled. Platforms of soil, forming natural underpasses. Trees of colors she never would have imagined possible. Purple, blue, pines of yellow and orange. Crystal flowers. Vines that supported their own weight, growing up in the air. And over one of the hills…

A mushroom. Towering over nearly everything. Teal. Like two heads of a bird, sprouting from an orange stem. Nothing about it felt… earthly.

And next to it, a flower, the only thing that stood taller than the mushroom. Its petals reached out like tentacles into the skies. Its roots shaped the soil around it like a magnet, green tubes that left the ground. From afar, you could confuse them for moss-ridden bridges.

But not everything was natural, and that interested her just as much. Builds sprawled over the landscape. Grey, but not stone. And a tower, though it was unfair to just call it that. It stood as tall as the flower and mushroom. Multiple layers of different colors and shapes. Rings floated around it. 

And they were empty. 

So far, Impulse and her hadn’t seen anyone around. No one who could’ve built or lived in those buildings. And yet, they weren’t crumbling from disrepair.

Neither had crossed the river yet, fearing what could reside there, all the same.

They still chose that spot to live in because sometimes, the views were worth the risk.

And anyway, their distance was changing today! She thought she saw some movement, as she was setting up base — a bigger one, not the small treehouse she was currently living in. It was nice, but obviously temporary. She was an elf. Sure, she may have been exiled for befriending a dwarf and also her many crimes of treason with said dwarf and some beheadings here and there, but she still had standards. And those standards were a big castle with a dungeon where she could display the heads of her enemies.

And so, she filled herself with courage and buckled her sword. 

One could never be too careful.

Impulse was too busy doing dwarf things underground and she wanted to do this on her own. Still, she called out to him, just in case, and when he didn’t respond, she shrugged. She was intimidating enough on her own. And if the being wasn’t intimidated by her at first, they would quickly learn to adapt.

She slipped on her wooden glider wings, something she and Impulse designed for quick get-aways, and with a running start, jumped off the mountain.

The closer she got, the more she was hit with how gorgeous it all looked. 

She descended gracefully in front of the buildings and closed her wings. She unsheathed her blade.

Slowly, she approached the main building’s gates. 

The crushing of grass behind her made her swivel, sword outstretched, her braid whipping from the movement. 

“Oi, mate! Careful with that thing, you almost hit me!”

Gem’s eyes widened and her arm lingered uncertain as she processed the message and what she was looking at.

A woman was standing there. Human, by the look of things, but you could never be too certain. Tall, long brown hair, a sloped nose, friendly looking eyes, and some very strange clothes. Forest green… not quite breeches, that extended over her torso, covering a black shirt. And on her head, the strangest thing of all, a helmet without face protection. Orange, and with a texture she couldn’t recognize. Actually, her boots seemed to be of a similar material.

Gem took a step back, certain with her sword. “Who are you?” she asked with a threat in her voice.

The other got the memo and stepped back too, arms still in front of her. “Wh— I should be asking you! You burst into my home and threaten me?”

That got Gem to finally lower her sword. “This is your home?”

The lady looked around with mild panic and then deflated. “Yes.” Then, her eyes shone, body re-energized. “Oh, you must be one of the new neighbours! You’re human, right?”

She looked too eager, asking that.

“Uh…”

“Oh, are you not?”

Gem pointed at her ears and the woman nodded absently.

“Right… So, not human?”

“... No?”

Okay, whatever that lady was, she definitely was not a human, like she’d thought. They’d have to keep a close eye on her.

“And your friend? The short one?”

“A dwarf.”

The definitely-not-human lady took a second and then pouted. “Okay.”

“What, you looking for humans?”

“W-well, of course I am looking for my people!”

Right, so that’s how they were doing things. Gem decided to play along.

“I see!” She looked over the constructions. “And they aren’t in one of those buildings?”

The stranger shook her head. “No, I don’t know what happened. I’m trying to study what happened to the– to my people. They were all here and one day, they disappeared. I figured if you two were humans too… you may have an idea of what happened.”

“Sorry, no.” Gem genuinely was sorry. “I was too busy trying to commit regicide.”

“Oh.” Their eyes met. “And that is?”

Gem brushed it off with her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay…” The woman sounded unconvinced. “Oh, you asked for my name. I’m Pearlescent Moon. Pearl, for short.”

“Nice to meet you, Pearl.” Gem stretched out a hand. “Gemini Tay. Gem.”

Pearl looked at the hand for a long moment, frowning, then met her gaze. “Um, nice to meet you too, Gem! I’ll have to meet your ‘dwarf’ friend next!”

Yes, she would definitely have to.

[waffliesinyoface]

This is completely unedited, but im still posting it.

The training grounds were peaceful after sunset. Konoha had enough of them that it was never hard to find an empty one, but most shinobi preferred waking up early and training in the morning.

Hasami stifled a yawn. Just her luck that even her insomnia had persisted across reincarnation. She'd gone home after finishing the latest D-rank mission, eaten an early dinner, and promptly passed out on the couch. What she'd intended to be a quick powernap had lasted for five *hours* instead of twenty minutes. Which meant she had absolutely no chance of going *back* to sleep unless she'd gone out and actually done something.

Well, hasami mused, at the very least, odd hours were almost seen as a virtue among ninja. Missions outside the village didn't exactly keep a strict schedule, after all.

Hasami looked at the sky. She hadn't thought to bring a watch, but judging by the position of the moon it was... probably around 1:30? So she'd been training for nearly 4 hours. Light exercise, by ninja standards.

------

She'd meant to just head home. She really did. But training meant working up an appetite, and without thinking, her feet had lead her to the shopping district.

Most shinobi, when given the choice between another night camping or pushing for a couple more hours and sleeping in their own bed, opted for the latter if they could help it. More than a few food stands and izakaya had taken notice - a ninja returning home late was also a ninja who had been out in the field for quite some time, and had been eating nothing but wild game and ration bars. The owners didn't even need to advertise.

One such restaurant was Ichiraku Ramen.

Prior to her reincarnation, Hasami had wondered if Ichiraku was really that good, or if Naruto had liked it because nobody there had ever thrown him out. She had to see for herself, right?

She'd gotten hooked immediately.

Ichiraku had turned out to be one of those shabby little hole-in-the-wall restaurants that never went out of business because it honestly was just that good. As far as Hasami was concerned, Teuchi was a national treasure.

It also didn't hurt that exercise meant sweating, which meant her body was really, really craving salt. She had no choice, really. Hands were tied.

-----

"Not that we don't appreciate the business, Hasami-chan, but is it really alright for you to be out so late?" Ayame honestly looked a little concerned. "You're young, you should be in bed by now."

Hasami tried her hardest not to be annoyed. She used to be an adult, so she understood where Ayame was coming from, because if she had seen a twelve year old kid wandering around at nearly two in the morning, she also would have been concerned. But because of that, it also meant that being treated like a child had gotten old quickly. It'd lessened once she got her hitae-ate, but she still got looks sometimes. Unfair.

"I just got caught up with training, is all. Don't worry about it, I can take care of myself." She was perfectly aware that she sounded like an actual overconfident twelve year old but that didn't make it any less true. She was armed. Potentially dangerous, even.

Ayame smiled. "No, no, I don't mean like that. I'm sure you're very capable Hasami-chan." She then leaned forward and started to whisper conspiratorially, "But if you don't get enough sleep, you'll never hit your growth spurt, you know~? It's important if you wanna grow big and strong!"

Hasami's annoyance rapidly shifted to mortification. Oh no. Oh god. Why. This was actually incomparably worse than Ayame being concerned for her safety. She quickly slurped down the remainder of her noodles to avoid responding. "ThanksForTheMealIGottaGoNowBye!!" She slapped down the money on the counter and ran off in what she did her best to pretend was a dignified manner.

"Good niiiight, Hasami-chaaan~!"

------------

Hasami: *sees ayame* oh shes obviously An Adult seeing me like a child, ughhh

Ayame: *is actually 17*

Ayame: *big sister instincts activating* what if i teased her, for fun

[wetcatspellcaster]

For the ask - I really just want to copy and paste the entirety of the interrogation scene but since I can’t this bit really sticks out to me:

“She paused, then added, “but on the other hand, the cruellest you ever got before Ascending was when we fought over Cazador and then… well… you kind of did it, didn’t you? I basically lost that argument. If that’s what we fought about before, and then it just happened, it wasn’t like we could make up.”

Astarion was still watching her. Gods, she needed to make sure she was saying the right thing.

“And you were the one who was always telling me to be less selfless,” Rose offered, as a last resort. “And well, you know, staying with you just to be yelled at and degraded is perhaps the most selfless thing I could do, but you used to never want that from me. It used to annoy you, more than anything. I don’t know, I thought I was honouring you in a way… well, you know, not you. The lessons you taught me. Before-”

“Before I changed,” he said, a dangerous note in his voice. “The other me.”

“Um... just to check, do you prefer to think of yourself as two separate people, or is that actually the case, metaphysically?” Rosalie said nervously. As he glared at her, she clarified: “it would be useful to know, more generally, but mostly I’m asking because I just want to make sure you’re not upset, or if I’m being unfair to you. I don’t want to hold you to standards that you’re simply not capable of reaching.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said with a wave of his hand.

Thank you for wanting to play the ask game! :) x

So, it's one of the only pieces of drama (except for... *gestures at the general trauma congaline that is Act 3*) in An Honest Lie so I won't go into laborious detail, but Rosalie was obviously horrified that Astarion ever wanted to appropriate the Black Mass in the first place. Even the death of his siblings is too much for her (given that she values family, but also wants him to have some kind of a family survive in tact). When Astarion argues that none of the spawn or his siblings are worth saving as they all have blood on their hand, she just assumes he's also talking about himself.

In the 'canon' playthrough fic (or in the fic, someday soon), she actually gives Astarion the silent treatment over this conversation, which is how you know shit has gotten real lmfao. So writing the timeline where she lost that argument has been amusing to say the least. We'll see how that argument unfolds in real time in the other story ;)

Writing a charmed pov was super interesting because of the parameters of the vampiric charmed spell. The exact text was: The charmed target regards the vampire as a trusted friend to be heeded and protected. Although the target isn't under the vampire's control, it takes the vampire's requests or actions in the most favorable way it can - this means that at certain points, where the real Rosalie would've just left the room, she had to search for a favourable take on the situation, even if (given the circumstances) it occasionally strains her credulity and her ability to censor herself, meaning she does let a couple of bitchy things sneak through.

In the case of the section quoted here, Rosalie is just trying to appease Astarion however she can, but the 'trusted friend to be heeded and protected' also influences the conversation. She cannot find anything to heed in the current Astarion's words, so she reaches into the past, to the times he complained about her being selfish, and argues she's heeding those instead. That is the version of him that was a trusted friend, so that's what comes most easily to the fore of her mind.

"“it would be useful to know, more generally, but mostly I’m asking because I just want to make sure you’re not upset, or if I’m being unfair to you." - Rosalie, when charmed, is genuinely trying not to hurt Astarion if she can help it, and that's why she asks if he's not the same person he was before. The intellectual part of her - the part that frees her from the charm eventually - is fishing for information (absolutely it is!) but her guilt about 'making' Astarion this way and then punishing him for it is also absolutely real.

As to why Astarion cuts her off and in response to whether Astarion is metaphysically two different people before and after the Mass - [REDACTED]

DVD commentary ask

[seriousbrat]

I will say that, under peacetime circumstances, I would hold a teenage Lily to higher standards of empathy than a teenage Snape - not because she’s a girl, but because she did not experience the life of abuse and neglect which makes it difficult for poorly socialised children who haven’t been taught right from wrong and never got a demonstration in expressing and receiving love to relate to their peers in a healthy way. So yeah, Lily was a total dick in that courtyard conversation after the ‘prank’ because a decent friend would not have dismissed Snape’s suffering at the Marauders’ hands because she personally finds them amusing and is crushing on James.

But of course it wasn’t peacetime and Voldemort was on the cusp of victory and her life was in genuine danger and her friend was being radicalised before her eyes into a terrorist group that considers her sub-human so obviously she gets a lot more grace than normal for being a bit of a dick.

I mean the same thing could be said the other way around; if Snape wasn't being bullied then that means he was a total dick in the conversation and Lily was totally in the right, but the context is what it is, so that's how we have to analyse the situation. Like odds are they wouldn't be having this conversation at all if it weren't for the war, who knows

I do think "she finds them amusing and is crushing on James" is a somewhat unfair assumption. In my opinion that's not why Lily doesn't take it seriously during that conversation. She doesn't appear to find James amusing at all and insults him frequently. In SWM she takes it very seriously indeed and interferes, even threatening the Marauders with a wand. So if she wasn't taking it seriously before/didn't care, why would she suddenly start?

I think it's more likely she just wasn't aware of the full extent of it or how serious it was (I mean, we know she wasn't because she didn't know the truth about the prank) until SWM, the same way Sev didn't fully comprehend the danger and prejudice Lily was subject to. That just seems a more plausible reading to me than the idea that Lily was ignoring her best friend's suffering or didn't care about it because teehee cute boy. Teehee cute boy didn't stop her from raging at James in SWM, after all.

Also honestly even in a hypothetical peacetime scenario I'm still not sure it's fair to hold Lily to a higher standard than Sev-- because where do you draw the line? Does Sev just get licence to be a dickhead to her because of his tragic past? She's still Muggleborn, so is his friendship with the bigoted Avery and Mulciber and dismissal of their violence towards her housemate suddenly justified if there's no war? Or his calling her Mudblood? While I think it's important to have empathy for where people come from, it's a slippery slope when that starts becoming an excuse for everything. Sev is ultimately responsible for his own actions, like Lily or like anyone. From a character perspective it's certainly interesting though!!

[eggstoapplesbooks]

The Forest of Stolen Girls

plot summary + review under the cut

plot summary: The year is 1426, and Min Hwani's father has vanished. He was last seen on the island Jeju, where Hwani spent her childhood, where he'd gone to investigate the disappearances of thirteen missing girls. Teaming up with her estranged sister, Hwani must find her father and discover what happened to the missing women, which could itself be related to a missing period of Hwani's memory, where she and her sister disappeared only to be found in the forest beside a corpse.

review: oh boy. the beginning to this novel was rough. i didn't like the writing style (this grew on me), and a couple of early inconsistencies threw me off kilter (consistencies that are never resolved, as an aside. for example, Hwani talks about how she hasn't really been outside since the age of seven, because of Joseon-era standards for women. then a few pages later she's talking about a trip she went on with her father (disguised as a boy) at age seven).

then we get to meeting Hwani's sister, Maewol, who lives with/is the apprentice of Shaman Nokyung, who is, as you might have guessed, a shaman. Hwani openly despises and dismisses the shaman for her religious beliefs, which are all "obviously illogical". i'm not sure if "sliding scale atheist protag in a setting where that doesn't make a whole lot of sense" is quite at the level of trope yet, but it's rapidly approaching it, and it's one i hate. like, girl, it's the 1400s. put the scientific rationalism down, you don't know what germs are.

over the course of the novel, however, and interactions with Maewol, Hwani comes to believe in a more nebulous "something beyond life", which is quite undefined, but whatever, it's both character growth and a step in a more historically arcuate direction, we love to see it.

then we get to the author's note, which at the very, very end, June Hur thanks her lord and saviour Jesus Christ (which to be clear, is her right). the fact that the author is evidently a deeply religious Christian suddenly put a lot of Hwani's interactions with traditional Korean religion into a wildly different light, and to be honest, it's one i am severely not a fan of.

there's a chance, i will say, that i'm being unfair. it could be that those things are unrelated. this is the only one of Hur's books i've ever read, so maybe her only protags feel differently, and Hwani is simply a skeptic because that's who she is as a person. that very much could be the case.

all this being said, i can't honestly say that i'm uninterested in reading more of Hur's work. i love historical fiction in general, i love historical fiction set pre-1700s more, and i love learning from historical fiction about time periods i don't know a lot about (a risky endeavour, i'm aware) most of all. Korean history is not something i'm super well versed in, which is a crying shame, and that fact alone does make me want to read more.

the mystery itself is also good. well-crafted, and i liked that the villains weren't one-note.

so, do i recommend this? i'm leaning towards yes, but at this time, i honestly don't know.

[rosalesbeausderholle]

Like, I know this is not so strong in my case because I'm a fairly feminine woman so I am not at the edges of "womanhood" (aka what is allowed to be called "womanhood") in any way, and of course I don't feel the pressure as strongly as masc women do, but I feel really sad about the fact that people are so into gender roles nowadays. As a kid I was obviously very aware that gender roles were bullshit because I was a girl and I knew I was intelligent and strong and capable and that the idea that there was some innate difference between me and boys was stupid to me. Because I was a girl who had been taught about her own value (thanks mom and dad) so there was never any disconnect between "girl" and "human" to me. But the thing is, I thought everyone realized that!

Yes, there were the aesthetic pressures (tho again, they weren't as painful for me because I did like princesses and pink stuff) but none of that ever made me felt less human, less intelligent, less capable, it only hurt me knowing that women and girls were valued more for their beauty but knowing that this was something deeply unfair! Because again, I was fully aware that I was a human deserving of respect and my body or having "girl" or feminine pronouns attached to me did not change that at all. I never found it to be incoherent or weird to pair up "girl"/"woman" with "capable human complex person who can do and be absolutely anything she wants to be".

Of course, I grew up in the 90s and early 00s and on TV "girl power" was very emphasised, not just with girls who presented more "masculine" traits (read: were active, did not care for beauty standards or girly stuff, were assertive and brash) but also with girls who were fairly typically feminine (there were mean girls but the collective gaslighting that went on ten years ago about how all femininity was villainized in fiction was a straight up lie, people simply conceived of "femininity" as "cattyness and/or brainlessness" which says a lot more about them than it does the shows/movies/books they were actually criticising).

Point is, I grew up knowing that there were many ways to be a woman or girl, whether one was a tomboy or not, whether one was active or smart and it makes me very sad that a lot of people grew up with the same media and messages I did as a kid but got the completely wrong message.

I never got the idea that tomboy characters hated womanhood, I could see that they were struggling with what girls were forced to be and I understood that and found it just as unfair because I struggled with it too! But I didn't think the problem was "being a girl" but rather "what other people want girls to be in spite of who we really are". I never got the message that girls who liked pink and princesses were stupid or not brave, because I liked pink and princesses and I was the smartest person I knew but also so were many fairly feminine characters! The girly girl being the smart one of the group vs the more tomboyish girl being the rowdy one is like, a whole ass troupe. (I wasn't tomboyish in the aesthetic sense but I was very aware of my own intelligence which is why I found the idea that any boy or boys in general could be smarter than me to be something absolutely appalling. To this day, I find nothing more humiliating than ceding intellectual ground to a man.)

And sure, I was lucky that I grew up in that era of girl power, and that I was able to be a fairly "feminist" child because my parents were always fairly progressive. I'm lucky that I started reading up on real, actual feminism before everyone started hating on it. And most of all, I'm lucky that I'm a lesbian so that I don't have to concern myself with men's opinions on my personal life or appearance, or even have many men in my life at all. I'm lucky because I never had to be in a situation where I found any incongruence between the concept of "woman" and the concept of "human".

But I'm also... deeply, deeply sad, because not everyone got to have that experience and in fact now mentioning that gender roles are insane, women are actually just human, you don't need to sacrifice either body or mind or self to what society wants you to be, you can just be, is seen as something strange and ridiculous, laughable even.

There's nothing about any body or any word that interferes with your humanity. You can seriously just be.