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stromblessed · 6 months

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Mizu's spectacles, and the levels of her disguise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Zatoichi reference, anyone?)

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

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

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

No wonder Mizu gets mad after this, lol

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

And yet no one spots that she's female.

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

Let me explain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#blue eye samurai #mizu #racism #bes #I am truly disappointed that we didnt get absolute confirmation that Taigen saw Mizus bound chest and just didnt think it was a big deal #but I still think that scene is making a point #again I dont think most people take the glasses jokes seriously #but its been bothering me ever since I first saw them #I really dont think Mizu just looks like a 100 percent Japanese person...... with blue eyes #and I bet that will be made even more obvious when she goes to London where Im sure she will meet plenty of people #who are more than happy to point out their observations to her #also I ran out of room in this post to go into it but this is also what made Mizus marriage an absolutely doomed prospect #Mikio talks about wanting to find the right creature for his lord and well... a mixed race woman is the right creature huh #he just needed a little push imo #getting kind of sad at the thought that Ringo is the only person in Mizus life who knows her whole identity AND accepts it wholly

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lostloveletters · 2 months

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Jesus or Gasoline (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Woody isn't sure what she believes in, except for the way John Brady makes her feel.

Note: Here it is, the result of my making a ‘guy who says grace before giving head’ joke about Brady. I wanna give a million thanks to all the Woody/Brady babes out there because y'all's support and enthusiasm for them means the world to me! As usual I listened to a lot of Bruce Springsteen while writing this. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical inaccuracies. This goes into Woody’s not so great childhood/young adulthood and her generally negative internalized thoughts surrounding religion. Sexually explicit content involving oral sex (f. receiving) and coming in pants.

The field behind the hangar was a questionable date spot at best, but Woody figured it was better than nothing. Secluded enough with some lighting as to not be stumbling around in the dark, but without fear of being easily identified if they got caught before they could make a break for it if needed.

Word of the late night rendezvous had come from Holly, barely able to contain her excitement at being the messenger. “Your beau wanted me to tell you to meet him tonight,” she whispered, giggling as she added, “said you’d know where.”

Woody had given Holly all of the details the night John Brady kissed her, her best friend in ecstatic disbelief that so much had happened while she and Bucky were listening to a baseball game across the way. Holly took girl code as a sacred oath, not mentioning Woody and Brady’s relationship to a soul in the week or so that had passed. John wasn’t exactly pleased when Woody let him know that she told Holly, but he supposed if Woody trusted Holly that much, he could, too.

“There you are, sweetheart,” John said, with a genuine fondness that she almost couldn’t believe was directed toward her. “Have you been waiting long?”

She shook her head, greeting him with a kiss. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”

“I brought you something,” he said, pulling a Hershey bar from his pocket.

“Don’t waste that on me, are you kidding?”

“Holly told me you give the village kids whatever candy you get, and I know ground crew doesn’t get as much in your rations as we do.”

Good ol’ Holly. “They appreciate it more than me.”

He looked at her pointedly, though eyes glistened in amusement as he half-scolded, “Don’t reject a gift, sweetheart. It’s bad manners.”

Woody fought back a smile, felt her cheeks heating up . “Thank you, Johnny. You’re real sweet.” Gave him a kiss on the cheek and squeezed his forearm. “Can we at least split it?”

“I won’t say no to that.”

The grass was damp from the late afternoon rain. She was glad she thought to grab an old blanket, worn out and smelled faintly of fuel, but it’d do.

He split the bar in two, handing the bigger half to her. She took a bite, surprised to find herself feeling a wistful melancholy for the states at the taste of it. Wasn’t sure she ever felt homesick before, but there was a first time for everything. Like John laying out on the blanket, resting his head in her lap.

“Comfortable?” she asked with a laugh.

“Great view from here.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You know, I’ve been dying to ask you this ever since I met you,” he began, giving her pause at the seemingly endless possible questions he could hit her with. “Do you really like being called ‘Woody’?”

She nodded, stroking his hair, taking in how relaxed he looked. “Yeah, I really do. It’s been nice to leave ‘Kate’ behind and start fresh.”

“So your first name is just Kate?”

“Shows you how much thought my parents put into it.”

“See, I wanna know more about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“We talk a good deal, but I don’t know much about your life before all of this.”

“I don’t have anything nostalgic or good to tell you, especially not about me. I’m ashamed of who I was before. I’m trying to be better, John. I really am. I don’t—I don’t hang around people who have nothing going for them.”

People like how she used to be. The backstreets burst at the seams with them. Children of neglect, of the Depression, of something wild otherwise running through their veins. They made their homes where they could. Guys who rode around on streaks of lightning, spewing pure gasoline from snarled lips on each of those hilly avenues until they were wrangled in the back of cherry-topped police cars. Girls who should’ve known better drank empty promises out of broken glasses, handed to them by the constantly circling shark-men. Kate learned quickly not to get attached to anyone. They looked out for each other, but they weren’t friends. There was a difference.

“I got an older brother named Tom. Last I heard he was in jail for holding up a liquor store,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since I was eleven, though. That’s when I really started looking after myself.”

“Eleven is pretty young to be on your own,” he said, taking her hand from his hair and holding it in his own, intertwining their fingers.

“What were you doing when you were eleven?”

He shrugged. “Rode bikes around with my friends. Started learning saxophone. I was an altar boy, too.”

“So your family went to mass a lot when you were growing up?”

“Every Sunday that we could. I remember my mom waking us up to go even when we had to walk through a foot of snow to get there because the roads hadn't been cleared yet,” he said, his voice growing softer as he spoke. “Doesn’t seem all that bad, now. Maybe it—it helped some.”

Woody had seen John make the sign of the cross dozens of times. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Remembered the first time she watched him among the other Catholic guys in the 100th, crowded around the chaplain for his makeshift blessing on the tarmac before their missions. Devotion ran exceptionally high then, men suddenly armed with a rainbow of beaded rosaries and holy cards adorned with saints whose weary eyes gazed upward, where those men were soon to be. Their heads bowed in silent contemplation as the priest concluded in Latin, John’s mouth moving along with sed libera nos a malo. But deliver us from evil.

A handsome face like his deserved half a dozen kids with names like Mary and Francis who filed neatly into a pew with their shiny patent shoes and a big family meal to look forward to after mass. Kids who gave the likes of her odd looks when she shuffled into church for whatever lunch the nuns were dishing out that afternoon. Always dressed in her Sunday worst—ill-fitting blouses and holey shoes until she ditched their charity and decided she was better off raising hell in denim jeans. God loved everyone, and his love was unconditional, but no one wanted to say he loved some people more than others, and Kate was pretty low on his list.

After all, Kate Woodward was born without a middle name on a Wednesday morning that even god himself forgot about. Didn’t know what the weather had been like the first time she breathed in the air of her home city, but she was sure it felt like a kick in the chest. Probably why babies cried when they made their grand escape from the womb.

Hardly raised in the first place, Kate had little faith in god or man, just in the machines she could bend to her will until they gave her freedom to go wherever she pleased. But her freedom had gnashing teeth and a forked tongue that were never satisfied, no matter how many vices she fed it, and she was nothing short of gluttonous in this endeavor.

Tried and true, the one she had the hardest time shaking—sticky fingers. If Kate saw something she liked, she took it. From drug store shelves to purses to wallets, nothing was off limits. As time went on, her spoils only got bigger and better, linking up with people who taught her how to steal cars like riding a bike. She had yet to find a replacement for that particular thrill, but her self-control had markedly improved in a little over two years.

Then there were men with hacksaw smiles that threatened to cut her open if she got as close as they wanted her to. Thunderous voices that cracked with rage when she’d shove the smoldering cherry tip of her cigarette into a hand that got too close for comfort. None of them were any good, not like the man with his head in her lap, who brought her chocolate rations and listened intently to her, even as her voice shook with trepidation at bearing so much of her heart.

Woody hummed, her fingers trembling as she traced the features on his face—his expressive brows, the nose that gave him a profile she could hardly tear her eyes from, lips she dreamed about since the night he first kissed her and every time since. Besides the power of a well-maintained engine, she believed in the way she felt about John.

“I was lonely and angry,” she murmured after relaying her patchwork of regrets and fears to him. “I made a lot of mistakes because of that. It’s not an excuse. But I wanna be honest with you so you can still change your mind about me if you want to. I understand if you do.”

“There’s nothing to change my mind about, sweetheart. I want to be with you,” he said, conviction strong in his voice as he sat up.

“I’m not a virgin,” she stressed.

He shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would’ve been surprised if you were.”

“Well, I didn’t love any of them—four guys in total, mind you—and it’s not like I got anything out of it, either.” She sighed. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

Crushes were for girls who lived in nice houses and wrote hearts above their i’s. Desire ran hot, expressed in glances made with hooded lids beneath buzzing neon lights that left a thousand things unsaid. But after that handful of physically underwhelming experiences which ended up being far more trouble than they were worth, she came to the conclusion that she was better suited to get her own rocks off.

“Got what out of it?” he asked.

She chewed on her lip. The only sin out there was getting caught, and Kate Woodward never got caught. Woody chose to confess. “I had to get to the good part myself.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

Her heart sank. “I haven’t done it in—“

“Those selfish bastards never made you come?”

“Not one.”

“In that case, I’d be glad to be your first.”

“I want you to be,” she said, leaning back on her hands in the dewey grass, spreading her coverall-clad legs apart. “I wanna do everything with you.”

He placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers playing with the inner hem of her coveralls. “Tell me how you want it, sweetheart.”

“I want your mouth.” Truthfully, she’d never had a guy go down on her before. Heard about it from other girls, wild ones out in the desert. A few others as she got to know the first group of WAAC girls she bunked with after enlisting. Even from Holly, as apparently Stan had been generous and enthusiastic about that aspect of their sex life. Stan, Stan, what a man, the girls would tease about Holly’s fiance before he was dearly departed.

The corners of John’s lips twitched up as he brought his fingers further along the hem, inching closer to her covered sex. “Never had a girl ask me to do that before.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“Why would I?”

She hesitated, averting her eyes from him. “A lot of guys think it’s gross.”

“I think I should decide for myself, don’t you?” He cupped her chin, caressing her jaw with his thumb. “Look at me, sweetheart. What do you want me to do?”

Upon returning her gaze to his, she found no judgment behind his eyes, but a passionate sincerity.

“I want you to go down on me,” she said.

She studied him as he watched her. His pretty lips parted slightly, drinking her in as more of her body was exposed. It wasn’t a strip tease, nothing sexy about the way she pulled her arms out from the sleeves and yanked her coveralls down to her knees, finally kicking them to her ankles and off entirely. Sat before him in her white t-shirt, plain underwear, and boots, almost boyish if not for her breasts, low on her chest, nipples poking through the fabric.

“Are you wearing a bra?” He sounded breathless, almost as if he couldn’t believe he was even asking.

“No,” she said, her lips curving into a smile, letting him in on another secret. “I always take it off at the end of the day. Don’t tell anyone.”

As if the other girls didn’t know, with some degree of judgment along with their understanding that the damn thing got uncomfortable, could chafe with all the work they were doing, the sweat and friction. It wasn’t like anyone could really tell beneath the other layers, anyway. But anyone meant anyone of the male persuasion, and with that, John dutifully shook his head.

His lips were on hers in an instant, a hand on her waist, the other shoved up her shirt, squeezing her breasts. She gasped at the way his rough palm felt against her nipple, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue in her mouth. Her moans were lost to the world, claimed by him and him alone. He straddled her lap, keeping her in place beneath him.

John moved his hand from her waist to between her legs, rubbing her already wet pussy through her underwear. Her lips were undoubtedly swollen from the ferocity with which he kissed her. A delicious shiver ran down her spine at the thought of how it’d feel against her cunt.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, and she lifted her hips, allowing him to pull them off of her. Bringing up her knees, she felt a burst of adrenaline rush through her at being so exposed to him.

“You need to tell me how I’m doing, alright? I wanna make sure you feel good,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she mumbled, almost dizzy with desire as he lowered his face between her legs.

His hot breath on her cunt, lips brushing against her folds. She strained to hear… whispering?

“Johnny?” she asked after a few moments of aching anticipation. “Baby, if you don’t wanna— Jesus Christ,” she choked out. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the rest of them.

His tongue lapped at her clit, eyes looking up at her for approval. With a shaky nod, she bid him to continue, biting her lip as to stifle the whine that threatened to escape her mouth. A noble attempt, but fruitless when he licked up her pussy with the flat of his tongue, pulling a moan from deep in her chest. Her heart was beating between her legs.

Woody could make herself feel pretty damn good on her own. She lifted a dirty magazine from a guy in Reno once. Had pictures and everything, though she wasn’t sure how real it all was. She’d look at the pictures, tongue between her lips and hand between her thighs as she imagined herself in those women’s places, feeling the ecstasy written all over their expressive faces with their typically faceless partners. From there, she’d get creative, allowing her mind to conjure up a man who, behind her closed eyes, could bring her to orgasm. Even in her wildest fantasies, she never thought she’d find one who’d actually want to bury his face in her pussy.

Fuck, if she couldn’t feel John’s fingers digging into her thighs, she would’ve almost thought she was dreaming. She grabbed his hair, pressing his face harder against her cunt. He was giving so much, and she’d take all of it, greedy with the pleasure he offered her.

He slid two fingers inside her pussy, slowly enough to see how she’d take it before pumping them in and out at a quicker pace. Used his other hand to hold her down when her hips jerked up in his face, like her muscles had a mind of their own, hellbent on reaching an orgasm. Hell, so was she.

“Just like that— fuck,” she rasped, her nails scraping against his scalp.

She nearly wanted to ask if he’d been lying, if he had gone down on a girl before. He at least had enough experience to know where her fucking clit was, but his mouth. Jesus, how could he expect her to go to the officer’s club and watch him play saxophone after this? As if she wouldn’t be sitting there, skin feverish, thighs pressed together, thinking about his mouth and his fingers in that moment. The way his teeth grazed against her clit, making her pussy clench around his fingers. The way it almost felt like he was making out with her cunt. Their eyes would meet, and he’d know, maybe have a little smirk on his face up there, too. An obscene secret privately shared amidst dozens of other people who’d be none the wiser.

“Don’t stop,” She was so close it almost hurt, wound up tight and pulsing in her gut, waiting to be released. “Please don’t stop.” Hot tears rolled freely down her cheeks. Her chest felt like it was on the verge of bursting open. Between a fistful of grass and a hand buried in his hair, she cried out his name like a vulgar prayer in the night as her orgasm rocked through her.

A universe of stars burst across her abdomen, white-hot supernova tearing through her muscles, blinding her from anything but the pleasure that pulsed from her pussy. She finally came down from it, covered in sweat, chest heaving, a wild-eyed woman as John pushed himself back up on unsteady arms.

She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer so he was straddling her lap. Took in his mussed up hair and the way his lips glistened with the traces of her still on them. She kissed him, a muffled moan in her throat at the taste of herself on this tongue.

She wanted him. More of him. Everything he had to give. Wasn’t sure it’d be enough to sate her need, but damn if she couldn’t try.

“Johnny, can’t we just do it?” she pleaded, her voice a girlish whine that sounded otherwise foreign coming from her as she desperately pawed at him.

“Next time,” he whispered. “Next time, sweetheart, I promise.” Grazed his teeth against her hummingbird pulse. “I didn’t bring a condom.”

“But what about you?” she pressed, reaching for his crotch. “You must be—“

He shook his head, cheeks flushed as he licked his lips. “I got carried away, sweetheart. I, uh—I’m good.”

She slipped her hand down his pants, feeling the sticky evidence of his orgasm for herself. Her fingertips brushed the sensitive head of his spent cock, sending a shiver down his spine. Was he good, though? He groaned. No wonder Douglass kept so many goddamn rubbers in his footlocker.

“Next time,” he repeated, voice strained and husky in a horrific display of self-control. He nearly regretted it when she pulled her hand away, feeling something sinful stir in his gut as she inspected her hand, finally bringing it to her mouth and licking the residue off her knuckles with a feline-esque curl of her tongue.

“Just say the word, Johnny. Whenever you want me to return the favor, I’ll drop everything for you.”

He swallowed roughly. She meant it.

#john brady x oc #john brady #john brady x ofc #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #mota #mota fanfic #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #ch: woody #so basically i got carried away

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bonefall · 5 months

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Thoughts about Violetshine’s and Needletail’s connection to each other in AVoS please?

I heard what’s probably quite a unpopular opinion out there that the bond that these two characters have is quite unhealthy, and I’m genuinely curious if you agree with that statement or not and/or if that’s actually true or not.

I'm gonna be TOTALLY honest. AVoS was so boring to me that my memory has basically blanked out on most of what I read. If DOTC wasn't SO rancid, AVoS would be my least favorite arc. BB!AVoS is one of the least solidified arcs because of it-- I plan to do an AVoS reread after I manage to choke through the rest of the back-half of DOTC.

I have a solid middle and everything around Breezepelt, a new POV, is pretty clear in my mind. I have a good grasp on the politics of ShadowClan falling apart. I even know the emotional angle I want to play with Needletail and Sleekwhisker. But there's so many little things that I'm just not sure how to work with, so hopefully a reread will help it all click.

I do always try to preserve the "emotional core" of things, even when arcs get shuffled and overhauled like this one.

BUT ANYWAY from what I remember, yeah, Needletail and Violetkit have a pretty unhealthy relationship. Which was actually one of the few things I like. I like that Needletail is actually pretty nasty, and that her most consistent trait is that she refuses to be told what to do.

To me, Needle pretty snappish with Violetkit in the way that some teenagers are nasty with little kids, and I just think that's very interesting. I hate the way that the arc ultimately says that the problem in ShadowClan was... idk Kids These Days and their iPhones, but I LIKE the idea that these (overall pretty unremarkable) teenagers, with some good points about how ridiculous their society is, got exploited by a malicious actor.

And what I like about that with Needle and Violet's friendship being pretty toxic is that, well, sometimes teenagers are like that. They resent having to watch younger kids, or having responsibilities thrust on them, because they're looking for their own freedom. Needlepaw is a child, herself, but Violetkit doesn't have a decent mother figure so she latches to her like a baby duck.

Needle shouldn't have to be this kid's parent and she resents that, in spite of (or maybe exactly because) this is a consequence of her own choices. And Violet has no other choice, and no way of understanding "what she did wrong."

I like sad little relationships like that. Unfixable ones. Of course canon kinda threw it out the window with Needletail dying to save her and Violetshine never having a complicated view of her in hindsight as a result, but, such is Warrior Cat.

i take a hammer and i feex the canon

#bone babble

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cuubism · 2 years

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fem!dream has me by the THROAT

----

This is… a revelation.

Hob really thought he'd passed his "learning about his sexuality" phase a good six hundred years ago. But he just might be having another sexual awakening right now.

It's because it's Dream. This kind of thing always happens with Dream. Hob supposes it's the inevitable result of being with someone whose form doesn't follow the bounds of material reality.

"Do you like what you see, Hob Gadling?" Dream asks, a smirk dancing on his lips. Same smirk as always, slightly different lips.

"I always like when I see you," Hob says. Dream props his– her?-- ah fuck it doesn't matter– arm on the back of the couch, head in her hand. Clearly pleased. Flattery always works in these situations, always. Bloody vain creature.

There's none of the hesitation Hob had seen when Dream had revealed her more… nightmarish, her more otherworldly forms. There's only confidence here, utter assurance of her glory. As well she should.

"You're gorgeous," Hob tells her. "You're glorious. You always are."

She's different like this. Subtly. Hob would have still been able to pick her out of a crowd at a hundred meters, but she's… fluid. Her angles are softened. Her legs seem even longer than usual where they're pulled up on the couch, delicate ankles crossed. Thin, familiar fingers press against a plusher lower lip. Cheekbones that cut even sharper. Strong jaw that pulls more narrow. Glinting galaxy eyes with long, fine lashes.

Hob is getting lost in the details. The point is that Dream is a vision, the bodily equivalent of draped silk, and Hob has never in his life been more grateful to be bisexual.

"This is very distracting to you," Dream murmurs, and Hob realizes Dream had said something else to him before and he hadn't even heard it.

"Are you surprised?" Hob asks, leaning his head on his arm against the back of the couch so their eyes meet. "Wasn't that your intention?"

"I was curious," says Dream.

Famous last words for Hob’s sanity. "By which you mean you wanted to knock me on my ass, metaphorically speaking."

"I did wish to have you on your back," Dream agrees. Her voice is higher, like this, more alto than baritone, but still with that hazy, hypnotic melody to it.

Fucking hell.

"You know you'll get what you want, you always do." Hob brushes his ankle against Dream's. It's the only place they're touching, which is agony but Hob can't say he's not enjoying the tension. Or the view.

Dream runs a hand through her hair, twisting the long strands around her fingers. Her hair is a mess, sex-mussed and chaotic even though they’ve done nothing more than sit opposite each other here on the couch while Hob drinks Dream in with his eyes. It's… upsetting, in the daydreams it creates.

“You know, it’s still mental to me that you can do this sort of thing in the real–” Hob cuts himself off and holds up an appeasing hand before Dream can object– “the waking world. Like, dreams, sure, anything can happen in dreams, right? But then you show up here one day and you have actual flesh-and-blood honest to God tits, you can’t just do that to me.”

Hob half-expects Dream to automatically rejoin with my tits are also real in the Dreaming, so used is she to correcting Hob on the nature of dreams and their reality. The fact that she restrains herself is a tragedy, as that would possibly have been the funniest line Hob had ever heard come out of her mouth.

“I can choose how I wish my physical form to manifest,” Dream says, heavy-lidded gaze locked on Hob’s, “as you well know.”

“Do I ever,” Hob mutters.

“I have grown used to one shape but that does not mean that it is fixed.”

“Can you manifest yourself as anything?” Hob asks.

“Anything that dreams,” Dream says.

“So you aren’t going to show up in my flat as a neutron star or something.”

“Do you think that stars dream, Hob?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never asked one.”

Dream just keeps looking at him with the slightest raise of her eyebrow, and Hob leans forward.

“Wait, can they–?”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream interrupts, “I am here before you, scarcely clothed, wearing a form that I know you are pleased by, and what you want to discuss is the finer points of my personal metaphysics?”

“Your personal metaphysics are very important to me, actually,” Hob teases, and gets a frustrated huff in return.

“We have plenty of time,” Hob continues. “And you know I like learning about you.” He winks. “Like looking at you, too.”

Dream rolls her eyes and says, sounding put out, “You can look from closer up.”

Hob holds out a hand. “Alright, come here, then.”

Dream unfolds herself from the corner of the couch, so very like fabric indeed, and drapes herself onto Hob’s lap, settling on him weightless as always. Hob holds her by her waist, feels the familiar sharp bones of her hips.

She’s wearing some sort of robe of soft velvet, fur lining the collar. It looks simultaneously two hundred years old and like it could have walked off the rack of a boutique lingerie shop yesterday evening. Is she wearing anything under it? No, Hob thinks, of course not.

Hob rubs his fingers over the hem. “Where did you even get this? Pull it from someone’s dream?”

“Of course.” Dream lays her arms over his shoulders. The velvet brushes his skin; it’s ridiculously soft. “They were dreaming of an old film, I believe.”

This sort of luxurious, revealing garment is something Hob would not have batted an eye at her wearing in the Dreaming, but to see it here, in the waking world, where Dream is usually so buttoned up… it makes him feel some kind of way, and that way is mostly sad.

“So, what, you stick with your usual body most of the time because you like it best, or you’re just used to it, or what?” he asks. Hob has found that if he wants to ask Dream about something touchy, it is best to ease in and do so in a roundabout way. Dream operates in dreams, fantasy, story, metaphor and allusion – she will find her way to what he’s really asking if she so wishes.

And once again, Hob’s decision to turn the doorknob but not force open the door is rewarded.

“It is comfortable to me,” Dream says. “To the extent that any physical form is. However I confess that I…” she hesitates, and Dream rarely struggles to find words so it must be something she isn’t sure she wants to say. “I am finding… relief… in this form that has not been brutalized so by this world.”

Hob kisses the corner of her mouth, heart aching, and Dream leans her cheek against his. Her wild hair brushes his nose. Dream’s hair is always sticking up all over the place, but it strikes Hob suddenly that that wasn’t the case across all of their meetings – not until recently. He has seen Dream’s hair long and short, tied back and left loose, hardly controlled, always dramatic, but this level of utter dishevelment, that’s new.

He doesn’t know how much he should read into that; Dream is simultaneously the most intentional person he knows and also the literal personification of unconscious decision-making, so. Who’s to say, really.

“It is, of course, still I who has suffered,” Dream continues, “but this skin has not touched glass.”

Hob hurts for her, always, always hurts for her, but he’s relieved, also, to see her finding even momentary peace. And if he can provide it, even better.

“I understand, love.” He thumbs over her lower lip, then holds her face in his hand. “The self is more than skin deep, but the skin is still part of it.”

Dream tilts her head. “Unusually poetic, Hob.”

“Unusually?” Hob protests. “Hey, I can manage it sometimes!”

A familiar smile touches Dream’s lips. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps. I see you are as usually rude as always.”

“Did you think this form would temper me?” Dream raises an eyebrow, haughty glimmer in her eyes.

“Nothing could temper you.” Hob fits his hands under the sharp angles of her jaw. “You are the hard edges and brilliance and artistry of stained glass and don’t you know I love it?”

Dream kisses him, just a press of her lips against his, and hums, “Poetic. You do manage it. But I shall not ascribe to you an adjective; you have held too many to be so easily defined.”

“By which–” Hob runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck; God, it’s nice when it's long “--you mean I am really old and have seen too much shit.”

“You have lived many lives,” Dream agrees. “Sculpted and resculpted again.”

“And we’re back to the art metaphors. Dream, did it hurt when you were thrown out the window of the National Gallery?”

For all the teasing, though, Hob is touched, always, by Dream’s regard for him.

“They did not want me at the gallery?” Dream asks. It’s always so easy to rope her into this weird sort of banter; Hob thinks it’s her natural language more so than direct communication is.

She asks this while kissing him, though, so it takes a moment for Hob to respond. He considers not responding at all in favor of drinking in her lips for longer. “They wanted your beauty, they just couldn’t manage you.”

“And you can, Hob Gadling?” Challenging now, eyebrow raised, fingertips pressing into the back of Hob’s neck.

Hob laughs. “God, no. How dare I.”

Dream’s mouth cuts into a sharp, satisfied smile. Hob hadn’t thought she could possibly be a sharper-edged person than she already is in her usual, masculine body, but somehow, despite the softer curves of her here, she’s managing it. It’s devastating.

Hob has never claimed to be a strong man where Dream is concerned, which is fortunate, because that notion would have been decimated so thoroughly by now as to be embarrassing.

“I do like to try to hold you, though,” he says. “If one can hold a dream.”

“You’ve held on to life when you weren’t supposed to,” Dream points out. “That seems to have worked out well.”

“Hmmm.” Hob pulls her close, wraps his arms around the warm vibrancy of her. “So I’ll be rewarded for my hubris, again?”

“Perhaps.” Again, that crafty smile.

“I’m not going to keep you,” Hob tells her. There’s no keeping Dream; hell, Dream can’t even be kept in one body. Dream isn’t simple, and Hob wouldn’t want her to be. “But I’m not letting you go, either.”

“No.” Dream kisses the corner of his eye, right over the smile lines that have settled there, deeper, Hob thinks, in the year since their reunion than in all the centuries before. “I shouldn’t think so.”

#and then they explored each other's bodies #content warning extremely weird flirting #fem dream #fem dreamling #dreamling #this is literally just. no thoughts just dream #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing

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txttletale · 2 years

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What's worm? I can't exactly google it bcs of the name but I'm intrigued

worm (2011-2013) is a web novel about superheroes by a canadian author who goes by wildbow. it was published serially over the course of two years and in that time managed to get well over a million words long. i think it's very good for a couple reasons:

it takes an approach to 'deconstructing the superhero genre' that i don't think i've ever actually seen--instead of something like the boys or watchmen it doesn't extrapolate forwards from 'what would superheroes be like if they were real', but instead extrapolates backwards from 'what real-life conditions would have to exist to lead to superheroes acting like they do in comics'. the world of worm is believable, well-drawn, and interesting to inhabit

it has incredible character writing. this might not be one of the first things most people associate with it but wildbow has an amazing capacity for giving characters, even side characters that appear for half a chapter, extremely intriguing personal and internal conflicts. sometimes wildbow will write a chapter from the perspective of a side character you never see again and it will leave you wishing they had their own novel series. also despite a lot of problems wildbow has with Some Demographics, most of these well-developed characters are the female ones, who get to dominate the emotional landscape and the plot in a way that's refreshing to see tbh

the protagonist is great. a lot of attention is paid by some fans to the fact that she's a smart problem-solver, and that is true--her power is 'controlling bugs' in a world where other people can fly and shoot lasers, so she has to get smart with it. but i like her mostly because she's an extremely traumatised freak making horrible decisions and justifying them to herself post-hoc constantly. it's fun and interesting to be in her head

worm gets away from a lot of the more reactionary undertones that the superhero genre often fails to escape by making powers an in-universe result of (and, on a narrative level, a pretty clear metaphor) trauma. they are essentially coping mechanisms exaggerated to the point of superpower--because of this it neatly avoids two genre pitfalls because 1. there is no 'some people are better and stronger from birth' angle and 2. it mostly takes a social view of crime--supervillains in worm aren't cartoonish forces of evil (mostly), they are people who are marginalized and desperate.

the powers are cool. this is lower down on my personal list of reasons i like worm than many people's but it's undeniable true. each character has a strictly defined powerset with certain inbuilt limitations that both work to say volumes about their personality but also make fight scenes fun and interesting to read because wildbow puts a lot of thought into how they interact

this is not intentional and worm is at times downright homophobic but i would be lying if i said this didn't play a part in how i and most people i know think about worm: a queer reading of the main character is very easy to make, and the intense and at times tempestuous relationship she has to the girls around her is damn compelling. don't go into it expecting 'representation' or anything, wildbow has insisted at length that the main character is straight. but fr shes gay af

now all this said: there's a lot of nasty stuff that happens in worm. there is a lot of body horror and a lot of insect horror. there are so many instances of bugs being forced into human orifices in this book i could have filled out this list with that instead. so if that turns you off give this one a miss. child abuse and violence against children in general is also something that comes up semi-regularly.

and to expand on something i said in the post that i assumed prompted this question--when these topics come up, worm does a very very poor job of handling race and a better but still not great job with gender and sexuality. the world outside north america is sketched with a looseness and a lack of research that borders on caricature (i can think of like five organizations/characters that were very clearly named through google translate). the pacing takes a huge hit after a certain event in the back half of the story, and it can be a little exhausting to read because it is both thematically and literally about constant crisis and escalation.

still, if none of that is a dealbreaker for you, i'd recommend it 100%. i'm definitely glad i've read it. it's a powerful story about trauma and authority and control that does reward the outrageous time commitment it demands. there's also a fanmade audiobook if that sweetens the deal for you. i haven't listened to it but i've heard that it's pretty decent for a volunteer effort.

#ask #long post #worm #girlbossgoroakechi #somehow i doubt 'really homoertic but in a homophobic way' will be a dealbreaker for you . tumblr user girlbossgoroakechi

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faithfromanewperspective · 3 months

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gotta say it now bc i've been spending so much time in the 5sos fandom where we're all super protective of our creators: I know supporting an author isn't the same. I know cassie doesn't put herself out there in the same way as zillennial musicians. and I know there are things people in the fandom disagree with her on and I'm not here to minimise that.

but everywhere I interact with the fandom and it's been like this for years now, jokes and things about how old we'll be when the series is finished and yeah it's funny to some extent but as someone who knows what pressure to create does to me, who knows how much it dries my creativity, she's on tumblr. she's seeing some of this. and we gotta tow this line and be careful: careful as to how we're treating her and also careful for the sake of fans ourselves--we don't want to be acting in ways that incidentally result in content being delayed and lower quality because she's been burnt out for ages and we're just giving so much pressure to read twp, read tbvotd and read whatever else she'll doubtless come up with after because she loves the shadowhunters world, she always ends up writing more for it even when she says she won't. and aren't we lucky for that? we love the tsc universe. and if we're old by the time it's all finished, that's the result of her loving this universe she created so much that she just kept writing for it. it's a blessing.

and maybe i sound like an aussie who grew up under a rock in the middle of the bush (which I am) saying this but. when my only queer representation was a singular jacqueline wilson book until i was 14 and read malec's story in tmi, when i've never seen another author portray such a diverse range of realistic neurodivergent characters, when i'm a half white poc with grandparents from borneo which is partially in indonesia and magnus is indonesian, I do find in myself some appreciation for her: the author who created a world of characters I see myself in and I do hope she's okay and I want her to recover from burnout, I know how much it sucks, and it still kinda baffles me how she'll share bits and pieces of her mental health experiences (and she's my parents' age!! and a lot more emotionally aware than most gen x's I know which I so appreciate) and we don't, largely, as a fandom, seem to care. like i get we're in a fandom for the characters and stories she created not her, herself, but like ???

I love seeing the artist behind the art they create. I love it when they're human and imperfect and yet we can still see the good in them that they put out to impact the world with, a legacy, and when we see their imperfections and we can acknowledge this all together, acknowledge and come together for the fans who have been hurt by these mistakes, oversights, harmful views, that are mixed in with the good. and I love it when we can still come together after this and be like, I support this creator, I want them to be okay, I want them to keep discovering love and I want to see it in their writing. and this I don't think should only apply to conventionally attractive twentysomething men who sing! maybe i'm biased in the observation that it is usually where I see the most artist support. or maybe it's actually a trend and as feminists, as people who see our dignity in more than being fuckable and more than being Perfect Leaders, we can do better.

and so i don't care when the wicked powers come out. i'll have finished my masters' degree before I finish that book series and hear the rest of kit and ty's story i started reading in high school. but that's okay. if that's what it takes to get a good story. i don't care when we get the final tec book, even though i've got two copies of the other two on my bookcase and don't know if the cover art will even be the same when the third one comes out. because we love pretty timely things but we're not owed them. and I have to say, this isn't completely true. I do care. I do want to know. I do want to experience that joy. but much more than that I want cassie to write at her own pace and I want her to enjoy it and I want her to keep discovering her own creativity and the proof is honestly in the pudding that every artist I've seen decide to do things at their own rate has ended up way more productive than before they decided that. and artists are people after all. it's what makes their art so good and forms the basis for the fandoms we're in. so I hope she knows it's okay to take her time.

#cassandra clare #tsc #tmi #tid #tda #twp #tec #the wicked powers #tlh #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #again. i really don't want to say 'she's perfect and can never hurt people'#but the point of this is that she still deserves to have freedom over her schedule and we can do our part by not being demanding to the #extent that we forget that she's human. that she's poured so much of herself into the characters and worlds she's made and she deserves to #keep looking after herself even when that means we don't get what we want as soon as we want it. we can be a loyal fandom

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the-phoenix-heart · 10 months

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Sorting Hat Chats - Titanic (1997)

I watched Titanic twice in two days and this is the result of that. I finally remembered that I make these types of posts.

Here is a summary of the system I am using (credit: @wisteria-lodge ) and because it has been a long time let the record show: Fuck JKR, I do not support her view at all.

The movie is ROSE'S story, not actually Rose and Jack's story. The thing with it is while Jack is integral to the plot, what matters is that he exists and he saved her. He doesn't go through an arc. This is Rose's story, and it is of her self actualization.

Rose says she knows exactly how her life is going to play out, and we can see she hates it. Even before she has met Jack she is subtly rebelling against her mother and Cal. She hates the bird primary model she wears, the one that has all the rules that define her life.

The real Rose, the one that isn't stifled under the weight of high society, is a Lion primary. When she is herself she smokes, drinks more than Jack, competes with the big strong Swedish man, flips off Cal's valet, and is extremely horny.

She is a lion primary. She wishes to do what she feels is right. On the Titanic her 'cause' is "say fuck you to high society and abscond with my manic pixie dream Leonardo DiCaprio." Then after the iceberg hits it becomes "save Jack at all costs and also other people I come across." Jack getting arrested for stealing the diamond is because she felt an obligation to tell her mother and Cal about the iceberg.

When she is telling Jack why she came back to save him, asking how she figured he didn't steal, she says "I didn't. I just realized I already knew."

As for her secondary, we are introduced to her as she is doing pottery. Then we are introduced to her a second time with her comparing the Titanic to the Mauritania. Rose Dewitt Bukater is a Bird secondary.

Rose knows things. We see her as an old woman and see she travels with her pictures that she has collected. Young Rose collects paintings that she likes and clearly has a taste for fine art. She insults Ismay by bringing up Freud. She knows everything about the people in high society around her, though she clearly doesn't like them. She has jack teaching her things. She knows what ice fishing and did ballet. She becomes an actress. And she knows how every interaction will go when it comes to High Society, as well as different languages.

I debated her being a Lion secondary because in the third act she looks like one, wielding an axe and jumping off boats and pushing people up against walls saying she is through with being polite. But I think in a disaster scenario anyone will look like Lion secondary. Plus, when she is half frozen to death she gets the attention of the boat by taking the whistle of the man she had seen blowing it before. An observation paying off.

JACK DAWSON was an interesting case to sort. I don't know if this is a hot take, but I think Jack is a Badger primary. Jack cares about people. Within two days of being on the ship he already knows the name of a random little girl on the ship (Cora) and calls her his favorite girl. He learns people's names quickly is incredibly affable with them. The way he talks about the one legged prostitute or the woman who wore all her jewels, he remembered them. He's barely been in his cabin with the Swedish guys for one minute and he's already treating them like his best friends.

I think it really is summed up with the scene on Titanic as it departs.

Jack, waving to the people: "Goodbye!" Fabrizio: "You know somebody?" Jack: "Of course not, that's not the point!"

Fabrizio joins in on saying goodbye after Jack. For Jack saying goodbye was either because he was saying goodbye to England, or because everybody was waving goodbye and he wanted to join in on the activity.

I think it's also clear when he saves Rose. He has only seen this girl once from a distance, but when he sees her about to throw herself off the ship he is immediately ready to save her. He's too involved now.

But he doesn't have to jump in and rescue her. Because he talks her out of it. He tells her about an experience he had falling into cold water, and clearly makes it seem like he's ready to jump in after her. He's already taking his coat and shoes off to jump in. His strategy seems to be, "if I can't convince her to save herself I can convince her to save me."

I think he's a Snake secondary. He immediately blends into high society by mimicking the mannerisms of the people around him and by playing himself so incredibly confident in his meager origins that they are charmed by him. There's also the seen wear he disguises himself so he can get a chance to talk to Rose. He also is clearly at home playing poker and has a good poker face.

He almost comes off as a Bird secondary because he knows so much stuff, but he makes it clear that he doesn't have a plan, he kinda just goes wear he goes living day to day. So I think that his grab bag of skills is literally just things he has picked up from day to day life.

I think the Badger Snake sorting works as shorthand for telling you what you need to know about him. He's sexy and fun because he's a Snake secondary, but also worldly and kind because he's a Badger primary.

And last but least I want to talk about is CALEDON HOCKLEY. Because even though he is a very simple character I also think he's a very interesting one. Because Caledon Hockley is destroyed by love. Or obsession. Or possession. It's hard to tell with him. They could have played him as just the greedy asshole in it for money, but he's not just that. He also appears to genuinely loves Rose, he just happens to be an absolute fucking asshole! He seeks to control every aspect of her life, because he loves her and is obsessed with her and wants to possess her, even when she is constantly rebelling against him.

Even after he has slapped her and she has told him she would rather be Jack's whore than Cal's wife he has his valet trying to find her and tries to make sure that she gets on a lifeboat. He even lies and says he'll get Jack on a lifeboat as well so long as Rose gets on one. And EVEN AFTER he tries to kill her for running off with Jack he goes looking for her after they are on the Carpathia. He might've been looking to get the diamond but with how melancholic he looks it seems more like he wanted to see she was alive. I think part of that is Billy Zane.

He says it himself, "There's nothing I'd deny you, if you would not deny me."

(Cal should take notes from the Goblin King's speech to Sarah in Labyrinth)

So he is an exploded Snake primary. As for his secondary, it would be easy to say Lion secondary. He is very violent, shooting at Rose and Jack (which he is very bad at), breaking things, and slapping Rose around. But that's when he's pissed. Throughout the movie the way he does things is much more subtle. He takes out Rose's cigarette and orders her food for her. He turns off the music box she was listening to. He pretends he has been robbed so he can from Jack for it. He gets his valet to do most of his dirty work and he bribes people with things. When his bribery has failed and he's separated from his valet he doesn't go in with punching people, he grabs the screaming Irish girl he saw earlier and says he has a child and has to be let on. He's a badger secondary. A dark one, but a badger.

So...

Rose Dewitt Bukater - Lion primary, Bird primary model that defines her life that she hates/Bird secondary

Jack Dawson - Badger primary/Snake secondary

Caledon Hockley - Exploded Snake primary/Badger secondary

#titanic #titanic 1997 #jack dawson #rose dewitt bukater #caledon hockley #sorting hat chats #sortinghatchats

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kittythelitter · 1 year

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Thinking about a hypothetical episode of Community with the original 7 where Shirley brings one of her friends from church to Greendale, let's call her Mariah

This friend is a trans woman who is a devout Christian and because she's Christian Shirley listened to her about trans issues and stuff and decided if this nice Christian person wants to be addressed as a woman the Christian thing to do is to treat her like a woman and be respectful of how she wants to be addressed. Whether Shirley personally views Mariah as a woman is ambiguous.

Pierce doesn't clock her or even understand what's going on when the group discusses that she's trans, he just sees a hot new lady and is constantly sexually harassing her and she calls him a chaser which he decides is a new word for like a pick up artist and starts self identifying with it and ends up having his own mostly off screen adventure about it.

Britta immediately outs herself as a terf but gets all her terf talking points slightly wrong. Her whole arc is just her talking herself in circles until she sees Mariah experience transmisogyny and is like. Actually what defines a woman is suffering in society as a result of your gender which means trans women are women. But at the end of the episode she meets Mariah's boyfriend who is also trans and sees someone be transphobic to him and is like. But if you're suffering aren't you also a woman? And that's the very end of the episode so instead of a resolution about it we just leave Britta to whatever she's debating with herself and move on.

Jeff doesn't have an opinion of trans people going in but defends trans people just to disagree with Britta, but as he argues in defense of trans people he manages to get really into what he's saying and ends up doing some public speaking for a trans rights group on campus. (The Dean is there just because Jeffrey is there being all eloquent and manly, half learns terminology and starts referring to himself as "Dean-der Fluid" and "non-dean-ery".) A trans guy talks to Jeff about his hair and his workout routine and Jeff realizes he and the trans guys at the event have a lot in common in terms of how they perform masculinity in order to get others to see them the way they see themselves/want to be seen.

Abed similarly spends time talking with the trans group about performing gender among other things and knowing yourself even when others don't understand you or want to change you. They complain about transphobia in tv and he admits that community has had some transphobic bits and talks with them about better representation and problematic stereotypes and tries to get one of them to stay on as a series regular in order to make community a better more representative show.

Troy and Annie both try to figure out if being attracted to Mariah makes them gay. They both come to the conclusion that Mariah is a woman so Annie is probably some kind of queer and Troy is still not gay for being attracted to her. They both go to the event with Jeff and Abed.

Troy meets a really hot trans guy and is like. Okay i am attracted to men. And then we see flashbacks of him clearly flirting with and/or going on dates with guys since he got to Greendale and just not realizing it. He, rather than having a bi crisis has a "I had a chance with all those hotties and i blew it" crisis before hitting on the trans guy who he thought was flirting with him but who was actually under the impression that troy and abed were a couple and was trying to figure out if they'd be down for a 3-way.

Meanwhile Annie starts doing research with the pamphlets laid out at the events to figure out what kind of queer she is and every time it cuts back to her theres more and more queers around her flirting with her. Including some butch lesbians, some nonbinary people, and some trans guys who are all enamoured with her sweet femme charm. (We get snippets of conversations that have things like compulsory heterosexuality, different flavors of bi, asexuality etc) she turns up at the end with a lesbian pride pin on her backpack and her hair and lip gloss very mussed.

#community #ficlet #shirley bennett #britta perry #jeff winger #abed nadir #troy barnes #annie edison #lesbian annie edison #dean pelton #i just. love lesbian annie #also thining a lot about gender with this group.

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darklydeliciousdesires · 4 months

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London Will Burn - Chapter Seven.

Huge thanks to my little audience for your continued investment in this. Your commentary gives me joy to read, so don't be shy, DO let me know what you think of it :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,815

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI.

The feeling of something solid, inflexible and metal hitting his arm preceded it, the irate scream of the girl he had wronged in trying to do right for his father, despite his own feelings. “You fucking bastard, Sean! You fucking cunt! How dare you do that, how fucking dare you!”

Repeated strikes hit his arm and chest, the cosh she wielded unlike anything he’d ever felt strike him, his head only narrowly missed when he put his arm up to block the blow. That’s when she changed trajectory and instead, sent a painful welt across his ribs, her next catching his cheekbone and splitting the skin. “Fuck you! Fucking fuck you!”

“I’m sorry, Rin,” he began, grabbing her arms and preventing any further blows, Finn coming between them and hauling her back. “I’m sorry.”

“Catherine, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? For Christ's sake, calm down, girl! What’s the matter, eh?” he growled, yanking her away from his son, Rin glaring unblinkingly.

Her rage was palpable, her cheeks puce, teeth gritted. “Ask your fucking son what the matter is.”

Finn didn’t have chance to say he’d prefer it to come from her, Rin shaking herself loose of his grip and fleeing, running up the street to jump into a waiting Maybach, the car roaring away as he turned to view his son. “What in god’s name was all of that?”

Gingerly touching a hand to his cheek, he didn’t think the bone was broken, although the split over skin hurt like hell and was pouring with blood. “Trust me, it was bad. The Strand isn’t the ideal location to reveal it, either.” Twenty minutes later and they were in the kitchen back at home, Sean holding a towel full of ice to his face while explaining the event that had prompted him to receive a beating via an irate blonde brandishing a cosh.

Finn stood and absorbed it all before speaking, which gave an also present Marian plenty of room to open her mouth. “You bloody did what?”

“My methods might not have been orthodox, but they yielded results.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Not orthodox? Not fucking orthodox? Jesus Christ! What you did was vile!”

Sean was incredulous. Not because he didn’t know what he done was wrong, but that his mother of all people was the one pouring scorn upon him for it. Marian Wallace was not exactly known for her genial magnanimity.

“Son, you made the wrong choice. Getting Kevin’s back up like that, for fuck’s sake! We want him compliant,” he began, Sean cutting in.

“And now he is, so what? Fucking what, dad? I did what you told me and secured the deal. You should be happy.”

“For the love of god,” Finn groaned, shaking his head. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, come the bloody hell on!” he scoffed, reeling from the reaction he was receiving. “It isn’t like half of our dealings are in any way, shape or form cogently principled, so I fail to see why I’m being lambasted here! Honestly, you pair of all people are lecturing me about morality? That’s rich.”

Marian was incensed. “Sean, she’s eighteen fucking years old, and you took advantage of her!”

“Oh, what? Scared that my actions will have you cast out of Diane Cavanagh’s elite social circle are you, mum?” he charged her with, his mother narrowing her eyes. Of course, he was right. The moral high ground she had climbed upon was for no other reason than how all of this would reflect upon her and his father.

Finn leaned a white knuckled hand against the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It isn’t how we handle business, son. It isn’t how we continue receiving respect, to counter it with such fucking disrespect,” Finn began, Sean’s mouth dropping open in incredulity.

“Yet you fucking had me kneecap someone only three weeks ago?” he charged with a snort.

His father pointed a stern finger. “You’ll not fucking interrupt me! You’ve been in this for four years, you ought to understand the way we operate by now. Using a man’s daughter against him as a bargaining chip is not how we remain professional, exert our dominance, or come to an agreement.”

Sean smirked, and his mother had to be held back from slapping him for his gall. “Funny, that. Because my dominance is exactly what led to the agreement we sought being completed.” He closed his eyes momentarily and saw her there beneath him, at the mercy of his cock, almost crying for how good he gave it to her.

His guts then prickled uncomfortably. Again.

“You absolute bloody shit, Sean!” his mother raged, opening her mouth to continue, her husband cutting her up.

“I’ll handle it,” he assured her, grasping her upper arms and kissing her head before turning to his youngest. “Office, now.”

He followed his father silently from the kitchen, wondering just how large the barrage of shit he was about to have heaped upon him would be. Entering the office, Finn went to his whiskey and poured two glasses, passing one to his son, his free hand then clipping him hard straight around the head.

“That’s for the mess you left with your actions. You’ll fucking learn your lesson there, boyo.” His eyes narrowed, the portly man staring him down for a few moments before his smile began to grow.

“However, you got the signature and truly, that’s all I care about, me lad. I had to come down on you a bit, because of your mother. You have to learn, though, we keep our messes hidden and easily cleanable, and you should have known that the girl would publicly give you hell when she found out. She’s her fucking father’s daughter, that one. You need to deal with it, should she make any more noise that brings our name and reputation into disrepute.”

Sean nodded; the message understood. “Shall do, dad.”

They remained silent for a time, sipping their drinks, Finn suddenly snorting softly with laughter.

“What?”

Sinking his whiskey, the elder of the Wallace’s shook his head. “Holy fuck, she really fucking came at you with both barrels blazing. Jesus wept!”

“I’m glad you find it so entertaining,” he pouted, his ribs and face still throbbing.

Finn lifted his chin, walking back to the whiskey bottle. “Learned your lesson there, eh?”

He had. It was a lesson learned in how to handle the nature of the business, how to be ruthless in a more covert way, to handle fallout but ultimately, how to keep the Wallace name both clean and on top. He’d also learned that emotional investment had its place, and it was not within the realms of subterfuge.

As for Finn, it was the moment that first sealed the notion over his son’s predisposition for reckless actions borne of emotional volatility. It also meant he had to involve himself in the deal to smooth things over, try to gauge whether Sean was likely to receive a bullet in the back of his head at some point in the future over his actions. That of course meant visiting Kevin personally.

While underneath, he truly didn’t give much of a shit over his son’s methods beyond wishing his punishment for them hadn’t been so public, he had to make appearances directly to the contrary as he sat with Kevin in his home office at the fireside, the men sipping whiskey.

“I ain’t happy. I really bloody ain’t, old lad. Using my daughter to hold me over a barrel like that? He went too fucking far. The fact he made it so I had to witness him fucking sexually brutalising my girl an’ all? Fuck that, and fuck him,” he spat, his eyes leaving the fire to stare menacingly at Finn.

He sighed, knowing this anger wouldn’t be quelled at any point soon. “I know, Kev. Believe me, I gave him a fucking broadside for his actions. I did.”

“If there wasn’t so much money tied up in all of this, so much to gain long term for me, and the fact I fucking think the world of you, trust me, Finn. I would have personally cut your fucking son from his ears to his arsehole for doing that to my girl. Fuck, I’m fucking surprised she only took a cosh to him and didn’t end up knifing him herself. She’s got one hell of a temper, my Catherine. He needs to know, though. That ain’t the way we do business. Not now, not ever.”

Finn nodded, in complete agreement, or at least seeming to be for appearances sake. True, he’d rather Sean hadn’t acted so below the belt where professionality was concerned, but at least it had secured a signature that Kevin should have given in the first place. “I’m in agreement with you there, mucker. However, if anyone is going to lay hands on my son, it isn’t you. Catherine gave him a damn good hiding, and it’s done with. We’ve signed, now let’s move on.”

Kevin saw it well In Finn's eyes, the flash of menace, the reason why within London’s reach, he was king. Of course, he returned it. Finn Wallace might’ve been king, but he was the treasury, one of the main investors into his projects, both above board and below. He only stayed for a further half an hour, gauging that Sean wasn’t in any danger of reprisal retribution, leaving the office just as Rin was alighting the stairs.

“I’m sorry, love,” he offered, resting his hands to her shoulders and placing a kiss on her head. He liked the girl, that much was true enough. He supposed in some small way he felt a little guilt that she’d been hurt by his son’s actions, but not much. “If it’s anything to you, he took himself off to casualty earlier. Fractured cheekbone and a broken rib.”

Rin sniffed, clenching her jaw. There was no way she would show weakness before the powerhouses that were her father and Finn Wallace. Never. “Your son means less than nothing to me. I appreciate you for apologising, though.” Finn went in the direction of the side door, Rin the lounge to grab the bottle of nail polish she’d left in there, going back up to her room and her vodka.

She treated herself to a very large bottle of Absolut Vanilla on her way back home from giving Sean the beating he deserved, but that she felt absolutely no better for having delivered to him. How could she, when the only thing she wanted was to kiss him rather than take a cosh to him? When all she wanted was for it not to have been true, for him not to have sold her out like that?

How could he, after the weekend they’d shared? Her father had shown her the video he’d received, of which she’d only been able to watch two seconds of before demanding he delete it. He’d recorded it on that first Friday afternoon, but surely, if that was all he’d needed, why had he turned up again? Moreover, why had he stayed right through until Sunday?

There’d been a connection there, she knew it, she was neither blind nor stupid. She wondered if he’d had his arm twisted into it, if he’d decided to use her, then during the weekend they’d spent together felt differently, only to have to resort to his original blackmail plan. Rin being Rin, she groaned at herself, sinking another measure of vodka.

“He used you for what he could get. Fucking deal with it. That’s what happened, anything else was all in your own head.”

But was it? Pondering upon it would do no good, trying to explain it to herself. It didn’t mean Sean Wallace and his fuckery did not live rent free in her mind for the foreseeable, though. Still, she moved on, continued a life without him in it, knowing that some pieces of that puzzle would forever remain incomplete.

As for Sean himself, he’d walked out of his father’s office that afternoon and back into life as normal, the deal went ahead as planned, and he tried not to give Rin too much of a second thought. Besides, so he heard on the grapevine, her plans to remain in London had changed just a few months later, the eldest of the Cavanagh children making an unexpected move overseas, for whatever reason.

Out of sight, out of mind. Or rather, she should have been, yet there was not a day that passed where the guilt of it and regret didn’t gnaw at Sean like an angry wolf. He knew she could have been the one thing in his life that was real, true and beautiful. He had nobody but himself to blame that what he’d felt spark between them never did flourish. Truly, he had no one else to admonish for the fact that for the relatively fleetingly short remainder of his life, Finn Wallace saw him as little more than an impulsive liability, steadily putting more and more trust in Alex Dumani than his own son.

And then, then everything changed years later with one visit to a tower block within the Albanian district, the mighty Finn Wallace taking his last breath because of the actions of a naive young gypsy boy and a loaded gun. It was the start of a chain of events that saw the Wallace empire topple into ruin, and would ultimately leave Sean almost dead on two separate occasions.

The second, after murdering the brutal enforcer and untrustworthy partner that was Koba, saw him hanging by his neck after a lengthy final showdown with the ex-policeman-turned-hitman Elliot Finch, the investors closing in to prevent Sean’s return to the top.

As he struggled, his air being cut off by the ratchet strap he dangled from, Sean saw white spots clouding his vision, trying desperately to loosen his crude noose. His eyes darted between Elliot and Billy, the latter begging the former to let him down.

This was it, he thought, sliding from the precipice of life and into death’s cold, gleaming jaws, his vision fading further, but not enough that when he heard a shot ring out, he didn’t see Elliot’s skull blown open, his body dropping. The jaws of death had indeed closed, but not around him.

Figures dressed in black suddenly swarmed the area, one running to Sean, swinging the rifle responsible for Elliot’s demise behind themselves and grasping the metalwork he was dangling from, brandishing a large knife. The pressure gave, air rushing back into his starved lungs, his body hitting the ground with a thud.

“Silas, get Billy. Get him in the fucking car, quickly.”

That voice. No. It couldn’t be.

Her hands reached for the strap, yanking it free of his neck, Sean gasping and gurgling, his vision still swimming as she pulled up the balaclava that had been covering her face.

Time had only made Catherine Cavanagh even more beautiful than he remembered.

He wheezed, attempting to speak, although he had not a single clue over what the hell to say to her, the lover he’d wronged almost seven years before. Now here she was, returned to him, saving his life.

He coughed, watching as one of the men she was with came running over, crouching to lift him.

“Why?” he eventually croaked, the burly man throwing him over his shoulder.

“Atticus, get rid of the bodies. Get them over to the plant, George knows you’re on the way.” The chemical plant. Sean remembered well, how Kevin Cavanagh disposed of those who displeased him. Except, there wasn’t a Kevin Cavanagh any longer, the man having passed away from stomach cancer three months before.

So, Catherine was back to take her place at the helm of the Cavanagh empire. What that meant for Sean was anybody’s guess, and he wagered he’d likely be the last to find out as he was bundled into the back of a black Volvo SUV, Rin climbing into the front, the large man who had carried him seating himself behind the wheel.

His focus cleared more as he lay against the cool leather upholstery, wondering where he was being taken. He didn’t trust at all that he was completely removed from the line of fire. Sure, Elliot had been terminated, but that didn’t ultimately equal his own safety. Or that of the person most important to him, all he had left in the world after his mother had shown her hand, every card within her grasp duplicitous and cunning, playing that hand against her own sons.

“Billy...”

Rin turned as he sat up, watching him struggle to pull a seatbelt around himself. “He’s being taken to a doctor, a very good one.”

“Who? And where?”

Of course, once he’d regained use of his voice, she had expected him to begin demanding answers. It was true to form if nothing else. “None of your concern. Suffice to say he shall be well looked after.”

“I want to know, Catherine.”

She turned again to view him, her eyes narrowed. “You are not in a position to demand anything of me. I saved your life, I saved your brother’s life, and I took out the menace who would never have ceased coming for you, had he been allowed to live.”

“Why?”

“You’ll find out in due course.”

“I fucking asked you why, Catherine!”

Oh no, not much ever put a dampener upon Sean Wallace’s ferocious temper. Before she could reply, though...

“Hey, white man. You do not speak with my boss like that, eh, or trust me, my friend, I do something about it. You will not like if I choose that, eh, so be quiet, yes?”

“And who the fuck are you?” Sean scoffed; his voice still hoarse.

Immediately, the driver slammed on the brakes in the middle of the dark, desolate road, taking about a month off the tire tread. Applying the handbrake, he turned in his seat, his coal black eyes staring unflinchingly. “I am former commander in Kenyan Army, white man. I am biggest, blackest thorn in your fucking side if you ever go against me or my boss, eh. I am living hell and no mercy. That is who I am. I am also the man who tell you to shut up, so do it. Shut up. Do not make me leave this driver’s seat.”

His pride burned, but Sean weighed up his odds. He was at an extreme disadvantage as it was; against a man who was not only ex-military, but also an estimated six feet three in height and around eighteen stones of pure muscle, he could guess. It likely would not end well for him. At all.

The driver continued, turning to Rin, doing a double take. “Why do you look like this, eh? You bite back biggest grin.”

She chuckled softly, reaching to squeeze his shoulder. “Ever my no-nonsense protector, Sokoro.” And boy, had he been just that for the past seven years.

He beamed, putting his foot down. “I promise this to your father, and I promise to you.” He then reached for the dials at the front of the car, turning up the heat. “Ahh, this is better.”

“Sok, it’s like a fucking sauna in here as it is!” Rin exclaimed, cracking her window a little.

“It is cold, yes? February in London is chilly, eh.”

“Well,” she hummed, “I suppose when you’re used to it only getting as low as ten degrees in winter, it must be somewhat of a shock to the system, to experience temperatures in the minuses.”

He whistled, chuckling. “It is an experience, eh.”

Sean quickly pieced together what he was hearing, not that anyone could miss it, really. It seemed Rin had been over at the place he remembered her telling him about, the wildlife reserve in Kenya. Why, he wondered, had she chosen that desolate location in the middle of nowhere, abandoning her dream of attending LSE once her A Level’s were done with? It seemed out of character, for her to relinquish a goal she had held for so long, no matter how much fondness she had for the place she’d told him about.

Why Africa? It didn’t make sense. Had he made good on his threat to release the video of them having sex to the internet, he’d quite understand her desire to run away, find refuge in a place like that. But he hadn’t. Why had she vanished? These questions and more bubbled upon his tongue, but the threat of Sokoro’s ire as well as his own exhaustion after once again brushing up against death kept him silent, resting his head against the window as he watched the dawn break over the countryside.

Just under two hours later and they were turning into the long driveway that led to Mulford Hall, the vast property exactly as he remembered. How different would life be for him now, he wondered, if he’d ignored his father and deleted that video the last time he was there.

Stepping from the car, he felt a little lightheaded but not so much that it impeded being able to walk unassisted, not that he was likely to receive such, Rin and Sokoro striding ahead to the side door. He could see it in his mind, the eighteen-year-old version of her standing there in her big sweater and socks, sighing. It still needled at him, how he’d killed dead the connection he had with her, all in the name of power and business, both of which he’d ended up losing anyway.

Even if he’d still lost everything, he had a feeling he’d have never lost her in it all, had he done the right thing.

They walked into the kitchen, Rin taking a large, paper bag and sliding it across the counter to him, her eyes not meeting his. “Here, clean clothes. Go take a shower and make yourself comfortable. I have a meeting to get to. Sokoro will be here, keeping an eye on you, so don’t even think about trying to escape.”

He raised an eyebrow, lifting the bag from the island. For a brief moment, it flashed through his mind, her sitting where the bag had previously been, and him between her legs, fucking the living hell out of her. “So, I’ve been kidnapped, then, opposed to being saved?”

Her eyes met his then, without any trace of warmth. “You’re here for a purpose. I’ll be back later.”

The revelation of that purpose was one he’d have to wait upon a little longer, he supposed, Rin exiting and leaving him being stared down by the Kenyan giant of a man, his arms folded.

Sean couldn’t help but wonder if he’d fared better to have been left hanging.

#sean wallace fanfiction #sean wallace smut #gangs of london fanfiction #sean wallace x ofc #sean wallace fanfic #sean wallace fic #gangs of london fanfic #gangs of london fic #joe cole #london will burn #sean and rin

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alexanderlightweight · 1 year

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I really love that you open for prompts; it’s so exciting to see all the different things people prompt and to see what your mind comes up with.When Madzie feels ready to meet new people, Magnus and Cat take her to a small gathering with Downworld kids. But Madzie just stays with them and won't move around. So they ask her what she needs to feel safe enough to interact with the other kids. She needs her protector; she needs Alec. So next time, they bring Alec as well. (1/2)

okay so there is a second half of this prompt but i can't figure out how to add it to here. this is part of the an extension of you verse and Alec is dragged along because if he isn't, madzie might just create sharknado in rl.

lumine

Alec has already explained to Madzie why he’ll be sitting for most of the outing, especially the start, and she understands it. He’s on a large, colorful quilt that she insisted he and Magnus and Cat create together with her.

It took a lot of magic and the night market and a lot of Alec's bloody fingertips, but they finally have a galaxy quilt with sharks, rays, jellyfish, whales and octopi spread out across it. Alec is carefully unpacking the bag he packed for them, ignoring Magnus’ magic that is eager to help as he carefully sticks a straw into a mundane juicebox.

It does not break this time and he smirks as he sets it down.

Madzie is sticking close, Sharkie Sharptooth held diligently in her hand as she stares solemnly across the playground. Alec reminds himself to stay sitting, because he has to be safe for all of the kids, not just Madzie.

“What’s caught your thoughts?” Alec asks, because they’re exploring the idea that anxiety and trauma are like giant nets that other people leave in the ocean of life. Not Madzie’s fault, but that doesn’t mean she’s not affected by other people being mean and dropping their trash.

As a result, Madzie is very conscious of littering and she and Alec have watched the same ocean conservation movie three times, because she’s stubborn and determined to understand it even thought it’s mostly a documentary.

Madzie looks at him carefully and then points, quietly to the very tall top of the jungle gym that Alec knows she still isn’t comfortable going on by herself.

“We just need to let Magnus know.” Alec reminds her, because it’s not that he’s not allowed to move, it’s that they want the other parents and kids to feel safe and Magnus knows better than he does what works. Magnus smiles at him, softly when he asks and then he personally escorts them — pulling Alec up from the ground and handing him Madzie — and they make their way over to the play structure.

Catarina arrives as Alec is carefully letting Madzie step from his shoulders to grab the handle that will let her pull herself all the way up.

A minute later, Alec is both keeping Madzie from jumping off the top with one hand and a young, small warlock from falling with the other.

“Are you going to hurt me for running into you?”

Alec is asked bluntly and he bites back a tired sigh as he finishes handing Sharkie to Madzie. Then, with the knowledge that she’s safe and secure, he kneels down, making sure to keep his hands relaxed and in view on his knees.

“A shadowhunter’s true duty,” Alec tells the little warlock carefully, “is to protect. But sometimes—” here he hesitates because he’s not sure it’s place to say, but he tries anyway. “Sometimes people are very selfish and they only care about themselves. Shadowhunters forget they’re people too, and that we can also be like that. So they pretend they're still good. At some point, we got really cranky and forgot that we’re supposed to protect people and not just fight all the time.” Alec tries, because he’s not sure how old this kid is but he’s not willing to risk traumatizing anyone under the age of fifteen.

Tiny grey fingers reach out and Alec holds himself very still and lets trembling, rough fingers trace the rune on his throat. It tickles more than it hurts and Alec finds his lips twitching into a similar smile to the one he shared with Madzie as he softens. Kids are so very hard to be stern with and Alec knows that warlock children aren't as innocent as they could be. That they're raised to understand the trials of the world they’ll face, but it’s always so endearing to be around children not raised for war and hate.

“What happens if I see a shadowhunter that’s not you?” The kid asks, curious despite his wariness and the way he presses against Alec's side reminds him of his siblings when they were young and pretending they didn’t lean on Alec for strength.

“Then you should do whatever your parents and teachers have told you.” Alec tells him, “and then remember to protect yourself first. If and only if—” and here he takes a breath, because this is something he has only discussed in theory with the other downworld leaders but this is as good a time as any. “If any shadowhunter ever takes you away, then you tell them that you’re under the guardianship of the High Warlock of Brooklyn, and that his shadowhunter is a nephilim commander, okay?” Alec isn’t enough a of a threat yet, but Magnus always has and always will be and now, Magnus has Alec on his side. “Magnus will come to get you, okay?”

“But what if I’m somewhere warlocks aren’t supposed to be?”

“Then I’ll come find you and Magnus will come to me, because there isn’t a single place in this world that I can go, where Magnus isn’t able to follow.” Alec smiles at that and he touches fingers over his own heart, “there is no magic that can keep Magnus from me, okay?”

The kid frowns but he nods and he reaches out to carefully touch Alec’s neck rune again, “they’re not as scary as I thought they’d be.” He whispers and Alec smiles sadly and pats the sand next to him.

“Do you want to learn what they mean, so you can recognize the ones you see?” Alec offers, because understanding usually lessens fear and he knows from Madzie that marks of power can be very intimidating. Madzie met Alec before Valentine and it’s the only reason she’s not completely terrified of his runes and despite how horrible it was, Alec can’t regret how that encounter went.

When he gets a quiet nod, Alec carefully begins to trace out the most important runes to know. Things that may not seem worth noticing, but can change the course of a fight.

Speed, strength, iratze, the circle rune which should always be run from and Alec is about to trace a fifth rune when Madzie interrupts them.

“Alec—” Madzie calls out and she’s scowling at him, Sharkie Sharptooth in her little fists as she glares at the little boy talking to him. “Sunfish!”

Alec slowly gets to his feet, giving the kid enough time to scurry away but he stays cautiously close. Alec figures it’s fine, since his adult is probably watching, and goes to Madzie. Catarina is here now, a coffee in her hand and a grimace on her face as she glares at the sun viciously. Alec knows it’s only the presence of regular warlocks that keep her from turning the day to an eclipse.

“Do you want— ow, Madzie.” Alec gives her a blank look, eyebrow raised and she pouts, crossing her arms. “Is there a reason High Warlock Sharptooth bit me?” Alec asks dryly and he ignores Catarina’s snickers, knowing this is his own fault for playing along with Sharkie Sharptooth’s sudden promotion three nights ago.

“Sunfish.” Madzie reminds him and despite the fact that she’s being rude, Alec laughs and indulges her. Madzie being rude is something to celebrate, they can figure out boundaries later, once she’s more confident in setting her own and regularly asking for what she wants. Catarina’s eyes are wet, because Madzie rarely is so insistent and Alec smiles at the fact that he’s helped create enough safety for this moment.

“Sunfish it is.” Alec says and he lifts her, and despite how far she’s come, he finds himself wishing that she felt safe enough to squeal and laugh like the other children. Instead, there is a soft gasp of delight by his ear as Alec raises her up and twirls her. There is no magic or runes involved, just is strength and Alec finds himself fifteen minutes later with Madzie still held high as she whacks away other children with Sharkie as he tries to not step on any tails or wings.

“Magnus, if you do not help me, I will be sleeping at the Institute for the next week!” Alec finally bites out as he balances carefully, Madzie with both of her fists in his hair as she holds Sharkie in her mouth and hisses at the children trying to zombie-climb Alec’s legs. If it weren’t for Madzie, Alec wouldn’t care, but he’s reluctant to risk her progress and from the way Magnus nods, he understands as well.

“Well, that’s a threat enough for me.” Magnus drawls from where he’s been enjoying a mimosa next to Cat and he glides over, smirk on his face as he snaps his fingers and butterflies began to fly around the park. Only the toddlers follow the glittering insects and Alec hides a smile as tiny, strong fingers threaten to destabilize him.

“Now, all of you have adults of your own to torment.” Magnus says, giving all the children a raised eyebrow, “run along.If you’re all good, I’ll bring my shadowhunter next time as well. Right now, I want him back.”

Immediately, they dash off. The respect and adoration they hold for Magnus clear as the scamper towards their adults and Alec mock scowls, knowing that there is drool in his hair from where Madzie started gnashing her teeth.

“I am filing a complaint.” Alec says calmly and he winks up at Madzie to make sure she knows he's joking. "The next time we have a spare weekend, Madzie and I are going to the ocean. You and Cat can be on sand duty, if we allow you to come.”

Catarina snickers as she joins them and she hands Alec a coffee that he accepts gratefully and he graciously promotes Catarina from sand duty to merely being a sunbathing bystander.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #an extension of you #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters

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itsclydebitches · 1 year

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RWBY doesn't care if faunus are viewed as an allegory for real world minorities. Faunus are magic hybrids of humans and animals - fairy tales in RWBY were always true. Hence, Blake is offered to become a human or a cat. Blake calls herself a cat because she is part cat. Ruby tells the red prince Blake is a faunus (the elf of the group) and the rest of them are humans because they are. Simple. RT: "I didn't come over here looking to solve systemic societal issues."

Then RT shouldn't have written a story in which they are actively and knowingly commenting on a systemic societal issue.

Yeah, this could have been the case. It's absolutely possible to write a version of RWBY where faunus are just #there and their animal characteristics in no way intersect with social justice. But RWBY didn't write that story. They explicitly introduced the faunus as victims of long-term discrimination. They're "second class citizens." "Animals" to be exploited, tortured, and discarded. There's nothing simple in writing a post-war decree that forces everyone with certain physical characteristics onto an isolated island away from the "superior" group. Or making your billionaire CEO target faunus for slave labor, including giving us one character who was branded. We're shown an extremist group fighting for their civil rights and the end message of that is, "They're fighting the wrong way not to be treated like they're disposable :/" RWBY introduced Weiss as a character who would compare Sun to a trash can and, what? We're really supposed to believe that he's just the "elf" of the group? It's a complete coincidence that the citizens of Remnant just happen to systematically target all the people with animal traits.

This isn't even the only time RWBY has explicitly woven social justice into its story. They had a main character lose her arm, introduced another with a metal body, a third that had lost half of his, and took all three on a journey that hinged on their disabilities. The entirety of the Atlas arc revolves around class and getting us to emotionally side with the victims of the rich elite. They've been teasing a queer ship for four years, but refusing to commit to it in a way that might piss off real life homophobes. Our fictional world supposedly wasn't grappling with the same discrimination... until May casually tossed out that she was disowned for being trans. The ENTIRETY of the story hinges on rooting for four young woman in a genre that has historically been dismissive of them and the go-to insult when someone disagrees with a reading is, "You just hate women, huh?"

RWBY is seeped in social issues. It's built on it. They're the freaking linchpin. The writers WANTED that because they understood that the best storytelling engages with real life concerns. But they didn't know how to approach these topics respectfully - they wanted the rewards of a "deep" story without carefully working out what they wanted to say about these topics - and the result is a franchise that's often more insulting than it is inspirational. After nearly a decade of that, RWBY doesn't get to suddenly backtrack because they fucked it up. They can't have their cake and eat it too. "We're a story about strong, empowered women, one of which is fighting for equal standing in her society, another who is grappling with disability, a third who is acknowledging her status as heir to a company that has done irreparable damage to her world and exacerbated class discrimination... but if that's not written well, don't worry about it! It's just a fun, silly story! Haha, why would you take a cartoon so seriously?"

RWBY has always wanted to be taken seriously but, you know, only when they're succeeding. If they mess up they want you to do them the courtesy of ignoring that which is... not how writing a paid for, public story consistently commenting on minority groups works.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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rise-my-angel · 9 months

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Reading your rants and realising I don't like Sansa, I just liked the potential of her becoming a blend of Cersei and Margary. But of course that didn't happen. Tragedy.

Precursor, this is not meant to shame anyone for liking late show Sansa nor am I trying to change anyone's opinions on her. This is just me explaining the main core concepts of my problems with her post season 4 characterization.

Late show Sansa always felt like they were experimenting with making her a more vindictive and manipulative character but never wanted to commit. I think they wanted Sansa to be both the developing Cersei, but also to let her become Queen in the North but had no idea how to make that happen, so it's why she never is committed to this new persona.

She switches between loving sister and horribly manipulative. Her cold, uncaring attitude does not come off as a jaded result of trauma it comes off as trying to make her a stone faced girl boss. Early show Sansa isn't my favorite character but she feels real and she feels like she grows as a person.

Her costumes show this. Season 1 she starts dressing more like Cersei to show her priorities lie in fitting in with what she thinks will be her new family. Season 2 when everything starts to weigh down on her she starts dressing like Catelyn showing her making unconcious ties with her family by dressing like the mother she is forced to publically denounce as a traitor. Season 3 and start of 4 she dresses more like Margaery because now shes finding comfort in what seems to be a kind friend. Then the 2nd half of season 4 and part of 5 she dresses darker suddenly and part of it is being in disguise but it's also showcasing her time with Petyr Baelish is turning her different. Season 6 onward she dressed exactly the same way they were also dressing Cersei but with none of the reasons why behind it.

Sansa in the late seasons is infuriating to me but lots of her stans misunderstand why. I fully enjoy characters like Cersei (especially book Cersei in affc) where she has genuine complexity but is ultimately manipulative and selfish and does bad things partially because she enjoys the power over people. I love Margaery because there is a good heart in her and Loras, but they are playing the game so well that even though we as the audience see it, not even some of the smartest characters can do anything about it. Margaery is the woman Sansa wanted to be, but Cersei and Petyr are the characters she turned out to be. And I wished they committed to it.

There's a big post I didn't reblog to try and avoid angering any followers of mine who love her, but it outlines exactly why her actions in the Battle of the Bastards plot were essentially evil and malicious and it's why I believe the intent originally was to have her saving the day be a not an act of heroism, but an attempt to coup Jon from any power. I feel like her showing up when she does and finding Jon alive as being not part of her plan to be so much more interesting. Because as SOON as Jon is crowned, she publically disagrees and argues with him in front of the court, complains to people about him in private, argues with him more in private, and when hes gone she starts to stir conflict that leads people to publically say they should've declared her Queen instead of Jon (which is fucking treason to say I will add). Sansa in the books doesnt respect Jon and always saw him as less then, and was the only sibling who still called him her bastard brother, when everyone else had grown to half brother and many eventually dropping that entierly and only thinking of him in terms of an full brother. Sansa inherited Catelyns bastard discriminatory views and she does not respect Jon. And I think she sees herself as Neds lawful heir and sees Jon as being King instead of her as an insult and wishes to find a way to get rid of him either by crippling him in battle, or attempting to coup him through the people he rules. Her actions with Jon is where her characterization is the absolute worst and its where I believe theres the strongest argument to be made that she has developed into someone whom she THINKS is like Margaery, but she actually is just like Cersei and Petyr Baelish.

Which is why Jon starts dressing like Ned, the character he internally is the most aligned in morals and values with. And she starts dressing at the exact same time, like Cersei and Petyr because its them she has become the most like, not Margaery who is always contrasted in light tones and alluring fabrics. (I could make a whole separate post about how Cersei's costumes contrasted with Margaery in season 3 and 4 are brilliant adaptive methods of portraying the internal conflicts between them that were lost in text to screen adaptation the early show costume design was so brilliant and people do not give credit enough for how much world building and thematic hinting the costumes are doing in seasons 1 through 5).

Season 7 Sansa with Arya is hard to describe because so much of it was an attempt at a rug pull to reveal her and Arya were working together. Now that entire sub plot makes NO SENSE and I do not have the time to elaborate on why it's insane, but it also does another thing I hate. It cripples Petyr Baelish as a character just to make Sansa come out on top.

Petyr Baelish is an absolute gift a character and he is the kind of smart that Sansa incorrectly thinks she is. She only comes out on top because they didn't know how to end Petyr's storyline and had Sansa do it to get him out of the way. That and there was just zero acknowledgment that she sat on her chair inside the main hall court and let her little sister slit a man's throat after an unfair and rigged trial. When the King she is sitting in for, would have done what their father would've done. Jon wouldve given him the exact charge of his crimes outright, and brought him outside to properly execute him by his own hand a la, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

Season 8 Sansa is the closest she was to bearable since season 4 Sansa, but not because she is well written. She is just slightly less poorly written then whatever the bonkers they were flip flopping Dany between (this is not an anti Sansa/pro Dany blog we hate Dany here too). But the finale shes back to full awful display. She does nothing to give proper defense of Jon, does not bring up the fact that there is literally no fucking proof of what Jon did, doesn't vogue for him doing the right thing (also theres just zero parallels that Jon ultimately realized that the right thing to do was the thing that ruined Jaime Lannisters entire reputation and that he has to simply hope somehow Ned understands the cost of what hes about to do but again my Jaime and Jon paralells rant is not for this post). She simply let's them send to to the Nights Watch and I fully believe she is letting him die alone without the pack because he is the one person who still stands in her way of ruling. She becomes Queen as soon as Jon is finally out of the way and doesn't just be like "hey new queens orders Jon you are pardoned in the north".

She also seems to just be sending the free folk north of the wall too, when in season 5 Jon literally brings them South of the Wall and starts the process of finding them lands in The Gift, a far Northern stretch of land partially controlled by the Nights Watch that is mostly abandoned anyways due to wildling raids. So she doesn't even let them stay in the North when Jon's entire reason for bringing them South was because he understood that the two sides of the North should be coexisting and not fighting so she undoes everything Jon as both Lord Commander and King does, because I think she is doing what she thinks Cersei would've done.

Gotten rid of people with more power then her, so that she can be the one on control.

But, it will never be seen as such because the show refused to commit to it. They made her do these actions but always framed it as her being smart and cool. Sansa wouldn't be insufferable if they just let her be a more malicious, badly intentioned student of Cersei but who wrongly thinks she is as clever as Margaery. Cersei isn't insufferable because we all understand the character complexity behind her worst traits and doesn't pretend she isnt a bad person. The late seasons pretend Sansa is a smart person but not a bad person. But she is. Late show Sansa is insufferable because she is a bad person who I am supposed to pretend is this smart, girlboss who knows better then her strong moraled older brother who is more of a leader then she's ever been.

I've always felt that Sansa's story was leading to her becoming someone far away from the Stark identity, and that the very early killing of Lady was both a symbol for it and a catalyst of it. I think it makes sense her story does not end happily with her finding harmony with her remaining siblings. I think Sansas story makes more sense to end with her standing in opposition to everything the remaining Starks stand for because she has allowed herself to learn the worst lessons from the worst people but doesn't have the self awareness to understand that.

The last time I enjoyed show Sansa was the episode of Jofferys death, because it was the last time I felt like I was watching a real character and not a prop for the writers to turn into a badass.

Also just saying, my own opinion, but late show Sansa should've had a kindling romance with Tyrion (they are still married by the way that was never annulled) and they have a few moments that I found myself desperately wishing they would lean into it. I think it would've made her a little bit more of a rounded character, and it would help lean into the idea of her standing oppose to her family. Finding romance in a Lannister, when her political marriage to Tyrion is literally what caused book Robb to write her out of his line of succession in the first place.

Anyways, uh, no ones reading this by this point but I just think late show Sansa wouldve been a better character had they acknowledged the bad person she had become instead of pretending it all just made her strong and cool.

Queen in the North Sansa makes me 🤢🤮

#i just cannot stand her by season 5 and im sick of her stans acting like thats so unreasonable #its not a case of just unfairly hating a female character its me rightfully hating a fucking poorly written character #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #anti sansa stark #anti sansa stans #long post

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 month

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I saw your tags on a post about becoming the mc in one of your novels. Gothic, where the character is more monster than damsel and i am 👀

Would you be willing to talk about it? The story, the character, anything?

(for those of you who did not see my tags on the post anon is referencing, the post prompt was basically 'you are now the main character of your most recent WIP' and my tags were: #technically I think this would put me as the MC of my novel#in a gothic mansion that houses a monstrous lord said to steal people’s souls#in a village the inhabitants view as a cage#after faking my death to escape an abusive arranged marriage#discovering that I am more monster than damsel)

so i talked about it briefly when i ran this poll a while ago asking which one of these two novels you'd all like to see first. it is the one that won, the gothic found family: Of Beasts and Wretched Things (working title). feel free to click through to the poll if you want to see what the results were, what the other option was, and what people's initial reactions were!

Of Beasts and Wretched Things is an inverted 'Beauty and the Beast' coming of age story that wrestles with the monstrosities of girlhood and the inherent horror of self-creation.

When the Lord of Crosswell Estate plans to wed his niece to a brutish lord to save his wealth, she runs away and stumbles upon Illthern, a forgotten trading village under the control of the monstrous Theodoric Gaut, whom she deceives in order to gain his protection from her wrathful uncle; but when she finds herself face to face with Lord Gaut, who is not what the stories would have her believe, she must wrestle with the monstrosity of her own making before he discovers that his supposed long-lost relative is not what she claims to be.

(More under the cut bc wow I...got a bit carried away.)

working on this project has helped me work through some of the trauma i have around my own relationship to femininity and womanhood. the MC struggles with the legacy of abuse inflicted by her blood relatives and what it means to be the person they tried to make her into. the inherent fear of things labeled 'monster' and the consequential fear of being monstrous is a predominant theme, as well as questions of how many of the monsters are things we make ourselves.

what really drew me to the gothic genre was the emotional weight i wanted to give these characters and this world; so often in gothic works it is the characters' own emotional turmoil that drives the plot and shapes the setting, you are the ghost haunting the house even though you still draw breath, etc. even in this real world, there are these weights of what society things a woman should be, the pressures of girlhood especially during adolescence, and these weird half-mourning periods of killing the person you used to be. i think because i wanted these characters to be steeped in the emotions they have about their situations in life and themselves, i found myself drawn to gothic conventions just because it fit so well with what i wanted to explore

with regards to the characters themselves, and particularly the MC, i really wanted them to feel like they were driving the story. the MC has the brilliant and terrible certainty that I know at least I had when I was a teenager. Theodoric is very similar to most characters you'd expect to see in a gothic setting: ominous, more than a bit sinister or mysterious, yet I wanted it to feel like he was always hiding a bleeding heart just under his coat. did i mean to make him autistic? no, but when I was proofreading i was like whoa yeah this man has the spicy brain. i'm a sucker for monstrous things that treat others with tenderness first, what can i say. i don't want to talk too much about any other characters just yet, I don't want to spoil anything :)

WIP-wise, I'm in the midst of getting the manuscript ready to submit to agencies and publishing houses. it's funny, as i'm doing the research to see what that entails, the other story seems to be way easier to market. who knows, maybe i'll self publish OB&WT the way I did Tales from Thicketdown Forest and then go the traditional route for the other one. we'll find out, i guess.

i did sort of know this was going to get long but jfc i went way harder with my prose here than i thought i was going to. uh, hope this answers your question????

Tl:dr; gothic found family h/c, heavy on the comfort, with tender monsters and monstrous girls :)

#dragonbabbles #i do have opinions on the matter #original work #my work #my writing #gothic #found family

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belle-keys · 7 months

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I read your opinions about swordcatcher and I was curious about what you consider to be the light borrowing of tlh.

I see bits and pieces of both Grace and Cordelia on Antonetta (good god how I hate this name, I know it's a real name but it doesn't sound like one, why couldn't it be antonella? Idc it rhymes with salmonella, it still sounds more legit), and lady alleyne is sona and Tatiana's love child.There is also the matter of marakand being their equivalent of Persia and Conor and Kel (allegedly) being half Persian, but if I'm being honest I see this more as Cc having the opportunity to express her love for Iran than with tlh specifically. Cordelia and Alastair were white and French originally, after all. Besides that tho none of what I like to call "elements of a cc book" present in sw are really a prerogative of tlh.

I would even argue that it was a smart move on cc's part to bring them on this new universe.As much as she may want to cement herself as name on adult high fantasy, she's not starting from scratch and it is to her advantage to endear her enormous fan base, many of whom grew up with her books and now are adults themselves, to this new world by bringing familiar elements into it.

I would also argue that she repeats them not out of a lack of creativity, this rich new worldbuilding is proof that she has that to spare, but rather bc at this point she knows her public and what appeals to them.It may be controversial, but I think Tda is her least liked series precisely bc it lacks some of those tropes and subverts others

When I said “light borrowing”, I actually was just trying to be sarcastic in my original review, but I would now rather say that Cassie very heavily borrowed from not just TLH but the other TSC books. And Kel and Conor allegedly being half-Persian is the last thing that even crossed my mind when I thought of this.

Lin is so very much Cordelia personality-wise in my opinion. Shy girl looking for a sense of empowerment and independence in a male-dominated place. Dips her toes into high society/court and recoils from it. Does a public sexy dance as a means of embracing her sexuality and femininity even though the sensual element from her personality is very much repressed in the name of female propriety in regular daily life. Red hair. Fairly oblivious. Quite sheltered from society’s depravity.

I would also argue that Kel and Conor’s relationship is just James and Matthew’s relationship but on opioids laced with fentanyl. We have the more serious, obvious, trusting main character and his hedonistic, secretive, higher ranking best friend who is absolutely keeping things from him and vice-versa. Kel is the ground to Conor’s sky and whatnot. They love each other but miscommunication and, gasp, a girl is driving a wedge between them. Kel regularly has to slap sense into an inebriated, flirtatious Conor who can’t get his priorities straight. Sounds a little familiar!

Antonetta is very much aligned with Grace’s character as well. Pretty, dainty, blonde character who knows way more than she lets on to people and with an overbearing mother who has spent her life grooming Antonetta for high society and entrapping powerful men into marriage with her. Of course the simple boy at court (Kel) is obsessed with her.

I have a few more minor examples, but all in all I think I’d take the opposite view of yours in that Cassie gives 110% to worldbuilding and story arcs and layered plot and as a result, she uses up a lot of her energy and spark and focus when it comes to fleshing out her protagonists. Don’t take this post as hate towards Sword Catcher or anything - I loved it. I gave it four stars, and I didn’t minus any stars whatsoever because of the Cassie-isms I detected. But I think she needs to diversify a little more when it comes to character development, that’s all!

#the world was so amazingly rich anyway that the character tropes didn’t really bother me #but i argue the tropes are nonetheless there #sword catcher #cassandra clare #kel saren #conor aurelian #antonetta alleyne #lin caster #the last hours #tlh #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #matthew fairchild #tsc #fantasy books #sff #book blog

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tameila · 6 months

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Hi! I absolutly loved The Sun Always Rises! It's one of my favorite fanfics, and since you incorporate a lot of the Campaign 1 into the lore, I was wondering what the TSAR' Verse verion of Pike's resurrection would be?

Thank you so much!

To tackle this idea, I think it's best to break down what Pike's resurrection was and, more importantly, how it informed her character and actions going forward.

Let's start with the death -- It was the kind of death that was uniquely traumatic and gruesome for all parties, herself and her friends who watched it happened. Like, having to watch someone you love die changes you regardless of whether it was bloodless or not but, when that death is from them being cut in half...That's just a different level, y'know.

Add on a layer of helplessness and desperation to the party, because none of them were capable of revivifying Pike on her their own; they needed outside help.

Then, you have the ritual -- two of its components coming from Scanlan himself, the doll and a kiss upon her brow.

In a superficial sense, the trauma of her death and resurrection is what changed the color of her hair.

On a deeper level, this event pushed Pike to leave the party, join a sailing crew, and come back stronger -- strong enough to pick up heavy armor.

Meanwhile, within the party, I've always seen Scanlan's protectiveness throughout the campaign as a direct result of Pike's death and resurrection as well. Like, to the point that he's consistently uncomfortable and insistent that she dress up when it's stated in a scene that she took off her armor. Which can be read as him not liking her "flaunting", so to be speak (and this thought is echoed by the party at least once with them telling Scanlan/Sam that Pike would still be wearing her padding not be just naked without her armor), sure, but his energy always read far more neurotic to me. y'know, like, he worried about her being unprotected and vulnerable.

Now, let's put all these thoughts into TSAR 'verse...

My first instinct is to say it's already there! You watch Pike's death and resurrection in real time in TSAR. that's the whole story. You watch her hit rock bottom, a major depressive episode and ego death. Her friends are helpless to stop it. In the aftermath, she takes temporary leave from her position as Head Cleric at the temple and even isolates from her family and friends so she can meditate on what it all means (though this time frame is only briefly summarize in chapter 14 and not fully explored in prose). On Scanlan's side, you see him grow a new awareness of Pike and what she needs from him, and you watch him go through stages with it. Her "resurrection" is greatly aided by Scanlan's presence. In the end, she comes back stronger and surer.

My second instinct is to say it's already there...in bits n pieces! The mentions of Pike's gap year after high school. Wilhand's accident, Pike's desperation at the time, and how she had to shift her whole world view in the aftermath.

My third instinct, of course, is to acknowledge that neither of those are the answer that you came to hear lol! So, to really answer your question, if I were to explore the full weight of Pike's resurrection in TSAR 'verse, I would explore it as divergent AU of TSAR 'verse canon.

The divergence would be that it's Pike that suffers a traumatic accident instead of Wilhand.

and here's a collection of thoughts:

In this divergence, Pike's gap year would instead be interpreted as her deciding to fully complete her undergraduate abroad in some vaguely European country. She chose the university because the connected city has one of the oldest temples to Sarenrae.

The twins and Percy would also be at this university. Keyleth would still be back in Westruun, Grog still an up-and-coming MMA fighter, and Scanlan still his popstar self.

The accident would happen during the winter break of her final year. Keyleth and Grog have come to visit. Both of them had been saying and promising that they would since Pike started at this university so, since it's her final year, it's now or never! Pike's supposed to fly back to Westruun with them for Winter's Crest at the end of their trip. Pike introduces them to the twins and Percy. They spend a week European trottin'.

A surprise comes in the form of Scanlan, fresh off his final show of the year, joining them for the last few days. This is Pike and Scanlan's second first meeting, aka the first time they've seen in each other in person since Scanlan's career took off and since Pike's been in her transformative abroad era. (In actual TSAR 'verse canon, this second first meeting was a Grog's first big title match., which was the first time they'd seen each other since Scanlan's career took off and since Pike's gap year. It's one of those moments that's so cemented in the canon for me, but I can't remember if I've ever put out a piece that conveyed that to the readers lol)

It would be during one of those final days of the trip that The Accident™️ happened. I think, in the same way that I never specify what happened to Wilhand, I would never specifically state what happened to Pike. In her POV, it would always just be The Accident, and the others would never want to talk about it in detail either. However, it would be clear that it was nearly fatal, that she was legally dead for a brief time, and it changed everything.

She would remember Scanlan at her bedside and the warm press of lips against her forehead as her first clear memories of "coming back to life".

In the aftermath, she would take leave from school and drop contact with everyone for a time. Eventually, she would quietly return to Westruun and finish her final credits at the university there.

Quietly, the others would bleed back into her life too.

Instead of focusing on her a few years into her time as Head Cleric, the timeline of TSAR would then be about her in the first few months of that promotion instead.

Scanlan coming to town and the gang being all together again during this very momentous time in Pike's life is what brings up all the old feelings connected to The Accident.

Other domino pieces from this AU would include Scanlan's drug spiral, which was already about trauma from his mother's death and how he never fully coped with that, also having traces of trauma from Pike's accident mixed into it. Adding another layer to the situationship that him and Pike had going on during that time and the letter that Pike would write to him. Also, in TSAR 'verse, Scanlan's reasoning for coming to Westruun is an inherently selfish one. I think in this divergence his reasons for coming would be a bit more mindful and specifically for the need to support Pike.

and my mind is zipping all around and I could go on about all the little changes, but I have been writing along for, like, two hours now and my room has gotten dark around me 😂

Thanks again for your kind words, and I hope that this lil divergent AU satisfies those Pike resurrection angst needs! ☀️💜💛

#ask #anon #Pikelan #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #The Sun Always Rises

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