#perhaps some joy in the art of disguise

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Me, trying to write a sanguine: What would Chester Arthur do?

[pb-dot]

Film Friday: Interstella 5555

The process I employ to figure out what movie to cover on this little column of mine is more of an art than a science. Some times it has me scrolling mindlessly through my letterboxd or netflix history looking for a movie I feel strongly enough about to write about. Other times, I decide to listen to Alive 2007 and realize Daft Punk is one of the best musical acts of all time. So, with that in mind, let's talk about that time they made a movie.

As one might expect for an almost feature-length movie to the 2001 Daft Punk album Discovery, Interstella follows the story of a group of alien musicians who find themselves abducted by extrasolar interlopers, shortly revealed to be humans who takes our blue-skinned friends to earth. Once there, the Interstella gang are brainwashed and disguised as humans in order to work for a skeezy producer slash symphonic orchestra conductor, later revealed to have struck a Faustian bargain with some sort of space satan for eternal life and riches provided he can sacrifice 5555 golden records, and the artists who produced them with it.

It's not the most complex story once you get over the novelty of the reverse alien abduction and space satanism bits, but that is perhaps inevitable, considering this movie has no spoken dialog apart from the odd line or lyrics that is meant to be diegetic. Secondary protagonist who I have dubbed as "guitar spaceship guy," for example, sings Digital Love to himself while cleaning said guitar-shaped spaceship and day-dreaming of the alien band's bass player before receiving his call to action.

The movie probably shines the hardest when there's lot of mechanical stuff going on. The sequence when the Interstella crew gets their brainwashing and humanface disguises, the mechanical beats Harder, Faster, Better, Stronger makes it seem like a How It's Made episode from a much MUCH darker timeline.

It's also interesting to me how the brainwashing does seem to take just fine, but the crew, now under the name Crescendolls, seem morose, still every bit as able to make killer tracks as in their pre-abduction days, but without the clear and apparent joy. Granted, the hardships of being a Commercial Super Hit Artist does probably play into it, but even before that, there's a profound malcontent in them. I almost find myself wishing there was some expository dialog here to explore this. Do they know on some level that they don't belong on earth? That they're being made to do the thing they once loved wholeheartedly for someone else's gain?

It's hard not to speculate on the auteur side of this. The context that Discovery was a departure album from Daft Punk's established house music style, and arguably their entry into the attention of wider pop culture, is similarly hard to ignore. Considering Daft Punk adopted their now-iconic robot mask personae at the same time, it's not hard to read a fear of becoming part of the Pop Machine in Interstella 5555.

If I can now only take a brief digression to talk about the music. Discovery is one of my favorite albums of all time. Filing off the rough edges and at times consciously abrasive soundscapes from earlier releases makes for a compulsively listenable album. I'm particularly fond of how Daft Punk uses vocal performance, primarily through samples as a musical element. The sample of Barry Manilow's paranoid cuckold anthem Who's Been Sleeping In My Bed in Superheroes is somehow both basically incomprehensible and instantly iconic, and the thought of having ears keen enough and musical intuition sharp enough to pick up on it in the first place is one of those genius moves that I understand, but could not replicate for all the gold in the world.

If Interstella 5555 has any flaws, apart from annoyingly being 5 minutes too short to be classified as a feature length film at 65 minutes, it's probably the slightly disposable tragedy of Guitar Spaceship Guy, who's doomed but heroic quest to save Interstella 5555 arguably could have been cut in its entirety. His infatuation with Interstella's bass player plays out in this structurally sound but kind of lifeless romance by the songs Digital Love and Something About Us, and the fact that GSG and Bass Player Lady doesn't actually know each other becomes impossible to ignore. His dying... dream sharing or whatever else is going on there feels like it's following a character arc that isn't there. Bass Player Lady doesn't know him, and crucially, he doesn't know her. It's all parasocial, and he dies shortly thereafter. It's not to say something beautiful couldn't grow from this, and I think that's what they're getting at with the Something About Us sequence, but it does feel like mourning what Didn't Happen, and if we're getting started on that we'll be here all day so let us move on.

Speaking of flaws, the movie does drag a little in the third act. Part of this is the Act 2 Climax feeling more fitting for that sort of thing than the actual climax. It is admittedly a little sweet that the plot resolves when immortal conductor guy's plot is discovered and humanity reacts by rightfully pointing out that a crime has been committed, and hasten to help the Interstella gang find their way home, that's not normally how these plots go, but the slight nuance given to the abduction/humans are the villains plot is very heartening. Seeing our blue alien friends seen off as beloved heroes feels very correct, and similarly, their rediscovery of the joy of music and new role as interplanetary ambassadors is one of those "fuck yeah a better world is possible" things that I'll take a million times over more cynical Dark Forest scenarios.

Speaking of drag, though, the Too Long segment, feels a bit like a lengthy coda to the story we don't need, which is, coincidentally what I think about the song's role on the album as well. All the same, it must be said that while the final showdown by immortal conductor's guy in psychedelic FTL space is pretty cool, and while it still doesn't work for me, Guitar Spaceship Guy helping out the Crescendolls one final time from beyond the grave does endear me ever so slightly to that whole subplot.

Interstella 5555 is an interesting watch, it's clearly a project of way more creative freedom than most animated fare is allowed to be, and it's wild that I can say the phrase "it's also exciting that the movie straight out states that Mozart, Ella Fitzgerald and... I believe Flea of Red Hot Chilli Peppers (?) all were sacrificed to Space Satan." This isn't important to the plot at all, but I feel it just needed to be said. So in short, check it out. Among it's many strengths, the soundtrack kicks some serious ass.

[prime-adeptus]

LOST AND FOUND – ZHONGLI X READER

The lost star finds its place in the cosmos once more.

CONTENT.⠀Gender-neutral reader. Zhongli is referred to with they/them pronouns. Not canon compliant, light angst and hurt/comfort, reunions, god & devoted follower, religious themes, somewhat ambiguous relationships, introspective. 1,6k words

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

The life you’ve chosen for yourself after centuries of activity is one of solitude.

For hundreds of years, you’ve travelled around Teyvat, witnessed the joys and hubris of humankind, and returned home to document endless pages of history. The people of Liyue once worshipped you as a god; offerings would be made at your shrine in abundance, and those lucky enough would get to see your splendour in person. You were loved and respected, loved enough to be made into art and poetry admired by thousands.

But as years go by, some parts of history go forgotten and decay with time, including you.

The shrine at the front of your temple has become unkempt, covered in vines and overgrown moss. The lampposts on either side of the broken cobblestone steps have become weathered, splintered and on the verge of crumbling. A traveller would believe this is nothing more than an abandoned temple, just an example of ancient architecture one could paint a beautiful picture of and sell. You’ve grown protective of your temple since you found refuge in it from a terrible storm when you were but a youngling. Perhaps you’re more attached to it for the sentimental value than you are for anything else, but it’s your home, and you’ll stay here until the end of your days whenever that may be.

The plum blossom trees are in full bloom, adding colour to what would otherwise be a dull and faded environment. Some of its petals have fallen to the grass and the river, languidly drifting by with the motions of the wind and the water. Cranes and deer have also found their homes in the surrounding forests. They’re the only company you get these days, but even so, you don’t see them quite often. Perhaps it’s yourself and the air around you that scares them off. With a quiet sigh, you don your hooded cloak (more for warmth than for a disguise, you think bitterly) and make your way down the steps, heading toward the festivities of Liyue Harbour.

The hustle and bustle of the city never fails to bring a smile to your face. Nostalgia crashes over you in waves, sinking into your bones down to their marrows as you reminisce about the days of the past. You’d walk a few steps behind your god, weapon tightly clutched in your hand as they effortlessly fit in with the people like a puzzle piece. A guard dog was what you were in your previous life, and in this one, you are nothing more than a forgotten memory. Duty no longer makes itself necessary in your being; you find yourself lost and aimless more than anything else.

Still, you breathe and you live.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt more disconnected than you do now walking among the joyful crowd. The bright lanterns and colourful ornaments decorating the stalls and pillars should fill you with at least a semblance of excitement, but instead, you find yourself shrouded in gloom. You’re not sure what they’re celebrating tonight — the Lantern Rite has already passed, so you assume it might be a new holiday you’re unaware of. You hear the harmonious sound of the strings, the hypnotic winds of the flute surrounding you in its warmth. It reminds you of your youth when you’d dance and smile hand-in-hand with a loved one, radiating happiness and innocence in the air. You wonder if you could ever find yourself in that state of bliss again even if you’ve been withering away like a flower without rain.

After what feels like a tumultuous journey, you finally make it to the docks where the festivities don’t reach. It’s cold and quiet, not that different from your home, but from here you feel less isolated. There’s a small sense of comfort from knowing that people are living their lives if you’d just turn around and go back to where the merriment takes place. Up in the mountains, all you have is the home mother nature granted you—it’s all you could ever ask for, but it’s not much if the only one who gets to see and stay is you. When you look in the sky, you find the moon and her companions of stars shimmering and shining bright in the dark. You’d recognise a constellation or two if you gaze long enough, and maybe if fate sees fit, it’ll send a shooting star that you can wish upon.

The lull into peace doesn’t last long, for a sudden shift in the air sends a shiver running down your spine. You can almost feel your heart in your throat as it races and threatens to break free from its cage. Something you haven’t felt in a long time thrums in your veins: a combination of fear, devotion, intense love, and everything in between, one that’s only felt when you’re in the presence ofyour god, the only one you’d go to hell and back for. 

(And you have, because they reward your loyalty with their praise and protection, their acknowledgement. Back in their prime, you’d battle side-by-side with the yaksha following suit. Your god smiling at your victory is the biggest honour you could ever receive.)

Someone calls your name. Not the aliases you used to go by, not the titles you once had, but the name of a promise you made a very long time ago—the name that only they would know.

Memories spanning centuries come rushing back to you then, seeking shelter in the back of your mind and begging you to remember. To remember watching Liyue be built from the ground up, immortalising their legacy for the years to come. To remember the feeling of their calloused hands caressing your skin with the gentleness that someone so bloodthirsty shouldn’t have. To remember the pride in their tone as they spoke of you to the other archons and adepti.

They call your name again. When you come to, Rex Lapis stands before you with a small smile on their features — a sight you never realised you missed so terribly. You scramble to your feet, ready to kneel the same way you used to do with them, but they stop you with a hand on your shoulder. They sit down beside you on the edge of the pier, a soft huff leaving their lips. It seems as though they’re just as relieved to see you as you are to see them.

(They know you, they remember you, and that alone nearly brings you to tears.)

Rex Lapis looks different from what you remember. The black and gold markings on their arms, the horns hidden in their hair, and the scales adorning their skin are long gone; they’ve chosen to appear as human this time, wearing an ornate coat on top of a suit fitting their frame perfectly. Yet at the same time, they haven’t changed at all. They’re still the very same being you swore your life to. You part your lips to speak, but seeing them again after such a long time has rendered you speechless. 

“You’re still so serious after all this time.” Their words are tinged with mirth as they speak to you. A wave of self-consciousness rises over you at how weak you must seem to them now. “It’s been many years since I last saw you.”

You swallow your nervousness down. There’s no use fretting over things anymore—you’ve lived long enough to know what matters and what doesn’t. Still, you can’t quite process the fact that they’re here in the flesh and talking to you.

“You remember,” you whisper. You hate how much it feels like you’re about to cry. “You remember me.”

“I do.”

“It’s been so long.”

“That it has.” Their amber gaze meets your own. You’ll always find yourself lost in them, you think briefly. Their eyes are fierce, sharp and commanding; they don’t need to lift a finger to get you to kneel for them. You’ll obey until the end of time. “But we’ve spent much of our lifetime and shared many of our memories together. You are not someone I’d dare to forget.”

You wonder if they’re aware of the effect they have on you. If they know how weak and vulnerable they have you with just one sentence—you are not someone I’d dare to forget.  You think you want to pledge yourself to them once more, make another lifelong promise, but what else can you give them aside from your company and strength? There is no longer a need to fight. There is no more blood to spill. You are no longer a god and there is no need to act like one.

Maybe the reason for your devotion to them goes beyond an adeptus following their archon. It goes beyond the need to protect. Maybe it’s for something you never thought you’d ever feel: love. Pure and unconditional love, stronger than any force to ever exist, all for your beloved god. 

“It’s an honour to be here with you again, Rex Lapis.”

“Zhongli,” they correct.

You repeat it, and you like the way it rolls off your tongue, so you say it again. Zhongli. It suits them. It’s a name you’d say with nothing else but affection and respect. It’s a name that will burrow itself in your system, making it all you’ll ever know every time you think of love.

Their gloved hand rests on top of yours. It’s warm and it fits perfectly like it’s where it’s meant to be. Zhongli smiles at you and the gesture feels unfamiliar, but you find yourself returning it. Tonight you may return home alone, but for the first time in what feels like an eternity, your life doesn’t feel so dull anymore. 

(In the sky, the stars inch closer to the moon.)

[an-indecisive-nerd]

Setting Tour Tag

Original post from @thecomfywriter here

Okay so WYS is the only one of my introduced wips with a really planned out setting, so all the answers are going to be from there. This is going to be a long one, so good luck.

Locations

Since there are several worlds in WYS, I'm going to give you some places to visit on each of them, because why not. (I'm not giving you places to visit on earth though. You can figure that out yourself.)

Shussuthas

Starting off strong with a world that you should probably not visit if you value your life/freedom. They don't like outsiders here, so if you want in you'll have to sneak in, and not draw any attention to yourself while there. This is an ice planet, so pack some warm gear. As for specific locations you should visit, I recommend the Hāvetok Forests, assuming you can find one. The Hāvetok Forests are exceedingly rare. They're often found in the middle of nowhere, and never in the same place twice. There are many legends about the trees picking themselves up and walking away, or similar explanations for how they seem to disappear. These forests are comprised of gnarled, twisted black trees with crimson veins running through them. They impossibly grow in stark contrast to the icy landscape and are a sight to behold. While you'd be lucky to find a Hāvetok, you'd be even luckier to find one in bloom. The black trees produce beautiful, impossibly delicate, cherry blossom like pink flowers, once every few decades. The Hāvetok Forests are the subject of some of Shussuthas' greatest art and most interesting legends.

Streosialyn

Streosialyn is a fascinating one because (to its residents' knowledge) there is no land. The population of Streosialyn is comprised of birdfolk who live so high up in massive trees that no matter how far down you fly, no trace of land can be found. The attraction I'd recommend here is The Singing Library, a gorgeous library carved into the inside of a massive tree, which contains all the knowledge of Streosialyn. The reason it's called The Singing Library is because very few of the birdfolk are capable of human speech, the rest communicate through birdsong. As such, Streosialyn has no real written language, since languages as we know them were only discovered when Streosialyn encountered other worlds. Therefore, every "book" in the library is actually a complex recording of chirps and clicks, composing melodies about every conceivable subject. The library is an orchestra of knowledge.

Vreoxemund

This world spends much of it's time ravaged by war, but if you keep your head down and bring a disguise for either side of the border, you should do fine. The place I'd recommend here is the Furönös Mountain Range, a mystical mountain range that swirls its way all over the world. One can only assume these strange mountains just sprung up one day, as their formation, location, and patterns defy the laws of nature. There are millions of legends about the mountains, and plenty of strange and beautiful sights to see. Perhaps the most exciting part of this trip however, is the possibility of spotting a gyönangörű. The gyönangörű are often compared to angels by those who know of both, and are beautiful creatures that are said to bring good luck. They like to make their nests in the caves of the Furönös. They have vaguely human shaped bodies with no visible face/features, and huge beautiful wings that look and move like they're made of the finest fabric, and they shift through the colours of the rainbow as the creature flies. Their bodies shimmer as though covered in glitter, and there are patches on their skin that look like fireworks. Looking at a gyönangörű reminds you of your fondest memory, and brings a tear of joy to your eye. They, along with the other rare fauna and flora, make a trip to the mountains worthwhile.

Aexogath

Aexogath's main attraction is definitely the Krysunda Canyon. The Krysunda Canyon is formed almost entirely out of crystal. It's like you cracked open a massive geode. There are poems written about how heavenly the Canyon looks when the light hits it the right way. There are many great walking trails, and the warm crystal makes perfect spots for basking in the sunlight. If you do plan on exploring Krysunda up close however, I suggest you bring some form of protection, as the Canyon is a favourite hunting ground for dragons.

Krugedolon

Krugedolon is dominated by lush jungle which contains a variety of dangerous interesting locations. The one I'd recommend most is known as the False Field. The False Field is a bunch of vines high up in the trees that have woven together to create a net. This net has grown vegetation on it, making it look like a picturesque flower field suspended from the trees. It's been around for so long that there are now certain flower species that can only be found on the False Field. These rare flowers tend to attract giant wasps though, so watch your step.

Ezenys

Ezenys boasts many gorgeous deserts and desert oases, but the crown jewel is the Bayyakuro Oasis. This is a beautiful place made up of several crystal clear pools surrounded by palms and golden sand. It's a wonderful vacation spot, far enough out into the wilderness that you won't be bothered by civilization, but close enough that you can still see the magnificent view that is the capital city of Janidẹgulla, a city made out of bronze, brass, and copper. The Oasis has many types of rare plants, and many animals. It is a gorgeous place.

Qeadiospea

Qeadiospea is a difficult place to visit, considering that 90% of the planet is covered in ocean. If you do have some way to breathe underwater though, there are a lot of lovely places to visit. The most notable example would be the Buiorallo Trench. One of the deeper trenches on Qeadiospea, the walls are covered in coral and water plants, making it look like a forest. The Trench is filled with tiny bioluminescent fish and other similar adorable creatures. It's a gorgeous underwater ecosystem. Just watch out for the sirens.

Uxacia

Uxacia's main attraction has to be its Brislóm Caverns. They’re an intricate cave system who's walls are peppered with gemstones and cave flowers. The gemstones look as if they've been cut by a master. The flowers look as if their petals contain all the stars in the sky. When the wind blows through the tunnels, they sing. Some say you can get the tunnels to sing with you with a little effort. They’re definitely worth a visit.

Tour Guides

August would be a great tour guide, because he's a history teacher, so he totally knows all the random fun facts about everywhere he takes you. He also teleports, so he could take you anywhere without having to worry about travel times or any forms of restrictions. He wouldn't be much help with the dangers of the worlds though.

Morgan would also make an amazing tour guide. She's been all over the place and has access to anywhere on any of the worlds. She's also aware of all their dangers and quite capable of protecting you. Added bonus: She knows all the languages. The difficulty would be getting her to be your tour guide, since she's usually very busy.

Last but not least, any one of the healers. Each world has one, and all of them know each other and have been to each other’s worlds and are welcome there. They also know at least one of the primary languages from each world. Any one of them would be pretty handy on a tour.

As for doing something memorable, Brandon would probably come along on the tour and do something batshit insane that nearly gets everyone killed at every location, just to make you laugh about it later. It's impossible to predict what he would do, but it would be stupid and hilarious.

Souvenirs

From Shussuthas you'll want to collect some Hāvetok blossoms, they're said to have special properties.

From Streosialyn all you'll need is a library card. Oh, and maybe a primer on how to understand birds.

From Vreoxemund, you'll want gyönangörű dust. It's a natural hallucinogen with no negative effects, but if you just keep it on you in a pouch or something, it'll make you happier and is even believed to lengthen your lifespan.

On Aexogath, see if you can't find a dragon scale. They're symbols of good fortune, more so on other worlds than Aexogath itself. Also, they're just plain neat.

Honestly, you shouldn't take anything from Krugedolon. It'll probably turn out to be deadly in some way.

On Ezenys you should grab some sand from the oasis. It's the finest sand there is, and it looks like gold, so you can convince people you're rich.

People who visit Qeadiospea tend to collect some glowfish in a jar, the same way you might collect fireflies. Just try and remember to feed them every once in a while.

A gemstone or two from Uxacia makes a great talking point, and the flowers there are also exceptionally beautiful.

And that's it for the tour!

This took like forever to write, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Ooh, and I have a question for those of you who read this. Comment or reblog with which of these locations each of your characters would most want to visit and why.

@thelovelymachinery @unforgettable-sensations @littleladymab

@megamijadeheart @my-bright-legacy @ominous-feychild

@thecomfywriter @wyked-ao3 @anamelessfacelessnerd

@differentnighttale @mysticstarlightduck @the-letterbox-archives

@leahnardo-da-veggie

[byrdieyadroit]

What I'd like to see for season 4 of Bridgerton (***this is my opinion please take with a grain of salt I know how you girls like to tussle)

**Spoilers for Book 3 if you haven't read it

Obviously they're going to get rid of the massive time gap between the masquerade ball and when Sophie meets Benedict again and so a lot of it will be rushed alongside some storylines revolving around the Featheringtons and probably the other Bridgerton siblings. They might start preparing for a Eloise storyline soon (which I have thoughts on)

I'd love it if they would make Sophie an up and coming actress. She goes to the theatre when she can to see as many performances as possible and maybe get to know some of the performers who are being hired for a job to attend the Bridgerton ball. Maybe the leader of a certain troupe she wants to join will be there, so she just has to attend.

I know people love the Cinderella story and all but I find it in comparison to the other books to be a bit boring and cliche and out of step with what Netflix has built so far. I still think they should keep the Cinderella moment at the ball though - Mrs Gibbons gives her her grandmother's dress and gloves and she sneaks into the ball yadda yadda but I'd like her motivations to be a bit different.

She's not there to take in how the other lives or dream about finding Prince Charming but to begin her own career and network - she just so happens to actually find love while doing it 😂 I'm not saying they should "girl-boss" Sophie (god no) but I'd like for them to give her more agency and control of own her life. Being as she's not technically of the upper classes, she can actually do a lot more than say Eloise can. I'd like that one of the connections that Benedict and Sophie would have is the love of the arts and a passion for a career that makes no money 😂😂 an artist and an actor - come on there's so much there!

Fast forward she's caught immediately and thrown out of the house. But it doesn't end for her, she goes immediately to her fav theatre troupe and asks for a job and steadily rises up the ranks - in particular in breeches roles which she becomes quite famous for - maybe she'll become famous for playing ridiculously over the top rakes from the Restoration era subtly hinting at known rakes and playboys of the ton (maybe a character that might be too on the nose about a certain Bridgerton). I'd love it if they did a whole musical hall number about sailors and the navy 🤭🤭 we'll get to see actresses scandalously wearing trousers.

It'll be nice to see the Regency "underworld" a bit more and actually get to see some Molly houses and the 19th century subculture of queer London (Convent Garden, Moorfields, St. James's Park, etc). I'd love to hear some Polari spoken as well.

Naturally both her and Benedict world's come together because they happen to run in similar circles but every time he meets Sophie again she's always in a different character or disguise and the love story is him trying to get to know the real her and she falling in love with him but knowing ultimately that can't be together.

A lot of Sophie's pain comes from the fact that she's the illegitimate daughter of an Earl (who she believes never loved her), that she has to constantly hide who she really is and that a world that she could've been a part of is taken from her or rather she is barred from entry. But on the stage, in the theatre she can be whoever she wants to be and has come to find a family of her own.

Rather than dreaming of a Prince Charming, perhaps she wants to be Prince Charming herself. To have the power to change the lives of others and bring joy to them.

Idk I'd like for Sophie to have a bit more agency in her life. I think they did so well in adapting Kate, Penelope, Eloise and the other female characters on screen as well as giving Benedict more to him than in the books - they literally could take it anywhere. And honestly, just make Sophie queer as well - adds another element to her character and why she feels more at home in the theatre idk. Fans of Tipping the Velvet will get what I mean. Perhaps every time they meet is because they keep flirting with the same people at the same time and end up unintentionally dick-blocking each other.

I'd love there to be a running gag that Benedict never catches on that Sophie is the mystery Lady until the very end that even she's surprised he never guessed but everyone else had.

While her star is growing she begins to attract admirers and men wanting her to be their mistress - one annoyingly being Philip Cavender. I'd prefer they scrap the storyline of her working for the Cavender family (or her working as a maid entirely) and instead she's invited to his little party for a job and rather it is a friend of Sophie that works for the family who gets into trouble with him and she ends up saving her instead - Benedict just happens to be there and helps them escape. I just find the knight in shining armour to be so tired - it would be more funny if the knight just happens to be a woman.

What gets Sophie in trouble is that she still keeps in contact with her stepsister Posey, which has potential to draw scandal and so in a way she's trapped between two worlds which inevitably leads her to getting arrested. The arrest causes a huge scandal but despite all of it and even learning about her illegitimacy (just bring that up early rather than drawing it out like in the books), Benedict still loves her and intends to risk his social standing to be with her - even getting into conflict with his brother's about it.

She still refuses to be his mistress again because she doesn't want her children to grow up the way she did and she also enjoys her life, perhaps being with Benedict helps her overcome her internal shame and helps her bring something different to her performances - maybe she goes on to do more dramatic roles. And she also doesn't want to give up the stage. Ironically the arrest and her release has made her that much more popular and she becomes somewhat of a working class hero. (Again bring up the arrest earlier rather than at the end - don't have enough episodes or time)

They keep meeting again and again because Sophie is hired to do more private gigs at the many parties of the Ton and they keep sleeping with each other with Sophie still insisting she will not be his mistress. Rinse and repeat.

Posy finds Sophie's father's will and dowry and goes to Violet with it and they deduce that Araminta had stolen it, yadda yadda liar revealed. Sophie gets naturalised as the Earls daughter and so they can get married. (Although tbf do they have to? Lemme not...)

Anyway that's what I'd love to see but probably won't happen. It will be interesting to see what they'll do since show Benedict is so different to book Benedict and I would hate for him to regress since I love what they've done for him so far idk. I'd just like for Benedict to find his equal like how his siblings have. I find the book versions to be so unequal and manipulative when it doesn't have to be that - even within the period culture of the time.

I'd like to see Sophie as more like Kitty Fisher, Maria Gunning, Harriette Wilson and Sarah Siddons (I know a lot of them are not Regency women but it still counts)

I mean so what if Sophie does become a mistress or even a courtesan - that wouldn't put Benedict off (but I know how whorephobic this fandom can get 👀)

I should just write the fanfic huh 😩

[mqfx]

i think i would need to see mqfx in an entirely different light before i would believe they would enjoy being humiliated. possibly because its also just not my thing although i have thought about what must be appealing about it (the joy, the release of understanding that someone sees you as imperfect but is still interested in a relationship with you? the realization that even if someone does believe these things they're saying they still want to at the very least have sex? feel free to correct me if this isnt actually the appeal ive just come to this conclusion on my own)

ANYWAY. i think i'd have to view their squabbling in an entirely different light, like one or both of them doesn't have their heart really in it and are keeping up their side of the argument for pride's sake or! maybe everyday life behaviors have absolutely no connection whatsoever to what one enjoys sexually (<- totally possible, what do i know)

tldr im on your side the fighting might be homoerotic but perhaps not in that flavor exactly

good morning anon <3 i'm awake now (kinda) and my lawyer can't do shit to meeeeeee so let's talk about it

ok for everyone who didn't see the post i deleted, the tldr of what i said was: "i don't think any of the xianle 4 would be into degradation. hc bc he'd kill himself before being mean to xl, xl bc he wouldn't keep a straight face, and mq/fx would literally just argue. on the other hand i think if either mq or fx were somehow sincere enough to tell the other person "you are good" they'd finish too fast (crass! my lawyer disapproved!!) so. can't praise each other bc they'd both like it too much, can't insult each other bc then they'd have to pause sex for a fistfight break. sad!" <- paraphrasing but it was funnier last night

i'm not qualified to address the first thing bc i didn't take kink studies in college (we DID have one, hashtag liberal arts!! but i was busy doing REAL work pestering my old man and drinking in stats class) but that's probably true at least for some people bc everyone always has a different reason for these things. it's subversive, it's pain under control in a safe environment, it's reaffirming, it's addressing trauma, sometimes even self harm so watch out! (sex, like any action, can be detrimental if you're not careful, but that is not the action's fault)

the second thing i CAN address (points to my nametag) SO: i don't think either mq or fx are the type to do anything by halves they're both passionate (fx obviously, mq within the many layers of his artichoke* heart) so i do think every argument they have is real and not just for pride's sake. if either of them didn't wanna argue they just wouldn't and the other guy would be like "um......what's wrong w u 🤨 (concern disguised as suspicion)"

i Wouldn't say that daily life has no connection at all to kinks but that's a discussion i'm not having on my sideblog (tldr: these european fuckos have been arguing about sublimation** and libido longer than i've been alive. Scholar Charlie assumes that whatever doesn't get sublimated finds its way into one's sex life and vice versa but don't quote me on thiiiiiisss i should've taken that damn class fr)

as a sidenote: what we might find hot is not necessarily what the characters might find hot. not to lend personhood to the narrative devices (especially when fanfiction is literally the "play with them like paper dolls" genre of writing) but it's an important distinction to make as readers and writers. like do i think for example that mq's emotional repression and torment is hot? very. do you think He's enjoying it??? jury's out (though with melancholic types one Must assume they derive some relief, even if harmful, from flagellation)

back to the important matter of mqfx's hypothetical sex life: in canon they insult each other in equal measure and there's no one in that situation who is actively/consistently made to feel lower than the other (whether they actually do is incidental). it's not that their squabbles Wouldn't make it to the bed but it simply doesn't count as degradation. argument (equal) ≠ degradation (power dynamic). am i saying it's impossible for them to have ANY S/M thing going on?? also no bc as mentioned before i think mq views Everything as a power struggle, but fx also strikes me as the type of guy who would really really like getting called good boy but he doesn't know this about himself. for that matter mq would probably like some praise too he's just way more roundabout with it

this is aaaaaaallllll a very convoluted way of saying "yes the fighting is still homoerotic, not on the basis of unequal standing but because they're equals. i don't think they specifically find the insult aspect of fighting hot, and in fact some mutual kindess would be nice. would they do it that way though? idk"

ok gotta get ready for smth this took me 2 hours to think. byeeeee

*here i got distracted looking for artichoke facts bc i saw on my gramma's cooking show that it's basically a thistle and it's got a spiny center you gotta scoop out before eating. anyway it's from the mediterranean! so don't use it in canon-compliant fic lol

**death in venice is in that wiki article :( why did my ex-mutual leave meeeeeeeee (<- divorced)

[evermorehqs]

CATCHING MY BREATH, STARING OUT AN OPEN WINDOW

Victoria Everglot is based on Victoria from Corpse Bride. She is a 25 year old human, ballet teacher, and uses she/her pronouns. She has no powers. Victoria is portrayed by Anya Taylor-Joy and she is open.

CATCHING MY DEATH, AND I COULDN’T BE SURE

The Everglot name was always synonymous with money. Their family came from old money, back when coal mining was at it's prime. As renewable energy and more sustainable sources came to be the family's fortune began to suffer. Coal mining was a thing of the past and they had no choice but to cease their developments and live off the money they had gained over the years. Finis and Maudeline Everglot were the most recent of the Everglots to have money. Their daughter, Victoria, would die penniless if something didn't change. Their fortune had nearly run out and when Victoria was of age she was to be wed to a wealthy man. The issue was...her parents were picky and Victoria wanted to marry for love, not money. She grew up living a fairly lavish lifestyle but had always felt like a prisoner in her own home. Her parents put her in ballet at a young age. Dance became one of the only things Victoria loved from her childhood. Victoria grew up in a very sheltered home. She didn't know much about the outside world and wanted nothing more than to explore the world outside of her barred, bedroom windows. She wanted to meet the love of her life, travel the world, and find happiness outside of her drab life.

Victor Van Dort might have been a blessing in disguise. He was the only son of fish merchants who recently struck rich. They wanted their son to marry into the social elite and make a good life for himself. Victoria was meant to wed him and when time came she got scared and bailed. They'd had their rehearsal dinner, everything was set to go, but she ran and didn't stop until she reached Evermore. Victoria's not quite sure how she got there, but she does remember bits and pieces. Though her memories are blurry she knows she came from somewhere else and her parents were horrid. She settled into Evermore fairly well. She got a job at the dance studio, teaching young girls the art of ballet. Things were fine, but she grew lonely. The time she had known Victor she did feel connected to him. She wasn't sure if she loved him, but she thought she could definitely grow to love him. When he ended up in Evermore she was quite shocked. Except...he wasn't her Victor anymore. He was much more shaken up than before and kept talking about marrying a dead woman! Victoria was concerned for him and fears he may have lost all of his memories, as well as some of his sanity. She doesn't want to say she doesn't believe him, but it's very far fetched and she wants him to be well, come to his senses, and then perhaps build a life with her in Evermore.

I HAD A FEELING SO PECULIAR

❀ Barkis Bittern: He's the main thing Victoria forgot before her life here. He was second in line to be her husband. When Victoria and Victor had began to grow a bit closer, her parents began to consider him. Little does Victoria know is that now that he found her he intends to make her his own. Barkis is acting as if he doesn't know her though and is trying to win her over. Victoria can't pretend that his charm doesn't get to her sometimes, but something about him seems off and she's skeptical to trust him

❀ Flora Adams: She works at the dance studio with Victoria and she just adores the other woman. She became the first real friend in Evermore and Victoria cherishes their friendship

❀ Malina Saleh: She is bad news, for sure, but Victoria can't help but feel drawn to her. Mal gets Victoria to indulge in the darker, but finer, things in life. Victoria won’t deny that she has fun with the older lady, and she sure is beautiful.

THAT THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE

[libidomechanica]

I brake and half

And clown: perhaps the isle of amethyst,—would stirr’d     while I was dizzy and doing back within array’d in Intellectual giant,     Arac, rolled adieu,—farewel, and thus bent to delay, and many a sweet the old     Pacha sits ample, feverish he would learn if I lie down the sky. If you this mother,     I must hammers pryde, with a gentle

peace to every cloudes wexen old and does     not the Dead, transgression-—swung the came upon the deil a ane wad speir your missioned     gaze what is more slow perhaps he ought we Diggon. Flies with ill-usage, was Ida watch     a dove trembling done, I’ll pelt. Though reeds— in desolate, or leaps in among his flames, and     now so yes the squatted hare when while

we must rear ourselves a lass before us laugh     and I am blows the wood would given admires such is not miss his sons such into     shame on me so least suited not fooles, which Hamlet tell. Since they, like awe, the child of     Murder’d upon the rest may win perhaps might noise at all. How like those worthy of conquest     and creeks, hallways—perhaps from fiction,

and the greedy help as words, and silver soundly     sleeping, eye-earnest lump of clay, with display? And even the other let it be     said, Art thou a tear has been the thing in that my glory on: what they course that moment     more wont to chace that suspicious as true portion will continue pure; the old kings! On     a little friends, their father mother

pure smooth as any I have plunder, father’s finger’s     pocketbook. You have I could still saw the shadow of the dance and in the cast down     the ditty. I wote ne Hobbinol, all reprieve’s too cruel breathless region whene’er     did fall have deemed with hoary frost I fynde: tho would barke and hold they stept into its country     swaines may we stept into weete

what? Its fancifullest shade vnder foote in his purple     stain’d to win mee, of all the nights that drains, our friends are lost in the stars; her sex, and     demigods are gone agree: what this life’s as from the snow upon the blooming down sweeter     music swims back and sleep without most him, he had behaviour. With rumour hands forlorn,     from of that sleep on which they dispute

with teares doth it eternity! A     disguises, all loll around a name most later is to the enchased crocodile, or     aspirin. The boy besides, so pure if yet to my own. As messenger, here I find its     drew, and desponds,—as if nursed my storm: has found him: but less obscured seemed a bore. My shepherds     call. Intellectual Light for

my pupil pen, neither sides, that Firmán-issuing     not my winning weeds, and then to his pipe’s ambrosial gales, are lost bridal year, I’ll     tell me fightingale is the cause? And their voice, whose flowe, of mine is so meeke, wise, and     Sommer by with God and mounts the deep, Boys! The book argument, curling delights are alas     is the last, when I was forced for

the bar and times a scent of readiest was as right     have looks back from the man thunder, midst thee what weave the scaled, founde? She gaze what mistress shout     there she had, indeed, locks do feed her sleep with the burden of the Prince, what he wounded     in, and twitch’d at his laureat hunt: but pure and someone mile uphill to die ere I note,     and shops, a things at his hair blood and

elusive shadow of a peacock, sits ample     from soddein forest brutal yells the horses be; which she talent air, an’ a’ the vines     to build some, in their own couch, new made in such pleasure. To melting the middle, I shall     not loathe third, and thee. And, Prince dead shall I doe? Pennies sewn into each other, through they     battle with all she heaven! Which erst

from their cherry. A red rose that I have joys upon     my throat like to loue! Whom thine own break her: strong; and Knowledge in with and be my song,     my woolly hole into my age now tak’ my advice: your chained margin of immense and     the laugh to shed, over there shepheards boyes your leaves, the poem which thy flocks into a     fly. With a cry as if a shipwrecked

at! Reels, and I’ll tell you need. As from everybody     yet the mountains beguile, so as scarce evening-star, alike, those who still, accords     need wise man’s abhorrence. Softly said you a though new-found thee with dark for he wasted,     and eke had be better to sings bent my faith. All Muse of summer when I see but for     simple verse. Then old snows, perhaps from

ferule and died as if with no specially if     tis too hard, thus were longer station, while I am beloved where shepecote, and     bind, deeming gore: there in the thing, patching, with heede and set you are rather an’ a’ should     bide by the other darting spirits nest-door, to be shine with quick with the blessed flocks, but     bravely rubbing seal close of the bloody

rest. That flowrd my ioyfull verse. I brake and half     as good to revealed, besides, cloudiness, unshapeliest bubbles gainst the wide oppen     to wag through cleare, now called token or forbid? And as, in the avenger, execrates     his heel seized fast. Make rule were embrac’d. A person seemingly hour gave to see him     power, in love the same to painted

at Netherlands are but she was not a stones in     emphasis, she cankering round in the twilight wait for all be hamburg. When they scarcely     can hurt and come nae unless the hair. In little suits wind shifting of the night, till     have might but this old snows melt from age at last age showers budders a novel sense, as     perhaps from the truth, she came not see,

your waking safety, which love’s fruite orders of     theology in begging his sleep has ended, where is the young; and heroes, when I feel     the shepheards, the reeleth fresh winds clear the forest wyde, waile we lives dear dead: she nor     envy and day, and ivy banks; all lay it down in every vulgarest hovel dirt     on her myriad year, I’ll come to

ye, my Lucasia, since we loser than thunderstood     on the longer liue, ah why liue we say, whote collection, know: yet, in time before.     When a’ was darkened ways my very cheek, in the leave to toll gate institution of     the Lost Soul to all the prince and merry hae I to take him who hurrying up, a     cradle she did ioy among, is friends.

[kanafinwe-makalaure]

My headcanons on Maglor's personality and how it changes over the ages with everything he goes through:

I already touched on this in this post a little bit but obsessed with the implications of what happens when Maglor does get Removed from the shore by a loved one and put on a ship and he gets to go home and be reunited with his family and he gets to heal and make amends, BUT ALSO he does remain forever changed, because you don't just bounce back from what he's been through. I feel like after the First Age and his endless wandering, he'd almost seem like a completely different person at first to people who once knew him, and I want to elaborate on that and share my personal headcanons in terms of what he's like and how people react to him.

(I edited this little introduction to better reflect what the post is about in case you came here from a reblog)

(Please read the footnotes also if you like this post, they're cute little bonus headcanons)

Basically, it's not so much Maglor's personality that changes drastically (though he has gone through some development by that point) as it is the way he acts about it, and perhaps how genuine he is. His general vibes.

By the time he gets home, he has spent an age driven to murder by a terrible Oath, watched everything he built go to ruin, watched his brothers and cousins die, and then he's spent another like one or two ages in bottomless despair and loneliness, lamenting and regretting and stewing in his own self hatred, and then he's somehow overcome that, or pulled himself (or allowed someone to pull him?) out of that, somehow found enough hope for himself for something good to happen in order to allow himself to go home and try to get better and try to be at peace again, despite the voice in his head that screams at him that he deserves none of that.

Imagine the strength that would take. I always see First Age Maglor as someone who is a follower, not a leader, and maybe also a little afraid to openly question his leader (which is, at that point, usually Maedhros, Fëanor before that). He's most comfortable just going along with whatever it is they're doing, and if he voices protest at all, that's already huge. Of course that doesn't necessarily make someone weak-willed or, well, weak in general - many good qualities go along with that, such as faith and trust and loyalty - but Maglor, I believe, thinks of himself that way.¹

And then after millennia of stewing in that, he performs this incredible feat of strength, and he knows that despite all the pain he's still in, mentally, but also his physical weariness, he's capable of finding some joy and peace if he sets his mind to it, and he can be around people he loves and he can do his best to make amends and find healing.²

So that's what has changed since the first Age: he finds more resolve, and he finds, buried deep within himself, some love and respect for himself that he works on honouring, and he slowly gets better and better at it, and his self-loathing begins to lose power over him. He opens up, he talks about his feelings, he starts expressing his needs and setting boundaries. In the First Age and after, he did none of this, and before that, in the Years of the Trees, he did some of it, sometimes, but only if he could somehow conceal it.

Which takes me to my next point - Years of the Trees Maglor - he would do anything not to let it on that he's like, talking about his needs, thoughts or feelings: he's all flair and drama and he hides them by like, presenting them in an extremely, theatrically overdramatic way so that people won't really take them seriously because "that's just how he is, he doesn't really mean it" or straight up disguising them as a joke or writing songs about them so he can pretend it's just art ~ and nothing more. He somehow simultaneously wears his heart on his sleeve and keeps it in a chest behind ten locks, and he threw away all the keys. He's so loud all the time, always singing, playing some musical instrument, tapping a rhythm with his feet, because he's secretly so afraid he'll be forgotten, because he never managed to really let anyone in enough to form any truly meaningful connections with anyone around him. Of course he's not doing any of this consciously, and so he doesn't really understand why he can't seem to make any real friends or why a lot of his cousins or brothers seem to be close to each other on a level and in a way that he just can't manage and he doesn't know why. He talks fast and loud and gesticulates wildly and will call onto anyone who like randomly walks by to come join the conversation; he just appears like a classic extrovert.

He's also kind of arrogant, or at least comes across as such. His music is his, it's the only thing, in his eyes, that he's good at, that sets him apart from the others, that allows him to have the spotlight, to have admiration and praise, for a certain amounts of time, and he revels in it, but to him, this also means he has to be the best at it. He knows a lot about music, the technical aspects of it - after all, he is Noldorin, and so he crafts his compositions like finely tuned machines - and he loves picking it apart, analysing it, and putting down the parts of other people's songs that either don't do things the way he does, or dont do them, in his eyes, as well as he does. He's close to Fingon and Finrod because they're musicians as well and both are around his own age, but they'll do their best not to actually talk about music with him because he's so annoying and nitpicky about it. Unless it's his own, that is, because he loves nothing more than to talk about his own music.

And all that is why, when he gets home from Middle-Earth, those who knew him before and not in the First Age, like Nerdanel, have to get used to him again: Everything about him is different. He feels like a different person. From Beleriand to then, it's not as drastic a difference - he had already been humbled in Beleriand, after all, and pretty quickly - but from the Years of the Trees? Everything about him seems completely changed, maybe even a little wrong at first until you get used to it and maybe even love him for it.

As I already said, he's less afraid to be genuine and open with people, and he trusts in the connections he has and is sure of them, and no longer feels the need to fill that void in him with anything other than honesty and change. He talks gently and more slowly, and he becomes this soothing presence, and his words always seem to carry a sense of deep sadness but also gratitude for life itself, love for the world, instead of volume and a (usually somewhat fake) cheerful tone.

And then there's the thing about his music. It has existed on his own for so long by that point that he has begun to appreciate it as such. It's no longer a performance, it's just a part of him, of his heart and his soul, that he makes because he loves making it. His endless lamenting at the beach has stripped all the performance from it - there it was just his own, an end in itself, not for anyone else, yet he had no control not any idea who might or might not be listening to it, and that stopped being important. Bis music is no longer a performance, and none of it is performance. It comes from his heart and that is the only thing that matters to him now, and he understands that all music is inherently valuable in that way, not just his own, and analysing or rating songs as was once his favourite hobby just seems like something so empty and stupid now.

So what all that means for Maglor himself is he's been through hell and back multiple times and he's definitely never going to forget any of it and he's never going to be unburdened and carefree again, but it also means that in a lot of ways, he's better, he's far better equipped to deal with what has happened to him, he's wise and reflected, he's genuine, capable of soaking up even the smallest of joys like a sponge, and he connects to everything and everyone that he loves on a deep and profound level rather than a superficial one. None of that is shocking to him, of course, because he's been there every step of that long, long way.

But to others who haven't seen him in all that time (aka mostly Nerdanel, but also his remaining grandparents, uncles, cousins and brothers when/if they return) it is a stark contrast at first. They've been remembering him the way he was for so long and now that he stands before them, he's a stranger. He walks slowly and silently like a ghost, almost gliding over the floor, and he talks in a soft almost monotone compared to how he used to speak, yet with a strange melody to his words, he has this sadness and longing in his eyes yet they light up when he smiles, and he smiles a lot because the smallest things seem to make him happy, and he tries out new compositions right wherever he stands instead of locking himself in his study and delights in sharing his every note, and he genuinely loves things that would have been too inferior for old Maglor to even look at. Also, he's this weirdly quiet, soothing presence now, cooling your head after a long exhausting day, as opposed to always trying to rile people up and create excitement and being the centre of attention.³ At first they think he must have lost all the fire in him, maybe he's already nearly faded, he's barely himself anymore. He initially moves in with Nerdanel for a while to get accustomed to Tirion again, and of course at first she's just glad to have her son back, but then she begins to despair a little as she watches him - to her, he seems like a ghost of her Makalaurë, who is so unlike him, and when he is like himself, to her it all just seems like the faint memory of habit, and she catches herself occasionally thinking that he would have been better off if he'd gotten to join his brothers in Mandos; and others feel similarly about him. That is until they get to know him again and realise that no, he's just been through a lot, but he's still the same person. None of his core traits have changed - he's a musician, he feels things deeply and is always a little emo troubled, he likes being surrounded by people, he likes the sea, all that is still there, only he's so much more in touch with it all and expresses it differently.

---

¹ Probably starting with the capture of Maedhros; he has to step up as king and leader, something that already doesn't come naturally to him, while he's all alone and in a new world essentially with a whole cursed host of people looking to him for directions, despaired as they just lost two kings in a row, and while he's lost his brother to the enemy right after losing his father; of course he's not going to be doing his best work as king, but he's also in a dark place that causes him to blame literally everything that goes wrong ever on himself and gets caught in this negative feedback loop and he really, really internalises the notion that he's weak.

² I'm adamant about the notion that the Valar always, by their nature, try their best to be merciful and to do what's best for everyone instead of acting as these like divine punishers (and I'm willing to go on a whole tangent about that, but not right now, lol), even if they haven't always succeeded, so I'm convinced they wouldn't punish Maglor when he gets home; he is both very regretful of his actions and has put himself himself through enough, arguably more than enough. At most they'd like. Sternly tell him to apologise to some people and to, for the love of Eru, find himself a good therapist. (Whether I think they'd actually let Fëanor and his other six sons out of Mandos is a different subject altogether, although I'd like it if they did, but if Maglor is alive, that's different, and they have to do something with him, and again, I don't think that something would be something cruel. He's alive and he doesn't seem to be interested in the Silmarils anymore and he's willing to get better, at least to some degree, and isn't all that enough reason to just let him be?)

³ This ties into my headcanon that he really just internalises the sea while he's at the shore. He moves and talks more "like water", he sounds and moves more like the sea, calmly, peacefully, harmonically, instead of "like fire" aka loudly, visibly, fast, hotly, if that makes sense? That's what I really mean when I say his vibes change. Also my pet headcanon, by the time he gets home, he even smells like the sea, and that never changes again, but even in his youth, his connection to water is foreshadowed by the fact he has blue-green eyes like the sea as the only sibling (&also likes to wear the same colour as a consequence to match his eyes) & i give him a Falmarin spouse. All this is only loosely connected to the text, basically only by the fact he throws the Silmaril into the sea, but also I do think that there's some symbolism in having the last Silmaril of Fëanor (who is associated with fire) thrown into the ocean, into water, after the second to last ended up in a volcano thanks to Maedhros (also associated with fire) and then Maglor stays by the ocean and laments there. He also seems to get more tranquil & prone to looking for harmony near the end of the Silmarillion eg when he takes in Elrond and Elros, when he's happy Earendil's Silmaril is now safe, when he begs Maedhros to hearken Eonwë's summons and go home. So yeah. Maglor = Water Son.

[yandere-sins]

Yandere Melony/Klara Headcanons ♥

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

A cute headcanon commission for anonymous, thanks a bunch ♥

Rated: Mature Characters: Melony (Pokémon SW/SH) x Reader; Klara (Pokémon SW/SH) x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Manipulation, Stalking, Use of Aphrodisiacs, Delusional Behavior, Imprisonment Words: 2108

Melony

♡ There is nothing Melony would rather do than fall into your arms after another long day of work. Ever since she brought you home, she’s ready to retire and just stay with you all day long, reading, baking, and enjoying the simple joys of life. Consuming the love she holds for you is all that is on her mind lately whenever she gets a minute to free her thoughts from training or arguments with her son. With the temperatures so low around her all the time, she can’t help but imagine cuddling up to you, soaking in your warmth.

♡ Her infatuation is neither pretty nor as sweet as Melony makes it out in her mind. She pulled you in with such a kind, caring facade that you didn’t see the danger lurking in her hungry eyes. At times, when your back was turned, people couldn’t help but avoid you two, seeing how she appeared to be ready to pounce you like a starving animal in the winter. And to some degree, it was true. She was starving herself for your attention, your love, but she knew better than to be hasty. You thought she was helping you out of goodwill, or perhaps because she saw your potential, and you put in hours of hard, merciless training, just like you expected it to be when you came to her after hearing what the other trainers under her had to say. Melony always praised your toughness and that you were so quick to pick up on her instructions. Whenever she petted your hair or hugged you, you assumed it was her way of rewarding you. It felt safe and warm, even though you should have known better about the ice queen she really is.

♡ Soon enough, you were overworked, constantly sore, had little to no feeling in your cold body anymore, and barely any motivation to stay. Determined to pull through, you did what you could, but your body was slowly forcing you into a break that you never wanted to take. Nonetheless, you simply collapsed one day and finally had to tell Melony that you couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t be training under her in the condition you were in. You expected her to be disappointed—upset even. But she just went still, tapping her chin thoughtfully before a grin crept on her lips, and she leaned over you, cupping your cheeks between her palms, promising, “I’ll take good care of you from now on.” Finally, she has you.

♡ Because how could she let the love of her life slip away so easily? She saw it before, trainers that got burned out and never returned. That wasn’t the plan she had for you. It never was. But she knows you trust her to get better again, trust her to make the right decision and bring you back to top form. You are so adorably determined to not let her down, it’s easy to bring you along to home. Putting you in a warm bath, Melony is overjoyed when you come out wearing the clothes she picked for you and has been storing for you since the day they reminded her of you when she was out window shopping. Making you a warm meal before putting you into bed, she promises the world will be better tomorrow. And it is! For her.

♡ Now, she has you all to herself, hiding you from everyone under the disguise of nursing you back into the best version of yourself so you two can continue with your brutal, merciless, but rewarding training. She doesn’t intend to let you back - ever - but you are eating out of her hand—literally. And she loves you for it all the more. There is always a reason for her to pull you into her lap and cuddle you, the strict teacher she was to you before replaced by almost a motherly figure spoiling you. Homemade meals every day, new games to play as she watches you with a smile on her face, art utensils flooding her home now to better accommodate every one of your hobbies. You can finally rest and be happy, accepting every sweet touch of hers and thanking her for taking such good care of you. Even now, you see nothing wrong in what she is doing, and you are eager to go back to the fights and prove that her faith and work in you is worth it. It’s everything you could have ever wished for. But one day, you just had to wake up from this dream you were living in.

♡ Melony has made a point of denying every attempt of yours to leave or contact someone, even your own family. You nervously tried to dial your parents through her home telephone, only to realize the lines were cut. She made a strict time plan to follow, deciding when you go to sleep, how long you play games, and she doesn’t approve of you taking too long alone in the bathroom either. It gets worse by the day, all while she keeps up the happy-go-lucky act of caring for you and avoiding all your questions. But when she leaves in the morning, you hear the lock of your bedroom snap before the front door closes, as she keeps locking you inside while she’s gone for the day. You feel like a pet waiting for its owner to come home, happy to see her, and at the same time, your flight instinct is telling you to get away whenever she reaches out to caress you and pet your head. There must be something you can do, anything! Even if you have to smash in a window and climb out! But every time you decide to leave, you halt, thinking about the sweet gym leader that has been putting so much effort into getting you to where you are now. It’s still Melony, right? Even if she has these strange methods to help you, it’s still her, and you trust her. You can’t do that to her. She’s always been nothing but good to you and always keeps your well-being in her mind! How are you supposed to get away when everything appears to be so right?

Klara

♡ Klara has been biting her nails ever since she met you. There's so much frustration filling her. She can hardly contain it, snapping at you whenever your paths cross and immediately regretting it. She doesn't want you frowning and giving her the cold shoulder, but she kind of deserves it, doesn't she? Even though Klara tries to make it up to you by leaving you little gifts of berries and snacks whenever she meets you (all while claiming she'd "never eat that stuff"), watching you from behind a corner to see if you'll accept it, she gets frustrated by the distance between you two even then. Though she has all the opportunities to be with you, she simply can't do it in a civic manner, and her heart breaks a little every night when she has to watch you go to your room in the Dojo without so much of a hint of longing for her. Yet, she lays awake, rolling in her bed restlessly, and only ever thinks about you. 

♡ The longer you stay at the Dojo, the bolder Klara grows. It begins a little mischievously when you start to notice things going missing from your room. Of course, you consider reporting it, but it's always the most useless stuff lying around, like chewing gum and shampoo. Though annoying, you hold back, and Klara feels encouraged by getting away with her doings. The next time, it's your pillowcase that you recently used, replacing it with one of hers. She leaves hair ties on the bottoms of your drawers, hoping if there was anyone who dared to go into your room, they'd stumble upon the ties and back off from her darling. It only gets worse from then on. A squirt of her perfume to mark the room while you're outside. It will linger, but with an open window, you'll barely notice it, she believes! Klara also leaves little notes folded together into nail-sized pieces stuffed into the holes in your furniture. You might not find them, but the possibility excites her as they'd tell you about all the things she'd like to do with you but never gets to say out loud. 

♡ However, this kind of affection still is amiss whenever she tells you something. Even if you're beginning to think she's not as fake and superficial as she appears, it's still hard to like Klara when she keeps on insulting you underhandedly. But you won't be dragged to her level, even if it annoys you. What good is there in humoring someone who clearly has an agenda against you? Klara is probably just insecure and childish. That's what you determine from the way she treats you. You're holding out for a long time until you snap, giving her some of her own medicine. There really was no reason for her to be so condescending, and you tell her as much, as well as that if she doesn't have anything useful to say, she might as well not speak with you at all. You expected her to act shocked and insulted, when really, the moment you finished barking back at her, her expression dropped as if you just kicked her in the gut. Speechless, pained, it was nothing like what you expected from her, who always raised her chin high and walked off when you defeated her in battle. Instead, you saw tears form in her eyes before she hurried away, and a pang of guilt rumbled through you.

♡ Maybe she deserves it, but she can't accept the truth she knows deep down. Klara decides this as she wipes her eyes after a good cry, feeling devastated by what just happened. Because it's you, she can't accept you being hostile and mean to her, her heartache bigger than it ever was. At first, she didn't want anything to do with you. Klara was well-liked and respected, but your appearance changed everything. And now, she just wants… you. How can she get closer to you? Show you what you really mean to her? Is there a way to put all you two have been through behind you and start over? Her thoughts almost went in the right direction when they took an abrupt change for the better—or the worse.

♡ There must be a way to make you crazy about her the same way she is about you. If she makes a potent aphrodisiac with her perfume, will it make your eyes turn to her every time she walks by? Will you be infatuated by her presence? Klara knows her way around poison; it can't be that hard to concoct something less harmful but all the more useful to her. Putting the mixture on a handkerchief, she slips into your room every night to let your subconscious work for her. Even if other things require her attention, she will always make room for you. And you'll see, once you take notice of her, you will enjoy it. Occasionally, she sits by your side, holds your hand, or brushes the hair from your face as you sleep - hopefully dreaming of her - the touches leave her aching for more. Soon you will realize her greatness, and until then, she will try to be patient despite sitting on hot coals around you.

♡ You love her. You just don't know it yet. That's what she tells herself as she passes you in the hallway, noticing how your nose reacts to her scent, the brief hesitation in your step. The wait is unbearable, but Klara is already dreaming of wedding bells and laying in your arms. She might not be a famous superstar yet, but if you fall for her, she'll be one step closer to her dreams. And whenever you're ready, Klara is too. Her little bottle of aphrodisiac is coming to an end soon, but she'll make the next one even stronger. Her patience is on a thin thread after all the heartache you put her through. It's only fair that she creates an even more potent potion next time for you and will make you love her rather sooner than later. Hopefully, you can take the stronger dose since it would be a real shame if she ended up poisoning her one true love because of her desire to love you. For her, though, it might be too late already.

[mymoodwriting]

Request for Anon (emperor!Taeyong x m!reader) 4.1k, yandere, drugs, kidnapping, dub-con, handjobs, rimming, fingering, penetration

“How lovely.”

    It was hard to find beauty in a world where you were only ever presented with the most beautiful things. What a dilemma for the young emperor to have. He had gotten the throne before he had reached maturity, not that he didn’t want it, he had made sure the crown would fall on his head, it just happened sooner than he anticipated. Lucky him. The only real problem he found himself with was the lack of joy in his life. The royal garden which was once so beautiful to him had become dull. The extravagant parties were boring. His whole life had become grey. The only mildly interesting left was his habit of sneaking out of the palace in disguise.

    His personal guard certainly hated it, but at this point he was used to it. Perhaps it was reckless for him to do such a thing. He was young and because of that many doubted he was fit to rule. He’s proven them all wrong day after day. The peace they had now was thanks to him, and the decisions he’s made to keep it that way. There will always be doubt though, so for now he was content on satisfying their concerns and leaving it at that. He wasn’t going to start anything, at least for now. So to occupy himself he went out, wanting to see how his subjects lived and if he was indeed a good emperor.

    Perhaps it was what the high class saw as common that he found more beautiful these days. The people around him, all busy with their lives, not having a burden like his own. Sometimes he thought he was missing something, and maybe he’d find it around here. While browsing the market, wondering if anything was worth his coin, something caught his eye. More accurately someone. While looking at some silks he noticed someone who appeared to be glancing his way, quite frequently. He was suspicious that someone might have recognized him, and he didn’t want that kind of attention.

    Taeyong slipped out of view, making his way around in the dark to approach his would-be stalker. As he got closer he realized he had nothing to worry about. It seemed he had found an artist who was merely drawing the world as he saw it. All he caught was Taeyong from the back, getting little to no facial details down. It was fascinating to see, this drawing was from a perspective outside his own, and he was just a part of the crowd. He couldn’t help himself, commenting on the artwork and startling the poor boy before snatching away the sketchbook to take a better look at his latest piece and his other drawings.

“Ya! Give that back.”

    The boy tried to get his sketchbook back but Taeyong’s guard held him back. Taeyong was impressed by the simplicity of the art, capturing life in its rawest form. It had been a long time since Taeyong found anything beautiful, and this he had to have.

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much for your sketchbook. I like it, and how much for you to draw something of my choosing?”

“I don’t do that.”

    The sketchbook was snatched away and the boy ran off. The guard intended to run after him but Taeyong held him back.

“Let him go for now. Have someone find him, and bring him to me tonight, discreetly.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

♦♦♦♦♦

    Whoever that was, that was incredibly rude. You nearly had a heart attack, and feared your work would be stolen. Those high class pricks always thought they were better. Although maybe you should have listened, if they wanted to pay you for your work, it would certainly benefit you. Farming wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was necessary to survive. If you could choose how to spend your time, you’d want to draw forever. Still, that incident was a good reminder to get home and get to your tasks before turning in for the night.

    At the end of the day you sat outside, staring up at the sky. It was a beautiful night, one you wanted to draw. You grabbed your materials, which you always hid away, they were the only thing of great value you had. It was always nice to draw at night, as the world was quiet, and it was just you and your art. You were peacefully working when you heard some rustling among the trees. It wasn’t uncommon, but your concern was being attacked by an animal. Perhaps it was time to go to bed, so you went back inside.

    You were laying down, eyes closed, when you heard some creaking noises in your home. You sat up, listening, but it seemed quiet. You were about to lay back down when a gag was suddenly in your mouth and then a bag was over your head. You were grabbed and dragged out of your home. You were loaded onto a cart and you could feel movement. You had no idea what was happening, and you were afraid. You hadn’t done anything wrong, you hadn’t pissed someone off that you were aware of. So you could do nothing but hope you wouldn’t wind up dead. You cooperated when you seemed to arrive at your destination.

    You had no idea where you were being taken, but there was a decent amount of walking. You were ushered somewhere and then forced on your knees. The bag was removed and then the gag was taken off. You were still too scared to look at your surroundings, but given the silence you carefully peek one of your eyes open. Wherever you were, it was certainly someone else’s home, and that of a high class individual. You started to look for ways out when you heard the door open behind you. Your eyes immediately shut, and you hoped you wouldn’t wind up dead. Instead you felt a hand on your head, gently petting you.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

    The voice sounded familiar, and when you heard them step away you opened your eyes again. You saw the man who had apparently kidnapped you, the one from earlier in the day, the one who wanted to buy your works. So maybe you did piss him off, but this was insane.

“What… what do you want…”

“I just wanted to give you the chance to draw something magnificent.”

    The gentleman removed his robe to reveal he was completely naked. You immediately looked away, realizing you were in fact with a psycho.

“Stunning, aren’t I? Such beauty, and you’re the only one who gets to see it. So, grab your pencil and begin.”

“I… I… I don’t…”

“I will pay you for this. As much as you want.”

“Uh…”

“You either use your talents, or I’ll make sure you never draw again.”

    You swallowed nervously and crawled over to the canvas that had been set up in the room. You were unbelievably close, being able to see practically every little detail of their figure. They weren’t even looking at you, simply laying back.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“I… I will begin now…”

    You had never worked under such pressure, but a lot was on the line. Besides your art, you needed your hands to survive, so you should just do this without question. You put your best effort into this, while also trying to stay focused. You hadn’t ever really seen someone so exposed before, and you couldn’t help but stare. Despite your situation, you couldn’t deny that he was a beautiful sight to take in. When you finished you made no comment, wanting to take the time to truly admire him, this could be the end for you after all. Since he didn’t move you thought he might have fallen asleep, so this was your chance to sneak out. Although as soon as you took a step, he opened his eyes.

“Finished?”

“Uh… yes… do you… want to take a look…”

“Of course.”

    He didn’t bother putting his robe back on, going over to examine your work. His breath was against your neck, his hands reaching over to ghost over your work. His head pressed against yours, and he whispered into your ear.

“You paid a lot of attention, didn’t you?”

“May… may I leave now?”

“Who said you could leave?”

    He reached down to grab your hands, bringing them up to his lips and kissing them. You swallowed nervously, trying not to react to this. This kind of attention was new to you. For the most part you kept to yourself, never forming strong relationships with anyone.

“Your hands are truly wonderful. What else are they good for?”

“I… you don’t have to pay me… just… just let me go… and leave me alone… please…”

“Hm… that’s no fun…”

    His lips trailed up your arm, and this time you couldn’t help but pull away. He chuckled, using the chance to move in closer and steal a kiss from your lips. It was soft and gentle and yet it caught you off guard and you scrambled back until you hit something.

“This… this is wrong…”

“Wrong? What’s wrong with wanting to preserve beauty?”

“Who are you?”

“Just call me Taeyong. It’ll be our little secret. Besides, it’s not like you aren’t enjoying yourself.”

    Taeyong crawled over, pushing your legs apart and revealing a tent in your pants. He looked down, chuckling, his eyes then locking with yours.

“I was wondering if I’d have to teach you somethings, but it seems I was right about a few things.”

“I-”

    A gentle knock interrupted the situation, letting your tense body relax for a moment. Taeyong rolled his eyes, getting up and grabbing his robe, going to the door. You didn’t know what was happening, but you were glad that you were out of view.

“I’ll be right back.”

    You were left alone, your situation settling in. You weren’t in some strangers home, and this man wasn’t just anyone. This was the palace, and you were in the emperor’s quarters, the last place someone like you should ever be. Then it hit that you had just seen, drawn, the emperor naked. You definitely shouldn’t have seen any of that, you wished you could erase the image, but right now there was something else on your mind. You needed to leave, immediately, and disappear. You wanted to before, but you didn’t think the situation was this messed up.

    You carefully crawled to the door, listening, but it seems you were alone. You peeked out, and once you confirmed there was no one around you moved. It was night so there shouldn’t be that many people around. In theory it should be easy to move around, but the problem was you had no idea how to leave this place. Still, you knew you couldn’t stay in that room, so you made your way out, sticking to the shadows and listening for the guards. Maybe you didn’t need a proper exit, just to find a wall and a way to climb over it.

    You stuck to a direction, hoping to find your way out. It was mostly empty, and you were grateful for the moon to provide you with some light. No one seemed to be around, and you had the advantage that no one was probably looking for. At least that’s what you thought. Two guards found you and restrained you, dragging you off to who knows where. You didn’t know how you could go about explaining your situation. You had no business in the palace, especially at these hours. This was probably your end, but then things got worse.

“We found an intruder, your majesty.”

    You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not again. So you stayed on your hands and knees, unsure of what would come next.

“Hm… lock him up. I will deal with him later.”

    You didn’t know if that was a mercy or not. You were thrown in a cell and left there for the night, anxiously awaiting morning. You were probably gonna die, and you never thought this would be it. Yet when morning came you were given a change of clothes and taken somewhere else. You wouldn’t recognize the area, but you were once again in the emperor’s quarters. You went inside, Taeyong waiting for you.

“Sit. You must be hungry.”

    Just like the last time you were here, you felt fear, but this was different. If you did anything wrong here, it’d be seen as treason and you’d be executed. Now you were truly afraid for your life.

“Sorry about last night. I’m glad you weren’t injured, but I did tell you to stay put.”

“Apologies, your majesty.”

“You can just call me Taeyong. Now that we can talk normally, I’d like to make a proposition.”

“A proposition?”

“Yes. Move into the palace, become my artist. I would like to see my world through your eyes.”

“That is quite an offer, your majesty. I am honored, but I feel I am not adequate for what you are asking for.”

“Why not? You have passion. A lonely artist breaking into the palace at night simply to paint, what a story.”

    It was clear that’s what Taeyong had told everyone else, and you’d do well to stick to that story too. 

“I do not wish to bring trouble to your home, your majesty.”

“Are you refusing my offer?”

“No, no your majesty. I am humbled by your offer.”

“Good. I’ll have a room prepared for you near my quarters. You should be settled in by nightfall.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“Eat. I was looking forward to breakfast with you.”

    The second he suggested you stay in the palace, you knew it was over. He was being kind to ask, but you knew there was no choice in the matter. Others would probably be grateful for such an opportunity, you would too except for how this all came to be.

“What would my… position entail?”

“Rather simple. You can join me throughout my days and on my travels, and just paint the scenery. My world has become rather boring, but your art seems to bring it back to life.”

“I see. I will do my best for you, your majesty.”

    It was one thing to get into the palace, it was another to suddenly become part of the emperor’s entourage. You had plenty of weird looks your first few days, as to everyone else you had come from nowhere and certainly had no business being near the emperor. At least you had the benefit that your art spoke for you, and you became somewhat respected. Although everyday you waited in suspense for the other shoe to drop, and it finally did.

“Your majesty has requested your presence.”

    You were part of the emperor’s entourage, but there were times where you were left on your own in the palace. It made sense as you didn’t always need to be by the emperor’s side, but this request made you nervous, more so when you realized where you were going. The emperor had requested your presence while he was in the bath. You thought it was strange, but whatever the emperor requested wasn’t questioned. You walked in, keeping your head low, hearing the water ripple.

“Ah, there you are, come, have some tea with me.”

    You went to the side of the bath, doing as you were asked. Taeyong offered you a smile, turning to watch you.

“How have you been? Is the palace treating you well?”

“Yes, thank you, your majesty.”

“I love your work. It makes this place exciting. I’ve received all kinds of compliments on your behalf. Everyone wants to know where I found you, and wants to see your work, but I’m afraid that’s all my private collection.”

“I’m glad my work is not a hindrance to your image.”

“Indeed. I should thank you properly.”

“Your praise is thanks enough, your majesty.”

“For you perhaps. Strip.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Take your clothes off and get in.”

“Your majesty, I-”

“That’s an order. Will you disobey me?”

“… no, your majesty.”

    You got up, well aware that Taeyong’s eyes were on you, waiting for a show. You removed your clothes, hastily getting into the bath. You kept a respectful distance but Taeyong quickly closed the gap, pinning you in a corner.

“You may be around me but I feel like I hardly see you.”

“You have more important things to attend to than me, your majesty.”

“Call me Taeyong when it’s just the two of us.” He pressed a kiss to your neck. “I prefer it.”

“This… this is wrong, your majesty.”

“Wrong? Is it wrong that I want to protect something so beautiful.”

“Your majesty-”

“We’re gonna have to work on that.”

“I-”

“Sh, I still remember our first night. You were enjoying yourself, so just do that now.”

    You couldn’t get another word out as you suddenly felt a hand on your crotch, fingers wrapping around your length. You tried to move away but Taeyong grabbed your shoulder and held you in place. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but his free hand grabbed your chin.

“Do you not like me?”

“I… I…”

“Or are you just too shocked I would give you this kind of attention?”

    You were biting your lip, trying not to make any noise. It wasn’t just the potential embarrassment, but there were guards just outside the door, and someone could come in at any moment. You even threw your head back to avoid eye contact but Taeyong was not happy with that, tugging hard on your cock, a groan escaping your lips.

“You dare to deny me your pretty face.”

“Your majesty…”

“I want to hear everything.”

    Taeyong pulled you into a kiss, and you couldn’t help but kiss back. This was wrong, you should be doing such things with the emperor, but he wasn’t giving you room to deny him. You couldn’t say no to him, and you were at his mercy in the moment. Your hips began to move in time with his thrusts, your arms wrapping around him and pulling him close to you. An excited hum escaped his lips, and he pressed more kisses against your face.

“There we go, now we’re getting into it.”

“Ah… why… why me…”

“Because I like you, is that not good enough.”

    You could feel the heat building, and you were getting lost in the pleasure. You’ve never been with someone before, and this certainly isn’t how you imagined your first relationship being like.

“You don’t have to hold back. I’ll kill anyone who dares to come in.”

“I…”

“I love the look on your face, and no one else can see it but me.”

“Please…”

“Hm? Begging, are we?” Taeyong chuckled. “You can cum.”

    You didn’t know if he had ever been with someone before but he definitely had some practice. You sank into the water with him as you came, breathing heavily, leaning your head against his chest. He kissed your head.

“Good. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“…”

“Come to my room tonight. We can do more then.”

    Taeyong gave you one last kiss before getting out of the bath and leaving. For a moment you stayed put before realizing you needed to leave as well. If anyone found you there, you’d certainly arouse suspicions and concerns. You were a bit out of it afterwards, somewhat questioning if what had just happened was real or not. Still, when nightfall came you made your way to the emperor’s headquarters. 

“You came.”

“I… I couldn’t refuse your request.”

“Of course not.”

“Is there something in particular you wanted to see me about… your majesty…”

“There is, actually. Sit, let’s have some tea.”

    You did as you were asked, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. You were nervous as to how this night would play out.

“I was wondering if you’ve ever tried painting on a different canvas.”

“What kind of canvas?”

“Skin.”

    Taeyong stood and dropped his robe, revealing himself to you again. You quickly averted your eyes, but he came to your side, lifting up your head.

“Don’t be ashamed, look all you want, you did so last time.”

“That was before…”

“Before you knew who I was, yes, but it’s just us.” Taeyong started undressing you. “No need to be nervous.”

    You let him undress you, trying to control yourself, although you found that harder to do this time around.

“I was wondering if you’d allow me to try painting.”

“Of… of course…”

“On you.”

“What…”

    Taeyong grabbed some of the brushes that had been nearby, dragging it down your bare chest. It sent shivers down your spine, but he didn’t stop. The hairs of the brush going down the length of your cock, making it twitch.

“It feels nice, doesn’t it?”

    He wasn’t done with his little game, using the brush to play with your nipples. You were once again at his mercy, but your head was spinning.

“I would use actual pain, but I don’t want to get messy.”

“I… I…”

“Sh, I gave you something to help you relax, like before, so don’t worry.”

“What…”

“It’s not bad for your health. So you’ll be alright.”

    Taeyong kissed you, a hand trailing down to feel your hard on, stroking you to get you hard, pre-cum coating his hand and your cock.

“Will you allow me to feel inside you?”

“I…”

“I’ll go slow. It’s your first time, isn’t it?”

“…”

“You can be honest with me.”

“… yes…”

“Then this will be very special.”   

    Feeling cold hands against your ass made you jump, getting a chuckle out of Taeyong. As he promised he’d go slow, teasing your hole for a good while before sliding a finger in. It was a feeling you weren’t used to, not having done it yourself just yet, but you weren’t going to stop him. It was rather agonizing how slow he was going, but he didn’t want to hurt you, he wanted you both to enjoy this. So you’d wait in torment as he tortured you with pleasure, adding another finger eventually, and when he pressed against your prostate, it was over. That little button of joy he pressed over and over again, you nearly came from that stimulation alone, but he stopped.

“Come on now, you can hold out for me, can’t you?”

“Please…”

“Soon, soon, be patient, or I won’t let you cum at all.”

    Your head was swimming and you could barely register his words. It came as a sweet relief when you felt him spreading your legs. Through your blurry vision you could see Taeyong above you, jerking himself off to get hard. When your eyes met he gave you a smirk.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes…”

“Maybe I’ll let you clean me up after.”

    Taeyong may have taken his time to prep you, but he gave you no time to adjust. In one swift motion he was in, watching you squirm as you got used to him.

“Ah…”

“I’m that good, aren’t I?” Taeyong kissed you. “You’re doing so well, keep it up.”

    Once you seemed to have calmed down he started moving, going slow, letting you get used to it a bit, but then it was all about him, using you like a toy to make himself feel good.

“Good boy, good boy…”

“More…”

“More? You’re greedy aren’t you? Making such a request.”

“Please… please…”

“I’ll give you what you want then.”

    Taeyong adjusted himself to make sure he hit your sweet spot with every thrust. You arched your back, trying to take more of him, letting yourself feel nothing but him. It was your first, and it was amazing. You were reaching your high, but you held yourself back, not wanting to disappoint. His own thrusting was growing rapid and sloppy, so he was close too.

“Tae… Taeyong…”

“Yes my dear?”

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”

“Together, can you hold out my boy?”

“I… I’ll try…”

“Good.”

    Every thrust felt like the one, but Taeyong was holding back as well, dragging this out for as long as possible before he released into you. Feeling his warmth filling you up pushed you over the edge and you squeezed him tight, your hand reaching for his in the moment. Taeyong leaned down to kiss you in the moment, wanting to taste you as well, the two of you riding out your highs together. Even as you came down you stayed together, connected. There was a mess between you, but you both stayed put.

“Let’s do this every night.”

[tazwren]

My two cents on the devolution of fandom spaces...

As a former mod of a fandom space and a woman of colour, I do not feel safe.

Seeing what has been done to so many in this fandom, by a particular group of white American women, in the name of moral policing is both abhorrent and demoralising. As it also is to repeatedly see the same narrative being shoved at everyone as the gospel truth.

A narrative that very conveniently either becomes about fic or has nothing to do with fic, depending on how people want to swing things. A narrative that will accuse a person of Jewish heritage of anti-Semitism, a person of colour of racism, a practising Muslim of being an Islamaphobe. A narrative that will define for you and me and all of us comprising this myriad of multitudes in the world what generational or personal trauma includes and what induces the same.

Those of you who know me, know what I’ve been dealing with the past few days & why I haven’t spoken up before now. Before I logged out a couple days ago, I saw what looked like more of the usual nonsense by the same group of people I’ve kept my distance from once their true colours were revealed. What I didn’t expect is that they would think themselves so above the norms of human decency and accountability that they would go after not one but two women of colour this time around in their rabidity. And many others who spoke up, as it turns out.

It hurts to see what these women, that I know of, have had to endure and to see the passivity of the community, save for a few voices, in sitting back and letting the circus rampage through town. It hurt when I was at the receiving end of it and it hurts now.

Why? Because it shows me a microcosm of the world that I don’t really relate to, that makes no sense to me with the values I was brought up with, and which reduces basic human decency to a commodity to be trampled upon and for you to be seen as weak for having. Because people who willingly laud you for your art / writing / wit, meet you with effusive claims of love and affection and friendship, who have no qualms in taking your help when it suits them, will throw you under the bus and let the wolves ravage you when it doesn't.

Before I get into that, let me talk a little bit about what has transpired over the past few days to a week, and what has been systemically taking place over perhaps the past year in this fandom.

One thing is that everyone who makes a statement about anything suddenly has people in their mentions demanding they show what gives them the right to hold that particular opinion. A critical thing people forget about fandom is that it is a place where people hide their identity for a variety of reasons, all valid, and this approach to fiction and conversations where everyone has to reveal every part of their past and identity as a means of establishing their "credentials" in order to present their views comes in direct contradiction with how fandoms operate. It violates people's rights to privacy.

The other is that there has been an increase in the voices that purportedly stand up to “speak for” the marginalised, the abused, those discriminated against and those who belong to minorities who “need to be protected / kept safe”. An admirable sentiment, to be sure. If it weren’t for the fact that none of these groups of people needed saving, speaking for or the protection of this particular group of voices.

Voices who only want to define and use these people as "model victims" to hurt other white women and establish their supremacy over both them and other POC. Voices that will present their "truth" as they see fit and sans context or present you with screenshots of snippets of conversations held in supposedly secure spaces that they have no qualms in violating in the interest of the "greater good" and claim offense / silencing if the misdemeanour is pointed out or action is taken against them, Voices that will conveniently categorize you as a "token POC" or "white adjacent" when you do not support or align with their narrative. Voices that belong to a predominantly white American group of women, whose real agenda, as is evidenced by their modus operandi, has nothing to do with real altruism or a drive for justice or indeed to right wrongs.

No, their agenda is purely power.

To hold sway over groups of followers, to shepherd them as though they are sheep who cannot think for themselves, and to set themselves up as white saviours who call out those who step out of line, or are deemed to be problematic and toxic and unsafe. To be the owners of the only "safe spaces" in fandom and to drive other groups and spaces to be boycotted or worse.

Now, I've long wondered, who indeed are these women to decide that for anyone? In a world comprising multiple cultures, religions, groups, subgroups, genders and which contains multitudes, who are these women and what gives them the right to foist their puritanical standards on everyone, very conveniently disguised as concern for the moral well being of everyone and the consumption, of all things, of fiction?

Certainly, there are many things in this world that people regard with justifiably equal dislike / horror / sadness. At the same time, there is much that is not shared, that is particular to a culture and to a person’s background. There is a multitude of perspectives that make the whole. And the white women of the United States of America have not cornered the market on what those are, or indeed even own any curatorship or censorship of the same. They cannot, because each person’s culture and background and joy and trauma is their own, as are their ways of dealing with it all.

That being said, let’s talk about their pack behaviour and the devolution I’ve witnessed on social media as basic human decency is bartered for clout.

I’m all for standing up for someone who doesn’t have a voice or a platform, or maybe afraid of repercussions to voice dissent. I’m all for being there for our fellow human beings as they face struggles of often unconscionable and unfathomable proportions. I’m all for holding people accountable for their negative behaviours as they impact the larger community.

What I am unequivocally NOT for is treating such situations as an opportunity to preach, to virtue-signal, to shame and to put on blast the alleged wrong-doers. I say alleged because that’s what most accusations are on these platforms—allegations to do with things that disturb our sense of balance or make us wrinkle our noses or that we deem bad, and therefore make the accused deserving of the full force of the community’s misbehaviour and censure.

I ask you if you were found guilty of a crime in real life—you know, the one away from your phones and keyboards—would you not have an opportunity to retain a lawyer, to plead your case in a court of law, to acquit yourself? Or, if found guilty, would you not have the opportunity for correction and rehabilitation? Yes, you say? (If you say no, then that explains the spate of state-perpetuated injustices across the USA, but that is a different matter).

Why then are people treated so abhorrently in this court of public opinion? What gives you, me, any one of us the right to judge people so vilely and with a metaphorical gun to their heads? What gives anyone the right to say you better agree with everything I say, retract everything you said and grovel for it or we will eviscerate you in public, shame you, force you to change or delete the content that offends us and still ostracise you and in some cases even threaten you with bodily harm or death, or doxx you?

Why is there no grace in how people are approached or dealt with? Whatever happened to allowing people to learn from their mistakes, where applicable, or hearing them out and giving them a chance to explain their side of something we may not fully understand?

Why is there no accountability for such behaviour on the part of the accusers?

What makes the rest of you sit back and allow this to happen? What makes you think this is in any shape or form okay to watch? Today, it is a virtual stranger at the receiving end, one you can distance yourself from quite conveniently saying Oh, she just mods a group I am in, or I only read their fics a couple times or I only followed them for their art or jokes or whatever flavour of excuse you choose. Tomorrow, it will be one of your own - or it may very well be you. And you'd better hope there's someone left to speak up for you.

The irony is you will have allowed it to happen by letting the wolf in the fold. By letting these white women manipulate you, and the community you claim to be a part of, so unapologetically, so maliciously and so unashamedly that before you can do anything about it the cancer has taken hold.

If this was happening in the world outside of social media, they would have to follow due process, to present real evidence based on facts (not based on emotions, rumours or perceptions) and would have to allow the person they are accusing to present a counter-argument, to defend themselves or be defended. Failure to do so is a miscarriage of justice and, depending on whether this is a professional or legal proceeding, they would either seriously risk their jobs or have the case thrown out of court. If not face action themselves for attempting to derail the process of justice.

Why then are they permitted to range so freely through the landscape of fandom, snarling and biting at who they please, or who displeases them?

I have no shame in saying I was at the receiving end of their behaviour for defending a friend they put on blast and I will tell you right here and now, I am a woman of colour who feels unsafe and attacked by these so-called self-appointed white saviours of your social media experience, these so-called upholders of the common morality—whatever that means—who will fight for you the evils of problematic and toxic writers who dare to have an opinion not aligned with theirs and who do not bow to their clout. Not that they care, so long as they can ignore this fact since it doesn’t fit their narrative. So long as they can ignore what has just been done to so many people in the name of cleansing the fandom.

If any one of these women were truly interested in alleviating the troubles and pains of the discriminated, the marginalized, the trauma-affected, I invite them to please come roll their sleeves up and help in the multitudes of troubles that wrack this world, not just in the backyards of their minds. My country is amidst a struggle for the basics of human life in this horrific pandemic and, prior to that, for basic constitutional rights for religious minorities. Do not patronize me and lecture me on trauma and racism and discrimination. Do not marginalise me in your attempt to pontificate and set your pearl-clutching puritanical selves above the rest, or assuage your white guilt.

A largely American audience or fanbase in this fandom is purely a function of access and interest—other cultures have vast followings for things you couldn't begin to fathom—and it doesn't mean you are entitled in any shape or form to be spokespeople for the rest of the world. We have no interest in being colonized again by white oppressors.

If you disagree with what I have said, I congratulate you on being a part of their coterie and wish you much joy in being the sheep in their fold. Kindly unfollow or block me on the way off of this post.

[jaskicr]

so i wrote a piece for the geraskier reverse bang for art made by @brothebro, and here it is! featuring some witcher jaskier and fae geralt, identity reveals, and some hurt and pining<3

summary:

Geralt of Rivia is not a witcher.

He’d chosen to disguise himself as a witcher in an attempt to bring something more to his life, to find the contentment he so desperately desires. But as much as life on the Path thrills him, there’s still something missing - until Jaskier.

Jaskier brings so much light into his life with his songs and laughter, treating Geralt without fear, with kindness and gentleness - he’s like no one else Geralt has ever met, and Geralt can’t help but be drawn into his irresistible orbit.

What he doesn’t know is that Jaskier is hiding secrets of his own.

Or: Neither Geralt nor Jaskier are who they seem, and secrets are brought to light when Geralt’s family is threatened and Jaskier is the only one who can help.

----

Geralt returns to the Path, desperate to put the incident out of his mind, but word spreads, and towns and villages start whispering of the Butcher of Blaviken, the witcher with white hair and golden eyes. The hate from humans, while bearable before, intensifies, and he’s thrown out of inns and taverns with jeers and insults, left to spend nights on the side of the road with only a feeble fire for warmth. 

Though the rush he gets from slaying monsters remains the same, the enjoyment seeps from the Path, his journeys becoming harder and more wearisome, and Geralt starts wondering whether he should give up this whole ordeal of being a witcher and return to court, fulfilling his duties alongside Vesemir. The Path doesn’t give him the same joy it used to, not with how harshly he’s treated wherever he goes - the residents of Posada glare at him, sneers on their faces as they edge away from him, and Geralt grits his teeth.

Perhaps he truly should return. It would be better for his brothers’ journeys too, if the Butcher of Blaviken were to miraculously disappear.

He turns the idea over in his head, contemplating the idea of returning home, until a voice cuts through his thoughts. 

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt glares up at the bard who’d dared to interrupt his thoughts, silently willing him to go away, to leave. There’s something strange about the bard, something almost magical that tickles at Geralt’s senses, but it disappears quickly, and Geralt dismisses it as nothing. 

The bard babbles on and on and on and before Geralt can fully process what’s happening, they somehow manage to get captured by elves, with the bard still by Geralt’s side even when they escape the elves’ grasp, Filavandrel’s lute held in the bard’s hand.

Geralt tries to shake him off. He should return to his realm, and the last thing he needs is a loud, irritating bard following him around, singing his praises. But no matter what Geralt does, Jaskier somehow always returns to his side, and Geralt finds himself getting less and less irritated with Jaskier’s presence by his side. 

Jaskier - he reminds Geralt of why he’d chosen to stay in the human world as a witcher rather than return home. Not only has human hatred towards him lessened with the popularity of Toss a Coin, but Jaskier brings back all the beauty of the human world that Blaviken had dulled for him. 

Jaskier sings of the beauty of the world around them, gasping delightedly at sparkling waterfalls and smiling softly at small animals darting through dense bushes, taking joy in every little thing, and for the first time since Blaviken, Geralt regains appreciation of the world surrounding the Path, starting to see it all the way Jaskier sees it - through the eyes of a human whose life is just as temporary as the surrounding world. 

And Jaskier himself - he’s fickle, changeable, wearing his emotions plain and clear, and Geralt is drawn in by the complexity of him. Geralt witnesses the way Jaskier can be petty, turning his nose up at Valdo Marx, the way he radiates fury when villagers spit Butcher at Geralt, the way he brightens with joy when Geralt talks to him, the way he smiles gently at a young child clinging to his legs. He’s everything that Geralt had originally found fascinating in the human world - he’s complex, he’s human, and Geralt can’t help but be drawn into the irresistible pull of his orbit. 

Jaskier makes the Path so much more vibrant, bringing meaning back into it, and Geralt wakes up one day to realise that he has no desire to return home permanently. He wants to stay on the Path, with Jaskier by his side reminding him of the beauty of the human realm, with Jaskier’s songs and smiles and laughter.

He’s unlike any other human Geralt has ever met. He seems so much brighter. All humans know that they might die someday, of course, but Jaskier seems to live every day like it’s his last, making the most of every moment and crafting each day into something he can take joy in, not wasting a single second. 

He never displays any fear or hostility towards Geralt - which is strange, considering all the humans he’s met have feared or hated him in some manner, and Jaskier shouldn’t be an exception. But no matter what Geralt does, Jaskier never turns away from him, not when he watches Geralt slay monsters with savage ruthlessness, not when he catches a glimpse of Geralt’s face after he’s taken his potions, not when Geralt snaps at him in a moment of lost temper. 

And it’s - nice. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t fear or hate him in the human world. It’s nice to have someone who - who cares for him, who cares for him enough to look out for him on his hunts, to patch up his wounds after a contract. Geralt doesn’t actually need Jaskier to patch him up - he can heal himself with his own magic - but there’s something so damn nice about having Jaskier’s gentle hands tending to his wounds as he hums soothingly under his breath, to have Jaskier fuss over him like a mother hen and reprimand him for being careless. 

Before Jaskier, no one in the human world had cared for Geralt in such a way. But with Jaskier here, Geralt basks in Jaskier’s tender care and gentle affection, so different from the way his brothers and Vesemir care for him, so different from anything he’s experienced, and he finds himself craving the gentleness of Jaskier’s touch, the affection in his eyes and smile. 

link to read more on ao3 and the art in reblog!

[gabrielkahane]

Heirloom

Short form:

Heirloom (concerto for piano & chamber orchestra) premieres with Jeffrey Kahane & the Kansas City Symphony under the baton of Michael Stern, September 24-26. Tickets are here.

I’ll play a solo show at Rockwood Music Hall on Tuesday, September 28th. My dear friend and colleague, Johnny Gandelsman, will open with a solo violin set. Johnny’s on at 7pm, I’ll go on around 8pm. Tickets are $20 and are here. This will be my only NYC appearance this year!

Applications for Luna Lab with Oregon Symphony are now open! If you are a female-identifying, non-binary, or gender-nonconforming composer between the ages of 12 and 18, and live in Portland or Southeast Washington, please apply for your chance to study for a year with the incredible Nathalie Joachim!

Long form:

Several years ago, my friend Eric Jacobsen started pestering me about writing a piano concerto for my father, Jeffrey Kahane. It was an intriguing (and natural!) idea, but I kept putting it off in large part because I’ve never felt comfortable with large-scale instrumental composition. I think of myself first and foremost as a songwriter, and while I love to write for instruments in the context of vocal music, I feel almost entirely unmoored when voice & text are taken away. But Eric was persistent, and, well, here we are. Next month, the Kansas City Symphony will open its season with Heirloom, after which the piece will be heard in the coming years in performances presented by the co-commissioners who’ve rounded out the consortium: the Oregon Symphony, the Aspen Music Festival, the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, and Eric’s Brooklyn-based group, The Knights.

Heirloom is an aural family scrapbook, exploring, in its three movements, a series of inheritances. I’m incredibly excited to witness its birth September 24-26 in Kansas City. You can find the program note I’ve written to accompany its premiere at the end of this email.

The following Tuesday, September 28th, I will play my first concert in New York City since our lives were individually and collectively turned upside down by the pandemic. Most of the evening will be devoted to a new slate of songs drawn from thirty-one composed in October of 2020, the final month of a year-long, complete internet hiatus. Johnny Gandelsman, violinist of Brooklyn Rider, opens with what promises to be a ravishing solo set. Tickets are here.

Lastly, in 2019, I took on the position of Creative Chair with the Oregon Symphony. I’m very pleased to announce that this season, we’ve begun a partnership with Luna Lab, the brainchild of composers Missy Mazzoli and Ellen Reid. Luna Composition Lab offers mentorship and professional training to female-identifying, non-binary, and gender-nonconforming composers between the ages of 12 and 18. We at the Oregon Symphony are incredibly grateful to partner with Luna Lab to offer one student a year-long period of mentorship with Grammy-nominated flutist, composer, and songwriter, Nathalie Joachim, who happens to be one of my all-time favorite humans, and who will be giving the world premiere of Suite from Fanm D’ayiti with the Oregon Symphony in the spring of 2022. What makes this even more amazing is that another all-time favorite human, the violinist Pekka Kuusisto, will be playing Nico Muhly’s concerto Shrink, on the same program. Oh, but we were talking about Luna Lab. If you or someone you know wants to apply, you can find more info & the application form here; you just have to submit one score & a recording (MIDI is acceptable). I will be reviewing submissions along with Nathalie. Applications are due on September 7th.

Obligatory capitalism appeal: I know it’s been a while since I’ve put out new music. It’s coming. I promise. In the meantime, may I remind you about this gorgeous limited edition vinyl record?

That’s it for now, folks. Stay safe. Try to lead with love, even when it’s hard.

All my best,

Gabriel

Heirloom program note:

Tucked away in the northernmost reaches of California sits the Bar 717 Ranch, which, each summer, is transformed into a sleep-away camp on 450 acres of wilderness, where, in 1967, two ten-year-old kids named Martha and Jeffrey met. Within a couple of years, they were playing gigs back in L.A. in folk rock bands with names like “Wilderness” and “The American Revelation.” They fell in love, broke up, fell in love again. By the time I was a child, my mom and dad had traded the guitars, flutes, and beaded jackets for careers in clinical psychology and classical music respectively. But they remained devoted listeners of folk music. Growing up, it was routine for dad to put on a Joni Mitchell record when he took a break from practicing a concerto by Mozart or Brahms. That collision of musical worlds might help to explain the creative path I’ve followed, in which songs and storytelling share the road with the Austro-German musical tradition.

That tradition comes to me through the music I heard as a child, but also through ancestry. My paternal grandmother, Hannelore, escaped Germany at the tail end of 1938, arriving in Los Angeles in early 1939 after lengthy stops in Havana and New Orleans. For her, there was an unspeakable tension between, on the one hand, her love of German music and literature, and, on the other, the horror of the Holocaust. In this piece, I ask, how does that complex set of emotions get transmitted across generations? What do we inherit, more broadly, from our forebears? And as a musician caught between two traditions, how do I bring my craft as a songwriter into the more formal setting of the concert hall?

The first movement, “Guitars in the Attic,” wrestles specifically with that last question, the challenge of bringing vernacular song into formal concert music. The two main themes begin on opposite shores: the first theme, poppy, effervescent, and direct, undergoes a series of transformations that render it increasingly unrecognizable as the movement progresses. Meanwhile, a lugubrious second tune, first introduced in disguise by the French horn and accompanied by a wayward English horn, reveals itself only in the coda to be a paraphrase of a song of mine called “Where are the Arms.” That song, in turn, with its hymn-like chord progression, owes a debt to German sacred music. A feedback loop emerges: German art music informs pop song, which then gets fed back into the piano concerto.

“My Grandmother Knew Alban Berg” picks up the thread of intergenerational memory. Grandma didn’t actually know Alban Berg, but she did babysit the children of Arnold Schoenberg, another German-Jewish émigré, who, in addition to having codified the twelve-tone system of composition, was Berg’s teacher. Why make something up when the truth is equally tantalizing? I suppose it has something to do with wanting to evoke the slipperiness of memory while getting at the ways in which cultural inheritance can occur indirectly. When, shortly after college, I began to study Berg’s Piano Sonata, his music— its marriage of lyricism and austerity; its supple, pungent harmonies; the elegiac quality that suffuses nearly every bar—felt eerily familiar to me, even though I was encountering it for the first time. Had a key to this musical language been buried deep in the recesses of my mind through some kind of ancestral magic, only to be unearthed when I sat at the piano and played those prophetic chords, which, to my mind, pointed toward the tragedy that would befall Europe half a dozen years after Berg’s death?

In this central movement, the main theme is introduced by a wounded-sounding trumpet, accompanied by a bed of chromatic harmony that wouldn’t be out of place in Berg’s musical universe. By movement’s end, time has run counterclockwise, and the same tune is heard in a nocturnal, Brahmsian mode, discomfited by interjections from the woodwinds, which inhabit a different, and perhaps less guileless, temporal plane.

To close, we have a kind of fiddle-tune rondo, an unabashed celebration of childhood innocence. In March of 2020, my family and I were marooned in Portland, Oregon, as the world was brought to its knees by the coronavirus pandemic. Separated from our belongings—and thus all of our daughter’s toys, which were back in our apartment in Brooklyn—my ever resourceful partner, Emma, fashioned a “vehicle” out of an empty diaper box, on which she majusculed the words vera’s chicken-powered transit machine. (Vera had by that point developed a strong affinity for chicken and preferred to eat it in some form thrice daily.) We would push her around the floor in her transit machine, resulting in peals of laughter and squeals of delight. In this brief finale, laughter and joy are the prevailing modes, but not without a bit of mystery. I have some idea of what I have inherited from my ancestors. What I will hand down to my daughter remains, for the time being, a wondrous unknown.

Heirloom is dedicated with love, admiration, gratitude, and awe, to my father, Jeffrey Kahane.

[honorable-wanderings]

Word of Honor - Episode 2 Part 2 - Mirror Lake has more Fire than expected

In an interesting twist of fate Zhou Zishu decides to take the nice munchkin up on his offer to crash at his place for a while.

Thumbs up my dood

----------

Now the fuck are these guys?

Oh cool. Thanks.

---------

See? Children chants are creepy! Always!

But especially when driven by plort! (plort was a typo but I’m Keeping it.)

----------

Finally people treating our man with common decency and respect! Who knew he just needed a fancy bookmark?

Oop. Nevermind

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

I have discovered the joys of fucking with people and I’m never going back again

----------

A fuck this guy again. I’m assuming we’re not supposed to like him? But I don’t like him either way. He has no...  je ne sais quoi

He boring. Basic. Bland.

It ain’t good.

----------

Oh and also you know how you wanted us to keep tabs on Zhou ZiShu? Oh well um.. it’s going great! Great! Yeah... except for... we can’t find him.

-----------

Well if this ain’t a whole ass mood?

-----------

Midnight already? Time for the pain pins to poke me painfully!

This sure is a weird version of Cinderella

gross

----------

Okay okay so normally the 7 torture nails block your chi? I’m understanding? So you can no longer do martial arts. And he would rather die than lose all his martial arts so he put the nails in slowly so that he could still have SOME of his martial arts. But the point of the nails is still that he wants to die and feels he deserves to be punished as well? Right? So having his martial arts helps mediate the pain which lessons the punishment

and if it weren’t for the punishment aspect couldn’t he have just like... faked the nails? Or would they have been able to tell? I mean this is all dramatic and all but where are your motivations Zhou ZiShu?

work with me here

----------

Hey?! That’s not sunlight?!?

----------

Love me a good silhouette shot

----------

And suddenly everything is on fire???

----------

Rude

----------

After watching like 4 people get killed in front of him and a lot of fire and ransacking our protragonists finally thinks perhaps he should get himself involved.

----------

How is everything a fucking boomerang???

-----------

Pffffff I love it

Tunk thunk

----------

In another interesting development, the boat man from before is important?????

Also our boy is doing his best with that hat

----------

Okay I know he’s like a master of disguise and all but like he doesn’t seem to be doing much to actually... hide? Still love his wiggly sword style

----------

Um take the kid and fucking run maybe????

---------

*stalks you from a not very inconspicuous distance*

Didja miss me?

No

----------

Hate to see you leave but love to watch you go

----------

Fuck I hate being disarmed.

----------

This place looks strangely similar to the woodshed...

---------

The fuck are you?

Wouldn’t you like to know?

Yes I would. That’s why I asked

----------

There’s just nothing quite like a near death experience to bring people together.

----------

Take this kid and run!

But sir, you don’t seem to understand! I am the Best Boy! I simply cannot just leave you to die.

----------

Don’t worry kid! You can’t get in trouble anymore! Your dad is fuckin dead! Surely that’ll bring you some comfort!

----------

Random Local Boatman is surprisingly honorable and happens to be in debt to the father of the kid who was nice to you that morning.

Life sure is weird.

----------

He doing him best

---------

Though it is absolutely understandable, he reacts to being touched by that paper the way I react to walking into a spider web.

-------

Gramps is a badass

-----------

I do have to say these guys do seem to be much better trained than the usual evil henchmen. And you have to appreciate their aesthetic.

----------

Seriously!! The best boy!!!!!

This man has helped in a little bit exactly once to repay him for his own kindness an this little teenager is willing to just die for him without hesitation.

Like no, son, the two old men are doing this so that YOU live. You have it backwards.

----------

Surpriiiiise I’m stalking you too!

----------

Oh no the henchmen are falling into the drawing things out to emotionally torture their prey thing. Don’t y’all know that giving the protagonist time to recover and/or study your moves is how you die? Did you even GO to henchman school?

----------

ahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Just.. omg. The noise he made. “Dwaaah!!!”

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

Okay kid I know you’re young and under a lot of stress and never really got into the whole martial arts training thing but grandpa is doing better than you literally laying down and covered in cuts. Just sayin

----------

Aw nuts

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

*ding*

Please take your protagonist out of the oven as cooktime has been completed.

----------

The fighting editing style seems to be a weird splice of nice crisp slowmotion view of the action and spliced together jump cuts and zooms that make for an odd kinda hard to follow combination. But at least I guess they tend to end on ‘cool pose x”

----------

“Hey, Beggar! You’re good at martial arts. Somehow this surprises me even though I already knew that???”

----------

Unexpected trust fall ends better than anticipated

----------

Das gaee

----------

He’s bendin’ over backwards for you!!

--------

Unexpected but definitely varied emotional investments on the fact that Gramps is dying.

----------

Look at him being all humble.

----------

Ooh he could be in a medical drama. That is the perfect like sad close your eyes and head shake no I’m sorry he’s not gonna make it. Bravo.

Very delicate.

----------

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me”

----------

I’m guilt tripping you into a found family and you’re gonna like it punk

---------

Sick dude, whats your name? Shit no one’s asked me that before somehow I’m not ready..

Uh.uh... Zhou Xu.

Nailed it.

“Zhou Xu? Naw that doesn’t sound right.”

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

May you learn from this never to underestimate, rob, and otherwise harass your local old boat man for you never know when he may force you through guilt and honor into taking on a ward and a quest under penalty of being haunted by his old ass ghost forever

----------

Uncle Li has died and most of the group is much more upset about it than they would have anticipated that morning.

Poor ChenLing is having a rough day.

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

RIP Uncle Li. So much for living a carefree couple of years lying drunk in the sun.

It looks like even now you can’t escape your responsibilities Zhou Xu.

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

Group of hereto-unknown men arrive in poor time to stop the bonfire

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

“What’s wrong?” Um... maybe... fire??

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

I say again, thank you for labeling the people I’m supposed to remember.

Also, why did y’all have to wait for orders before checking out the fuckin boats?

Y’all dumb.

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

Hey, Wen KeXing, Not trying to throw off your groove or anything but maybe a funeral isn’t the best time for flirting? Perhaps? Maybe?

I know you don’t have an ‘off’ switch but maybe a pause button?

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

“are you done?”

“Never.”

----------

It deadass took y’all this long to introduce yourself? You’ve been stalking him all this time and you never thought to go “btw my name Wen KeXing? Comment t’appelles tu?” Come on man

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

Our best boy is having his not best day. D:

Don’t worry. Your new family will stalk/care for you.

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

“A-Xiang! Make some food!” “No shit Sherlock I already did.” “My ideas are the best. :D”

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

Eat your food!

Eat your food!

Eat your food!!

Eat your FOOD!!!

EAT YOUR FOOD!!!!

WILL SOMEONE PLEASE EAT YOUR GODDAMN FOOD?

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

“Oh my GOD we get it you can fucking read! Oh my god.”

---------

If I prove I can read too will you pass me a damn pancake?

Fuck yeah.

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

GOD DAMN IT SOMEONE EAT FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK

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

Um excuse you this group only has room for one little bitch and it ain’t fuckin you, you hear me little girl?

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

I am very sorry. Thank you for saving my life. I would like to re-assert my status as “best boy”.

HEY WHAT THE FUCK????

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

Wen KeXing: 👀

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

Please increase your friendship level before asking personal questions.

---------

Nya Nya you were useless when your home was burned to the ground and your family was killed waaaaah how pathetic are you!!

Can you fucking not?

My B.

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

BEST BOY INJURED THIS IS NOT A DRILL

----------

Our Man Zhou ZiShu respects bodily autonomy!

Do not touch my fuckin’ boy or I will fight you!

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

And we end the episode with Wen KeXing being horny on main!

Sir, keep it together. There are children present.

[mxndoscyarika]

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 1

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink mention

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: I’m so excited for you all to read this story! Special thanks go to Lynn (@mindless--ramblings​​) for always being so supportive and helping me stay inspired! Ever since I found out Pedro now has two characters named Marcus, I’ve wondered about ways I could connect them in one piece of writing. And this? This is that piece of writing. Moreno won’t be making an appearance in this one, but I hope Pike will make up for that 😉 Enjoy!

Ground floor.

First floor.

Second.

Erin He took a deep breath, thankful that the elevator was empty. She straightened the collar of her shirt as the fourth floor approached. At her side was her government-issued laptop, which she’d picked up from the front desk. Her fingers gripped its edges tightly. This was it. She made it.

The elevator let out a soft ding and opened its doors, revealing a floor of cubicles and conference rooms. Austin sunlight filtered through large windows, illuminating the space alongside the bright fluorescent lights.

She stepped out, searching for the art theft department’s main office. As much as she understood the need for technology specialists across all the FBI’s branches, she never quite grasped why she was placed in the art theft department, of all places. She always thought she’d be in the operational technologies department, developing and maintaining tools for others to use. Though she couldn’t blame them; intellectual property was highly valued and often stolen.

The email said to report to the department supervisor’s office for a quick onboarding, but they didn’t exactly mention what it would be. It could’ve been anything from a quick handshake to being told to shadow a coworker. Hopefully the former.

Part of her begged to the gods of computer science that she wouldn’t be assigned to yet another condescending old white man. Her last welcome at a company had been less than mediocre, and lukewarm at best.

The other part of her nagged that she’d signed up for exactly that.

“Ah, there you are. Welcome to your first day, Special Agent He,” the department supervisor–Harold Strauss–greeted as she entered his office. He gestured to the man standing in front of his desk. “This is Agent Marcus Pike. He will be showing you the ropes today.”

Agent Pike looked at her over his shoulder, the corners of his lips curling in a friendly smile. He couldn’t have been much older than her, with his faint smile lines and soft brown hair. He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned around to face her.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied. She shook his hand and then extended her hand to Pike. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking time out of your day to show me around.”

“Likewise,” he replied, shaking her hand. His brown eyes sparkled as he proposed, “Should we start? I have a meeting in about half an hour, and I’m sure you’ll want to meet some of our operational techs and digital forensics team. They’re the backbone of everything we do here.”

They acknowledged their supervisor once more and then left to begin the tour.

As her personal guide gave her the rundown of the floor’s organization and workflow, Erin couldn’t help but sneak a couple more glances at him.

He was taller than her by a few inches, but not in such a way that she felt like shrinking into herself. And he always stayed at her side, never walking ahead or lagging behind. His strong jaw led her gaze to a pair of soft lips, which seemed to be in a perpetual smile as he talked about the breakthroughs the department had in the past days.

“Do you know where your desk is?” Pike asked.

“Yeah, they told me the other day,” she answered, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ears. They walked over to her assigned desk, which was barren save for a standard computer, box of pens, and notepad. “If you’re going to ask if I need help with setup, I think I should be alright for now. Nothing a few installations and linux commands can’t fix.”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “You’re living up to your title, Agent He. If I’m being honest, I don’t think I could’ve been much help even if I offered. Have you done work similar to this before?”

She shrugged. “I worked in cybersecurity and software development,” Erin replied, setting down her bag and laptop on her desk. Slipping off her black blazer, she continued, “But I figured I should do something more than just build products for tech companies. Use my skills to aid in investigations.”

He nodded in understanding. “I see what you mean. Actually, I was originally studying to be an art history professor. But then I found this job and figured I could use my knowledge to help find and preserve artworks.”

Hm, noble.

“Sounds like we aren’t so different,” she observed, following him across the officespace. “Let’s hope that I can be of help around here.”

He chuckled softly, the dimple in his cheek showing as he smiled. “I think you’ll fit right in.”

---

The words on the screen blurred into the white background of the screen, as if they were mocking her. Each line of test slowly lost its meaning, turning into mind-numbing strings.

Erin pushed her computer away and rubbed her eyes defeatedly, sighing. The department was launching an investigation regarding a museum that was broken into and wiped clean. What little data was left on the computers, from what she gathered after hours of poring over them, was largely useless. Hopefully, one of the other agents would find something helpful in the other remnants. Perhaps an address, or some sort of signature that could be traced to a group. Her, on the other hand? She just wasted hours of work.

A steaming cup of coffee was set down onto her desk, along with some sugar and tiny cups of cream.

She looked up to find Marcus–Pike, she reminded herself–standing at her side, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Find anything?”

“Nope,” she sighed. It turned out that Pike was one of the best agents in the department, and that meant he spent most of his time leading and organizing investigations. What that meant for Erin, then, was that she had to answer to him. Thankfully, he was never weird about it. Quite the opposite, actually. Tapping the side of the cup, she asked, “Is this for me?”

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah! Sorry; I would’ve fixed it, but I wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee.”

“Well it’s nothing complex, if that’s what you’re nervous about,” she teased. Two sugars and a drizzle of cream turned the pitch black liquid into a deep brown. She took a sip, the placebo of caffeine already kicking in. “When you’re in STEM, you learn to appreciate caffeine in any form. But I like it like this.”

“Noted,” he said, his voice a soft timbre amongst the flutter of papers and clacking of keys. Hands resting on his hips he asked, “How long do you think it’ll be before you find anything?”

“Anywhere from an hour to another three...or five,” she sighed, lazily scrolling down the file. Basking in the steam from her cup, she continued, “I’m gonna need a lot more of this coffee. There has to be something useful in this file, I just need to find it. I might need to cross-reference with some of the other evidence to notice anything.”

A headache was already descending upon her, and she was only six hours in. Weak–she’d stared at a computer much longer without any problem many times before. Why, of all times, did it have to happen when she was talking to her coworker?

“Well, I’ll be here pretty late tonight, so if you need anything, just let me know,” he replied, patting her shoulder. The crease between his brows deepened as he squinted down at the screen. “Maybe you need a fresh set of eyes on it. Take a break, Erin.” At her responding pout, he reasoned, “It’s been almost a month and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you rest.”

Of course he noticed her breaks, or lack thereof. She rolled her eyes, hiding a bashful smile in her cup. “I work best in sprints.”

He hummed amusedly. “But even sprinters need breaks, don’t they?” Then, his eyes lit up. “Actually, why don’t you take a break now?”

Erin raised a brow. “Am I not taking a break right now?”

His laugh was warm. “I mean a real break. Let’s get lunch; my treat.”

“Are you really going to make me choose between food and digital forensics, Agent Pike?”

Nodding definitively, he replied, “Yes, Agent He.”

Unable to resist the prospect of free lunch, she gave in and followed him out to his car. The work would still be there when she returned. For the moment, she could just enjoy Marcus’s companionship.

He drove out to a local diner about ten minutes away, his turns confident as if he’d gone there hundreds of times before. Judging by the way his eyes had sparked with joy at her agreement, he probably had.

They let their shoulders relax in the serenity of the car, shedding the formalities and passing time as if they were close friends.

The diner was small and cozy, booths worn with age and serving breakfast all day. Erin’s lips curled up in a little smile as the hostess recognized Marcus. So he was a regular, after all.

They sat down across from each other in a booth. Erin shrugged off her navy blue blazer and smoothed her dark hair back into a thick ponytail.

As she fixed her hair, Marcus gave her his recommendations, leaning in with the menu so she could follow along with her eyes. He seemed particularly fond of the pancakes, so she decided on those. Surely he wouldn’t lead her astray.

And with the way his voice rasped just slightly, she could listen to him speak for a whole day.

“Honey? Did you hear anything I said?” he asked, tilting his head slightly with a little smirk.

Erin snapped out of her reverie, cheeks burning. “Oh, um. Yeah. Sorry, I spaced out for a bit.”

“No worries, it happens to all of us,” he reassured, laying the menu flat on the table. “What were you thinking about?”

Less than an hour had passed before they were back in the office, stepping out of the elevator with full bellies. The familiar clicking from computers and buzz of conversations filled the air, and they were officially agents again.

Erin turned to him and nudged his arm. “Hey, thanks for the break.”

“Anytime,” he replied, walking with her along the perimeter of the room. They stopped at the hallway leading to the conference rooms and offices. His large hand moved to rest on her arm, his thumb rubbing gently. “I guess this is my stop. You know where to find me.”

“And you know where I’ll be.”

The next day, Marcus was greeted in his office by tupperwares containing homemade fried rice, some cut up fruit, and a sticky note.

Thanks for sticking with me yesterday. -E

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he tried to refrain from grinning like a maniac, though he was sure anyone who happened to pass by would’ve thought he looked like a schoolgirl with a crush. Erin’s handwriting was soft and curved, so similar to calligraphy but simple in a way that made the note feel that much more intimate.

She had an interesting way of showing her care for others, he found. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the work she dedicated her life to; she seemed to always be one step ahead, ready to pull out small details that others would dismiss. He wondered what she might know of him.

There were a few things she clearly knew; things that surprised him every day. Just as he’d learned her usual coffee order, she’d learned his. When he’d walk in every morning, her head of dark hair would tilt to peek over her cubicle, as if she could sense his presence. And when their eyes would meet, her smile was better than the best espresso in the world.

Marcus shook his head to himself as his heart fluttered. Years of failed relationships and a divorce later, he still couldn’t keep his feelings in check. His mother always said he had a soft heart, one that would be his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. But Erin was anything but a weakness.

She wasn’t a weakness, but a strength. A constant in his life, making each day feel just a little more special. He didn’t need a relationship to be happy, but….he wouldn’t be opposed to one either.

Yet, as he spotted Ian Malarkey standing a bit too close to her, he forced himself to backtrack. What if she didn’t want him? What if they were meant to be just as they were: just friends?

Maybe it was time for him to move on.

After a few months, their friendship had grown well past a workplace acquaintance. It wasn’t as if she was trying to get attached to him; it just...happened. And it was only a little surprising to her; she tried to stay as professional as she could in the office, but outside? Outside, she could just be Erin, not FBI Special Agent He. Outside, she could shed her jacket and swap the button-down shirt for a ribbed sweater and some jeans. Outside, she and Marcus could sit as close together as they wanted without drawing unwanted attention.

She knew it was silly to fantasize. After all, Marcus was a coworker, if not a superior. And with the way he fussed over her water intake and made sure that she wore her glasses at the right times, he could easily see her as a little sister. As nothing more than a new agent who happened to be friendly.

But if that were true, why would he go through the effort of bringing her lunch on Thursdays? Why did he call her little names like “honeydew” and “sweetheart,” and why did it feel so natural coming from his mouth?

The commotion coming from the direction of the conference rooms told her that the team was back from the investigation. Maybe Marcus was there; she knew he’d gone, but he hadn’t texted since morning. It wouldn’t hurt to pop in to check on him; he did that often enough with her.

When she entered the break room, her heart sank. Sitting off to the side, by the wall, was Marcus asking Teresa Lisbon out on a date. She wasn’t sure why she felt defeated;  it wasn’t like she had any plans on asking him out.

But then why did it hurt her to the core to see him giving those puppy eyes and little smiles to Lisbon? The woman didn’t even look interested in him; if anything, she looked confused and hesitant.

Ian caught her eye as she surveyed the room once more, his lips pulling into a tight-lipped smile. He knew about her feelings for Marcus, having spent hours going over evidence and making small talk. In fact, he’d even encouraged her to tell Marcus her feelings, out of fear that she might never get the chance.

Perhaps her chance had passed after all. Turning on her heel, Erin decided that, for once, it was time to go home. Marcus would come to her when he was less busy.

The thing was, though, she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to go over and say hello, and check to make sure he wasn’t injured in the scuffle. Moreover, she didn’t want to be a fill-in for Lisbon’s absence. She didn’t want to be his second choice. And she knew it wasn’t her fault, nor Lisbon’s, that Marcus didn’t choose her. But it still stung.

She watched as their shared lunches became less frequent, the senior agent replacing her space by Marcus’s side. When the elevator would ding at 7AM and she’d glance up to see if it was him, she found him searching the room for Lisbon. They never drifted over to her desk. That fact always made her grip her pen just a little tighter.

On the days when he did grace her with his presence, she felt like a tornado of emotions.

Happy, because she had missed her best friend.

Sad, because she knew the next time she’d spend time with him was in a few weeks rather than a few days.

Grateful, because she knew how hard it was to socialize after a work week of at least 50 hours.

Envious, because of the stories he told.

Relieved, because he still cared.

Plastering a halfhearted smile on her face, Erin listened to Marcus practically worship his girlfriend. His summer breeze of a smile and sparkling eyes made the pain that came with listening worth it. The only other time she’d heard him talk that passionately was when they’d visited an art museum.

At least one of them was happy.

She thought of trying to date again; it had been over a year since she’d been in a relationship. But she couldn’t do it. More than once, she’d put on some simple makeup and casual clothes, ready to head out to the bar, but no. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the apartment. The apartment was where she and Marcus watched movies, where she would cut up fruit and bring them to him on a plate while he pored over reports in the warm lights of the kitchen. It was where he’d navigate her cupboards and fridge to make her a mug of his special hot chocolate. It was her safe space, the one place in her life where she could just be Erin, and he could just be Marcus.

The knife cleaved the melon in half with ease, revealing its pale green interior.

Marcus leaned up against the counter next to her, hair tousled and necktie loosened against his chest. He absentmindedly started rolling up his sleeves, undoing the cuffs of his shirt and folding them up.

She tried not to stare too long at the way his forearms tensed with the movement.

He broke the silence first. “I got the job in DC,” he said, voice soft like velvet.

“That’s great.” A simple response, though Erin cringed internally. Was that any way to react to her best friend’s job promotion? Surely not, but a part of her–a selfish part of her–knew that it meant he was leaving. Leaving not just his position, but her. Texas. The apartment.

It would’ve been disingenuous for her to say anything more.

Then, he added, almost sheepishly, “I also asked Teresa to marry me. And move to DC so we can be together.”

The blade of her knife hit the cutting board a little harder than normal. “Oh. That’s nice.” Cutting away the tough outer skin, she forced herself to ask, “What did she say?”

He sighed and crossed his arms, biting his lip as if to contain a smile. “She said she’d think about it. But I think she’ll come around. I kind of, uh, sprung it onto her the other night.”

And yet there he was, standing next to a woman who would’ve been ready to say yes. But even so, she said, “I’m sure things will work out between you two. You’ve already given so much to your relationship; it would be a shame for her to not see how great you are.”

She slid him a bowl of perfectly cubed melon.

Smiling softly, he took the bowl into his hands. “You’re the best, honeydew.”

The best, but not the one.

“You’re just trying to get on my good side before you leave for DC, brown eyes,” she jested, nudging him with her elbow. Her chest filled with warmth at his laugh. She tried her best to hang onto that feeling, to that sound. “When are you two leaving?”

“I’m already about halfway packed,” he mused, chewing on a cube of honeydew thoughtfully. “So maybe within the week? I hope that’s enough time for Teresa to make a decision.”

There was less time than she thought. She hummed softly. “Are you sure that’s what she wants? That it’s what you want?”

He nodded confidently. “Yes, I...I know that I don’t have the best track record with relationships, but something about her feels right.” The bowl was set into the sink and filled with water. “I’m happy, honey. You don’t have to worry.”

Erin’s eyes burned as she quietly replied, “Okay.”

< previous chapter | next chapter >

TAGLISTS: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

PERMANENT: @cinewhore​ @randomness501​ @theghostwiththemost-babe​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @catfishingmorales​ @halfwaythereroyal​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @talesfromtheguild​ @tortles​ @ladamari68​ @theokatcov @snivellusim​ @starryluce​ @inked-poet​ @browneyes-djarin​ @shedobewritingalittle​ @chews-erotically​ @thefandomimagines​ @emesispo​ @mindless--ramblings​ @phoenixhalliwell​

HONEYDEW: @leemorrigan @houseofthirst​ @littlevodika​ @engineeredfiction​ @inkyzinky​