#the reticent composer

[sweetdreamz2]

Entangled Bonds - S. Gojo x S. Geto

synopsis: caught between two powerful sorcerers, you find yourself trapped in a dangerous and controlling relationship.

pairings: yandere! S. Gojo x S. Geto x f! reader

word count: 1.8k

content: MDNI!! kidnapped reader, coercion, emotional abuse, slight signs of reader exhibiting stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation

You were seated on the couch, unmoving while your trembling fingers nervously played with the hem of your shirt —well, not your shirt but one of Satoru's —ending at your thighs. 

The oppressive silence in the room was putting you on edge, but alas that was broken only by the faint rustling of fabric as Suguru shifted by the window. His posture was firm, arms crossed against his chest tightly, and his gaze was anything but soft. It was sharp, unrelenting as his dark orbs slowly flickered towards you. 

It wasn’t always like this—at least, not in the beginning. You never expected that meeting Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto would upend your life in ways where you could never break free. 

You met them years ago, though for you it felt like another lifetime. At the time, you were but an apprentice—a healer specializing in rare techniques that’s been passed down for generations in your family. Your days were reticent as you spent most of your time treating small ailments alongside learning how to channel energy into restorative power. It wasn’t glamorous, but you were content with your life and it was yours. 

Then Satoru Gojo walked into your clinic. 

There was no way you could miss him—the towering man with snowy white hair, dressed in black from head to toe, a white blindfold hiding what you later discovered were piercing, unnervingly beautiful eyes. He was injured, but he waved it off like nothing and instead flashed a lopsided grin towards your direction.

“Looks worse than it is,” he spoke casually, his frame leaning against the doorframe as blood drenched the side of his uniform.

You merely blinked, taking in his flippant attitude and the faint sparkle of power that radiated off him like heat. 

“Keep walking around like that and you’ll eventually bleed out,” you retorted all the while reaching for your supplies.

Satoru smirked. “Oh? You’re worried about me already? We just met.” His tone was full of teasing.

At his reply, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, not bothering to answer him and motioning with your pointer finger for him to sit down. He sighed dramatically, dragging himself to the nearest chair as if it were an incredible effort.

You began to clean and patch up his wound until you found yourself distracted by the strange energy he carried, your movements halting. You could tell he’s a sorcerer, but he was unlike any you’ve encountered before. The power he was exuding was overwhelming, suffocating even, but he carried it effortlessly, as if the weight of it didn’t bother him the slightest. 

“You’ve got steady hands,” he said, breaking the silence. His tone was light, though his words made your cheeks heat.

“I have to,” you replied back softly, shaking your head to gather your thoughts to focus back on your work. “Healing can be tricky and isn’t forgiving of mistakes.”

The white haired male tilted his head as if studying you. “A perfectionist, huh? I like that. What’s your name?”

You hesitated, reluctant to share anything personal, but his disarming smile made it hard to resist. You finally told him your name, your orbs focusing on his wound —or what’s left of it. 

“Well, Y/N,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I think we’ll get along just fine.” 

After you finished treating Satoru, another man stepped through the clinic door - Suguru Geto. His presence was the opposite of Satoru’s; where Satoru was loud and attention-seeking, Suguru was quiet and composed.

“Making a mess already, Satoru?” Suguru’s tone was dry while he glanced at the blood-soaked chair. 

“It’s not my fault she’s got a cozy little place here. Can’t blame me for wanting to stick around!”

You looked between the two, confused yet slightly uneasy. They were a strange pair, both carrying an aura of danger you couldn’t ignore.

“You should be more careful,” you said, addressing the two males. “I don’t know who—or what— you’ve been fighting, but it’s reckless to be out and about in this condition.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, his lips slowly stretching into the faintest smile.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue for a healer.” 

You narrowed your eyes, shooting a small glare. “It’s called common sense,” you retorted, though your voice wavered slightly under his intense gaze.

From that moment, your life began to intertwine with theirs. They returned to your clinic again and again and again, sometimes injured or sometimes just stopping by for the heck of it. Satoru always teased, pushed at your boundaries, while Suguru observed quietly, his eyes never missing a thing. You weren’t sure why they’ve taken such an interest in you, but you couldn't deny the pull you felt towards them despite how dangerous it felt.

-

Now, years later, you were tapped in their web, your once - peaceful life a distant memory as you were brought back to reality by a voice.

Suguru’s voice cut through the air like a blade, low and cold. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you? Do you think this is some game? That you can do whatever you want and we’ll just overlook it?”

Your stomach churned at his tone. It wasn’t the first time he’s spoken to you like this, but each time it sent a pang of guilt right through your chest. You remembered the soft smiles, the promises they made about protecting you, and how you once thought there might be a way out. But you knew better.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, Sugu. I just thought—”

He interrupted you sharply. “Thought?” 

Suguru took a step closer to you, his eyes narrowing. “You thought stepping outside, exposing yourself to god-knows-who, was a good idea? Do you realize what could’ve happened? Or do you not care?”

You shut your eyes, flinching at his words as you felt your heart sank. You didn’t want to make him angry— didn’t want to make either of them upset. You didn’t mean to disobey them, you just wanted some space.

“I do care,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I really do. I just.. I didn’t think it would—”

“That’s the problem, you didn’t think.” He snapped, his tone growing harsher. His dark eyes bore deeply into yours, disappointment and anger twisting the knife of guilt even deeper. 

“After everything we’ve done to protect you, this is how you repay us? By being reckless?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Stop.” Suguru interjected, his voice colder now. “No more excuses.” His fingers dug into his forearms, and his face remained unreadable, but the distance between the two of you felt like an ocean.

“You should know how dangerous the outside world is, Y/N. You’ve been with us long enough to understand the stakes.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you instinctively reached out towards him, desperately trying to calm the storm you unleashed unintentionally.

“Suguru.. I’m sorry. I really am. Please, I—”

“Enough.” Once again you were shut down, his voice like a wall slamming down between you.

Your throat tightened as you dropped your gaze to your lap, the heavy weight of guilt eating you alive. You felt like a child being scolded by their parents. You never intended to disappoint Suguru or Satoru. All you wanted was space, air to breathe again, but now you felt like you were suffocating.

Satoru, who was sitting quietly from the other side of the living room, finally spoke up. “Whoa, whoa, hey, let’s not make this more dramatic than it needs to be.” His voice was soft and light, though it held an undertone of seriousness. 

He stood up from the chair, sauntering over and stepping between you and Suguru with ease. Crouching in front of you, he tilted his head to catch your downcast eyes. 

“You’re scaring her, Suguru. You know how sensitive she gets when you use that tone.” Satoru spoke while a small frown tugged at his lips, giving a look towards the other male. 

Suguru kept quiet for a moment, his hand rubbing the back of his neck while rolling his eyes at the comment. 

“She should be scared. Maybe then she’ll finally start thinking before putting herself in danger. It’s not about coddling her, Satoru.” He finished off, his jaw tightening as his dark orbs flickered briefly over towards you.

For a moment, there seemed to be something unreadable in his gaze— frustration mixed with something softer, but it disappeared almost instantly.

You glanced at Satoru, seeing a smile replace the frown from earlier as his hand gripped your thigh gently underneath his fingertips. The touch was soft and gentle, his fingers squeezing your skin ever so often in a way to comfort you. 

“Toru.. I didn’t want to make him upset. I didn’t want to upset either of you. I just.. just needed a bit of space. I thought… maybe I could have a few moments of normality.” Your voice trembled slightly, tears beginning to stream freely down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Satoru softened slightly as his hand reached out to brush away your tears. 

“You don’t need to apologize for wanting some space, sweetheart. We get it, really. But next time, let us know, alright? No more running off and getting into trouble. We just worry about you.” His words were playful, though it held an underlying seriousness that made your chest tighten.

You gave a weak nod, but the guilt still lingered. Suguru’s disappointment was still evident, and despite the reassurance from Satoru, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you only made things worse.

Suguru’s gaze hasn’t left your form, still as unyielding as ever, but a subtle change flickered in his eyes.

“You can’t keep doing this, baby. We’re here to protect you, but you have to let us. It’s our responsibility to keep you safe. You belong with us.” Suguru’s voice was calmer, yet firm as he stepped closer towards you and Satoru.

You glanced between them, heart torn in two. Satoru’s words felt like a balm—comforting, reassuring— but Suguru’s felt more like a chain, tying you down tighter with every passing moment. They were right, and that’s what hurt the most. You never really gave much thought about how much danger you could be in, how much they had already given to keep you safe.

“I’m… not sure if I can do this,” you whispered.

Satoru reached out, cupping your cheek with his hand. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry. We’ve got you. We promise you’ll never be alone.”

You closed your eyes at his warmth, though guilt still lingered deep within you. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again, though it was more to yourself than to them. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”

Suguru’s gaze softened just enough to let you catch a glimpse of the concern buried beneath his stern exterior. He sits down next to you, reaching out to grab your hand in his and squeezes softly.

“I’m only angry because I care, Y/N. We both do,” he finishes off while Satoru leans forward and places a gentle kiss against your temple.

You closed your eyes, the weight of their words pressing down on you like a chain you could never break.

[historygirl93]

Imagine that (Beauty and the beast AU)

Being born with the unusual appearance of a blue fur, pointy ears and a tail, Kurt Wagner was secluted into the paternal castle since he was born, with the only company of few loyal and affectionate servants, a tutor and a priest for his physical, intellectual and religious education (his father the Baron dies few months after his birth and his mother fled away for the "shame" of having a blue son). The boy grew up as a gentleman, educated and courteos, an attentive baron for what concern his lands, but everytime he try to planning his engagement with the daughter of some noblemen they refuse the moment they saw him; time after time he start to lose hope to even find friendship.

One day he found a stranger plucking one rose from the castle and, teleporting in front of him, Kurt ask the reason. "For my youngest daughter" the man say, trembling and on the verge of tears. "Spare me, my lord, I will do everything to repay you".

Your daughter, so she could live here as my guest. Her companionship will be the price for my rose.

That's what Kurt respond. That's why you arrive at the castle, unsure about what could happen. In the nearby village where you live everyone have a theory about the mysterious lord of the castle: some say he's ill, some that he's a maniac, some talk about demons! And now your father comes back home talking about a creature asking for you! The kind welcome from the servant and the beautiful room don't make you less nervous, there is still the first dinner with him.

The dinner goes without problem. You find Kurt less scary than your father say, the conversation was polite but limitated at small talks. The next weeks went much better, Kurt gives you a proper tour of the castle and the two of start talking more and more about what you like and dislike, your family (a doting father and two sisters who always give you cold shoulder for the "crime" of not having the same taste in many matters); most of the time you reading to each other and even taking swordfighting lessons together. A friendship bloom between you and Kurt, but sometimes little details (the way he looks at you, how close you dance one evening, gifts of flowers) makes you wonder if he have feelings for you. And he does, oh he's deeply in love with you, but Kurt doesn't want to force you into anything, your friendship was already a blessing and your love will be like Heaven on earth, but he doesn't dare to dream this far.

After three months you start to wonder how your family goes. You don't ask for much, only a week, for reassuming them that you're fine, and Kurt, although sad at the idea of you leaving, agree.

Your father hug you tight the moment you enter the door, but your sisters are cold, they even refuse the dresses you bring as a gift, what they want are detail about the mysterious lord of the castle, not for concern about your safety (if they really cared they wouldn't blame you "For being soo childish and asking for a rose") but for gossip. You tell the bare minimum, he's kind to you, he have the respect of all the inhabitants of the castle and nothing else. "But how he looks like? Is he a monster? " they ask. "He's not" you reply, and nothing else.

Furious of your silence, they start badmouthing Kurt, saying that you must be scared of him if you don't want to talk about him, or wondering if you are reticent because of something "scandalous" happening between the two of you. Exasperating after days of torment you scream "Don't you dare talk that way about the man I love!". Your family is surprised, and you most of all; you weren't sure about your feeling but now you are certain, you LOVE Kurt! You exit the house, start running to come back to him, you need to tell Kurt about your feelings.

When you arrive at the castle you're out of breath, your heart pounding for the run and the emotions. After few minutes spent composing yourself, you go to the garden, being the time of the day when you take a stroll, fully certain to find Kurt there.

He's here, sitting near the same rose bush when all this story started. God, he never look soo beautiful in your eyes: the way the sun reflect on his corvine curls, the stunning blue of his fur, the light in his golden eyes when he see you, the kindness in his voice while calling your name...Running in his arms and kissing him was simple as breathing.

Kurt waists no time and, kneeling before you, ask for your hand in marriage, receiving a joyful "Yes". In the span of three days everything was ready and you two get married at the castle's chapel; even your family attended, but your sisters were blindfolded all the time as a punishment for what they say.

And they live happily and contentedly until the end of their days.

(Pics from Pinterest)

[nihongoseito]

today's random vocab

these vocab are built up from reading a bunch of stuff online last week, so buckle in!

nouns:

一人称（いちにんしょう） = (grammatical) first person

眼差し（まなざし） = a look, gaze

防寒（ぼうかん） = protection against cold

誹謗中傷（ひぼうちゅうしょう） = slander, calumny, libel

偏見（へんけん） = prejudice, bias

反芻（はんすう） = rumination, turning over in one's mind, pondering

その場（ば）しのぎ = stopgap, temporary measure

乗り気（のりき） = interest, enthusiasm, eagerness

手刀（てがたな） = hand used like a sword in striking

生（なま）返事（へんじ） = half-hearted reply, vague answer, reluctant answer

苦笑（くしょう） = bitter smile, sarcastic laugh

八つ当たり（やつあたり） = taking out one's anger on (note: not やっつ!)

意外性（いがいせい） = unpredictability, element of surprise

旦那（だんな） = master (of a house, shop, etc.); husband

不動産屋（ふどうさんや） = realtor

男前（おとこまえ） = handsome man

自動操縦（じどうそうじゅう） = autopilot, automatic control

うたた寝（ね） = doze, nap

侮辱（ぶじょく） = insult, affront, slight

根負け（こんまけ） = being beaten by one's opponent's persistence, being outlasted, giving in

困惑（こんわく） = bewilderment, embarrassment

verbs:

さざめく = to be boisterously noisy

覆い尽くす（おおいつくす） = to cover fully, wrap around

急かす（せかす） = to urge on, rush

泣き付く（なきつく） = to cling to in tears

なぐさめる = to comfort, console

つづる = to write, compose

すねる = to sulk, pout

こわばる = to stiffen

じゃれつく = to grab at, cling to (out of playfulness, affection)

切羽（せっぱ）詰まる（つまる） = to be at one's wits' end, be cornered

かすれる = to get hoarse

すがりつく = to cling to, embrace, hug

adjectives:

例（れい）の = said, aforementioned, in question

件（くだん）の = said, aforementioned, in question

きつい = tough, demanding, harsh; strong, intense; too tight

もどかしい = irritated, irritating; tantalizing, feeling impatient

特段（とくだん）の = exceptional, unusual, special

遠回し（とおまわし）な = roundabout, indirect, oblique

言葉少な（ことばずくな）な = of few words, reticent, quiet

不調（ふちょう）な = bad condition, not going to work out, out of form

adverbs/onomatopoeiae:

無理（むり）やり = forcibly, against one's will

時折（ときおり） = occasionally, from time to time

あっけらかんと = looking blank, looking as though one has nothing to do with what is going on

ひょいひょい�� = nimbly, with agility

expressions:

だしにする = to use as a pretext, use for one's own advantage

無下（むげ）にする = to disregard, treat as useless (e.g., advice)

くぐもった声（こえ） = muffled voice

取り込み中（とりこみちゅう） = in the middle of something; in commotion as a result of something untoward happening

[carlyraejepsans]

AMA: A Cursed Amulet Appears Before You And Demands You To Choose,

You Get To Talk To Toby Fox For 30 Minutes And He Has To Answer Any Questions Truthfully. This Is Broadcast World Wide Over All TV And Radio Waves, Meaning You Will Be Criticized By All For The Questions You Choose.

Or

You Get To Marry Toriel For Real But She Has A Really Regular Animal Head.

What Do You Choose?

i would not choose the second option. this is not because the animal head is a turnoff, rather this whole thing smacks of monkey paw curling business. getting to marry toriel doesn't necessarily imply any of the other characters also exist, and i daren't separate a woman from her emotional support bestie. if ONLY toriel becomes real i am not doing that to her, even if she was the perfect irl furry replica of herself.

i would unironically choose the first option AND i would ask him intentionally non spoilery or lore questions. i trust the guy too much as a storyteller to disrespect his reticence towards word of god. here's a list of cursed amulet toby fox questions i would ask on live mondovisione so you can yell at me for them.

if you could change or have another try at any part of undertale now that you have more experience as a gamedev, what would you revisit

what's your workflow while composing? has it changed much since you started out? how, how not?

if you magically had the resources to localize UTDR to yet another language (and also personal knowledge of said language to oversee the project for accuracy), what language would be your first pick?

when asriel/flowey shrugs and acts cool it kinda reminds people of sans. was this something you were aware of while making those scenes, or would you say it's just part of your writing style

ever thought of pursuing digital art beyond concept designs and ms paint doodles? if yes, what art styles are you more drawn (lol) to, what artists would inspire you the most?

personal favorite character from each UTDR game currently out?

favorite game you've played recently

have you watched revolutionary girl utena

have you read the omniscient reader's viewpoint novel

when will you read omniscient reader's viewpoint

while avoiding spoilers, if your characters could see any person, from any time in history, regardless of age, logic, or life status, who would they pick?

ok seriously though i think you would really like orv...... promise....

[aphrodisiac-siren]

Home~ Neteyam x Metkayina!reader

Summary: Leaving behind everything he knew was hard for Neteyam and then adapting to the ways of the new clan was even harder. He'd push himself, overwork and exhaust himself even, to live upto his family's expectations; never really giving his own wants a second thought. That's why Y/N was the prefect companion for him, someone who kept things in his life balanced, who made sure to let him know that what he wanted was just as important, perhaps even more so, than what everyone else wanted of him.

//slow burn, cute friends to lovers arc, smidge of angst//

masterlist, Part 2

Part 1

🫧

It was the sound of something loud flapping amidst the wind, in the skies above that caught her attention before the curious murmurs of the clan began to engulf her. The young na'vi's ears perked up with interest as her curious azure eyes searched the skies from whence the foreign sound emerged.

She watched in pure fascination, as five emperyan-looking ikrans glided above the icy blue water. They soared right above her and by the looks of it, were headed for the beach where already a number of people had gathers to gawk at the creatures foreign to their land.

Just as curious herself, she mounted her ilu and headed toward the still growing crowd. She'd heard about an ikran; a mountain banshee is what they'd call it. It was a native species to the forest, usually rode by the Omatikaya people. It was highly unlikely that five of those intelligent bird-like creatures flew all the way out here of their own accord. There'd have to be riders. Excited to possibly be acquainted with someone from the Omatikaya clan, she urgrd her ilu to pick up pace.

When she broke to the surface of the water, her eyes immediately caught sight of her siblings Tsireya and Aonung. when she'd caught up to them, her younger sister seemed to be scolding their brother and his friend Rotxo about something. Not really bothered to inquire about their banter and antics, her attention then shifted to the group of Na'vi that stuck out from the rest of them- right from their dark blue skin to their thin tails and scrawny limbs.

"Hey" one of the Omatikaya boys greeted her sister that made the younger girl giggle bashfully.

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes at her before looking ahead again to see the other Na'vi boy smirk at the one who'd addressed Tsireya, subtly nudging him.

Y/N continued to stare, albeit rude but she was just as fascinated with the visitors as her sister was, though she was much more composed in comparison; offering only a sweet smile to the older-looking boy instead of turning into a blushing mess like her sister.

Pull yourself together Tsireya.

She was aware that by now her excessive staring had begun to preturb the visitors, judging by how the boy with the undercut averted his gaze and seemed to find the sand under his feet much more interesting. And then there was the boy next to him, who if uncomfortable by the gawking, didn’t really show it on the surface; if anything, his golden eyes stared right back into hers almost like a reticent challenge to see who's back down first.

Y/N was sweet, a little shy at times but boy was she competitive. It could be something as simple and silly as this present staring contest she'd set up and she was not going to be the first one to back down.

Aonung's eyes flickered between the two, not too happy about the other Na'vi brazenly staring at his sister. His ears ears perked up ambulatorily, as did his tail in a menacing way; face twisted into a scowl as he advanced toward the outsider. Despite his intimidating demeanour, the other boy didn’t avert his gaze and Aonung almost lost it, puffing out his chest and balling his fists at his side. His mental debate on if he should just shove the weirdo to the ground or snap at him was interrupted by his father Tonowari, the Olo'eyktan arriving amidst them; soon followed by their mother Ronal, their Tsahik, emerging from the crowd.

Y/N wanted to believe it was the other boy who looked away first at the arrival of her father but it happened so quickly that she was unsure. Maybe they both looked away at the same time.

Of course I didn’t lose, it was a tie.

When she'd snapped out of her daze, she caught on to a few words her parents said like Toruk Makto and Uturu.

There was a long pause, after which her mother began to closely look at the outsiders. She mentioned how their arms and tails were too thin for them to be strong swimmers. She then jerked one of the kids' hand upward for the crowd to see, claiming that they were not true Na'vi, and that they had demon blood.

Y/N saw her brother hiss at them from the corner of her eye. She placed her hand on his chest when she noticed he was about to step closer to them. There were already gasps of horror from the people for that comment her mother made, she did not want her stupid brother creating a whirlpool in the water.

"Uturu has been asked" The Omatikaya woman stated calmly as she stood her ground, patiently waiting for an answer.

It was obvious they had traveled a long way and were in desperate need of refuge, or else why would anyone make such a long and draining journey. There was fatigue written all over them, their shoulders hunched in defeat and though their facial expressions stayed stone cold, their eyes betrayed them, silently pleading.

"Do we have to go?" the youngest in the group asked, voice strained from the journey. Y/N's heart clenched at this and her eyes immediately searched for her mother’s.

They're desperate, she tried to tell mother when she locked gazes, please.

Ronal looked away and toward her husband, silently contemplating on what to do.

Y/N exhaled slowly when she saw her mother give their father a curt nod.

It was announced that Toruk Makto, or Jake Sully, as he'd now been introduced, would stay with them. They would have to learn their ways and Tonowari made it formally known that it would be his own children who would look after the younglings' training. Aonung wasn’t at all happy about it. Tsireya was overjoyed and Y/N well, she really didn’t mind helping out.

"Come" Tsireya chirped at the Sully family with a smile "we will show you our village"

As the crowd slowly dispersed, with the exception of a few who lingered to stare at the forest Na'vi, Y/N along with her siblings went to help the family gather their things.

As if drawn by some strong oceanic current, Y/N walked toward the older boy.

"Hi" she politely said as she watched him unload all his things off his Ikran, most of it just topping to the sand.

"Hey" he grinned at her, watching her admire the winged creature "first time seeing an Ikran?"

"Mhm" Y/N nodded, bending down to pick up a basket "they're not really part of this habitat"

"Ah don't worry" the boy sweetly tried to take the heavy basket from her, not really wanting to burden her with his own belongings. Neteyam, mighty warrior and a complete gentleman "I'm Neteyam, by the way"

"Neteyam" she repeated his name as she took a single step back so that he couldn't take what she was holding out of her hands "You can carry the million other things you’ve got with you, I can manage this."

Neteyam gave her a slight bow, amused grin plastered on his face. Judging by the stare-down they had only minutes ago, he was half expecting her to be a brat toward them.

"My name's Y/N"

Giving one last adoring glance at his Ikran, she tailed after the others who were being led by her sister with Neteyam following her; Aonung and Rotxo at the rear.

It wasn’t too long of a walk from the beach to their designated pod that Ronal had arranged for them. Tuk however, didn’t mind the walk, finding the bouncy mat-like bridges or pathways that connected the other pods in the village quite fascinating in comparison to the soil and grass she was so used to back in the forest.

"This is your new home" Tsireya happily announced, looking around with such pride, you'd think it was her who actually built the place.

"Oh yea this is great" Jake forced a smile, trying to sound just as cheerful as Tsireya. Meanwhile his mate had no filter and responded by just dramatically letting her things drop to the ground.

Y/N bit back an amused smile, a chortle threatening to escape at the woman's reaction. The place was well.. humble, to say the least. But she was sure that the great Toruk Makto and his family had a much more extravagant living space in comparison to this.

Her poor attempt at disguising her chuckle with a cough didn’t work and Neytiri immediately snapped her attention toward her. Her sharp and piercing gaze made Y/N's ears droop down as she shifted her own gaze to the ground.

"Where do I um put this?" she meekly asked her, reffering to the basket in her hand and all Neytiri did was look at her oldest son, silently asking him to help the girl.

"Give me" he smiled.

He smiles a lot, must be the Tsireya of the Sully family, Y/N thought.

"Does my mother scare you?" he asked in a hushed tone. Everyone else was busy putting away things so he took the chance to make conversation.

"She looks intimidating" Y/N honestly answered, casting a sly glance toward his mom just to make sure she wasn’t looking or hearing them "and fierce, I like it"

The boy only hummed in agreement. He couldn’t argue; his mother was the most austere and fierce woman he knew- a walking and breathing epitome of 'if looks could kill'.

"She's also really pretty" Y/N mumbled as she busied herself with helping with putting away the remainder of their things, carelessly sprawled on the floor.

Neteyam prolonged their conversation by pointing out, and indirectly introducing, each of his siblings to her, keeping their conversation short and plain.

Y/N didn’t happen to catch Neytiri's ear twitch upward, a ghost of a smile dancing on her lips at the compliment she'd just heard the Omatikaya girl give her.

___

Y/N spent her morning like how she always did: helping her mother with chopping fruits and some dried meat whilst her mom simultaneously gave her some short lesson on medicine.

Her siblings had headed out early to give the Sully kids some diving lessons. She didn’t have to join them until later in the day to help with their ilu training.

"What do you think of the outsiders?" Ronal asked, striking up a conversation as they continued with their meal prep.

"I don’t think of them as outsiders" Y/N decided to mention first, earning a questioning glance from her mom "they're Na'vi too, just from farther away"

"Your brother thinks differently" the woman sighed, examining each chunk of chopped up fruit and cutting ones that were too big "ah, ma Y/N, I told you I wanted them finely chopped, finely"

"Aonung is just not too fond of the sudden change" she shrugged, making sure to chop the fruit into smaller cubes "not to mention his absolute eagerness to tutor the them"

Ronal chuckled. She remembered the childish fit her son threw the night before, going on and on about how he should be focusing on his skills and not waste time over people who would take ages to learn even the basics. He was adamant to be the best warrior like his father, and his sister Y/N was tough competition. Not to mention his already exsisting training to be the next Olo'eyktan that would indefinitely have to be put on hold because of these Sully nuisances.

"He does not realise that this is also part of his journey to being a good leader, like his father" Ronal hummed, satisfied with how the fruit was cut "good job"

"He's stupid that way, wonder where he gets it from" Y/N smiled, happy that her chopping skills were satisfactory.

"Certainly not from your mother" She chuckled before switching back to her strict demeanour "off you go now. It is improper to be late"

___

When Y/N arrived at the agreed place to meet, everyone was already in the water, all in a cirrle around Aonung.

He clicked his tongue and let out a few short yelps to round up the ilu. Y/N watched from a distance, letting her brother take charge of the lesson. She was competitive yes but she knew when to just take a step back. It was nice to see him slip easily into the role of being the authoritative figure in the group; voice loud, clear and stern as he spoke a little about the aquatic creatures splashing in the water around them. Despite his distaste for the forest Na'vi, he was doing a good job at teaching them and keeping his annoyance to one side.

Once he was done talking, he split them up so that each one could have a tutor. Tsireya went to assit Lo'ak, Rotxo offered to help Kiri and Aonung decided to teach Tuk who he felt was the least unbearable one among the kids. So naturally, Y/N was left with Neteyam.

"First make the bond" she instructed "gently. Then hold on to this, here"

She pointed at the leather binding at the neck of the ilu.

Neteyam took his time, not too eager to rush into things. He carefully mounted the animal, following instructions well.

"Deep breath before you dive in" Y/N began to explain by waving her hands around "make sure you’re leaning forward, chest almost pressed against its back"

Neteyam lowered his torso, bordeline hugging the ilu. It squeaked in response and Y/N giggled.

"Like this?" he nervously asked, lopsided smile on his face. Judging by her reaction, he knew he'd done something wrong.

"N-not so," she placed her hand on his chest, pushing him up ever so slightly until only his stomach was touching the ilu's back "that's better"

"Okay" he nodded, looking to the front. His smile faded and his expression switched to stern and focused.

"Now think dive" she said and Neteyam did just that.

The first few seconds were amazing, almost like riding a direhorse but underwater. And then all of a sudden, he was no longer on the ilu. The creature swam ahead from under him, leaving him in a whirlwind of bubbles.

The older boy swam to the surface, looking at the ilu with a look of betrayal plastered all over his face. In the near distance, she heard her siblings erupt into laughter as well and a very irritated Lo'ak popped his head out the water.

Y/N giggled at this, the scene almost too comical.

Neteyam however, was just flustered from the top of his ears to the tip of his tail. He was so used to being the best at whatever he did that he almost felt stupid in given scenario.

"Let's try that again yea?" Y/N called out, beckoning for him to swim toward her. His ilu had already circled back to the girl "keep your thighs firmly pressed against your ilu's sides so that well.. that doesn’t happen"

The boy only chuchkled sheepishly in response. Granted that by this point, she had classified Neteyam as the sunshine boy of the family, forever smiling, it didn’t take an expert for anyone to tell that in that moment the boy was just forcing a smile to a point where it became painful to look at.

"Its okay" she tried to sound as cheerful as her sister, in hopes to drive away his disappointment "you'll get the hang of it after a few tries"

All he did was grunt as he mouted the ilu, not bothering to say anything further. She didn’t understand why he took his first trial and error to heart. It wasn’t abnormal for anyone fall off during their initial lessons. If anything, she'd find it abnormal if he did do it perfectly on his first try.

Neteyam was adamant. Every time he fell off only angered him more. He had to get this down. Setting an example for his siblings meant he didn’t have time for mishaps. Who would they look up to if he just kept fumbling over and over? What kind of role model would that make him?

He angrily splashed the water after he'd messed up for the twelfth time that day.

"Not bad" Y/N clapped, ignoring his temperament "you were mounted for almost three minutes, new record-"

"Three minutes?" he asked in between pants "no, no that’s not good enough"

"But-"

"Not good enough" Neteyam repeated himself, voice coming out more arrogant than he intended to. He usually had a very calm and collected mind but all of that was going to shit each time he made a mistake "sorry I didn’t mean to-"

"Maybe we should take a break?" the girl offered, sensing his fatigue and irritation "just breathe. You need to have a clear mind when you learn"

"Yea, okay" he sighed, not wanting to be pushy and continue with the lesson. He knew that Y/N might be tired as well, she was out teaching him for hours now. He not-so-gracefully got off the poor ilu, who was also just as tired by this point "sweet Jesus"

Her ears curiously perked up.

"What..?" she asked, tilting her head slightly with confusion.

"It's like this thing by dad says sometimes" he tried to explain, not really knowing how to fully explain the phrase "it's just something you say when you’re surprised or scared o-or tired I guess?.. uh yea"

"Sa-wheat Jee-suz" she repeated, absolutely butchering the pronunciation "what’s that?"

"Oh it’s like this God they have back on earth? It's a star far away" Neteyam told her, amused by her reaction.

"So that’s earth's Ewya" She excitedly said, fascinated by the new piece of information "what else?"

"What else?"

"What else do you know about them?"

"I know their language?"

"Say something"

At that point he felt like she was just poking fun at him. Like prodding at a small animal with a stick in hopes that it might do something that would amuse and entertain you.

"Back to training" he shook his head with a grin, ready to mount his ilu again when she held his wrist to stop him. He looked at her, not expecting her to be looking up at him with her big azure eyes filled with wonder. She was genuinely intrigued and interested to know more about the sky people.

"I'll teach you our ways" she spoke, eyes still wide and pleading "and you must tell me all you know about them"

Neteyam waited for a minute. He waited to see if she would break character and burst into fits of giggles. Who could possibly be so intrigued about the sky people and their ways? But no, she patiently waited for a response, hand still wrapped around his in a gentle hold.

"Deal?" she asked

"Deal" he answered.

[steelfyre]

࣪ᰋ𓈒 ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         rege jean page,  35,  demi man,  he / they.    announcing  the  arrival  of  trystane  of  house  tyrell,  the  hand of the queen & heir of highgarden.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  erudite  and  cynical  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  reading and botany.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  a rose dipped in gold , refusing to wilt no matter how many petals are pulled from its stem ; hours passing by as you lose yourself in the worlds and histories inscribed on the book's pages ; a secret garden protected by tall walls , it is there that you have learned to reside with your heart hidden amongst the flora ; the prodigal son , for so long unaware of the title bestowed , emerging from the shadows , intent on reclaiming what is his.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as�� she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  thoughts  have  lingered  close  to  treasonous  of  late.

basic information.

official name: trystane tyrell. nickname: trys. noble title: heir of highgarden , hand of the queen. date of birth: april 26th. age: thirty-five. birthplace: highgarden , the reach. home: highgarden but currently lives in king's landing. nationality: westerosi. gender: demi man. pronouns: he / they. orientation: bisexual , biromantic. monikers: none. languages: fluent in the common tongue , conversational in high valyrian and some low valyrian dialects. accent: a steady , gentle tone infused with warmth.

physical information.

faceclaim: rege jean page. ethnicity: andal. hair: black , cut short. eyes: a dark and warm brown. height: six feet , five inches. build: tall , strong and sturdy. scent: floral. dominant hand: right. allergies: none. scars: one on the left side of his neck and another on his left upper back, received during the attack on highgarden. distinguishing features: his imposing stature and warm eyes. clothing style: fashionable with a preference for the styles for the reach , favors the greens and golds of his house but often couples pops of the vibrant colors with more neutral shades such as browns and grays.

personality.

positive: erudite ,  benevolent ,  dutiful , observant ,  truehearted , diplomatic. negative: cynical ,  mistrustful ,  self-sacrificing , bitter , reticent , insecure. label: the bibliophile , the prodigal son , the gentle giant. mbti: intp - the logician. enneagram: 5w6 , the problem solver. element: earth. star sign: taurus. temperament: phlegmatic. moral alignment: lawful good. deadly sin: pride. heavenly virtue : diligence , temperance. godly parent: demeter.

drives.

hobbies: reading , botany , gardening , book collecting , research , traveling. religion: faith of the seven. alliance: house tyrell. personal goals: to continue prove himself as a worthy heir and council member. to keep his family and the reach safe from the dragons' schemes. to fall in love. would they choose family or power?: family without question.

familial ties.

father: ruling lord garth tyrell. relationship: father and son share a close bond. despite attempts to put a wedge between them, lord garth's faith in his heir has remained steadfast, forgiveness given upon prodigal son's return. mother: ruling lady alyna tyrell neé graceford , deceased. relationship: gone before any memory could be forged but the ghost is not forgotten. stepmother: ruling lady victaria tyrell neé tbd. relationship: once considered a trusted mentor and the closest thing to a mother they ever had, now there is only hatred - diligently kept unspoken for the sake of peace at home. trystane will never trust her again. sister: lady alysane tyrell. relationship: there is nothing they wouldn't do for their favorite sister. her happiness and safety is of great importance to them. his truest and most trusted confidant. half-brother: lord elras tyrell. relationship: tba. half-sister: lord/lady/liege utp tyrell. relationship: tba. cousins: house graceford. relationship: having spent half his childhood growing up alongside the family, he holds them dear.

history.

trystane possessed no memory of his mother, only a babe when the gods took her, but the stories his mother's family told them painted a picture of a kind woman who had adored her son, particularly after initially struggling to conceive a child, and was surely watching over them. his aunt, the heir of house graceford, and his maternal grandmother decided it would be their responsibility to watch over their grandson since lady alyna could not. either his aunt or grandmother ensured at least one of them were present in highgarden, overseeing trystane's upbringing.

all was well in highgarden until lord garth remarried. lady victaria, after working so hard to marry the tyrell lord, wasn't pleased that her firstborn wouldn't be the one to inherit highgarden. the fact that alyna's ghost haunted the halls ( a portrait still hanging, her relatives a constant presence in the castle ) didn't help. and garth loved his son. as soon as trystane was old enough, their father allowed his son to shadow his meetings and accompany him on any diplomatic travels. the father and son would often go riding together or simply sit in silence in the garden, reading and discussing books. victaria attempted to ingratiate herself, fashioning herself as a mother figure to the heir. she might've viewed trystane as too gentle, too benevolent but that could eventually be crushed. only trystane's grandmother and aunt stood in the way. they didn't believe the new lady of highgarden had good intentions. thus, a silent war over who would have influence over the highgarden heir began.

trystane's longstanding closeness with their maternal relatives granted them an initial advantage. when they suggested that trys spend some time at holyhall there was no reason for garth to refuse. every year, trystane would spend a handful of months with their cousins, being raised alongside them as if they were additional siblings and under the watchful eye of his grandmother. the gracefords encouraged him to not sacrifice his kind heart and remain true to himself, which proved a sharp contrast to their stepmother who constantly tried to get him to toughen up.

a downside to their kindness, however, was that in his youth trys wished to see the best in all. he genuinely believed that his stepmother, like his grandmother and aunt, was only doing what she thought was the best. they tried impressing her with his sharp mind but it never seemed enough. he felt guilty that they couldn't bring himself to meet her expectations, a guilt victaria, once recognizing it, began taking advantage of. the first step was pulling trys away from the gracefords, convincing him that the heir should spend most of his time at highgarden, and then once distance was established, she began feeding them poor advice. lord garth had started entrusting his son with more responsibilities and initially trystane thrived, his mind aiding him well, but then, believing his stepmother was only trying to help, began stumbling. victaria feigned innocence whenever questions were posed to her, claiming trystane was refusing to heed her advice.

with tensions growing in highgarden, lady victaria suggested that trystane, four and twenty at the time, take some time away from the reach to clear his head. still believing her advice was well meant, trystane agreed. they traveled on and off for almost six years. he returned to highgarden every now and then but never for long - oblivious to how their stepmother seemed to always be pushing for him to leave again. the frequent letters that trystane dutifully penned, wanting to keep their family informed and ensure their return wasn't needed, were "accidentally" lost and none of his father's missives reached him. so the young lord remained unaware of the growing frustrations, particularly from his father.

garth tyrell, however, refused to give up on his son no matter how angry he grew at trystane's actions. it didn't mean the ruling lady didn't try, gathering a few supporters to her side, particularly as more years passed. eventually it was his graceford relatives who alerted them of the growing trouble at home. one of their cousins located him in essos and told him all that had been transpiring in his absence. immediately, trystane returned home.

a mixed reaction greeted him when they rode through the gates of highgarden. his stepmother quietly displeased when she learned this return wasn't temporary while his father torn between elation and anger. but trystane swore that they'd make up for his absence, prove himself worthy once again of his father's praise and trust.

in the five years since his return, trystane did just that. he dedicated himself fully to his duties as heir, mending relationships with vassal houses who'd grown to question him and showing that he was not only capable but the correct choice to one day hold the seat of highgarden. any influence victaria tyrell had once held over him vanished. in the eyes of the law she'd done nothing wrong but never again would trystane trust her. when he needed advice, he sought out his father or his aunt. there was also a clear change in trystane. the jovial, trusting, and open man was gone, replaced by a far quieter one who was hesitant to trust many, worrying that they too would betray or manipulate him, beyond a small circle of friends. and despite earning a position on the small council as the master of laws in 849 A.C. and their recent promotion to hand, he still sometimes doubted his abilities due to his failure to see through his stepmother's manipulations. however, he kept such doubts well hidden, remaining committed to continuing proving himself worthy.

headcanons.

trystane is not a fighter in the traditional sense. he can wield a sword but he isn't anywhere near the most skilled nor does he enjoy sword fighting. it's nothing more than a necessary skill they must know as a precaution. he has never taken part in a joust or melee, and has no intentions to.

an avid reader. he has brought about a large amount of growth in highgarden's library over the years, many of which he brought home from his travels in essos, and is constantly on the look for more books. due to the citadel being so close in oldtown and trys always looking to learn more, he has visited the institution often to learn from the maesters and explore their library.

one of his favorite areas of study is botany. if he isn't in the library or his office, odds are that trystane is in the gardens or even out in the fields overseeing the harvest. they like seeing what new flower variations he can grow based on his research.

he looks up to his father very much. he is immensely relieved that their relationship has mended and that he has regained his father's trust.

like their father, trystane is wary of the targaryens but he knows better than to mention it. he's relieved that his position on the council will grant him the ability to watch over his sister once she marries into the royal family.

his years of travel brought him all across westeros before he sailed across the narrow sea. he loved essos and spent a large amount of time in each city learning about the culture, history, and people.

the pressure for him to marry has steadily been growing but his worries about choosing the wrong spouse has made him hesitate.

has a very strong sense of duty and justice.

was almost killed during the the attack on highgarden. while they escaped with their life, they still bear the scars of the attack and aren't entirely certain that they weren't specifically targeted, strengthening their guardedness.

despite his mistrustfulness, trystane remains a kind soul. his heart is large and he doesn't hesitate to exchange his hand to those in need. he is more cautious to those he shows their heart to, but no one can deny the benevolence that dictates the heir's actions. some might view it as a weakness but trys continues holding fast to it rather than letting the world corrupt him as it has others.

wanted connections. | established connections.

[sharpened--edges]

Goodbye to Berlin is not […] about the failure of liberal leadership, but about the failure of feeling in an impoverished, demoralized, bankrupt city. There are no public figures in the book, and no great events: Hitler never appears, and the political struggles of the time are virtually ignored. There are only the Lost—the poor, the weak, the neurotic, the lonely and unloved, living their sad private lives. Together they compose the city in which fascism was possible. It is the reality of that city that is Isherwood’s essential subject. Like Eliot in The Waste Land, he made an image of his city out of fragments of the lives of its inhabitants—a cabaret singer, a whore, a working-class hustler, a bartender, a Jewish merchant. The Berlin that their lives express is, like Eliot’s London, a waste land of human isolation, of soiled love, of urban deadness and despair, and of inaction. It is a city in which no one acts, and no one feels, a frozen and lifeless place, like the the bottom of Dante’s hell. But it is also a city in history: it belongs to the ’thirties, as Eliot’s city belong to the ’twenties. And what makes it ’thirty-ish is that it can define its hell in political terms. […] Isherwood’s essential Berlin [is] a city of lonely people closed off from one another, of squalor, poverty, and despair, a city that is like the whistles of the young men—lascivious and private and sad. […] Isherwood’s subject is a city that is dying of social sickness—of poverty, isolation, and despair—and is, at the end of the book, “cold and cruel and dead”. That dying city had engaged his imagination deeply—he never wrote so well about any other subject—and his book is a kind of elegy, a pained backward look at a city that had been a home of sorts for a shy, inverted young man, and to which he could not return, because it was dead. […] Goodbye to Berlin is not a didactic book, but nevertheless it does contain a lesson in history. It tells us that poverty kills feelings, and isolates one man from another like freezing weather; that love and hate are political terms, and that hate feeds on human separateness; that violence is the energy of frozen hearts; that passivity and detachment are cold virtues. It is not a lesson that is taught abstractly; nobody makes political speeches in the book, and author and narrator are scrupulously reticent. Rather it is a lesson that is felt in the emotions, like a bad dream. “Youth always demands its nightmares ...” Isherwood wrote in 1939. “Germany supplied them.”

Samuel Hynes, The Auden Generation: Literature and Politics in England in the 1930s (Bodley Head, 1976), pp. 354–9.

[loveyouloatheyou]

Writing Prompt: #4

The Etiquettes of Cannibalism

"What truly makes a satisfactory meal 'satisfactory'?" A voice from the dark protruded the silence. Their voice was stereo, filling the dinning room with a palpable sense of trepidation which did little to quell the heightened fears of the muffled man who sat at the far end of the dinning table.

Emerging from the dark was a well dressed man with a composed expression. He rolled in a small cart with plates, spoons, glasses, and a large concealed silver tray. The muffled man watched this all with unease, his chest heavily heaving along side the ropes which bound him.

"Preparation is one." The cart rolls to a stop beside the man. He sets the table leisurely, placing the plates in pristine order and the utensils in an array. "There is a reason why food establishments display their tables so lavishly."

He continued to unload the silverware, gently arranging each piece in its designated area. "Do you know why that is, Isaac?" The question was rhetorical, his preordained answer already prepared for his own feigned query, but Isaac still gave a futile grunt as his trailing gaze of caution never faltered.

"Adequate preparation provides a visually appealing setting for the meal making it appear to be much more appetizing than it is." He unfolds a napkin cloth tucking the fabric in Isaac's collar, the sudden touch earning a flinch.

"Much like how a crown and a palace adds to the formidable presence of a king, It's all about visual appeal, a way of fooling the mind of the consumer." He began to unload a small tray of appetizers and a butter knife onto the table.

He raised the knife in his hand watching it glisten in the dim light with a sudden reticent gaze. Turning to face his bound guest, he approached with hidden intention. Instinctively, Isaac began to wriggle in protest, breathing now seized by fear.

Grabbing him by his binds, he trailed the knife against his jaw, the silverware brushing against the faint stubble on his trembling chin. He let out a muffled whimper of fear as Isaac clamped his eyes shut awaiting whatever cruel fate his perpetrator had in mind. To his surprise, he felt the cloth which stifled his speech grow weak as it slipped from off his mouth being cut loose.

Isaac let out a sharp gasp as he began to breathe heavily, his mind reeling.

"Nigel-"

"Would you like garlic bread or plain bread sticks?"

He calmy asked as he averted his attention back to the table.

I apologize for the brief ending, but once again I was rushing with this prompt as I made a promise to myself I would post my writing more often to get into a writer's habit. I did enjoy making this though, and maybe if others enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed making it I might make a part two and hopefully end the story.

(That, or I just never touch it again till it grows cobwebs like all my other stories.)

[ariainstars]

How to Portray Real Love - and How Not to

Warning: long post.

Call Me by Your Name (2017)

To anyone who loves this movie:

I will not apologize for what I am going to write. It’s my own take, yes, but in my opinion all of this ought to be obvious to anyone watching the movie.

I will not refer to André Aciman’s book, not having read it.

I am Italian and I grew up in places like we see in the movie. I’m not denying that the way it’s shot and the general atmosphere are often gorgeous, but that was not sufficient to convince me that this movie is romantic, probably because I’m used to it.

What This is Not: Grooming / Sexual Predation

Reading up reactions to this movie, I have stumbled often over criticism about the age gap between the two protagonists. In my opinion this is beside the point: we are speaking of 7 years, not of a generational gap, and Oliver is still a student. Elio is mature for his age, and after some initial reticence, he approaches Oliver by himself over and over. His family knows and encourages (or at least doesn't oppose) them, and Elio has more than one opportunity to say no, which he doesn’t take.

Oliver is not a predator. He’s confused, but that’s not because he doesn't feel the attraction between himself and Elio: he simply doesn’t understand it.

Elephant in the room no. 1: Oliver is a bad person.

Oliver comes across as irreverent and self-absorbed. He does not respect boundaries, does not knock on doors, does not fit in with the lifestyle and customs of his hosts, only occasionally he does things that will make people think well of him. Early in their acquaintance he expects Elio to tell him what he is going on in his head but doesn't do the same in return (he never does, even later); his entire behaviour seems to be aimed at irritating and challenging his surroundings.

There is no depth in Oliver, no creativity, contrarily to Elio who already composes at age 17; somehow Oliver seems to know that he is the inferior one. At times he is downright offensive to Elio, for no reason at all, like he wasn’t a guest in their house. Oliver moves around in a foreign place like everybody owes him; he does not wonder, question, ask for explanations. He plays with Elio’s youthful insecurity, who is still hardly shaving and feels in the shadow of Oliver’s allegedly superior manliness. It is not surprising that to Elio he soon appears as some kind of handsome, unreachable prince.

Oliver is the kind of person who manages, on purpose or not, to convince the people around him that he is someone special, irresistible, and that being his friend or lover is a privilege. Elio falls for it, and Oliver picks the fruit of that attraction. Oliver does not love Elio because he does not love anyone, being too busy with thinking of himself.

At first Elio doesn’t like him; he notices that although Oliver never shows regard for anyone, he gets away with it. Elio’s family and friends fall for his self-assuredness and expect him to befriend Oliver. Piqued by the fact that Elio is the only person who is wary around him (with good reason!), Oliver repeatedly behaves in a way that frustrates Elio, repeatedly invading his private space, ignoring his limits, alternating insults with niceties, giving him attention one minute and completely ignoring him the next. And he never seems scheming picking at Elio’s insecurities whenever he gets a pass: it’s like second nature to him. He doesn’t do it because he loves Elio and doesn’t want to admit it, because he’s scared or something like that; he does it because he can, and because it works. He wants Elio to look up to him the way everybody does. After a while, the insecure Elio gets obsessed with wanting the older man’s approval.

Oliver starts a relationship with Elio knowing that the younger man has a girlfriend; he doesn’t even ask about her, whether Elio broke up with her etc. Oliver seems to believe that Elio owes him his undivided attention. By keeping their relationship a secret, Oliver makes the hapless Elio his accomplice. Even if he wanted to or if he would slowly begin to suspect that something's not right, he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. No one would believe him anyway, since everybody thinks the world of Oliver.

Oliver humiliates Elio, who by then is his lover, when he finds out about the peach: he laughs at him, not with him. (Why was Elio masturbating anyway, while he was in a sexual relationship?) When they are in Bergamo Oliver starts partying with random strangers on the street (with a woman!) when Elio is about to be sick: an observant lover would have noticed it before it was too late. Although they live under the same roof, he never sleeps in the same bed with him but gets up earlier, even when they are sharing a hotel room. He never tells Elio what is making him refrain from intimacy.

Oliver destroys Elio’s creativity by commenting negatively both on his composition and his impassioned love letter; we never see the young man making music or writing again. Shouldn’t a person in requited love feel inspired and happy and want to sing and play all day long? That he gives up on his interests already foreshadows the deep depression Elio is destined to fall into.

Viewers who love this movie like to argue that Oliver is so distant because he’s afraid of hurting Elio or shy because he’s in the closet. But it’s plain to see that Oliver knows exactly what he’s doing. He just doesn’t understand why because he’s not the kind of person who second-guesses himself. He’s controlling a power play with a younger man, probably because he doesn’t know how to have a genuine relationship with anyone. And Elio is too defenceless against him. When his mother comes to pick him up at the railway station and his voice breaks on the phone, it is obvious what a child Elio still is interiorly. He didn’t grow up through this relationship. He didn’t know what he was getting into and then had to pay the full price for another man’s egotism.

As the movie comes to a close, we can see that what he and Elio shared did hit Oliver harder than he had expected, but not enough for him to change, or only to reflect about it. Oliver is not aware of what he’s doing to Elio; to him everything is fun and games while to Elio it’s a life-changing experience.

Elephant in the room no. 2: Elio is not in love, he’s hooked.

Elio begins to imitate Oliver like a younger brother would do with the older - he smokes, wears a Jewish symbol on a chain, he has sex with Marzia only to prove a point because he knows Oliver had sex with Chiara. After a while, he gets obsessed with wanting the older man’s approval, for him to see him as an equal instead of an annoying boy he can either ignore or boss around.

Being both intellectual and highly sensitive, Elio believes that the more experienced and seemingly more mature Oliver must know the answers to life’s most burning questions; which Oliver doesn’t, as much as Elio wishes he would.

There isn’t the slightest sign of genuine love coming from Oliver; he only takes. Elio, being a giving, honest person, falls into a trap. Oliver has caught Elio and also half a dozen other people in his net, but he never had the slightest intention to put his roots down and actually like anyone back. Oliver’s attitude towards Elio is avoidant, but that is not because he wants to prevent him or himself from getting hurt; it’s because he doesn’t want to get attached and have to face the consequences.

In the scene where we first see Oliver interact with the family, he says at breakfast that he shouldn’t eat an egg because otherwise he’ll eat two, three, and more until they will have to roll him away. This already shows what kind of person Oliver is: he doesn’t know when to stop. Elio mistakenly believes that this lack of restrain, this want of limits is a sign of superior maturity and self-assuredness. He won’t realize to the last that in truth this attitude shows nothing short of a total lack of responsibility.

Elio says so to his father once: he does not play poker. Oliver is a poker player through and through. Despite the poetic request to “call him by his name”, Oliver remains shrouded in mystery. He does not change; while Elio wakes up, both sexually and emotionally.

There also is the symbolism: the dying fish gasping its least breath with eyes wide open (symbolizing Elio), the bronze statue, beautiful but cold and lifeless (symbolizing Oliver). The connection is made by the fact that both tokens come from the water.

All Oliver wanted and expected was to spend a good time in Italy with no strings attached. Which also is why we hardly see him working and studying, the way he’s supposed to. After all he did to Elio, his final revelation that he has a girlfriend and is about to marry her is only the coup de grâce.

Elephant in the room no. 3: Elio’s father is a fool.

I couldn’t bring myself to admire Elio’s father for what he said to his son, presumably wanting to comfort him: that “it had been a particularly beautiful thing between them”, and “he wished he would have made such an experience.”

How does he know what happened in detail? Does he know what is in these two young men’s hearts? Does he know about the humiliations Oliver inflicted on Elio? Probably not, but in any case, Oliver has given him no reason to believe that he’s a good person the way he claims.

We did not see father and son interact at all before this scene. All we learn is that both Elio’s parents expect their son to be nice to their guest and to befriend him, and that they don’t mind if there is more than friendship. We never learn whether Elio’s father loves him and cares for him (at least his mother shows affection from time to time). Imagine needing to have your entire world and happiness destroyed just so your father will finally give you some attention and kindness.

Elio’s father never changes his mind, even when he learns that Oliver is getting married. A caring, responsible father would have opened his son’s eyes about the fact that he was used and then discarded. I have no clue as to why any queer person would want their parent to do anything like that to them, leaving their heart open to bleed.

Add to this that he does not ask whether they used protection. The movie is set in 1983, and the first AIDS wave struck in 1981. Papa Perlman doesn’t seem to mind that his son might have caught a horrible, incurable disease, all that matters is that his son had sex with another male. Yay. (Maybe he believes in the adage that true love exists only between members of the same sex, who knows.)

I guess this little speech is meant to be politically correct. Woe if you dare to see the dysfunction in a relationship when it’s same-sex.

Elephant in the room no. 4: Elio did not need Oliver.

When we meet him, Elio is well-educated, living in a beautiful place where he also grew up, he has a supportive family, enough free time (they even have servants), he’s healthy and serene and he has a girlfriend. He’s intelligent, well-learned and creative.

When we last see him, he’s devastated, staring into the fire and crying for minutes on end.

Oliver is not “only” a sexual predator. He’s a textbook manipulator, the sexual part isn’t even what it’s about. Manipulators may want money, sex, attention from their victims or a combination of these, but what they always want is power. They rejoice in the knowledge that their prey is ready to do whatever they want at their command, that they can’t live without them, at least not happily. Oliver would have taken anything Elio gave him and crushed it, not just his sexuality. Just imagine the pain Elio must feel now every time someone says his own name, or when he goes to his “special place” by the creek! He can’t compose, play the guitar or write any more, because everything reminds him of Oliver. And all of the time, Oliver had the chance to either avoid a relationship with him or to let go once he had left him; but you need some basic common decency for that.

Oliver realized quickly that Elio, though younger, is much better than he is, healthier, smarter, more accomplished, more innocent, honest and kind-hearted. Oliver took all that, used it or destroyed it and left Elio in the shards of his former self, no longer in a position to enjoy the things and the people he used to love, tortured additionally by the knowledge that Oliver is about to marry someone else, i.e. that Elio apparently wasn’t good enough for him. Elio ends like a modern Pygmalion, crying about the fact that all of his love could not bring the object of his adoration to life; hence also the parallel between Oliver and the statue.

Elephant in the room no. 5: Elio is not gay, he’s bisexual. (Maybe.)

Elio has a girlfriend when we first meet him; it is also hinted at that before Marzia, he was with Chiara. No sign of a boyfriend anywhere. No sign even of some brotherly male friend to whom he might feel unconsciously attracted.

Elio enjoyed his first sexual experience with Marzia, we hear him cry out “That feels so good!” He then starts an affair with Oliver, but nothing suggests that he likes it any better. Yes, he keeps sleeping with him, not with her; but she didn’t manipulate him for weeks into believing that without her he would be missing out, the way Oliver did.

If Oliver was a woman of 24 years who would seduce Elio, dragging him away from his girlfriend, and then dumping him to marry another guy, everybody would call her a heartless bitch. In this case, Elio’s supposed sexual awakening supersedes everything else. Which is probably the main reason why so many viewers insist that there was nothing wrong and unhealthy between them. The relationship between Elio and Oliver can’t have been sick and dysfunctional, because Elio apparently “needed to realize that he's gay (or bi).” Never mind that he was traumatized for life.

In the end, Elio is alone; Oliver has left him for good, and he can’t go back to Marzia. Had Oliver not interfered Elio might have missed out a nuance on his sexuality, but he wouldn't have had his heart broken, and he would have a girlfriend who is a sweet and kind girl, never manipulates him and even offers him friendship and comfort after he dumped her for no reason (after having taken her virginity no less).

Part 6: Elio Always Had a Choice.

Elio wasn’t forced to do anything. He sought Oliver out repeatedly and never actively said “no” to him, except for his heart-wrenching protest during the infamous peach scene. Maybe he wants Oliver to single him out being a victim of his own vanity; however, his personality is not explored enough for the viewer to come to a fair conclusion. We mostly see him react to Oliver, not act on his own.

Since the focus of the movie is on the Elio / Oliver relationship, the landscape the story takes place in is idyllic, the music is beautiful etc., as a viewer one can easily assume that Elio chose Oliver of out “love”. Did he?

Obsession is not love. When feelings for another person are so strong that there seems to be no escape, it doesn’t mean they are soulmates, that it’s fate or anything like that. Healthy love is a choice; love only exists in freedom. When one partner (or both) is in mental chains, his mind revolving around the other, something is very wrong.

I already wrote that while his character is manipulative, Oliver is not an actual predator. If the victim has the chance to escape and does not take it, there is a large part of responsibility on the latter’s part, too. It is not enough to say that Elio is “only a teenager”. At seventeen, a person knows what they are doing and what they want. They may not be aware of the implications and the consequences, but Oliver and Elio’s parents didn’t know either, so it’s useless to say that age makes the difference.

Part 7: Culture Clash.

Italy and Elio’s family welcome Oliver with open arms; they let him live in their house, let him do whatever he wants, invite him to come back next year, encourage his feelings for Elio. Oliver never opens up. He does not speak about his thoughts; he never mentions that he has a girlfriend at home. Only in the end we learn that his family seems to be very bigoted. Which is of course awful, but as a viewer I couldn’t feel sorry for him. This is something that in all fairness he should have told Elio from the start, before playing fast and loose with a young man who was obviously smitten with him.

Oliver is a consumerist, diametrically opposed to the deep soul of Elio, a young man who grew up surrounded by nature, in a house and near cities that feel timeless. Oliver tells Elio once that his family had welcomed him like he was a son-in-law, but this only shows that Oliver has no clue about Italian mentality; else he would know that it is second nature to most Italians to be welcoming and to make acquaintances part of the family quickly. That he believes they did so specifically with him only reflects his arrogance.

On a side note: in Italy the paragraph against homosexuality fell in 1890, and this movie is set almost a century later. And Oliver was introduced to an elderly gay couple who are friends of the family, emphasizing that Elio’s family doesn’t have the slightest issue with same-sex relationships. So, we are not speaking of star-crossed lovers. Had he wanted to, Oliver could have moved to Italy leaving his bigoted background behind, finding both a better family and a partner who would do anything in his power to make him happy. But that would also have meant having to give up on something, and Oliver is not the kind of person who would accept any kind of sacrifice, not even for his own sake. He will rather see to it that the price for his choices is paid by someone else.

Part 8: Attitude Towards Females.

The way both Oliver and Elio treat the women in their lives is downright awful. Oliver flirts with Chiara and in return, Elio soon brags how he “almost had sex with Marzia”. It is clear enough that they only do it when the other is watching; they do not care about the girls, both only want to show off their sex lives.

Sex has no real value for Oliver; he tells Elio that he should better “try and fail with Marzia than not try at all”. He does not consider that having your first time and be in an actual relationship is serious stuff. It ought to be something two people do together, not a challenge of sorts.

Although with Marzia it’s the first time for both of them, Elio obviously does not care for her - he did not even recognize her voice on the phone and did not react when she told him she didn’t want to suffer because of him. His next thought is that he wants Oliver, not her. He even has sex with Marzia all the while watching the clock for the appointment at midnight Oliver gave him. (What for, anyway? Distraction? As a training object?) His obsession with Oliver makes him selfish and false. And Oliver has tied his invitation to another insult, “Grow up.” Elio is seventeen and he has sex with both a female and a male within the course of 24 hours. Why - out of pique, to prove Oliver that he is indeed grown-up and that he is not ‘too scared to do it’?

Oliver does not offer Elio or his family friendship; he does not even call or write a postcard from his home to let them know that he came back home safely. Ironically, it is Marzia who offers her friendship and comforts the heartbroken Elio, although she would have every reason to resent him. She is more mature and responsible than both Elio and Oliver although she is Elio’s age. Which makes his behaviour towards her only feel more unfair; but I guess viewers must expect her to accept that because what she and Elio shared was not the alleged “true love” he had with Oliver.

A few months after Oliver went back home, we learn that he is about to hurt the next person - a woman with whom he will start a loveless marriage. (We learn that he was in an on-off relationship with her for years, which fits the picture perfectly; Oliver would not want to miss out on anything.)

Elio’s father gives a monologue that reflects his marriage in an awful way: apparently it does not make him happy because it makes him feel like he missed out on the experience of “real love” (whatever he believes that is). His wife is a good person and a good mother and does not deserve to be dismissed like that.

Conclusion: This Is Not a Love Story.

There may be different ways of interpreting it, but this movie is not about love, i.e. honest, deep feelings and commitment for one another. It isn’t romantic or poetic or tragic. It’s about a lot of pain that could have been avoided.

Oliver is not a groomer who takes advantage of a younger and less experienced guy. If Elio was a few years older, Oliver would still be a bad person. Consider that no one seems to realize what an egotist he is, including the many adults he meets! Piqued by Elio’s resistance, Oliver would certainly still try to make a pass at Elio, except that if the latter was older, he would be more mature, and possibly also have, by now, a secure attachment with Marzia (or someone else). I do think that a relationship between a 17-year-old and a 24-year-old could work well, provided both are honest and loyal persons. What makes this story problematic is not grooming or sexual predation on Oliver’s part. It is the relationship itself between these two that is utterly dysfunctional; which is, I daresay, what actually makes so many viewers feel uneasy about it the way I did.

Real love looks different; it does not only leave pain and “what if”s behind. Oliver sweeps into a foreign family and culture like a storm, takes what he can, and after him the deluge. While Elio is changed for life, Oliver just runs off to the next best thing, still not ready to change, take responsibility, or at least apologize for having used a younger man for an affair before agreeing to a socially acceptable marriage with a woman.

The musical theme of the movie is “Mystery of Love”. Why? Fantasizing about someone you never really get to know because they never open up to you is not love. How can there be love without honesty, loyalty and trust? Elio never grows beyond the first phase of a romantic relationship where you still idealize the other, instead of seeing them for how they truly are. And Oliver doesn’t even reach that phase.

We are supposed to feel for Oliver and Elio them because they are “star crossed”; I can’t bring myself to do that. Oliver is too immature to be honest with Elio and to keep him at arm’s length to prevent him from hurt; while Elio is not grown and strong enough to stand up first for his own self-love, and then for his feelings for Oliver. He does not even confront him when he tells him he is about to get married (which also implies that he will not come back). Not for one moment seems Elio to realize that he was betrayed, used and dumped. Instead, he keeps believing that he missed out on something that could have been wonderful.

If you are in a problematic relationship, there are only two options: either you renounce because you don’t want to make the other unhappy, or you fight for your love. Nurturing false hopes, allowing love to make its way into the heart of a naïve, well-meaning young person and then let him fall like a hot potato is the last thing anyone ought to do. Oliver doesn’t trust anyone, while Elio’s trust in him, after his initial hesitation, is infinite.

When Oliver tells Elio on the phone that he forgot nothing, it only makes Elio suffer more. A mature, caring person could have told his former lover to get over him, and that he was grateful for the time passed together. There is not gratitude in Oliver’s words; he ties Elio to him again, knowing that the younger man would be his at the lift of a finger. During the phone call, he does not even have the politeness to ask how everybody is doing. As usual, it is all about him. Oliver may be the victim of his family’s bigotry, but I cannot bring myself to feel with someone who is so utterly selfish and irresponsible. At least now that it's clear that he’s not coming back, he should have the decency to let go.

It is certainly true - as Elio’s father said - that it’s better to accept one’s pain than to turn away from it. But: the easiest way to unhappiness is holding on to something (or someone) you can’t have, respectively that never existed in the first place. Elio never gets over his feelings and they make him suffer still decades later, proving that the brief happiness was not worth the pain. What Elio feels at the end is not the normal heartache everybody goes through after a break-up: he’s traumatized because his budding personality was crushed and he has nothing to hold on to or to look forward anymore.

I wonder why this movie is called a love story. There is mutual attraction, fascination, erotic tension, but all of this doesn’t add to love. I see no reason why anyone should love someone like Oliver, and I can’t understand why Oliver does not love Elio back, who shared everything he was with him.

I have come across the argumentation that “first love always ends badly”. Apart from the fact that I know some happy couples who were each other’s first loves, it’s an incredibly poor excuse. No one has the right to violate someone’s feelings and even his individuality and to expect them to bear it, shrugging “Oh well, this was meant to end badly anyway.” Badly for whom? Oliver doesn’t seem to suffer at all. He leaves all the pain to Elio.

This movie may be interesting, but in my opinion it’s not romantic at all and I see no reason to sigh and wax poetic about it like 95 % of the audience seems to. If anything, it’s a warning to not confuse obsession and idealization with actual caring.

I wonder why the LGBT+ community does not hate this movie.

I have often heard in conservative circles that gay men are supposedly straight until they meet someone who is older and experienced who seduces them and “makes them gay”. I always found this to be a narrow-minded prejudice, and thought that any queer person must find such an idea insulting to say the least. But this is exactly what is being portrayed here. And almost no viewer, queer or straight, seems to have the slightest problem with it. On the contrary, almost everybody gushes on how romantic this story is.

~ * ~ * ~ *

Red, White and Royal Blue (2023)

Of course, this is a modern fairy tale and it’s set in an alternative universe. Let me just point out the differences to the above-mentioned movie, and why this is a much more genuine portrayal of romantic love.

Since the story is about the son of a female US president who is running for her second term and the offspring of a conservative British peerage family, the conflict goes without saying; there is no wondering about what is making their relationship difficult.

Alex, once in a same-sex relationship, embraces his bisexuality wholeheartedly. He does not fall into a crisis and does not mess around with some girl. He knows that Henry is who he wants. It is abundantly clear that Henry is special for him because with him he’s head over heels in love, not because he’s the first guy he makes sexual experiences with.

In this movie there is also a cultural clash between a Texan American and a British peer, but there is nothing offensive about it; usually it’s just played for fun, like when Alex doesn’t know what a maypole is and Henry teases him about it.

How much wiser and more to the point is Ellen’s reaction: she simply tells her son that “such a relationship will define his life”. Yes, it’s kind of embarrassing that she asks him whether they used protection, but at least it shows that she cares for his safety.

Side note: all women in this movie are treated with respect, not looked down upon, used and discarded.

Alex does not make Henry feel bad about his accomplishments. He admires him playing polo, he loves listening to him when he plays the piano, although Alex can do neither.

When Henry comes to visit Alex in Texas, he adapts by wearing casual clothing, drinking, singing, playing, swimming. He’s just himself and there is nothing of his usual detachment about him, on the contrary, he obviously feels happy with the chance to just be a young man like any other. Compare this to Oliver’s attitude of haughty superiority in his host’s place, behaving like he was a prince everyone must look up to (which he isn’t, contrarily to Henry).

These men are both adults who know what they are doing; none shows off as being superior and they never come across as selfish and mean. Initially Henry is detached and stiff-necked, while Alex pettily takes offense at something that happened years earlier; but all of that quickly changes through the dynamics between them. The two young men open up, become more relaxed and much more themselves through being together. Since they started as rivals, they know each other’s faults and never for a moment fall into the trap of idealization. Their connection is much more genuine and intimate than Oliver’s and Elio’s although technically, they spend less time together.

Their relationship is also much more fun; Alex and Henry banter, tease one another and laugh a lot. Being in a long-distance relationship they write each other e-mails and texts, and they have conversations over the phone still when they’re barely friends. They talk about personal issues, they keep eye contact, their hands touch, they hug outside of sexual contact, they sleep in the same bed whenever they can. The power dynamics between them are healthy, and it is made abundantly clear that the basis for their relationship is honest, trusting friendship.

Shortly after having started an actual relationship with Henry, Alex plunges into his Texas campaign; he wants to use his influence as the president’s son to do good for other people. Henry’s philanthropic work and his overall influence inspire Alex to do more for his fellowmen, too.

When Henry panics and runs in the face of a declaration of love, Alex confronts him right away. Alex is willing to fight for his love. He „flies across an ocean and storms a f…ing palace“, in his words, to tell Henry he won’t give up on him.

As they say goodbye at the airport both gift one another what means most to them - ring and key. Alex until then never took his key chain off, not even when he was swimming or having sex. Alex’s last virtue is patience, yet he is willing to wait.

In the end the shy, introverted Henry says, “I will no longer be the prince of shame and secrets” finally confronting his worst fear, that his subjects may no longer like him.

Which is where we reach the bottom line.

„Real love“ is not defined by how deep, desperate and or romantic your feelings are.

Real love brings out what is best in a person, makes them better, stronger and more mature.

Red, White and Royal Blue is an actual, real and inspiring love story. Call Me by Your Name is a slap in the face.

[lizardlicks]

a thing I noodled up based on @ablueeyedarcher's shifterverse AtLA AU setting. The only needed context is that Zuko's other side is a fire ferret, and Sokka's is a fucking huge wolf.

Ozai hasn't settled into his new.... living arrangements (temporary living arrangements, he keeps forcefully insisting in the privacy of his own mind) for very long. He can't sense the sun the way he used to, can't feel the crawl of time as measured by Agni's looping path, but there is at least enough light that falls through what passes as a window high up on the wall of his cell that he can make a close enough guess. His generous (traitorous) son had the decency to face a Child of Agni to the South. 

It's been a few days at least, maybe even a full week by his estimation, when he's jolted out of sleep by a distinct sound. Keys turning in the lock of his cell door. Ozai sits up, takes a moment to compose himself, smoothing down the plain prison robes he's been dumped into, then rises to meet his loyal subject.

"I was expecting you soon--" his greeting dies on his tongue. Ozai does not find Azula standing in the doorway. Neither is there a general, no dedicated council member or magistrate. Not even a lowly clerk. Instead he's surprised to find the Avatar's obnoxious Watertribe pet. He's leaning against the wall opposite the cell, the door of which stands wide open. The peasant casually flips the key around his fingers as he fixes Ozai with a cold, blank stare.

There's something in his other hand but Ozai can't tell what it is. Metal-- gold, twisted and misshapen. Ozai narrows his eyes. The Watertribe seems content to let him marinate in the uncertainty of their shared silence. Finally Ozai’s mounting intrigue gets the better of his judgment. 

“Did the Avatar send you to taunt me,” he asks.

"No." 

"My son?"

"No."

"Your chief, then."

"Just me.”

He's strangely reticent. A few days ago this boy wouldn't shut up the entire airship flight back to the Fire Nation capital. Now he stands and watches Ozai with an unnerving intensity. There's an open door and a wide gap of freedom between them. Ozai can see that the teen's leg is still well bandaged, though he's not aided by any crutch or cane at the moment. He could bolt and make a bid for freedom easily. This knowledge isn't comforting. Rather, it feels like a trap. He narrows his eyes at the boy and asks, "Why are you here?"

The watertribe answers him by throwing the scrap of metal down onto the floor between them. It lands in the sliver of morning light Agni has painted on the floor, and now Ozai can recognize it for what it is, despite its extremely crushed state: the animal cage that sat on his desk. It had sat on his desk for years and no one questioned it.

"Aang would be really sad if I culled you in your cage like you deserve, so I'm going to give you the fighting chance you never gave him. The way is clear. There's a weapon rack in the guard barracks." The Watertribe's lips peel back from his teeth in what could be called a smile if one was very generous and used the term loosely. Dawn light glints off his large, sharp eye teeth. Ozai feels fear hollowing out his stomach, and adrenaline hits his veins like ice water. "You have a twenty second head start. I suggest you run.”

[reallygroovyninja]

Indra stood at the head of the long library table, her gaze sweeping across the faces of her faculty, each seated in the historic wooden chairs that had been part of Arkadia High's library for decades. The overhead lights illuminated the rich mahogany of the shelves, filled with books that silently bore witness to countless staff meetings.

Clearing her throat, she began, “I understand Spirit Week might seem like it's primarily for the students, but I'd like to emphasize the importance of faculty participation. Our students look up to you all. Your enthusiasm—or lack thereof—sets a tone for the entire school. I urge each of you, from the PE department to the sciences, from math to art, to dive in wholeheartedly. Let's show the students that school spirit isn't bound by age or subject. Let's make this Spirit Week memorable, not just for them, but for us as well." Indra's voice, authoritative yet warm, resonated with an unmistakable passion, compelling even the most reticent teachers to consider embracing the week's festivities.

Indra adjusted her glasses and glanced at the list in front of her. "Alright, everyone, the student council has made their decisions for this year's Spirit Week themes," she began, trying to infuse her voice with a hint of excitement.

"Monday will be Pajama Day, followed by 60's Day on Tuesday. Wednesday will be College or Pro Sports T-shirt Jersey Day. Thursday is designated for Movie Character Day, and we'll wrap up the week with School Colors Day on Friday." She paused, waiting for the reaction she knew was coming.

A collective groan echoed through the library. Ms. McIntyre, the history teacher, sighed dramatically, "Every year, it's the same thing. You'd think they'd get creative for once." Mr. Pike, from the PE department, chimed in, "I've lost track of how many jerseys I've worn on Wednesdays." Indra chuckled, understanding their sentiments, "We might know what to expect, but remember, for some of our students, this is their first Spirit Week. Let's make it count for them."

Indra saw the palpable sense of deja vu among the teachers and decided to introduce a twist. "However," she began, drawing the room's attention with the slight rise in her voice, "the student council introduced an incentive this year. The student displaying the most spirit throughout the week will be awarded a $500 gift certificate. But, they didn’t forget about you all." She smiled wryly, catching the twinkle in a few teachers' eyes.

"The teacher who goes above and beyond, showcasing the most spirit, will receive a $250 gift certificate. So, let’s see which one of us can give our students a run for their money!" The atmosphere in the room shifted from mild dread to competitive enthusiasm as murmurs of challenge buzzed between colleagues.

As the room settled into a hive of chatter, teachers contemplating how to win the coveted gift certificate, Clarke turned to Lexa, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of a new challenge. "So, are you up for a little competition this year?" she asked, her voice tinged with excitement. "I have to say, a $250 gift certificate could buy a lot of art supplies—or in your case, possibly the fanciest graphing calculator ever made." Clarke's teasing smile met Lexa's composed but amused gaze.

For a moment, the world beyond the two of them seemed to fade into a mere backdrop, the other teachers' voices a distant murmur. In that instant, it wasn't just about the gift certificate or even Spirit Week; it was an unspoken acknowledgment of the camaraderie and gentle rivalry that had always danced between them. Lexa's eyes twinkled as she leaned in, whispering, "Challenge accepted, Clarke. May the most spirited teacher win."

Indra noticed the competitive sparkle that had ignited in her teachers' eyes, satisfied that her announcement had sparked more enthusiasm than she'd first sensed. "Alright, if there are no further questions, let's call it a day and gear up for a memorable Spirit Week next week. Meeting adjourned."

The faculty began to rise, chairs scraping against the wooden floor, but the atmosphere had shifted from routine resignation to spirited speculation. As the teachers filed out of the library, each wore a thoughtful expression, already lost in strategic calculations.

Ms. McIntyre was heard mumbling about recreating a '60s protest sign that would blend history with spirit. Mr. Pike flexed his arms, contemplating how many sports jerseys he could layer on without causing heatstroke. Clarke and Lexa exchanged one last look, their smiles a mutual promise of the spirited battle to come.

There was a newfound spring in everyone's step; if Spirit Week was a game, then this year, it had suddenly become a high-stakes tournament, and each teacher left plotting their moves to outwit, outplay, and outlast.

The evening air was cool when Lexa arrived at Clarke's inviting house, a place soon to be their shared home. Clarke greeted her with a smile, the comfort of their time together contrasting the semi-chaos of the house. Amidst the boxes labeled 'Lexa's Books' and 'Clarke's Art Supplies,' it was clear they were gearing up for a new chapter together.

"So, I've been thinking," Lexa began cautiously, setting down her overnight bag by the entryway, "For Spirit Week, what if I stay at my own apartment? That way, our outfits can be a surprise for each other every day."

Clarke chuckled, her eyes twinkling with both amusement and affection. "You really are taking this challenge seriously, aren't you?"

Lexa nodded, her face a playful blend of seriousness and excitement. "Absolutely. Do we have a deal?" Clarke grinned, captivated by Lexa's enthusiasm. "Deal," she agreed. With a knowing smile, they leaned in and shared a lingering kiss, sealing their playful pact for the week ahead.

The first rays of Monday morning painted the Arkadia High courtyard in a soft, golden light. Students, still groggy from the weekend, shuffled in, casting curious glances around to see which of their peers and teachers had embraced Pajama Day.

Among them, Lexa made her entrance, capturing more than a few amused stares and chuckles. Clad in a cozy, dark-hued pajama set, she confidently strode in, the words "Come to the dark side, we have π" boldly printed across her top.

Her choice of sleepwear, a playful nod to her math specialization, was as much a statement of her personality as it was her commitment to Spirit Week. As students whispered and pointed, it was clear that Lexa had set a spirited tone for the week, and many wondered how the other teachers, especially Clarke, would rise to the challenge.

Just as the school was buzzing over Lexa's clever pajama set, Clarke pulled into the parking lot, igniting a fresh wave of chatter among the students.

She stepped out of her car wearing a rainbow unicorn onesie, complete with a horn on the hood and a colorful tail. Across the chest, in bold, glittering letters, read the phrase "I Don't Believe in Humans." As she walked through the courtyard toward the school building, students couldn't help but stop and stare, their eyes widening in both amusement and admiration.

Clarke's artful approach to Spirit Week was unmistakable, and her whimsical onesie instantly became the talk of the school. She wore the outfit with an air of casual confidence, as if unicorn attire was just another artistic medium for her.

When Clarke and Lexa finally crossed paths, their eyes met, and for a moment, their playful outfits said more than words ever could—each had brought their A-game to Spirit Week, and the competition was on.

During their brief encounter in the teachers' lounge, amidst a sea of equally spirited but far less creative pajamas, Lexa leaned in close to Clarke and spoke softly. "Alright, I'll admit, you may have outdone me for Pajama Day. That unicorn onesie is a work of art—literally."

Clarke grinned triumphantly, enjoying her moment of glory. Lexa's eyes, however, twinkled with a sense of impending triumph. "But just wait until 60's Day. That's where I'll claim victory. I've got something special planned, something that even your artistic mind couldn't conjure."

Clarke looked at Lexa with a mix of curiosity and excitement, wondering just what the math teacher had up her sleeve. "Challenge accepted," Clarke said, her voice tinged with anticipation. "May the best outfit win." And with that, they shared a smile that carried the weight of a friendly rivalry and the deep affection that underlay it all.

On Tuesday's 60's Day, the Arkadia High courtyard came alive with the echoes of a bygone era. Among the students sporting flower crowns and band tees, Clarke's entrance became one of the day's spectacles.

She emerged from her car in a vibrant tie-dye shirt that danced with swirls of purples, blues, and greens, making it look as though a rainbow had melted upon her. Paired with her top were high-waisted flare jeans that accentuated her stature, giving off a carefree yet confident aura. She wore a pair of round, oversized sunglasses, their tinted lenses reflecting the morning sunlight.

Around her neck, she had a peace-sign pendant, and her feet were adorned with brown, fringed sandals. To complete the look, a simple braided headband held back her loose, wavy hair, emphasizing her dedication to the day's theme. As Clarke stepped onto the school grounds, she personified the very spirit of the 60s, her outfit a testament to her innate ability to merge creativity with authenticity.

Not long after Clarke's entrance, another car rolled into the Arkadia High parking lot, and out stepped Lexa, providing the next big reveal of 60's Day.

She was a vision of mod fashion, challenging the bohemian vibes set by her counterpart. Wearing a mini skirt that featured a bold geometric pattern, Lexa paired it with a form-fitting sweater in a contrasting color, amplifying her look's retro edge.

But what really turned heads were her knee-high leather boots, polished to a shine and perfectly complementing her ensemble. As Lexa walked through the school, her boots clicked with each step, emanating an aura of absolute confidence. The math teacher had indeed made good on her promise: her 60's Day outfit was a masterstroke of style and strategy, one that captivated students and faculty alike.

When Clarke caught sight of Lexa in the hallway, clad in her 60's-inspired mini skirt and knee-high boots, her heart skipped more than a beat. Lexa exuded a kind of effortless sensuality that caught Clarke utterly off guard, making it almost impossible to focus on the friendly competition at hand.

While the whole point of this week was to surprise each other with their Spirit Week outfits, for a fleeting moment Clarke regretted their decision to keep their living arrangements separate for the duration.

The thought of not being able to see Lexa first thing in the morning and last thing at night, especially when she looked this captivating, left her with a sense of longing she couldn't easily shake.

The playful rivalry was still there, but it had taken on a new, electric charge that neither of them could ignore. Clarke took a deep breath, steadying her racing heart, knowing that the week had just become more intriguing in ways she hadn't anticipated.

Clarke and Lexa bumped into each other in the deserted hallway, their eyes meeting over the vivid splashes of 60's fashion they each wore. "You look like a real-life Woodstock poster," Lexa commented, visibly impressed.

Clarke chuckled, her eyes drifting over Lexa's form-fitting ensemble. "And you're channeling the Swinging Sixties in London so well, it's hard to remember we're in a high school in 2023." The tension between them was palpable, charged with something more than their usual friendly competitiveness.

Seizing the moment, Clarke glanced around and noticed her art classroom door was ajar, the room empty. "Come here," she said softly, grabbing Lexa's hand and pulling her into the empty space.

As the door closed behind them, Clarke looked into Lexa's eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. "I can't help it; you look amazing," she confessed, before pressing her lips to Lexa's.

For a few suspended seconds, the world outside—the students, Spirit Week, the competition—faded away, leaving only the two of them lost in a kiss that seemed to say what words could not.

When they finally pulled apart, both were slightly breathless but smiling, knowing that regardless of who won Spirit Week, they had something infinitely more valuable.

Clarke felt a magnetic pull towards Lexa that she couldn't resist. Her hand gently touched Lexa's cheek, her eyes meeting those striking green orbs for a moment before leaning in for another kiss.

This time, the kiss was deeper, more intentional, as if they were sealing an unspoken pact between them. However, just as their lips met and they began to lose themselves in the moment, the harsh sound of the school bell rang out, shattering the intimate bubble they had created.

They pulled away, their eyes meeting in a mix of frustration and amusement. "Well, duty calls," Clarke said, her voice tinged with a regretful smile. Lexa nodded, her eyes still locked onto Clarke's. "Yes, it does, but this is far from over." They shared a knowing glance before reluctantly heading out of the classroom, each lost in thought.

Throughout the bustling day at Arkadia High, the school's empty spaces bore silent witness to a series of clandestine moments. At every opportune moment, Clarke, driven by a potent mixture of affection, playful mischief, and perhaps even a dash of Spirit Week fervor, found a way to steer Lexa into a momentarily deserted classroom or a conveniently shadowed supply closet.

The door would barely have time to click shut before Clarke would close the distance between them, capturing Lexa's lips in soft, lingering kisses. These weren't just displays of affection; they were little stolen moments of connection amidst the chaos of the school day.

Every time they emerged, there was a slight flush to their cheeks, their smiles barely suppressed, as if they were privy to a secret the rest of the school could only guess at. Lexa began to anticipate these spontaneous rendezvous, the unpredictability adding a layer of excitement to the rhythm of their day. The spirit of competition and the gentle tug of romance had them both ensnared in a dance only they understood.

Wednesday dawned, bringing with it the anticipated College/Pro sports t-shirt jersey day. Most of the Arkadia High staff approached the theme with predictable choices, donning jerseys and shirts of well-known teams.

However, Clarke wasn't one to be outdone, especially with what many deemed a rather straightforward theme. She arrived donning an ink-splashed jersey that immediately drew attention. The vibrant, artistic streaks on the fabric clashed with the neat logo of the Polis University Commanders, her cherished alma mater.

The jersey was a work of art, turning the concept of a mere sports jersey into a canvas of memories, creativity, and loyalty. It wasn't just a nod to her college days; it was a beautiful blend of her past and present, her love for art merging seamlessly with the pride of her university years.

Whispers filled the hallways as both students and faculty members paused to appreciate her ingenious take on the day's theme. Clarke had once again redefined the norms, making a simple jersey day into a statement of her unique identity.

As the morning bell neared, Lexa made her entrance, and it was nothing short of dramatic. Instead of opting for a traditional jersey or t-shirt, she arrived clad in her Arkadia College fencing outfit, a crisp white ensemble that hugged her form, perfectly tailored to every curve and muscle.

The mesh mask dangled casually from her hand, and her foil was secured in a sleek case strapped to her back. The Arkadia College emblem proudly adorned her chest, reflecting her dedication to the sport during her collegiate years.

The sight was both surprising and mesmerizing, drawing a mix of admiring and puzzled glances from students and colleagues alike. It wasn't just a nod to her alma mater, but also a bold statement about her passion and expertise in a sport that demanded precision, discipline, and elegance.

While Clarke had turned the theme into a canvas of creativity, Lexa showcased the art of mastery and skill, reminding everyone that there was more to her than met the eye. The dynamic duo had once again turned an ordinary theme day into a memorable spectacle.

The moment Clarke caught sight of Lexa in her fencing ensemble, her breath hitched. Even though they'd been together for over a year, Lexa's ability to leave her awestruck never waned. The Arkadia College fencing attire suited her perfectly tailored in a way that accentuated her athletic build, making her appear both elegant and formidable.

Clarke was reminded once again just how multifaceted Lexa was; a mathematician, a fencer, a strategic mind, and an incredibly attractive woman. The sleek lines of the white outfit seemed to make Lexa glow, highlighting her already striking features.

Clarke felt a familiar warmth spreading through her, part pride and part desire, as she realized just how fortunate she was to be in a relationship with someone as amazing as Lexa. In a sea of standard jerseys and college t-shirts, Lexa was a vision, taking Clarke's breath away just as easily as she had the very first time they met.

Finding themselves alone in the break room during a brief lull in the school day, Clarke seized the opportunity to comment on Lexa's striking outfit. Her eyes swept appreciatively over Lexa's fencing attire, finally meeting Lexa's gaze with a look that was equal parts admiration and desire.

"You know, I've seen you in various outfits, but this fencing gear is something else," Clarke murmured, her voice tinged with a sense of awe that went beyond the fabric and embroidery. Lexa caught the look and felt a flutter of warmth, fully aware of the magnetic pull she was exerting at that moment. "I aim to keep you on your toes, Clarke. Besides, this uniform has always made me feel powerful," Lexa replied, locking eyes with Clarke as if challenging her to look away.

Clarke took a step closer, her voice lowering to a whisper, "Well, mission accomplished. You look as powerful as you are captivating." The electricity in the room felt palpable, the air thick with the unspoken yet deeply felt connection between them.

Reading the unspoken invitation in Clarke's eyes, Lexa took a decisive step closer, closing the small distance that separated them in the break room. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this today," Lexa murmured softly, her voice tinged with a blend of anticipation and assurance.

Before Clarke could reply, Lexa leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss that melded tenderness with passion, a perfect encapsulation of the intricate dance they'd been performing all week—sometimes playful, sometimes intense, but always filled with unspoken emotion.

The world seemed to narrow down to the space they occupied, the electric charge that had built up between them finding its release. When they finally pulled apart, Lexa looked into Clarke's eyes, both women understanding that no matter the playful competition or the chaos of Spirit Week, their connection remained the most captivating game of all.

On Thursday, the halls of Arkadia High were abuzz with excitement as students and teachers alike showcased their favorite movie characters. But the highlight of the morning was when Lexa walked in, embodying the iconic Princess Leia.

She had opted for Leia's classic white dress, the high-necked, flowing garment accentuating her figure while maintaining an aura of royalty. Her hair was meticulously styled in Leia's signature twin buns on either side of her head, and around her neck hung the silver necklace Leia wore.

The ensemble was completed with knee-high white boots. Students and teachers alike stopped to admire and compliment her choice, recognizing the strong, independent character she represented—a fitting choice for someone like Lexa, who embodied those same qualities in real life.

Clarke, especially, couldn't help but beam with pride and adoration, the sight of Lexa paying homage to one of cinema's most enduring heroines touching a special chord in her heart. The choice was perfect, blending Lexa's grace with the character's iconic strength.

In stark contrast but equally impactful, Clarke showed up as Sarah Connor from the "Terminator" movies. She was dressed in tactical cargo pants, a fitted tank top, and a faux-leather jacket, her look completed with combat boots and a pair of aviator sunglasses perched atop her head.

A toy gun was tucked into a belt holster, adding an extra layer of authenticity to her portrayal. Her biceps, normally hidden under her art-teacher attire, were on full display, and she even managed to rough up her usually clean-cut appearance with a smear of charcoal for makeshift battle grime.

Students and faculty were captivated by her transformation into the relentless, resourceful character, remarking how brilliantly she pulled it off. When Lexa saw her, she was visibly impressed, her eyes scanning Clarke from top to bottom.

Transformed into Sarah Connor, Clarke stood out not just because of her impeccable costume but also because of the raw power she exuded. Her normally gentle blue eyes were steely and determined, her posture radiated strength, and there was a swagger in her step that hinted at a newfound confidence.

Lexa, usually composed and eloquent, found herself without words. The transformation was more than just aesthetic; Clarke embodied the spirit of the fearless warrior she portrayed. Lexa had always known Clarke was strong, both in spirit and character, but seeing her like this — it was as if she was witnessing a side of Clarke she had always known existed but had never seen in full force. It was awe-inspiring, leaving Lexa spellbound and a little breathless, and it took her a few seconds to remember how to speak.

Regaining her composure, Lexa stepped closer to Clarke, her gaze unwavering as she took in every detail of the Sarah Connor ensemble.

"Clarke," Lexa started, her voice low and filled with genuine admiration, "I've always known you to be strong and capable, but this outfit—it amplifies everything about you. It's not just the strength of Sarah Connor that I see, but an undeniable allure. You've managed to embody both power and an alluring charm that's hard to ignore."

Clarke raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips as she caught the hint of desire in Lexa's eyes. "You think I'm sexy, huh?" she teased.

Lexa chuckled, her eyes dancing with unmistakable affection and a hint of desire. "Think? No, Clarke, I don't 'think' you're sexy. I know you're sexy in that outfit," she asserted, letting each word sink in.

"You've captured Sarah Connor's essence so perfectly that it amplifies your own innate strength and allure. It's not just attractive; it's magnetic." Lexa allowed her gaze to drift briefly over Clarke's form once more before locking eyes with her again. "Today, you're not just the art teacher or my incredible girlfriend; you're a force to be reckoned with. And yes, that is incredibly, undeniably sexy."

Clarke's eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and pleasure, her grin stretching wider as she soaked in Lexa's words. It was a moment that encapsulated the balance of their relationship—both strong, both intense, and each finding the other irresistibly captivating.

Reading the mutual admiration in each other's eyes, the electric charge between them reached its natural crescendo. Lexa stepped closer, closing the gap that had felt too wide despite being only a few inches. The air grew thick with anticipation. "May I?" Lexa whispered, almost rhetorically, as Clarke's eyes answered before her lips could.

With that unspoken consent, Lexa gently cradled Clarke's face in her hands, her thumbs caressing her cheeks. Clarke's eyes fluttered closed as Lexa leaned in, both of them feeling as if they were the only people in the world at that moment.

When their lips finally met, it was as if a current ran through them — a tender, yet potent connection that conveyed more than words ever could. The kiss was soft, lingering, a delicate expression of love and a potent reminder of the electric chemistry that they shared. They parted slowly, both slightly breathless, and Clarke couldn't help but think that if this was the power of Spirit Week, then let every week be so spirited.

When Clarke walked through the doors of Arkadia High on Friday morning, she felt the full weight of school spirit envelop her. The hallways were awash in the school's colors, but Clarke had decided to make her own unique statement for School Colors Day.

She wore a tasteful, tailored black pencil skirt that stopped just above the knees, paired with a crimson blouse that seemed to shimmer in the morning light. To complete her outfit, she donned a pair of stylish black ankle boots and a red and black scarf that perfectly captured the day's theme.

As she carried her art supplies to her classroom, she couldn't help but notice the approving glances from both students and faculty. It was clear that she'd nailed the spirit of the day, blending her own artistic flair with Arkadia High's iconic red and black. And as she spotted Lexa down the hall, her heart leapt with excitement, not just for the day ahead but for the simple joy of sharing this spirited week with the woman she loved.

Lexa, always one for understated elegance, chose to embody the spirit of the day in a way that reflected both her professional demeanor and her personal style. She wore a well-tailored black pantsuit that fit her like a glove, accentuating her lean frame.

Underneath the blazer, she opted for a deep red silk blouse that added a splash of vibrant color, contrasting strikingly with her dark attire. To complete the look, she added a narrow red tie, giving her outfit a final touch of school pride without compromising her inherent sophistication. On her feet, she wore black leather loafers that provided both style and comfort. As she made her way through the hallways of Arkadia High, she felt not just the school spirit but also her own unique contribution to it. When her eyes met Clarke's from across the corridor, she knew instantly that they had both succeeded in not just honoring their school's tradition, but in adding a bit of themselves into the mix.

Throughout the day, it seemed as though fate conspired to keep Lexa and Clarke apart. Whether it was meetings, classroom sessions running overtime, students needing additional attention, or even a misplaced set of keys, the pair could never quite find the elusive moment to connect.

Both were keenly aware of the other's presence in the building, feeling it like a magnetic pull, yet every time they seemed poised to intersect, something would come in the way. It was almost comical, and by lunchtime, the shared, almost telepathic glances they shot each other across the courtyard were ones of amused frustration.

The day's bustling activities culminated in the much-awaited pep rally for homecoming, and it was amidst the loud cheers, music, and colorful banners that Lexa and Clarke finally found themselves side by side. Their hands brushed against each other, a shared smile passed between them, and in the midst of the roaring school spirit, they found a quiet, intimate moment, understanding that sometimes, anticipation only sweetened the eventual reunion.

In the school's bustling gymnasium, anticipation hung thick in the air as the student council prepared to announce the Spirit Week winners. When the student winner's name was called out, a burst of cheers erupted from a corner of the gym, accompanied by the jubilant cries of the victor's friends.

However, it was the announcement of the teacher winner that caught most by surprise. The name "Ms. Reyes" echoed through the gym's speakers, causing many students to exchange shocked looks. The computer science teacher, always ensconced in her tech-laden classroom and generally perceived as reserved, was the last person most had expected to win.

As Ms. Reyes rose from her seat, a modest smile on her face, applause filled the gym. Clarke and Lexa glanced at each other in mild surprise, realizing that in their playful competition and mutual admiration, they hadn't noticed Ms. Reyes's quiet participation in Spirit Week. Yet, as they clapped along with the rest, both felt genuine happiness for their colleague, reminding them that sometimes, the quietest participants make the loudest impact.

As the announcement settled in and the applause for Ms. Reyes continued to resonate through the gymnasium, Lexa and Clarke simultaneously turned towards each other, a mixture of disbelief and amusement evident in their eyes.

Clarke, always the more expressive of the two, let out a light chuckle. "Raven Reyes, huh? Should've seen that coming," she remarked with a playful grin.

Lexa shook her head, her lips curving into a smirk. "Of all the people to be outdone by… Raven," she responded, her tone light and teasing.

They both knew Raven was a formidable force in her own right, always surprising everyone with her hidden talents and unwavering spirit. Their eyes locked in mutual mirth, and they both burst into soft laughter.

Neither had anticipated being bested by the computer science teacher, but the revelation only added to the fond memories of Spirit Week.

As the week's events concluded and the halls began to empty, the competition that had once seemed all-consuming was now just a fond memory. Clarke leaned against a locker, her gaze finding Lexa's across the corridor. "I've got to admit," Clarke began with a chuckle, "this was one of the most memorable Spirit Weeks I've ever experienced."

Lexa grinned, walking closer, "Agreed. And as much as I loved our little rivalry," she playfully nudged Clarke, "it's the shared moments and memories that matter the most."

Clarke nodded, "It's not about winning, but about the journey and the fun we had along the way."

The two exchanged a knowing smile, understanding that the true reward wasn't a title or prize, but the strengthened bond they'd forged amidst the playful challenges.

With the week behind them, they looked forward to many more shared experiences, knowing that every moment, competition or not, was an opportunity to grow closer together.

[johnnylandslide]

Has your OC ever written a love letter (or text message or whatever the case may be)? Perhaps they have even composed a love poem or song dedicated to their beloved?

Heya, Wing!

Yes, he has indeed written a love letter! One of my favorite ficlets is about his initial confession to Tataru through one. He knew that she received plenty of love letters from her admirers, and assumed that just joining them in doing that was the best way to make his feelings known. Here's that ficlet!

The two of them were extremely close friends for several years before this, which over time kind of blinded Johnny to the potential for romance. His eyes were eventually forced back open, but he'd never been in love with his best friend before and didn't know how to handle it. He did want to win her hand, but since he knew she was very popular and had a lot of options, he didn't want to make her feel like she was forced to choose him just because of their history, especially if there was a better suitor available.

Tataru in the present day is happy she still has the letter, even if she would have preferred to have been confessed to in a less bizarre way. Johnny has written her several more over the years, some to mark their anniversary but also some others just whenever the mood strikes him.

Thanks for the ask!

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Pulling them into another kiss before either of them could catch their breaths. Defender/OFC of your choice, please

So, I started to fill this Ask three times, with three different scenarios, until I was able to finish this one. Not sure if I even like how it turned out, for it doesn't have the charm or ease I was hoping for. Still, at least it's written! Oh, and though you asked for one of my OFC's, I ended up using the same Sorceress that appears in my No Defense for the Heart series. Thank you so much for your patience and constant support, my friend!🥰🥰

Defender Strange x Sorceress Reader

edit by @doctorstrangeaskblog

Well this was not the way you'd planned to tell Stephen your life altering news. He had only arrived home from his latest mission with the Defenders twenty minutes ago, and you had hoped to allow him a while to acclimate to normal Sanctum life. Take a shower, see to any dings he may have suffered in whatever battle he'd endured, then sit down to one of his favorite home cooked meals (you'd learned once you'd moved to Bleecker Street, the necessity for a stasis spell; as Sorcerer Supreme and leader of the Defenders, his schedule was far too unpredictable to plan meals--so that you always had a couple set in stasis for when he had actual time to sit down and enjoy one). But all had been upended when you broke from his arms as you greeted him home, to rush to the bathroom before you lost your lunch all over him.

Stephen rapped firmly on the door again, his voice calm but clearly anxious. "You okay in there, honey?" You sat on the edge of the tub, breathing deeply while trying to calm the roiling in your tummy, not sure how to answer just yet. "Can I come in, baby? Maybe there's something I can do to help..."

You cleared your throat, then stood up on shaking legs. "Um...I'm alright..." You gave a quiet belch, hoping he didn't catch that. "Just give me a couple minutes and I'll be right out."

"Alright, Y/N...if you say so." Your heart gladdened at the concern and healthy skepticism in his reply. "But I'm not going anywhere until I can see for myself that you're okay."

"Yes, of course." You tried to sound lighthearted as you stepped to the bathroom sink and slathered paste on your toothbrush. "I just need to make myself presentable, darling." Plunging the brush in your mouth, you began to scrub your teeth and gums with the dedication of a newly minted dental hygienist. Once done, you splashed your face with water, noting how pale your cheeks appeared. Can't be helped, you thought, but maybe he won't notice. Following up with a double rinse of mint mouthwash, gargling each time. Hoping it would be enough to allay any suspicions Stephen might have that you weren't merely sick.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you fluffed your fingers through your hair and gave your cheeks a quick pinch to try a raise some healthier looking color. It would simply have to do. Composing your face to reflect a serenity that eluded you at the moment, you opened the door. The relief on Stephen's face at the sight of you made you smile sincerely.

"What happened, honey?"

You took his hand, leading him to the divan at the foot of the bed. "Nothing much, darling. I've just been...um...a little under the weather the past few days..."

His reaction was immediate; seeing that you were seated first, he laid a palm across your forehead. "Have you been feverish? Wong tells me there's a nasty bug running its course through Kamar-Taj - did you visit there while I was gone?"

"No...no," you assured him gently while urging him to sit, "Not since we were there together the week before last."

"Good," Stephen nodded, "Though you look really pale. Do you think it was something you ate? I know a charm that can help with that..."

"Yeah...no, I'm pretty sure it wasn't." You lowered you eyes, suddenly shy that the moment had come, and come so abruptly. Sensing your reticence, Stephen traced a finger along your jawline, stirring you to shiver, so that he immediately pulled you into his arms. You murmured against his neck, "And it may be a while until I'm gonna feel back to my old self..."

You felt him stiffen a little, his apprehension piqued by your cryptic reply. "Wait...is it something serious? Something requiring traditional medicine?" You realized you'd tripped Stephen's fierce protective instinct - something you had come to adore about him, especially when he directed it at you. "I knew the best doctors in every field in my days at Metropolitan General," he went on, a grim edge to his voice, "More than a few of them owe me favors..."

You shook your head against him, smiling despite how serious he'd become. "Darling, now as always, you're the only doctor I need." Moving enough to face him, running your fingertips across his furrowed brow, you added, "And you're the best medicine a woman... this woman...could ever hope for." Sighing hard, you twined the fingers of your left hand through his right, the diamond of your engagement ring softly glinting. "It's only that I've muddled up the order that we planned for ourselves...if...if you know what I mean..."

Now Stephen looked perplexed, for though you thought he had clues enough to reach the proper conclusion, this was one of those times when the answer was staring him in the face, but his prodigious mind failed to grasp the simplest of realities. "You know, the long-term plan. Engagement. Move in together. Tie the, uh...knot. And then, when the time is right..."

His eyes went wide as saucers while he gasped his surprise. "Start...start our family..." Stephen sputtered, "...when the time is finally right..."

"Uh-huh," you shrugged, feeling both sheepish and contrite, " I got a little ahead of schedule..."

"Oh, my baby doll," he grinned, "My sweet, sweet girl!" Barely leaving you a moment to draw breath, Stephen pulled you to him, planting his lips on yours, murmuring your name as he kissed then kissed and kissed you. Dazed and dazzled as you drew away, you had only a second to memorize his euphoric expression before he pulled your face to his again, for a deeper, more enduring kiss - which was all the assurance you needed to know that even the best laid plans of the most formidable Master of the Mystic Arts could be happily laid waste for sake of the woman who had laid her gentle, loving claim upon his heart.

tagging: @groovyqueer @mousedetective

[chouettecrivaine]

dead woman walking

Fandom: @shepherds-of-haven ! A little drabble of my MC who I have grown unexpectedly attached to and now she dances around in my head all of the time

Characters: Trouble/OC

Notes: 1.6k, angst, depressing introspection, the world's most OVERDRAMATIC girl has the most OVERDRAMATIC kiss

Summary: Lark has decided that the best course of action is to go on the mission alone, even if fatality is certain. She plans to leave in the middle of the night when nobody can stop her, but first there are some feelings she needs to put to rest.

Even if the trip from her room to Trouble's was familiar, Lark couldn't help but slow her steps as reticence pulled against her on every step. The magelights lining the hallway, for once, didn't seem as warm and homey as before - instead, Lark could only focus on that one spot of darkness between each fixture. It didn't matter how far the warm light stretched; the shadows always made their way to her.

She stopped just outside the door to Trouble's room, standing perfectly still and taking a deep breath. In the stillness, time didn't exist to her. Lark could pretend that she wasn't heading off to her final battle, a one-woman army marching straight into extinction. Maybe this was the battle she was created for - or maybe she was damning everyone by throwing herself away when she knew her reality couldn't be remade. Either way, the thought hollowed out her body and filled it with ice, the way she had been before. Somehow, Lark always knew she was going to die alone. At least this way, she could save anybody that she had tricked into caring for her from riding straight into the maws of death for her sake.

Lark had made peace with it, as much as she could. Her time in the Shepherds had reminded her all too well how to want to live, but blind hope wasn't something she had been able to afford for a while. This was her last stand, and she could accept that. It was bound to happen eventually in this line of work. There was just one thing she needed to do - one box left to check - before she could leave her loose ends in the hands of others.

Finally composed, Lark turned and knocked on the solid door, each in rapid succession of the last. Her heart thundered in her chest, pounding against her ribcage and rising into her throat with every beat. Her mouth went dry, though she couldn't figure out exactly why. She heard a soft shuffling on the other side of the door and forced herself to swallow, determined to keep up with her own façade. 

Trouble opened the door, more alert than Lark had expected, and gave her a friendly once-over. Despite not being bleary-eyed and half asleep, he still blinked a few times as if to make sure it was Lark in front of him. Easily, he smiled at her, unsuccessful in keeping his gaze covert as it lingered on her untied hair. During the day, Lark kept it in two braids circled around her head and pinned closely to her skull. She only ever kept her hair down when she was sleeping, and the few times Trouble had seen it, he'd been silently fascinated. Without fail, the attention would send a wave of excitement through her body, but now her apprehension was too strong for even that to shine through. Still, she smiled back at him.

"What're you doing here, Birdie?" Trouble asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. He only stood there for a moment before hurrying to make room for Lark. "Oh, I mean, you're welcome to come in. If you want."

Lark shook her head. "No, that's alright. I just needed to tell you something important."

Though he kept the mood light, Lark noticed how Trouble's face immediately softened. She noticed that when he was happy to see her - so, normally - his eyes seemed to sparkle as if the golden rings around his pupils were pure ore. Now, everything was warm seawater and honey. "Of course. You can tell me anything."

Lark's heart stopped beating, only to grow so quickly she thought it might burst out of her chest. God, she wanted to stay. An overwhelming affection flooded her senses, choking her up and forcing her feelings to well behind her eyes. Lark gripped at her nightshirt, trying to blink away the tears before they became too obvious. She thought heartbreak was supposed to be a shattering of glass as someone tossed her heart aside; maybe it could be your own heart tearing at the seams and spilling out all the love you were foolish enough to hide, too.

"Well, I have to tell you the second half later." At the end of her sentence, her voice trembled, and she covered it up with a shaky laugh. Trouble didn't seem to notice.

"Alright, then what's the first half?"

A beat of silence passed.

Then another.

Lark wasn't normally the type to be at a loss for words. She never felt comfortable unless she had a plan at hand to lie her way out of - or into - a situation. But Trouble made her honest, and the truth didn't seem survivable in that moment. Not if it was to be spoken aloud in a voice that would hurt Trouble the most.

So she stepped forward instead, brought her hands to his face, and pulled him down to her height so she could kiss him.

For a brief, terrifying second, Trouble went entirely rigid. Lark couldn't tell if he was staring at her, bewildered, or if his brow was furrowed as he tried to figure out how he got in that position. It didn't matter, because both were endearing, and neither would have stayed for long. His surprise melted away and his arms wrapped around her back, holding her close against his body. Lark almost sagged in relief.

Beneath her gentle hands, she felt his face gradually warm, certainly a few shades darker than before. In fact, she could feel his warmth all over, radiating from him and almost burning where their skin touched. In this moment, she could have anything she wanted, and she could delude herself into thinking it would last. In this moment, Lark was safe. Loved.

She wasn't ready for Trouble to pull away, yet he did. It was only an inch, and the many questions he undoubtedly had died on his tongue, but she could feel it. The ground was fracturing beneath her, and reality was swallowing her whole. Lark could only think of two things, and their certainty dug into her like claws: she loved him, and she was going to die.

So, even if it was selfish, she pressed her lips against his again, desperate and rough and scared. This kind of emotion, passionate and raw, was more up Trouble's alley. He kept her ferocity, yet held her with the care he'd give glass, like she was to be wrapped up and kept safe forever. Maybe he should've. Or maybe he should have kissed her breathless. It would have been a far kinder fate - but her fate was never meant to be kind.

Lark hoped that he could tell in the way she held his face, in the ease with which she leaned into him. If she was worth protecting, he was worth cherishing, and even if she never said it she hoped he knew. Trouble was always dense, but he had his moments. Now that she realized simply wanting him wasn't enough, had never been enough, there was nothing she could do but hope he was getting it now, and ignore her desire to stay ripping through her soul.

When they parted for a second time, neither of them said anything as they tried to catch their breath. Lark kept her lips parted, knowing that if she closed them it would be too obvious that she was trembling. Trouble didn't realize it,but even through his crimson fluster he was positively giddy. It was almost enough to convince Lark to stay.

But that was dangerous thinking. So she slowly untangled herself from him, her fingertips trailing down his shoulders and to his arms until there was nowhere left untouched. As he sorted his thoughts, Trouble's arms fell slack to his sides, a metal filament falling when the magnet attracting it moved away. Lark bit her tongue.

"So, uh…what does…this mean?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck if only for something to do. Bashfulness wasn’t something Trouble was well acquainted with, yet he couldn’t look Lark in the eyes all the same. 

“That’s the second half,” She answered quietly. “I’ll have to tell you later.”

Trouble narrowed his eyes in the way he did when he knew Lark was keeping something from him. Void of any heat or anger, it was more of a way to make her feel guilty than get her to actually admit anything. But he let it go. This was something they had been dancing around for a long time; a little while longer wouldn’t hurt.

Clearing her throat, Lark reluctantly backed away from Trouble and towards the door, keeping her eyes on him. It was difficult to swallow and even harder to breathe, yet she twisted the handle anyway. The hallway air rushed in, cold enough to send goosebumps down her arm. The moment she left this room, it’d be the beginning of the end.

Just before she turned around completely, Trouble interrupted her. Looking at him over her shoulder, Lark could tell that he was worried about her. “You can stay, if you want. You’ve done it before.”

An arrow of regret shot through her chest. “No thanks. I need some time to calm down.”

Trouble chuckled at that, muttering something small and proud about the effect he seemed to have on her. Then, lifting his head, he nodded once and let Lark take two steps backwards, his gaze undeniably fond. “I’ll collect you tomorrow, then. We can go to breakfast together.”

Lark nodded once, firmly, and put on her best, brightest smile. “I’d like that.”

It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. She would like that.

If only she’d be alive to do it.

[jstawowy]

SP types can design

SP types are creative and go-getting, focused on the world of the senses. With ruthless and courageous ESTPs it is impossible to get bored, reticent and composed ISTPs can keep a cool head even in stressful situations, creative ISFPs always go their own way and bold ESFPs become the soul of every company they find themselves in. As a rule, they are characterized by great awareness of their own body and appearance, unobtrusive personal charm and freedom, which is why they have extensive interests related to physical activity and a great sense of aesthetics. They are no strangers to the desire to explore the world and the need for adrenaline.

Pastel colors – lavender purples, pale blues and bright roses in cool tones seem to perfectly reflect their crisp, bringing a lot of liveliness character. Sour as lemonade, bitter as tonic, crisp as lavender, spicy as champagne with sparkling bubbles of SP's stimulate to action. Wood painted with white paint, bunches of lavender, a breath of fresh air – sea breeze or a clear winter morning, shallow waters and white sand, iridescent pink clouds during sunrise reflecting in the sea, snow sparkling in the pink sunrise like glitter – it all reminds me of SP types.

Element: wind

[entombe]

so , you're the great Merrick Bey Al - Kursi

Great , a word here that , when spoken , meant : your father precedes you. Lithe hands fold , he had always had a way of making himself the smallest thing in the room. Shoulders turn away , his limbs drawn in close , a body language so embedded by repetition that he scarcely cared to acknowledge it at all. He had inherited his reticent nature & death had done little to alter that. ❝ — I wouldn't use a word so grandiose to describe myself by. . . But without further context , I am forced to interpret that as a compliment. ❞

Truthfully , he dreaded this. This unfortunate guilt by association that seemed to place him on some imaginary pedestal , a silhouette more befitting the son of death surely forms in the mind on that pedestal but no matter what is heard or not heard about this son , it would always be Merrick they come upon. No sickening manifestation of plague , nor a shade composed of some primordial darkness & malintent. A Half-Elf , fully in the flesh , standing in the back of a room to avoid having the people in it acknowledge he was there. ❝ I don't imagine you're here to be fitted. ❞ A pale hand lifts to gesture , as the measurements of a nearby body were being taken for their coffin.

@lordasmodei