#which incidentally was when i first joined tumblr

[cosmicdreamgrl]

i've seen so many doctor who posts on the dash, you'd think i was back in the early 2010s era of tumblr

[natsubeatsrock]

The Lucy Paradox

I'm going to get murdered for posting this on Tumblr, huh?

Somehow, I've never talked about this. I've made this joke in private. However, it's worth discussing in this format. Think of it as a celebration of International Women's Day.

Incidentally, Lucy isn't the one who I named this paradox after. The original name of this was the Sakura Paradox. For the record, I mean Sakura Haruno from Naruto.

It feels like a given that Sakura is a weak character. The way some fans talk about her, you'd think she was the worst character in the series. The closest example I can think of is Yamcha, whom no one takes as a threat past the first arc of Dragon Ball. After the big-time skip, he's treated as the joke of the group, especially by fans.

Here's the problem. Sakura's very strong. That's true in a literal sense, but she has more ability than fans give her credit for. It's not a stretch to say she's the strongest civilian in the series universe.

"Yeah, that's true in the second half. But what about in part 1?"

Do you mean the part where she has a better grip on chakra control than her teammates? Or the part where she's shown to ace the first part of the Chunin Exam without having to cheat? What about later in the exam when she breaks out two separate genjutsu? Yeah, I'm not hearing it.

Why do people say she's weak? Simple, she'd been dwarfed in power by monsters. It's not controversial to say Sakura is the worst member of Team 7, with the potential exception of Sai, if you even count him. It's not a close race between her, Sasuke, and Boruto's dad. She's a distant third. The only debate is how badly she's lapped.

If this sounds like I'm insulting her, it's not. Those two might be the strongest characters in the universe, with no qualifiers or exceptions. From what I've heard about Boruto, they're still doing crazy things years after their time in the spotlight should be over.

I call this the Lucy Paradox because fandom might not be fully aware of how incredible Lucy is. She's on the level of magic to use two gold Celestial Spirit Keys at the same time. It's impressive if someone's able to use two keys. She can mix and match between any of the ten she has.

Remember that she's the only wizard capable of Celestial Star Dress. At its introduction, it was just being able to take the abilities of her spirits. In the sequel, it's also the ability to combine the powers of two different spirits.

Let's take that for granted for a second. Lucy comes up with strategies that are helpful to her friends. And it's not just helping Natsu's fights. She's the one who recognized the true meaning behind Daybreak. She's the one who saw through the Eclipse Gate in two different timelines. She rewrote the entirety of the Book of E.N.D. after reading it once. Most importantly, she's the one who revises Anna's plan to make it possible to defeat Acnologia.

I say all that, but she's the weakest human member of the Strongest Team. She's never been on Natsu or Gray's level. Erza's not an S-Class mage for nothing, even if you want to argue that Natsu's overtaken her. While Wendy started weak, she's surpassed Lucy in the last arcs of the main series. I'm not cruel enough to say that Carla is even close to better than her. However, if your only meaningful competition is the Exceeds, that's not great.

Though, let's back up and think about that last paragraph. Lucy is the weakest member of the Strongest Team, no doubt. She's not the weakest member of Fairy Tail. Let's ignore the no-named scrubs who show up for a couple of lines every four volumes Lucy clears. If Lucy joined Shadow Gear, she might be the team's ace. She was able to hold her own with Cana as her partner. (Speaking of which, Tenrou Island is another situation where her planning came in the clutch, and I can't believe I didn't talk about it earlier.) She's more powerful than the Strauss kids not named Mirajane. I'd even go so far as to say she could make a solid member of the Thunder God Tribe.

This is probably where someone else would make this about feminism and how shonen writers aren't good at writing women. (Except for the rare female writers.) I get this for Kishimoto whose writing of women is indefensible. Akira Toriyama (R.I.P.), who influenced much of the genre as we've seen it, isn't much better with how he handles his women.

But Mashima?

I know the fanservice can be way too much at times. But, as I mentioned years ago, his women are better written than fans often give him credit for. Lucy loses to two women on her team. Some of the best story arcs in Fairy Tail revolve around characters like Lucy, Cana, and Erza. I'd put Erza's character up against almost any other female character in a similar narrative role in the same genre. I don't care that she punched that meteor that one time. She's still a better character than a lot of them.

No, this issue is more the fault of fans and their pesky expectations. They see characters who aren't the strongest and assume they're weak. Fans do this despite the advanced strength of other characters and the narrative role of the characters.

I wouldn't say that we have a feminist problem. I'd say we don't recognize the strength of femininity.

I'm just going to come out and say it. Women are great because they're not men, and vice versa. I'm in favor of getting rid of some of the restrictive gender roles culture places on both genders. That shouldn't come at the expense of making women more like men.

"Doesn't that mean that we can't have women who fight and have active roles in media, similar to typically male characters?"

You know what? That might be the most eloquent I've made this voice sound.

My answer is simple. Why can't we have both?

Why can't we have our Rukia and our Orihime? Why can't we have our Tifa and our Aeris? (Or is it Aerith?) Why can't we have our Lucy and our Erza?

Now, don't get it twisted. I love seeing physically strong women in fiction. She-Hulk is one of my favorite heroes in Marvel comics. (I hate that I have to specify comics.) Jupiter is my favorite of the Sailor Guardians. Homura is my favorite member of the EZ Crew. However, a strong character is a good character, and vice versa.

The best thing about the traditional female characters is how they manage their lack of physical strength. They use their wit and charms to their advantage instead of brute force. Men rely on power and speed. Women focus on flexibility and accuracy.

I like to think of it in sports terms. If traditional masculine traits are more offensive, feminine traits are considered more defensive. Both are necessary for teams to succeed. Some sports require people to switch between both roles. However, players usually excel at one of the two.

"What about sports like fencing and the martial arts?"

You need to switch between offense and defense quicker than other sports. However, is it good if a fencer only parries attacks and never thrusts? Is being able to throw punches without blocking a great boxing strategy?

What makes characters compelling has nothing to do with either masculine or feminine traits. (At least, it shouldn't.) What matters are their virtues and determination. It may manifest itself differently in male and female characters. However, it's not as if women can't show strength without sending people through walls. It's not as if men can't show tenderness without caring for children.

The most essential trait for characters might be weakness. How do characters make up for their failings? How do they overcome the conflicts they face? These things draw us to good characters, no matter their gender.

Let's compare two fictional women. Sophie Hatter from Howl's Moving Castle and Captain Marvel.

Carol Danvers is an unfortunate case. She started as a character with solid writing in the comics as a side character. Her solo series as Ms. Marvel in the Civil War era is pretty good. However, since becoming the new Captain Marvel, she's been defined by her power and little else. Despite Marvel's best efforts, fans have not latched onto her new persona.

The MCU didn't help. Captain Marvel was one of the weakest movies in Phase 3. Even at the time, it was clear that its success was attached to the Avengers' success. Few people praised the movie on its own merits. Even fewer had meaningful defenses for its many critics.

Captain Marvel was a physically strong character with no weaknesses. She was so strong that the government she was working for had to limit her powers. However, Carol wasn't the best character the MCU has put out. She didn't endear herself to the audience, had no real connections to the main cast outside of Fury, and became a textbook example of a strong female character without the character part of the equation. Ironically, the best movie to handle her was the one where she barely showed up.

Then there's The Marvels.

It's unfair to say that the movie only flopped because of Captain Marvel's character. That movie's failure has much more to do with the current state of Disney and Marvel Studios. However, part of the plot's failings is because of Carol's lack of weaknesses. They had to find a way to nerf her and chose to tie her to the other characters. They had to find a way to show her connections to the universe and married her off-screen to a South Korean actor on a planet where everyone communicates through singing. No wonder it bombed the same year Guardians of the Galaxy did well.

Sophie Hatter (it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that was her last name) is the protagonist of Howl's Moving Castle, one of Hayao Miyazaki's most beloved works and one of my favorite anime. Miyazaki is no stranger to writing strong women. While I could pick either of the women from Princess Mononoke, Sophie is for the point I want to make.

She is by no means strong. She has no magic and has to rely on Howl and Calcifer many times throughout the story for protection. In a cast of magical individuals, she might be one of the weakest members of the cast.

However, she is far from a weak character. Even at her most insecure, she shows great inner strength and determination. She's determined to find a way to get back to her younger self. She doesn't shrink at the task of cleaning Howl's house. Not to mention, she becomes the heart and soul of the castle. (No pun intended.) It makes sense that she gets younger as she becomes more assured in herself. Ironically, she proves to be braver than Howl. He gains strength and courage from her.

Sophie's strength doesn't come from her ability to use magic or how many soldiers she can knock out. Her strength is more of an inner strength. It's an unshakeable will to achieve what is necessary. That causes her to push past her insecurity and grow throughout the movie. It's no wonder that so many people love her and the movie.

In Conclusion:

If you want to make a strong female character, that's a fine goal. What matters is that you focus more on the "character" than the "strong."

[aura-acolyte]

🎙 Where did you first get the idea for Mare?

//Okay, so, story time. Let me take you back to August 2018. The world had gone to shit, Avengers Infinity War had recently released in theaters, and I was a 14 year old boy (probably) who had just discovered the internet.

//I had taken to browsing TV Tropes in my spare time, still do but not as frequently. Something, something, ruin your life. Anyways, TV Tropes has many pages for many different things, far beyond just TV and Tropes. Among those was fanfiction and through it I discovered a treasure trove of ages long past. That Golden Fandom Era of great cringe.

//You see, most of TV Tropes' pages on fanfiction are for some pretty old stuff. They've got pages on newer fics too, its a great source of advertising, but the website was launched in 2004 it goes back ages and newer fics aren't crosswicked as much. So much of my fanfiction exposure was older stuff. The classics. And, of course, one of the fic types I came across was Nuzlocke fics. The idea of doing a Nuzlocke Challenge intrigued me, and the idea of writing a fic about it more so. And thus, my journey bega.

//I booted up my favorite game in the series, Pokemon Alpha Sapphire, and restarted. incidentally wiping several years worth of event legendaries and the event Blaziken I'd carried over from XY out of existance. I'm sorry XY Event Blaziken with Speed Boost and Blazikenite. You will be missed. What was I saying?

//Oh right, I restarted Alpha Sapphire, selected the female pc with blissful ignorance of my own gender fluidity, named her Mare, and began my run... I wrote one chapter and then gave up because I got too attached to the Pokemon and having to release them made me cry. But, while that was the end for that fic, it was not the end for Mare. I tried to write several more fics for her which, uh, weren't good and can hopefully stay buried forever. 14 year old me had a bit of a perverted streak that I am not proud of.

//Then roleplaying came into the picture. I've been roleplaying for... this'll be my 8th year roleplaying online. Jeez. Anyways, I used to do forum roleplays before I got kind of tired of that and stopped. Takes a lot of effort to maintain a forum roleplay and, honestly, a lot of the people on the site I used were assholes, elitists, gatekeepers, or all three. But I'm not here to trash talk people behind their backs.

//So, I started a Pokemon forum roleplay and repurposed Mare for it. Because my Nuzlocke fic was inspired by classic Nuzlocke fics, Mare could understand Pokemon for no explained reason other than to make it easier for the reader to grow attached to them before they die. I also gave her enhanced strength because I thought a teenage girl punching out Archie would be funny. Now, for the roleplay space, I had to explain it. Luckily, I remembered a movie I'd watched as a kid, Lucario and the Mystery of Mew, and also by that point it was 2020 and I was an avid Smash Ultimate player who mained Lucario. So I gave her Aura powers to justify it, added on Aura Vision, discovered Sapphire Pokespe existed halfway through making her character sheet and used her as Mare's faceclaim, and bada bing bada boom, Marie "Mare" Birch was born. But we aren't quite at final form Mare yet.

//In February of 2023 I joined Tumblr and one month later, in March, I discovered Pokemon IRL. Eager to join in, I created a blog for... Caleb Vixen, normal fox guy and intended self insert. I created Mare's blog 20 days later. When I created the blog I expanded her Aura Powers to include durability, healing, and any moves a Lucario can use (Aura Sphere mainly), and gave her the epithet Chosen of Rayquaza. Also, she was the worst. Like, she was still a hero but she was also an asshole. This was true of all versions of Mare up to that point. Its kind of incredible looking at her right now where her defining personality trait is being nice vs back when I started where her defining personality trait was being an asshole. Oh, also, when the blog started it had been six months since her Journey ended not five years I don't know how that happened.

//So, Chosen of Rayquaza, what did that mean? Nothing. I just thought it sounded cool. But, when I had Mare make a little joke about "I don't know what Chosen of Rayquaza means" it quickly gained a meaning, largely thanks to @pinkhairandpokemon, who introduced me to the concept of Chosen AUs which I had no idea existed at the time. Anyways, Mare ended up with Rayquaza powers and a savior complex and also became much nicer. Then a bunch of other stuff happened and a good chunk of it had to be retconned away and now you're here.

//tl;dr, she came from a Nuzlocke fic.

[space-blue]

1, 5, 20 for the fandom of your choice

Hi anon… if you want a different fandom… please specify. But without indication, I'm going to go for BG3.

1 > OTP?

Actually forget it, my BG3 OTP would get me banned in some places haha… Across fandoms, I rarely ship people. It's usually more of a character focus. But OTPs that have haunted me through the years and never lose their polish would be Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, Silco/Vander, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Cad Bane, Kim Kitsuragi/Harry du Bois…

So yeah… big fan of toxic/dysfunctional/old man yaoi.

5 > Out of all your fanworks that include [character], which is your favourite?

Let's go for Zevlor! And since i didn't know the name of the artist I spent THIRTY MINUTES scrolling my bloody twitter to find this art again! It's stunning. It's my phone and computer background, has been since the day I saw it.

Please click on the link and see the art in its entire glory!! I don't think I'll ever be good enough to do Zevlor justive like this, and I'm a touch sad this artist has not revisited him since. But hey, counting my blessing. Incidentally my discord background and phone lock screen are Gale arts of the same artist hahaha!

20 > When did you first join Tumblr? How long was it between that and finding [fandom]?

29th of November 2020! I opened a blog solely to host ALL of my short stories, like them or not, which I'd written and published on a forum. I'm very glad I did, because it has seen gone offline, and not everything is on wayback machine. Prescient… And I've since gone and rescued everything offline too. If you want a blast from the past of me as a baby writer, you can go explore these posts! Like this one, which is the first "love story" I ever wrote (it's like 1.4k words)

And I got into BG3 around November 2023 IIRC so here you go, I'm relatively new to tumblr as a place. Quite ingrained and addicted now though lol

Thanks for the ask! You can find them here.

[ryeallytired]

(no pressure ask game) If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog.

Oh neat!

Uhhh,, when I was like 10 or 11?? I participated in (and got second place) our county fair’s mutton bustin’. (If I remember right the kid in first won due to being slammed sideways into the bars but managing to hold on.)

I’ve only cosplayed a few times in my life (not counting general ren fair get up), I think the last of which was the fandom I initially joined tumblr for (the ancient, cringe but free times o7). This was incidentally what started my love for leather jackets lol

And lastlyyyyy, I believe for the 5 years I’ve had my Spotify account, Everything Everything has held top spot as my most listened to artist. (Choice Mountain will make me cry if I think about it too hard, but the current fav is either Planets or Metroland is Burning)

[did-it-again]

RIP my tumblr sobriety

So, the elephant in the room, albeit a very small room, is I'm back. When I originally joined tumblr I was too young and too late. I was 13 or 14 (can't remember which) and the heyday of American Apparel and The Artic Monkeys was like the remaining nub of your holy grail pencil liner: dried out but held onto out of nostalgia-fueled reluctance. I wasn't special, depressed insecure teenage girls are a-dime-a-dozen on here, but Tumblr proposed answers or at least the chance to romanticize not having them. Post-modern angst looked so sexy in a tennis skirt and docs (*insert Robbers "babe, you look so cool" gif*) so I drank the Kool-Aid. The Kool-Aid became Diet Coke around the same time I realized I'd missed the party and the key to aspirational aestheticism (do I sound like Matty Healy yet?) is its unachievability.

*Disclaimer: this is not the part where I blame Tumblr for all my problems.* Tumblr didn't cause my ED, but it did teach me how to have one, and it enabled me as much as I enabled myself if that's possible. We sought out or ended up in this place BECAUSE we were hurting, it doesn't take Nietzche (how about now?) to recognize the inevitability of us hurting each other, which incidentally leads me to my next and ultimate point: my reasons for returning.

I'm not a twitter user, however, some of my favorite tiktok and instagram content comes from either there or here, and given the current state of affairs at twitter... I'm preparing for the worst. That, combined with tiktok's evolution into today's 2014 tumblr, the return of indie sleaze, and the so-called tiktokification of The 1975 has me feeling nostalgic. Nostalgia is no reason to put yourself in harm's way, here's a reminder that that nubby liner is probably going to give you an eye infection, but I'm older and more secure now. Remember how we all said we'd get therapy? I went! I have real friends now (friends that care enough to try to talk me out of this)! Much like the massive clean-up tumblr went through, although mine didn't involve ch1ld p0rn, I also put in the work and am better because of it. I sense a resurgence coming, why not get situated first, and maybe even be early to the party this time? Besides, recovery doesn't always equal sobriety.

xx,

ES

[whorejolras]

3, 19, 20 🫶🏻

thank you baby 🥰

3. NoTP?

hmmmmmm i really don't kn........ fucking ENJONINE!!!!!! kill it with fire 🔥

19. What's your favourite thing about [fandom] (the people in it, not the media you're all enjoying together)?

i love fandom's embrace of trans enjolras as canon. i love how receptive everyone's been to me going on about sex work in les mis & not to say "prostitute", "selling yourself", etc. 🙏🏻

20. When did you first join Tumblr? How long was it between that and finding [fandom]?

i probably first joined in year nine of high school which was 2010 and that was incidentally the year i first saw les mis, and it became a hyperfixation but for some reason i didn't realise there was a fandom beyond me for YEARS.

i didn't join the fandom officially until 2014 when seeing it live in Naarm sealed the nail in the coffin of brain rot. shout out to those stage actors for selling les amis to me better than the 25th anniversary and the movie did. for some reason it wasn't until seeing them act out the moment they play keep the bottle away from R that i went "oh all these guys are specific individual characters with unique dynamics between them, word"

and then i got home that night, learned all of their names, read all their parts in the book, started finding tumblrs with les amis names, found officialjehan and thought oh ur cute, and i learned in my research that night that courfhan was the ship of the time so i changed my url from themightysif 😂 to courfeyraic 🥰

btw officialjehan is @softerhour my fiancé now 😘

[tehuti88-art]

7/14/23: r/SketchDaily theme, "Car Wash/Free Draw Friday." This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Georg Klemper, father of Godfrey Klemper. He's a minor, posthumous character though his past actions played a big role in Klemper's character development. There'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Nothing much to say of his design other than he's supposed to look a bit haggard/worn from farm work. He got his first name from the oldest ancestor I was able to trace of my surname, a farmer born circa 1590 in Hesse, Germany. Since then though I've traced back a couple more generations and my oldest surname ancestor is Hans, circa 1545, though there's already a (posthumous) Hans in my story.

TUMBLR EDIT: Georg's history is largely unknown to me, with him being a minor posthumous character, but I can easily guess what his early life was like, as his son Godfrey Klemper gives the answer. In the main story, a Nazi character draws up Klemper's family tree from his parents' names, Georg Klemper and Agnes Schwartz. He proclaims that Klemper hails from "a long, proud line of peasant farmers!" (Klemper is much less enthused about this than the genealogist.) In the Nazi Germany of the story, the peasant farmer is actually considered the ideal; just forget a moment about all the rich urban Nazis who never dug in the dirt once in their lives (wink-wink) and consider the concept of "Blood & Soil" (Blut und Boden), which idealizes, and rather romanticizes, the idea that to be a "true" German, whatever that is, is for your very heritage and ancestry to be tied to the earth you were born upon...at the risk of putting up a big old red flag, I think I rather understand and empathize with that basic concept, at least as far as my own heritage (or until recently, lack of heritage) goes. Without knowing where I came from, I felt I had nowhere to which I belonged, and was literally groundless, without my own culture to belong to. Incidentally, it turns out the ground of my surname is literally medieval/early modern farmland in Hessen (Hesse), Germany. But anyway. Another important aspect of Blood & Soil is that oh yeah, cities = BAD!, and what comes from cities?--JEWS!--so that aspect is an obvious load of BS that ruins the whole thing. (Like I said, there were plenty of urban Nazis, and I'm pretty sure there were rural Jews, and something they had in common was being born on German soil.) Back to Klemper.

Why is Klemper's centuries-long ancestry of dirt-poor farmers considered so glamorous? Because, according to the Nazis, it makes him a good true German, an Aryan, and Klemper being a literal soldier peasant--he joined the Wehrmacht while underaged, following the loss of both parents--just sweetens the deal. He physically resembles the type, too--while of average height, and rather slender, still, he's fit, fair, blue eyed, and has Aryan features; the Nazis want to use him for propaganda, put his face on posters to recruit more soldiers. Klemper is weirded out by this idea--"My face!--why do I want to see my giant face always looking back at me from the side of a building like der Führer?--why does anyone want that!"--not to mention rather disgruntled, as at one time he was targeted for court-martial--and possible execution--following his rumored involvement with a Jewish partisan...a MALE Jewish partisan. So, yeah...that's definitely not the Nazi ideal. Klemper privately complains to Lt. Ratdog, his latest partner, how awfully convenient it is for the army to overlook this detail when it suits them, while still making sure he's punished for it (an appeal to the SS prevents his court-martial and even lets him keep his military position, yet with a permanent demotion attached). I think they do end up making a poster out of him, but it's not really his choice; he's just cannon fodder being used to recruit more cannon fodder. Him having the ideal Aryan face and family background is what counts the most.

Ratdog, meanwhile, deliberately conceals his own ancestry through much of the story. It's not just the...hinkiness...of his exact family ties that he desires to hide (see his sister Edelgard's entry for the icky details), but the fact that his ancestry is considered the exact opposite of the current ideal, too. Ratdog is a Herzog, duke, and like Klemper, his family line extends back hundreds of years in eastern Prussian Germany. As he points out after Klemper digs up this info, Klemper's own ancestors might very well have once toiled the land on the same estate as Ratdog's ancestors. The normally rather völkisch Klemper shows a rare moment of broadmindedness in admitting that he doesn't care--he and Ratdog aren't their ancestors, what was done so far in the past, by people they didn't even know, isn't their burden to bear.

Blood being something you can never fully escape, however, seems to be a recurring theme in this story. Ratdog's past comes back to haunt him, and Klemper's does as well, in various ways. The main reason Klemper leaves his old family farm to join the Heer is because he's been left groundless: His father has been dead for a few years, his mother has just passed away after an extended illness, and while Klemper--merely thirteen years old--is busy struggling to dig her grave in the woods next to his father's grave, a rogue Wehrmacht unit ransacks and burns down his family farmhouse. Klemper returns to find it in flames, and lingers nearby until only the stone foundations and cellar are left in the smoldering ruins. He already cried over his mother and father; staring at his vanished home, he has no more grief left, just numbness. He'd taken his father's old rifle with him, so the rogue unit didn't get hold of that; he takes the Stahlhelm and ID papers off a dying soldier he passes (the soldier asks Klemper to kill him, and Klemper, rather used to death already, obliges, then doctors the papers the best he can), and pauses to listen to a wandering recruiter trying to convince a handful of his fellow country dwellers to enlist. Although the recruiter gives the "sixteen-year-old" Klemper in his oversized stolen Stahlhelm with his oversized rifle a skeptical look, he ignores the hinkiness of his ID papers, and Klemper is handed a new (oversized) helmet and (oversized) rifle and sent off to his new unit to get firsthand training.

Klemper faces lots of unpleasant incidents being victimized by older men, as he often finds himself drawn to them, yet is gullible and easily taken advantage of. It's a statistical fact that a victim faces greatly increased chances of becoming a victim again, and this is sadly so in Klemper's case. For him, as it turns out, his initial and primary victimizer is his own father Georg. Although Georg is depicted as utterly despicable so far in Klemper's recounting of this incident to Elias Baswitz (the aforementioned Jewish partisan) in an adult WIP of mine, the story is far more complicated, as such things tend to be. Klemper's own actions, and his words to Ratdog later in the story, illustrate this; although he still harbors a deep well of trauma, anger, and hate for his father, on the other hand, he obviously still loves him as well, and feels extreme remorse and guilt over his death. When Ratdog expresses confusion over him honoring his dead father at his grave, Klemper acts similarly perplexed by his mixed feelings, but shrugs and offers the best explanation he can: "He's my Vater and he's blood. What am I supposed to feel?"

The truth is that Klemper's father wasn't always an a-hole, and his own circumstances, so similar to Klemper's, contributed to his personality and actions. The Klempers, and pretty much everyone else in their area, are of a long line of farmer peasants, with all that that entails--namely, a difficult struggle of a life. I don't think Georg fought in the Great War as he was too busy keeping the farm running, though he marries Agnes and their son Godfrey is born into a country that's still reeling and struggling to survive, itself. Based on Klemper's age when he meets Ratdog, this is roughly the early Twenties, though Georg never joins the Nazi Party--out here near the literal frontier, so close to the border that Georg sometimes hires itinerant Poles to help work his land (this is how young Godfrey learns to speak Polish), such concepts as voting and political parties are a virtually unknown concept; by the time news reaches them of the Führer's rise to power, it's old news, and it really doesn't affect them much.

This isn't to say that Georg would necessarily disagree with Nazi ideals. Though I'm not sure about Agnes's beliefs, Georg and others way out here follow an odd mishmash of pagan, völkisch, and Christian beliefs, many of which would be well in line with what the Nazis teach; he passes this on to Godfrey, who both embraces yet rather struggles with this worldview as a young adult later on, when he comes into contact with differing peoples of differing beliefs. BUT, similar worldview aside, Georg doesn't care about the Nazis either way because he has his farm to think about. He's not culturally enlightened by any means--he's likely racist in his own ways--but he doesn't dwell on it, because you can't be picky about race when you need the assistance of Slavs to keep your farm running. As for Jews, I don't think they ever even cross Georg's mind. The Klempers and their neighbors live in their own small world largely cut off from the drama of the Third Reich; this is the world that ends up so heavily romanticized, and turned into propaganda, by the Nazis, yet their depiction of it is often far from the truth. There's no glamor in the farmer peasant life. Just lots of struggle, hardship, and barely getting by.

Farm life is complicated in its simplicity. Everything boils down to routine and repetition. You keep the farm running, which means keeping workers. And when you haven't much money to pay workers, you make your own. Thus Agnes: The role of the farm wife is to have children. A lot of them. The reason that line of farmer peasants has done so well in surviving for so long, despite the difficult circumstances, is that the women have large broods of kids to help keep things running and to keep the line going. Even girls are more useful than not--after all, they can be married off, sealing ties between families, creating the next generation. Sons are preferred, but daughters will do. I don't yet know the circumstances of Georg's and Agnes's marriage, though I do know they genuinely care for each other, while the union is primarily for utilitarian purposes. Out here, you don't marry for love, though it helps. I think Agnes cares more for Georg than he cares for her, BUT, based on the fact that he remains married to her and remains faithful, it might simply be that he conceals his emotions better. Because Agnes proves not to be as useful a wife as hoped.

It isn't that she isn't a devoted, hard worker--she is. She more than carries her weight, working her fingers to the bone to keep the farm going and to care for her husband. She's a good faithful wife. Yet she's not much of a mother--the primary and most important role she's supposed to fulfill. No matter how hard the two of them try, they remain childless for quite a while. Agnes starts to despair, and Georg grows frustrated; when finally, it happens--Agnes becomes pregnant. She wishes to be careful, to protect this precious, much-needed life as much as she can, but farm work beckons as always, and she keeps at it as long as she's physically able, going into labor while out in the field one day. Georg hurries off to fetch the nearest midwife--no doctors out here--though Agnes has already done most of the work by the time they return, and Godfrey is born not long after.

Godfrey is a puny, colicky, sickly seeming baby, but he survives, and grows stronger (though he never does get chubby or plump out much), and by the time he leaves toddlerhood is already helping out with chores. (Same as these folk having no time for politics, they have no time for childhood, either.) Agnes would love to dote on him, but there's no space for spoiling a child on the farm, so she settles for being his comfort, always smiling at him and giving his face a gentle little touch before continuing with her work, and singing him lullabies and telling him the old folk legends before bed; she also often gives him a little bit of her portions of the day's meals, because he's a growing child and she reasons he needs it more. Georg, meanwhile, isn't an affectionate type--more often than not, he's giving Godfrey a light cuff upside the head to wake him or remind him to get back to work (the boy is easily distracted). He always speaks sternly, always orders him to see to his chores or get moving or quit dawdling. He's not violent or overly abusive, though, and even the head-cuffing is restrained--meant to startle Godfrey into compliance rather than frighten or hurt him--and once in a while, when the child works especially hard or the day is especially productive, he mutters, "Gute Arbeit" (good work) and even briefly ruffles the top of Godfrey's head before they go back home. It isn't much, but to little Godfrey it's the world. He does everything he can to make his parents happy and proud of him.

It ends up not being enough, however. Agnes never has any more children, meaning Georg needs to hire more workers, meaning he needs to spend money or trade resources. The strain of this wears more on the little family as time goes on, and Georg handles it poorest of all. He grows perpetually frustrated and disgruntled at how little their efforts pay off, and takes this out on both Agnes (for not giving him any more children to work the farm) and Godfrey (for being a rather disappointing boy). The brief days of the toiling but somewhat happy family are past, and more often than not, Georg can be found snapping angrily at his wife or cuffing his son a bit harder than he used to. He doesn't do any of this out of spite--he's just never been taught any more effective ways to handle his emotions. The truth is he's struggling to keep it together just as much as the others are, and he too feels ashamed to not be the self-sufficient, successful provider he's supposed to be.

Despite these setbacks, the three of them do still get along and work together the best they can, and Georg's heart is still in the right place...until after one especially stressful day, one of his hired workers offers him a bottle of beer to "help take the edge off." Georg refrains at first--he rather looks down on the pastime of drinking, which he considers a waste of time and resources. Still, the worker jiggles the bottle at him and cajoles, and he really does feel like he needs a break after so much hard work--a lifetime of it--plus he's so tired and thirsty; he takes the bottle and takes a reluctant sip. Then a swig. He can't help it, his throat is so dry he quickly downs the whole thing. His worker laughs a little and offers him another but this time he refuses and heads home, he doesn't want to overdo it. He's already buzzed, however--without really understanding or knowing it--and has to admit deep down that the drink did take the edge off. He doesn't feel so short tempered with Agnes and Godfrey when he gets home, and the evening is actually a somewhat pleasant one, the first in a long time.

Well...moderation is a tricky thing. And Georg soon enough learns that. You don't become an addict overnight; it's a gradual process--Godfrey learns this much later on with methamphetamine, and Georg learns it now with drinking. He never gets into hard liquor, just sticks to beer--that in itself helps trick him into thinking it's not so bad--but it's too easy to progress from buzzed to drunk...and in stark contrast to being buzzed mellowing him out a little, when it comes to being drunk, Georg is a mean one. After a few beers he finds himself simmering with resentment over his lot in life; a few beers more than that, say just the right (wrong) words, and his fists start flying. He never intends to get angry-drunk, he longs to simply stay with that slightly drunk relaxed feeling, yet he can just almost never limit himself to one bottle, he keeps hoping he can linger with that warm hazy feeling. You'd think if one bottle makes you feel good, surely another would make you feel twice as such? But that's not the way it works for Georg, who's had so much rage and despair lurking under the surface before now. The bottle loosens him up and as a result, all THAT comes surging out. And Agnes and Godfrey are on the receiving end.

Wife and son are confused at first by this growing change in his behavior; they aren't familiar with the effects of alcohol, either. But they catch on. The bottle is what turns the normally stern but moderate Georg into a raging brute, and anything can set him off. The first time he smacks Agnes across the face, it's a shock, but it quickly becomes routine. Then, Godfrey as well. And then not just smacks, but beatings. He doesn't bother even trying to hide the effects of the blows--he'll hit them in the face as readily as in the ribs--because most of their interactions are with the itinerant Poles who don't even speak the same language, and a few visits with distant neighbors who are unlikely to do anything. It's nobody else's business to get involved. These outside parties do cast vaguely sympathetic glances at the battered pair--on one occasion, an older Roma woman who stops by to trade outright glares malevolently at Georg the entire time--yet that's the extent of their involvement, and Agnes and Godfrey don't expect them to step in, anyway.

They simply put up with this situation for a few years--just another hardship of country life--Agnes trying to explain to their increasingly discouraged son that this isn't really his beloved father, Georg is still in there somewhere--the Georg who would cuff him a little but only when necessary, and would tell him good work--it's just that der Flaschendämon, the bottle demon, has hold of him, and he can't get free. Indeed, Godfrey catches glimpses of the old Georg when he's not drunk--Georg isn't the apologetic type, but he does feel extreme guilt when he's sober, and keeps wanting to stop drinking, but doesn't know how--and the more time goes by, the fewer are the times when he's sober. He even starts drinking early in the day and works the fields while drunk, nearly getting into accidents a few times--Agnes covers for these incidents and silently patches him up when he hurts himself--and arguing with visitors until the Klempers are increasingly isolated from their handful of distant neighbors, and depend almost entirely on the wandering workers. Things get worse--Georg drinks harder--the sorry situation feeds off itself. Without any of them knowing it, everything starts to come to a head.

A neighbor here and there still bothers to do business with Georg when necessary. The men from one family stop by now and then to help work the land. They have a young son, around Godfrey's age, named Rolf. Godfrey and Rolf don't get to interact much--they're also busy working--but one day they manage to find a few moments to take a break and sit side by side under the trees at the edge of the field, gazing out into the sunlight. Rolf peers shyly at Godfrey, and smiles. Godfrey thinks his green eyes are the most beautiful eyes in the world, and though it confuses him, he kisses him. He worries just briefly that he'll scare Rolf off...but Rolf smiles back at him even wider, and even grasps his hand. Godfrey hasn't had many occasions for smiles or happiness or love in his short life, but his heart thumps, and he tentatively smiles back. He'll remember this moment like it only just happened until the day he dies.

Georg is out in the field with the other few men left since it's starting to get late. And yes, although still toiling hard, he's been drinking most of the day, slowly but steadily growing more and more sullen and ill tempered. The others are avoiding him by now, knowing he'd likely deck them for no reason; they're too busy chatting with each other a bit to notice what Georg notices. What Georg notices, when he stops plowing for a moment to catch his breath and wipe his brow, is Godfrey sitting with Rolf near the edge of the field, and he feels a twinge of anger, ready to yell at him to get back to work--when Godfrey leans toward the other boy and kisses him. The blood drains from Georg's face and his lungs feel like they're sucked inside-out. Everything else in his field of vision, the other workers, the sky, the field itself, goes black as his sight shrinks to a dot, like looking down a tunnel with Godfrey at the other end. All he sees is his son kissing another boy. A lifetime, two lifetimes, centuries of hardened farm life and rural teachings pounded into him that this is wrong, this is awful, this is not what boys are meant for, yet here's his son, his ONLY son on whom the farm and family line depends, doing this, going against nature and country ideals and Gott Himself--all of this suddenly comes roaring up into Georg's chest, and his vision literally goes red as blood fills his eyes and his own heart pounds up into his throat, the thudding and ringing filling his ears. His fingernails gouge into the plow handle before he doesn't merely let it fall, he slams it down at the ground, whirls so hard he twists his ankle yet doesn't feel the sting, and yells at the top of his lungs, "GODFREY!!"

Godfrey and the other boy--Georg doesn't know his name, doesn't care--both turn to look at him, freezing, eyes going wide. Georg starts storming across the field, making a beeline for them. He's never seen such fear and dread on his son's face before, not even before giving him a walloping, and the tiniest, tiniest voice in the last sober bit in the back of his brain says don't do this, but it's promptly screamed down and drowned out by rage. He half-expects the boys to go running as boys tend to do, but Godfrey's always been good and obedient, has never questioned his authority even once, has always done everything Georg told him to do. These are all things that should make him take pause, yet they just enrage him even more--his son, HIS son, should never act this way, and he grits his teeth and clenches his fists hard enough to draw blood as he nears the two. "YOU! Go on home!" he yells at the green-eyed boy--he doesn't care about him whatsoever, he's not his kid to discipline--and the boy hastily clambers down from the tree root he's seated on and goes running off to the other men still in the field; Georg pays no attention to how they stopped working the moment he screamed his son's name, nor how they gather their equipment and bustle off toward the barn, pulling the boy along with them although he reluctantly looks back at Godfrey. Godfrey has eyes for only his father--Georg snarls when he reaches out and grabs him by the wrist, yanking him out into the open so abruptly that Godfrey yelps and stumbles. He ducks his head, obviously expecting a blow, yet Georg turns and hauls Godfrey along after him as he stalks back to the farmhouse.

"Schwuchtel!" Georg hisses, fingers digging into Godfrey's wrist, "Slacking off doing THAT? You like that so much? That's what you learned? How about I teach you some more, then...?"

He drags Godfrey into the house, holding off until they're inside before smacking him across the face, hard. Godfrey lets out a pained noise but doesn't yell. He does cry out at the second, even harder blow, however, and Agnes hurries into the room--she's carrying a bottle of beer, having expected Georg to give his customary demand upon entering the house, and so is startled to find him hitting Godfrey instead. He yanks the bottle out of her hand even as he hits Godfrey a third time, takes a deep swig, feels even more enraged--he punches this time, knocking Godfrey down, then lands a sharp kick. Agnes finally tries to intervene, but he snarls and gives her such an infuriated glare, fist raised, that she cowers back--like Godfrey, she's good and obedient, she never fights back. And even as Georg grabs his son's arm again and yanks him back up onto his feet, his lip bleeding and his eye swelling and tears brimming, Godfrey doesn't protest, doesn't even call for his mother to protect him; Georg turns and heads for the stairs, dragging Godfrey after him as he clumsily ascends and then pulls him down the narrow hallway.

He reaches Godfrey's small bedroom, tears open the door, hurls Godfrey inside so he hits his bed, hard. Godfrey gasps and blinks up at him, eyes wide and wet. Georg grinds his teeth so hard it should hurt, though he doesn't feel it, doesn't feel the swelling in his ankle or in his knuckles from the blows he already landed, doesn't feel anything but blind fury--he takes another drink, again sees red like looking through a tunnel and hears the ringing and roaring in his ears. "Filthy little Schwuchtel!" he snarls. "You want to be a little wife so bad? I'll teach you how much fun it is to be a little wife. Then you'll want to be a man." Godfrey watches as he tips the bottle and pours out the beer on the floor, then Georg slams the door shut and stalks toward him.

I've already mentioned this incident in Elias Baswitz's entry; I can't go into detail about what Georg does here, but it's awful. Agnes cowers downstairs at first, though when she hears her son start screaming, she gingerly climbs the steps, shaking like a leaf--she wants to help him so badly, but is too afraid of enraging her husband even further. She covers her face and cries until the door to Godfrey's room slams open again and Georg comes stomping out, teeth bared, fist clenched--he hurls the bottle away with a crash and heads for the stairs. Agnes cowers back again, though as he draws close she manages to summon just enough courage to ask in a small voice, "What did you do to Godfrey...?" Georg ignores her--and at last she feels a tiny angry twinge of her own. "Georg--?" she says, louder, as he passes--then, clenching her own fists and nearly yelling at his back, "What did you do to Godfrey--?"

Georg halts, bristling--his temper hasn't worn itself out yet, if anything, he's even more enraged than before and doesn't even know why--all he knows is for some inexplicable reason, years of crushed hopes and expectations have collapsed upon him, all his life's hard work and all his family's hard work seems like it's been for nothing, all over one stupid little thing. His brain is so fogged with rage and alcohol that the realization doesn't occur to him--his son's always obeyed--always done everything he can to make him proud--of course Godfrey always planned to carry on the family tradition, same as he did, as it's all he knows. Of course he would have found a girl to marry and have children with, no matter how against his nature, no matter how miserable it would've made him, because that's the way he's always been. And even if his luck continuing the line had been even worse than Georg's and Agnes's, still, he would've tried, because he loves his father.

The tiny part deep in the back of Georg's head suspects this. Were he to go to bed, sleep it off, wake sober again in the morning, he'd feel horror and guilt over how far he let it go this time. Maybe, just maybe, it'd finally be just enough to jar him into making a change. But he's never heard Agnes raise her voice before, and it's like a match striking inside. He stops and turns to look back at her. He expects defiance, yet sees only fear; despite summoning her tiny shred of courage, she's still terrified. Georg suddenly thinks of all their years of trying, for a family more than just Godfrey--puny girly disappointing Godfrey, near-barren disappointing Agnes, and most disappointing of all, Georg himself, unable to fix all this--all the generations that went before are howling in his ears at how ruined his family is--and the tiny voice is snuffed out. He sees as if in slow motion, his hand swinging, Agnes's eyes shifting to the side to watch--an echoing CRACK--and she hits the bannister and goes tumbling down the stairs.

Agnes lands on the ground floor with a sickening thud, but as Georg descends she manages to slowly push herself up onto hands and knees, gasping for breath. She looks up at him, her cheek already starting to swell, and shakily says, "Georg--" before he reaches her and hauls her to her feet by the front of her dress. "Mutter!" a voice dimly cries before he tosses her again, and she hits the wall. She still doesn't pass out, saying, "Georg--!" again in a wavering voice, so he pulls her up a second time. This goes on for a moment or so--Agnes yelling his name, Georg alternating between tossing her around and punching or kicking her--the more she refuses to just give up, the more enraged he gets. The pathetic one-sided fight goes around the room, jostling furniture, shattering glass, until he hurls her at the floor near the arched entryway into the den. Agnes lands hard with a muffled yelp--Georg gnashes his teeth and clenches his fists and stomps toward her--and then a flicker of movement to Agnes's side makes him stop short. The long barrel of a rifle is pointed right at him. He blinks in surprise--it's his gun, normally kept on the wall in the den just beyond, what's it doing here?--then he blinks again when he sees who's holding it. Godfrey is shaking so hard the rifle jiggles unsteadily in his grasp, and he looks just as petrified as Agnes. "Godfrey--?" Georg says, confused, and Agnes echoes him--"Godfrey?"--a strained note in her voice. She's just as surprised as Georg is.

"S-stop hurting her," Godfrey stammers in a small voice, his eye swollen almost shut, his lip split and bruises littering him.

"Godfrey," Agnes says again, pushing herself up a little and lifting a hand--an appeal to put down the rifle. Georg sees his son--his puny weakling son--standing his ground for the first time in his life, wielding the family rifle (Godfrey's never shown any fondness for weapons despite Georg trying to teach him), a gun so huge it looks utterly ridiculous in his arms, making him seem even punier trying to hold it aloft and aim at the same time--the recoil alone would likely knock him straight off his feet. There's some sort of irony here--Georg had always wanted Godfrey to toughen up, to be a man, and now here he is with a firearm--yet it's pointed right at Georg himself--and he looks so pathetic with this massive weapon he obviously can hardly use that rather than feel pride that his lesson got through, Georg just feels disgust, as well as his anger deepening. His fists clench again.

"What do you think you're doing with that?" he growls; "Piddling Schwuchtel! Put it back!"

"Godfrey, give me the rifle, bitte," Agnes implores; her voice grates on Georg's raw nerves and he snarls.

"Shut up! Alte Landsau! He's like this because of you always coddling him!" Then to Godfrey: "Give me that gun, you little piss, or I'll make you regret it even more!"

He takes a threatening step forward and Godfrey's foot goes back--but aside from that he doesn't budge, and doesn't lower the gun. In a tiny shaking voice, eyes watering, he then says something that confuses the hell out of Georg: "Der Flaschendämon. Let--let him go. I want my Vater back."

Georg blinks again, wonders what that means, then immediately stops caring--"Give me that gun, you Schwuchtel, you can't even fire it like a man!"--and he makes a grab but Godfrey jerks back, the barrel swinging. Georg raises his fists and his voice in a fury--"WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU--!!" and hears Agnes, her own voice raised--"Godfrey!"--and Godfrey's wailing voice--"I want my Vater back!"--and then the tiny sober part of his brain remembers, that's right, Godfrey does know how to use the rifle, he taught him, he wanted him to stand up for himself and be a man--right before a brilliant flash blinds him, fire blasts in his chest, and he stumbles backwards, toppling and slamming into the floor. He regains his vision just long enough to see the wide wet eyes of his wife and his son, the rifle barrel smoking, before everything flickers, the darkness rapidly crawls in--like looking down a tunnel again--and instead of red, everything goes black.

The aftermath will be recounted in Agnes Klemper's entry (September 1st).

[Georg Klemper 2023 [‎Friday, ‎July ‎14, ‎2023, ‏‎2:00:40 AM]]

[naranjapetrificada]

God I feel this. Literally everything about him became so loaded that I literally lost the ability to engage with him the way I have with other villains in the past.

I only joined tumblr after a few months of watching the show for the first time, rewatching it a bunch of times, and reading loads of fic. And in that before time I could look at Izzy the way I did the Badmintons, namely as villains whose actors were having The Most Fun playing their parts. You will never convince me anyone had more fun on that set than Rory Kinnear did on the days when he was playing Nigel Badminton in particular. Con's enjoyment was subtler but still plain as day, and that kind of thing is fun to watch.

When I started reading fic like it was my job before joining tumblr, I wasn't reading steddyhands like OP but I did read a few one-sided Edizzy/blackhands fics because the subtext was there onscreen, in Con's performance if not necessarily on the page (unlike stizzy, which is a black hole where chemistry goes to die) and so I could meet that where it was. I could even roll with it when a gentlebeard fic had past edizzy in its grotesque and unhealthy glory because I could read it as incidental and unserious and not the end goal. I didn't read loads of it, but it wasn't an automatic dealbreaker either.

Now it is. Now it's too fraught and weighed down by racism and misogyny and homophobia to go near with a ten foot pole. Now there's a line where too much interest in non-canon Izzy is a cause for suspicion more than anything else, and so impossible to meet on neutral terms. Every so often good, canon-compliant Izzy meta will get posted and it just makes me mourn for the conversations we could be having about him, but won't ever be able to to the degree we should because of the people who were so determined to misread the show and its themes.

They built up these persecution complexes because most fans were like "wait, what?" after hearing their takes. They insisted people use the "izzy critical" tag instead of the main "izzy hands" one because they didn't want anything intruding on the character they straight up invented (and in some cases used that tag specifically to find people who disagreed with them). They acted like pariahs, despite making it impossible to engage with their special boy as a topic without everything exploding. They created the very circumstances that they lament through their intellectual dishonesty, which I guess is at least something that they have in common with their favorite little guy? Poisoning everything around them but not even in the way they might have intended is truly some Izzy Hands behavior.

You know, I really wonder what my thoughts would be on Izzy if there wasn’t an entire subset of the fandom that was deluded that he’s actually the main character and is the victim in this entire thing, because you know what? My first couple watchthroughs I didn’t really care about him. I didn’t like him. But I was just kind of like “hey that’s an interesting character and he sucks and I wonder where they’re gonna go with him next season” and that was about it.

And then I learned about them and saw the kinds of takes they had on Ed and Izzy’s relationship and the gross take that Ed is abusive when we only ever see Ed responding to what other people, izzy included, do to him, not instigating and trying to hurt people.

And it wasn’t until then that I started to actually hate him, and the way people were making allowances for his behavior, behavior that is the same as behavior shown by the Badmintons and Stede’s father toward Stede, and the way the story was being twisted to make the poc the bad guy, when Izzy is very clearly an antagonist in s1.

I had even read the occasional steddyhands, if it was by an author I liked. And now I don’t want him anywhere near my boys. Not unless there’s some kind of textual acknowledgement of all the shit he pulled (and sorry, but even the deathbed apology in canon just wasn’t enough for me, though at least it was something).

But I just wonder, what would I think about him if I hadn’t seen people talking like Izzy was a victim and thought “well now that doesn’t seem right”. Cause I can tell you for sure that before all this, I didn’t give two shits about him either way and I hate that now I have to overcompensate for the apologists because of takes like that. like i get liking a villain. i actually fucking love Ricky and wish we had gotten more of him in s2. the difference is that I'm not over here talking about how poor Ricky was abandoned and lost his nose and his plan to destroy all pirates was swindled and how sad that is and how depressing that stede was a bitch to him. I'm just over here enjoying that he sucks and that i hope he gets what he deserves in s3 (because I'm fully deluded that s3 is still coming).

[wiypt-writes]

25 Days Of CHRIS-Mas

Day 25: A CHRIS-Mas Carol

Past

Summary: You and Chris have a love/hate relationship…in that you love to hate one another. But it hasn’t always been that way, and sometimes, to build a better future, someone has to be the bigger person and remember why and how it wasn’t always that bad.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Actress Reader

Warnings: Bad Language, smut (NSFW, 18+)

W/C: Hazard a guess about 4k ish?! Poss more.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, any likeness to any persons or events in real life are purely co-incidental. I do not own any characters contained herein bar the reader and/or any original characters. I do not give consent for my work to be copied and posted/translated onto any other sites. If you see this fiction anywhere other than Tumblr, it has been taken without permission.By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer and ALL warnings posted here.

A/N: So this is my first EVER RPF and came from an idea I’ve had in my head for ages. It’s split into 3: Past, Present, Future. Posted on mobile with my left hand. Apologies in advance for any mistakes!

25 Days Of CHRIS-mas Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Day 24: Andy Barber (Defending Jacob)

“Reflect upon your present blessings—of which every man has many—not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.”

Early December, 2013

"You know I can’t tell you that!” You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll get shot. All I can say is they’re keeping very true to Shadow’s comic book character. So, if you know you know. And I’m really excited to join the MCU. For a comic book geek like me, it’s a dream come true.”

Chris watched as you sat in the directors chair, next to Kelly and Michael, right in front of Disney World's Epcot, filming a segment for Live! With Kelly and Michael. You was there, doing an interview for your next film, due out this Christmas, about King Nicholas' daughter trying to find a way to bring the magic of the holidays back to her kingdom.

Filming a Disney animated film had been a dream come true for you and he knew it. Yet, he had to laugh at the way Michael snuck in a Marvel question.

“So you can’t give us any little snippets about the next Cap film?” Kelly pleaded, “nothing?”

“Nope.” You laughed, wagging your finger, “you’ll have to wait for the official press tour in the new year.”

Chris rolled his eyes as you dodged the typical questions. Filming had wrapped back in June of this year and the sequel to blockbuster hit, The First Avenger, was set to premiere in mid-March. Yet it was a well versed fact that everyone would try and cajole snippets out of the Marvel cast any way they could.

There was some more chat then about how voicing animation differed to live action movies and then, he sat up as Michael hit you with a question that wasn’t entirely off topic, but made him cringe nonetheless.

“So, in A Christmas Wish, Jeffrey Dean Morgan plays, or voices, your father, King Nicholas and obviously you starred alongside him and Chris Evans in The Losers a few years back. How did it feel being reunited again with your old costars?”

"Well, the weird thing is, I actually didn't see Jeff until we were doing press, because the beauty of animation is you can kinda record it anywhere. Where with Chris…” You hesitated and he groaned, knowing full well that was going to be picked up on. “Well, I was literally stuck with him in tight quarters sometimes for three months,” you laughed, trying to keep it light although your eyes told a different story.

“I can think of worse places to be stuck.” Kelly mused and you snorted. 

“Well, it… it can get hard when you’re living on top of one another for so long, it definitely helps when you get along.” You diplomatically answered.

"Do you though?" Michael seized his chance. "Does everyone get along? I mean, we're you the freshman here?"

Chris inhaled as Michael and Kelly both pressed you, and he watched you squirm to as you clearly were thinking of a way to dodge or redirect.

In the end, to his surprise, you did neither.

“Okay, I know what you’re hinting at, the rumours of a rift  between me and Evans so to speak but… ya know, we had a few creative differences but that’s it,” you feigned a casual shrug. “Chris is a passionate guy and knows Steve Rogers and is protective over him. I know my character and there were a few little disagreements on some aspects of filming in a couple of scenes but… it all gets left on set. You gotta draw that line, ya know?”

Chris could tell that, despite your best attempt to appear otherwise, you were rattled. Especially as your left hand toyed with your earlobe. He snorted and scoffed as he remembered exactly the moment you were talking about. It hadn’t been left on set, far from it. For once the trash mags had been correct in their reporting.

Thankfully, the interview went back to your current project and then finished about ten minutes later.

At that point, Chris shut the television off and got himself ready for the gym. It was early afternoon when he got a message from Meghan asking if he’d checked his Twitter. 

With a groan he opened up his account and searched through. Sure enough, you were trending as was he. The original article from TMZ, originally published mid-shoot, which had reported the argument so to speak was being dug up and reblogged again along with a bunch of new comments. The majority of people tweeting seemed to take your denial of said rift as confirmation.

And his fans were wasting no time in twisting the knives.

With an eye roll he called Meghan. “Well, this is fun…”

“You think?” She scoffed, “that was a pretty shitty question they asked her."

"She should have been better prepared but she handled it well, I mean, she's normally one to run her mouth.”

“Stop it," Megan scolded. "You are one to talk."

“Meaning?”

"Look, that's not the current point, what is is there's now a cacophony of comments and before you get a good lashing from Marvel, or her team jump in with something that paints you out to be the asshole, you need to redirect."

He sighed, “you told me not to say anything last time!”

"Well, clearly this is snowballing a second time and we need to stop it, so redirect. Post something political, or, I don't know, hug a tree or a strangers dog and take a picture."

“Message understood.”

“And call Y/N, thank her for not actually saying what she was probably wanting to."

“No. Hard pass." He shook his head as he spoke.

“I wasn’t asking.”

"Fine." Chris grumbled. "But I'm not happy about it."

“Good boy,” came the sarcastic reply.

He ended the call and with a huge groan scrolled through his contacts, stopping at one; PIMA. With a deep breath and an eye roll, he hit call and sat tapping his foot as he tried to reach you.

“What do you want?” You answered after his third attempt.

"Saw your slow pitfall this morning. I'm supposed to be thanking you for not speaking your mind. So... Thanks." He chewed on his cheek. 

She scoffed, “well you can tell Meg you did as you were told, good boy. How the fuck she puts up with you I don’t know.”

"Why are you such a brat?”

“And don’t worry, my team have no response to this shit storm on social media prepared. I can’t be bothered.”

“You know, there wouldn't be a shit storm to not be bothered with and we wouldn't be having this conversation if you'd just done what you’re media coached to do and that's reflect, redirect and move on. You....got sucked in." He growled.

There was a pause, “fuck you!” You snarled in response, “I deflected well enough and saved your precious golden boy reputation despite me being well within my rights not to-“

“Within your rights?”

“-do you have any idea how it felt earlier in the year when that article broke? Your fans ripped me apart. I was fat, ugly, fame hungry and you did NOTHING to stop any of it!”

"Shoes fit, sweetheart. You came at me, remember? You said you didn't like how Joe and Anthony had pinned you and Scarlett up like they had, you didn't like the way we had to improvise. I simply defended a character I've been for quite some time."

There was a pause as you took a deep breath, “I didn’t come at you!! I raised a concern I had, and Scarlett, Seb and Mackie had my back but you, you made me feel like shit on set. Like I was stupid, dumb…and left me to the wolves. You know what, Marvel might be my first big break but it’s yours too, remember that, asshole!”

The line went dead as the call purposely dropped on your end. Chris grumbled as he tossed his phone down and ran his hands over his face, scratching at that beard of his that was slowly growing back in. "Jesus, she's fahking impossible. Boils my blood."

But something about what you said was nagging at him. Sure, things had gotten hairy on set but he had simply assumed you’d ignored the comments and reactions arms he had. And he certainly hadn’t set out to belittle you.

It bothered him all the more because during filming for The Losers, you’d been tight. Real tight. It made him a little sad to think somewhere that had gotten lost along the way.

He looked at the phone again and was just about to call you back, perhaps attempt to maybe talk it through a little more calmly, when it lit up. Mackie was calling.

"What's up, dude?"

“Listen, far be it from me to get involved but what the fuck is with you and Y/N. She’s just called me in hysterics.”

Chris hung his head as if Mackie could see him. "I needed to talk to her and it ended like it always does, a fahking death match."

“Listen, I’m gonna say my piece and I’m done but don’t you think this had got outta hand? She merely questioned what the endgame with Shadow was. It wasn’t a dig st the improv scene. She just couldn’t see how it fit. But that aside, you really thinks she deserves the hatchet job that’s going down now?”

He had him there. No she didn't, neither of them did.

"You fucking idiot." Mackie sighed deeply when Chris remained silent. “Look, I’m on my way over to see her…”

“You’re in Florida?”

“She invited us over so the kids could enjoy Disney World. We’re going to the premiere. Her parents can’t make it, her dad ain’t been well.“

"She... Oh." Again, the situation left him without words, a rare occurance for himself. Then he sighed. "Just text me when you're done, huh? I'll try calling her later when she's calmed down."

But Anthony wasn’t done, “you know, she met with Feige a few weeks back? Asked him how much it would cost to back out of her contract and recast her.”

That floored him. "What?"

“You heard.”

"Fahk." He drawled in his slow, thick Boston accent.

"Yeah, fuck." Mackie mimicked. "You need to calmly fix this, for all our sakes."

“How? Like…”

“I dunno man, be more Steve Rogers… perhaps mean your apology.” There was a pause before Anthony laughed, “actually don’t, because he’s a reckless, stubborn asshole.”

"We're a lot alike in that sense." Chris sighed. "I'll think of something. Just... Keep her from going off the rails with ya? We used to be friends. We were tight, years ago. Then, I have no clue."

"I'll do my best, see you in the new year.”

"Yeah, see you man. Give my best to the wife and kids."

The call ended and Chris groaned. This was shit, and right now he felt like an asshole. He hated bullies, another of Steve’s traits he shared but now, he was beginning to feel a little like one.

And this was all down to the fact he couldn’t control his real feelings…

“Dick head,” biting his cheek he picked up his phone, checking Twitter again and grimaced. Some of it had taken a real nasty turn.

“Oh, fahk this…” he grumbled, and before he could back out, he typed a tweet.

It wasn’t much, but for now it was the best he could think of. His words were true, you were. As he sat and thought about everything, looking around in his lonely, huge, Hollywood hills home, he sighed as the bones of a plan formed on his head.

Standing from his couch, he headed for his room. This idea was not smart, it would stir a tonne of shit, and Megan would highly disapprove, but, he knew deep down you weren’t going to take his calls, no matter how hard Anthony worked at you. This called for desperate measures.

He refused to be the reason someone walked out of a job, a job that was going to skyrocket one incredibly talented and beautiful woman into the fast lane of her career.

"Josh, I need a favor. Or two...."

🎄🎄🎄🎄

You woke the next morning with a banging head. Mackie and you had sunk a very expensive scotch before he had left in the early hours of the morning after you’d assured him you were okay.

If anything you were embarrassed, annoyed too at how much that Bostonian Bastard could get under your skin.

Grumbling into your pillow you tried to comprehend where it all had gone wrong so quickly. Your time in Costa Rica years ago with him and the rest of The Losers was a great time, one of the times you'd ever had on set. You and Chris had been close, very close. Almost crossing that line between friends and more but not quite making it. But you’d left things on good terms, stayed in touch, talked and chatted when you saw one another at events and the like.

You’d been excited to get the part in Marvel, even more so when you were told you’d be one of the leads in the second Cap film… but for some reason, Chris had been lukewarm at best the moment you arrived on set. You, being fresh from a breakup, had probably let it get to you more than you should but it had. And still did. Because you didn’t understand. 

"Fucking asshole," you groaned, slowly sitting up. You grimly looked around your bedroom and sighed. "Shower, then coffee, no, coffee then shower."

You called downstairs for fresh coffee and toast with some greasy bacon and eggs, some potatoes and fruit. Then decided showering the stench of scotch away was a good idea while you waited for room service.

Just as you’d dressed in a pair of jeans and a logo tee, there was a knock on your door.

"Just a second!" You called our, towelling off your wet hair, bare feet padding to the door.

You swung it open, but weren’t greeted by your breakfast.

"What the fuck?”

Blue eyes pierced yours from under the brim of a Red Sox cap, a sweatshirt and jeans covering his body. "Room Service?"

“Idiot!” You hissed, glancing up and down the corridor. 

You yanked him inside and grabbed your cart behind him. "Just what the fuck are you doing here?" Your head spun, it throbbed.

“I wanted to talk to you, and you won’t answer my calls.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason for that, I don’t wanna talk to you!”

"Y/N," he sighed, taking your hands, "come on, this is extreme. We're too old for this shit."

"Extreme?” You yanked your hands away. “You're preaching to me about extreme actions when you literally just flew over three thousand miles all because your co-star didn't answer your phone call. How fucking childish! Even for you!" 

"Ant told me you went to see Fiege."

At that you blinked and then shook your head. “He had no right to do that.”

"Deal with that later," he popped a potato in his mouth. "Sit down and talk to me. Obviously, as you pointed out, I flew over three thousand miles to fix whatever absolute disaster has been created between us for whatever fahking reason. We used to be friends."

“Yeah, and then you turned into an asshole.” You wrapped your arms around your chest as you blinked back tears. “You made me feel like shit!”

"I'm sorry, you're right, I did, I was. I am an asshole. I don’t know where we went wrong.”

“You! You went wrong…”

“Fine, but why has it taken us six months to sit down and talk about this?"

You blinked and scoffed, “I had no desire to talk to you and be told I was being a drama Queen! You brushed me off, were cold… I’ve got no answers because I don’t KNOW!”

"Then we're at an impasse because I don't know either."

"You wasted your time and money on this trip, Chris."

“Clearly,” he sighed, “but God loves a trier huh?”

You stared at him, unable to even think if this was a scotch dream, your worst nightmare or the ghosts of Christmas past and present playing one fucked up trick on you.

“Look,” he leaned forward in his seat a little, blue eyes trained on you. “For what it’s worth I’m sorry. I’ve no explanation, I should have seen how it was making you feel, and for what it’s worth, I meant what I tweeted last night. And if you leave now, I think it will be a huge mistake on your part, and a huge loss for the rest of us.”

You licked your lips, your bottom one being pulled through your teeth. Your hand ran through your wet hair. "I can't... I don't know. The offer is on the table. I'm supposed to be back in LA to meet with them again after Christmas."

“They actually said you could sever?”

"We're negotiating." You answered honestly.

Chris took a deep breath and nodded, “I’m assuming there’s a deadline seeing as we’re supposed to start the prep for filming the next Avengers on March.”

"Like I said, after Christmas."

“Okay.” He slapped his thighs and stood up. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve said my piece and, well, I’m sure you’ll do what’s right for you. But, I do mean this, it’ll be a shame to see you go,”

You grabbed his forearm, "Chris..."

“Yeah?”

"I don't want to go. But I don't know if I can handle this anymore," you admitted shyly.

He hung his head, “yeah I get that too. And I’m sorry. I really am.”

"Is it me? Am I that hard to work with? Because we didn't have this problem before."

“No, not at all. I just… I honestly didn’t mean to act like I did. I don’t know what it was. I wasn’t aware I was doing anything, certainly not before our bust up anyway. But that’s not an excuse, I get it.”

You looked at him for a moment. His eyes were earnestly searching yours, his face genuinely contrite and you could tell he was being honest.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, deciding to take the olive branch. For your sake, not his…

"Maybe I took it more personal than I needed to. I just... I'd just gotten out of something and I brought it to work with me. Failed the first rule, you know."

“We all do that.” He chuckled then sighed. “Have you heard from him recently?”

"No. He's with... It doesn't matter, he's moved on. I gave him the ring back and that's it."

“His loss.” Chris shrugged. 

There was a brief pause as you thought about him. How it went down and how much it hurt you. 

"He felt threatened. My career was going up and his stalled." You shrugged. "He didn't want me to take the Marvel job."

“Yeah well, for the record, I never liked the prick.”

“And there he is,” you chuckled, shaking your head, “there’s the Chris I know and kinda like.”

“Kinda?”

“Don’t push it.” Your smile was soft. You sighed. "What the fuck happened?" You stood. "I... We..."

“I don’t know, I wish I did.”

"You kissed me in Costa Rica. It was the wrap party, we never spoke of it again."

Chris swallowed, “I know. I… well, I pulled a Steve, didn’t I? By the time I got my head out my ass, you were dating him and… well, I got back together with Minka…”

"You won out, I'm the over dramatic, single one." You chuckled uncomfortably.

“Hardly,” he shook his head, “ didn’t work for either of us did it?”

"You.... The two of you..."

"Two months ago. We're just not the same people. We tried. Gave it a year but," he shook his head. 

“I had no idea! How the fuck did I miss that?”

“Well, we didn’t make a huge deal of it. It’s mostly gone under the radar so far, and it’s not like we really talked is it? I know you don’t like her.”

“She also doesn’t like me.”

You gave him a second, a chance to see if there was anything he wanted to share more but didn't. 

"Okay, let’s… I… start over.” You licked your lips, “just… try not to be dickheads?”

"Deal, easy as that."

“Okay,” you nodded, “I don’t wanna be rude but I’m meeting Ant and the kids in an hour but…” your hands pulled at one another.

"Well, maybe if you don't have plans, we can grab some drinks, on the down low later? Either my room or yours, just hang out, talk, catch up?"

"Sure, erm… I can message you when I’m back?”

"Yep, I'll be here. Josh snagged me a premiere ticket just in case you slammed the door on me now. I figured I'd keep trying until you talked to me."

"Pretty extreme, even for you, Evans."

"Don’t worry, I was going in through the backdoor. You've had enough bullshit this week thanks to me."

“Maybe showing a united front would stop this bullshit once and for all,” you mused.

“Maybe, we can talk it through later. I’m happy to do whatever.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,”

"I mean it. Whatever started this shit, I fucked up, and I'm sorry." He now stood at the door, his hand in the handle.

You were behind him. “Fresh start remember?”

"I know, just..." He pointed to his head, "clearing out the noise."

“Gets loud in there huh? I feel ya.” You gestured to your own.

"We should talk about that shit, some time, like we used to."

“One step at a time,” you gave him a soft smile.

"I'll see you tonight. Maybe." He reached out to hug you. 

"Yeah, maybe." You hugged him back. 

With a final nod he left and you watched the door close behind you. You stood still before you wiped the tears from your cheeks and turned to get ready for your day.

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Part 2: Present

[boombox-fuckboy]

Hello, and thanks, that’s sweet of you to say. This isn't a direct reply as a result of tumblr app bastardry.

But, yes. There’s not nearly enough Indian rep in podcasts, and honestly, the quality of said rep does vary, but I do have a few. I needed a distraction and ended up padding this post out way too much (hence the cut). Hope you find one here you like.

CARAVAN

“CARAVAN is a story about getting through Hell with the people you love. When Samir and his best friend Carlyle take a camping trip to the Canyon, they don’t plan on getting caught in a thunderstorm. Even worse, they don’t plan on Samir falling into the Canyon. When he wakes up, Samir finds himself in a new world, where ghosts, demons, vampires, and other monsters terrorize the locals like any villains in a western. Samir joins up with a caravan—a vigilante train of supernatural bounty hunters—to delve deep into the Canyon depths, and find a way out of Hell once and for all.”

What the description doesn’t tell you but might be important to know is that this is a horny podcast. It’s not erotica, but there is a sex scene (Ep 1.8 36:28-39:20 if you want to avoid it, thank you Cait), and it’s generally pretty flirty/thirsty, both for humans and demons/vampires/ghosts/etc. This isn’t my thing, but the magic and worldbuilding certainly are, and it’s really well written, great sound design, and loads of queer rep. Written by Tau Zaman, who is Desi and American themself.

Hiatus • 10 Episodes • 24-56 mins each • Average ~27 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings Unavailable • Transcripts Available on Website

About the Character: Samir, He/Him, Lead. Voiced by Sushant Adlakha. He’s bi, fat, and while a bit of a dork at times, gets his chance to be cool as well. Since he’s the lead, he’s there from episode 1.

The Godshead Incidental

“A letter that was never answered, a city full of gods, and one million pigeons.”

In a city where gods are plentiful and walk among humans, a young woman writes a life advice column in the local newspaper. Not many episodes yet, but really intriguing and very well made.

Hiatus • 5 Episodes • 31-38 mins each • Average 35 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings in Episode Descriptions • Transcripts Available on Website

About the Character: Imogen “Em” Chandra-Phankham, She/Her, Lead. Voiced by Ishani Kanetkar. Em is aroace, and near perpetually exasperated, which is fair given what she has to deal with. Since she’s the lead, she’s there from episode 1.

Moonbase Theta, Out

“It is 2098. The Moonbase program has been determined unprofitable. The last base, Theta, is twenty weeks from being decommissioned. Most of the crew is in stasis awaiting retrieval. Five remain – Roger Bragado-Fischer, Nessa Cheong, Ashwini Ray, Michell L’Anglois, and Wilder.

Join the crew of Moonbase Theta as they reach out to share the beauty, the isolation and frustration, the love and enmity, the humour, and the tragedy, as all count down to the operation’s end.”

The description tells you about all you need to know, bit I will give a tip: listen to the S1 supercut instead of each episode individually. Season 1 is a one-voice podcast, really strong regardless, but starting season 2 you'll have the full cast.

Hiatus • 42 Episodes + 28 Bonus Episodes • ~7 mins each (S1), 19-25 mins each (S2), 25-55 mins each (S3) • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings Unavailable • Transcripts Linked in Episode Descriptions

About the Character: Ashwini Ray, Ze/Zir, Major. Voiced by Tau Zaman. Ashwini is a brilliant, eccentric, and reclusive computer programmer with an affection for popular adolescent literature. While mentioned earlier, we first hear from zir in S2E1.

This Planet Needs a Name

“Imagine a handful of scientists and engineers setting out to terraform a planet - a world - for the frozen people they’ve got in tow. Just a few people, carefully chosen, who will live out their lives building something they’ll never see.

That’s us. We’re building a future.”

So much sci-fi finds the characters thrown into a worst-case scenario, so what if a group of people leaving a horrendous situation find themselves in a best-case scenario? TPNAN is an ultimately hopeful narrative, though deals with tough topics at times. The characters here are all created in tandem with their voice actors, which is really fun, and people here might know how much I enjoy lots of accents and languages.

Hiatus? • 6 Episodes + 4 Prologue + 12 Minisodes • 43-60 mins Each • Average ~50 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings in Episode Descriptions • Transcripts Linked in Episode Descriptions

About the Character: Devi, She/Her, Recurring. Voiced by, and developed in collaboration with Anjali Kunapaneni. Devi and her partner are both designers, Devi a self-assured architect. She makes her first appearance in episode 1.03.

The Strange Case of Starship Iris

“In 2189, Earth narrowly won a war against extraterrestrials. The Strange Case of Starship Iris is about what comes after. It’s a story of outer space, survival, espionage, resistance, identity, friendship, found family, romance, and secrets. (Also, there’s jokes.)”

When the transport shuttle explodes, killing everyone else on the scientific survey, Violet finds herself alone in space with no way out. Until a passing ship picks up her signal. But the crew aren't who they seem to be, there's more going on than anyone knows yet, and Violet must decide who she can really trust. Quality piece of sci-fi.

Hiatus • 19 Episodes + 3 Minisodes • 31-50 mins each • Average ~38 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings Available on the Tumblr • Transcripts Available on Website

About the Characters: Arkady Patel, She/Her, Major. Voiced by Ishani Kanetkar. Arkady is the ship’s muscle and security, clever, fast-talking, but socially awkward and with an unpleasant past. She’s also grey-ace, and wlw. She makes her first appearance in episode 1 •AND• Sana Tripathi, She/Her, Major. Voiced by Rukhmani Desai. Ship’s captain and engineer, Sana is level-headed, clever, and deeply kind. She’s also polyam, and makes her first appearance in episode 2.

Unwell

“Lillian Harper moves to the small town of Mt. Absalom, Ohio, to care for her estranged mother Dorothy after an injury. Living in the town’s boarding house which has been run by her family for generations, she discovers conspiracies, ghosts, and a new family in the house’s strange assortment of residents.”

I won't spoil anything more for you, but I do think this is a podcast everyone should give a listen. Super well made, and not long until season 4.

Hiatus • 36 Episodes • 19-47 mins each • Average ~25 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings Linked in Episode Descriptions • Transcripts Linked in Episode Descriptions

About the Character: Norah Tendulkar, She/Her, Major. Voiced by Anuja Vaidya. Norah is a brilliant scientist and designer unappreciated in her time, sharp, witty, but not always the most tactful of people. She first appears in season 2, episode 2.

ars PARADOXICA

“When an experiment in a time much like our own goes horribly awry, Dr. Sally Grissom finds herself stranded in the past and entrenched in the activities of a clandestine branch of the US government. Grissom and her team quickly learn that there’s no safety net when toying with the fundamental logic of the universe.”

Physicist accidentally invents time travel and finds herself thrown into covert government experiments in the 1940s. My personal favourite take on time travel, but people tend to find it a bit hit or miss. If you struggle with time travel, you probably won't enjoy it.

Finished • 36 Episodes + 5 Bonus Episodes • 23-55 mins Each • Average ~30 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings Unavailable • Transcripts Available on the Website

About the Character: Nikhil Sharma, He/Him, Major. Voiced by Arjun Gupta. I’m really not sure about the British-Indian(?) accent Nikhil’s VA puts on, it doesn’t add anything and I’m not sure what the point is, and so I’ve put this podcast at the bottom of the list as complaint. Which is a shame, because he is otherwise a very fun character. Charming, clever, indulgent and a bit silly, he’s a doctor from our own time. Bi. He first appears in episode 14, and becomes a major character a little later.

Actor Yes, Character Unknown

Second Star to the Left

“Scout-explorer Gwen Hartley has five years to explore and prepare her planet for settlement. With no aid but her robots and the anxious voice of her long-distance scout-minder Bell Summers in her ear, she’s hoping to be ready for anything.”

The description summarises it well but fails to mention how charming it is. Each episode also has a little "bedtime story" which I am fond of.

Finished? • 10 Episodes • 24-41 mins each • Average ~30 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings Unavailable • Transcripts Linked in Episode Descriptions

About the Character: Gwen Hartley, She/Her, Lead. Voiced by Ishani Kanetkar. Bonus, Gwen recieves and reads some letters from close friend Priyanka Khan, She/Her, reoccuring, though we don’t hear her voice.

Starfall

“Starfall is a fantasy audio drama about the adventures of the Carouvel Traveling Acting Troupe - a theatre troupe that uses magical items to create illusions for their shows as they move around the Falstenian Empire. The story begins as the troupe is joined by Leona, a young warrior with a mysterious past and even more mysterious powers. With their new guardian in tow, the troupe traverses the continent, encountering the dangers of humans, fae, and greater forces alike, all while still trying to put on a good show.”

Hiatus • 12 Episodes + 2 Bonus Episodes • 17-57 mins each • Average ~30 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings in Episode Descriptions • Transcripts Linked in Episode Descriptions

About the Character: Leona, She/Her, Lead. Voiced by Ishani Kanetkar. Leona is kind but oblivious socially, due largely to her background, also she has a badass sword and a powerful affection for food. She’s also aro-bi, and since she’s the lead, is there from episode 1.

Character Yes, Actor No

So, there’s two podcasts where the lead character has an Indian background, but I’m pretty sure their VA/creator doesn’t, which I’ve included anyway as a Desi friend of mine has expressed approval of both. I may’ve excluded them otherwise, but if they have value to her, then they might to someone else.

Kalila Stormfire’s Economical Magick Services

"Glamour spell gone wrong? Astral projection got you untethered? Want to know why your angry dead rich father is haunting you? Consider Kalila Stormfire’s Economical Magick Services.

After a controversial fallout with her coven, Kalila Stormfire must juggle complex clients and an anonymous critic hellbent on besmirching her new business. The decaying urban block where Kal operates appreciates her affordable experience in a broad range of supernatural ailments and remedies. Still, Kal is not sure if her talent is enough to stop whoever has been posting bad reviews and persuading customers to cancel appointments.

If you like stories about minority witches in modern-day working class neighborhoods, meddling love goddesses, and morally ambiguous spellcraft…this is the tale for you."

Finished • 42 Episodes + Bonus Episodes • 14-60 mins each • Average ~25 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings not Available • Transcripts Linked in Episode Descriptions

About the Character: Kalila, She/Her, lead. Kalila is Indian and Latina, and while I’m pretty sure creator/voice actor Lisette Alverez is Latina, I don’t think she’s Indian. Kalila is sociable, determined, creative. Also bi. As the lead, she's there from episode 1.

Girl in Space

"Nothing fancy here -- just the simple audio diary of a girl in space. Also, there’s this weird and potentially ominous light in the distance that seems to be growing steadily closer. Listen for science, guns, trust, anti-matter, truth, beauty, inner turmoil, and delicious cheeses. It’s all here. In space."

Hiatus • 13 Episodes + 1 Bonus Episode • 26-67 mins each • Average ~30 mins • Available on Major Podcasting Platforms and Spotify • Content Warnings not Available • Transcripts Linked in Episode Descriptions

About the Character: X, She/Her, Lead. It’s never discussed in any real detail, but X's father was one Dr. Singh, and I'm fairly sure she's mentioned offhand to be brown. That said, I’m pretty sure Sarah Rhea-Werner (podcast writer and voice of X) is white. X is also fat, asexual and autistic. She's kind, clever, sheltered, and a bit goofy. Since she's the lead, she's there from episode 1.

Does anyone else have any recs? Are you an Indian creator or VA, or is there one you want to shout out? Please do! And as always, if I’ve made any errors, I always appreciate being picked up on them.

[choccy-zefirka]

So February is essentially Ship Month, and I just discovered that I did not replicate a Vint ship thread of mine from Twitter here on Tumblr!

I have, by now, amassed several OCs that romance magister Alexius of the In Hushed Whispers fame. And while the story of how they get together almost always features a common motif — Alexius being forgotten during the evacuation of Haven and having to escape side by side with the Herald, resulting in bonding — there are also some experiences unique to specific OCs. In the worldstate of Vhenas Lavellan, a cheeky, take-no-shit retired Dalish Keeper with several adopted adult children, Alexius desperately tries to recast his time magic when he is captured. This results in him being trapped in a time loop, where each cycle starts just before his first meeting with Vhenas, and ends whenever he is killed, either by the Inquisition or by the Venatori. The time loop, much like Groundhog Day, allows Alexius to rethink his choices. And by the end, he starts fighting the Venatori alongside Vhenas. The loop is broken when Alexius has a heart-to-heart conversation with Felix where he finally expresses his love and grief. The poor magister emerges with a pretty strong crush on his captor.

Pilar Adaar, an ex-blood mage assassin, as I already mentioned before, does both the mage quest and the Templar quest. In her worldstate, Alexius arrives together with Dorian at the gates of burning Haven, and joins the battle side by side with Pilar, who previously tried to assassinate him but failed out of sympathy.

Elgara Lavellan, a former Tranquil elf from the Ostwick Circle, can barely stand being around Alexius at first because the emotions he is feeling send her into sensory overload. But as she slowly begins to readjust to her new existence (thanks to the Mark), she strives to show understanding and compassion towards everyone, even her enemies. She has the Inquisition guards take the prisoners from the Haven dungeons on a walk around the Chantry, but one of them, a bandit chief, kills the guard and tries to escape. Alexius helps stop him, and in return, Elgara turns a blind eye on him magicking himself away to freedom.

Alexius' plan was to return to Tevinter to be with Felix during his final moments, but he gets lost in the wilderness and bumps into a wounded Elgara post IYHSB. He faces a choice: leaving her to die and possibly earning the favour of the Venatori back, or saving her and getting recaptured. He chooses the latter, thus cementing his friendship with Elgara.

(Incidentally, he is also Elgara's first intimate partner, despiter her being around 40 years old. She was made Tranquil before she could explore her sexuality, and now gets a second chance with a certain suave old vint!)

Una Cadash, a deliberately rude Carta thug who was barely literate before she joined the Inquisition, has the makings of a talented engineer and secretly longs for knowledge; something that she is deeply ashamed of because "It is not her place". She reads (devours) books, both on structural design and more general subjects, which all greatly fascinate her, in the dead of night, when she thinks no-one is looking. Alexius, the semi-imprisoned Inquisition researcher, discovers her one night. Plus, he has been working on enchanted paper that would allow the words written on Sheet A to disappear within a few moments and reappear on Sheet B, allowing for discreet correspondence between Inquisition agents. Una once accidentally grabbed Sheet A and thought, "Wow, vanishing words! I can make my nerdy observations without people reading them and cringing!", not knowing that Alexius was still holding on to Sheet B. After some protest, she agrees to become super-secret research buddies with Alexius, and things spiral from there.

Issala Adaar, a former Tamassran, was at one point captured by Tevinters, who brought her to Minrathous and wanted to experiment on her, to figure out the Qunari vulnerabilities. Alexius, a thriving magister at the time, prevented this and arranged for Issala to be transported secretly out of Tevinter; she eventually joined the Valo-Kas mercenaries. Issala has fond memories of the human who helped her, and upon meeting him again in Redcliffe, was determined to work together with Dorian and Felix to figure out what had made him change so much and save him from himself. This also earned her extra admiration from Blackwall, who ends up in a poly relationship with her and Alexius.

Quirrin "Q" Lavellan, your friendly neighbourhood eccentric scientist, is originally from Tevinter, where they were pretty well-known as a Liberati alchemist, capable of mixing up almost any potion. Alexius came to them at some point during Felix's illness, when he was still researching a cure with help from other people. Q moved into his estate for a time, and they do experiments together. They also had a very ill-advised one-night stand (no coercion was involved, Alexius was just not in the right place at the time, not even having properly processed his grief for his wife), and Q left soon after, seeing Alexius' absolutely horrific mental state. Their reacquaintance is very strained, even setting aside the fact that Alexius tried to kill Q, but they do make up for it.

Otrada Cadash, a humble surfacer dwarf making props and scenery at an Orlesian theatre, discovers (like Una, incidentally) that the Mark has made her a mage. Her first uncontrollable burst of magic occurs in the Dark Future, and thus Dorian is the only person who remembers it. Otrada asks him to help make sense of it, but he goes into advanced theory too fast for her, and after some mutual frustration, he recommends that she go to Alexius, who at least has the teaching experience to know how to talk about magic in a layperson's terms. They meet up in the Fade, to avoid any troublesome questions, and the memories of either of them slowly unfold before the other in the process.

Sophia Lavellan, a former Circle enchanter, has a bit of an existential crisis when dealing with Alexius. She was brought up with severe guilt over being born a mage, and has been trying to make up for it by being as Good and Pure as she can. But Alexius, a Tevinter magister who nearly destroyed the world, is the opposite of Good and Pure, so Sophia wonders if a Good and Pure person is even supposed to feel sympathy towards him. She may even suspect that she has been subjected to blood magic or is turning into an abomination! Until she finally learns her lesson that people are flawed and the world is not black-and-white.

Solange Adaar, a courtly and elegant lady who, before the Conclave, used to sew dresses for the Orlesian high society (Vivienne included), decides to redesign the Inquisition mages' robes to make them more casting-friendly. She finds some books on the subject, but they are in Tevene, and Dorian is not fluent enough to help her translate. So she comes to the Inquisition's Tevinter researcher, Alexius, which sparks a bit of interest between the two of them. Particularly considering that Solange is quick-witted, very intelligent and well-read, and always impeccably dressed. What's not to fall in love with?

[fandomshatepeopleofcolor]

I don't think Riorden is a bad guy. I believe his heart was in the right place writing the series with the intention of giving kids a story where they can see themselves represented as the heroes. But good intentions or not I defiantly agree the portrayal of piper is racist and he owes it to his young fanbase to do the research and apologize for his mistakes and acknowledge them and do better in the future.

I think Riordan is a guy with an incredibly enflated sense of entitlement that feels like he’s the mightiest of the mighty whities and white saviors because he once won a stonewall award. 

his intentions might have been good when he first wrote hoo, but you know... we’re well beyond that point, it’s been years since the series was finished, and the road to hell is paved with good intentions. there are many things that people forget when they mention riordan’s “well-meaning representation:” 

in percy jackson and the olympians, every character of color is either a monster (medusa, kelly the empusai) or dies (ethan, beckendorf, zoe nightshade, arguably michael yew) with the exception of chris rodriguez (who i’m assuming is latino on the basis of his name and what little we know of his looks). this does not show any “well-meaning-ness” on his part, even in the beginning.

despite his poor choices when writing heroes of olympus, he still stands by them, as he says in his essay defending his writing of piper. 

despite claiming that he didn’t know about sensitivity readers, or that they weren’t a thing in the early 2010s when he wrote hoo, the issues continue with his current works, as seen in TOA, where piper  is still sexualised (this time, by apollo), and riordan uses reyna as a mouthpice to make fun of those who hc reyna as a lesbian and those who thought apollo/reyna was going to be a thing, as was foreshadowed in hoo (despite how objectively bad that would’ve been, considering caleo and sadie/anubis it wouldn’t have been that out there for riordan to write it, no?).

his acknowledgement of criticism, plus what happened with the big lesbian reyna fiasco of 2017, when he deleted his tumblr, shows that the criticism is reaching his ears, and that he’s choosing to ignore it. 

he’s only ever acknowledged three points of criticism: why he didn’t make reyna a lesbian, why he doesn’t think piper is not written in a racist way, and why he thinks samirah (from magnus chase) wasn’t written in a racist and islamophobic way (more on that by a muslim iraqi american). in all three of them he refuses to see where he went wrong. 

he accuses his fanbase, mostly teenagers and middleschoolers, of “bullying” him when they point out why his writing is problematic: 

If he knows about sensitivity readers, why didn’t he consult one when writing lavinia, who was introduced in 2019, just last year? if he knows about the piper criticism, why did he still sexualise her in the burning maze? if he knows about the particular way in which readers have imagined reyna, why did he shit all over that and made fun of them in the meanwhile? he could’ve had her join the hunters, if that’s what she truly wanted (show me a 17 year old that would willingly spend eternity with a bunch of preteens....) without even MENTIONING thalia (thalia/reyna has its own problems, but i digress) or ““shipping””.

if he’s got “good intentions” why did he do all that? 

if he’s got “good intentions” why does he imply his fans of color are only fixating in his works and not reading own voices? 

if he’s got “good intentions” why does he call criticism “bullying” and escentially throw his fans of color under the bus?

what about everything he hasn’t acknowledged? 

what about fatphobia and racism when depicting frank? 

what about his antiblack depiction of hazel (light hair and golden eyes)? 

what about his “edgy” age gaps (frank/hazel, sadie/anubis, calypso/leo - incidentally, all between at least one poc)? 

what about his lesbophobia in the dark prophecy? 

what about his racist depiction of leo?

what about his xenophobic depiction of irish people?

what about him hiring an artist for his official art that used to have a public blog where she drew child porn? (@viriasecrets, which has gone private after it was FINALLY called out a few months ago, despite being up for years)

the same artist that draws annabeth, a white girl, darker than (or at least just as dark as) some of the characters of color? 

what about having the holocaust and the american civil war be conflicts between demigods, and having those same “sides” be alies and heroes? and not acknowledging it ever other than hazel being like “oh, that’s not cool”? 

hades is literally said to look like hitler in the lightning thief, because of the heavy implication that hitler was a son of hades. how is that “well-intentioned”? 

If you had sent this ask about his good intentions in oh, 2016 / early 2017, maybe it would stand on its own a little bit more. Even if his depictions were problematic, only hoo was out, and that had been his first* “inclusive” series, and we knew toa was coming along, so some of it could’ve been fixed. He still had a chance to fix it and show growth, show that he truly cared about the people he’s representing, despite being sloppy about how he did it the first time.

 Now, however, having seen how Riordan has turned out to be... not so much. His attitude doesn’t show caring, it shows entitlement and a steadfast refusal to listen to his fans, listen to constructive criticism, and grow as a writer. 

*this is not counting tkc, which was posted at around the same time as hoo but was never as big as pjo or hoo, and which, as far as i know and taking away some issues, like sadie’s romantic relationships, was not as problematic or controversial. ~mod ara.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I intended to get back to just podcasts today, but then I saw the new Stewart Lee special that aired something like last week, and it was really good. Called Snowflake, and its part 2, Tornado, was supposed to have just aired but it didn’t due to queen death, I assume it’ll still happen sometimes soon.

I still feel weird writing things about Stewart Lee on here, and I’m not sure why. It’s something about how very popular he is, and how long he’s been doing it, and how I feel like I can’t have anything worth saying about Stewart Lee that hasn’t been said a million times and that everyone doesn’t already know. But that logic doesn’t really work, given that I don’t hesitate to say things about, for example, John Oliver. I watch an episode of No More Jockeys and think I definitely need to inform Tumblr of what I think about what Alex Horne is wearing, but I watch a Stewart Lee stand-up show and think, “Well yeah, obviously he’s a genius who’s redefining the genre as he goes along, no need for me to point it out.” There’s such a thing around being into Stewart Lee that I feel weird claiming.

Anyway, I don’t know why I can’t explain it well, but I really enjoyed the hour of stand-up comedy that was Stewart Lee’s Snowflake. I just watched all his previous DVD shows in the last few weeks, and I liked Snowflake at least as much as any of them, more than some of them, though they’re all different and hard to compare to each other. I thought some other things while I was watching it but now that I try to write them down it’s not really working; it's only an hour it’s really worth seeing if you like that sort of thing. He talks shit about Ricky Gervais and sarcastically suggests that no one’s allowed to say “Merry Christmas” anymore because Nish Kumar murdered all the reindeer in the name of woke culture (incidentally, I think Nish now joins Daniel Kitson as the only comedian to get referenced in a positive way during a recorded Stewart Lee show). It’s good stuff. I look forward to the second part and I’m mad that the death of a monarch delayed its release, though I feel like there isn’t room for me to get too mad about delayed stand-up specials when strikes are getting canceled and people are getting arrested in the streets for peaceful dissent.

So, Stewart Lee. I watched his special, and that made me decide I want more of this. I’ve also been vaguely thinking for a while that I want to find more from Josie Long – I’ve always hugely enjoyed her on panel shows, I heard her on a podcast recently and she was great, and I’ve seen and heard bits of her in a bunch of situations, across the last two years but more often in the last month or so. But I’ve never gone looking for her work. Seeing Snowflake and wanting to watch even more Stewart Lee made me realize I can kill two birds with one stone, so I’ve now come a long way to say I’ve downloaded the first season of Alternative Comedy Experience. This show from 2013-2014, when Stewart Lee, a guy who’s known for talking shit about other comedians and the state of comedy generally in his shows, picks out some comedians that he actually doesn’t hate, and then they perform at a comedy club in Edinburgh and it’s filmed for TV. Their sets are shown a little at a time, interspersed with each other and with clips of them talking to Stewart Lee backstage.

I’m three episodes in and hugely enjoying it. I already know I’m going to get season 2 as well, and this is going to be one of those shows I keep on my main hard drive even after I finish it, for easy re-watching. It’s one of those Britcom things that I’m watching and thinking “How the hell did I get so far without coming to this?” Lately I’ve gotten more into enjoying comedy that was performed live, but I like stuff that feel actually live, rather than too carefully curated and edited for TV. I can watch that in audience recordings, which have the drawback of being shit quality and making me feel at least a bit guilty because I’m a hypocrite for thinking people shouldn’t record at live shows but then enjoying the results. This show is a really nice way to get what I want in terms of that.

Obviously the other way to get the feel I want, of live comedy that hasn’t gone through the “made for TV” process, is to leave the house. But the comedians I want to see are across an ocean. And at this specific moment I’m recovering from COVID, still assumed to be contagious. And even before that COVID was a risk, a small enough risk so I was willing to pay to see a comedian I love on a tour show, but not small enough so I’ll just drop by a comedy club on the off chance that the people who are there that night are good. I’ve spent lots of time in my local comedy clubs over the years, and I can say that generally, you do not get a lineup of comedians to rival the people on Comedy Central’s Alternative Comedy Experience by Stewart Lee. Sometimes you do get quite good comedy; I’ve had great nights there and I am starting to miss that a little, maybe I’ll go out to a place like that again soon-ish. But I know I can’t walk into a club near me and see Bridget Christie or Paul Sinha. So in the meantime, I have Comedy Central’s Alternative Comedy Experience by Stewart Lee. I want stand-up comedy, available without leaving my house, but with the content not hugely changed from how it would be live, but do make one change from the experience of a live comedy club and that’s guarantee me that all the comedians are going to actually be good. This show is providing that.

So yeah, that’s happening, and then I will be, as they say on this website, back on my bullshit. Well, back on Andy Zaltzman’s bullshit. Back to my regularly scheduled working my way through The Bugle, picking up where I left off in August 2018, which somehow, despite how fucked up it was, we now look back on as a simpler time.

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

*

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

[tmblrvision]

Tmblrvision 2021 Head of Delegation Intentions Survey RESULTS!

As is now annual tradition, you filled out a survey which looked at your intentions to participate as Head of Delegation (HoD) for Tmblrvision 2021. You were asked which countries you were interesting, as well as some additional questions that would help shape the contest.

This year, 29 of you filled out the survey. Last year, I received 35 survey responses and ended up with 41 participants. If I set the range to ±6, that means I should anticipate between 23 and 35 participants this year!

Most of you who filled out the survey are previous HoDs, but as always there's room for new faces around here!

I'll start off with the results that y'all are probably most looking forward to: Which countries are y'all gonna go for?

Top 11 Most Wanted Countries

At the top of the list this year is United Kingdom, though (SPOILER ALERT) there may be more opportunities to claim that one, so who knows if the battle will be as difficult as you anticipate. Italy, Sweden, Australia, Finland, Ukraine, Belgium, and Ireland were all amongst the most wanted countries last year as well, with Germany joining the group. Many of you are also aiming for the Special Guest spot, despite not knowing which options are available, which is interesting. Finally, quite a few amongst you don't really know what to go for, which is fine! Maybe the results of this survey can help. (Also, if you need ideas, join the Tmblrvision Discord server, get the song suggestions role, and look through songs that have been suggested by others!)

Other Popular Countries

18 countries in all had at least two people thinking about claiming them, including countries we did not see last year, such as Greece, Austria, Hungary, and Malta.

Less-Wanted Countries

22 countries had exactly one person thinking about claiming them, and if you're one of those people, maybe you're best off going all in on them! These countries include four countries which have won Tmblrvision: Slovenia, Israel, Algeria, and current winner Luxembourg! Also, someone's interested in the Vatican... I wonder what they have in mind?

Unwanted Countries

The list of "unwanted" countries is once again not very surprising. Smaller countries (such as Andorra and Cyprus), the Caucasus (Azerbaijan and Georgia, both of which were last seen in 2018), and MENA countries (Tunisia and, surprisingly, Turkey) were on nobody's minds out of people who filled out the survey. Maybe someone can find a hidden gem for one of those countries!

Special Guest Country Poll

Here are the results of the Special Guest Country poll! Only one country didn't get a single vote, and while there were clearly three tiers of countries based on number of votes, the Top 5 was never in doubt. Because there's a tie, and I can't be bothered to find a way to break this tie, all five countries are now eligible to be claimed if someone picks the Special Guest Country. These countries are: Brazil, Canada, Kosovo, New Zealand, and USA! As always, if one of these countries is claimed, they will be ineligible to be the Special Guest Country for the next two editions.

Which Platform Will We Use?

A majority of you use Discord (89.66%) or Twitter (79.31%), with less than half of you still using Tumblr (37.93%). (One person uses Reddit!) Also, a majority of you said that you would participate in Tmblrvision if we used Discord (86.21%), and more than half said Tumblr was fine (65.52%). Despite its wide usage, only 37.93% of you would participate if we used Twitter.

In line with that, Tmblrvision will remain hosted on Tumblr, with important things such as sign-ups and song reveals going up on this page before anywhere else. However, the Tmblrvision Discord server will also continue to be an important part of the contest, with most communication happening through that platform. In addition, the rule requiring participants having an active Tumblr account will be withdrawn this year. You will be allowed to participate as long as you're an active member of the Discord server. More specific information regarding this will be included in the rulebook for this year.

Also, I asked for your suggestions on what to rename this contest, but most of you said to keep the Tmblrvision name. Since Tumblr will remain the contest's home (at least in terms of where most of the content is), we're keeping the name! Thanks for your suggestions, though. Some suggestions included:

EuroFan Song Celebration

Europalvision

Renvision / euRENvision

Recapvision

PollDaddyVision

Brian

Should the United Kingdom be split up into its constituent countries (England, Northern Ireland, Scotland, and Wales) for Tmblrvision?

This was asked a few years ago and the results were highly mixed. This time, it seem like a large majority of you want it, so: This year, you will be allowed to claim England, Northern Ireland, Scotland, and Wales! Eligibility rules for each country will be the same as every other country, meaning that if someone is eligible for England, they are probably not going to be eligible for any of the other countries.

Should Belarus be allowed to participate given its broadcaster has been suspended by the EBU?

This one was also a resounding YES. We will be using the white-red-white flag for Belarus this year.

When Are Sign-Ups?

Sign-ups for the 2021 Tmblrvision Song Contest are on Saturday, 10 July, 8pm CEST and will run for a maximum of 48 hours. Time and date are subject to change in case of anything important that pops up but this will be communicated to you ASAP. Last year's winner has yet to inform me of which country they're claiming so... hang tight. Also, if you've never done this before, you'll need to put this date and time in your calendar and be quick: Last year, I received 33 country reservations within less than three minutes of the link going up (Tumblr posted the scheduled post about two minutes late). Don't believe me? Here's the timestamps...

One Last Thing...

...I thought this would be a fun time to reveal the logo and the emblem for this year's contest!

The slogan, Resplendis pour nous!, is inspired by a lyric from Luxembourg's first Eurovision winning song, "Nous les amoureux", which won 60 years ago. Incidentally, outside of the Special Guest Country, there are 60 countries eligible to participate at Tmblrvision (including the four constituent countries of the United Kingdom), which is why the emblem consists of 60 different circles coming together to represent a glowing sun.

See you in July!