#to be clear being obsessed with the number of books you read is also a problem of those people but regardless of numbers

[poetka]

I'm not a fan of the dark academia movement because of elitism and snobbery etc etc but experiencing a short-lived interest in the aesthetic back in like 2018 played a big part in me increasing the number of books I read exponentially

[douche-canoe-regatta]

The Locked Tomb doesn't just feel as though it was written especially for me and my own personal enjoyment. It's also the series I always dreamed of writing when I was a kid... only to be told I was "way overthinking" my stories. I remember so clearly what they said.

"Don't obsess over the meanings of character names. don't make silly, 4th-wall-breaking references. what are these jokes doing here?don't make it so complicated. are you drawing your characters' clothing designs over and over again? shouldn't you be writing? why does it matter which numbers your weird character is assigned?" (6249D, btw.)

or: "This is too close to (movie, TV show, book). you're stealing. you're ripping it off. christ, knock it off with the thesaurus already. it's too weird. god, why are you so weird??"

eventually I stopped writing sci-fi/fantasy. it wasn't much fun as a 12-year-old being pushed to write like a 45 year old. I was constantly being praised for my writing ability, yet encouraged to remove anything that made it uniquely "me."

decades pass. I pick up GtN. love at first sentence. cleared my schedule. never looked back.

y'all, I can't explain how VALIDATING it is to read a writer who probably heard that shit over and over - likely her entire career! - and still said "Fuck you, I'm doing it however I goddamn please." Here we are, 3 bestselling, award-winning novels and 1 rabid fanbase later. fuck them indeed.

In the end, I never did become a writer. but reading TLT was something of a transcendental experience, feeling Seen in that way. like being told, for the first time,

"They were wrong. you can do anything you want. and it can be amazing."

so yeah. we do bones, motherfucker. choke on it.

[nyoomerr]

Normally, the community of Proud Immortal Demon Way can hardly be called as such. To call PIDW readers a ‘fandom’ would be akin to calling everyone who visited the same porn site a family. PeerlessCucumber is a loud exception, but in the end he’s still only an exception - by and large, people reading PIDW know exactly what they’re there for, and it certainly isn’t for any sense of shared enjoyment or community.

The community of people following PeerlessCucumber himself, however, is a whole different story.

PeerlessCucumber is the asshole single handedly responsible for at least seven different copypastas, the rich bastard that will pay an artist’s rent for a single picture of Luo Binghe if only the artist can tolerate his demands for constant revisions, the dictionary definition of an anti-fan.

He is also blissfully unaware of the absolute glee in which people take in riling him up. And in the age of the modern internet, nothing brings a group of strangers together like the opportunity to poke fun of a guy like that.

“How do I look?” HualingsWife whispers to her companions. They take a moment to scrutinize her, gaze lingering around her chest.

“I don’t know,” SwordsOfCultivators says, “I think the guy ahead of you let his robes drape open further.”

HualingsWife rolls her eyes. “If I let my robes drape open that far, I’d be disqualified - you know the rules are different for men.”

“It’s not like you’re looking to win, though,” XuanyuMeat says. “And the open chest is clearly effective.”

The three of them pause, turning to look at the stage from their spot in the wings. The competitor that came before HualingsWife is running through a series of poses that are slowly but surely allowing his robes to slip ever wider. 

Two of the judges are watching with thinly veiled amusement - after several years of this tradition, they’ve gotten used to the chaos that PeerlessCucumber’s fans bring to these cosplay competitions. 

The third judge is PeerlessCucumber himself, and he looks like he might be experiencing a serious health condition. A serious mental health condition, to be clear.

“- robes of inferior make! Binghe’s exposure is always purposeful, and artful, and it wouldn’t be because he was wearing robes that didn’t fit him! If you don’t care about dressing true to his character -!”

“Hm,” SwordsOfCultivators hums. “Is it just me, or is Peerless not being as harsh as he usually is? Do you think he’s finally losing some of his obsession with Luo Binghe?”

“He better not!” HualingsWife cries. “I’ve put way too much time and money into working on a cosplay for that awful porn book for him to lose interest right when I get my chance to join the torturing-Peerless-fun!”

“No, no,” XuanyuMeat says, shaking their head. “You heard his rants for the Luo Binghe cosplayers one through four - he was especially cruel to them! Look at his face now, that isn’t the face of someone losing interest!”

They turn back to the stage. Luo Binghe cosplayer number five - likely DickBiggerThanBinghe, if HualingsWife were to guess based on her limited interactions with him in the PeerlessWatchers discord chat - looks unbearably smug. His robes have fallen completely off his shoulders by now.

PeerlessCucumber, on the other hand, looks so red HualingsWife wouldn’t be surprised if she started seeing steam pouring out of his ears.

“Ah,” she says, understanding. “You think he’s recently finally realized his obsession with Luo Binghe isn’t that of a straight man’s?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to get this flustered over a man’s exposed chest and still think it was caused purely by the outrage of seeing one of our ‘poorly done’ cosplays,” XuanyuMeat says wryly. They send HaulingsWife a pointed side eye. “So…”

“Oh yeah, I’m on it,” HualingsWife says, already loosening her robes further. “Just make sure to have the cameras ready to get the direct comparison of his reaction to a woman’s nip-slip versus the absolute conniption he’s going through now.”

“Please, he probably won’t even see it - he’ll probably get all awkward and look away like he does with any female cosplayer dressed in anything but a full body suit.”

“I think he’ll peek through his fingers anyway,” SwordsOfCultivators says gleefully. “He wouldn’t dare miss the chance to oggle another Luo Binghe cosplayer.”

On stage, DickBiggerThanBinghe finally waltzes off, having received his scoring from all three judges and a score from the back of the room where the group of PeerlessWatchers are sitting. 

After all, none of them are really here for the actual cosplay competition. They only care about one thing: whoever can get the highest scoring Peerless rant about their cosplay will pay for dinner for everyone that night. 

“Ohh, seven out of ten!” HualingsWife says, as the group PeerlessWatchers wave their scorecard around with glee. “The last time someone got scored that highly was when TofuBuns dared to cosplay as a half-dead Luo Binghe covered in wounds!”

“TofuBuns still has their display name set to ‘faithless mongrel undeserving of witnessing Binghes success’ in the discord server,” SwordsOfCultivators sighs. “I can only hope to one day trigger a Peerless rant so iconic.”

On stage, one of the judges glances down at the score sheet, sees that another Luo Binghe cosplayer is scheduled to come out next, and stifles a laugh before gesturing for HualingsWife to come on.

“No way I’m getting something that iconic my first try,” HualingsWife says, “but if I can get Peerless to make that hilarious choking noise he made the last time he saw a female-presenting Luo Binghe, I’ll count it as a win.”

[lilacs-stars]

a night to remember

this is part 2, recommended you read part 1 first! (to avoid confusion) pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is glinda the good witch's daughter) SUMMARY: one day, you find a mysterious note in your locker from a certain pirate. who knows where it'll end up taking you—and your interesting relationship with him. GENRE: very wholesome despite the intro (I swear), fluff, some teasing and banter, reader being oblivious, mutual pining, just relationship cuteness overall CW: not much, mentions getting tipsy (not from alcohol), one little dirty joke if you squint hard enough WC: 7.5k

A/N: the title was inspired by the song of the same name by beabadoobee and laufey (I recommend listening to it while reading, as it sets the mood nicely!) james hook is literally so gentleman coded you can’t convince me otherwise. also I randomly thought of male characters using "m'lady" and now I'm obsessed...this was made to be pure, feet-kicking and giggling inducing fluff, so enjoy! thanks again to the anon who requested this, hope you like it! please leave feedback and suggestions, hearing your thoughts makes me so happy! :))

You stare down at the drink in your hand, the realization of what it is slowly dawning upon you. 

Mouth agape in pure disbelief, you glance up at the man sitting in front of you. The devilish glint in his eyes, rivaled only by the shine of his metal hook, sends chills down your spine—making it terribly clear why he brought you. 

Oh god, you think. How in the world did I get here?

You make your way through the bustling halls of Merlin Academy, trying your best to not get jostled by the ruckus of the crowd. 

Honestly, who puts people’s classes on the sixth floor and their lockers on the first? you mentally grumble, finally reaching the dreaded staircase that you climb up and down dozens of times each day.

After descending the five flights of stairs, you’re completely out of breath by the time you reach your locker. You tap the lock with your pointer finger three times, a magical device inside reading your fingerprint. It clicks open, and your locker door swings out towards you.

Reaching to place your books inside and take out some new ones for the rest of the day's classes, you’re shocked by something that slips out as soon as the door opens. A white piece of paper sways back and forth as it falls to the floor, right next to your feet.

You bend down to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, you learn that it’s not a piece of paper; it’s a small packet, stapled in the corner. At the top, in neat, printed letters, are the words “ENCHANTMENT OF MAGICAL OBJECTS: UNIT 3 WRITTEN TEST.”

Below it, a line is provided for the student's name. Scribbled down in a fancy, yet somehow still messy and barely legible font, is the name “James Hook.”

He left me his test? you question. You don’t even bother wondering how he broke into your locker; after that little incident where he stole your ring, you have resigned yourself to not being surprised at his so-called “bad boy” antics. He is a villain, after all.

This test was one that your class had been preparing for quite some time. It mainly centered the theory of enchantments, with the most difficult one being the Aiming Spell. Thankfully, you had taught Hook most of the material during your study session last week, specifically focusing on helping him improve his Aiming Spell (although maybe he got a little too good, considering how he pulled off that ring trick).

Your confusion regarding the test placed in your locker lasts only a second longer, until you notice that in the top right corner, a big, circled "87%" is written in bright red pen.

The number stays for a brief moment, before the red ink rearranges itself on the page, morphing into a “B+”.

Wait…that’s really good. For him, at least, you think. Is this really all because of your one tutoring session? You have always thought that you’re pretty good at teaching other people, but you never considered yourself a miracle worker. He must think it is because of me, I guess. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left this in here.

Even though you know you’re probably not supposed to, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you flip back the front cover to check what he got wrong.

As soon as you lift the top page, another piece of paper falls out of the test. This time, it’s smaller, a faint beige color tinting the sheet.

You reach down once again to pick it up as you notice that this one is actually an envelope. Glancing at the back, which appears to be empty, you flip it over to the front side. It bears a wax seal embossed with an emblem of two crossed pirate swords.

Carefully peeling back the top of the envelope so as to not rip the delicate paper, you pull out the note inside. There isn’t much writing on the plain paper, but it’s in the same handwriting as before. Very intrigued at this unusual occurrence of events, you read the few lines of text keenly.

“Friday, 6 pm. The Rogers Place.

Make sure to wear your fanciest dress.

Meet me there. I’ll be waiting.”

...What? You’re too stunned to even think. What is this? There’s no way he’s actually asking you out…on a date.

This has to be a joke, right? A study session was one thing, but this, this, meetup, is something entirely different. He even asked to meet you outside of school. You've heard before of the restaurant he mentioned, although you've never actually gone there yourself. Based on what you've gathered, it's a popular, rather formal place run by Eudora Rogers and her young daughter, Tiana, in memory of her beloved husband. 

So why in the name of the heavens would James Hook ask you, someone who has no dating experience whatsoever, of all people, to go with him to dinner? “Wear your fanciest dress”? What is this guy thinking?

In utter disbelief, you flip over the note, checking the back to make sure you haven’t missed something. To your surprise, there is some writing scrawled on the back, which reads: “Your payment for helping me pass my test.”

Right…so…he’s asking you out on a—no, it’s not a date, you remind yourself, yet again. He’s simply doing a nice act to return the favor. This was probably the only thing that came to his mind. Silencing the little voice in your head that whispers, “Why would the first thing that came to his mind be asking you out to dinner?”, you stuff the envelope and note in your bookbag, holding on to the test to give back to him sometime.

As you walk down the hallway, rushing to get to your next class, you don’t see the figure lurking behind the corner at the other end of the corridor.

He smirks, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

This one? No, it’s too casual.

How about this one? No, it’s not fancy enough.

This? Too sparkly.

That? Not sparkly enough.

You sigh, flopping onto your bed amidst a pile of dresses. It’s a few hours after school let out, on the day you’ve been anticipating all week long. And, not surprisingly, you can’t decide what in the world to wear. After all, it’s not like you’ve been out on lots of not-dates to know what a typical outfit would be like.

You stare up at the ceiling, sighing again for what must be the hundredth time this night. At times like this, you seriously wish you had a roommate. You've always had your dorm all to yourself, and sure, it is really nice most of the time. You can relax and unwind in solitude, with no one distracting you or pestering you with trivial matters while you study. However, there are the rare few occasions where you long to have someone close, to help you out or give you advice.

After holding up quite a few more dresses in the mirror, you finally decide on the one with the fewest number of cons, from the mental list you made for each dress. Slipping it on—albeit with much difficulty, since who designed dresses to be so frilly to the point where you can't even find where to put your head?—you stare at your reflection, completely enamored by the person you see staring back at you. You’re not really used to wearing fancy things like this, which is probably the reason why you barely recognize yourself.

Twirling around, head over your shoulder as you keep your gaze locked on the mirror, you realize why people have always told you that you have a striking resemblance to your mother. Your outfit consists of a ballgown-style dress, which really is the only type you have in your closet. Even though it’s a bit uncomfortable, the fitted bodice making it rather hard to take a full breath and the off-the-shoulder neckline compelling you to constantly tug it up to prevent it from slipping, it still is absolutely gorgeous. The short sleeves complement the torso, and the full skirt, all puffed up with layers of tulle, swishes elegantly as you move around. The bodice is densely embellished with small rhinestones, mostly at the top, with the gems growing sparser farther down the dress. A few crystals are set into the skirt just below the waistline, creating a scattered, shimmering effect reminiscent of the stars in a night sky.

Even though you aren’t a fan of fancy dresses, you must admit, you absolutely adore this one.

Finishing off the look with some jewelry and accessories, you take one last look at yourself in the mirror. You've never been one to be arrogant, but it's still hard not to think that even though this is certainly not a date, maybe, just maybe, Hook might be a little more interested in you after tonight.

“Um…hi?” you say, timid voice rising into a question from your uncertainty.

After getting dressed, you made your way to the restaurant. Fighting the deep-rooted urge to get there early as possible, you took the long route, not wanting to be the first to arrive. I’ll make him wait for me this time, you decided with an evil little smirk, thinking back to the day of your study session and the long minutes you had agonizingly spent wondering if he was going to show up.

Now, you stand in front of the reception desk, peering up at a waiter ordering papers. Fiddling with the lace gloves covering your hands, you add, “I don’t know if my name is ion the reservation or anything…”

Honestly, you’re not quite sure what to do at this point. All Hook had instructed you was to show up at the restaurant at this time. Part of you had expected him to be waiting by the door, but now that you see he isn't, your nervousness rises.

“Are you Y/N?” the server questions, glancing down at something on the small podium-like stand.

“Uh, yes, I am,” you reply.

“A young man has made a reservation for the two of you. He’s already waiting for you out on the patio. If you’ll follow me,” the waiter informs you, grabbing a menu from his stack and leading you through the bustling restaurant.

You follow him, feeling incredibly bashful as you swerve around tables and people alike. You finally reach a large set of doors in one of the seating areas, which the waiter opens for you.

Stepping through the threshold, you sense the cool rush of the evening air welcome you out. The sky has already begun to dim, a few faint stars gleaming against the dark backdrop. Spread out in front of you is an array of tables, most of them small enough for only two people. The low lighting, coming solely from flickering candles and glowing lanterns strung throughout the area, paired with the singular rose set in a vase at the center each table and a faint, slow jazz song playing somewhere in the background, makes for the most romantic of settings you could have possibly imagined.

Your breath is completely taken away as the server leads you through the arrangements of seats. It’s sparsely crowded, with only a few couples seated here and there, each enjoying an amorous dinner.

The server stops at a circular, two-seated table close to the edge, overlooking a magnificent view of the city down below. A few feet in front ahead and sitting with his back towards you, the only object of your thoughts for these past few hours turns his head in your direction, probably upon hearing the clacking of your high-heeled shoes.

Although you’ve tried your best to convince yourself that this, in fact, is not a date, you simply can’t deny the way his entire expression light up at the mere sight of you. Hook stands up, unabashedly eyeing you up and down slowly, taking all of you in.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he takes your hand in his, once again bowing down to place a kiss on your ring—it appears that this has become a routine, which you can't exactly say you mind.

You don't miss how he pauses for just a moment, noticing the way your ring is still on your ring finger, unchanged from the place he left it. Holding your breath, your heart beats faster as you worry about what he thinks of it. To your relief, he doesn’t say anything, instead kissing the gemstone and straightening back up again, but not before ever so softly—yet still with obvious intentionality—brushing his lips against your finger, deliberately tracing your skin with an agonizingly slow pace as his warm breath sets your every nerve on fire.

“M’lady,” he breathes, standing to meet your gaze. His casual nonchalance is a stark difference from the way you struggle to regain your composure, hating how even the smallest of actions from him can elicit such a reaction from you.

As you study him, you notice that he had a significant wardrobe change too; instead of his usual pirate attire, he dons a dark maroon frock coat, embroidered with intricate swirls and designs. He definitely made an attempt at looking a bit more classy, with his hair neater than usual and the collar of his shirt tidily done. You could even swear that his hook looked more polished than usual, and that he carried the faint, odd trace of expensive cologne.

The server leaves the menu on your table and walks away with a polite nod of his head. Hook steps over to the chair opposite the one he had been sitting in, pulling it out for you in a manner that is far too gentlemanly for what you're used to seeing from him, gesturing at you to sit down with a wave of his shiny metal hook. 

Overwhelmingly flattered, you walk over, smoothing your skirt beneath you as you take your seat. Hook pushes your chair in, before going back to the other side of the table to take his own seat.

Not sure what else to do, you pick up your menu and glance over it. “Decide what you’re going to order yet?” Hook asks you.

“No, you?”

“They already took my order, but I told them to wait on preparing my food until you had ordered as well.”

They already took his order? How long has he been here? you wonder. You glance at your wristwatch, seeing that it’s only a few minutes past six o’clock. Deciding to shrug it off, you go back to looking at your menu, despite not being able to fight the voice in your head that whispers about how you should've gotten here earlier, that he had probably been waiting for you, all alone, for quite some time.

“It’s so hard to decide,” you say with a halfhearted laugh, trying to fill up the heavy silence. You peruse the menu more carefully this time, marveling at how many different dishes are listed. Finally, after reading through the entire thing a few more times, you settle on the one that sounds the best.

After only a few moments, the server comes back around and takes your order. “A fine choice, ma’am,” he comments as you tell him your choice of entrée. You notice that all of the waiters here wear fancy black suits and come with a pristine white cloth draped over their arm. Huh, how fancy, you think to yourself. I never knew this place was so formal.

“So, Hook,” you begin, “Why did you bring me here?”

“Didn’t you read my note? It’s a thank-you for helping me pass my test. The teacher was very impressed with my score, you know,” he responds indifferently.

You give him a small sigh, paired with a gentle smile—your attempt at hiding the twinge of disappointment dancing in your eyes. “I did, but you didn’t have to treat me to dinner. A simple note would have sufficed.”

Hook looks at you, dark brown eyes wide and holding your gaze with an intensity you’ve never known. “Sufficed? I don’t want to just suffice. I want to give you a memorable night. An unforgettable experience.” “I don’t think I could ever forget a charming pirate with a hook for a hand,” you laugh, teasing him lightly. Instead of laughing along with you, Hook stares at you for another moment, studying you with slightly scrunched brows and an indecipherable expression on his face. You grow uneasy at his burning look, shifting in your seat as you wonder why he’s watching you so intently.

However, the tense awkwardness in the air lasts for only a minute, before Hook breaks into one of his famous smirks as he replies, “Oh, charming, am I? I know you can’t stop thinking about me, love.”

“Th-that’s not what I meant!” you cry, leaning across the table to give him a small push. He breaks into a laugh, his lips curling up into yet another genuine smile as he leans back just out of your reach. His mirthful expression makes you realize that he had been simply joking, causing your face to burn up as your mind replays your rather dramatic reaction. Honestly, you can never really tell whether he’s being serious or just messing with you.

“Settle down, love. Wouldn’t want you ruining that pretty dress of yours,” he responds, twisting to the side again to prevent getting smacked by you.

You two continue making small talk, still partaking in your teasing, only slightly annoying banter. Before you know it, a waiter is walking towards your table with two platters, one in each hand.

The server sets down the plates on your table, the dishes both looking absolutely delectable. Along with the food, he places two matching beverages in front of you two.

You thank him, and he bows again before leaving. Turning back to Hook, you watch with a slight arch of your eyebrows as he raises his drink in the air.

“A toast,” he says. “To continuing our little dates.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to correct him this time. Lifting your own glass, you add, “And to you continuing to get good grades.” He smiles at this, before lifting the drink to his lips. Perceptive as always, you notice how his eyes follow your hand as you bring the glass to your mouth.

A sudden, fleeting doubt crosses your mind at his suspicious behavior. Glancing down at the drink skeptically, you notice its unique bright red color. You lower +it slightly and sniff it, then bring it down from your face, fixing a glare at Hook. “You think I don’t know what this is?”

“Oh, I know you do. That’s what I was counting on, at least.”

You persist with your glare. You've spent many hours reading up on different potions and elixirs, so you're no stranger to the drink in your hand. It's a popular one known as the Lovers' Lascivious Lure, a beverage with a fruit punch-like taste, plus a little kick. The real reason for its fame, however, is the touch of love potion that gets mixed in. Not enough to truly make someone fall in love with you or intoxicate them, but rather something that is favored by couples looking to get a little tipsy in love on their night out.

You set the glass down on the table, not breaking your gaze away for a second as you continue to glower at the person sitting across you.

“It’s rude to not drink after a toast, darling,” Hook says, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I don’t care, I’m not drinking that,” you reply irritatedly. 

“Fine. Your loss, love.”

You watch in complete shock, eyes blown wide and mouth agape as Hook brings his drink up to his lips again, tipping back his head as he gulps the entire thing down in one go.

“I’d drink yours as well, darling, but I’d hate for you to be forced to walk me home, instead of the other way around,” Hook spouts with a bit too much added expression, slightly swaying as the effects of the potion kick in. 

You continue to stare at him, concern etched into your features, knowing full well that this drink is designed to be sipped slowly throughout a leisurely dinner, one with much idle conversation and flirtatious looks. Not to be downed all at once. You honestly don’t know what the side effects are to consuming a large amount very quickly, but you pray that the potion is weak enough so as to not cause actual harm—or any other effects—to him.

“So, love,” Hook drawls in a low tone, leaning in. “Anything you feel like telling me?”

“You’re the one who drank the liquid courage, not me,” you point out, fixing him with another look. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer you’re going to last like this.”

At your words, Hook’s dazed expression suddenly disappears, instead replaced by a very serious, stern face. “Oh, I assure you, love, I can last very long.”

You blink, a tad confused at why he said that with such a strong conviction. Brushing it off, you look down at your food again, your mouth already watering. “Come on, our food’s going to get cold, and it looks far too delicious to waste.”

Hook agrees, unrolling his utensils instead of shooting back a one-liner, much to your surprise. You’re even more taken aback at the way he drapes the white cloth, which previously held his cutlery, over his legs as he begins to eat, keeping up with his very proper etiquette. He does everything with utterly perfect decorum, from holding his fork and knife in the correct positions to cutting all his food into little pieces. You honestly don't know why this comes as such a shock to you; he has been employing rather polite manners all evening, after all. It appears, you realize, that you’ve always subconsciously believed the stereotypes that pirates are unruly creatures, which therefore must mean they eat messily.

Apparently, this pirate doesn’t.

You both make small talk as you enjoy your food, which is every bit as delicious and succulent as it looked. All the different components are cooked to a perfect degree; not raw or difficult to chew, but not burnt, either. Rich, deep, aromatic spices have always been the staple of this restaurant, and for good reason. You have no clue what flavorings they used, but whatever they are, they taste unlike anything you've ever eaten in your entire life, like an otherworldly meal sent from the heavens. To top it all off, the food also comes with piquant side dishes, followed by desserts that are absolutely decadent and make you melt with every bite you take.

After you both have had your share, Hook motions to the waiter for the check. You had slipped some extra cash into your handbag before coming, not sure what the expectation would be for who paid. As the waiter returns with the small black book in his hand, you turn to Hook.

“I can pay, if you want,” you offer. 

Hook quirks his brow as he gives you a look, before reaching into his coat pocket. “Come now, don’t be ridiculous, love. What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t pay for you? Especially considering that I was the one who asked you out.”

You blink hard, barely aware of your small nod towards him, your mind racing as the waiter gives Hook the check. You blankly watch him scribble a signature before handing it back, trying to process what he just said. “...asked you out…” Does that mean he actually considers this as a date? Especially since he offered to pay for you…Heavens, what is going on?

Your eyes trail the waiter as he leaves, just as Hook turns back to you. “All finished?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “So…what now?” You aren't quite sure whether or not he's planning on walking you home like he mentioned earlier, but you do know that you're not ready to part quite so soon. Averting his gaze, you instead choose to look down at the candle flickering in the middle of your table. It is now very dark outside, to the point where the flame’s meager light shines with a bright luminosity. Entranced by the fire, you stare intently at its dancing movements, attention fully consumed by how the flame appears to be practically alive.

“Now,” Hook says with a glint in his eyes, causing your head to snap back up, “I have something to show you.”

“Something to show me?” you repeat. “Show me what?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see once we get there, love.”

“Once we get there? Hook, where are we going?”

He gives a smug, knowing grin. “You’ll see. Just be patient, darling.” He notices the skeptical look you still have, so he adds, “Trusting me last time turned out good, right? So trust me one more time. I promise you’ll like your surprise.”

You consider his words, hating how he had a point. “Fine,” you huff. “Lead the way, I guess.”

You start to push your chair back to get up, but Hook chides, “Ah ah ah, no you don’t,” standing up himself before walking behind you. He grips the back of your chair and pulls it out for you, before offering his good hand to help you stand too.

Once again, you’re rather shocked at his well-mannered behaviors and courteous gestures. As you accept his outstretched arm, you wonder how in the world this is the same person who was, only a few days ago, leaning back in his chair with his feet up, flinging magical disks across the room.

Getting up, you hesitate for a moment, freezing in place now that you’re level with his eyes. You haven’t been this close to him since that pivotal day during your study session, and your breath gets taken away once again by the proximity.

His angular features and sharp jawline catch your attention, causing your legs to stagger as your gaze wanders down to his soft, plush lips, which definitely stand out amidst the rest of his chiseled face. You had never noticed how his eyeliner also traces his bottom lash line, making his eyes pop whenever he widens them, or how part of his hair swoops to the side and slightly covers his forehead. It dawns on you that you’ve always overlooked the two small silver earrings that dangle from his ears, or the chain around his neck with a cross on it, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Not aware of how you’re just standing there paralyzed, you commit to memory the small details about him you’ve never really seen before. Even though the inside of your head is alive and bustling with a plethora of thoughts, outside, you two stand in terribly awkward silence.

Hook clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. “Come along, darling. We wouldn’t want to be interrupted by curfew again.”

Tightening his grip on your hand, which still holds yours, he leads you through the entrance you had used not so long ago while bidding farewell to the waiter. You continue up the hill to the woods behind the restaurant, Hook refusing to give even a single hint as to what big surprise awaits you.

The trail through the trees starts off easy enough, although still rather difficult for you to traverse in your tight dress and voluminous skirt. If I had known I’d be taking a hike, I’d have worn something more suitable, and much more comfortable, you think, but ultimately decide to keep your mouth shut. After all, Hook had been spoiling you all evening. The least you could do was not nag him about every last thing.

The farther you go, the thicker the branches that block your path and scratch at your arms with their sharp claws get, and the denser the underbrush that tries to trap your feet and swallow you whole grows. After a quarter hour of consistent walking, the trail all but disappears, until only a small path carved by the footsteps of a few brave souls remains. You have to hold up the edge of your full-length skirt the whole way to ensure it doesn’t get all dirty and muddy; by the time you’re nearly done, your arms ache just as much, if not more, than your legs.

You and Hook travel mostly in silence, the sounds of your heavy panting and the crunches of leaves and branches underfoot filling up the empty air. You trail behind him, sometimes struggling to keep up, although he does happen to notice this and slows down his pace after the first few minutes.

Occasionally, Hook gives a short, crisp, “Watch out for the rock there, love,” or “The branches here are really low, I’ll hold them up for you.” You always respond with a clipped “Yeah,” or “Okay, thanks,” trying to mask just how out of breath you've gotten from the difficult climb. Early on in the beginning of the hike, you had to let go of his hand, favoring holding up your skirt instead. Still, in areas where the ground is rough or rocky, or the footing becomes difficult or rather steep, Hook always turns around and offers his hand to you and helps pull you up, or reaches out his hook from overhead for you to grab on to.

The noises of the night accompany you the entire time: the soft chirps of crickets, a few croaks from a frog somewhere out of sight, a creature or other scampering through the bushes, a rare call from an owl, and the whispering of the leaves above as a cool breeze passes through them. After a few more minutes of walking through a maze of nature with trees so thick—their only rival being the velvety blackness of the night—the pace of the trek finally slows down. You've long tired of always having to hold one arm ahead to ensure that you don’t get smacked in the face by an unsuspecting branch, so you're overwhelmingly relieved when Hook finally says, “We’re almost there.” “Finally,” you mumble between breaths. “I think my limbs are just about to fall off.” You can’t really tell in the pitch-black darkness, but you could have sworn that Hook gave a small smile at your words.

Once you reach a thick tangle of branches and vines that completely block your path, you both come to a stop. You watch as he pulls them back and to the side, even slicing through some with his hook. He beckons you forward with a courteous, “Ladies first,” a grin dancing on his features.

You walk through the clearing and onto a wide ledge overlooking the entire city. The view knocks the breath out of your lungs, despite your body already screaming at you for more oxygen. All thoughts of your strenuous hike vanish from your head, except for one that reminds you the arduous journey was absolutely and totally worth it.

From all the way up here, you can see the entire land. The shimmering lights of the large cityscape below you steal your heart, while the small village houses and mountains beyond them, creating the faintest of outlines against the horizon, capture your soul. This vantage point allows you to see everything; every bustling street filled with people rushing to get home after a long week, or frolicking around on a night out. Every house, every drawn-back curtain, but a mere speck in the constellation of human activity, a testament to the splendor of life. Twinkling lights sprawled below you paint a shimmering mosaic, reflecting the celestial canvas of stars hanging above you.

You stare in pure awe, almost forgetting about Hook as he approaches you from behind. “Enjoying the view, love?” he whispers softly, his voice closer to you than you expected.

You startle, turning backwards with a sharp inhale. “Oh…yeah, it’s just…breathtaking.” Unable to think of the right words to describe it, you decide to settle for an almost shameful understatement of the view's beauty.

You’re not quite sure if you imagined it, too caught up in your head, but you hear something that almost sounds like a soft, “Just like you.”

“Huh?” you ask, turning back around to face him. 

“I said, I told you you’d like it,” Hook repeats, although you still hold your suspicions. “All you had to do was trust me.”

“And how can I be sure you aren’t planning to push me off the edge?” you question, teasing him.

“Well, you can’t,” he replies, walking over to the ledge. “But if I do, I’ll let you drag me down with you. If we go down, then we go down together.”

You giggle, choosing to take his words at face value only and not read into them too much. After all, your heart can only take so much in one night.

Hook crouches down, using his good hand to support him as he sits down in front of you, keeping one foot hugged to his chest as he dangles the other off the side of the cliff.

He glances over his shoulder at you, patting the space besides him. Cautiously, you walk over to the ledge, joining him on the ground. 

You both sit there for a moment in silence, looking over the magnificent scene. You can tell that Hook finds comfort in the lack of conversation, but it feels too heavy for you, and so you decide to finally break it with the question that’s been on your mind this whole night.

“Hook?” you ask gently.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

He turns his head slightly to glance at you. “I thought you’d like the view,” he replies, looking at you with a confused expression.

You take a quick breath, preparing yourself for the difficult words you’re planning to speak next. “No, I mean, why did you really bring me here tonight?” He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, adding, “And don’t lie to me.”

His mouth closes shut again and he hesitates for a moment, contemplating his next sentence carefully, before responding, “I’ve already told you.”

“What, that you wanted to thank me for helping you get a B-plus on your test? Yeah, that excuse won’t work on me anymore.”

“No, not that.” He turns his head back and runs his good hand through his hair, making his neatly combed style look a bit more windswept than before. “I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

“…What?”

“I already told you that it was a date, love. You just chose not to believe me.”

It’s your turn to whip your head to the side this time, now facing directly towards Hook, who’s still looking straight ahead at the scenery.

“I-I didn’t…truly…I thought you were just joking when you said that.”

He glances at you again, a roguish grin forming on his lips. “Oh, darling, I don’t joke about much. Especially not with you.”

Again, you choose not to read too deeply into his words, trying to break your awful habit of overthinking. Instead, you press on, wanting to gain as much information as you can from him. If nothing else, at least a few answers might help put your mind at a little more ease. “Why’d you want to ask me out? I’m not exactly…”

Your voice fades away as your brain catches up with your far-too-fast mouth, realizing that saying “I’m not exactly the most desirable person to date” may not do you any favors.

Hook turns to look at you with an expectant gaze, and you know that you can’t sweep your little slip-up under the carpet that easily. Gods, he’s observant. “…the most popular person at our school,” you finish.

“Hmm, true,” Hook concurs, tilting his head with a tone as if he’s never considered that point before. You were half-expecting him to disagree, more out of courtesy than honesty, so you’re a bit taken aback when he agrees with you.

“But I don’t care about popularity.” Ah, so there’s that socially obligatory politeness. You don't really believe his words at first, yet the way he says it so sincerely, so genuinely, makes you wonder if he truly is being honest.

“So why’d you want to take me out on a date?”

“Because, love, you’re different from what I’m used to,” he replies. “You’re kind, soft, pure. You intrigued me.”

You recoil at his words, a deep, writhing anger rising out of you. “What, you only went out with me because I’m so pure and innocent? So you could corrupt me?” you spit, having heard this little skit far too many times before.

“No, not like that. Not at all.” Hook twists his body to face you more, and although you’re still mad at him, you can’t deny the hurt and pain that swirls in his voice and eyes at your accusations. “You’re…you’re always trying to help others. You always speak softly, always smile. You’re untainted by the evils I've witnessed. You’re like an angel sent down from the heavens. You’re not like me, love."

Hook continues, “And I don’t want to change that. I don’t want to corrupt or hurt you. I want to preserve that. Every time I’m with you, you make me want to keep you safe from the troubles of the world, the cruel things I’ve seen.

"You make me want to be around you. I can't explain how, or why, but your presence alone compels me to change my ways. To be kinder, gentler, softer. For you. It's as if you're contagious, and well, I think you've infected me, love. Whenever I see you, or even think of you, everything feels just a little bit better. The weight on my shoulders feels a bit lighter, and nothing seems as bad as it used to, as it was when I was on my own.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is...you've made me feel things that I haven't felt in a long, long time. Things that I thought my blackened heart couldn't even experience anymore. You make me feel like there's still goodness in the world...like there's still hope. Like I still have hope." You blink slowly, your mind and heart spinning alike as everything around you, as time itself, seems to slow down. You're unable to process all his words, unable to even begin to consider the implications of what this all means. “So, what you’re saying is…you only like me because I’m good?” you ask, touched by his sentiment, yet a little sad at the underlying meaning. Does this mean that if you want to stay with Hook, to maybe even be something in the future, you can't have any darkness to your soul? That you'll have to continue to be as righteous and morally correct as ever?

He gives a small chuckle. “Of course not, darling. I love when I make you snap, when you get angry at me. I love when the fierce part of you comes out. Just like it did now.” He reaches out his good hand to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing against your cheek as he keeps it there, not pulling back quite yet.

You can see the hesitance swirling in his eyes, the uncertainty in the way his hand lingers by your face. By some sudden stroke of courage, the origins of which are a complete mystery to you—maybe he had the love potion added to your food too?—you shift your whole body towards Hook, keeping your legs tucked together and off to one side. 

“Kiss me,” you breathe.

“I'm sorry, love, wh-what?”

It feels strange to take command for once, but it sure is nice. “You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His lingering hand cups your cheek as you both lean in, meeting each other in the middle. Hook’s lips are as soft and plump as you imagined, almost like brushing your mouth against the petals of a rose. Placing one of your hands on the ground beside you, you put your weight on it as you move even closer.

You’ve read of intense kisses, filled with passion and fueled by lust. But this isn't like that. It is slow, sweet, intoxicating you with only the purest of adorations. Your lips hover over his as you tilt your head to the side to prolong the embrace, getting swept up in the moment whilst being completely and blissfully unaware of anything and everything besides how his lips feel against yours, how his hook traces your body as he devours you like a starved man given his last meal. How he breathes you in like you're the very air that fills his lungs, like your sheer essence is the only oxygen he needs. You bring your hand up to his shoulder, leaning further into him as he moves his good hand back and tangles it in your hair.

It ends rather quickly, the entire kiss lasting but a moment, yet still filling you with the sweetest pleasure. In that moment, you realize why people spend their whole lives searching for love; it’s one of the most endearing, profound forms of joy that one can feel, and you're certain that you just felt it.

You pull away, noticing how his gaze lingers on your lips, before looking back up at you. He gives you a captivating, yet genuine smile, one that makes your heart to ache at how perfect he is, yet simultaneously yearning for his touch, his lips, him being wrapped up in another embrace with you and never breaking away. The newfound euphoria coursing through your veins and making your mind fuzzy causes you to return his smile with a wide, love-drunk grin of your own, a deep, wholehearted devotion emanating through your gaze as you study his features.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper, staring into his eyes—eyes that reflect your own.

“Always, love.”

“You were my first kiss,” you confess.

Hook brings his hand back up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. His grin grows, an endless affection swirling in his dark eyes as he replies, “I guess this really is a night to remember.”

You give a small laugh, lowering your forehead to lean it against his shoulder, seeking comfort in his hold. “You did want to give me an unforgettable night, after all.”

“Can I tell you a secret, too?”

You raise your head again to peer up at him with wide eyes, curious as to what he has to admit.

“That day, in class,” he confides, “I was enchanting those disks and sending them across the room so you’d come and talk to me. I saw how you went over to help that other kid who was struggling. So, I figured that if I struggled too, you'd come over and I could get a conversation with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “So you could cast the spell right?”

“Oh, no, not even close, love. That was all your work. Although I might have put in a bit more effort just to impress you,” he adds with a small smirk.

You move one of your hands closer to him, placing it on top of his and intertwining your fingers together. “Well, I suppose it worked.”

You lean back into him, kissing him blissfully yet again under the watchful smile of the moon glowing high in the sky, the stars glimmering and winking down at your young love. As you embrace, the city below bustles with the joys and despairs of human life unbeknownst to you, each person a thread in the tapestry of the world. Every soul but a speck of stardust in a cosmic dance.

And perhaps that is the greatest folly of human life. All the weight of one’s burdens, all the battles fought, all the hearts and souls that love and cry, together composing of but a fleeting second amidst the vastness of forever. And yet, each person gets lost in the preeminence of their own narrative, joyfully unaware of every grain of sand that disappears into the abyss as we shuffle closer to the edge of this mortal coil. But oftentimes, one’s deepest flaw is their greatest feat, as no imperfection comes without its own merit.

So maybe that very feature is, instead, the greatest feat of humanity. To love like you’ll live forever, and to weep like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe our ignorance gives us strength, the strength to keep going every day, pretending as if we somehow have an authority and power over the galactic strings of thread that weave together the fate of our universe.

The city below you, the world outside of the little bubble the two of you have created, moves on, unknown and unknowing of you both. But in this moment, nothing else matters. Nothing besides the love and affection you and him have grown to share.

end x

<- back to part 1

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a/n: I just had to end this with some philosophical musings haha (hey google, how do you write beginnings and endings?) anyways hope you liked this, I love making fluff like this :D I love seeing everyone's comments and reactions, all feedback is highly appreciated! until next time :))

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

[draculasfavoritewife]

Idle Hands

Summary: Whenever Tony forgets to go to bed, it's always been up to you to bring him back to your side.

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Warnings: Heavy on the softness compared to most of my other stuff; I was in a very sentimental (read: sad and touch-starved) mood back when I wrote this lol. Tony Stark is a TEASE both in word and deed -- I have said it is canon therefore it is now. The feral way he makes me feel should be illegal. Also you can read the...implications of my vague wordings towards the end as tame or as smutty as you wish ;)

I feel the need to mention here that Tony Stark has been my most favorite comic book character since I was but a mere 11 years old. He holds the distinction of being my longest-running fictional crush/object of my obsessions and I love him so deeply and for so many little reasons that I could write a PhD dissertation on him. So please enjoy my little love letter to the man that has held my heart for nearly a decade and a half <3

It's that point of the night where you really can't decide if it should be counted as ungodly late or ungodly early. 4:00 am does tend to scramble the thoughts.

You've been drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep for what feels like forever, and as you roll away from the digital clock display on the wall with an annoyed sigh, you suddenly see why.

The other side of the bed is utterly untouched.

He hasn't been here with you at all.

You sit up, trying to remember if he had plans tonight. The calendar app on your phone has no record of a gala, awards ceremony, board meeting, or anything else that might have taken up his time.

Which means he's probably down in the lab again.

Briefly, you contemplate trying to call him, but you know from experience that he probably isn't taking calls right now, even if FRIDAY tried to put one through for you. He's in that zone that only designing and building can put him in, the one mindset where his too-busy brain is crystal clear and the world at last makes sense to him.

So you pull yourself out of bed, throw one of his old sweatshirts on over your cami and pajama shorts (he keeps the AC cranked all the way whenever it's warm outside) and pad out of the bedroom and on your way downstairs.

His lab is awe-inspiring as always, no matter how many times you see it. The purring thrum of the generators and the comforting pulse of dimmed lights, the heavy, electric feeling of the air itself -- he's described his workspace to you as having a life of its own before, and you can understand so well why time escapes him down here.

You just hope he's not using it to escape from other things as well.

He's deeply absorbed in his work on something at a station opposite the door, and your heart skips a beat even as you smile fondly at the familiar sight. Clad in sweatpants and a black tank through which you can just barely see the blue glow of his arc reactor, he looks all at once more human than usual and like some being from another world entirely.

It's the Stark curse, he told you once, and you recall the wry slant of his lips as he said so. To know you're a god trapped in a mortal body, an infinite mind with a finite number of years to use it. It's the reason behind all his greatest triumphs -- and all his harshest falls from grace.

And somehow, you were lucky enough to be the one he fell in love with.

It still feels like a dream sometimes.

Realizing he isn't going to look up on his own anytime soon, you stifle a yawn and knock sharply on the doorframe.

"Tony?"

He stiffens as if he's been shocked (always a possibility, when he's rewiring) and shoves the safety glasses high up on his forehead. "That would be yours truly. Everything alright?"

With a laugh, you cross the room, warmth rising in your chest as he immediately sets down his tools and steps out from behind the table to meet you. And damn, he always looks good -- he is Tony Stark, after all -- but there's always something about him when his hair gets all unruly and he has THAT look of intense concentration on his face that really drives home to you all over again just how gorgeous he is.

You cuddle up to him, and he kisses the top of your head.

"Asked you a question, Honey."

"Do you know what time it is, Tony?"

There's a prolonged moment of answering silence as he glances up at one of his nearby monitors. "Crap. Well, why are you up?"

Pulling back slightly so you can tease the protective eyewear off his head, you give him a look. "Can't sleep."

An eyebrow tilts; he's playing dumb.

"And that's my problem why?"

"Jerk." You take your time playing with his glossy dark hair, neatening it back up before raking your fingers through it to mess it up again. "Maybe because you love me...?"

"Oh, so you're down here looking for sympathy, got it." He smirks at you, a well-practiced and infuriatingly handsome look. "In that case, sorry about your insomnia, Beautiful. There's melatonin in the drug cabinet upstairs." He snares the safety glasses from your fingers once more and makes as if to return to his work. "Sympathetic enough for you?"

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, stopping him from going any further, though the smug son of a bitch starts tinkering with his new designs again even through your persistent clinging. It mesmerizes you for a couple seconds, always has, the way his hands work with such delicate precision and dexterity, and you can't help selfishly wishing he would turn them towards other, less...mechanical endeavors at this moment.

He probably would, in all honesty, but Tony Stark is the king of making you work for it. Philanthropic he may be, but some things even you have to earn from him when he's feeling particularly devilish.

"I don't want your pity," you hum, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. "I was lonely without you."

"Perfectly understandable. I've been told by many that I'm scintillating company. You can, by all means, stay and watch me work, you know. Feeds my humble ego."

You roll your eyes and impatiently reach up under his shirt, feeling his muscles tense at the unexpected coldness of your hands.

That finally gets his attention and makes him turn around. Before you can even fully comprehend it, he's swept his work out of the way and lifted you up onto the worktable instead, restless fingers drawing intricate patterns on your inner thighs, though his eyes never leave yours, crystalline blue pinning your attention to his amused face instead of his very distracting hands.

"That," he grins, "was adorable. Sleepy version of you is so much more demanding. Maybe I should stay down here too long more often."

You try to frown at him, though his sparkling gaze and mischievous touch make that impossible. "How dare you."

"I do a lot of dumb things to see where they get me. You know that." He nods at the thick gray sweatshirt still keeping you warm. "Why don't you take that off for me, Sweetness. You make me cold, I get to return the favor."

Unable to come up with something snarky to say in return with the way his hands are making you shiver now, you do as he suggests with little resistance, the exposed skin of your arms and chest prickling at the much cooler air.

He leans in to tenderly kiss your neck, and your breath leaves in a sigh at the way his facial hair scratches at your throat. He's always been a helluva kisser and the meticulously maintained goatee is just the icing on the cake. Making out on his worktable was not the original plan when you first came down here, but even by his own admission Tony's best plans are usually improvised.

And you're certainly not complaining.

"What did you want from me again?" he murmurs, close to your ear.

The absolute audacity of him.

"Mmmmmmm," seems to be about all you can manage at the moment, and you know very well what's coming next.

He pulls you closer to him, the movements of his fingers turning agonizingly slow and prompting a slight gasp from you.

The smile that gradually spreads its way across his mouth is absolutely wicked.

"What was that, Sweetheart? I didn't quite catch it."

You try to reclaim some semblance of coherence, but his firm hold on you prevents you from escaping his delightfully systematic torture, so instead you grab on to his well-defined shoulders, your forehead resting against his chest. The mechanically-stabilized beat of his heart echoing beneath his skin a brief reminder that he's alive, despite everything he's been through, and he is yours. There's no one else on his mind, no one else he's let this far into his messy and often painful world.

The world may know him as Iron Man, the one who has saved them more times than they could ever count, but how many people really know the Tony that you know?

That same Tony who now raises one hand to tip your head back, whose sharp eyes soften with affection for the slightest of seconds before the anticipated words fall from his tongue, the words he knows will always unravel you.

"You just have to tell me what you want. Come on, Princess. Use your words."

You shudder and lean in to beg for another kiss.

"You, Tony. Always you. Please."

He kisses you back with renewed intensity, leaving you completely breathless.

"There we go...was that so hard?"

[helslastangel]

My experience having 5H in Scorpio

Disclaimer: These are based on personal observations and experiences and may not resonate for everyone with these placements. If it doesn't apply, let it fly 🪽

I have many "normal" interests (makeup, fashion, hair, shopping, music, TV, etc) and I tell new people about those, but my true interests and hobbies always skewed towards dark or slightly morbid matter, so I keep them hidden. The sheer number of times I have to swallow back a Salad Fingers reference or refrain from giving my opinion on Fran Bow's mental condition in normal conversation... istg...Anyhow, due to my upbringing, I was sheltered from knowing exactly how odd I was until I left home at 18. That's when I got to catch up on some of the shows and cartoons that other people grew up on (for many reasons I don't feel like getting into right now, but "home school" and "radical religious parents" should give you a basic idea).

Thankfully I had a few friends who experienced similar childhoods, some of whom I even grew up with so I could talk about my weird stuff and they could tell me about theirs. For example, I've always been a little fascinated by blood. That whole thing with Angelina and her blood vial necklace did not gross me out at all - I found it cute and I'll die on that hill. Things like blood oaths and so on in history just capture my attention for some reason. Honestly, if the substance itself weren't a bio-hazard, I'd make art with it.

I remember talking with a friend about how I couldn't fully get into Avatar, but out of the little I HAD watched, I developed a very SPECIFIC hyper fixation with blood-bending and deep-dived the topic for WEEKS.I did not give a shit about any of the other bending abilities. Not even normal water-bending. 🫠 Just blood-bending. Idk if it's the power and control factor, or if if I'm just due for a wellness check. Who am I kidding-I have Capricorn & Scorpio stelliums. OFC IT'S ABOUT POWER.

History is another example. My favorite subject. Left unattended, I will look up every deformity that came about by royal family inbreeding or watch a fellow history nerd compile a tier list of the most brutal execution methods of all time. Once, for my birthday, my dad bought me a book called "A Left-Handed History Of The World." That was one of the few times I've felt truly seen by either of my parents. That tome was RIGHT up my alley. I'm a lefty myself and it was nice to read about so many famous and infamous people who were left-handed too. Like Jimi Hendrix - one of my favorite musicians.

I also know a wide variety of herbs, oils and flowers to use to cure or relieve many ailments by heart, and enjoy teaching people how to use those, along with basic reflexology to relieve minor symptoms during the day, so ah, there is that. Not sure how I got into herbology and such, but I do remember being horrified when one of my best friends used to regularly eat leaves off the trees on our street. We were like 7. I kept telling him he would die if he did that and he'd eat more lol. Ofc, nothing happened to him and he was never sick that I remember. So ever since then I was fascinated by the idea of using leaves to feel better.

(Yes, I smoke weed now - are you surprised? lol)

I also enjoy doing synastry readings for friends, family, coworkers, etc., when they're feeling lost or confused about a crush/friend/partner. It's always nice to see their faces light up with understanding when I explain a certain dynamic or give them advice on how to clear up recurring miscommunications. Most of what I enjoy is kinda witchy, but it's not all horrifying, lmao. Like children. Can't mention 5H Scorpio without kids coming up, lol. I was obsessed with the idea of children when I was a lot younger. I had names picked out for them, I would imagine their personalities and somehow they were always stubborn and unruly (I think subconsciously, I enjoy a challenge). In my daily life, anyone or anything in my care automatically became my child in a way. I actually wanted 6 kids at one point. Or some large even number. Babysitting was never a chore for me because I genuinely find children sweet and entertaining.

Even the supposedly misbehaved ones. They need love too. ❤️

Speaking of obsessions, I am a highly possessive person, but because I also have Venus in Scorpio + Mars in Cancer, I'm prone to have VERY strong reactions to rejection, betrayal and the like. For me, though, these are usually implosions. Being a Virgo sun, Capricorn moon, I generally refuse to let my inner turmoil get out into the public eye unless I feel like showing it.

So at any given time, I can be SEETHING inside, but look cold and unbothered.

Having 5H Scorpio is also often associated with being extremely creative, and....IT'S TRUE OMG. I love interior design and decorating, and lots of aesthetically pleasing crafts like crochet, origami, embroidery, etc. Sometimes I waste a phenomenal amount of time at work to make a spreadsheet pretty or play with the fonts in a document. I can't help it, I need to make things look beautiful and stand out.

I am easily consumed by whatever I'm into, and I guess that would be a bad thing if there were people relying on me to be emotionally present on a regular basis, but since it's just me, I get to be lost in my passions most of the time like Frankie (from the TV show Grace and Frankie, lol

𓆩♡𓆪

MASTERLIST

[thatpersonwhosaidtheywouldnt]

What do you think of these Absolute Flash previews?

Alright I'll got through them one by one.

The first image is gorgeous. I love the way the artist draws the Speed Force (I am assuming it is the Speed Force, admittedly). The typical lightning is not any different but the rectangles are what really make it for me. They drive the perspective of the piece and Wally's motion really well.

Now, getting into the actual pages that were revealed. It is interesting to me that he is in the desert. It makes me wonder if this Wally might not live in the Midwest. The image is giving New Mexico vibes to me but really, could be anywhere from California to Nevada to Utah to New Mexico. Of course this could be a reach. Maybe he ran really far with his new powers, considering the shock on his face, that is just as possible. Something that really interests me is how we keep seeing Wally drawn with the lightning. Not only does he have the lightning around him but also this secondary red image. Perhaps this is just a stylistic choice but to me, it reads as either him being in pain (which would be an interesting choice, hearkening back to the many times Wally has dealt with his powers causing him pain) or as another being grabbing at him. I am wondering if because of the nature of the Absolute Universe, the Speed Force is poisoned in some way. But I am getting into wild speculation territory so lets get to the next page.

The Rogues! Okay, man, do they have a different vibe. Seems pretty likely to me that these Rogues are working with the government. What would make sense to me is that they are perhaps made in particular to go after Wally, a bit of a twist on them developing their weapons in response to him to acts as thieves. Alternatively, they are already an existing government squad that goes after powered individuals. Now the Rogues themselves... it seems clear to me that we have Captain Cold, Golden Glider, and Captain Boomerang. I am unsure who they are going for with the guy in that back. My immediate guess is Trickster, but it could easily be a few people. As to who they are... They could easily be who they are in the main verse, but it is interesting to me that Cold so closely aligns with Rudy West's typical design. I think it isn't much of a stretch to say it could be him (and a number of people have been noting that as well). If he is Rudy, it makes it pretty likely to me that Golden Glider is Iris but that might be a stretch. I am excited to see them, though, and what direction Lemire goes.

Alright, the final page. This one is honestly the one that has me the most pumped. We are getting to see a lot into who Wally is and his family life. I think it is pretty safe to say that he is living with his grandfather, Ira West. His design is basically a one-for-one with his appearances in the mainverse, and he seems too old to be Rudy. Wally living with Ira is honestly a brilliant move, in the least suggesting Wally's parents have remained not the best people in this world. Ira has not been seen in so long, too, so I am excited for the potential. Is he still a scientist here? Maybe he is how Wally gets his powers? Honestly so many cool possibilities. Now as for Wally... Him be a musician is super cool to me. I am really enjoying the vibe we are seeing for him here. Teen Wally in mainverse was written sooo long ago and is obviously very dated and very much obsessed with the Flash. But this is a world without a Flash, so who is Wally without his idol? What is he into? Him playing the guitar with headphones on really reminds me of how teen Wally in the main universe was described as having his head in the clouds. It seems that is the case with this Wally too. I assume the posters and art around him are band posters but I hope we get more of an answer to that when the book comes out.

Overall... I am pumped, honestly. Most looks back at teen Wally we have gotten have been Teen Titans Wally, who fills a specific archetype. I am excited to get a take that is more nuanced. I really hope we have him meeting Linda and Piper and Chunk as a teenager. There is just so much potential for this and I have high hopes.

[utilitycaster]

Sort of related to the post about people coming in for shipping but something that’s struck me, as actual play fandom has spread, is that there is a certain lack of genre awareness currently - not just surrounding Critical Role, to be honest; it’s a frustration for me for the conversation surrounding Dimension 20 and Worlds Beyond Number for a while as well.

Take fate, for example. The idea of fate, whether it’s as specific as an ancient prophecy, or as broad as the general concept of destiny, is absolutely at the core of so many classic fantasy series that to be vehemently opposed to it within Critical Role is to display profound ignorance of the genre of fantasy. It’s akin to showing up to a sporting event and getting mad that people are running around in athletic gear; it’s like going to an Italian restaurant in the US and screaming in the face of the waiter when they give you bread and olive oil. There is not, per se, a required reading list. You do not need to read nor watch all of Lord of the Rings let alone consider it a formative work; Sam Riegel and Aabria Iyengar sure haven’t. But if you are not familiar with the genre at all, at the very least you do need to come with a certain awareness that you are not familiar with the genre and be open to its conventions. And to be clear: it’s valid to hate the theme of things being fated. But again, that’s like hating they serve bread and olive oil at the Italian restaurant; you should probably simply not go to Italian restaurants.

Another example that is my personal source of irritation is the obsession with radiation as a factor in Burrow’s End. Setting aside my original irritation at just good old-fashioned lack of reading comprehension with the conflation of the poison and the Blue/the Light, the idea that the intelligence was induced by radiation is really…not genre aware. Like, I recognize I’m coming at this with rather more knowledge than average (from a scientific rather than genre-aware perspective no less) but to get back to genre, I take no issue with, say, radiation in comic books. I know the premise of Spider-Man or of Doctor Manhattan’s origins is absolutely ridiculous; but that’s the genre. Radiation in comic books exists to be an easy origin story so we can get to the point of “here’s a guy with powers”. However, in a show that derives its narrative language from Watership Down and Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh, the idea that the magic and the lightning and the source of intelligence are radiation makes little sense. Another example is the weird response to Skip in Starstruck; the idea of an alien brain parasite like that is so genre-typical to space opera it feels like, again, someone going to an Italian restaurant, pointing at the bread, and saying “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? HOW DARE YOU!”

I think my particular frustration with both of the above (and when I talk about Worlds Beyond Number) is that those people ignorant of genre and not letting it wash over them a la Sam will often fall back to the real world (although, unfortunately, not when it comes to radiation) when trying to make sense of the narrative without the signposts, language, and tropes of the genres to which they belong. To understand the subversions or deconstructions that are likely to occur in, for example, the upcoming exploration of the Citadel in Worlds Beyond Number, you need to be open to the idea that it is a complicated place and not simply The Evil Empire That Suvi Will Definitely Leave; if you’re utterly suspicious of everyone and refuse to try to understand why this is a place people enjoy let alone will die for, you can’t actually experience the story. We are going into the Citadel arc; these wizards will be humanized, and if you have closed off your mind to them already you have set yourself up to be miserable. I do think it’s great that actual play has found an increasingly large audience, but the medium of actual play also carries a certain lexicon and ignorance of it will skew one’s interpretations. My personal bugbear here is of course interpreting bog-standard tanking strategies as either romantic or self-sacrificial in intent, but in general, any resistance to the mere concept of gaining power, the existence of concrete deities, combat, and the placement of plot above romance in D&D are all signs of this ignorance. And again: ignorance is fine! But with all of the above there also often comes this entitlement to a story that is familiar, in blatant disregard for those parameters of genre and medium, and I have to wonder, again, why people mad that a fantasy story is leaning heavily on fantasy story norms, or why D&D has combat, are still showing up to the fantasy D&D story. To return to the Italian restaurant, which is getting a lot of terrible patrons in this metaphor, it feels like a lot of people are showing up to this restaurant because they heard it was good, but then becoming furious it won’t serve them peanut butter and jelly. People who are not familiar should still be welcome, but that lack of familiarity needs to be accompanied by an openness and desire to learn, rather than the entitlement that is so often present.

[eldritch-spouse]

I heard down the grapevine that Santi reads crime novels, and I am also aware of his hot-pocket-rotating-in-a-microwave brain, sooo... Santi with a Sherlock Holmes type of S/O?

And by that I just mean super intelligent (way too intelligent and they're a smarmy asshole about it), can deduct almost anything from just a look (it's freaky to most people), works as a private detective... But is also socially constipated, has no real friends, and learnt what they do know about sex solely from books and the Internet (and definitely need Santi as a 'tutor', wink wink).

[Hmm, I'm not sure how this would work in the long-run, so excuse the briefness.]

So- Essentially, you're Sherlock and Watson. But Watson's very horny and took a couple wrenches to the head. An interesting dynamic, yes.

Naturally, you can tell what Santi wants from you as soon as he sets his eyes on your figure. Not that he's ever made an effort to hide his intentions, your intellect just gives you a heads up. And although you might be flustered or feel out of depth around him, a greatly uncomfortable experience for someone as used to being "in the know" as you, it won't be hard for you to maybe gouge what the demon's like and try to skirt around his attempts to bed you. Just one little thing that you can focus on and use to divert the conversation, carefully posed questions, the works- Although, Santi's used to conversation with his meals, and he can sense discomfort, your discomfort, so long as you keep humoring his presence, he won't push for sex much. You won't escape without a promise of seeking him out again, a phone number at least.

It's only after he starts reflecting about your conversation that Santi wises up. You knew things about him you shouldn't. Little details, yes, nothing concerning, but details nonetheless. You're highly intelligent, and he knows he's going to have to be on his toes- But he's also thrilled. He knew you caught his attention for some reason, but unlike you, Santi doesn't question his gut too much when it tells him to follow a person. It's just like his favorite books, oh you came straight out of those pages, he's sure.

Although emotionally constipated (or stunted) yourself, as an observer, you can likely spot the telltale signs of infatuation. And you'll see them in Santi very early on. Dilated pupils -As tricky as a lust demon's eyes are, this is still reliable- Softer, less facetious grins, longing stares, gentler tones, a crystal clear desperation to keep you hooked on him- Personal nicknames, gifts, the works! He does call you Sherlock, which is something you're likely sick of by now. But he also calls you Minx, his darling Athena. That's... New.

Seeing his infatuation progress, being aware of it, likely takes a sour turn when you start to grasp how unhinged the demon is slowly getting. The signs of obsession are something you've probably already had contact with in your professional life, but seeing such directed at yourself is a whole new story, isn't it?

You know right away what your Achilles' heel is. Sex.

You can't let Santi get you aroused.

If he arouses you, he wins, your rationale is significantly impaired, he takes control because you have no experience. In that state, he can do anything to you. Anything. Mark you, keep you at arm's length always, make you crave him- If not romantically then at least bodily.

Every single day that passes, you can tell the demon grows more and more restless. Beneath the charm he exudes, beneath his helpful attitude during your work, his jokes and smiles- He burns alive. He burns for a taste of you. He's a ticking time bomb and you can see it in the way his fingers twitch.

You have to make some choices now. Think them over very well.

[asherloki]

Hi love, I love your writing! and saw that requests are open so I am taking this opportunity to send one in 😊😊

Sherlock x reader where reader always tells Sherlock "the moon is beautiful, isn't it?" And Sherlock just responds to it with either a yes,or he might be preoccupied with a case, in reality, reader, read a book by Sosuke Natsume where instead of saying I love you, he says, the moon is beautiful,hence she used this way to say to him that she loves him,until Sherlock encounters the translated book version of this and eventually comes to a conclusion that reader has been confessing her love for him which he then realizes he does too

Thank you in advance! ❤️❤️❤️

You're my moonlight

Bbc sherlock

A/n:- hope you like it! Really enjoyed writing this request.

"the moon is beautiful isn't it" I said looking towards the night sky, the crystal clear night sky, dark yet sparkling with starts, uncountable in numbers. And yet apparently the moon accompanying them, the queen of the night sky.

"hmm it is I believe" he said turning to me. I believe he's far too busy drowning inside his case files and Twitter than stealing a glance at the beautiful sight outside of the window. Mr Sherlock Holmes is a busy man after all.

"would you mind taking a look and then decide if you should agree with me" I replied turning towards him.

"that won't be necessary as I quite understand your obsession with nature and if you say it's beautiful outside I can hardly deny" answered my beloved flatmate, the cold detective and also the most wisest man in the country.

"hmmm perhaps you're not wrong." said I walking towards the sofa accross his.

"didn't you take picture of the moon, you always do". he said looking at me, observes everything doesn't he.

"it's not cresent Mr detective " I replied, ofcourse the cresent moon is my favourite after all. The mysterious form of it, the most artistic form of it. I've always believed I'm a waning moon. And I thought Mr Sherlock Holmes might look rude and arrogant but he's actually waxing crescent moon. since I've found out about this moon soulmate stuff I've searched mine and yes, the waning cresent is mine. I couldn't stop myself from searching for his as well and his is indeed waxing crescent. Full filling mine. Oh and one might thing the mere sentence "the moon is beautiful isn't it?" means nothing but a praise to moon. So did my dear flatmate. but the secret is, I say it quite often, in the presence of Mr Sherlock Holmes especially. it's a secret of mine, waiting for the wise detective to understand some day.

A few days went by and the full was half, and rather cresent again. Yes the most fascinating phase of it. it was barely a question if I'll stand by the window and stare at the Cresent with wide eyes. this time I did take a photo, another feather to my photo album. The camera folder contained more such photos of moon.

"the moon is beautiful isn't it?" Indeed I said again, I knew my cheeks turned pink everytime I said it while Sherlock is present. luckily I'm always facing the window, otherwise it would take a second for the detective to realise I'm blushing. but by the mere beauty of a moon? certainly not all for the moon wise man, why don't you try find it.

"might be so, your Cresent after all" said he keeping his book down. Apparently a book on anatomy, do read some classics, or perhaps fiction detective. "how so wonderful indeed" .

this time his voice was closest to me, it was like a whisper to my ear. His breath touching my skin. He came to the window placing his hands beside both of mine, standing behind me. His frame as if wrapped me like a shield like an armour. The only time I was thankful for being 5'2" or something is this moment, so my pink cheeks are hidden until I wasn't blushing, but the smile and feeling of warmth was still there in me.

Days went by and moon completely disappeared, then reappearing bit by bit. The quarter phase seemed rather basic to me, until the day it turned out to the most beautiful sight to have during the most wonderful moment of the evening. No wonder I stood by the window, while Sherlock was talking to detective inspector lestrade on phone over some cases. His name is greg by the way, not gavin or George or whatever the smart detective thinks it is, ans says so on phone,

"even yesterday I can recall I asked for the details Gavin" he yelled at him over phone.

"it's greg" came the reply loud enough for me to hear. Perhaps he was dealing with a frustrating case he just put down his phone and I heard him sigh. I didn't dared to say how beautiful the moon is, he needs to relax perhaps or get into his mind palace. Yet he did neither of those, to my surprise he again came to the window, this time standing beside me.

"the moon is beautiful isn't it?"

those words coming out of his mouth, the mesmerizing voice speaking such sentence that wasn't just a mere appreciation to the nature, or atleast to me. I can hardly describe the swirling storm of delightful feelings that was inside me at that moment. delightful indeed but also doubtful. Did he really just praised the moon? or Mr Sherlock Holmes knew it all these days.

"won't you agree? would you just stay quiet thinking hundreds of thoughts and letting the moon wait to hear your most used words to it?"

He surely knew it, of not all then some, otherwise why would he insist me. "I... oh it's..." I hesitated, the reason was obvious, that mere sentance held a special meaning for me.

"say it, oh how wonderful tonight's sky is" he kept on insisting softly, with soft smile spreading accross his lips. "I have observed this phase of moon is not your most favourite, but you may not be aware of it's significance, the first quarter phase of it signifies no hesitation, a decision should be made. Would you still hesitate? when a man like myself didn't?" he continued.

"you grew to like nature or you always knew such facts?" I enquired, I totally enjoyed his slight interest.

"I knew some, some about nature but planets and stars never fascinated me much."

"I wonder why Sherlock, I've always found such things extremely wonderful ".

"that's why, after meeting you and seeing your obsession over nature, especially how you get fascinated with moon and sun, how you feel happy on the days the sun shines at it's brightest, I may have started to find all this not so unamusing afterall, infact quite enchanting."

Oh have you heard my dear friend's explanation? even though it indicates he was fascinated by the moon or sun or rather the nature, he doesn't know the secret meaning of the sentence.

"sosuke natsume huh?" the name from his lips could make the thoughts in my head run. He knows his name, which means...

"I may have read a bit of that book and..." He trailed off, expressing emotions, rather properly is not something he prefers to do but then "I have come to find out your secret, the moon is beautiful isn't it? means I love you".

yes indeed the wisest, the most intelligent person in the country, I wouldn't be surprised if he's the smartest in the world.

"so it is" I said, "you know now Sherlock".

"I said so" he replied and it struck me, indeed he said it by himself, does that mean?

"It seems to me you may know but incase you don't know let me tell you, you are a waning cresent, a phase for selft improvement, relax and stuff, what I feel is I've always kept on running my whole life, a moment without work meant me losing my mind or cocaine. but with you, a moment of quietness holds tranquility, for you I've wanted to improve myself, learn something new, like this."

I'm sure one can imagine the way I was smiling, this side of him, different, calm, vulnerable yet not leaving the rational side of Mr Sherlock Holmes.

"and you may have also searched you're waxing crescent haven't you?" I enquired.

"quite so". he replied and his smile at this said he knows the significance, his eyes, as soothing as the moon looking into mine, as he says, my eyes are like bright sun.

"it means ambition, joy something new, just like you are to me, remember the sad me entering through the door to your flat for the first time, when I moved to London, haven't over the course of time and your company made me atleast more joyous?".

"exactly so, I'm rather glad" he replied.

"so you fulfill me"

"just like you fullfill me" these words from his mouth was all I needed to embrace him. He too wrapped me with his arms and then cupping my face his moon like eyes looked into my sunlike ones.

"I love you" his mesmerizing voice said.

"me too" the reply that I should give him. And the moon shone borrowing the light of sun above us as we stared at it while we were embracing eachother.

[twistedtummies2]

Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes - Number 14

Welcome to A Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes! During this month-long event, I’ll be counting my Top 31 Favorite Fictional Detectives, from movies, television, literature, video games, and more!

SLEUTH-OF-THE-DAY’S QUOTE: “You attacked reason. It’s bad theology.”

Number 14 is…Father Brown.

Originally created by author G.K. Chesterton, Father Brown is one of the most famous detectives in English literature. Having said that, I must immediately make a confession: I’m not THAT well-versed (perhaps surprisingly) with the original “Father Brown” short stories Chesterton wrote. I’ve read some of them; specifically, I’ve now read all the ones collected in the book “The Innocence of Father Brown.” (My favorite is “The Invisible Man,” which, for the record, has absolutely nothing to do with anyone named Griffin). However, beyond that, I’m not especially familiar with the original writing. I also have not seen either of the two English-language film versions I know about (one played by Walter Connolly, another by Alec Guinness), both of which were based on the story “The Blue Cross.” And I should also immediately state that I have seen only one episode of the TV series starring Kenneth More from the 1970s, which I know has been highly lauded in years since.

So…since it seems like I am unfamiliar with nearly EVERYTHING that has brought this character into popular culture…how DO I know Father Brown, and why is he so high on the list? Well, because there is one version of the character and his universe that I am VERY familiar with: the most recent TV series adaptation of the stories, which began in 2013 and is still going strong today (with a new season coming this year). This show, simply and appropriately titled “Father Brown,” stars Mark Williams (whom many may recognize for playing Mr. Weasley in the Harry Potter films). While it frequently changes a LOT from the original Chesterton stories, the show is still EXTREMELY good. In my opinion, it modernizes the stories in a way that is pretty decently handled, so that even if you haven’t read the originals, you can still get a lot out of what’s being given to you. The spirit of Chesterton’s work is still intact. Much of what I say here will be informed by Williams’ portrayal of the character, which is why I wanted to make all this clear right off the bat.

Father Brown is an example of what might be called “the busybody detective,” or even more appropriately “the accidental detective.” What I mean by this is that he’s not in any way officially tied to the police; in fact, the police frequently see him as a nuisance, who gets in the way of their work and often makes them look like fools. He also never makes a career or a proper hobby out of his detective work. Being a detective just…kind of happens to him. Father Brown, on the surface, is a simple and humble local priest; a God-fearing, God-loving man of the cloth who is charitable, good-hearted, and at times seems sort of fumbling and shambolic. He’s not someone, therefore, you’d expect would make a great sleuth.

A great sleuth, of course, is exactly what this mild-mannered Catholic priest is. Father Brown’s rather simple demeanor belies a steely will, an even more steely faith, and a very cunning and alert mind. He typically ends up playing detective not so much out of a desire to one-up the police or some obsessive desire, but simply because he notices something amiss and begins to question why that is. His greatest assets as a sleuth can be summed up as two simple attributes: common sense, and, above all, human empathy. Father Brown doesn’t necessarily look for fingerprints or psychoanalyze criminals like a forensic profiler, but simply notices things that don’t make sense and then tries to make sense of them. He uses his understanding of people’s personalities, looks at their character traits and ideals, and uses them to his advantage; if he feels it isn’t in someone’s nature to shoot in cold blood, he follows his instinct, and he’s usually proven correct. If he sees someone showing some weakness or vulnerability, he latches onto that to try and sway them. He tries to redeem his enemies more often than he tries to ruin them. Contrariwise, this man also knows when NOT to trust people. While he’s noble and forgiving, Father Brown isn’t a pushover. In fact, the Williams version is revealed to be a war veteran; he’s seen some action (and horror) in his lifetime. This, combined with his devotion to the confessional booth, means that he knows very well that people are not perfect. With that said, despite being a religious soul, he isn’t superstitious, and tries to be tolerant of others with different beliefs. In short, Father Brown seems to understand that good people are good people, and tries to find the good in everyone, even those he seeks to defeat. Whether you’re spiritual or not, he’s not only a good detective, but arguably a good role model: I think a lot of us wish we had a Father Brown in our lives.

Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 13!

CLUE: “Are you with me? You might even be way ahead of me.”

[phoenixkaptain]

Although on the topic of Red Dragon and the things they changed between the book and the tv show, I think it’s really, really funny how they recontextualize all of Dr. Bloom’s lines in regards to Will. Because it was Alan Bloom, in the book, but Alana said a lot of the same lines, nearly word for word! And when Alana said it, most of it could be interpreted in a romantic sense.

When Alan said it, it was just weird that he didn’t like to be in the same room as Will if ut was just the two of them. Will is his friend. He is Will’s friend. They’re pretty comfortable around each other. If Will is ever alone with him, Alan will die. And like, Will is aware of this, so-

They also changed Freddy Lounds from a guy into a girl, which is funny because honestly, you could read both Freddy’s interactions with Will the exact same way. As in, they’re both honestly amazed that Will says the shit he does. And both of them leave the audience craving to see them set on fire, but only one of them delivers.

Will is, perhaps, the most different character of all. Which makes sense. I think the idea is that Will in the show is younger, he’s uncomfortable with himself and others, he’s especially uncomfortable around people with pushy personalities because they tend to use him.

Will in the novel, on the other hand, is my dear beloved. He is exhausted. Jack Crawford comes in and says “one more time, Will, please” and Will says “no, fuck off.” Crawford weasels him into it, but Will is having none of anyone’s shit for approximately the entire time. Will calls Dolarhyde gay to piss him off (this leads to Freddy Lounds being set on fire). Dolarhyde sends him a literal voice recording of Freddy Lounds telling Will that the Red Dragon is going to kill him-

“”Reach behind you, Will Graham… and feel for the small… knobs on the top of your pelvis. Feel your spine between them… that is the precise spot… where the Dragon will snap your spine.””

-and his response is-

“Graham kepts his hands on the railing. Damn if I feel. Did the Dragon not know the nomenclature of the iliac spine, or did he choose not to use it?”

Which is very funny to me because it reads to me as Will going “pssh, amateur.”

(Will has a few moments of being very uncaring about threats against his own person. This is why it’s more effective when Dolarhyde goes after his family.)

Crawford is both different and similar in many ways. In the novel, he is a lot more clear with how he’s pushing Will. He knows that he’s pushing him to the limits, he knows he’s basically holding Will over a cliff with nothing to catch him, but he thinks it’ll ultimately be fine. Even if Will does break, if he catches the Dragon first, it will have been worth it.

It’s difficult to explain Hannibal in this book. Of all the portrayals, I feel this one is… the funniest? Like, he is a little bit obsessed. He wants Will to hang out with him. He wants Will to commit murder. He thinks Will is fascinating. Will refuses to give a serial killer (one who stabbed Will in the side) his phone number or address and Hannibal sends a fucking murderer after him. Hannibal’s actions directly lead to Will being stabbed in the face, and he sends a letter (that Will doesn’t read, but Crawford does) that ends with the lines: “I wish you a speedy convalescence and hope you won’t be too ugly. I think of you often.”

I’ve said this many, many times in the past, but there’s a reason NBC Hannibal portrays Hannibal as in love with Will. I want to use Silence of the Lambs as an example. He talks very casually with Clarice for a little while, then abruptly: “How is Will Graham?”

For this one, I think I’ll just take a picture, because it amuses me.

Of course, Hannibal also brings up Alan and Frederick Chilton (I forgot to mention earlier, Freddy C.’s been here the whole goddamn time and had the gall to try and explain Hannibal Lecter to the man who caught Hannibal Lecter), but him bringing up Will has always been funny to me. His last letter to Will says “I hope you aren’t too ugly.” It’s been a few years now, and his question is basically: “Is Will ugly?” It is…

I mean, I understand on a cannibalistic-serial-killer-from-the-80s level that Hannibal wants Will to look a certain way because he likes the way Will looks. Not on a queer level at all, it’s probably moreso because he wants Will to fit his aesthetics. Like I said, he wants to spend time with Will, and part of that requires Will’s appearance to fit. It totally makes sense in a horror novel that a character would be creepily obsessed with appearance, and Hannibal’s insistence on Will was probably discomfiting to a lot of the readers at the time.

But on the other hand, Hannibal’s obsession with Will in the modern day is really funny. Like, he just needs to know. Tell the man what he wants to know, Starling. You know Will Graham, everyone knows Will Graham, come on, tell me. It’s incredibly amusing, especially the jump in their conversation from classical paintings to Will’s appearance.

Now, the correlation could be a few things. Hannibal could be implying that Will mocked him in some way and that his punishment would be the scarring of his face. But, that would make Hannibal have a bit of a god-complex, and that’s boring. Another option is that he found Will to be reminiscent of a man in a painting. Specifically, the man in the painting they’re talking about, which is a painting Hannibal did on the wall of his cell with crayons and magic marker (yes, that is what he said he used), which makes it kind of funny because wouldn’t that be like Hannibal painting Will on the wall? If the painting reminds him of Will, then he only painted it because he knew Chilton would get the wrong idea if he painted Will. Which, maybe he did paint Will! It’s not like Clarice knows what Will looks like, and Hannibal wouldn’t just tell her.

Anyway, as I’ve said countless times, Hannibal in the books is only a bit less obsessed with Will Graham than he is in the show. Why is he obsessed with Will? The show’s idea that Hannibal was in love with Will and didn’t realize it is a very clean answer. Even if one doesn’t believe that Hannibal Lecter has the capability to love, which I would argue against since it’s disputed in the books and the tv show, his obsession with Will, an obsession akin to love, that he himself doesn’t realize until it’s too late… that’s fun.

Why is Hannibal obsessed with Will in the books? I don’t know. Will thinks it’s because Hannibal wants him to be just like Hannibal, but I don’t know if I would be so hung up on a guy for multiple years who just will not come visit or commit murder. If the books ever off an alternative, I’ve not seen it.

But, I think Hannibal wants to kill Will. I think he is a bit upset that Will saw through him and turned him in, but he’s also fascinated that Will saw through him. Will is fascinating to him. Will is afraid of himself, and that’s fascinating too. Hannibal wants to kill Will, not out of hatred, but out of a sort of grudging respect. He wants to be the reason Will Graham dies. He wants to be there as Will Graham dies. Even when he sent a serial killer after Will, Hannibal didn’t doubt that Will would live. And he wants Will to live, until he can wrap his hands around Will’s throat and watch the life drain away.

All this to say, I still have more thoughts on the Hannibal tetralogy than I previously thought.

[arktaisch]

Bring on the mutant clones!

So apparently, the way to get a good, 'proper' wuxia drama these days that isn't yet another Jin Yong or Gu Long adaptation is to make a well-constructed fanfiction-style re-imagination of a JY or GL classic. That way it can be simultaneously fresh and familiar. And if the writing, acting, action sequences, etc. are good, it's so much fun and I love it. These past few years, I really enjoyed watching "Word of Honor" and "Mysterious Lotus Casebook", both of which are clear cases of this. (Note: I haven't read the books for WoH or MLC, so this is based on the dramas only.)

"Word of Honor" is obviously heavily inspired by Jin Yong's "Smiling Proud Wanderer" (Xiao Ao Jiang Hu), except redone as a BL/danmei. It even keeps the various orthodox sects from XAJH (the Five Mountains Sword Schools Alliance! plus the Shaolin, Wudang, Beggars, etc.) as part of the setting, features a hunt for a MacGuffin (key to some ultimate power or other), and is full of that flavor of treachery and scheming for power reminiscent of XAJH. It's been a while since I watched WOH, so I've forgotten most of the details, but I remember getting a strong XAJH vibe from it.

"Mysterious Lotus Casebook", which I just finished watching and loved even more than "Word of Honor", has more of the feel of Gu Long's "Sentimental Swordsman, Ruthless Sword" (Xiaoli Feidao series, book 1). Come on, the protagonists even have the same surname: Lotus Li (Xiangyi/Lianhua) vs Flying Dagger Li (Xunhuan)!

Both of them can pass as scholarly types (though Gu Long's Mr. "Number Three in the Exams" Li more so) and went from a high status position to retiring from the jianghu for ten years. Both are clever, tricky types who live by their wits.

Both of them pushed their female love interests (and deceived them) onto their 'friend' who actually hated/plotted against them. The protagonist comes off better (as in, I don't want to punch him in the face quite as much) in MLC than in "Sentimental Swordsman" --- he doesn't treat her as his property to be traded away. And in theory the female character had more agency in MLC, though I felt let down by the actor here. I think she was supposed to be more driven by guilt (because she broke up with the male lead right before his supposed death) rather than sadly pining after and still in love with him. It would have worked better if she came off as being genuinely in love with the other character, but on screen it feels like she was just worn down and never liked him that much. So as a 'fix-it' to that aspect of "Sentimental Swordsman"… maybe. In theory.

They both get the "enemy is someone you thought you had good relations with" trope (admittedly a common one in wuxia)…

…While their real friend is called "A-Fei" and is a top-notch swordsman. And both A-Fei's are plagued by a professional seductress (who uses drugs and poisons) who clings to/falls in love with them!

They both meet their number one fans. Dagger Li actually marries his in the end, but in MLC that only happens in the eyes of the real life fans (the subtext is definitely there, though I prefer to read it as platonic bromance). The whole thing is funnier in MLC, with Fang Duobing starting out as a naive doofus who claims to everyone he's a disciple of (supposedly dead) Li Xiangyi, including to the man himself and to A-Fei who knows the truth. Then he feels so betrayed when he finds out the truth, and that was all done really well in the show. Another similarity: the girl in "Sentimental Swordsman" has a kick-ass granddad, while Fang Duobing has his mom (another great character), the leader of Tianji Hall (I love a good mechanism specialist).

There's an actual book in-world that lists the top-ranked martial artists! The MLC one seems to be updated regularly, even. That was also a thing in "Sentimental Swordsman", with characters constantly citing the book at each other, and some were completely obsessed. It's kind of a running joke in both.

Solving all the mysteries (and the tomb raiding!) was reminiscent of Chu Liuxiang, another Gu Long protagonist (my childhood favorite). And for non-wuxia influences, Li Lianhua reminded me of Howl from "Howl's Moving Castle" with the lying and slithering out of situations, not to mention the cool-looking mobile home!

So yeah, instead of trying to get a fresh take on adapting a book that's already been adapted like twenty times and offending the purists if you make too many weird changes, file off the serial numbers and take a few steps to the side for a more interesting and coherent re-mix! And set it in a fictional dynasty so you can use fake historical figures and kingdoms to suit your plot without worrying about slandering real people (while I love Jin Yong's use of actual history, even he ended up changing some characters in later revisions because of that) or how much the characters are allowed to affect things on a bigger scale. Plus you can update and improve on the things that were annoying or outdated in the "classics". You're free to change the meaning of the tale to suit yourself without any need to distort the intentions of the original writer.

That's not to say it's impossible to come up with completely new wuxia stories, but building new variations on old stories is worthwhile, too. And beneath any surface similarities, each version has its own story to tell. That said, ninety percent of everything is crap… so besides these two shows I liked, there were a bunch of ones I didn't, whether an adaptation of an old wuxia classic or something newer. (Some of those may improve in later episodes, but I guess I'll never know…)

Long live the mutant clones!

[basingstokemercury]

Finally actually watched the Chocolate Factory film (original). I read the book years back and remember very little of the Depp film I watched when... elevenish maybe?

I had low hopes going in, at least it cleared the musical's "actually killing them on stage" bar?

First off, this feels like some kind of twisted horror world where everyone is obsessed with chocolate. Kids' film, yes, but I had absolutely no investment in the stakes. And I love good sweets as much as anyone.

Related: I don't like the... fetishisation? is that right? of poverty. Charlie comes from a comically exaggerated background, but it's just a backdrop to make the contest more important to him or something. Again, he's a kid, but how is chocolate the most important thing to him? A lifetime supply of it would be a pleasant way to keep spirits up, but wouldn't solve any long-term problem.

Hey, people with chronic illnesses! Turns out all you need is the right impetus to get up and be just fine, right?

And here we see some very sweet little kids who... Well, only one of them really has any kind of vice. One likes eating and has the audacity to also be a little fat, another, well, WHAT ON EARTH IS WRONG WITH CHEWING GUM AND BEING A BIT COMPETITIVE SHE IS A NORMAL CHILD, the third could use to have his television habits supervised but as an older sister it's normal for young kids not to understand that violence on television doesn't mean it's fun in real life, and the fourth throws very polite tantrums when she wants something because SHE IS A CHILD.

Gene Wilder's charisma is disarming here, but I must remember that this is a tenor and therefore capable of anything (opera joke, for my non-opera followers). He still smiles placidly and quotes as children are hurt, so I have no sympathy even if his acting was the best part.

"You can eat anything in this room! Wait, not that, I never told you and will do nothing when you are hurt because of it!"

Bodyshaming! How fun! Making fun of a young, adorable kid's looks!

Literal tunnel of horrors with flashes of insects crawling on people and dead animals. Seriously, what the fairfax? This is a kids' film!

"No! Don't eat that! I will not explain why until you are actually harmed and it's too late!"

These are kids. Kids don't always follow rules, especially when they don't understand why the rules are there.

This is where I started really, really hating the Oompa Loompa songs. They're incredibly annoying somehow.

Veruca might be throwing a tantrum, but she is very cute and a good singer. At least the song has the decency to put the blame on her upbringing, but then why should she be hurt? Someone could have stopped her at any time before she endangered herself.

My dad noticed there were only four suits at the entrance to the very creepy TV room. Which seems to mean the accidents were planned.

And here we have an absolutely egregious case. Mike does not activate the device himself, he stands on the pedestal and the operator knowingly presses the button! THIS WAS NOT HIS FAULT THEY INTENTIONALLY HARMED HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That last song personally offends me. "Television makes you stupid"??? I grew up on nature and science documentaries. I was quoting David Attenborough to my parents as a toddler. I'm sure educational TV existed back then in some form, at least?

Joe's indignation at being told off for breaking the rules is just ridiculous. You did it knowingly! You've seen how harsh this man is! Yes, Charlie only strayed at your instigation, but he could have refused, couldn't he?

And we fly into space inside a Dalek. The end.

Oh yeah, the songs? This barely counts as a musical.

Opening number was okay, if rather meaningless lyrically.

I remember nothing of the mother's lullaby thing, literally zoned out while she was singing it.

Golden ticket song a bit more fun but lyrics could still use work.

Pure Imagination, the only one I knew going in, was a bit disappointing in this rendition. Wilder's lovely voice is not at fault, the arrangement didn't grab me.

I've stated my opinion on the "making normal kids out to be monstrous" songs already.

And the one child who gets a song to herself? Okay, that I liked. It was fun.

[hellsvestibule]

People talk about how meme brain can poison people’s ability to interact with artists who post online but it’s also kind of endemic even to how people approach academic texts or classic literature at this point and it’s frustrating bc when the persons primary vantage point is already ironic detachment and dismissal, You look like the “pretentious” asshole for asking them to be more nuanced and considerate. Especially when we are talking something with cultural or subcultural significance to a group of people most of the people joking about it don’t belong to. And maybe on an individual level memes are harmless and genuinely funny, but when in greater numbers this constant dismissal starts to feel dreadful, to the point where you feel reflexive hostility towards the meme bc oh my God can we fucking talk about something else? Ever?

it’s not fun to be obsessed with something people meme on or even obsess over for a singular facet. Just bc it’s something vaguely understood in cultural consciousness people will joke about it as if they have equal authority on what its about as you, someone who has dedicated days or weeks of your time studying this in its entirety and like I can’t entirely blame you for wanting to be included and not necessarily understanding the full span of this thing or my knowledge of it but a lot of people are actively resistant to learning more, they are literally just here for the sense of intellectualism or trendiness being able to dismissively meme about an intellectual or cool thing brings them, which ultimately serves the purpose of trivializing something you really like or at least something you wanted to dedicate your time towards understanding in a deeper capacity, and which had cultural significance for its place and time for a reason. And it’s like. I don’t need you to be Like Me, I don’t think having a more involved perspective of everything is always necessary or productive for everyone, but gdi does it suck when people talk past you about something they’ve engaged with far less than you and even get irritated by you being genuinly knowledgeable and enthusiastic about it, letting you know they don’t care and in fact are actively hostile towards caring. They want to wave the flag that says “I read the most popular book in high school, I listened to the most popular song, I am vaguely aware this important thing exists ” and presume suddenly this gives them equal authority as someone who read all the books or has listened to the musicians entire discography.

And it’s equally frustrating knowing what it’s like to be on the other end and trying not to be that pretentious nerd who is always like, fuckin, loyalty testing randos and shitting on them for only reading one adaptation of the thing or only liking a musicians most popular songs. Bc sometimes you engage w the totality of something a genuinely pretentious nerd insists you have to engage with before you’re allowed to talk. only to be like yeah it’s really not worth it, I genuinely just like the most popular installment and wish you hadn’t wasted my time with all that lol.

A lot of it just amounts to getting annoyed at childish behavior often from young people who don’t know any better, and are insecure, and project this insecurity by alluding to having greater knowledge of something and then cutting it down.and it’s not even a clear cut line between genuine appreciation from a fan who just makes the joke from time to time, and someone whose entire perspective of this thing is A Joke

[buckets-and-trees]

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!

I wanted to stop by for two things: I think I first read Salt and then I couldn’t control myself and had to read everything else you’ve ever posted. You’re so talented and I’m eternally grateful for you in so many ways. 💞💞💞

With that, I present to you something that made me cry laugh and couldn’t stop thinking about your despair over Royalty AU being demolished in the brackets last week:

Thank you my dear, dear, Chi! I'm so glad you're around to celebrate all this chaos with me! You don't know how much I appreciate our friendship bursting onto the scene. 💚

That shirt is hilarious!

I literally don't know what it is, but royal has just always always always been one of MY THINGS, from watching Disney's Sleeping Beauty as a kid (my first obsession - as a literal toddler), to The Princess Diaries (I watched the movies and read the first few books), to The Crown, and devouring nearly every Royal AU fanfic I come across (whether it's soft like @navybrat817's modern royal AU or @targaryenvampireslayer's dark series) and being maybe the biggest fluffy fangirl over my own royal Steve collection. And it will probably come as NO SHOCK for anyone to hear that there's a Bucky modern AU plot bunny kicking around up in Aspen's attic that someday will probably be trotted out.

You didn't specifically ask for a truth by bringing up Salt, but... FORGIVE ME IMMA GO THERE ANYWAY!

So I was pretty excited to write salt when it happened. I'd read a ton of mob/mafia, I'd written King which had Steve as a mob boss but it's like...such a background detail/hardly relevant to the story/just only really something that was important to me... and then I have a big chaptered fic with a Mafia Bucky that I started working on last summer, but... I was excited to finally do a mob/mafia story when it was announced for @the-slumberparty's March theme.

I was itching a little bit to do a series, and I wanted to have a straight up tougher Bucky, but I also wanted a very spirited reader, and I knew exactly what would go down for salt, but I had a pretty clear idea for their entire trajectory. Then I happened to have Burnt with Bradley Cooper come up on my Netflix suggestions, and I thought, "Oh, perfect, let's watch for some research," and I'm so glad I did watch it because I didn't want exactly that tone, but I was initially considering a more happy go lucky kitchen in the restaurant, but Burnt helped me with shifting that to give me the grittier edge. Some elements of Burnt, some elements of Hulu's The Bear.

I just wrote it because I wanted to, but it's also then become far and away my story with the most notes. Which just ... it's not that the number of notes matters, it's just cool to see that I put it out there and a bunch of people basically said HELL YEAH, WE LIKE THIS!

My intentions are to get the three follow up parts out by the end of summer. And I'm stoked.

Link to the List of Sleepover Games