#she can choose between getting depicted as either

[fortunxa]

I gave myself some time to think after watching act III, and I can finally share my thoughts. Let me break it down episode by episode so it’s more coherent because I’m itching to talk about it. Buckle up because this won’t be short.

cw: mentions of sh, depression, borderline personality disorder, suicidal tendencies

episode 7 — Pretend Like It’s the First Time

This whole episode felt like pure fanfiction and fan service, and I genuinely can’t believe how Timebomb shippers are still standing after this. Throughout this whole episode, it’s been clearly shown how Ekko will only accept one version of Jinx—the easy to digest one. The one that hasn’t been traumatized. How can someone call it love? Love isn’t picking and choosing what you accept, you either love the whole person or you don’t. Alternate universe Powder is the epitome of the manic pixie dream girl archetype for the current timeline Ekko. Would Timebomb work in that alternate universe? Sure, but that’s because it’s their reality. They don’t know anything else—Powder doesn’t become the Jinx we know now. Alternate universe Ekko isn’t faced with Jinx’s mental health problems—he has nothing to pick and choose from.

Do I hate Ekko? No, I actually like his character, but he’s torn between reality and fantasy. Can I blame him? Also no, because we’ve seen his childhood. We can only imagine what damage losing everyone he loved and cared about at such a young age (and so suddenly) did to him mentally. I can’t fault him for holding onto the past (even if he denies doing so), but it is an issue that stands in the way of current timeline Timebomb.

To him, there’s only Powder or Jinx, but she’s so much more complex than that. It’s been shown repeatedly how Jinx is a part of Powder (the whole act I of season 1), and how Powder is still a part of Jinx (until the very end, no matter how hard she tried to get rid of her).

BONUS: The necklace Powder has speaks for itself. A blue rose represents, and I quote, “Unrequited love, a longing for the impossible. A yearning for someone out of reach or a relationship that cannot be fully realized.” Both Ekko’s and Powder’s side profiles aren’t on the same side of the necklace to begin with. They only merge once she spins it.

BONUS 2: Other than “Ma meilleure ennemie” by Stromae & Pomme being an absolute bop, some of you simply didn’t translate it, and it shows. Here are some highlights, specifically Pomme’s lyrics (clearly depicting Jinx):

episode 8 — Killing Is a Cycle

The episode that started to break me. We see Jinx, absolutely drained, sitting in that cell because Isha’s death was her breaking point. No one and I mean no one, showed that girl the love and acceptance she needed and deserved other than Isha. Not Silco, not Vi, not Ekko. Building that beautiful storyline for two acts straight just to rip it away from her in such a traumatizing way—a parallel to the explosion at the warehouse, too? Wow. They were setting the stage for Jinx’s breakdown since the very beginning of this season. Making us watch the hope in her bloom, find something (or someone in this case) worth living for again, be loved and accepted for who she is just to watch it all burn and leave her with nothing again—pure evil.

“I didn’t know your mom was there.” Can you hear my heart breaking even further? That brings me to my next point: Jinx in relation to Caitvi.

After watching all of what Caitlyn did this season, not only to the city but to Vi, and then still believing Caitvi is healthy? Are we watching the same show? Season 1 Caitvi stood a chance, but this? So shallow and underdeveloped. Cait became a whole dictator. She was Vi’s breaking point, too, and the reason why she hit rock bottom in the first place. Jinx saw that firsthand, and she still thinks she’s the one standing in the way of Vi’s happiness? The only person standing in the way of that is Caitlyn herself, who isn’t even being held accountable for her actions whatsoever at any point. “We can’t erase our mistakes.” but we clearly can pretend they never happened, right?

“She’s being held in the bunker while I decide what to do.” What exactly did Cait expect from that? Telling Vi, her apparent love interest—who knows what it’s like to suffer in prison, not even physically but straight up mentally—that she’s keeping her mentally ill little sister in a cell while she decides what to do? What’s there to decide? And who are you to decide?

“I’m giving you this one chance to account for your actions, all the pain you’ve caused.” Is this projecting I hear from Cait? Can’t even tell since she never did what she’s expecting from Jinx, having done far worse things than her by that point. She let martial law take place for fuck’s sake. She used the grey to gas the Undercity (which still boggles me that Vi agreed to it). She was ready to risk Isha’s safety (a CHILD) just to get to Jinx.

BONUS (while I’m at it): Caitlyn would’ve missed the final shot, no matter how much she believed that she wouldn’t. She missed the shot twice right before that: first, when she shot Jinx’s finger off, and second, when she accidentally shot at Vi. They gave us this shot of Cait looking crazed out for a reason. She was losing her mind.

She was blinded by grief, yes, but I was waiting for the moment where she finally admits to her wrongdoings (other than screaming “I know!” while tossing a boat figurine, that is). “No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes.” Sure, and a lousy sex scene can?

Let’s talk about it.

When Jinx leaves Vi in the cell, she’s clearly suicidal and mentally unwell—even more than what we’ve seen from her so far. The dialogue they gave her, again, making her believe that she was the issue all along was just heartbreaking to hear. Yes, it’s Jinx’s perception of herself, going back to her believing she’s a jinx and how everyone close to her dies, but that perception of herself shifted when Isha came into the picture. And like I said, they took that away, so going back to the topic at hand.

Vi just being ready to hear another ‘I told you so’ from Caitlyn when she finds her, and then they just end up having “sex” (or actually, just giving Cait the pleasure Vi deserved instead after everything she put her through). We’ve seen crumbs of unsatisfying communication between them about what happened, and that sex scene in the cell was the last straw for me at this point. What do you mean Vi saw her suicidal sister sitting in that very same cell (starving and self-harming herself, may I add) and instead of running after her, she pounces on Cait?

“But the parallel to their first meeting back in s1!” I don’t care. That’s just fucked up to witness. In what world would Vi—who swears to care about her family—do that? We see her as this family-oriented person, who doesn’t give up on Jinx despite it all, and this was just so out of character in the name of fan service.

episode 9 — The Dirt Under Your Nails

Starting off strong, we see depressed and suicidal Jinx right off the bat. How did Ekko manage to get through to her? Well, it’s not like he would’ve stopped either way. He would’ve kept using his z-drive over and over again until he finally got it right.

What do we gain from that? Hopeful Jinx again, yippee! Wrong. She’s back for her sister, and it’s beautiful to witness. “I’m always with you. Even when we’re worlds apart.” Fighting with and for her, ready to die for her—we saw time and time again how Jinx was never the true jinx she believed she was. She managed to fix things with Vi—and even Ekko at this point—and managed to find and bring joy. That was the true ending both sisters deserved.

What do we get instead? Implying that Jinx sacrifices herself for Vi. Other than the pure rollercoaster of emotions they put Jinx through, making a suicidal character kill themselves (or even implying so) is just plain insensitive. What message does that send? As I said in a comment section, the writers aren’t blind, and they’re not dumb either. They know how many mentally ill fans Jinx herself has. As someone who struggles with bpd too, I related to her character in so many ways. More than I’m willing to share in this post, so that finale just left a bitter taste in my mouth. Speaking with other people who are struggling with their mental health helped me see that I wasn’t the only one affected by it. Quoting my friend: “We need to normalize considering the effects of the narrative on the fans.” And this isn’t to say that every suicidal character should magically get better, this isn’t how the real world works. But Jinx’s storyline had no reason to end on that note by that point. Forced and rushed.

Dead or runaway, leaving her with the “everybody’s better off without me” narrative was just the wrong way to go about it. Plain and simple. It was rubbing salt into the wound, spitting in the face of her development. They decided to end the show with an underdeveloped Caitvi “endgame” when they spent all this time developing Jinx’s arc. And all of this for what? Such a disappointing way to wrap things up, with literal crumbs as hints that maybe she’s still alive.

And the bitter cherry on top of Caitvi’s messy relationship this season, other than the complete lack of communication—Vi comparing herself to the dirt under Cait’s nails. What a cute (not really) way to remind us of their differences and Piltover’s stance on Zaun for the majority of the show—seen as nothing more than dirt. When Sevika joins the Council after the war, she’s still being looked down on. This just makes me sick.

BONUS: No mentions of Isha in Act III was pure evil (no, the paint on Jinx’s new outfit, the bunny ears on the balloon or even Isha’s doll were not enough. I wanted her death to be properly acknowledged. No, I don’t think it was too much to ask for). We got this beautiful found family arc between her, Jinx, and Sevika, only for it to be completely forgotten the moment Jinx reconciles with Vi.

BONUS 2: Jayce and Viktor were the perfect example of bromance. A friendship between two men can be gentle, affectionate, and loving without them being gay. No need for the ship, but I guess that’s the least of my worries.

BONUS 3: If anyone brings up the “beauty in imperfections” monologue to defend the ending, know that I’m not listening. They had such a beautiful show going for so long. Imperfections aren’t the problem here, it’s the plain disappointment.

EDIT BONUS 4: Singed out of all people getting a happy ending was so disrespectful. What a cockroach that man is. Nothing and no one can get rid of him.

Media literacy is important. Thanks for coming to my rant.

disclaimer: this isn’t me saying that the entire season was bad. But damn, do better.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Frev friendships — Robespierre and Éléonore Duplay

Please present the testimonies of my tender friendship to Madame Duplay, to your young ladies, and to my little friend. Also, please do not forget to remind me of La Coste and Couthon.  Robespierre in a letter to Maurice Duplay, October 16 1791

Present the testimonies of my tender and unalterable attachment to your ladies, whom I very much desire to embrace, as well as our little patriot.  Robespierre to Maurice Duplay, November 17 1791. These letters are the only pieces conserved in which Robespierre mentions Éléonore.

[Robespierre’s] host's daughter passed for his wife and exercised a sort of empire over him.   Causes secrètes de la révolution du 9 au 10 thermidor (1794) by Joachim Vilate, page 16.

When the constituent assembly was transferred to Paris after the October days, Robespierre came to stay in the house of Duplay, located on rue Saint-Honoré, opposite the convent of Assomption, and wasted no time in becoming a zealous devotee. The father, the mother, the sons, the daughters, the cousins, etc, swore only by Robespierre, who deigned to raise the eldest of the two [sic] daughters to the honors of his bed, without however marrying her other than with the left hand. At the time of the organization of the revolutionary tribunal, Robespierre had father Duplay appointed as juror; the two sons had a distinguished rank among Maximilien I’s bodyguards, whose leader was Brigadier General Boulanger. Mother Duplay became superior of the devotees of Robespierre; and her daughters, as well as her nieces and several of her neighbors, obtained high ranks in this respectable body.  Souvenirs thermidoriens (1844) by Georges Duval, volume 1, page 247.

It has been rumored that [Éléonore] had been Robespierre's mistress. I think I can affirm she was his wife; according to the testimony of one of my colleagues, Saint-Just had been informed of this secret marriage, which he had attended.   Mémoires d’un prêtre regicide (1829) by Simon-Edme Monnel, page 337-338.

Madame Lebreton, a sweet and sensitive young woman, said, blushing: “Everyone assures that Eugénie [sic] Duplay was Robespierre’s mistress.”  “Ah! My God! Is it possible that that good and generous creature should have so degraded herself?” I was aghast.  “Listen,” cried Henriette, “don’t judge on appearances. The unhappy Eugénie was not the mistress, but the wife of the monster, whom her pure soul decorated with every virtue; they were united by a secret marriage of which Saint-Just was the witness.”   Souvernirs de 1793 et 1794 par madame Clément, Née Hémery (1832) by Albertine Clément-Hémery.

[Robespierre’s] relationship with Éléonore, the carpenter's eldest daughter, had a less protective and more tender character than with her other sisters. One day, Maximilien, in the presence of his hosts, took Éléonore's hand in his: it was, in accordance with the customs of his province, a sign of engagement. From that moment on he was seen more than ever as a member of the family.  Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). At the end of this article, Esquiros claimed to have obtained the information contained in it from Éléonore’s sister Élisabeth. Shortly thereafter, said Élisabeth did however write a letter to the paper in order to ”protest loudly against the use that, without consulting me, you have made of my name, and to declare that this article, on many points in contradiction with my recollections, also contains a large number of inaccuracies.” She does unfortunately not indicate exactly which parts of the article are inaccurate and which ones are not, and certain details contained in it match up too well with what Élisabeth writes in her (by then not yet published) memoirs for me not to believe Esquiros hadn’t actually interviewed her prior to writing the article. In spite of her complaint, all the information in article was republished, almost entirely word for word, in volume 2 of Ésquiros’ Histoire des Montagnards (1847).

My eldest sister had been promised to Robespierre.   Note written by Élisabeth Duplay, cited on page 150 of Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

Duplay's eldest daughter, Éléonore, shared her father's patriotic sentiments. She was one of those serious and just minds, one of those firm and upright characters, one of those generous and devoted hearts, the model of which must be sought in the good times of the ancient republics. Maximilien could not fail to pay homage to such virtues; a mutual esteem brought their two hearts together; they loved each other without ever having said so to each other, there is no doubt that if he had succeeded in bringing order and calm to the State, and if his existence had ceased to be so agitated, he would have become his friend's son-in-law. The slander, which spared none of those loved by the victim of the Thermidorians, did not fail to attack the woman he wanted to make his wife, and one was not afraid to write that a guilty bond united them. We, who knew Éléonore Duplay for nearly fifty years, we who know to what extent she carried the feeling of duty, to what extent she rose above the weaknesses and fragility of her sex, we strongly protest against such an odious imputation. Our testimony deserves all confidence. France: Dictionnaire Encyclopédique (1840-1845) by Éléonore’s nephew Philippe Lebas jr, volume 6, page 821.

A virile soul, said Robespierre of his friend [Éléonore], she would know how to die as she knows how to love... The destitution of his fortune and the uncertainty of the next day prevented him from uniting with her before the destiny of France was clarified; but he only aspired, he said, to the moment when, the Revolution finished and strengthened, he could withdraw from the fray, marry the one he loved and go live in Artois, on one of the farms that he kept from his family's property, to there confuse his obscure well-being in common happiness. (Extract from a part of l’Histoire des Girondins looked over by Philippe Le Bas).  Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 78.

All the historians assert that [Robespierre] carried out an intrigue with the daughter of Duplay, but as the family physician and constant guest of that house I am in a position to deny this on oath. They were devoted to each other, and their marriage was arranged; but nothing of the kind alleged ever sullied their love.    Testimony from Robespierre’s doctor Joseph Souberbielle, cited in Recollections of a Parisian (docteur Poumiès de La Siboutie) under six sovereigns, two revolutions, and a republic (1789-1863) (1911) page 26.

[Robespierre] rarely went out in the evening. Two or three times a year he took Madame Duplay and her daughters to the theater. It was always to the Théâtre-Français and to classical performances. He only liked tragic declamations which reminded him of the tribune, of tyranny, of the people, of great crimes, of great virtues; theatrical even in his dreams and in his relaxations.  Histoire des Girondins (1847) by Alphonse de Lamartine, volume 4, page 132. Lamartine claimed to have interviewed Élisabeth Le Bas Duplay and it therefore seems likely for this detail to come from her.

The eldest of the Duplay daughters, who Robespierre wanted to marry, was called Éléonore. Robespierre allowed himself to be cared for, but he was not in love. […] The Duplay family formed a kind of cult around Robespierre. It was claimed that this new Jupiter did not need to take the metamorphoses of the god of Olympus to become human with the eldest daughter of his host, called Éléonore. This is completely false. Like her entire family, this young girl was a fanatic of the god Robespierre, she was even more exalted because of her age. But Robespierre did not like women, he was absorbed in his political enlightenment; his abstract dreams, his metaphysical discourses, his guards, his personal security, all things incompatible with love, gave him no hold on this passion. He loved neither women nor money and cared no more about his private interests than if all the merchants had been free, obligatory suppliers to him, and the inn houses paid in advance for his use. And that’s what he acted like with his hosts.  Notes historiques sur la Convention nationale, le Directoire, l’Empire et l’exil des votants (1895) by Marc Antoine Baudot, page 41 and 242.

Madame Duplay had three [sic] daughters: one married the conventionnel Le Bas; another married, I believe, an ex-constituent; the third, Éléonore, who preferred to be called Cornélie, and who was the eldest, was, according to what people pleased themselves to say, on the point of marrying my brother Maximilien when 9 Thermidor came. There are in regard to Éléonore Duplay two opinions: one, that that she was the mistress of Robespierre the elder; the other that she was his fiancée. I believe that these opinions are equally false; but what is certain is that Madame Duplay would have strongly desired to have my brother Maximilien for a son-in-law, and that she forget neither caresses nor seductions to make him marry her daughter. Éléonore too was very ambitious to call herself the Citizeness Robespierre, and she put into effect all that could touch Maximilien’s heart. But, overwhelmed with work and affairs as he was, entirely absorbed by his functions as a member of the Committee of Public Safety, could my older brother occupy himself with love and marriage? Was there a place in his heart for such futilities, when his heart was entirely filled with love for the patrie, when all his sentiments, all his thoughts were concentrated in a sole sentiment, in a sole thought, the happiness of the people; when, without cease fighting against the revolution’s enemies, without cease assailed by his personal enemies, his life was a perpetual combat? No, my older brother should not have, could not have amused himself to be a Celadon with Éléonore Duplay, and, I should add, such a role would not enter into his character. Besides, I can attest it, he told me twenty times that he felt nothing for Éléonore; her family’s obsessions, their importunities were more suited to make feel disgust for her than to make him love her. The Duplays could say what they wanted, but there is the exact truth. One can judge if he was disposed to unite himself to Madame Duplay’s eldest daughter by something I heard him say to Augustin:  “You should marry Éléonore.”   “My faith, no,” replied my younger brother.   Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 90-91.

A little wooden staircase led to [Robespierre’s] room on the first floor. Prior to ascending it we (Fréron and Barras) perceived in the yard the daughter of the carpenter Duplay, the owner of the house. This girl allowed no one to take her place in ministering to Robespierre's needs. As women of this class in those days freely espoused the political ideas then prevalent, and as in her case they were of a most pronounced nature, Danton had surnamed Cornelie Copeau "the Cornelia who is not the mother of the Gracchi." Cornelie seemed to be finishing spreading linen to dry in the yard; in her hand were a pair of striped cotton stockings, in fashion at the time, and which were certainly similar to those we daily saw encasing the legs of Robespierre on his visits to the Convention. […] Fréron and I told Cornelie Copeau that we had called to see Robespierre. She began by informing us that he was not in the house, then asked whether he was expecting our visit. Fréron, who was familiar with the premises, advanced towards the staircase, while Mother Duplay shook her head in a negative fashion at her daughter. Both generals, smilingly enjoying what was passing through the two women's minds, told us plainly by their looks that he was at home, and to the women that he was not. Cornelie Copeau, on seeing that Fréron, persisting in his purpose, had his foot on the third step, placed herself in front of him, exclaiming: ”Well, then, I will apprise him of your presence," and, tripping upstairs, she again called out, "It’s Fréron and his friend, whose name I do not know." Fréron thereupon said, "It’s Barras and Freron," as if announcing himself, entering the while Robespierre's room, the door of which had been opened by Cornelie Copeau, we following her closely.  Memoirs of Barras: member of the Directorate (1899) page 167-169, regarding a meeting he and Fréron tried to have with Robespierre following their return from Marseilles in March 1794.

In the morning, the daughters of the carpenter with whom Robespierre lived dressed in white and gathered flowers in their hands to attend the feast [of the Supreme Being]. Éléonore herself composed the bouquet for the president of the Convention. Histoire des Montagnards (1847) by Alphonse Esquiros, volume 2, page 447-449. In a footnote inserted on page 28 of Thermidor, d’après les sources originalets er les documents authentiques (1891), Ernest Hamel writes that Esquiros obtained this description from Élisabeth herself.

…Éléonore, Victoire, Sophie, Élisabeth, raised in the peaceful interior of the home, in the oasis of the family, sincerely imagined that the same happiness extended to the whole city; they blessed in their hearts the God of the revolution who had given such rest to the French nation. Only one circumstance worried them, it was that for some time the porte-cochère of the house had been strictly closed night and day on orders from the carpenter. Éléonore timidly asked Maximilien the reason for it in front of her other sisters. He blushed. “Your father is right,” he said; ”Everyday right now something passes along this street that you must not see.” In fact, around two o'clock in the afternoon, a tumbril was rolling heavily on the pavement of Rue Saint-Honoré; the sound of horses and the cries of people could be heard even in the courtyard. It was the thing that passed by.  Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). The incident is portayed as taking place during the time of the ”great terror” of June-July 1794. When republishing the anecdote in his Histoire des Montagnards (1847), Esquiros instead has Robespierre say this to Éléonore on January 21 1793, the day of the king’s execution.

It was the first days of Thermidor: Maximilien continued his evening walks at the Champ-Élysées with his adoptive family. The sun, at the end of the sky, buried its globe behind the clumps of trees, or swam softly here and there in a dark gold fluid. The sounds of the city died away in the agitated branches; everything was rest, silence and meditation: no more tribunes, no more people; nothing but the peaceful and solemn teaching of nature. Maximilien walked with the carpenter's eldest daughter at his arm: Brount followed them. What were they saying to each other? Only the breeze heard and forgot everything. Éléonore had a melancholy brow and downcast eyes: her hand carelessly stroked the head of Brount who seemed very proud of such beautiful caresses; Maximilien showed his fiancée how red the sunset was. Here ends the story of intimate life; here Mme L(ebas) movedly wiped her eyes. This walk was the last. The next day, Maximilien disappeared in a storm.  Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). When republishing the anecdote in Histoire des Montagnards (1847), volume 2, page 460, Esquiros adds the following part right after reprinting the anecdote word by word: “It will be good weather tomorrow,” said [Éléonore]. Maximilien lowered his head as if struck by an image and a terrible presentiment.

Legendre: At the time of 9 Thermidor, I was secretary as well as Dumont: I said to him: “There’s going to be some noise. Do you see in this rostrum the whole Duplay family? Do you see Gerard? Do you see Dechamps?” At the same moment Saint-Just began his speech; Tallien interrupted him and tore the veil.  Louis Legendre at the Convention March 26 1795

One of those who had witnessed the outcome of this catastrophe (the execution on 10 thermidor) told me that he recognized in the crowd Duplay's eldest daughter, who had wanted to see for one last time the man whom her whole family had looked upon as a god. Mémoires d’un prêtre regicide (1829) by Simon-Edme Monnel, page 337.

The widow of the deputy Le Bas, who gave birth to the man who was to be my teacher, was one of the daughters of the carpenter Duplay. This Duplay family had become Robespierre’s family. He lived with them, and when he died, he was engaged to Mademoiselle Éléonore, the sister of Madame Le Bas. The fiancée mourned Robespierre up until her death. This whole family was closely united, and the memory of the deceased contributed not a little to this union. Premières années, (1901) by Jules Simon, p. 181-187.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter VI: Storms 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond’s wife left him following an explosive fight last week, and he hasn’t been able to find rest since.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, depictions of a toxic relationship, possessive Aemond, shitty and useless coping mechanisms, reference to violence and injuries

Word count: 2300

A/N: Thank you always sweet sweet Justine (@theoneeyedprince) for looking this over and giving me ideas 🤭 ILY! The lyrics are interwoven with the story in this chapter, hope it makes sense! As you can tell, this is set a week after his wife left him, and before he wrote his new songs for Rumours…

‘Every night that goes between, I feel a little less’

8 hours and 25 minutes.

That’s how much sleep he’d gotten in the last week.

Since the fight.

Fights. Plural.

It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten into a physical altercation with his brother. His childhood memories are tainted by endless disputes, especially after their father died, back when Aegon would sneak out to get drunk while their mother worried sick at home.

Why was his brother seemingly incapable of behaving well? Aemond saw how his mother worried herself sick over her oldest son, while also having to deal with grieving the loss of her husband, and navigate the internal political turmoil the death of such an influential man left behind. And Aegon couldn’t even spare her further heartache.

Fucking pathetic excuse of a man.

It was, however, the first time he had hurt his wife. Physically, that is. She’d told him he’d hurt her before, when his jealousy got the best of him.

He knows he’s crossed a line. As soon as he lost his temper and threw that plate against the wall. Dangerously close to where she was standing.

He regrets it all. Why did it even have to happen in the first place? If she had just cooperated with him; worked with him instead of against him. Instead of hiding things from him, talking with Tyland behind his back.

He always knew that she’d leave. One day.

He’d never leave her.

Frustrated, Aemond lets out a quiet sigh and gets up from the bed, moving to sit on the edge, slouching as he places his head in his hands. He suddenly notices how quiet the room is; the loud thoughts echoing in his mind momentarily disappear as he ponders what he could do instead of sleeping.

He moves quietly to not wake Alys next to him, whose heavy breathing provides the only real sounds in the room. It is almost eerily quiet now that he thinks about it; such a stark contrast to the insufferable buzzing of thoughts roaming around in his head.

Rest doesn’t come to him anymore. 

His mind can’t provide him with any repose. Not even for a second.

He closes the door to the bedroom with a quiet ‘click’ and exits, moving towards the balcony connected to the large, open-plan living room.

She had picked this apartment, together with him.

Our home.

The memories of going to look at cabinets for the kitchen together, choosing a sofa together, fucking on said sofa, overtake his mind before he can distract himself.

‘As you slowly go away from me’

When he realised that she’d left and wouldn’t come back, he tried to erase her from the space, shoving all of her belongings into one of the wardrobes in the spare bedroom.

He couldn’t bear to throw them out. He couldn’t bear to see them either. She’d left behind everything he’d ever given her; all gifts he’d carefully picked out for her. Seeing her wedding ring on top of the kitchen island, next to the divorce papers and the shattered plate on the floor had made his stomach turn when he came home from the hospital.

‘This is only another test’

He’d suffered much harsher trials than this.

When he lost his eye in a car crash at only 10 years old, he suffered through the most excruciating pain of his life. He had to relearn everything; how to focus his gaze, how to read and write without developing a headache, how to play his favourite sports without running into his opponents. 

He’d managed all that, yet this time he felt consumed by an aching sense of dread.

A hopelessness deep in his chest.

‘Every night you do not come’

It was all too late. No turning back.

‘Your softness fades away’

He knows that the aching dread is the longing he feels for her. The thought of never touching her again, never being close to her again. 

Never being in her embrace again.

He feels a chill run through his body as he settles on the armchair placed by the wall, overlooking the bright lights of King’s Landing.

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nearby table, he takes one out and lights it before taking a long drag, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back to rest against the back of the chair.

She’d chosen the patio furniture as well.

He fucking resents himself in this moment. Why is his body, his mind, incapable of doing what he wants? Forget her. She sure as hell wants to forget him.

‘Did I ever really care that much’

‘Is there anything left to say’

When she left during the fight backstage last week, he had wanted to run after her. But then he threw one quick glance at his older brother, and could barely see his expression due to all the blood smeared over his face.

He called out to him, but Aegon didn’t answer, laying limply on the old leather sofa with one arm hanging from the side and his mouth open. That was when Jace had come back in, face turning white in an instance as he was confronted with the scene before him, pulling out his phone from his pocket with a shaky hand to call an ambulance.

Aemond went with his brother to hospital, waiting by his side until he regained consciousness while trying to calm his distressed mother and wide-eyed sister. They had looked at him in the same way she had; eyes filled with animosity. He could barely meet their gazes as shame left his cheeks scalding.

‘Every hour of fear I spend’

‘My body tries to cry’

All he could think of at that moment was coming home. Home to her. To her warmth.

‘Living through each empty night’

‘A deadly call inside’

He takes another drag of his cigarette. Not being able to sleep, to eat, to think clearly is so foreign to him. It’s like when he lost his eye; he has to relearn everything. How to fucking breath.

There’s this restlessness inside him that won’t disappear, no matter how hard he tries to exorcise it. He’d tried going for walks; his usual go-to when he needed to clear his mind.

On one of those walks he’d smoked an entire pack of cigarettes.

How much time had passed? How long had he been out? He could hardly remember where he’d gone, what he’d seen or what time of day it’d been.

He’s lucky to have grown up in the centre of King’s Landing, knowing every street by heart, intuition leading his steps as he eventually finds his way back home. To an empty flat, haunted only by the memory of her.

She haunts him worst internally though, through his own mind.

There, in the eye of his mind, he sees his greatest fear; her with another man.

Any time he closes his eyes, the same image greets him; her, naked in the arms of another, throwing her head back in bliss.

She sighs and moans, letting her new man know how good he’s making her feel. She tells him too; that he’s the best she’s ever had.

She runs her hand down his cheek, unmarred and smooth. No harshly red scar, no unpleasant raised skin. Someone pretty, like her.

‘I haven’t felt this way I feel’

‘Since many a years ago’

He tried drinking; Aegon’s lobotomy of choice.

After downing two bottles of the Dornish red he’d received from some business associate when he was still working with his grandfather, he found sleep for 1 hour and 12 minutes before waking up with a racing heart and body covered in a slick sheet of cold sweat.

He would have tried talking to someone, if the only person he wanted to speak to hadn’t blocked his number. He’d realised that after being connected directly to voicemail each time he called her. That didn’t stop him from leaving messages though. First, they were filled with apologies and promises of never losing his cool again, of being better for her, of reassurance that he loves her. But as he grew to understand that she wouldn’t come back, his frustrations got the best of him.

He called her just to scream at her, into the nothingness that was her disconnected voicemail.

“I always knew you’d leave me! You fucking liar”, he spat as he threw his phone against the same wall he’d smashed the plate against.

It doesn’t matter. She’ll never hear them anyway.

The tiny bit of relief he felt afterwards hadn’t made any significant difference. He still couldn’t sleep, couldn’t find even a moment of tranquillity.

He places the cigarette between his teeth as he reaches forward to grab the notebook on the patio table next to his seat.

There’s one thing he still hasn’t tried.

As he plucks the pencil from where it's hanging on the side of the hardcover, he begins writing without thinking too much of what’s coming out, letting his hand guide his thoughts as he brings his plagued mind down on the paper.

‘In those years and the lifetimes past’

‘I did not deal with you, I know’

‘Though the love has always been’

His most recent attempt at finding respite from his mind was sleeping in his bed.

Our bed, he corrects himself with a wince.

He’d met Alys Rivers, manager at Riverland Creative Agency, earlier that day when he stopped for a drink during his quotidian nightly walk. She recognised him instantly, swiftly approaching him to mask her true intentions with some saccharine small talk. He knew she wanted to inquire about his band’s management; if they were satisfied with Tyland or if they’d be persuaded into joining her instead.

But all he could focus on was her hand casually placed on his shoulder as she spoke, her large, green eyes locking with his as she playfully teased him about his stoicism.

The heat radiating from her palm alone lit a fire inside of him, but rather than lust, he felt something akin to longing.

Yearning.

For warmth.

He asked her if she’d like to have a drink at his house, and when she replied with a wink and a cheeky retort, he knew she’d give him what he craved.

‘So I search to find an answer there’

‘So I can truly win’

Alys didn’t feel like her. Didn’t set the fire within him ablaze. Nor did she extinguish it. He didn’t feel better; he felt the same.

Restless.

Uneasy.

Different.

Broken.

‘Every hour of fear I spend’

‘My body tries to cry’

‘Living through each empty night’

‘A deadly call inside’

His hand moves on its own accord, words pouring out from him without having a chance to pass through his consciousness.

‘So I try to say goodbye, my friend’

‘I’d like to leave you with something warm’

Maybe he never gave her comfort?

Maybe all he did was take?

No. He knows he’s been a dutiful husband. He’s always been by her side, supporting her no matter what.

Unlike his own father; a shitty husband who was more of a burden on his mother’s shoulders than a pillar to lean on. Aemond knows that he’s nothing like his father. He gave his marriage his all; he never neglected his wife. 

He gave her all of him.

‘But never have I been a blue calm sea’

‘I’ve always been a storm’

But she didn’t want his love. She didn’t appreciate all he’d done for her. She didn’t understand him, not really. If she did, she wouldn’t shut him out like this.

Fuck her selfishness.

When he left his grandfather's firm to pursue music full-time, Otto Hightower had threatened to disown him, telling him that he’d make sure all ties Aemond had to the Hightower name would be cut off.

All he knew was how to be a good son and grandson. How to please his grandfather and mother. But when he confided in her about his predicament, asking her for advice on how to handle his grandfather's wrath, she’d cupped his cheeks and gazed into his eyes as she reassured,

“I am your family now, Aemond. We’ll always have each other” 

Liar.

He feels bile rise in the back of his throat as he keeps writing, allowing the feelings he didn’t know how to express some outlet. The thought of her now makes him feel sick.

‘Always been a storm’

‘We were frail’

He feels stupid; blinded by the light of her love.

‘She said, “Every night he will break your heart”’

‘I should have known from the first, I’d be the broken hearted’

Being given such warmth from another person. That’s what made him addicted to her.

He’d never experienced that before, not even from his mother or sister. There was always this restraint; this rift between them, for as long as he could remember.

But she let him in with open arms; let him into her comfort without resistance.

And now she’d taken that away from him.

‘I loved you from the start’

Looking at the lyrics written down in front of him, he doesn’t feel better. His shoulders don’t feel lighter. His chest doesn’t feel less tight. All he knows is that she did this. She promised to be by his side forever and broke that vow.

He leans back in the chair, fiddling with his lighter in one hand as he reads over the text again. What would she say if she saw how much she hurt him?

Would she come back?

The fleeting thought makes a tight knot form in his throat and he swallows forcefully to make it go away.

She’ll never come back.

He picks up the paper, letting the fire from the lighter in his other hand grace over the bottom corner, and sets it alight.

A/N: No, this is not a song form Rumours 🤭 but technically he doesn’t record it, so I think it’s fair! Tysm for reading 🩵

[teatroll]

+18 NSFW content ahead; MDNI

NANAMI KENTO SPICY HEADCANONS

Includes: fem!reader; inappropriate usage of showers and inaccurate depiction of shower shreks (water ain't lube, hons); unprotected piv; praising; + a bit more add-ons (headcanons, duh)

Note: should've been less detailed but i messed up halfway and it looks like a fic if you squint (oops?). anywho, thank my bestie, she buzzed off my ears 'bout this man and made this happen. (also not betaread) @cafekitsune and @saradika - banners ♡

♡ Nanami Kento is a busy man. So his world precisely revolves around his job as a sorcerer. So does his free time. Whenever he gets home, he's too exhausted to indulge into anything but sleep.

♡ Although, he's not opposed to taking a hot steamy shower or a relaxing bath with you. It's only logical - practical AND pleasant. Two birds, one stone. Quick and easy quality time.

♡ That's what he hoped for before he found his mind wandering places when your hands started massaging shampoo into his scalp.

♡ Steam fogging up the glass shower doors; hot streams washing off soapy foam down your naked form; your glistening eyes searching for his and that tender smile that he cherishes so much...

♡ Yeah, his mind was in the gutter straight away and refused to crawl out from that pit. And he knows that's on him, because it's been way too long since the last time both of you spent some actual quality time together. Better fix this now than never, right?

♡ His touches are slow and gentle as his hands start to roam free, fingertips caressing your skin with utmost care. Nanami's heart flutters as you softly sigh close to his ear.

♡ That gives him the confidence to take it up a notch and glide his hands down to cup your rear; your sweet mewls shortly turning into whimpers as you crook your head to the side, giving him access to leave teasing nibbles on your neck.

♡ It's not long before you feel his hardened length between your thighs as he deliberately rocks his hips into yours.

♡ The sound you made afterwards made him softly hiss through gritted teeth.

♡ Normally he'd choose a different (read as more secure, because he's intolerant to bullshit) place, but with the way you cling to him now, he decides to indulge into such a messy activity as shower sex. After all, he's got places to be tomorrow, so he needs to wake up early. Two birds, one stone yet again.

(This man is practical and rational from the top of his head down to his toenails, what did you expect?)

♡ You gasp when his cock starts to slide back and forth between your thighs, teasing your clit. Your pussy clenches over nothing as you let out a needy whine into his shoulder.

♡ "Shh, baby. It's okay." His voice is a bit raspy as he coos in your ear, caressing your sides. "Let me take care of you."

♡ Another gasp escapes from you as he scoops you into his arms and lifts you up by your hips. Your legs instinctively wrapping around him, so do your arms to support your weight on him.

(But, frankly, that much is not needed. Nanami can lift you up with a single hand and still be able to sip his morning coffee with a straight face.)

♡ With his tip now pushing past your entrance, he lets out a shaky breath; his eyes flutter shut for a brief moment. The sight is divine, least to say; and you'd gladly enjoy it all day long but the way his cock slowly stretches your velvety walls makes your vision blurry.

♡ You squirm and pant into the crook of his neck as his grip on you tightens ever so slightly while he slides all the way in.

♡ There's a pause as he lets you adjust to the feeling, whispering so sweetly in your ear it almost melts your brain into mush.

♡ That man will be giving you a praise kink of the century, there's ZERO debate here. And a simple "good girl" won't cut it either.

♡ He'll shower you in praises for how well you're taking him, for how delightful your moans are, for how cute the blush spreads across your cheeks and neck. Basically, anything his senses pick up on, he'll put on a pedestal.

♡ His thrusts are slow, deep, and so fucking sensual it almost feels like a torture. Of pleasure, obviously. Doesn't dismiss the fact you crave more and make it know as you pull him into the kiss by the back of his neck.

♡ He catches your moans with his lips, savors them like candy. It heats up every nerve in his body, makes his muscles tense as he picks up the pace.

♡ How can he not provide his sweet girl with what she truly wants? Denying you of anything feels so wrong that he can't help but indulge into it all over again.

(Is it a flock of birds, one giant rock now? Probably is.)

♡ He's definitely panting. Maybe even whimpers a bit, but the sound is muffled by your lips on his and hushed by the shower, so you can't really be sure.

♡ What you can be sure of, though, is that familiar knot forming in your core. And that feeling gradually increases with each grind of his. There's quite a bit more force to it now, so that previous tenderness is replaced by pure passion.

♡ There's no escaping a headcanon of Nanami guiding you through your orgasm. Because he definitely does so.

♡ "That's it, just a little more. You can do this, baby." AND "You're so precious. Let me hear those pretty sounds, come on."

♡ SPEAKING OF WHICH, definitely tries to maintain eye contact as you finish.

♡ He wants to feel as your walls clench around him, wants to hear you gasp a choked moan, he craves to watch you crumble on his cock.

♡ That sets him off more than anything as he follows you shortly after, spilling inside you with an ecstatic grunt.

♡ Normally, he'd pull out for sure. But since you're already in the shower, why not to indulge into yet another shower session? But this time, it's your turn to be on the receiving end.

♡ After a short cock warming session as you both try to catch your breath.

(And who knows, maybe this time he'll be able to contain himself and actually just do a simple mundane activity and not waste water for half an hour.)

(Fingers crossed, but the bill will be enormous either way.)

♡ Nanami would definitely kiss your jaw/line of pulse lazily and nibble on your neck.

♡ Praising is obviously a part of aftercare as well, how can he set that aside??

♡ Would leave a gentle peck on the sweet spot just below your ear.

"Now, now, darling. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

♡ EXTRA ♡

♡ Missionary is his "to go to", because that way he can witness every little change in your expression.

♡ He's leaning closer to vanilla tbh.

♡ BUT, if he's frustrated, there will be a quickie on his desk.

♡ Dead ass will ruin you. Your hips will be sore for a week.

(Everything will be sore since we're at it.)

♡ Not to mention there WILL be hair pulling. (I see you, horny people. I know what you want.)

♡ Aftercare now involves him doing everything in his power to soothe you.

♡ Will definitely think you're sobbing because he hurt you, when, on the contrary, that was pure bliss.

♡ Remind that man of it, he tends to forget that vanilla isn't the only thing that exists.

♡ High chance he adores watching you please yourself. Both with fingers and toys.

♡ Hey, he knows you'd rather feel full on his cock, but he's not opposed to teasing.

♡ He might be pure vanilla (hello cookie run lmao), but even so, Nanami can add some spice to your shared love life once in a while.

♡ Especially when it involves giving you the best of times. (Yes, with teasing too.)

♡ SUKUNA RYOMEN ♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO ♡

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [10] - Family Dinner

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Happy news can make a dinner so much better.

Word Count: 3800

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

“I’m sorry, did you just say marriage?”

You sipped your coffee before shooting Becca and Sarah a grin, then popped a piece of your croissant in your mouth.

“Mm hm.”

“You’re getting married to-to my—” Becca stammered. “To my brother?”

“Yeah,” you said and looked around. “Do you guys think we should get mimosas?”

“What the fuck?!” Becca exclaimed. “Since when?”

“It’d better be this morning, Y/N,” Sarah said and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Technically around 48 hours ago.”

Becca gawked at you. “Y/N, I’m going to kill you.”

“Listen, I didn’t—” you waved your hands in the air. “I figured you’d want to hear it in person! It’s kind of a big deal, you know?”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Wait, start from the beginning,” Sarah said. “How did that happen?”

“I had a talk with my dad,” you said, biting inside your cheek. “He’s going to choose Ian.”

Sarah frowned while Becca pulled back slightly.

“He made up his mind?”

“Mm hm.”

“You’re sure you can’t convince him?”

You shook your head.

“No,” you said, your stomach doing a tense flip. “I thought I could but…he was very clear. He will not name me his heir, it’s going to be Ian.”

“That will mess everything up,” Becca said. “Including the truce, because—”

“Bucky won’t do business with him, neither will Sam or Steve,” you finished her sentence for her. “I told my father that but it didn’t even make him think twice.”

“Great,” Sarah muttered, and you shook your head.

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” you said. “I’m done waiting around for him to give me a chance. If he doesn’t want to give me power, I’ll take it for myself.”

“And that’s where Bucky enters the picture?”

“Exactly,” you said. “He will give me a way in, and once everything is in place I’ll take over.”

“Before Ian can?”

You nodded your head. “I’ll force my dad’s hand if I have to.”

“He’s not going to like it,” Becca sang in a teasing manner and you scoffed.

“It’s either that or we risk another war between the families,” you said. “To be honest with you, I don’t really care whether he likes it or not anymore. I’m the firstborn and it’s my right, he promised it to me all those years ago.”

“What happens when you take over though?” Sarah asked. “You and Bucky…?”

“We’ll get a divorce.”

Becca arched a brow and suppressed a smile. “Just like that?”

“Yeah, why not?” you said. “He doesn’t want to stay married to me a minute longer than it’s necessary, and I share the sentiment.”

Becca exchanged a knowing glance with Sarah, her smile widening before she turned to you.

“If you say so,” she muttered, taking a sip of her coffee and as if on cue, your phone started vibrating on the table. You checked the name on the screen, then answered it.

“Yeah?”

“Hi there, fiancée.”

You could already tell he was smiling from the tone of his voice and you rolled your eyes, then motioned at Becca and Sarah to give you a moment before getting up from your seat to walk out of the restaurant.

“What do you want?” you asked and he tsk tsked.

“Babe…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“My beautiful wife?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

“There’s going to be another last name there as well, don’t forget about that one,” you said. “It’s hyphenated.”

“Yeah, for some reason…” he grumbled and you heaved a sigh.

“Is there a point to this conversation? Because if there isn’t, I’m going to hang up now.”

“Yeah,” he said. “There is actually. Before tonight’s dinner, I just figured you’d want to know that your father knows.”

Your eyes widened. “You told him about the engagement?”

“What? No!” he said quickly. “But he knows we’re together.”

“Except we’re not.”

“Well fine, he knows we’ve been spending time in the honeymoon suit.”

You leaned back to the wall and pinched the bridge of your nose before clearing your throat.

“He called you?”

“Not yet but my parents did.”

“That sounds like a fun conversation,” you said, smiling slightly. “What did they say?”

Bucky chuckled.

“My mom just asked how you were,” he said. “That’s her being subtle. And my dad told me to not fuck it up so, went as expected. Arthur didn’t call you?”

“He did, I just didn’t answer,” you said, pursing your lips together. “I don’t want to talk to him yet, so…”

“But are you going to be okay tonight?” he asked and you pulled your brows together.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Can I not ask about your wellbeing?”

“No,” your reply came way too fast. “That’s not on the prenup.”

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered and you checked your watch, then pushed yourself off the wall.

“So you’re going to the restaurant before me then?”

“Yeah, I think it’d be better if I got on your father’s good side before that conversation,” he said. “Considering I didn’t even give him a heads up—unless you want to go together?”

You scrunched up your nose. “Absolutely not,” you said. “Playing the dumbass in love will be even more difficult if I spend more than an hour with you.”

“I think you like spending time with me,” he said with a teasing tone and you scoffed.

“I’m hanging up now,” you said. “Don’t be late tonight.”

“Of course, wife.”

“Stop calling me that!” you snapped and hung up, then let out a breath.

“I can’t believe I’m marrying this asshole…” you murmured to yourself, then made your way back into the restaurant.

                                                 *

Tonight’s dinner was not going to be very easy to handle, you could already tell. Becca had always been too good at reading your mood, so as soon as you two stepped out of the car, she reached out to hold your hand, making you turn your head.

“It’ll be fine,” she said before you could even say anything and you licked your lips.

“It makes it official,” you muttered. “All of it.”

Becca paused for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders.

“What does it matter?” she asked. “If you’re going to get a divorce eventually…”

“Of course we will,” you said. “But it’s not just that, you know? Starting tonight, I’m going against everything my dad wants.”

Becca nodded her head.

“You are,” she said airily. “But if he didn’t want you to take over eventually, he shouldn’t have raised you as his heir to begin with. That shit is not a game, he can’t just change his mind.”

You pursed your lips together, keeping your eyes on the restaurant.

“People won’t be happy about it,” you muttered. “Me being an actual rival, or taking over.”

 “You’re the firstborn,” she reminded you. “It’s your right. And that’s what you want, so fuck what everyone else will think. You’re going to do amazing.”

You stole a look at him, fear churning your insides.

“You think so?” you rasped out, desperate to hear it out loud and Becca nodded fervently.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you couldn’t pull it off,” she said. “You’re going to be much better than your father. Trust me.”

You squeezed her hand. “Thanks Becca.”

“Keep in mind how helpful I am when you’re picking your bridesmaid gown colors,” she said, making you let out a laugh. “Friendly reminder, I don’t like lilac.”

“I know, I know…” you told her, throwing an arm over her shoulder to press a kiss on her cheek, then you both walked into the restaurant.

As usual, either your father or Bucky’s father had it closed down for the night so that you all could enjoy your dinner without any strangers around. The hostess greeted you and led you to your usual table which was already occupied by Bucky’s family and yours. Your father stood up as soon as he saw you and made his way to you.

“Good luck,” Becca muttered and smiled at him. “Hi Arthur!”

“Becca my dear, welcome!” your father said as she kissed his cheek.

“I’m starving already,” she said and went to sit down while your father turned to you.

“So?” he said. “You cannot pick up the phone, Y/N?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I was busy.”

“Really?” he asked. “Too busy to send a text?”

You shrugged your shoulders again, pursing your lips together and he heaved a sigh.

“Sweetheart…” he said. “I don’t like this, you know that. I understand that we can have our disagreements but moving out of the house?”

“I didn’t move out of the house,” you said. “My stuff is still there.”

“But you’re not staying there?”

“I felt like a change of scenery.”

“Is that all?” he asked and you cleared your throat.

“Sort of.”

“Because what I’ve been hearing…” he said. “Not to mention, both you and Bucky planning this dinner?”

“I think we should wait for him to have this conversation—where is he anyway?” you asked, looking around the restaurant and your father frowned slightly.

“We thought you two were coming together.”

“He’s late?” you asked, nervousness shooting through you and your father waved a hand in the air.

“There’s a reason for that I’m sure,” he said. “Come on, sit down. We started already.”

“Great,” you muttered to yourself and followed him to the table and waved at Bucky’s parents Winnifred and George.

“Y/N, hello!” Winnifred stood up to hug you and you hugged her back before pulling back to wave at George.

“We were going to wait for you but you know how your father is,” Winnifred said and your father chuckled, gesturing surrender.

“I don’t mind,” you said, sitting down next to Becca as you nodded in Ian’s direction. “Ian.”

“Y/N.”

“So, what is this dinner about?” George asked and Winnifred shot him a look.

“George.”

“What? I’m curious. You would think this is a life-and-death situation the way Bucky talked about it.”

“I think we should uh…we should wait for him for that one,” you said and turned to the waiter who filled your glass.

“The chef is preparing your usual, ma'am."

“Thank you,” you said and sat up straighter while George smiled at Becca.

“Do you know what this is about?”

“Of course,” Becca said with a smile. “But I’m special.”

“Will this dinner take long?” Ian asked you, checking his phone. “I have plans for 10.”

“You’re welcome to leave,” you told him but before he could retort, Becca waved at someone by the entrance and you looked over your shoulder to see Bucky walk into the restaurant. You cleared your throat, then pushed your seat back.

“Excuse me for a moment,” you said and made your way to him.

“Charm, hey—”

“With me,” you said without even stopping and he turned around to follow you out of the restaurant, and you whirled around on your heels the moment you stepped outside, raising your brows at him.

“Are you serious right now?” you asked. “You were supposed to be here before me, that was the plan!”

“Okay, I know I’m late but in my defense—”

“No no, you said—”

“Job got in the way, I didn’t even get the chance to change,” he cut you off and raised his wrist so that you could see the sleeve of his white shirt. “I still have blood on my sleeve, look!”

“Do I look like your drycleaner from where you’re standing?” you snapped back in a whisper. “You said you’d come before me, and considering your relationships I’d say you’re used to that!”

He rolled his eyes. “To repeat, job got in the way.”

“You’re late to dinner because you were too busy punching someone and that’s a good excuse?”

“It was necessary!”

“It was necessary for it to be you punching that person, is that right?”

“Excuse me, lovebirds,” Becca’s voice reached you and you both turned to look at her as she leaned sideways to the entrance. “Have your fight later on, they’re getting restless.”

You ran a hand over your face.

“Alright,” you said. “So okay, when are we telling them?”

“My plate is already there and I’d rather if you did it right away,” Becca said, pointing back with her thumb. “They don’t look like they’ll stop asking what this dinner is about anytime soon.”

“You just don’t want mom to ask you about Leila,” Bucky told her and Becca shrugged her shoulders.

“I mean would it kill you to do something nice for me?” she asked, making him shake his head slightly. You bit back a smile and threw your shoulders back, trying to get rid of the tension in your body.

“Let’s get this over with,” you muttered more to yourself and made your way back to the table with Becca and Bucky following you.

“Good evening,” Bucky greeted everyone at the table with a smile. “Sorry I was late, it’s just…work.”

Becca went to sit down on her seat as you eyed your food, but stood beside Bucky, clenching and unclenching your fist just so that you could focus on something else other than the nervousness pulsing in your veins.

“Is everything alright?” Winnifred asked Bucky and he nodded his head.

“Oh yeah, two meetings clashed,” he lied, subtly rolling the sleeve of his shirt up. “There was a moment of chaos but it’s fixed.”

“So can we learn what this whole secrecy and emergency dinner is about now?” George said with a knowing smile and you stole a look at your father who looked almost impatient. Knowing them, every single person at the table except Becca thought Bucky and you were about to tell them you were dating, so you were sure that the news was going to be completely unexpected for all of them.

“Yeah,” you said, reminding yourself to smile as you leaned sideways to Bucky’s arm. “You can. Sorry about the secrecy, we just wanted it to be a surprise.”

Ian scoffed a small laugh.

“You staying in a hotel in his territory might have ruined that surprise,” he said and Bucky’s eyes narrowed but you elbowed him while your father gave Ian a warning glare, making him sit up straighter.

“So uh, it happened very recently,” you said, ignoring Ian. “And normally you would have heard beforehand.”

“For which I take full responsibility,” Bucky added with a smirk. “That’s on me.”

“I mean you know we’ve had this…strange dynamic for a while.”

“Ten years,” Becca muttered into her wine glass. “Not that anyone is counting.”

“But once we actually talked to each other, something happened,” you lied through your teeth, Bucky’s arm snaking around your waist as he nuzzled to the top of your head, making your heart skip a beat but you forced yourself to remember that it was all an act. Winnifred pressed a hand on her chest as if she was lost in her emotions while your father and George exchanged glances, both smiling slightly.

“And I hope that you’ll be happy for us,” you said and waited for a second, then cleared your throat. “Because we’re getting married.”

The impact of your words was immediate and very visible. Ian’s head shot up as Winnifred gasped in shock and your father’s eyes widened while George’s jaw dropped. Becca stifled a laugh, taking another sip of her wine as she leaned back in her seat.

“Married?!” Winnifred exclaimed as she jumped on her feet. “Oh thank God, this is the best news I could ever hope for!”

“Trust me mom, I was as surprised as you are,” Bucky said with a chuckle while Winnifred pulled you into a tight hug and your father tried to pull himself together.

“Married?” he repeated and you nodded when Winnifred pulled back to hug Bucky.

“Yeah.”

“That’s…uh—” your father stammered. “That’s wonderful news honey but you two have been dating for what? Two days?”

“Three days,” you said helpfully and Bucky hissed in a breath.

“I was going to get your permission, Arthur.”

“Why didn’t you?” your father asked him, looking him in the eye but Bucky didn’t look intimidated in the slightest.

“Oh come on Arthur, don’t be so traditional!” George said with a laugh. “They’re in love, and it’s not like they met three days ago. They’ve known each other their whole lives, I for one have been hoping for this to happen for almost ten years!”

“And we already know we want to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“Speaking of, where’s the ring?” Winnifred asked, making you and Bucky exchange glances before you turned to her.

Shit.

Of course he was supposed to have proposed with a ring.

“The ring!” you said. “Right, uh…Bucky?”

Bucky swallowed thickly and waved a hand in the air.

“The ring, that’s—that’s a funny story actually,” he said. “You see, we um—”

“My overly confident brother didn’t bother asking the best friend,” Becca cut him off airily, pointing at herself. “Surprise surprise; it was the wrong size. We went to the jewelers today to get it fixed, they said it’ll be ready within the week.”

Dear God, you loved Becca.

You subtly mouthed ‘thank you’ to her while George stood up to come closer to you.

“Congratulations son,” he said as he pulled him into a hug to slap him on the back. “You sure took your time. And Y/N, welcome to the family sweetheart.”

“Congratulations,” Ian said from where he was sitting and your father sighed, then stood up to hug you.

“We still need to talk about this,” he said. “But I’m very happy for you two.”

“Thanks dad,” you muttered as the waiters brought your food and you all sat down. You took your fork into your hand and George raised his glass.

“To happy couple!”

You and Bucky raised your glasses as well and your father took a sip of his drink, then leaned back in his seat.

“See, Y/N,” he said. “I know you’re still a bit angry at me but I told you. This right here will make you much happier than what we talked about earlier. That’s what matters.”

You arched a brow as Bucky turned to look at you better with a smirk and you stole a glance at him, a sly smile curling your lips as well.

Oh.

Of course your father naively believed that something as trivial as marriage could keep you from what you wanted. It was almost condescending at this point but you managed to hold back the retort, then clicked your tongue.

“Oh yeah,” you said, making Bucky chuckle. “I have a very clear idea of what’s actually important now, and I’ll make sure everyone else sees that as well.”

                                        *

When it was time to leave the restaurant, everyone was in a wonderful mood. Winnifred had so many ideas about the wedding, and as far as you could tell, your father had gotten over the annoyance of Bucky not having asked for his permission.

“So, are you coming home?” he asked you as George and Winnifred’s car drove off and you looked at Bucky who was talking to Becca by her car.

“Maybe later,” you said with a shake of your head. “Me and Bucky have things to talk about, so…”

Your father hummed.

“Alright,” he said. “What do you say we grab lunch tomorrow then?”

You thought for a moment, then shifted your weight.

“Sure, why not?”

“Good,” he said and hugged you. “You know I don’t like it when we fight.”

You pursed your lips together. “I know, I know...”

“I’ll see you tomorrow honey, please be careful,” he said and got in the car while Ian seemed to be in a deep discussion with Ryan. Ryan’s gaze found you over Ian’s shoulder and you offered him a small smile, then turned your head when you heard Becca say your name.

“Y/N are we meeting tomorrow?”

“Yeah after lunch,” you answered. “I’ve just promised my dad I’d have lunch with him, so…”

She nodded. “Okay, I’ll text you then?”

“Sounds great!” you said as she got into her car and the driver closed her door before getting into the driver’s seat. You looked into your purse, then let out a groan when you couldn’t find your phone.

“Great,” you muttered and made your way into the restaurant, the waiter stopping in his tracks the moment he saw you.

“Ma’am?”

“Hi again, I left my phone at the table,” you told him with a small laugh and he nodded.

“I’ll get it for you right away,” he said and went inside, then in a minute he was back with your phone. “Here.”

“Thank you so much,” you said. “Have a nice night!”

“You too ma’am,” he said and you left the restaurant again, then frowned as soon as you saw Ian talking to Bucky by his car while Ryan waited with Ian’s other bodyguards close by. You took a step towards them but neither of them seemed to notice you, and judging by the stern look in Bucky’s eyes, it wasn’t because they were having a fun conversation.

“…And that’s what she wants in case she didn’t tell you,” Ian said and Bucky narrowed his eyes at him.

“I know that.”

Ian shook his head slightly. “Don’t get me wrong, but—”

“Let me stop you right there Ian,” Bucky said, glaring daggers at him. “You’re not going to say anything that I might get wrong about the woman I love.”

Your stomach did a happy flip but you quickly frowned at yourself. It was just Bucky selling this whole idea that you were in love; it wasn’t as if you and he could ever fall in love or anything.

Even the thought of it was absolutely absurd.

You cleared your throat to announce you were there and they both turned to look at you.

“Hey babe,” Bucky said. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you said without even sparing a glance at Ian as the driver opened the car door for you and you got in with Bucky following you suit. You massaged your temples, then leaned your head back when the driver started the car.

“You okay?” Bucky asked and you gritted your teeth, crossing your arms over your chest.

“The way my dad talks to me…” you muttered and Bucky scoffed a dry laugh.

“I know,” he said. “Trust me, I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” you rasped out. “George never underestimated you or replaced you with another heir.”

That made him pause for a moment, a dark shadow crossing his eyes before he took a deep breath.

“No worries Charm,” he said. “He won’t get to underestimate you again once you get that crown.”

You felt a small smile curl your lips as you turned your gaze to the city lights outside, then heaved a sigh.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I like the sound of that.”

Chapter 11

[stromblessed]

Mizu's spectacles, and the levels of her disguise

In drafting some more Blue Eye Samurai meta posts, I find myself writing out the comparisons between what Mizu can and cannot hide about herself, and how that affects how she moves through the world.

Like, I get the jokes about Mizu's glasses, if only color contacts had existed back then, etc. etc., and I think (hope) that most viewers don't take the glasses jokes seriously, as in "I don't care about the suspension of disbelief because BES is a cartoon." But I wanted to write these thoughts out anyway without burying them in a text post about something else.

I think the points I'm going to lay out here are viewed very differently by different people, so please feel free to add to this post, reply, or put your thoughts in the tags!

Not only do Mizu's glasses not actually help her that much, there's surely more to Mizu's mixed race appearance than just the color of her eyes.

In my view, this was pointed out in episode 1:

I'm willing to bet most of us were expecting young Taigen to say "blue eyes," not "ROUND eyes."

Obviously this is still about Mizu's eyes, but not even spectacles can hide their shape.

I don't think the show is obligated to point out everything about Mizu's face that isn't quite as Japanese as the people around her expect. Though the creators have said that they specifically designed Mizu - and her clothes - to read both as "white" and as "Japanese," as well as both male and female. I think there's more about Mizu's features that read as "white" than just her eyes.

This is where my own headcanons start entering the picture, but it's my impression that people can just tell that Mizu looks different, whether or not they can put a finger on exactly how.

There's the little girl who looks at Mizu and then hides on the way into Kyoto:

When there's more to your face you'd like to cover up than just your eyes, big hats are a big help!

By the way, most of these examples have to come from the first half of the season, since by the second half, either Mizu is too preoccupied with fighting henchmen, or everyone Mizu is facing knows who she is already, and she therefore has no reason to hide her mixed race identity.

It's worth mentioning that the mere fact that Mizu has to hide multiple aspects of her identity - her mixed race and her sex - results in her having to choose clothes that really, really cover her up, which doesn't win her any favors either:

(Zatoichi reference, anyone?)

If it were as easy as, for example, tying her glasses to her head and wa-lah, nobody would ever know she was half-white - then (1) Mizu would've just done that long ago, and (2) Mizu wouldn't be so on guard and on tenterhooks 100% of the time the way she's depicted in the show, even when her glasses are on.

Her spectacles sure don't help her in the brothel, which is full of observant women who are trying to seduce her, meaning they get good long looks at her:

Mizu never takes her glasses off, but they still send a woman to her who has light eyes, thinking that must be what will interest a blue-eyed man:

No wonder Mizu gets mad after this, lol

So Mizu never takes her spectacles off in the brothel, it's dimly lit inside, and the women can still tell that she has blue eyes. I'm getting the sense that Mizu putting on her spectacles isn't a guarantee that people suddenly can't tell that she looks different.

And yet no one spots that she's female.

Mizu can hide her breasts, can wear her hair in the right style, can hide what's between her legs, can walk and talk and behave like a man - and she's been doing it for almost her entire life, to the point that not only is she very good at it, but the threat of being found out as female is deadly, but isn't presented in the show as omnipresent.

Let me explain.

She threatens Ringo for nearly saying the word "girl" out loud, because while she's constantly ostracized for being mixed race, being a woman traveling without a chaperone, carrying a sword, and disguised as a man will get her killed or flogged or arrested or some combination of these things.

But in addition, it's been drilled into her since she was a child that if she is discovered as female, the combination of her being mixed race and female will identify her as someone extremely specific, someone known to some bad people, and she will be killed:

I think of it as Mizu thinking to herself, "Being found out as mixed race means I'm treated badly. Being found out as mixed race and a woman means I'm dead."

Mizu's hair is cut as a child. But she isn't made to wear a big hat, or cover her eyes somehow, or anything like that. Because hiding her sex is a more successful endeavor than hiding her race.

Ringo finds out she's female by accident, but once Mizu accepts the fact that he won't rat her out, she relaxes pretty early on in the season. Because the threat of being found out as female is mitigated pretty much 99.9%, since Mizu has gotten so good at being a man. And also, because most of the time, people see what they want to see. Even if Mizu's face makes her stand out as "not 100% Japanese," no one in the world of BES looks at Mizu's clothes, her bearing, her sword, hears her voice, and will ever in a million years conclude that she is a woman, because expectations around gender roles in the Edo period were so rigid and so widely enforced.

One detail that proved this to me is after the Four Fangs fight:

Ringo takes off Mizu's clothes so he can stitch her up, then leaves her clothes off even after he's done. He doesn't even throw her cloak over her as a blanket or anything. There's a little a straw (pallet?) as a divider there on the left, but anyone could just peek around it and see Mizu and her chest bindings. (I think it's mostly there as a windbreaker.)

And Taigen is right there, but he doesn't give a shit:

Opinions probably vary hugely on this, but my impression is that because the show doesn't make any kind of deal about Taigen being in the room with Mizu here, my guess is that Mizu isn't in any danger of Taigen thinking she's female. Even when I watched the show for the first time, I assumed that Taigen had seen Mizu out of her clothes here, and that he thought nothing of it.

Eat your heart out, Li Shang (Mulan 1998). I actually do think that this scene is a direct and purposeful side-eye to that movie, lol

There's obviously some nuance to how "severe" being mixed race is compared to how "severe" being a woman is for Mizu:

After all, Swordfather can't bear to listen to Mizu confess to being a woman.

So a Japanese man can go wherever he wants, whenever he wants in BES. A Japanese woman has limited options: marriage, religion, or a brothel. A mixed-race man is an eyesore in this story. A mixed-race woman is a death sentence.

May as well eliminate the female aspect, and do what you can about the mixed-race aspect. Because that's just realistic.

Meaning Mizu can avoid the strictures Edo society places on women. But she can't avoid the repercussions that come with being mixed race. And I truly don't think that it's just because "there's no brown contacts yet."

[lipstickchainsaw]

Arcane season 2 has touched on religious themes considerably more than season 1 did. This has expressed itself primarily in Viktor's prophet narrative (no, he is not a god, he is being guided by one), but we also see it in a lot of Janna worship showing up in Zaun, especially among the most impoverished.

And her most prominent depiction is in the stage Jinx sets for her fight with Vi. This seems relevant, so let's dig into that for a moment.

The stage Jinx has set is deep underground, in the ruins of what seems to have once been a grand temple (with an altar, but we'll get to that), which Jinx has repurposed as a monument to the tragedies of her own life, but I don't think this is portrayed as a desecration of this temple. Rather, I think it's a set-up for where we're going.

Over the course of their fight, Vi and Jinx destroy the pillar showing their childhood, which could be read as the definitive destruction of their sisterhood, but, given how things end, I think it's more likely the destruction of the specific dynamic: Vi can no longer be the protector, and Jinx does not need to be protected.

The conclusion of that fight has Jinx held down on the altar, which seemed to be very much on purpose, because she wants to die, and her decision to do it like this is important. She wanted to go out in a grand, important way. Like a ritual sacrifice on the altar to a god, with a grand ceremony in the form of the paint bombs to mark the occasion.

But the world won't let Jinx die, forces her to live, in this case in the form of Isha bodily getting in the way of the people trying to kill her, which doesn't strip this religious ritual from its meaning, but it changes it from a sacrifice to... something else.

At the end of season 1, Vi and her sister had to make a choice between Jinx and Powder, but they got neither. This isn't the Jinx that they thought they were choosing, and it isn't the Powder that wants to die, either. So if this is not a death, perhaps it is a rebirth, but as what?

Anyway, all of that sells the significance of the religious imagery, but it doesn't explain why Janna, specifically.

Fittingly, Jinx introduces us to who Janna is as a deity, and equally fittingly, she presents this as a non-believer:

"Don't you remember the old Janna bedtime stories Vander used to tell us? Miners trapped underground. Air running thin! But then some wispy wind woman wafts to their rescue. Wild the kind of crap people get up to when you choke them out."

Janna is fresh air to those about to choke. Life to those about to die. It is a second wind when poison threatens to end you. Jinx, at this point, probably thinks of this as a hallucination by people who were just rescued and interpreted the source of the fresh air as something it wasn't (after all, she's well familiar with what a person's brain can come up with when put under significant strain).

But the Strike Team was threatening to choke the Undercity, with the Gray being an expression of Caitlyn's grief forced upon the citizens of Zaun, and Jinx' ritual sacrifice gets interrupted by Isha (and Sevika) rescuing her, all culminating in them blowing up a seal depicting Janna that was holding back a massive gust of fresh air that turned the poison against those using it.

So with this being a rebirth for Jinx, I think it points out in a certain direction.

For one thing, while she has been associated with smoke (see also: Powder), the way her tattoos show that smoke is very much a depiction of it being stirred by wind. For another, it involves her both rescuing and being rescued, becoming both Vi and Powder. She reflexively protects Isha, and finds in that a reason, perhaps, to live.

But this has only delayed matters, not solved the problem, with Caitlyn's grief now wielding the military might of Noxus (noxious) to choke the Zaun once more, and it once again needs its fresh air to survive.

So perhaps Jinx can find a renewed purpose. Can find meaning in a life where she protects and supports people. Can become Zaun's hero, instead of simply Piltover's villain.

And perhaps Janna finally has a herald to fight for the city under her banner.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

why is headless women art bad? i can see why it's seen as objectifying but why is it such a big deal to make art out of the female form? (sorry if i sound agressive this is a genuine question)

Hi anon! You certainly don’t sound aggressive - I’m actually very grateful for the opportunity to collate my current thoughts in one place, so thank you for the prompt. I’m going to try my hardest to keep this short.

For any women who haven’t seen posts on this topic previously, some examples of the ‘headless women art’ trend I’ve been talking about for a while now are below. They’re often missing their limbs, at various points of amputation, as well as all or part of their heads (if she has her eyes, I generally don’t count it). Sometimes their heads have been ‘replaced’ with other objects, typically plants or mushrooms, though I wouldn’t count a woman with an animal or bird’s head. They’re often naked.

So, per Anon’s question, why is it a ‘big deal’?

I mean, really, it’s not. It’s an absolutely minuscule deal - it’s as dwarfed by the issues of the sex industry, femicide, and systemic sex inequality, as we are by the Sun. And yet, much as our bodies are made of particles formed in dying stars, I see elements of the large within the small… ok, I’m not getting poetic.

It’s not a big deal, and I don’t necessarily think it’s wholly terrible either, which is why in my analysis posts on the topic I try to ask questions more than criticise, and criticise gently when I do so. What it comes down to is that I spotted a pattern, and wanted to acknowledge that pattern, think about it, and ask other women for their thoughts on it.

With that said, there are certain things that I question particularly, and have seen other women question, which I’ll list:

Remove her legs and she can’t run, remove her arms and she can’t fight, remove her mouth and she can’t shout, and remove her eyes and she can’t look back at you. You totally disempower her when you remove almost every body part capable of action.

By removing her head you also remove her brain (her personality and internal identity), and her face (her visible external identity). By anonymising her you strip her of her individuality, and depict all female people as a result - so what message are you sending about all female people with your depiction of us, naked and dismembered?

A (living) woman’s neutral existence requires her to have her head. By removing it, you are making an active choice to step away from the neutral (and it’s on you to defend that choice), and you are also by necessity depicting a dead woman. You ask about ‘art out of the female form’ - the living female form has a head. Why remove it?

The simplest test of whether something might be sexist, is to see whether it applies to men and women equally. Are (straight) men decorating their homes with ‘bits’ of male bodies? Do men in general feel conscious enough of, yet alienated enough from, the appearance of their bodies that they seek out their representation, sans heads, to reflect back at them? Why not, if women are? Would it be strange if they did?

As a follow up, since many of these pieces are made by women (often straight women), are (straight) men often focusing their artistic output on depicting ‘bits’ of male bodies? Do men regularly choose to create art intended to depict the ‘beauty’ of the male form? If not, why not?

You mention objectification - what links are there between objectification and violence? Could self-objectification be used to normalise violence against the self, or even excuse it? What about violence against others who are like the self (ie violence against other women)?

As I say, I’m not necessarily saying this artistic trend is exclusively a bad one, or that people/women in particular shouldn’t be decorating their homes however they please. It’s just something I’ve noted and found interesting, and like many apparently free choices, I think feminist women have a responsibility to interrogate their own and others’ motivations.

This is a hasty overview, and I’ve probably missed things - I’ll reblog with additions if I think of any, but you can also see my previous posts on this topic, and other women’s contributions, under my “Headless Women Art” tag. Thanks again for the question!

[cecilysass]

Mulder’s Depressed Vampire Sex: Me on 3

You know, I like the episode 3. I mean, not the casefile part of 3, which is whatever whatever, but the important part: the blood fetishist lady has her way with Mulder and then he cries.

I definitely loathed the episode back when the show was airing. Back then it seemed like it was intentionally hostile to the ship—like going out of its way to be hostile, having Kristen tell Mulder shit like “I can tell you’re missing someone, but attention please: just a friend. Definitely not more!!!” I honestly kind of felt like she was looking out of the screen directly at me when she said it.

But looking back, knowing that MSR was endgame (and that fans kinda took over the narrative anyway), I definitely see the episode totally differently.

From a Mulder character arc point of view, this episode is all about him being a sad, sad boy. It is all about his depression, his hopelessness, his grief for Scully. It’s also about his drive to try to save women and girls in order to save himself. And he so often seems to fail at this when it is someone he cares about (or even when it is someone he has a fleeting connection with, like Kristen). And that’s so, so devastating for him. In that sense, this episode is a really desperate expression of his grief and frustration.

The HIV/AIDS angle to this ep is super important, too, so we have to make sure we’re getting into the full 1994 mindset on this. Mulder says in alarm to Kristen back in the club, when she’s playing fast and loose with blood: “AIDS. Aren’t you afraid?” (To which she responds that she wants to die.) Mulder knows that HIV transmission through sharing fluids is no joke in 1994 (it probably really shouldn’t be now either, but that’s not today’s lecture). Yet later, when Kristen is shaving him and he’s nicked, he allows this to be the catalyst for sex, even as he makes attempts to stop her from tasting his blood.

So his choice to have sex with Kristen is depicted as reckless, with someone who has been shown being careless about HIV. And he is doing it not just because he is turned on, but because he is being intentionally reckless with himself, clearly knowing the consequences. He shows concern for her, yes, but he’s also self destructive. He wants to fuck the hot vampire, but he also wants to fuck with death.

In other words, there’s a difference between what the episode tells us about Mulder’s relationship to Scully and what it shows us. And what the episode shows us about their relationship is that Scully is central enough in his life that everything is fundamentally affected by her abduction. He’s broken. He’s visibly depressed. He makes decisions that risk his job and his life. All the while he is actually choosing to wear her cross: a symbol that traditionally wards off vampires, as Kristen observes, but also keeps Scully’s presence in his mind constantly and in every frame of the episode he's in. And the episode ends with him looking like a hero in a romance novel mournfully casting his eyes to the hills clutching her cross in his hand.

None of this obviously communicates “I miss my work friend,” right? No objective observer would see this and say, “ah, he clearly is missing someone—most likely a friend, I would say.” But probably that’s exactly why they included Kristen’s “just a friend” line. They knew his grief in this episode was reading very powerfully, and they didn’t want it to seem overtly romantic.

I also feel like it’s kind of significant that the only time we actually see Mulder have confirmed sex with someone (besides Scully later) is when he’s depressed and Scully is gone. Linking his grief for Scully to his very-rarely-seen acting out on sexual desire like this also seems kind of psychologically sus to me, but I don’t know, I read a lot of fanfic.

Speaking of which, I did a little fanfic search for 3. And unless I am missing obvious fics (always a possibility), it was kind of difficult. Partly because this is a stupidly hard episode to look in search engines for. (No one should ever name episodes after numbers, although this one I will forgive because it’s from 1994 and they couldn’t have fully understood about Google and AO3.)

But also I just think there hasn’t been a ton of 3 fanfic, probably because this episode isn’t very well-liked. And listen, I get that Scully isn’t in it, which is often unappealing for writers, and there is Mulder/other, which people don’t like. But I feel like there are a lot of possibilities for story ideas here that don’t necessarily take place during the events of the episode. Like: how does it affect them later? Personally I like fics where Mulder and Scully discuss the events of the episode long after (actually I wrote one, which I included in my recs because I’m not that cool). I also think Mulder’s angst and depression has a lot of ways it could go—not to mention it’s the last canonically confirmed time he has sex before like 2000 or something. And it seems like AU takes on what happened to Kristen could be interesting. So what I'm saying is: maybe try writing 3 fics.

3 Fanfic Recs

Three is a Crowd - wendelah1 Mulder has sex with Kristen but can’t stop thinking of Scully.

Analgesic- settledownfrohike Mulder has sex with Kristen but can’t stop being a self-loathing, self-destructive mess. And thinking of Scully.

The Woman In His Heart - Spangle This shorter piece frames Mulder’s time with Kristen as a revelation about his feelings. Angsty and nicely observed. A 2005 Spooky winner, evidently.

False Dawn - emmbright A sharply etched portrait of how Mulder moves through his life between 3 and One Breath. For me this fills in the blanks perfectly.

Dreams - Characteristically_Exuberant This is actually a (great) post-ep for Field Trip, and the events of 3 aren’t the main focus of the fic. But I like how this author discusses what happened with Mulder in that episode and contextualizes it for both agents.

We’re Not Here To Get Involved In Personal Problems - cecily_sass This is mine, also not really a 3 post-ep; it’s an X-Cops post-ep. I feel a little silly including it. But I had them discuss the events of 3 in this fic in a way that sort of lays out my own thesis of the episode, and I thought, hey, it’s my list. Mulder and Scully walk to a gas station in Willow Park in Los Angeles the morning after X-Cops; they discuss plenty.

Any others? I feel like I probably missed some.

[greenboyfriend]

choose something cold... (tarot card reading)

"what do you need to know?"

image 1: it's cold. I mean, really cold. but your blood is warm, even if your fingers are blue. where's your soul? image 2: a framed painting depicting a wintry landscape, complete with a log cabin, whose blue smoke trickles from its chimney and blends in with the world around it. image 3: three ornate glasses, made of ice. are those cracks intentional? or just by virtue of its design? image source not everything may resonate with you, and that's ok! take what does & leave the rest. don't force it.

1.・。.・゜✭

there’s an opportunity being presented to you. it may be a celebration of some kind, or just something that has a lot of excitement surrounding it. what i’m getting most of all is that this may be a chance to find freedom. with the seven of swords reversed, maybe you’re the type of person to handle your problems on your own, “lone wolf” style. there’s a million reasons why someone might do this, but for you, you’re afraid or distrusting in others. when you opened up in the past, maybe it didn’t end up so well for you, and this has made you keep things mostly to yourself.  however, the four of wands reversed tells us that this lone wolf energy is blocking you from fully enjoying yourself. “freedom”, in this sense, is the freedom from yourself, or rather, your fear. in the original Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the seven of swords shows us a man with his arms full of swords, shirking off to his own devices. for you, these swords represent an unnecessary burden, being wary or even afraid of others to see your true colors/problems/ect. opening yourself back up again is a task much easier said than done, i know. but the 6 of cups shows us what this looks like, once fully realized. when we talk about our problems and emotions, we’re able to release and/or deal with them more easily. i’ve definitely been in the position of worrying endlessly about something, just to finally open up to someone, and realize that the answer was sitting in front of me all along. the six of cups represents this as having a “clean conscience.” being, you’ve released yourself from carrying a burden all alone, and have found freedom– the four of wands. finally, the king of cups reversed reminds you to have patience, and to be tolerant of others. not just one person can supply you with all the information or support you need.

(6 of cups, 7 of swords reversed, 4 of wands reversed, king of cups reversed)

2.・。.・゜✭

you’re in a period of transition, be that between attitudes or people. this change has you feeling down. maybe not emotionally destitute, but not in the best spot, either. as you wade through these waters, know that the queen of swords is by your side, and will lead you to better times. the queen of swords is someone with a good head on her shoulders, and will always tell the truth. she is very forthright, and doesn’t do any under-the-table dealings. she holds herself to these standards because of her past experiences, and knows that an honest, open approach will best suit her motives. you may embody the queen of swords already, and if you do, great! if you don’t, that’s ok, too. but it’s time to start really leaning into that kind of energy. don’t conceal the truth– both to yourself and others–, and let yourself have a laugh every once in a while! the thing about being experienced is that you know not to take everything so seriously. the queen of swords can see the big picture, and knows that, even if right now is tough, later will be much better. the place/person/vibe you’re coming from is represented by the knight of wands. i’m getting, cockiness– to the point where you/they were being presumptuous. this might also have had to do with someone being hot tempered, and restless, where they couldn’t handle being bored, so they’d decide to pick a fight. this energy is still here, but not necessarily causing harm just yet. what’s really impeding your path towards healing is the knight of cups. the knight of cups reversed is in direct opposition with the queen of swords, in the sense that he allows his emotions to take control of him, rather than accurately assessing the truth of his situation. he may let his imagination become overactive, and begin believing things that aren’t true. where the queen of swords faces all her dealings head on, the knight of cups may shade the truth, dance around the issue, or simply hope someone else will deal with it. he may also tend to isolate himself from others, which only worsens his imagination into spurring up unrealistic scenarios and focusing too much on his own “failings.” i’m thinking… you’re going to need to temper the knight of cups with the knight of wands. use that fiery, self confident energy to seek out the truth, rather than make assumptions. and, in turn, the knight of cups can help to deplete those feelings of restlessness through introspection. most importantly, keep your head level, and honor the truth above all.

(queen of swords, 6 of swords, knight of wands, knight of cups reversed)

3.・。.・゜✭

so… there’s a lot to unpack here, image 3! i’ll start with this, the energy of the queens of wands and of pentacles are important right now. the queen of wands seems to be especially important, urging you to work hard to maintain her optimism, confidence, and enthusiasm. this situation will require you to be a sort of “soft” leader for others, where you can be looked to for inspiration. if you’re able to serve as a role model through keeping your head up even when the going gets tough, and to do so with strength and vigor, it will not only help you and your purposes, but will also inspire those around you to do the same. the opportunity to embody this energy is not fully here yet, but once you hear the call, you’ll know it’s for you. strike the iron while it’s hot and give it your all! no time for dilly dallying. in being a leader (even if you’re not completely cognizant of it) you will have to temper your generosity with what you know to be true. so, for example, if someone is late to a meeting one time, you may give them the benefit of the doubt. but if they’re continuously late, some changes need to be made. this can also apply to other situations, where you will need to decide between your loyalties and what’s true & just. you may have already experienced scenarios like this in the past, so it will help you to call back to those times for foresight. doing what is fair may be difficult in the moment, but will lead to the best outcome. the queens come together here to guide you on your way. keep trying! you know that you’re resourceful, so don’t be afraid to try your hand at solving problems. it may also benefit you to remain down to earth during this time, and not to try to control what others think or say. at the end of the day, you are your own person, and what a wonderful person you are!  finally, we arrive at the page of cups. i’m getting a very loving, forgiving energy from this card. it may benefit you to invite that energy into your life, both towards yourself and others. when a challenge faces you, or someone is less than nice, decide to turn away that anger with love. consider, what may compel them to act this way? maybe they’re going through something you don’t know about. it’s not that you need to nurture them back to good health, but realize that maybe, they’re just not worth your time, and a simple nod & turning of the cheek will do you both some good. most of all, listen to your intuition to tell you whether or not this argument/situation is really worth getting into.

(queen of wands, 8 of pentacles reversed, 8 of wands reversed, queen of pentacles, ace of swords, 3 of wands reversed, page of cups)

[cu7ie]

boredom.

(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و investigating a noise in an alley late at night turns into so much more. haitani ran x reader x haitani rindou. word count: 5.4k

cw; dubious consent, brief depictions of fighting and violence. spit-roasting. minor stalking (?) + intimidation, fear.

The day passes, and your boss informs you that 'your workplace attitude is contributing to a loss in morale'. Or in other words,

your coworkers have been complaining about you. 

probably the customers too.

Sometimes they say things to your face, (sometimes, because most times their comments can't pierce the veil of existential dread, stagnation. Thoughts buzz around fly-like, about how there's nothing here,

nothing for you) stupid shit, because the seniors always have something to say…

("Look excited for once, rookie. People want to see pretty smiles, you look so ugly frowning.

"At least pretend you want to be here."

one of your supervisors. So far up your ass she's coming out of your mouth.

and you love old people, but she is the rickety-ist old bitch you've ever had the displeasure of knowing.

"You can get more tips if you do a little … 'extra'. You're cute, so it should be easy for you."

Random customer you don't remember asking for an opinion, you just wanted to see if they wanted refills on wine,) 

You're getting tired and people are starting to notice. You don't argue, because they're right. You're not happy, and that bothers them so much, for reasons that probably don't have much to actually do with you. They care, but not really, so when you're sent home with the day's wages, the boss tells you in a not-so-nice way to clean up your act.

Don't be so sad. (Or rather, make sure they don't know about it.)

You collect your things and opt for the long walk home. Shibuya's streets are empty (ish) and peaceful about this time of night.

The wind whistles.

It threads between the leaves of trees that hadn't yet died, providing you some company,

The noise. And maybe you're paranoid, unused to walking without headphones (you dumped the contents of your bag to check, you either lost them or left them at home), unused to seeing

the empty streets when there's usually a dozen hawkers flagging down passerby to sample wares. Because you're starting to hear something. 

(First, you think it's your mind that makes the wind sound like whispers, moving smoothly along the shell of your ear. Some imagined ramblings. But that's not it at all. 

There's actually someone here. Or people. Nearby.)

For once, you're certain you're not crazy. You're definitely hearing something. You don't want to look behind you, but you do just to avoid any creeps who might be lurking. The sound of chatter grows the slightest bit more intense, and —

KLANG!

A brilliant crash (definitely not behind you) that sounds like metal bashing into something just as tough, the residual sound causing your ears to ring. It , unlike many things recently, intrigued you.

You've never possessed an interest in gangs. Never have been.

(This whole situation reeks of them, though. You either don't think or you don't care—) 

Not interested in their whereabouts, potential people of interest, they don't make you curious (or maybe it's a privilege to not be curious),

What happens to them never really concerns you.

So why now, are you stepping in front of this alleyway? Why did you choose that this time, on a frigid night walk home, you'll be interested. You'll be concerned with the sounds of commotion in the alley. 

… This feels like boredom. It feels like exhaustion has pushed you to your limit. You crave dissent. Novelty, actually being a part of something. Maybe you need it so desperately that in this moment,

You reach out to touch the darkness. A gaping maw of shadow. Light does not enter and it does not escape. This place looks a bit like

Those kinds of places, where you could go missing. Get lost. In some kind of adventure, and that ambition clamps down on that drowning anxiety, making you feel quite bold. Nobody will know you came here. (Nobody will know that, in spite of the pit in your stomach, in spite of the fear, in spite of the sweat in your palm, the tremble in your knees,

you stepped forward.) The shadow swallows you up to your ankle, then your body is engulfed in the darkness. 

You've never disappeared before. You think it'll be okay (hopefully), that it might fulfill something within you that's been desperately missing; maybe it'll be better than

being safe, 

than being

comfortable.

Just a quick peek. You'll only be gone for a second.

(you think the voices get louder and you shift, narrowly avoiding a shallow bacteria laden puddle, using the wall to quickly navigate while placing emphasis on not being seen by anyone if they happened to run past. You don't hear movement, but the talking gets louder as you get closer, and closer, and closer, and …)

(The talking has become more like shouting, and the silence from before has been replaced by the sound of a fierce impact, cracking, crashing, more yelling. Everything is loud now, the moon and street light cascading down on the scene but not revealing your position, flattened against the alley wall.)

"Rinnie.." A tall fellow sighs, his shoulders sagging forward with effort, and ‘Rinnie’ a good ways away from him looking crazy with some sort of excitement. The tall one, dead amused eyes and two braids pigtails framing his face, dark roots growing towards blond tips.

The little one is the kind of bleach - platinum - blonde, maybe a shade or two less yellow. He shares a similar look to the man standing adjacent to him, but his hair is frizzy and wild, sticking to his forehead. The tall one looks scuffed up and his eyes look tired, betraying the hint of a lip curl, a smile, maybe?

What exactly did you stumble onto? You lean in closer to catch the words that fall from their mouths, careful not to step onto the bottles and cans discarded on the ground.

"Rin rin, you might kill him before we can learn anything useful." ‘Rin’, is the belligerent one, his fist dully thudding and knocking across the face of an unknown man sprawled out on the floor, who doesn’t appear to be moving. The man must already be unconscious, or worse- dead -  the flurry of blows not affecting him in any way you can discern from here.

"Ahaha! But Ran, this is really fun!" 

Thwack!  Rin’s right knuckle catches on the man’s cheek, his other fist flying with assuredness and dead-on accuracy towards his stomach.

It is only then that the body groans, and his struggling renewed somewhat. Rin’s arm pulls back with poisonous intent, all the muscles in his fist perfectly poised to,

Hurt and maim.

Ran hooks Rin’s arm in his wrist and drags him off of their victim, who lies cowering before them, too weak to flee or do much but shake like a leaf.

"Okay. Okaaaaay. Now you're making it no fun." Ran drags Rin to his feet; doesn't respond with anything other than a snort and a shove. Rin only barely avoids flying into some refuse, his distress blowing his pupils as big as saucers, easing into relief as he stumbles and catches his balance. They look like a fever dream in the streetlights, an anomaly that should have remained hidden from you and walking down this alley has never felt like a utterly terrible idea until now - They drag the man to the side of the building and prop him up. They smile at one another, as though there’s a joke lingering in the air that nobody’s let you in on. 

It makes you shiver.

Just as cold shakes start to wrack your body, your teeth chitter for a fraction of a second; just a bit too loudly. Their heads begin to turn. Directly facing away from the light, their expressions are encased in darkness,

And while you thought they may be drunk or delirious, or both, the mood shifts neigh instantly, and you frantically clasp your hand over your mouth and stop breathing. They are looking dead at you. You don’t know if their pause is because they don’t exactly see you but instead, shadow, but your arms tense up and feel like coiled springs attached to your shoulders; legs trembling trying to maintain balance and not fall and make a sound.

You don’t move. 

Your eyes burn because you don’t blink and you’re sweating, lying in anxious wait. They don’t close in at once, because when Rin says “Ran,” that dastardly tree of a man lumbers towards the mouth of the alley and, 

He, who is not fooled by the darkness,

Dragging you out flailing, on your back and dragging your nice leather jacket across gunky, disgusting pavement -

You gasp as the tall one forces you to your feet, shoving your back into a wall and evacuating the air from your lungs. You immediately launch into a frantic explanation, your lip blubbering and your body shaking and your eyes wandering to that man up against the wall - who takes advantage of their utter fascination with you, and tries to crawl off.

Rin kicks him in the ribs and sends him sprawling. Back to you, being held up by your neck, lightly enough that he’s not choking you, and you can breathe and speak freely. Their eyes narrow at you, the baton slung on the tall one’s hip looking none too friendly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” “Shut up.” Considering your franticness he sounds quite playful, although the growing pressure behind his grip is not friendly in the slightest. He squeezes your throat and Rin is the one who laughs then, slithering up to your side and giving you a long, long look up and down. “You’ve interrupted some important business here,” He says, gesturing to the battered man with his open hand, “But you think yourself more important, huh?  Quite a pesky little shit aren't ya?" Ran finishes the statement, and the look you fix him with is frantic, wild eyed. “But that’s okay. Clearly you have something important to share."  Rin smiles coolly. His demeanor unsettles you, (feels like his eyes pierce you, makes your heart pound out of your chest, your fingers tremble,) your mind is screaming to go far away. “So tell us,” The tall one hisses through an artificial smile, coldly amused, voice rough on the ears, “Who are you, and what’s in it for us if we let you go?” Rin slides a finger down the side of your waist, making you shiver. “I .. uh..” “Uh? Uhm? That doesn’t sound like any name I've ever heard of.” They laugh at you, and something about their ridicule triggers something in you… tired of being harangued and hung out to dry, mounting tension threatening to collapse you. Your legs buckle. You feel yourself begin to cry.

"Aww. Don't cry… we were just playing with you." Ran leans uncomfortably close, wet sheen on your cheeks glimmering in dim light. Rin sees his brother lick a slow stripe up your cheek, doesn't say anything. You whimper, petrified. 

Ran's eyes bore into yours. "Who are you?" 

You tell them your name. "I … I wait tables! I was just trying to get home from work I - I - I-"

"Through back alleys? It's like you're asking to get hurt." The one named Rin mutters, and Ran, who seems wise to your lies, presses you.

"You weren't getting home anytime soon, hunched over in that alleyway. You were watching us." He moves from in front of you and grasps the back of your skull, forcing you to stare at the battered man a few feet away. "Do you know him?"

You shake your head frantically.

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

"I just - I heard something. I heard something and I thought, I thought .." You struggle to find the words to describe your thought process. Rin helps you out.

"You must've thought: 'Oh, those guys must be having so much fun! I want to play too!'. " The blonde mocks the lilt of your voice. The one with the pigtails barks out laughter, pulls your head back until your neck bends, staring you in your eyes. "Our … friend over there is all played out. But," 

"You're not. Playing with you for a bit sounds fun. Oh, Rin?"

"We should walk our new friend home. Seems like the polite thing to do, yes? Wouldn't want them to get hurt. There's dangerous people lurking at this hour." His smile is particularly wicked, your anxiety mounting.

"Sure thing, Ran." 

….

They call someone else to take care of the man, ( you can't tell if he's still alive - they usher you out of that liminal space expeditiously,) terribly eager to dip into something else that night. You tell them your address at their goading, the two men leading you through alley's and backroads you never even knew about. As you exit the dark, the moon can be seen from where you've emerged from in-between buildings, faces of the men surrounding you lighting up at once.

It's hard to describe the emotion you feel upon meeting eyes with such striking faces. Distinctly similar, uniqueness to be found in both, (Ran looks nonchalant, at ease in his movement. Rin remains stern and orderly above all, offsetting his brother’s lack of care,)

When you talk to them, they don't divulge anything personal, not even their names, (they know you know them already) but you notice they seem more interested in you than you'd expect them to be, taking turns asking questions, fixing one another with this look whenever you answer a question a certain way. It’s nice to have people listen to you - or at least do a good job pretending. They don’t seem … as threatening as they did in the alley. 

Rin is more cordial and polite, and talks to you more emphatically than Ran does. He seems unbothered by your chatter, but is less active of a participant.

From what they observe, you seem to be a particular person. Even though you are scared (your fear, it makes you look so beautiful, vulnerable), you aren't boring. You're not trying to impress them, but they find themselves intrigued regardless.

They fish for information. 

You are an open book. 

They learn more about where you work and the assholes that run the joint. They learn about your small family. They learn about how you don't have many friends. You mention you used to have a roommate, although -

"She moved away, maybe a couple months back." You talk without fear now, acclimated to their presence for the time being, for your sanity's sake.

"Oh? How sad." Rindou says, and a part of you feels like he's mocking you.

Ran makes the mental note that you live alone.  They've begun walking closer to you, occasionally bumping into you on purpose because they know you won't complain or argue about it. Ran's hand slips into your back pocket while you're talking to Rindou, and the expression of shock, then embarrassment as you feel him squeeze—

"You were saying?" Rin glances at you.

"Yeah, sorry - uh… " Your face burns (you know Rin knows what’s happening, you see the way his eyes narrow, you see his lip twitch) and you don't know how to recover so you don't say anything. It's a safe option; he doesn't badger you.

For a few minutes, your moonlit walk is dead quiet. Rin doesn't touch you, but Ran has hooked his arm around your waist and is poking his fingers into the top of your jeans. You don't do anything to stop him. 

His fingers are fast and he is not courteous he is not polite, 

when the palm of his hand zips down and two fingers stroke your clit you gasp. Ran tugs on your waist and your hip bumps his a little as he slowly runs his finger over that sensitive piece of flesh. You feel like your skin burns where his finger meets your clit, and you can't suppress your whine as he pushes on it,

(It's like your body jumped out of your skin and he was striking a nerve, raw. You're on fire you're on fire you're on fire)

And Rin only looks straight ahead, his mouth opening like he wants to say something -

But your building is coming into view. 

You gesture to your side of the complex (Ran takes his hand out of your pants, for now) and they walk you inside the building, patiently wait for the elevator with you,

And you are suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of your emotion; which upon retrospection, felt like your brain had gone numb. Your stunningly composed self becomes a trainwreck in the four elevator stops (and short walk) it takes to get to your apartment. You feel dizzy with how hot your body has gotten and how tight and uncomfortable even your skin feels,

And you're mewling and whining, 

"Th-thanks for walking me home," many flustered thanks, appreciative hugs, trying to wave them away from the door,  but they get inside before you do (when Rin whispers ´Let me help you’, your skin gets goosebumps and you toss him the key), and act as if for a moment they were the kind of people that you'd want in your house. 

Rin is commenting on your art, 'critiquing' (shaming) your arrangements and decor, touching nothing, taking up no space,

While Ran is on everything, everywhere, all at once. He's opening your fridge and taking out the drink you were trying to save for later, flipping through the tabs you left on your computer and,

Maybe they could be friends, with the way they both get so comfortable. But eventually their eyes start drifting over,

to you. Sat on your couch, house burning down around you, you've gone too far, too deep, and they are not going to let you go. (it's not like that was the plan, anyway).

…

Ran mentioned something about playing earlier, didn't he? You hadn't a mind to negotiate a 'fair exchange' for them walking you home on such a dark night. Maybe you hoped they'd just forget about it.

(They don't. You know because before they make you show them where the bedroom is, Ran pokes his fingers through the belt loops on your jeans and tells you how much of a courtesy he brought you back, he could have fucked you and left you in the alley.

"But I didn't." Ran smiles, and you can only imagine what Rin's face looks like. Though, you can feel him on your back, grinding his erection into you.

"Just relax."  Rin leans to your ear, lips close enough to kiss the shell of it. "We'll play nice, won't we Ran?" 

The aforementioned laughs once, reaching for your belt buckle. "Speak for yourself." )

Your bedroom isn’t terribly small but your massive mattress takes up most of the space. Ran doesn’t care about kicking around your things to get to the bed easier, dipping down and baring his teeth to your neck, nibbling. Rindou does not knock over a thing (he picks up a figurine that you hadn’t noticed had turned over, flicks on your lamp, mutters something) walking between your door and hurrying himself along to the bed alongside Ran. 

At that point, you’ve already been undressed from the waist down, your clothing discarded on your living room couch. You’ve been pushed back first onto your bed, Ran is on top kissing you with the feverishness of a school boy, his tongue slipping into your mouth (which surprised you, your pussy throbbed a little) and his hand slipping down towards your cunt.

You make a mewling sound as he rubs circles on your clit, and Rin groans loud enough for you to remember he’s still here, “Jackass, you’ve been hogging them the whole night. You said-” Ran pulls back molasses-slow, fixing Rindou with a look you can’t read. “I know what I said. You don’t have to get so emotional over it, Rin. See?” He pushes himself up on his arms and leaves you there, gesturing with a sweeping motion. “I was just getting them ready for you.” Rin snorts, grabbing your arms. “Whatever. Now, you.” Your eyes meet, but the intensity in his is unlike Ran’s. Something about him seems more driven. Came here for something, refusing to leave without it. “Flip over. Get on your stomach. Make sure your head is hanging off the bed.” You don’t hesitate to do as he says. 

Ran steps into your view, tugging on the band of his boxers until his cockhead is visible from the top. You try not to drool. He pushes his cock between your pillowy lips, letting out a long low whistle.

"Just relax. Open your mouth a little wider - that's it - just like that .."  Ran is already groaning and barely half his dick is inside your mouth, but drool is racing down your chin and you have forgotten how to breathe out of your nostrils. He cups the back of your head.

"Eyes up." Tears sting at your eyes at your lack of oxygen and Ran just smiles dreamily downward at you, his brother out of your sight entirely. Now you’re as bare as the day you were born, courtesy of Ran, and you nearly forget about Rin until you feel firm hands spreading your legs; a damp muscle wriggle and work it's way in between your folds so boldly,

You cry out, groaning on Ran's cock. It's too big and your jaw has to work and strain and it hurts but he makes you do it anyway (his smell is rich between his legs, and he keeps reminding you to breathe through your nose),  telling you how much of a good job you're doing.

"... you're good at this. I didn't think you were a slut though… maybe …"

"It's just a natural talent. Like you were born to suck dick."

He thrusts his hips and holds your face so that he's in your throat, and no matter how hard you beat at his thighs he does not give. You wiggle and squirm, Rin's hands clamping around your hips and giving you less room to breathe. You're so occupied with the dick in your mouth that you don't notice how wet Rin has gotten you. 

His brother has all your attention. Even when he stands at attention and lines himself up, you don't notice. It's only when he's pulling your hips towards his, that you feel the blunt head of his cock probing at your pussy and waiting for a good moment to

Thrust in, and as Ran pulls you off his cock to cum on your face, it's a perfect opportunity for Rin to pull you onto him, and the squeal you let out sounds absolutely delicious, (made his balls clench). He begins tentatively, resting a hand at the small of your back, and thrusting into you with as much force as he can muster behind his hips, enjoying hearing you whine and whimper (perhaps more than he expected). Your body is hot to the touch and your back is a little slick with your sweat. 

Rin grunts with effort as he tries to fuck into you, getting some give as you grow weak in the hips. His cock feels like it's tearing you up, like he might break you before he night is done and the more you moan and squirm the rougher he gets, the slick sounds of his balls slapping against your clit drowning out the sound of your own thoughts.  

(Ran has fun with you. You lick his cock clean as Rin speeds up so much he's practically fucking the breath out of your lungs. Your ass feels battered, your pussy abused —)

Rin has been noticeably quiet most of this time. Too focused on the sound of your yelps and the way your body dances beneath his fingertips. You move so much. He likes the little defiance in you. He has no problem fucking it out.

You grow to gripping Ran's legs for support cause you can't hold yourself up on the bed, the tingling burning feeling of strain zinging up the muscles in your legs. 

“Ah! Oooh..”  They’re teaching you new things about yourself. Wherever they caress you, the back of your head, along your spine, on your hips, it’s like you’ve been alight with fire. Ran makes sure you’re looking at him, and he’s cooing at you, feeding you crumbs of praise as he strokes under your chin affectionately. Your heart jumps a little at the fond look he gives you, the approval is pronounced and makes you feel warm and anxious all of the sudden, moreso when Ran presses a kiss to your temple.

"Almost." Rin says to no one in particular, his grip just shy of bruising. "Just … fuck." Rin slams your hips into his, his spine stiffening as he fucks a load inside you, pulling his cock out slow so he can see himself dripping down your legs.

What followed feels a little uncertain. You know they stuck around, but their words felt floaty and distant, fucked into a stupor, you seemed a bit … dotty. (Ran thinks it's cute. You don't talk, don't ask questions, just let them pet you. But Rin liked the tension in your muscles, that skeptic's gaze, that substance. Something about having you like this appeals to him, just less.) They came hot like a fever and left you feeling ice cold.

Rin, perhaps feeling sweet, helps you slip your nighty on before Ran is forcing him out of the door, chastising him for being so soft.

You wouldn't know. 

You awake in a sea of blankets, with a salty taste in your mouth and this dull ache zapping up your spine…

You are late for work the next morning, but even as your alarm gets grating and beep, beep beeps a few feet away from your head, you're trying to shake off day dream after day dream — you get up when you realize your door was left unlocked, you rectify that, head back to bed. The supervisor who's in charge of arranging your schedule calls you, ten minutes before you are supposed to come in, and you are still lying down.

You honest to god do not have the heart to tell this withering old man over the phone that you can’t come in today. You can hear his voice sort of trembling over the phone (and you later learn that one of the head chefs quit earlier that day, this poor guy is this close to the edge) and decide you don’t need that weighing on your conscience in the future, a good enough reason to force labor upon yourself for the day. You feel weightless sitting in the tub washing off the prior night. In some places you can see indentations from fingers, lightly bruised skin around your hips, that your hands run over with your loofah and that sweet smelling body scrub,

You take your time, not urged by the ringing of your phone or alarm. Your mind decompresses and feels loosened by the steam that rises to the top of the room, fogging up your vision and keeping you warm even when you step out of the bath. Since last night, you notice you seem a lot more one track minded. There’s no dreading the shift, or fear about being asked to stay for overtime, or worry that your coworkers are going to say something to you (they always do, so fucking annoying). There’s nothing. Your head feels manageably empty. Something about it is relaxing, your underlying nervousness of ‘ Is there something i’m missing? Have I forgotten something? Am I doing something wrong?’ all gone.

You’re smiling in the cab to work. Maybe it’s been years since you went there having a positive expectation for today, you can’t remember and you don’t care. You work your shift and ignore your coworkers, boss and customers. They comment, because of course they have something to say.

“You look glowy. Something happen?” 

“... I slept well?” Your supervisor rolls her eyes at you, but doesn’t belabor the point. “Must’ve been one helluva good night’s sleep, huh?” 

You don’t respond, ready to clock out in the next thirty minutes, hoping and praying nobody keeps you from clocking out at 8:00, because the day’s been going sooo good for you so far,

But one of the managers ends up running in; out of breath, trying frantically to stop the kitchen staff from closing down for the night, from leaving. You’re stopped in lieu of all the commotion. Apparently some big-wigs from the city came in to eat, and would not accept the owner’s hurried apologies of ‘I’m sorry, but the kitchen is closing for the night,’; or their attempts at placation: ‘We can accept your patronage first thing tomorrow? A bottle of wine on the house?’. The owner looks frightened half to death by the time he comes across you, shocking you with the abruptness of his request. 

“The… the patrons. Do you know them?” He whispers, deathly close to your ear. His lungs sound like they might collapse, and he looks hot and uncomfortable. “They requested you by name. I-i know you don’t like working overtime, but this could mean big tips.” You roll your eyes. “Move over man. Let me get my menus.” He clasps his hand together in prayer and in thanks, and you mentally prepare yourself to take an order for a much larger party.

There’s only two people sitting in the booth as you walk up, their silhouettes triggering your memory immediately. Ran turns lightning-quick, his expression giddy unlike anything else. He looks so pleased with himself, licking his lips like he’s slick as your confident power walk slows to a few steps.

“Hey sweetheart.” His voice is so smooth, makes your ears tingle. Rindou is sat next to him, and looks up at you fondly for a moment. Looks back down at his hands after.

“So, Rin. Ran.” They look a little surprised you actually said their names, but Ran gives you a toothy grin, and leans a bit further forward.

“Here are your menus.” You set them down on the table, allow them to pursue the selection. “I’ll be back with your water.”  You about face, looking nothing short of cool, level-headed professionalism. On the inside, you are screaming. Telling them so much maybe was a bad idea in hindsight, (because not only is this OT blowing you, but it’s hard to look them in the eyes, for a reason you haven’t yet grasped.) you sigh, trying to make it out of the end of dinner service without your heart giving in. 

You try not to be curt with them but a part of you can’t help it. Ran knows what he’s gunning for, eyes alight with desire as he stares at you up and down in uniform for the first time. Like he’s just about ready to eat you up. He keeps staring at your lips. Rindou is ever the gentleman, is patient with you when you get flustered by Ran’s boldness, occasionally apologizing for the inappropriate comments he sprinkles in. From the moment he’s seen you, to the moment you take his order, serve him the food, give him the bill, he’s flapping his gums. 

Rindou seems irritated by this at some point, fixing him with hot hard glares, kicking him under the table and eventually telling him to BE QUIET. 

He says it with so much authority that when Ran gets as meek as a mouse, you can’t help but giggle from behind your palm. (Ran shoots you a look, but you ignore it.) Other than what he’s saying to you - working this job, you’ve heard far worse anyway - it’s not a hassle to deal with, maybe just a little awkward,

Because he says shit like:

“Hey sweetheart. There’s another kind of tip I could give you, too.” After he slides nearly half a stack into your uniform pants just because he can. That was probably (definitely) more money than both of their meals combined. 

“Hey!” The tall one shouts from the threshold, a little drunk, and swaying from Rin tugging on his arm so hard. 

“Maybe.. You get out of your little uniform and meet us outside. We’ll walk you home again.” You don’t say anything, but your face is burning. 

“Maybe i’ll take you up on that offer. Some other time.” You bow politely and hurry back to the storage rooms, where your coworkers are packing up their things and heading out the back.

You sigh, taking your time changing out of your work uniform.

…

Imagine your surprise when you’re walking out, head down as you look in your bag and make sure everythings arranged how you like, easily accessible ..

And they’re still there. 

Waiting for you.

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Good/Complicated Mom Deirta

This week, we've got ten fics that feature a Deirta Thelyss as either a good - or at least complicated mother. Check them out underneath the cut, and comment and kudos if you like them!

What Luminous Worlds Await by essektheyless (divinationwizard) (178674, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

After a thousand years of sleep, the Luxon's Champion reawakens to a changed Exandria. The memory of Caleb is ever present, the soul of his mother is tucked in the beacon he carries, and Leylas' madness is tumbling the world toward war again.

Reccer says: The second person narrative gives this such an immediacy! This fic makes me wish I could temporarily forget everything I know about CR so I could try reading it completely fresh; I think it would hold up and be a very cool way to be introduced to the world.

some things time can't fix by Chrome (25930, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek is arrested for treason. The Dynasty severs the daemons of prisoners before executing them so they can’t be reborn.

Reccer says: great hurt comfort and an AU, but also a nice depiction of a caring Deirta

Lay Your Bones by LadyOrpheus (53578, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Thinking only of justice and restoring his family's honor after Essek's betrayal, Verin Thelyss finds something he never expected, an Essek he never expected. A mission for justice turns into a race against time and a family finds their world upended.

Reccer says: I love how complicated Deirta is in this fic - that she's bound by her station but still finding ways to act on Essek's behalf

Not the Needle, Nor the Thread by Operafloozy (2149, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Consecuted Deirta is forced to live with her son from another life, it's Essek, things are complicated.

Reccer says: It's part of a series and I loved the series so much, this installment really focusses on Deirta and Essek and also the hurt they caused eachother and how to continue on now that they are both different people.

(and) i'll come running if you call by vagabondfirelily (6489, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Essek goes to Bazzoxan to save Verin. Doing that, he runs into his mother.

Reccer says: It is so bittersweet and so realistic. A very good portray of a complicated relationship between two very similar people. And Verin is there!

until it doesn't hurt by breitweisergallery (3.8k, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

5 times Deirta sends to her sons and one time they send to her

Reccer says: I liked it!

When Broken Shells Make Christmas Bells by LuckyOwlsFoot (12348, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Rape/Non-con, Dubcon/Consensual Non Consent, Non-consensual arranged marriage, threats of rape (nothing explicitly happens)

Essek gets forced into an arranged marriage to avoid execution and Caleb rescues him at the altar.

Reccer says: Lots of Essek angst and comfort and support from Deirta and Verin

a star in your sunset by Laeveteinn (2200, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Discussion or implications of a suicide attempt

When I find you at the foot of the stairs, my first thought is that a stranger is wearing my son’s face, because there is a standing call for Essek Thelyss's arrest the moment he is seen this side of the Ashkeepers.

Reccer says: It's from Deirta's point of view - which feels rare, and the way that the author shows how well Deirta actually knows and loves Essek - how much we can figure out about Essek's emotional state and probable motives - is amazing, especially with how little is said.

And then we have multiple recs for these last two fics!

And After the Scripture (Your Mother Beside Me) by SaltCore (9531, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Major Character Death

Essek is so very loved - so much so, that when he dies, his mother enlists the Nein to smuggle him out of Rosohna so that he may live again.

Reccer 1 says: What isn't there to like? Deirta gets explored as a mother, as a leader, and as a person. The Drow society gets examined and sketched out, painted with a history that reaches back before the Calamity. We get to see more of the Thelyss family, and we see the respect that these strangers give to the Nein solely based on the fact that Essek loved them. The interactions Deirta have with the Nein (mostly Caleb) highlight how shrewd and savvy she is, completely zooms in on what it must be like to be an Umavi, even from the Nein's POV. It's such a stunning story, both in craft and content! Reccer 2 says: the characterization in this fic is incredible. for a character who never appears on screen, deirta has a real tendency to haunt the narrative for a lot of shadowgast writers. the version of her who appears here is a completely convincing—and heartbreaking—portrayal of both one of the most powerful people in the dynasty and someone who is fundamentally essek's mother in spite of that. it makes me cry every time i read it, in the best possible way. mind the warnings—but even as someone who has a hard time with major character death fics, this one is completely worth the read. Reccer 3 says: Genuinely my favorite depiction of Deirta Thelyss I’ve seen. Incredibly complicated but so clearly loves her children in a way that makes sense for a woman that old.

Starburst Hearts by kaeda (4805, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Told from Deirta’s pov. A meeting between mother and son while Essek has been on the run.

Reccer 1 says: One of my favorite characterizations for Deirta as a complicated person who loves her son but struggles to show it and doesn’t understand him well. Also a lovely outsider’s perspective on the dynamic of the Mighty Nein as well as Caleb/Essek. Reccer 2 says: It's so wonderfully bittersweet! Also the outsider perspective on the rest of the Nein is very funny

Want more fics with Deirta? Check out our reclist themed with featuring another Thelyss!

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you, if you're so inclined!

Next week, we'll be featuring fics with Astrid and/or Eadwulf in them. Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

[maybe-boys-do-love]

The Trainee, Episode 10: Direction

Take a break from the discourse around the couples to appreciate the references to directing in this episode! From the literal meanings to directions in life.

We open on Ryan's dad directing Jane's photoshoot. lol. You fix those clothes, Ryan ;) And Jane, give us a smile like your falling head over heels for someone.

2. Then we get Pah (making friends with every single person at the office, as usual) directing the front desk assistant (I haven't caught her name and she's not on the mydramalist or imdb cast and crew list) to a spot for lunch. Then we have the accounting manager come in and show us how her and Pah's relationship has grown. The scene reminds us that Pah, since early on in the show, has demonstrated incredible relationship building skills--a necessity for any director. And these relationships come to a beautiful fruition in this episode.

3. Tae, on the other hand, emerges as a directionless ghost, jump-scare appearance and all! Heartbroken and provided with downtime by his department for the first time during his internship, he has no idea what to do with himself.

4. Pi and Ryan are seemingly talking about the controversial Todd Haynes film, Joker, from 2019. If you're either knowledgeable about the Batman franchises or interested like me in trying to figure out why the writers chose this film to include as a conversation point, you'll realize that Harvey Dent was not in Joker. He was, however, in The Dark Knight in 2008, directed by Christopher Nolan. This mix-up between the movies seems intentional when we look at the theories of directing and humanity the show is exploring, which I'll expand on in number 5! In Joker, we get a depiction of a single misunderstood victim genius who takes out his suffering and any failures of his art on others and inspires other people who feel hurt and misunderstood to do the same. In Dark Knight, we have the day saved thanks to a collective group of people's refusal to harm others despite threats that others will be forced to harm them, and, as far as Harvey Dent, his reputation is preserved despite his failings because of the hope it can bring others. The comparison sets up a comparison between the individual heroes and villains versus the collective, which is a really important comparison to ideas the show explores about directors (and is just really important in general theories of direction like conversations about auteur theory, etc.). Note that Jane says in this ep that he doesn't like hero movies...

5. We then see Judy directing Ba Mhee on how to correct her typo on a document. She's checking over a draft before it goes out, like a good director ought to, but Judy's direction of Ba Mhee, of course, gets taken up as a motif and major sticking point for their dynamic in this episode as it encroaches into personal time rather than just work. We have witnessed that outside of work, Ba Mhee is actually quite capable and eager to play the directing role.

I want to point to the specific typo mistake that read "God Pick" instead of the company's name of "Good Pick," though, because it seems to refer to one view of a director's role. Alfred Hitchcock explained, "...in fiction film the director is god; he must create life. And in the process of that creation, there are lots of feelings, forms of expression, and viewpoints that have to be juxtaposed. We should have total freedom to do as we like." So this moment of direction gives us two references, for the price of one!

Even more, it presents us with the theory of auteur Directors, that the show has been actively engaging with through the whole series. Does the director have a god-like power to pick and choose what they want their work to be without any input from others? Do individuals, as directors of our lives, get to pick and choose what we create out of them without others' input? To both answers, the show has emphatically replied, no! The studio is not called God Pick, it's 'Good Pick.' The director, just like each of us, is working on communicating with a whole massive team of people to bring a certain vision of theirs' to life within quite constrained limits. From budgets to time, from client desires to our own insecurities, we do our best to be good knowing that mistakes will be made and we can pick up and keep on going.

6. Baimon, the director of the studio, instructs Pie on some of the grunt work of directing. He's been presented as so flighty in the series, so it was nice to see him getting down to business in this fashion. That business, however, was printed upon the backs of some big emotions, which I think, in addition to being a funny little gag about Jane and Ryan's hidden relationship, is a beautiful metaphor about the combination of emotional and logistic work that directors, especially, are tasked with performing. A vulnerability lies under each shot and camera angle.

7. Idk if this was intentional, but the choice to show sticky-notes as the art department's current medium for this scene reminded me of directors story-boarding with sticky notes. It's also the moment Tae is encouraged to make an attempt at directing himself and providing his direction to his relationship with BaMhee in a way that's considerate of her desires.

8. Baimon directs Jane and Ryan in another intimate scene lol. He's staging them, referencing the storyboard, checking the camera, doing all the director jobs! And, of course, instead of a perfect god, he makes a mistake with the very basics of left and right that his intern corrects for him, and this mistake is not used by the show to signal to us as the audience that he's incompetent. It's to show that the people with 'big' dreams, visions, careers, or awards are not more special than those who choose to do the small tasks in life. Directors are the first job Ryan lists to Jane when talking about adults with special talents that he feels like he's supposed to aspire towards. Jane asks Ryan "Why must people want to become something big?"

There's also a development in Ryan and Jane's performance here. They're playing and improvising in the scene. It's a nice development for them as character and a sweet commentary on directors allowing actors to perform with some flexibility. Based on what I've read about Gun and Off's development as actors and a pair, their characters' development in their different stand-in moments almost seems like a commentary on Gun and Off's growth as a performing pairing, but that's just a fun stretch. Really, I'd say it's more representative of the growing comfort of actors in film work.

9. How could I not discuss one of my favorite sequences in the show (right up there with BaMhee's chase scene)?! Pah has been amassing a crew of comrades at the studio throughout the series, and I knew it was building towards something. I stated during the first shoot when he was a part of Unit B that I could see his arc leading him to becoming a director because he was just so good at befriending and organizing people. And here's where he becomes the director! Not through his personal auteur vision, but through his communication with others!

I had been imagining this plot development in some fashion for a while. Getting it would've satisfied me. Great comedy for me, however, is about seeing a well-constructed set-up pay off for a better value than you could've expected. The Alfred Hitchcock quote above comes from a portion of an interview about plausibility in fiction and his films. He ends the quote by saying, "A critic who talks to me about plausibility is a dull fellow." The moment Pah slid off his sling, The Trainee leapt out of the realm of plausibility it had meticulously built to give us a stratospheric pay-off to the joke it had been building for 9 episodes. And it was a joke grounded in the deepest themes of the show, praising every creator and assistant working in the background of this show and all the shows we love. It made my heart so full. It presented a democratic vision of a director's role (in a country where people continue to need to fight for their democratic values). And, it did it all while making me laugh.

10. Despite all the people running this scene and Judy giving Ba Mhee so much direction in the workplace, it's Ba Mhee who finally gets to realize her direction in life here. Notably, she's let go of the big overly romantic dreams and visions. She's come to appreciate and understand the importance of the seemingly mundane aspects of her relationships, the day-to-day jobs of directing one's life, and she's directing Tae to commit to this direction, too. Directing involves paying attention to the small things, the communication, and the people who help make them meaningful.

There's a beautiful transition between Judy's conversation with BaMhee and Tae's where they fade into one another exactly, letting us know in some ways that Judy and BaMhee could've had a conversation and started growing and finding a direction together, too. The problem as BaMhee points out is not finding an exact right fit. She just still has feelings for Tae, which would make developing a relationship with Judy more challenging. It was mature and honest, and that precious little fade let us know the show saw the possibilities for BaMhee to love them both. Has a film cutting choice ever been so bisexually coded???

10. It's a cute little reversal that our final scene is one of the first steps in directing: the concept stage. We also get Jane's appreciation, not only for Ryan's ideas here, but for all the things Ryan does at his family's business that align with the same kind of work happening in a production house. It sets the two of them on equal footing, disrupting this fantasy of the film industry and the class systems that could divide them. And Ryan's other insecurity about feeling too immature and un-adult to compare to the people at the office, which is a another division that might separate Jane and Ryan (HOW OLD IS JANE!?!?!?!) also got a dressing down ;) during this episode. We're getting ever closer to Ryan feeling ready to direct his own life!!!

[utilitycaster]

To expand that point about queerphobia (also, to an extent, gender equality) from the tags on someone else's post and sort of tying it back to my post yesterday about wanting to see characters work through similar experiences: I think it makes a lot of sense in the case of Exandria and Hale to build a world that does not have queerphobia and to allow people to choose to insert it if that is something their table wishes to explore. It's very much a case of wanting to build a diverse but non-utopian world that is welcoming to a wide variety of players.

I think it's a very understandable urge to want to see characters deal with the same challenges we face, and I think there are TTRPG settings that have done a good job depicting homophobia or transphobia; it's present though not common in Fantasy High, and The Unsleeping City is very close to the modern-day real world and has, well, period-typical attitudes.

The reason I get frustrated when it comes up in discussion of Exandria, and now Hale is that it's almost always used for one of two reasons: explaining why people (either specifically or generally) don't like a character; or even more frequently, explaining hesitancy between two characters in a ship. It's a convenient way to say "this person is oppressed or afraid for reasons that are objectively in no way their fault and which make the people who dislike them objectively bigoted and wrong". The problem is, while that's a valid story to tell it's often really not the story the cast is telling with these characters. Even more frustratingly, it often is used to steamroll other stories that may place those characters in just as innocent a position.

Some good examples in which this has happened in the fandom are Jester and Dorian. Jester lives on the Menagerie Coast, which is referred to a pretty wide variety of materials as being a place that is especially trans friendly (in a world where trans and nb characters already frequently occupy prominent positions and are not depicted as experiencing pushback). Her mother, a courtesan, indicates that she takes clients of varying genders. The biggest influences on her life are her mother and an otherworldly fey entity who famously can shapeshift. There is absolutely no canonical evidence that Jester would be unaware of the broad range of genders and sexualities in the world nor that she would feel obligated to embrace one that she is not; in fact there is quite strong evidence to the contrary. But if you claim that she's experiencing compulsive heterosexuality, it excuses you from having to consider that Jester is genuinely not interested in Beau, or at the very least is genuinely interested in Fjord.

Similarly, it was, at least prior to the reveals of early Campaign 3, common to headcanon that Dorian had run away from his parents because he was trans and they were transphobic. A trans reading of Dorian is still obviously entirely valid, but he left because his parents were suffocating and overbearing and often pit him against his brother. Dorian is still absolutely the victim in this! It's a valuable thing to relate to for people who have experienced parental abuse and impossible expectations. But it does still force you to think about Dorian's parents as complex people who came to this conclusion of childrearing (even if they are still in the wrong) and not just mindless bigots to be disregarded. And I think the former is nearly always a better story than the latter.

What also frustrates me is that this rarely works through the ramifications. The systemic queerphobia that would be required to put compulsory heterosexuality in place still exists once someone overcomes that and comes out; but that never comes into play when people are talking about the ship, because it's only ever used to explain why the ship hasn't happened yet, never as a significant part of the world that would affect the characters throughout their entire lives.

These are only two examples; there are countless others, some particularly egregious (*cough* Essek comes from a society that explicitly believes in reincarnation across bodies of varying genders and the queen for eternal life is in a lesbian relationship, I promise you his fraught relationships with his parents are way more complicated than simple homophobia or transphobia) but all of which seek to incorporate bigotry not as the destructive and deadly phenomenon it is, to be explored in the safe space of fiction, but as an incredibly lazy shortcut to be discarded as a continuity error once it's served its purpose.

[aliciavance4228]

Before starting to talk about this subject I want to make one thing clear: Hephaestus is one of my favourite Greek Gods (either in Top 5 or Top 10), so I'm not writing this post because I dislike him, but because I cannot stand superficial/surfface-level depictions of greek gods' personalities, nor the simplification of them and the erasure of their nuances (either through romanticization or demonization).

I do appreciate the fact that a lot of people start to realize that the relationship between Aphrodite and Hephaestus was a disfunctional one and that both of them are happier with different people (Ares and Aglaea, respectively). However, the fact that many people are usually focusing only on Aphrodite's actions and ignore Hephaestus' abusiveness rubs me in a wrong way.

Now, referring to Hephaestus as an Incel or choosing to villainize him for that is not the best solution either. He wasn't the only god asking Zeus for a wife, nor the only one who presents a more or less misogynistic attitude towards women. We're talking here about Ancient Greece, so expecting the deities to act how we would expect them to act based on nowdays' principles and standards is unrealistic and juvenile. I would also like to point out the fact that Hephaestus is, according to Hesiod's Theogony, happily married with Aglaea, who is also described as his first and only wife. They also have four daughters according to Orphic Rhapsodies Frag. And yet he is the exact same deity that you guys claim to be an Incel, which is a contraditiction to the original meaning of the term. The word was ment to reffer to a category of men who blame their appearance for not being able to have sex (when in truth the reason why women don't want them is rather due to their personality and beliefs; and by beliefs I mean their tendency of objectifying women and having ridiculously high standards for their future wives while simultaneously getting offended when a woman has her own standards too). I can see Apollo and Hades falling into more Incel Stereotypes than him, considering the fact that one of them cursed many women for refusing to sleep with him, whereas the other literally had to kidnap a woman in order to have a wife. And yet nobody dares to call them Incels, just because they two aren’t described as being disabled nor falsely considered unattractive, unlike Hephaestus.

That being said, negating his wrongs and turning him into a woobie who did nothing wrong just because you cannot stand Aphrodite isn't a good way of perceiving their relationship either. While Aphrodite was indeed manipulative towards Hephaestus and her sleeping with his own brother in his bed was hardly admirable, I would also like to point out the fact that Hephaestus was pretty much toxic and revengeful towards her too.

Now, there are a lot of versions on how they got married as well as a lot of lost fragments, which leads to speculations rather than something 100% certain. So I won't talk about it purely because I want to avoid misinterpretiation and misinformation, and discuss directly about what intetests me the most.

Wheter or not Aphrodite willingly married him or loved him, what do we know for sure is that she preffered Ares more and had an affair with him all this time. Being cheated on is a form a betrayal from a partner, so Hephaestus being angry on her is understandable. However, instead of divorcing her directly, he decided to humiliate her in one of the worst ways possible before separating from her:

Quintus Smyrnaeus, Fall of Troy 14. 40 ff (trans. Way) (Greek epic C4th A.D.) :

"With cheek shame-crimsoned, like the Queen of Love, what time the Heaven-abiders saw her clasped in Ares' arms, shaming in sight of all the marriage-bed, trapped in the myriad-meshed toils of Hephaistos : tangled there she lay in agony of shame, while thronged around the Blessed, and there stood Hephaistos' self: for fearful it is for wives to be beheld by husbands' eyes doing the deed of shame."

On top of that, Hephaestus directed his wrath towards one of Aphrodite and Ares' daughters (Harmonia) and her descendants as well, despite the fact it wasn't technically her fault that she was fathered by his brother:

Statius, Thebaid 2. 265 ff (trans. Mozley) (Roman epic C1st A.D.) :

"The dread necklace of Harmonia . . . The Lemnian [Hephaistos], so they of old believed, long time distressed at Mars' [Ares'] deceit and seeing that no punishment gave hindrance to the disclosed armour, and the avenging chains removed not the offence [of his affair with Hephaistos' then wife Aphrodite], wrought this [a cursed necklace] for Harmonia on her bridal day to be the glory of her dower [description of the necklace follows] . . .

The work first proved its worth, when Harmonia's complaints turned to dreadful hissing, and she bore company to grovelling Cadmus, and with long trailing breast drew furrows in the Illyrian fields [the pair were turned into serpents in Illyria]. Next, scarce had shameless Semele [their daughter] put the hurtful gift about her neck, when lying Juno [Hera] crossed her threshold. Thou too, unhappy Jocasta, didst, as they say, possess the beauteous, baleful thing, and didst deck thy countenance with its praise - on what a couch, alas! to find favour; and many more beside. Last Argia shines in the splendour of the gift, and in pride of ornament and accursed gold surpassed her sister's mean attiring. The wife of the doomed prophet [Eriphyle wife of Amphiaraus] beheld it, and at every shrine and banquet in secret cherished fierce jealousy, if only it might be granted her to possess the terrible jewel, nought profited, alas!"

Furthermore, I would also like to emphasize the fact that Hephaestus had a considerable amount of lovers. And while timeline is another uncertain aspect and he might have slept with those women before he married Aphrodite and/or between the moment when he divorced her and the one when he remarried, the possibility of him cheating on Aphrodite isn't an impossible one. In this case, that could be taken as a Double Standard, and his reaction when he found out that Aphrodite was cheating on him would be completely hypocritical.

As I said, Aphrodite was abusive and toxic towards him as well. But deciding to solely demonize her instead of acknowledging that both of them were abusive and toxic towards each other -I don't like to use this term but I can't find another one for the moment- is purely slut-shaming. Some of you guys are complaining about how "Hera has no agency" and were praising Kaos for portraying her as cheating on Zeus despite the fact that this is out of her character because "He finally got a taste of his own medicine", yet when Aphrodite cheats on her possible unfaithful husband she's suddenly a whore. You guys want a goddess who can be sexually active without any sort of inhibitions, yet when Aphrodite is brought into discussion there's at least one person who won't hesitate to call her all slurs for that, whereas Demeter is turned into a prude on top of being a Helicopter Parent in many fanfictions and retellings (because apparently when a woman becomes a mother she cannot care about anything else).

So instead of choosing one extreme or another where a) Aphrodite is a brainless slut and Hephaestus a poor woobie or b) Aphrodite is a helpless victim and Hephaestus an Incel who deserved to be cheated on, perhaps it would be a better idea to treat them as humane, realistic figures, instead of some sort of cartoonish caricatures who can easily fit into whatever labels and tropes you want them to fit in.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I loooove your Minotaur!Konig, mythological AUs are my favorite ❤️

Asterion is such a sweetheart with his love, but I can only imagine how he gets when he's jealous/protective. I see Asterion settling into domestic life as a husband and a sailor relatively easily because it's all he's ever wanted (more than what he wanted/thought possible if he's being honest), but all it takes is one man making aggressive advances on his wife and he's the dreaded Minotaur of Crete who cut through hundreds of soldiers to get through the palace and slaughter the king himself. All those feral, animalistic traits come rushing back tenfold when it comes to her, the center of his universe and the only goddess he'll ever worship. So it doesn't matter if it's a simple fisherman, a famed warrior, a prince from foreign lands, or the son of Zeus himself. Asterion had slit the throat of a demigod before; Theseus, a rival who he disposed of bitterly before he had even met his wife, the unfamiliar poisonous feel of envy trickling through the Minotaur's veins as Theseus mentioned a woman he'd come to the labyrinth with, a woman who would change his fate and make him different from the other heroes who had tried and failed to kill the Minotaur and escape that infamous maze. Yet the divine hero fell as easily as the others, and she ended up changing Asterion's fate instead, guiding him through the hell that had imprisoned him since he was a child, holding out her hand to him and bringing him out of the darkness of the Labrinyth and into the light. Asterion would kill a thousand heroes and kings for his love, become Death itself and burn down the world and the heavens alike just to keep her safe, keep her with him.

Anon you depicted him & his devotion so beautifully…

He has a lot to learn when it comes to society and living among people: the first time they were at the marketplace and she started to barter with some shopkeeper, he thought the bargaining male was insulting his woman. So he marched forward, grabbed him by his clothes and raised him to the chalked wall until she ran to him and explained the situation – amused while the poor shopkeeper almost pissed himself. She got a very good price after that!

And he will absolutely turn into a demigod, this chthonic warrior whenever he feels his beloved is under a threat or if someone tries to take her away from him. It’s not even about him being jealous (although he is that too): he just sees himself as the most able protector she could choose, and anyone who dares to challenge that will get stomped to the ground.

Clearly, she favors him between the furs as well, so it’s no use to try and snatch her away with perfumed beards, shallow promises or playful charms… She always runs her fingers through his hair, chest, head or thigh, looks at him with stars in her eyes. She obviously doesn’t need some shaved “hero” with an eloquent tongue when she has a bull like him.

Bulls don’t have time for philosophy and neither does she: his goddess prefers a strong man who can carry heavy loads and make her moan in bed. And whenever he does talk, he says what he thinks. It always makes her either gasp or smile so at least he doesn’t bore her to death like those oiled, fancy men… She likes his comments in bed, too, he can tell. To him, it’s nothing earth shatteringly special to wake her up in the middle of the night and announce that he’s hard. The thing between his legs was made for her pleasure after all, so why should he keep it to himself?

She always acts as if he has both done something wrong and extremely right because it always ends in her saying that perhaps he should fuck her then. Soon enough she's begging under him, clawing his back like a cat, sighing that she loves him.

He always tells her that he loves her back, as many times as he has to to make her shatter in his arms.