#Am Not doing good therefore i will commit crimes

[leadandblood]

Cursed fic idea go weeeee

[misstycloud]

Imagine yandere vampire hunter finding out he married one of the creatures he vowed to destroy. The very monster he dedicated his entire life to kill.

“…no..i-it can’t be..” his voice was barely a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear as if he was right next to you.

You stood still in the darkness, your face was a mask of indifference. If you hadn’t been blinking he would have mistook you for a statue. It appeared you’d been careless and let yourself be seen- by him no less. You could still feel the warmth of the blood dripping down you chin; a curtain of red fell down the front of your dress and stained it.

“Please tell me this isn’t real..” your husband let his eyes wander to the soon-lifeless body laying not far away. Small puffs of air was seen coming for the person, indicating they were not yet dead. The disgusting sound of gurgling in one’s own blood sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes met yours, searching for any sort of confirmation that everything was indeed a figment of his imagination.

“It is, I’m afraid.” You said.

He let out a devestatd choke, muttering ‘no’ over and over while shaking his head, clearly in denial.

You reminded yourself not to show any emotion and stepped forward. “I will not lie to you and therefor I will utter the clear truth in front of you. I am a vampire.”

“No, no you’re not.” He refused to believe it. If it had been his friend; he would prioritise duty before friendship. If it was his brother; he would do the same. Even if it was his own parents; he would die before letting insensible things such as emotions to come in the way of doing what is right. But this was different. It was you. It can’t be you. It could never be you.

But it was. Clearly. The evidence- the body- was right in front of him; unblinking and unmoving.

“You cannot look away from what is in front of you-“

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly shouted, surprising you with the sudden change in tone. “You can’t be one of….them.” He expressed in great repulsion.

Despite knowing how evil your kind is, you still though of yourself as quite good- well, as good as you can be when you’re a blood sucking, murderous creature of the night. So your husbands disdain awoke some sort of defensiveness in you.

“Well I am. And I have been for a while now.”

He seemed to think for a moment. Then he asked, “how long? How long have you been a…a vampire?” He furrowed his brow at the end, not believing he’d connect ‘you’ and the word ‘vampire’ in his life.

“36 years. Not as long as some others, but it should still count as something.”

“Oh god..”

It meant that you were one since the start- no before- your marriage. Was he truly that blind? Had love taken such hold of him that he could no longer do his job properly?

How many vampires had he killed during you union? All that while simultaneously being wed to one himself. While loving one, caring for one and even making passionate love to one. It was like some fucked-up punishment tailor-made for him.

He knew what he had to do.

The first tear fell down his cheek, betraying his stern expression and showcasing his endless sorrow. “You are evil,” he raised his crossbow, “and now you have to be judged for your crimes.” How ironic of him to talk about committing crimes of slaughter as if he wasn’t doing exactly the same. He wasn’t stupid; not all immortals were pure darkness, it wasn’t that simple. They do what they have to in order to survive. Only some killed more than they had to. Still, it didn’t change the fact that they all need to be destroyed.

Your eyes widened when he pointed the weapon straight at you. You expected this. Of course he would kill you. However, a part of you could not stop from hoping he wouldn’t think of you as a monster. That perhaps you’d finally find somewhere you can call home and be accepted for what you are. It was a naive dream. Weren’t you his wife before you were a monster? Apparently not, because an arrow shot at you at incredible speed. It hit you in the arm and you cried out in pain.

While you had physical advantages, it doesn’t mean you are immune to pain.

Ripping it out, you studied the black liquid staining it. Your husband swore and immediately prepared to launch another. You felt your fangs grow in length and you hissed at him. Throwing yourself at him the two of you rolled around on the floor, each trying to restrain the other. You managed to get ahold of his crossbow and threw it away form his reach.

Your husband quickly dug into his pockets to grab a dagger, and tried to stab you. Luckily you stopped him in time, fighting him with your vampiric strength. You had to give it to him, he was surprisingly strong for a human. Despite you having supernatural gifts, he was definitely a match and you had a hard time holding you down. If it was any other situation you would have been impressed and rather seduced by his sheer strength, unfortunately this was not a good situation for you.

You leaned down, planning to bite him, but his fast reflexes let him use his free arm to keep you at a distance. He was now on the floor with you straddling him and trying with all your might to end his life.

Your husband knocked your heads together which was the distraction he needed to kick you off of him. You clenched you forehead in pain and backed away. But there was no more time to dwell on that pain, because it was minor compared to what you felt next. Agony was in your side, accompanied by the dagger you had previously defended yourself against.

Your lover was close. Enough for you to feel his breath, and enough for you to see tears running down his regretful face.

“Why was it you?”

Whether he referred to you being a vampire or you being the one he married, you did not know. It hardly mattered anyway.

In a way, you did love your husband. It was probably not in the normal spousal way but it was there. Maybe if you weren’t a blood-sucker you two would have been truly happy together. Too bad fate had other plans. Even though it was true that you were probably evil, you wanted to live. And despite the one threatening your existence was none other than the man who’d show a you devotion and love you though t you’d never find again, this was not where you wanted it to end.

With a shriek, you used all your power to push him as hard as you could. He flew backwards into the wall. You supposed he’d fainted from the force since he wasn’t making any move to get up. You clutched your side and groaned. You had to get out of there; somewhere safe.

You stumbled to the window and put your foot on the ledge. The dagger he’d stabbed you with must be silver, otherwise it wouldn’t have made as much damage. The wound in your side burned and sizzled with pain. You had no idea if your body would be able to fully heal you in time for when you need blood again- or even at all.

“Ugh….”

You heard a cough from behind you. It was your dearest. He must be sturdier than he looks to have woken up so quickly. He had rolled over to lay on his stomach and had his arms pathetically stretched in your direction.

“D-don’t go.”

You scoffed at his audacity. “What, so you can finally finish me off?”

He whimpered, “ N-no, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that- why did I do that?” The last part appeared to be a criticism on himself. Nevertheless he continued, “please, I won’t do it again. I was wrong, you’re not evil I know that, I don’t know why I said that. I’m so sorry, please..”

A frown adorned your face. “It’s okay. I’m not evil, but I know I’m far from good- I’m not that delusional.” Then you turned back to the view of the outside world.

“Wait, no-“

“I have to go. I really mean it when I say this, ‘thank you for all these years together, they have been the happiest days I am now able to remember’.

“My love, don’t-“

You ignored his pleas as you jumped from the window. You landed in the dirt outside. You looked back at the house which you’d just escaped from and as you prepared to run off to another town and build up a new life (until you’d eventually have to run again) you listened to the scream of the man who’d been your husband for six years.

What was he screaming? What else if not your name.

-

[wonderjanga]

Cardboard.

Billy has a lot of free time on his hands. He doesn’t go to school, his job as the Whiz Kid doesn’t take more than a couple hours, and he has no parental supervision. So what does he do with his time? He gets crafty.

Billy: *making something with cardboard, sitting on the steps of the rundown apartment building he lives in*

Crackhead: *also sitting on the steps, yapping about whatever to Billy*

Billy: *listening to him as he works*

Ms. Bambi: *also also sitting on the steps, but next to Billy to make sure he doesn’t get kidnapped or something by the crackhead. Is also smoking*

Crackhead: *pauses mid story to look “What’re you making there, kiddo?” *eyes the cardboard*

Billy: “A Gucci bag.” *super focused on making the bag out of cardboard. Is using a rusty pocketknife to make details too*

*silence*

Crackhead: *bursts out laughing*

Billy: *looks up from his work* “Wha- What’re you laughing at?!???”

Ms. Bambi: *stifling laughs* “Bill, you’re not actually making a Gucci bag, are you?”

Billy: “So what if I am?! I’m gonna make it, I’m gonna sell it for 50 dollars, and then I’m gonna have food money for the week.”

Crackhead and Ms. Bambi: *shares a look before looking at Billy, holding back more laughter* “Kid…”

Billy: “What?! You don’t believe me? Trust me! I’ll come back with my money and then I’ll rub it in your faces!” *storms off with his cardboard*

Crackhead: “Sure, kid. Sure!”

Later…

Billy: *putting the finishing touches on his cardboard bag with some paints he found in a dumpster* “Alright… Done!” *lets it dry for a bit*

Even More Later…

Billy: *throws the bag in his pocket dimension when he thinks it’s done and heads outside and transforms into Marvel*

Marvel: *flies to New York and then detransforms in an alleyway*

Billy: *pulls the bag out of his pocket dimension and sits on the side of the road, advertising his bag to people who pass by*

Passerby: “What a cute bag! How much is it?”

Billy: *perks up* “50 dollars, ma’am.”

Passerby: “Fifty dollars… Hmm…” *fishes through her purse* “Darn it. I only have two twenties-”

Billy: “That’s fine!” *grabs the money from her and hands the bag to her* “Thanks a lot, ma’am!” *runs off*

Later, when he saw the crackhead again, he did a money spread on his arm. Though it was kinda pathetic because he only had two bills. It got his point across:

Crackhead: *completely bewildered* “You actually sold it?!??”

Also, Billy had no idea he was counterfeiting and therefore committing a crime.

Then, there was another time Billy got bored enough. It was during the summer when he was sweating his butt off in his little apartment. It was then the idea came to him. Sunglasses. Whenever the window was shining light right into his eyes? Sunglasses. Whenever the sun was too bright outside? Sunglasses. Looking classy? Sunglasses. They were the perfect solution in Billy’s bored, mind. So he got to work, making them, with cardboard of course. He used some tacks to keep the pieces together and he used some cut up, colored film he found in the back of a store for the lenses.

Safe to say Billy was proud of himself for making it. They looked good in his unprofessional opinion!

Unfortunately though, he couldn’t see through the film he used for the lenses. Major bummer but whatever. He just chose the wear the sunglasses on his head like a fashion accessory.

Billy: *just finished up with his broadcast and happens to pass by Mr. Morris*

Mr. Morris: “Billy, are those sunglasses on your head?”

Billy: “Yeah?”

Mr. Morris: “Wha… Where did you get them?”

Billy: “I made them.”

Mr. Morris: “They’re… Really, really nice.” *sounds like he’s struggling to say it, but is happy to see Billy being a kid*

Billy: *blinding smile* “Thanks!”

Then, there was another time Billy got bored. This was during the winter and he was freezing so badly he swore he was turning into a Billy flavored popsicle. So, he decided to make a shelter inside of his shelter. That’s right folks. He, with the help of Cap, made a cardboard house in his little apartment.

Billy: “Freddy you should definitely come over. I have the coolest thing at my place.”

Freddy: “What is it?”

Billy: “You’ll see.”

Freddy: “Cryptic. I like that.”

Later…

Billy: “Tada!” *does jazz hands as he gestures to the cardboard house*

Freddy: “Is that a house?”

Billy: “Yeah!”

Freddy: “Wha… Wha… It even has windows!” *points the windows* (The windows are made of the same film that was used for the sunglasses)

Billy: “Yeah!!”

Freddy: “This is awesome!”

Billy: “Yeah!!!”

They proceeded to mess around in the cardboard house for the rest of the day. They’re like 9 years old in this, guys. Let them be kiddos.

Then there’s the rainy seasons. Billy doesn’t have an umbrella so he might as well make one, or a couple. He has to remake it every time it gets wet. See, he found a metal cane he uses as the handle. He only really remakes the part that actually blocks rain.

Billy: *steps into Whiz Radio with his cardboard umbrella*

Coworker: “Is that your umbrella?” *sounds concerned*

Billy: “Yes…?”

Coworker: “Do you not have an actual umbrella?”

Billy: “This is my actual umbrella.”

Coworker: “Huh.” *slightly dumbfounded*

When Billy was done with his show, that coworker went up to him and gave him an actual umbrella. Like one of those clear ones.

Then, there was the cardboard statue of tawny. Billy made the tiger pose for hours.

Billy: “Tawny, I’ve told you already. You’ve gotta stay still!”

Tawky Tawny: “Yes, yes.” *rolls eyes*

When Billy was done, he looked so proud to present it to Tawny. The tiger keeps it in a safe place at all times. Well, until that fateful day, at least.

Billy: “You sat on it?!”

Tawky Tawny: “Yes, my apologies.” *hangs head in shame*

Billy: *stares* “Tawny, it’s fine. I’m honestly just happy you actually kept it.” *smile*

[khruschevshoe]

How Behind-the Scenes Issues Affected the Writing of Doctor Who (Both Good and Bad)

Doctor Who is such a fascinating show to look at from a Watsonian v. Doylist perspective. Like, entirely just from an episode writing point of view:

Twice Upon A Time feels so slow and meandering and even boring in places because Chris Chibnall didn't want to start his run as showrunner and Steven Moffat didn't want the show to lose the coveted Christmas timeslot (ironic, I know) so he bumped the Twelfth Doctor's regeneration from the end of The Doctor Falls (where it makes sense) to the end of the Christmas special

Boom Town (my beloved) only exists because originally there was going to be an episode in its spot explaining that Rose had been molded to be the Doctor's perfect companion (by the Doctor, gross) and the writer didn't have the time to commit to the show

The ending of Last Christmas feels like one inside-a-dream too many because originally Jenna Coleman was questioning whether she was going to leave the show or not and the ending was rewritten after the first readthrough when she decided she wanted to stay for another season

The first five episodes of Season 7 feel like each one takes place in a different genre because that's literally how Steven Moffat pitched it to the writers; for example, A Town Called Mercy was literally pitched as "Doctor Who does a Western"

Not so much a weird one but one I find cool: Eleven's first words and Thirteen's first words were literally written by Moffat and Chibnall respectively, as they were brought in to write the first words of the first Doctors of their runs so as to make it cohesive

The reason why Fourteen isn't wearing Thirteen's clothes when he regenerates is because Jodie Whittaker is much shorter than David Tennant and Russell T. Davies didn't want it to look like he was making fun of the genderfluidity of the Doctor (still think he made the wrong decision, but eh)

Wilfred Mott isn't in the Runaway Bride and Donna's father isn't in Partners in Crime because the actor who played Donna's father, Howard Attfield, died after filming several scenes for Partners In Crime, leading to the character of "Stan Mott" from Voyage of the Damned being written into Partners In Crime as Donna's grandfather

Astrid Peth doesn't die in the original drafts of Voyage of the Damned, but Russell T. Davies wrote what is generally considered one of the most emotional deaths in Doctor Who just because he wanted Kylie Minogue to be able to focus on her music career

Originally Oxygen was written as a prequel to Mummy on the Orient Express, where a corporate representative appeared on a monitor. Said representative was fired for his fumbling of the station and would later live on as the company computer, Gus

During Season 11, Chris Chibnall had to do some major rewrites for many of the one-off episodes, therefore The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos ended up being a first draft that made it to screen. He later admitted it was his least favorite episode of the series

And this is only a fraction of what I found in terms of major behind-the-scenes writing reasons. Though I am still totally willing to critique the product that made it to our screens, finding out the reasons behind some of the more badly written episodes of the show really made me feel sympathy for every showrunner of the show as well as appreciate a lot of the good episodes that ended up here despite the short production schedule/unexpected problems (once again, Boom Town my beloved AND everyone's favorite companion Wilfred Mott only exist because of unforseen problems). Absolutely bonkers, isn't it?

[spacerockfloater]

hi! i noticed you learnt about what ryan condal said regarding blood and cheese. it was…something. i would like to know your thoughts on the matter. though it would be completely understandable if you need sometime to gather them together or if you would rather not at all! thank you and bye!

Hello beloved, thank you so much for asking me! I’d love to share my opinion!

If anyone’s wondering, @rhaenelle is referring to this interview where Ryan Condal essentially says he believes that Blood & Cheese’s brutality and heinousness was exaggerated by the Greens in a propagandistic attempt to convince their subjects that Rhaenyra and Daemon are the worst villains ever born, hence why he toned the event down; to show us what he thinks is the accurate version of Jaehaerys’ murder.

Now, I am aware that Condal had already warned us that HOTD was going to be a feminist retelling of the events of F&B, which practically means that his plan has always been to whitewash the everlasting fuck out of Rhaenyra. So what do I think about this?

Well, for starters, I think that Ryan Condal is an excellent businessman. He knows what kind of tropes are going to make the audience engage with his show. He understands that people need a hero to cheer for and a villain to hate, therefore he removed the moral ambiguity from all of the characters and divided them into two categories: the Blacks, enlightened revolutionaries full of passion, deserving of admiration and correct in everything they do, and the Greens, pious fools with a moral superiority complex who are stack in the ways of the past and commit despicable crimes. The average viewer does not possess the intelligence to comprehend that both parties have their good and bad moments, and that they’re both correct in fighting for what each believes is rightfully theirs. Simultaneously, he benefits from the modern trends that want women in media to take revenge when they are wronged and emerge as triumphant girlbosses, because of course a white upper class woman’s suffering in a western world (or Westeros) society has everything to do with her gender and nothing to do with her personality or decisions (even if this works solely for Rhaenyra, because Alicent seems to be held accountable for every single one of her actions). Finally, it is obvious that Condal is trying to appease disgruntled Daenerys fans, so he has rebuilt Rhaenyra into this tortured martyr that wishes to change the world for the better in an attempt to make her resemble her great granddaughter six times removed.

For all of these reasons, I find it very logical that he is going out of his way to minimise the tragedy the Greens experience. It just doesn’t make Rhaenyra look good and honestly, who wants that? The producers saw how unhappy Danny’s stans were when they made her lose her shit; they’re not going to make the same mistake twice. They don’t want their show to tank like the last season of GOT did, so they’ll do everything in their power to keep the audience happy. And it’s working! What’s the last thing Condal says in this clip? “You kinda start rooting for [Blood and Cheese]!” and boy oh boy, the TB stans sure do! Literally hundreds of memes that rejoiced at Jaehaerys’ death were posted on X this week, with tens of thousands of likes. But when Lucerys died, it was presented as the most foul thing to ever happen in the ASOIAF universe. It is the TB supporters that dictate which child murder is good and which is bad, and that decision usually depends on which child came out Rhaenyra’s womb, not let’s say, the fact that one kid was a toddler that could barely walk, while the other was a teenager that laughed at the disabled person he mutilated himself.

It’s all just marketing

That being said, I want to clarify that I understand why Condal and the HOTD producers do what they do, but being a good entrepreneur does not necessarily make you a literary genius. Now, I’m not gonna explain why stripping Rhaenyra off of every character trait that made her interesting is a bad decision and that in their attempt to remove the blame from her so that they can elevate her as this righteous patron of feminism, they’re accidentally removing all of her agency and turning her simply into a victim, because I have a whole blog dedicated to that. But let’s just say that presenting Rhaenyra as this sexually liberated idol that’s incapable of evil, when in fact she’s an entitled aristocrat who’s completely at the mercy of men around her, from her father to her husbuncle, is the most performative activism move ever pulled in recent TV history, as well as pushing the narrative that Alicent suffers from internalised misogyny because duh, a woman can only be good and a feminist if she supports Rhaenyra, not when she pursues her own interests.

Ultimately, I think we just have to accept that this show is not meant for TG fans. We are not going to find any satisfaction in it. Everything that was unique and admirable about the Greens in the book has vanished. Their family dynamic is fucked up, Alicent’s children hate her, Aegon and Halaena cannot stand one another, Alicent is constantly a victim and never someone that chases her own ambitions, Halaena is very vague, Aemond appears to be more angsty than angry, Aegon is a stupid rapist, Jaehaerys’ death was turned into a mockery, Alicole was weaponised in order to make us shit on Alicent and Criston even more and so on. This show barely caters to us because we’re not making them any money.

The reason that there are more TB than TG stans is because (I’m gonna get so much fucking hate for this) most people who watch TV are fucking morons. I swear, when F&B came out 6 years ago, no one gave a flying fuck about Rhaenyra, because we all understood that everyone involved in the Dance of the Dragons was fucked up in their own way and that the message of this story, just like the general message of ASOIAF, is that nobody deserves to sit on that fucking throne. We were all in agreement about that. But then this fucking show came along and all the oblivious simpletons that swallowed whatever the producers shoved down their throats, grabbed the book and decided that “Woah, this book is obviously a critique on patriarchy and Rhaenyra is obviously the victim of the story”! As if GRRM, the man who said that he doesn’t sit down and think “Oh, I’m going to write a woman now” but instead he believes women to be people just like men, with complex personalities, would ever do that. And they just can’t believe that it is possible for book!Rhaenyra to be an evil racist classist full of entitlement! Surely it must be because the Greens are rewriting history! There’s no way GRRM, the man that created Cersei fucking Lannister, would ever make a female character that’s vicious and crazy just because she feels like it! Y’all need to sit down for a moment. I say this as a radical feminist that supports the 4B movement: you’re projecting your own ideas onto George’s work. Not all the media we consume has to reflect our ideologies, but if you think that it has to, then this book isn’t the anti misogynistic masterpiece you wish it was.

Like, when it comes to F&B, I am firmly anti Targaryen and did not wish for any side to win. I wanted them all wiped out to be honest. But when it comes to HOTD, I’m TG basically out of spite at this point.

All in all, I just think that things are going to go downhill for us from this point on. They’ll just keep glorifying the Blacks until the very end.

[apollophanes]

Spiritual Pollution in Hellenic Polytheism

In Helpol, we have three concepts known as lyma, miasma, and agos.

To some, humans are seen as naturally pure beings, but because we are living mortal creatures, spiritual dirt can cling to us and make us impure.

Here, I will discuss these three types of pollution

(Disclaimer: Some of this information comes from my own personal interpretations, and therefore may not apply to the beliefs of everyone)

Lyma

Lyma means "something to be washed away". Itis generally just physical dirt. It isn't much of a big deal when it comes to spiritual matters. However, it is still best to be free of it when approaching the gods.

Miasma

This is where things get complicated.

Miasma is essentially general spiritual pollution. Miasma is something that is completely unavoidable and should not be shamed (well, depending on the cause). Miasma is mainly caused by things related to life and death. This includes sex, childbirth, visiting a cemetery, blood, sexual fluids, etc.

However, miasma has different degrees of severity. More severe miasma comes from acts such as rape, hubris, murder, etc.

Miasma also spreads from people to people. If you walk past someone on the street who just came back from a funeral, their miasma will cling to you as well. This also highlights how unavoidable miasma is. But usually, this kind of indirect miasma is not as bad.

We are not allowed to approach the gods in a state of miasma. Luckily, miasma is not difficult to get rid off (excluding the more severe cases listed above).

All you need to do is wash your hands.

If you get a cut on your leg, the blood is miasmic and therefore you can't approach the gods. But all you need to do is wait for the bleeding to stop, wash away the blood, wash your hands, and then you're good to go.

There is a debate I once had on whether miasma prevents us from praying, giving offerings, and participating in festivals. To me, the answer is yes, but not with prayers. Let me explain why.

In a very simplified description of a certain myth, Orestes killed his mother. This caused him to enter a state of severe miasma and a state of agos (which I will explain later). Long story short, he prayed and asked Apollon to help purify him, in return for a grand offering later on. Apollon heard the prayer and came to help purify Orestes.

In this example, we see that Orestes was still able to pray to Apollon in the worst state of miasma, but promised to give offerings later on.

This implies that prayer is not an issue with miasma.

Here is another example: You don't need to wash your hands when talking to someone, but you should wash your hands if you want to give that person food.

In a similar way, in my opinion, you don't need to wash your hands for a casual prayer, but you should wash them before giving an offering. Although, I also prefer not to pray when I know I am in a miasmic state.

However, this is my own interpretation and others may have different views.

There are other ways to cleanse miasma such as khernips, incense, and scapegoats.

Ocean water is also said to cleanse miasma extremely well.

Agos

Agos is a cursed state and is the most extreme form of spiritual pollution. However, agos is not easy to get.

If you commit a horrible act such as murder, you will be in a state of extreme miasma. However, when the gods notice your crime and get enraged (keep in mind that it is usually not that easy to anger the gods), the miasma evolves into agos.

Miasma is a naturally occurring thing, but agos only comes from the wrath of the gods.

Agos is difficult to remove and is a pretty big deal.

Luckily, you don't need to worry about agos unless you're a horrible person who commits heinous acts.

Aaaand that is my interpretation of spiritual pollution in Helpol. I hope this post can be helpful to you!

Blessed be!

[nekropsii]

Ok, don't get me wrong, i think your opinions/analysis have arguments, so you have reasons.

But i can't stop thinking, when you talk about fandom not interpreting things correctly, mostly dancestors, it feels like:

Fanon: i love the dancestors! They are all so nice!

You: aCTUALLY, they are all ASSHOLES, except mituna, latula, and porrim. The rest is crap and here is a long and detailed list with why:

And a the end of the list :but this is what makes them great as characters, because they have a narrative function to it!

Yep. And I stand by that. Firmly. What’s the problem here?

The Alpha Trolls - not the Dancestors, that’s literally every character in Homestuck - are largely not good people. Calling them nice is blatantly false and outright disregards almost every single scrap of text we are given. Mituna’s a good dude in a bad situation full of people he doesn’t really like, as is Damara. Latula’s literally never done anything wrong. Porrim’s just a regular person. Aranea’s pretty nice, and her actions during Game Over were a result of eternities of torment and desperation to be seen + heard, and is therefore not fully representative of her. Meenah’s cute, but a major fuckup that has committed some absolutely egregious crimes. That’s it, really.

The Alpha Trolls are Good Characters and (mostly) Bad People.

Are you maybe experiencing some kind of difficulty in understanding that there’s a difference between a character and a person? Because a fuck ton of people in fandom definitely do have that problem, for some reason.

A character is a plot device. It is a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. A person is a person. The difference between a bad person and a bad character is that a bad character isn’t fulfilling the role and function they are supposed to perform, and a bad person is just a shitty guy I do not want to be around. Conflating the two leads to bad analysis, and is also a primary contributor to apologetics, and all those god awful fanonizations that sand down every edge the character has until they’re pleasant people and totally unrecognizable. People think they have to like a character as a human being in order to like them as a character. Which is completely untrue, and is totally naïve to the fact that villains are popular for a reason.

A character can be a bad person and a good character - they fill their role and serve their purpose very well, but would absolutely suck to be around. Meenah, Vriska, Cronus, and Caliborn all fit under that label. This isn’t always a villain role, but it does tend to get taken up by villains. And anti-heroes, of course. Vriska is there, after all

A character can be a good person but a bad character - they’d be pleasant to talk to in real life, but they suck at fulfilling their narrative purpose. Just about every fanon version of a character is this. It’s more of a fanfiction thing than an actual real literature thing.

I am the biggest fan + defender of the Alpha Trolls you can find. The Alpha Trolls largely are not good people, but they serve their function very well. This is not a controversial statement because it is entirely true. Fanon is dogshit and totally wrong, 100% of the time. This is a hill I’m willing to die on because I’m literally just correct. There is not a scrap of text on this planet that you could procure to say Cronus Ampora is a good person - anything you could scrounge up is just baseless fanfiction and total garbage.

I do not see the confusion, nor do I understand the point you’re trying to make. These are facts that can and do coexist, quite regularly. Even within Homestuck. Again, Vriska exists. What now?

[emblemxeno]

If we're being honest, I got a lot of issues with Ingrid because I feel like she has the wrong character development

Her support with Dedue is realizing that she shouldn't apply her negative view of Duscur onto every Duscurian indiscriminately

That kind of thing works for Oboro because Nohrians really did kill her parents

But, Duscurians didn't actually cause the death of Lambert or Glenn, so her development should've been to learn that all those years of hatred were misdirected, and she hated them for no reason

It also didn't help that Dimitri states multiple times that Duscur didn't commit the crime, and Ingrid is still ignorant about it

I have this unhinged hatred of the Faerghus Four as a concept because every time, it's like they're consciously refusing to acknowledge the importance of Dedue in Dimitri's life in the present "Oh, these are Dimitri's childhood friends. Of course, they're close." Yeah, sure.... They're totally closer to Dimitri than Dedue is in the present.... *Internal screaming*

Combining these because my answer to both is similar!

In my opinion, it showcases how 3H's writing philosophy is ultimately shoddy in its foundation. The backstories, supports, and character-to-character dialogue itself is great in theory, but execution it clashed with what both FE usually tries to do and what 3H desperately wants to do.

FE typically has characters join chapter to chapter, with important ones having plot moments, while side characters fall to the background once their designated chapter is up. But this isn't at the cost of character interaction, pre-established relationships, and the micro-to-macro worldbuilding precisely because they're not overly important. You can have canon romances, friendships, familial relationships, etc. because that's all supplemental side material.

3H was written in a way in which the characters were all connected to its grandiose world, to the point where Fodlan itself can be almost considered a character. Multilayered backstories that infer key points in the narrative, each character no matter how trivial having opinions on how the world works, shifting dynamics, etc.

The problem though is that these two philosophies clash already at base, but also run into the problem of FE's gameplay integrated story elements.

None of the Faerghus Four can meaningfully comment on their relationship with Dimitri during a story cutscene because they can die. Ingrid can't meaningfully change her perspective on Dedue or Duscur beyond her supports because she can die. Therefore, all you get are (admittedly pretty good) supports, the monastery dialogue, and other tidbits intentionally disconnected from one another so as not to be important enough to write around potential death. The comments they do get in cutscenes were intentionally written in a way to be surface level and easily replaced. Look at the FEdatamine site for example, where conclusions are reached by Byleth, the lord, the unkillable retainer, and other important story figures, with numerous possible instances of "if X character is alive they comment this, but if X character is dead this line is skipped."

That is proof of how sloppy 3H's writing is in foundation when you think about it long enough. The game that has such an intricate world, thorough details, and fascinating story beats, is actually extremely bad at delivering a story, especially an FE story. Being the judgmental and petty cunt that I am, 3H gets a pass most of the time a) most don't care or bother to care about actual stuff like this and b) the game has the aesthetics of being a down to earth, gritty, serious narrative. The foundational issues don't matter when you have Edelgard yapping about "THE CREST SYSTEM", dark character circumstances, and intriguing mysteries to solve in part 1.

People want the appearance of sophistication, especially after Awakening and Fates bent a lot of rules to fuck around with their respective stories. It's why Engage, despite not having nearly as many basic issues at conveying its plot and is actually extremely good at being a Fire Emblem story (e.g. more character being able to actually die, pre-established relationships, chapter to chapter joining, not nearly as much centering on Alear as the ultimate decider on a character's fate compared to Byleth), is panned because... why? Its bright aesthetic? Its good dragon vs evil dragon plot? Its softer or humorous moments?

Hell, even its call backs to past FE games is called cheap, soulless, or a gateway to gacha (one video I saw even described it as something like "when art becomes obligation" or some such nonsense), despite it LITERALLY being the prime anniversary title. The main character is the Fire Emblem, and the writers-through Lumera-wish a happy birthday to Fire Emblem!!! What about that is lacking heart and soul?

But yeah, again, I preface that I'm a judgmental asshole who proudly proclaims that the audience (at least the western one) has for years been too obsessed with yearning for darker serious aesthetics of FE's past (despite said past being wackier than they remember), that when a new game has them in overflowing spades, the many fundamental video game writing issues do not matter as much anymore.

Aesop for the day: Serious tones and aesthetics are not automatically better than lighter, heartfelt, or funny ones. You still have to write well for a story to be good.

EDIT: Funny enough this is also why Three Hopes is a more comfy environment for the Fodlan cast's in terms of tangible development, because the things the writers want to do with that game's story complements its gameplay. Because KT is better at making Warriors plots than FE plots.

[aishangotome]

Matthias Ausprink: As Long As You Don't Break The Law...

From A Hidden Oath: King of the BEAST (2024 Election) - Collection Event

—

(What is she doing now?)

As I walk through the familiar streets, the face of my only female friend comes to mind.

(Is she looking at this falling snow, just like me?)

(Is she breathing out white breaths, shivering from the cold?)

(If so, I wish I was there. If I was by her side, I would gently take her hand and warm her cold fingertips...)

At that moment, the image of her in my mind smiled softly -

Emma: No, it wasn't me!

When I turned my gaze, the woman I had been picturing was there, but with a bewildered expression, different from what I had imagined.

(Miss Emma, I'm glad to see you, but...)

Shopkeeper: Someone saw you break my merchandise. Confess.

Shopkeeper: If you try to run, I'll hand you over to the officials as a criminal.

(Is she being falsely accused?)

Emma: But...

The moment I saw her face turn pale as if she had lost all hope, my body moved on instinct.

Matthias: Wait, let me hear her side of the story.

When I stood in front of her protectively, she blinked in surprise.

Emma: Prince Matthias!

Matthias: You are not a person who would break the law. Therefore, I am on your side.

Matthias: It's okay, calm down and explain the situation to me.

When she looked straight into my large eyes and slowly spoke, the tension in her expression eased a little.

Afterward, I heard the situation from her, the store owner, and the people around them, and investigated the scene ---

-

Emma: Prince Matthias, thank you very much.

After clearing her name of the false accusation of "breaking the merchandise" and catching the real culprit, she bowed deeply with a formal expression.

Matthias: You don't need to thank me.

Matthias: Maintaining order is one of my jobs.

Matthias: Protecting good and righteous people is a natural thing to do as a man of Ausprink.

"Righteous people should be protected," it is also stipulated in the family precepts.

No matter who the other person was, I would have done the same thing.

(But, I may have lacked composure.)

(Normally, I would have checked the situation a little more before stepping in...)

Emma: I can't help but express my gratitude.

Emma: I was relieved when you came, Prince Matthias, when I was feeling uneasy.

Emma: Also, I was very happy when you said you were on my side.

The moment she smiled like a blooming flower, it felt like the temperature in this place suddenly rose.

For a moment, I was surprised to think that the falling snow had stopped, but there was no way that could happen.

(Is it me who is hot...?)

At the same time that I became aware of it, the question that had just arisen was also solved.

(The reason my body moved before I checked the situation was probably because I wanted to bring back this smile as soon as possible.)

Matthias: You and I are friends.

(It's not uncommon for women I meet at evening parties to smile at me, but I've never felt this way.)

(...Female friends are great.)

Emma: Hehe, you're right. But if that's the case, I feel the same way.

Emma: No matter when, no matter what happens, I am on Prince Matthias's side. Because we are friends.

(No matter when, no matter what happens, huh...)

The reason I ruminated on it in my heart was that I couldn't agree with those words.

(It's true that I think friends are allies. But there are exceptions.)

(If the other person breaks the law.)

In the past, I have judged many "former" friends who broke the law.

They were uniformly despairing when I imposed harsh sentences on my former friends.

(What I did was right. Criminals are not allies, but enemies.)

After thinking that far, I glanced at her smiling in front of me.

(She is not a person who would break the law. But if she did break the law...)

(Would I capture her, consider her an "enemy," and punish her?)

(...Of course. Otherwise, I wouldn't be a guardian of the law.)

(If you commit a crime, I will take away your warm smile myself.)

(No, not just a smile...)

Matthias: ...................

Matthias: ...Miss Emma, please never do anything that would break the law.

(I promise to be on your side as long as you don't break the law.)

(So... please.)

Emma: Of course, that's my intention... but that was very sudden, wasn't it?

Matthias: No, I just thought of it again. That's right, I'll give you a lecture again sometime.

Matthias: If you don't have enough knowledge, you might unconsciously break the law.

Emma: Um, thank you, but...

Matthias: After the lecture, why don't we eat sweets at a café? After using your brain a lot, it's best to take in sugar.

Matthias: There's a shop with an interior that you'd like, with a snowflake motif.

Matthias: In a romantic atmosphere, the two of us snuggled up... ahem, how about sometime next week?

Emma: Hehe, I'd love to join you. I'm looking forward to it.

Matthias: Yes, I'm very much... looking forward to it too.

Just having a plan with her makes the future seem even brighter.

(As expected, female friends are great.)

As I walked slowly through the snowy city, I gently tucked away the treasure-like moment in my heart.

FIN

[mintsuwu]

IRENE STORYTIME BECAUSE IT WAS ABOUT TIME I am deeply sorry this will be a little long;;

Irene Relda, also known as "Mademoiselle Ratler" (based on a headcanon by Frankilew on DA in which the mice society changes the last names of those who are of different species, for example Ratigan instead of Flanigan) or "The Witch of Geinburg Street" is a female rodent born as a cross between a rat and a mouse, who lives apart from society due to discrimination and therefore is tired of everyone and everything(?

She is usually quiet and reserved, not showing emotions too often... But she's a gentle sweetheart deep down. And despite having quite the character and strenght, she is always willing to lend a helping hand to those who are not hostile towards her.

VOICE HEADCANON: Miss Spider (Voiced by Susan Sarandon in "James and the Giant Peach")

Irene´s mother was a rat of French origin who worked as a maid after moving to Mousedom, where she hoped to have a good life that unfortunately, she did not find. The father on the other hand was a well-to-do man, a prestigious professor or investigator at Scotland Yard…. But obviously, he could not accept the fact that the world knew that he had had a daughter with a maid who was, on top of that, a rat, so he fired the mother immediately and she took their child with her.

Irene didn't have the best childhood, but she was happy as long as she could be with her mother despite the difficulties she had to face (being a rat in a mouse society, single woman with a daughter who is a crossbreed, etc.). Sadly, there was a point when Irene's mother passed away and the girl had to raise herself from then on.

As she grew up, Irene acquired skills such as cleaning, sewing, and generally doing other household chores. She also knew a lot about herbs since, due to not having many resources, she could not afford to get sick often, so she could resort to the use of plants and natural healing methods.

Thanks to her skills she was able to follow in her mother's footsteps and worked as a maid, offering a good service regardless of the salary, but for various circumstances she was mostly dismissed: either because of her condition, because she was accused of acts she had not committed or simply because the ladies of the household did not like her (or were envious of her for a reason she could not understand).

She worked for a duchess at some point, who was actually a covert criminal who went by the name "Dolleyes" (huge shoutout to @rexmk0153universe-blog for suggesting her name and for helping me come up for so many ideas for this sequel au!!): her plans were based on getting in touch with or marrying rich men and then murdering them in order to keep their posessions.

One unfortunate day Irene witnessed one of the Duchess' crimes, so in exchange of her silence, she was fired (although she took revenge later… Let's say she offered Dolleyes an apology cake that had a dirty surprise and that hurt the noblewoman's ego while the queen of Mousedom witnessed everything (?) basically that cake scene from "The Help".)

From that humiliation, a lot of rumors about Irene began to spread. They said things of the sorts that she was a witch who stole valuables, tricked and seduced husbands, kidnapped children and ate them, or poisoned and even cursed those who upset her.

From the moment the rumors began, Irene had more difficulty getting a job because no one wanted to hire her, so she lived hand to mouth, and (perhaps do clothing comissions from time to time). The only hope she had was to be able to save enough money to go to France, which was her mother's homeland and where they wanted to return years ago before she died.

What Irene did not know though, is that shortly after she was going to help a very injured person one rainy night without knowing that it was a criminal mastermind. And from then on her life changed and she went from living alone having to endure the antics of a villain 24/7.

Irene's relationship with Ratigan fluctuates. They generally argued and disagreed in nearly everything- But there was a point when she realized the subtle detail that he never called her "rat" or something negative in relation to that aspect of her being, which she found strange considering he seemed to detest rats and he flatly denied being one himself… But out of respect, Irene didn't call him that any longer (although there were many times when she made him angry on purpose because knowing that he couldn't do anything to her in his current state amused her and one time she even used his old bell to tease him, which she took from Basil's house).

Regarding Ratigan's bell, the detective planned to search for it himself, but just then Olivia arrived with a reformed Fidget and volunteered. The bat, however, told her not to do it since he was paranoid that the professor was alive, even though he had been presumed dead after his fall from Big Ben… But Olivia's curiosity was greater and she prepared to investigate on her own. In fact, upon hearing the rumors of the witch she felt more convinced to continue (in some Disney Adventure comics, she and Fidget investigated paranormal events, so I imagine she likes that stuff).

In the end she arrived at Irene's house, but the woman tried to intimidate her and throw her out without Ratigan finding out that the girl was there. To her surprise, Olivia returned a few days later and repeatedly.

Ratigan eventually found out that Irene was talking to Olivia, but suddenly offered the lady a deal… If she approached Basil through Olivia and managed to get the detective to lower his guard in order to take him down, Ratigan would leave her home as soon as he recovered, never to return, and would give her the money she needed to travel to France.

Irene, in order to get the professor off her back, accepted, and technically the scheme worked through the means of seduction (to Ratigan's confused displeasure because he had mixed feelings about Irene as the plan went by) but Basil snapped out of it soon enough and Ratigan lost again and fleed… He didn't give Irene the money however-

She and Basil talked things out later though, apologizing for trying to trick him. Despite how the two would clash at times, Irene and the detective got along rather well, and from that point she helped him and Dawson with some of their cases, one of them which involved Dolleyes, who intended on marrying Ratigan only to kill him and pull out a Corpse Bride kind of plan after...

She also grew close to Olivia and Fidget, specially the latter since he ended up becoming like an adopted son of hers. So in their own ways, slowly, they heal together from the loneliness and mistreatment they had recieved on their lives.

(Also yes the "caling people by any last names but their actual one" thing will be a running gag hehoo)

[denimbex1986]

'The actor and Baftas host answers your questions about facial hair, Doctor Who, Scrooge McDuck – and growing up as the son of a minister

How do you face the challenge of being this year’s Bafta host? practicalpanic I don’t currently feel particularly challenged because everything’s written down for me and I don’t have to worry about winning – or not winning – an award. If it was the first night of a play, I’d be curled up in a corner in the foetal position. But the fact that it’s not my day job certainly feels liberating. Who knows why they asked me; I must have been pretty far down the list. Expectations are pretty much zero. I don’t have anything to prove. Will I be phoning [previous Bafa hosts] Jonathan Ross and Stephen Fry for advice? I might do. But I’m travelling in blissful ignorance at the moment.

What’s your sideburn policy? They appear to be sized in direct proportion to your characters’ confidence. DrHugbine That’s a very interesting observation, which I don’t think has any truth behind it, but it’s making me wonder …

Here are some examples … Fright Night’s Peter Vincent – long and bushy, confident vampire killer. The Doctor in Doctor Who – long and pointy, charismatic and charming. Broadchurch’s DI Alec Hardy – beard, no sideburns, introverted and suspicious. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’s Barty Crouch Jr – no beard, no sideburns, complex and a traitor. Good Omens’ Anthony Crowley – ginger, no sideburns, stylish but tempted Eve in the garden of Eden as a snake so a bit of a bad egg generally. TopTramp I don’t think you’re going to write a doctoral thesis based on that evidence. It’s very thin evidence, at most. I grew sideburns for Doctor Who because, back then, I was worried I was a bit young for it and I thought they slightly aged me. Which, of course, I then had to recreate recently when I’m almost certainly too old for it. I guess increasingly I am unshaven, in which case you don’t really have to worry about sideburns because they’re part of something else. Whatever length my sideburns are on the night of the Baftas has no reflection on how I’m treating the Baftas.

As a vicar with young kids, I wondered what influence being a son of the manse has had upon your work? RevdAl It’s hard to know, because you only know the influences you had specifically from your parents because they’re your parents – it’s hard to unpick. It certainly wasn’t a childhood filled with religious dogma or any kind of restrictions. It was more a moral guidebook.

What was it like kissing Michael Sheen [in season two of Good Omens]? And who enjoyed it more? carnies18 Who enjoyed it the most? Presumably Michael was thrilled. How could he not be? But it was another day at work. The most difficult bit was other people’s awkwardness. We thought it was quite fun, so it was fine. He’d brushed his teeth.

Would you accept a knighthood just to fuel an excellent argument with Sheen in the next series of Staged? Shirls Because he sent his OBE back? That predisposes the fact that anything that’s talked about in Staged is based on real life. We are in our own houses, acting opposite people we spend our life with. But that’s pretty much the extent of the reality of Staged.

Which is best – playing a detective, a murderer or a murder victim? JonnyMorris1973 Well, one of them solves the crimes. One of them commits the crimes. And the other one has a crime done to them. It probably depends which character the writer is most fond of and therefore the most fun to play. It’s not really in the gift of the actor, so much as in the gift of the scriptwriter. I think I’ve only played one detective, haven’t I? What’s my favourite way I’ve been murdered? Oh my goodness. I was shot in The Last September. I get murdered on stage every night in Macbeth, although that’s a spoiler. I sort of died in Doctor Who when I got shot by a galvanic beam in a radiation chamber that filled my body with more radiation I could cope with.

Am I as geeky as the Doctor who fans? Yes. As a Doctor Who fan myself of old, I can very much can plug into that. I don’t think I ever got in trouble at school. That is one of those stories that’s ended up on Wikipedia. I wrote an essay on Doctor Who, which some unpleasant newspaper found and printed. But I didn’t get in trouble for it. I think I got quite a good mark for it.

Who would win in a fight between Crowley, The Doctor and Scrooge McDuck? AlistairDionysus Probably Scrooge McDuck. He seems to be able to survive just about everything. He’s far more resilient than Crowley or The Doctor, who seem to end up staring destruction in the face. Scrooge McDuck, nothing seems to trouble him.

You have a lovely singing voice! Would you like to do a musical? Beatrice_Tate, gaityr, laibarra622 and Luigii I make a nice curry, but I’m not going to open a restaurant. Would I do the Masked Singer? I love The Masked Singer. Nothing has excited my eight-year-old daughter more than when everyone thought Ricky Wilson from the Kaiser Chiefs was me, week after week. You can imagine how disappointed she was when it turned out I wasn’t.

If you were a cheese, what kind would you be? BrianBraddock I’ve got very into paneer curries. Paneer is neither hard nor soft, so I’ll say that because it makes me sound like I’ve really thought about it.

What’s the last item you snatched from a set? NataliaBCN I’m just going back through things I might have pocketed. Maybe this is the upbringing we talked of earlier. I’m very bad with nicking things. I’m plagued with guilt. The last time they released a new sonic screwdriver toy, someone gave me one but I gave it away because I’m so full of generosity, but now I slightly regret it.

Your portrayal of serial killer Dennis Nilsen [in ITV’s Des] was truly terrifying. How do you prepare for a role like that? YorkshireExPat With someone such as Dennis Nilsen, there is quite a lot of material that’s been written about him. There’s video evidence of him. So you immerse yourself as much you can, then join a line between that and the version of the character that’s in the script, because, ultimately, that’s the version you have to portray. One thing we were very careful to do on Des was to not make it from his point of view. I don’t think you can ask an audience to sympathise or understand someone like Nilsen. It’s the story of how he got away with all these things, then was caught. Hopefully the audience is left thinking: how can someone who is just another member of the human race be committing these extraordinary acts and the rest of us not notice or understand?

If you could regenerate as anyone else for the day, who would you choose? TopTramp My wife, just to see how annoying I really am so I could be properly objective and understand her pain.'

[andy-wm]

You might be a 10, but he's Park Jimin.

or,

Friends and lovers of ARMY, be thou a buttress in the cathedral of Park Jimin.

Disclaimer:

Although this post is a direct result of the Jimin's Production Diary Fanmeet, it meanders through a quagmire of seemingly unrelated thoughts and mixed emotions. There is passion, there is incredulity, there are tears, there might will definitely be lewdness... because in the last 36 hours I have had approximately 2 hours sleep and now i am writing this instead of going to bed. Therefore I take no responsibility.

Moving right along...

Did anyone else notice the way Jimin shook hands with female presenting ARMYs...

vs the male presenting ARMY?

He launched himself at that man like he was meeting an old friend!

Ok that's not exactly true, but he did head towards him and offer his hand.

I nearly swooned, i can tell you.

If i had knows such a handshake might be on offer, I would have commited crimes* to get into that fanmeet.

Not that I needed any more encouragement.

If I had won a ticket in that raffle i would have been there with bells on.

The fact that my own gorgeous husband was returning home tonight after nearly 4 weeks overseas would not have stopped me. I would have left him a perfumed love letter promising all manner of treats and favours on my return. And then I would have stashed the front door key under a pot plant, and been on a plane before you could say 'Is that really wise?'

This is a PSA for people whose partner or spouse or FWB is a Jimin stan.

Listen up, silver medalists. Sulking, grumbling, or resising Park Jimin will do you NO GOOD.

You can save yourself an ocean of tears if you accept what cannot be changed.

There's no point trying to compete with Park Jimin.

Because let's be real, he won just by existing.

The only way forward is to accept your fate and support your Jimin-biased ARMY in their times of need.

Because there will be times of need, let me assure you.

Although you may not realise it, being a Jimin-biased ARMY is a dangerous calling.

When Jimin unleashes the devastating force of Dimple, your partner will need you to tend their wounds and you will have to listen to to endless recounts of how PJM chose violence that day.

They will need you when Park Jimin incapacitates them with an irresistable mochi attack. It may seem harmless, but extended exposure will render them useless and leave them in a gooey heap on the floor.

When he shamelessly and without remorse launches a full frontal attack, you will need to be on hand to drag them away from the danger, regardless of how much they kick and scream.

You are advised to wear protective clothing in instances such these...

Or these...

Or these...

Picture yourself as a buttress in the cathedral of Park Jimin.

This is a necessary and noble undertaking, and a compromise you will ultimately be happy to make.

You are shoring up your ARMY's defences against the dark arts of Jimin's lips, hips and vocal flips.

You are sheltering them from the burning brightness of,his angelic visage.

You are their comfort in the storm of passion that Jimin will stir in their loins... and if you play your cards right, you may also be the happy reciepient of their pent up lust - that's definite win for you.

Ultimately, this is how you will prevail.

A word of caution though:

Do not underestimate the power he wields.

There will be an ever present danger of you yourself succumbing to the charms of Park Jimin.

Remember this ancient warning:

Once you Jimin,

you cannot Jimout.

*I would never. I am lawful good, but with a side of chilli and a few shots of whisky (so really, anything could happen). Also, be gay do crime is a thing. I dont make the rules.

[talonabraxas]

"The Holy Spirit is the Fire of Pentecost or the fire of the Holy Spirit called Kundalini by the Hindus, the igneous serpent of our magical powers, Holy Fire symbolized by Gold..." - Samael Aun Weor, The Perfect Matrimony

The Church of the Holy Spirit

The church of the Holy Spirit is the church of Thyatira; this is the church of the heart. The priest who demands payment for a wedding ceremony commits a tremendous sacrilege, because a wedding is a ceremony that concerns the Holy Spirit, a wedding is a mystery of the heart; therefore, to make of the heart a business is same as to make of the Holy Spirit a business.

Those who make of the sacrament of marriage a commerce, profane in a horribly way the mysteries of the Holy Spirit. Love must not be bought nor sold because to do such thing is to commit a serious crime against the Holy Spirit.

“Wherefore I say unto you, all manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the Holy Spirit shall not be forgiven unto men.” - Matthew 12:31

The one who commits suicide sins against the Holy Spirit, because the Holy Spirit gives us life through love and sex.

When the soul of those who take their physical life by their own hand is reborn again, they get a pleasing life in their new physical body, yet they die against their will; this is their punishment.

The Judas-like person who betrays the Master, sins against the Holy Spirit because of his ingratitude, since the love of the Master abides in the church of the heart and the fires of the heart control the Kundalini. The Kundalini develops, evolves, and progresses according to the merits of the heart.

So, the ascent of the Kundalini is very slow and difficult; because, each vertebra demands certain conditions of sanctity; this is the terror of Love and Law. Thus, one single seminal ejaculation is enough in order for the Kundalini to descend one or more vertebrae. Afterwards, it is very difficult to recover the lost degrees related with those vertebrae; this is the punishment for the weak.

The man is one column and the woman is the other column of the temple of the living God. The two columns of the temple of the Holy Spirit are terribly divine. The man is the expansive principle, the woman is the attractive principle; the key of redemption is found in the union of both. Love is nourished with love; the kiss is the mystical consecration of two souls who adore each other. While in the supreme trance of love we forget about the theories of men.

The sexual act becomes the consubstantiation of love within the psychosexual human realism. Man is strength, woman is sweetness.

Peter has the keys to heaven. Peter means rock, that rock is sex, and Sexual Magic is the key of Heaven. Upon the rock (sex) we must edify the church for our “I Am.”

Self-realization is impossible without the magic of love. Whosoever learns how to love will be transformed into a God; Sex is the philosophical stone, the cubic stone of Yesod. Man and woman sexually united become as Gods. It is better to love than to theorize.

Goethe said, “Every theory is gray, and only the tree of the golden fruits of life is green.”

A home with playful children, a good garden, and a good wife are more valuable to a man than the cluster of theories from all the spiritualist schools of the world; a strong, loving, pure, and noble husband is more valuable to a woman than all the libraries of the world, because with the sacred fire of the Holy Spirit we become as Gods, yet, with theories we just become intellectual scoundrels.

Blessed be love, blessed be the beings who adore each other.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for resorting to crime to fulfill my cravings for cheese?

For background, I was once an eccentric scientist who was good friends with a young superhero girl. I was something of a mentor to her, which is actually kinda sad when I look back on it.

However, I maybe have left a malicious mouse next to the Holy Cow Don’t Press This Button button while I was trying to get my food. I tasked the story narrator with keeping the mouse from pressing that button, but apparently he’s incorporeal or something.

Now I have a malicious mouse brain attached to my head and the mouse really really wants cheese. So that little superhero I used to be a mentor to? I fight her on a weekly basis nowadays. I know, it’s unfortunate, but the mouse brain demands to be fed!

My crimes usually include building rays (I AM a scientist after all) that turn things into cheese or incapacitate superhero girl so I can steal cheese. She consistently thwarts my attempts to turn the city into cheese because as a character with fourth wall view I do believe she is the Main Character and will therefore always win our battles.

But whether or not I win is FAR from the issue at hand!

The question is, AITA for committing crimes for cheese acquiring purposes? It’s not my fault the mouse brain is evil and the narrator is a bad mouse babysitter :(

[faithforgottens]

𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆.

from the writer’s desk: i’d tell you i started this a year ago after deciding i needed closure on post - crying on newport beach about how i’m incapable of being loved but that would mean me unloading all over the dash, and nobody needs that. i’m just a girl, out here projecting like tomorrow’s not coming, and thought i’d share. please know that i love carol, i just had to pick a character that i didn’t have strong emotional attachment to in order to play my villain. motivation to continue this would be much appreciated, thnx.  summary: you’ve been stuck in carol’s web for nearly four months now, and you need a distraction before you go postal and commit a capital crime or worse, tell her you love her. fortunately for you, natasha’s willing to offer her services. contains: college!natasha x female reader —— warnings include toxic relationship dynamics that involve infidelity, gaslighting and cheating, marijuana use, alcohol consumption, nsfw content [ fingering, dirty talk ]. →  inbox status: OPEN                                        don’t repost my works anywhere.

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     am i gonna see you tonight?

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     :(

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     hellllllooooooooooo??

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     I WANNA SEE U I MISS UR PRETTY FACE

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     pls come tonight. it would mean everything to me

You’ve never claimed to be smart.

In fact, you’re pretty sure you have to fall on the opposite end of that spectrum in order to bother showing your face tonight at the behest of Carol fuckin’ Danvers. Satan. It’s the work of the goddamn devil pulling you from the clutches of your apartment’s comfortable silence where you’d be much better off riding through the nuanced gut-punching waves of disappointing Carol guilt instead of the hell storm that is being played once again by Carol guilt. You even put on eyeliner for such an occasion, because if you’re going to get fucked over (either physically, emotionally, or both), you might as well look good doing it.

Her name’s still lighting up your phone as the Uber drops you off at the curb, boasting a flood of pictures on Snapchat that illuminate the awaiting scene inside of the frat house through blurry streaks of glass bottles and marijuana smoke and the pale expanse of her neck where a glint of her gold necklace flashes is promised to you to do as you wish, leaving behind bruises or lip prints. It’s an enticing picture painted for you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think maybe tonight will be the night she tells you she’s free from the clutches of Maria, her perfectly sane girlfriend that you’ve only ever known through Carol’s jilted lens, and that she’ll even let you climb her like a tree in front of her friends.

Lucky you.

Except you do know better. In the pit of your stomach, you know the reality is that you are in closer proximity than Maria, which therefore makes you the most convenient piece of ass at Carol’s disposal, that Carol believes — and is likely right about how — you’re still wound tight enough around her finger to make you drop to your knees like a good little girl, blinded by her golden halo of hair and the whiskey-soaked taste of her lips and ready to excuse her shit treatment of you. That even feeling like you have her for the beat of a butterfly’s wings is worth your sanity. And despite it all, it isn’t enough to keep you away. It’s not enough to exile the parts of a masochistic heart beating in your chest that somehow loves her, even if the only part of you she loves is your willingness to show up for her.

Carol’s fraternity is co-ed, which means that between all of the brothers, their social circle extends to the farthest corners of the university — they consume a fair bit of your own, considering you have at least two classes a semester with Bucky, sit with them at Wanda’s softball games (mostly so you can talk shit about your high school ex that made the team), and rent study rooms at least once a month with Thor, Bruce, and Val to spiral into late night insanity while you all contemplate the meaning of life and attempt to memorize vocabulary words. You slip in through the door, bass thudding into your molars and the heavy blanket of smoke and sweat covers your bare shoulders as you weave your way through the house.

“Look who finally showed up!” Behind the counter in the kitchen is Sam Wilson, running position as makeshift bartender. You detour long enough for a vodka and Diet Coke, stopping next to the barstool that Bucky’s perched on. He tucks you underneath his arm for a side hug, other hand tipping his own solo cup back as he tries to drain the last bit of liquor down his throat.

They’re good friends to you. It’s why you hate doing this dance with Satan — because at some point, you feel that there’s going to be a tectonic shift between the two of you that dredges up a rift in the concrete and you don’t know who will be left on your side. You don’t know who you’ll be able to look in the eye and lie to about Carol, who would pick you over her. You don’t even know if any of them would believe you or would write you off as crazy as you’ve been writing yourself off as of late.

You tell yourself that you’re trying, goddammit, to shove that piece of yourself back into a locked drawer and enjoy the company of your friends.

“Anybody seen Danvers?” you pitch as nonchalantly as you know how, planting your elbows down onto the granite of the counter while you watch Sam mix your drink. He goes heavy on the vodka, which you quietly appreciate.

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, we’ve seen her alright.”

“She’s in the dining room trying to rally everyone into a round of strip beer pong,” Sam explains. “Last we saw, she got her shirt stuck in the chandelier.”

“The face of class, this fraternity,” you tease as Sam hands you your drink. He can’t help but laugh, a jovial, guttural noise that makes you smile, even though your stomach is currently in your throat.

You bid them farewell and snake through the living room, trying to avoid the furniture or the bodies of other people and almost always fail in avoiding both at the same time as you carve out a path to the dining room. It’s densely packed, which forebodes the game of beer pong that the boys mentioned. You try not to cut your elbows into the bones and flesh of others to make your way through, but your adrenaline is humming at the thought of seeing Carol, the thought of her body glowing in the house lights and the cut of her physique out on display for anyone, including you, to openly ogle without abandon.

“Goddamn, Danvers!” someone yells mirthfully. “Keep it in your pants!”

Whistling down to one thought, one track, your mind lasers in and you’re positive that the sharp point of your elbow nails T’Challa directly in the ribs as you finally make it to the inner lip of the circle around the dining room table. It’s desperate. You know it’s desperate. You'll care about it later, you’re sure, but for now, all that’s on your mind is her.

“For the love of fuck, I—” Someone stumbles back into you, dark hair in frizzy waves and the bill of their baseball cap nearly jabbing straight into your nose. Wanda Maximoff spins around, her eyes lightening up at the sight of you as she grabs onto your wrist to stable herself. “Oh! Hey, babe,” she says with a smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Me either,” you tell her, trying not to be blatant as you scan for Carol. “Carol didn’t tell me until last minute.”

“Boo,” Wanda pouts, before turning to yell over her shoulder, “Danvers! Fuck you!”

“Get in line!” Carol calls back, and your head locks in on where her voice comes from. Your stomach plunges into free fall when you see her: as promised, she’s standing around in her sports bra and jeans, white teeth glinting and blonde hair curling around onto her tanned shoulders, biceps on display and her arms snaked around — her.

Maria Hill, in the flesh, pressed against Carol’s side and her chin balanced on Carol’s shoulder as Carol makes a shot one-handed that successfully lands in a cup on the opposite end of the table. Carol cheers victoriously, and Maria kisses her cheek, and you notice that Carol’s hand on Maria’s side drifts down towards her ass.

All of Carol’s messages swim inside your mind, the ones where she assures you that it’s all real, that she and Hill are done, that Hill’s holding her back, that she’s felt things for you since the moment she laid eyes on you and just knew; the ones where she paints a beautiful picture of a future with you, the same picture she’s just doused in cheap spirits and ruined for the dozenth time. Your drink suddenly tastes like arsenic, heavy and uneven in your stomach, the room shrinking and heat crawling up your neck in an uncomfortable panic. You are going to be sick.

Wanda’s voice comes through in the midst of the ringing in your ears. Fuck you, Danvers.

It takes you a moment to realize that Wanda’s voice isn’t just a reverberation inside your mind, but is right in your ear. “Hey!” She calls your name again, and you finally snap your attention back to her. She scans over your face for a moment, eyebrows folding in the center of her brow. “You alright? Where’d you just go?”

The shock is fresh on your face, salt water from the crashing wave that’s irritating your eyes — you refuse to let yourself cry, here in front of everyone, because all that’s going to do is open the door to a conversation you don’t want to have, incite a fight with Carol that you’ll surely lose, leave you feeling even lower than you do at the moment. You shake your head, trying to shake whatever emotions that aren’t nonchalant off of your face. “Noth—nowhere,” you stammer, voice an octave higher than usual. Wanda’s perplexity only deepens. “More crowded than I thought. Got beer-splashed.”

Wanda breaks into a smile, seemingly buying your excuse. “C’mon, what’d you expect?” she ribs. It’s a loaded question, and if Wanda wasn’t Wanda, you’re sure it’d be enough to light your rapidly shorting fuse. The thin strain in your falsified smile must give something away, because she softens the slightest bit and wraps her arm around yours. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll kick your ass sideways in pool.”

You appreciatively take Wanda’s out, allowing her to guide you away from the Carol show and the crowd of people you have steeled yourself in order to not cry in front of and head with her towards the basement, which the frat has renovated into a lounge space with a giant television, sectional that is infamous for its hosting of The Threesome, and the pool table. It hasn’t garnered quite the same audience that the beer pong game has, but less people means you feel slightly less suffocated. Carol’s still got her foot on your throat, but down here, it’s easier to maneuver and act as though you haven’t just had yourself made a fool in front of everyone without them knowing.

Relieved for the little things, like elbow room, you sit down on the arm of the sectional and take a long drink from your cup — if you’re going to survive the rest of the night without your tail tucking between your legs (and you’re determined to further your self-sabotage by going the extra mile to ensure Carol knows she fucked up, even though it’s likely she doesn’t care) you’ll have to be drunker than this. Wanda adjusts her hat on her head and picks up a pool cue, glancing back over her shoulder at you. “Want someone to show you how it’s done?” she teases.

You lift your cup in acknowledgment, smile shedding off of your lips. “Go for it.”

As Wanda weasels her way into the current game of pool, you do a quick intake of who all’s downstairs. There’s a few of the brothers, a few of the brother’s dates, people that are otherwise background characters designed to make campus seem at capacity but not so many people that no one would notice if you threw up in the corner or worse, started crying. You purse your lips around the rim of your solo cup, scanning the company around the pool table. Wanda sidles up next to another one of her brothers, poking her with the pool cue. “Nat!” Wanda whines. “Give me room.”

Natasha Romanoff shuffles out of the way with the roll of her eyes. “Poke me with the stick again and it’s gonna go somewhere less than ideal.”

Wanda flicks her middle finger upright before hunching around the shape of the pool cue. “You don’t scare me, Natty.”

“Your funeral.”

Your eyes follow Natasha out of the way, and she feels their weight because the next thing you know, you’re off the cliffs and deep somewhere inside the greenery of her eyes. They’re pretty eyes, you idly note, and you find yourself mulling over Natasha Romanoff, as a person, as a concept, as Natasha. She’s the oldest of the girls in the fraternity, a senior to your junior, and she’s been around for so long that it’s hard to remember a time when she wasn’t there. It’s hard to imagine a room without her in it, a constant fixture on the mantel that you don’t even bother acknowledging it anymore.  

She cocks an eyebrow at you after what’s sure to be a long moment of staring, and Wanda, who is unfortunately more observant than you’d like to believe, begins laughing. “Am I interrupting this little staring contest?”

Natasha smirks. “I could win a staring contest and kick your ass at the same time, Maximoff.”

“Show off,” Wanda grumbles as she passes the pool cue over to Natasha. She then looks at you, and whatever grumpiness dissipates, her shit-eating grin returning. “Now, you on the other hand,” she preludes with a gesture towards you. “There’s no way.”

You drain the rest of your drink and discard the cup off to the side. "You talk a lot, Wan,” you inform her as you walk up to the side of the pool table. Wanda just grins as you turn to Natasha, gesturing for the pool cue. “Let me have a go.”

Natasha acquiesces and passes you the pool cue, giving you the space you need coupled with a low nod of encouragement. There are a few clusters of balls around the table and you’re trying to eye up a shot that’ll give you not only a handful of points, but will get Wanda off your back — even if you are grateful for the timing of her diversions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough; you can still hear the laughter and music through the walls from upstairs, a raucous noise that scatters your train of thought. Is it Carol? What’s she doing? What’s she whispering into Hill’s ear? Does she know you’re even here? Does she care? 

Probably not.

You take the shot without thinking, balls ricocheting off the sides of the pool table. Wanda barks out a laugh. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Just getting warmed up,” you say stiffly, handing the pool cue off.

Wanda’s face is alight with amusement, nodding slowly as she moves around the pool table for her next shot. “Okay.”

You’re too far in your head, and you know it. You’re content to linger on the outskirts of the game while everyone else that Wanda goes about recruiting takes their turn. It’s a few minutes or an hour before the cue ends up back in your hand, like a rickety sort of clockwork that is unexpected but also entirely predictable. You assess the situation and find a decent enough angle now that the game has progressed, significantly so.

You bend over slightly, eyes fixed on a blue ten that’s not too far from the cue. Before you can make the shot, you hear someone behind you muttering. “Do it like this.”

When you glance over your shoulder, it’s Natasha, only a few inches from where you stand, hands hesitating before she reaches out. “Back up,” she guides, her hands stationing on your hips and forcing you to take a half-shuffle of a step backwards. “And lift your elbow like this.” You’re clay and she shapes you how she wishes, her touch feather light. “Okay. Now try.”

You do exactly as she says, pool cue shooting from your hand and colliding with the cue ball. The ten you’ve had your eyes on sails into the pocket without any interference. 

“Nice shot, sweetheart,” Natasha says, her voice ghosting along the back of your spine. As you straighten up, you glance behind you, noticing the faint grin along the curve of her lips.

“Well that wasn’t sexual at all,” Wanda comments with a low whistle as the pool cue returns to her grip. “Do losers get laid still? I wouldn’t know.” With a toothy flash of a grin, she draws the cue back and makes another shot — you’re not entirely focused on her efforts, thanks to the gravity of Natasha’s sights still pressing deep into your skin.  

Wanda talks a big enough game that she recruits nearly everyone standing around the pool shot to give it a go, which provides a window of opportunity for Natasha to brush a hand along your shoulder and steal you away. “Up for a smoke?” she asks, and you nod. You allow her to lead the way out through the basement’s French doors, slipping outside into the backyard where the sky is dotted with stars, the air smells only the slightest bit cleaner, and the music is nothing but a dull pulse from inside the house.

Natasha steers you away from the patio where other fraternity brothers and their guests are sitting around, enjoying their drinks and laughing amongst their idle, stoned conversations around the fire pit. You follow her into the grass, trailing around the side of the house until the two of you don’t have any other company aside from each other and Thor’s knockout rose bushes that he takes great pride in.

She leans up against the wall, hands fishing in the pocket of her jacket for her lighter. For someone who’s devoted the rest of their evening to shooting metaphorical (or even literal) middle fingers in Carol’s direction, you’re still too far on edge to be nonchalant about any of it. The quiet is all consuming, maddening inside of your buzzing mind. Natasha produces a joint, embers burning on the end as she lights it and brings it up to her lips. You’re left to watch as she takes a long, casual drag, a cloud of smoke billowing from her lips on the exhale. Her wrist then extends, offering the joint up; if there is such a thing as too eager, you’d be the poster child for it, the way you pluck it from her fingers and take a hit.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, her voice a low drag of gravel against the muted bass thud inside of the house. You open an eye and glance over at her, her green eyes burning holes through you as she watches. 

“Eh,” you mutter half-heartedly with a shrug. “Not worth it.”

You pass the joint back to her after you take one more drag, your eyes fixed on the steady stream of smoke that you forcibly control the exit from your mouth. It’s nice to have control over something, you think, even if it is, to some degree, just seeing how long you can hold your breath. 

“Seems like you could use a distraction,” Natasha comments, fingers idly rolling the joint between her fingers as smoke still curls from the tip. 

You laugh, a low and guttural noise that’s passive at best. “Yeah, probably.”

Natasha turns so her entire body is facing you, and it doesn’t register, the way that she’s looking at you, until you feel her brush your hair off of your face. Your eyes fully open, somewhat surprised by the action, watching her carefully. Natasha’s a lot of things, but gentle isn’t one you’d readily associate with her. It’s almost like she’s handling you like glass, waiting for the right moment to shatter you. It’s a hiccup in your chest, a strange feeling washing over your body.

“Let me distract you, then.” She says it simply, like it’s the most logical conclusion to arrive at.

“Nat, what...”

“C’mere.” One of her hands encircles your wrist, guiding you closer. You follow wordlessly in her guidance, unsure of what she’s doing or what’s to come. She takes another hit of the joint, her eyes glowing the same way the end of the joint does, a low burning fire that seems to grow hotter the longer your eyes are connected. 

The hand holding your wrist slides up your body until she’s cupping your jaw, her thumb darting across the expanse of your face to swipe across your lips in a prompt to open them. She lowers the joint, bringing her face inches away from your own as her mouth forms a perfect circle and releases smoke. You’ve shotgunned weed before, but never at such a close proximity. Natasha breathes out and you breathe in, eyes fluttering shut at the intimacy of the moment. 

“Gonna let me distract you some more?” she whispers, and you barely register yourself nodding before her lips capture your own. Her mouth is plush and soft but nothing about her is gentle anymore — this is where she forces a spiderwebbing crack across your surface, the deft way in which she manipulates your lips to do exactly as she’d like, her tongue skating across the skin and opening your mouth to allow her access. You can’t help but to sigh into the kiss. She is exactly what she claims she is: a distraction, a welcome reprieve, and the golden halo around Carol’s head seems fuzzy and jilted now.

Natasha kisses you like she’s trying to set you on fire; at some point she has absconded the joint and ground out its remnants into the mulch, both her hands cupping your face as she boxes you in with her legs and adjusts the two of you so your back is now flush against the wall. “How’s this?” she murmurs against your ear, lips starting a descent down your neck that is feather light and the gentle scrape of her teeth.

“Very... very distracting,” you stammer out, fingers curling into fiery red hair. 

“Good,” Natasha hums, her mouth vibrating over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone that causes your grip in her hair to tighten. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so far in your head.” 

You nod, thankful for the reward of her body pressing against yours. 

“What d’you say?” Her voice ghosts over your skin, and for a moment, you’re not sure what it is she’s asking. It takes a moment, the weed and the liquor clouding your mind, but the dig of Natasha’s blunt fingernails into your hips and the graze of her teeth along your skin serves as motivation. “Huh? What d’you say, princess?” 

“Thank you,” you gasp, the feeling of her mouth tightening around your skin wet and hot sending a glimmer of electricity down your spinal cord. Natasha chuckles, a dark and melodic noise that buzzes through your body. 

“You’re welcome,” she croons. “’S that all you needed? Or do you need more?”

More. It’s the knee jerk response you have, the way your world has narrowed down to just her and the scent of her heady perfume and each individual curve of muscle is now flush against you. Your eyes open only to see Natasha grinning like she’s the fuckin’ devil. 

Maybe you were misplaced somehow.

Natasha’s hands drag over your sides, up and down roughly as she kisses you and forces your legs farther apart so she’s able to snake one of her thighs in between them. She rucks your top up on the edges, fingers brushing over your skin in a delightful contrast to the cool evening air. Natasha is hot, her touch burning and singeing the skin wherever it moves. She’s painting you out of ashes and making you into something beautiful, something uniquely her own. Her hands slip underneath your shirt and you feel one hand trail upwards, fingers wrapping around your breast before squeezing. It elicits another tiny moan from you, which Natasha swallows down with a kiss. “Shh,” she hisses against your lips. “Be quiet.”

You arch into her touch as her fingers slip beneath the cup of your bra and pinch your nipple tight, another squeak of pleasure groaned into her mouth. It only encourages her further, the other hand of hers moving in the opposite direction. “Want me to touch you?” she whispers in your ear while you press your mouth into her shoulder, breath warm against your ear and her teeth just barely missing your earlobe. “Bet you’re not distracted now; only thing you and that pussy are thinking about is me, huh?”

“Fuck, Nat,” you mumble into her skin.

“Yeah you are,” she replies with a shit eating grin, your head tilting back until it roughly meets the back of the wall as her hand goes up your skirt. 

You’d been meticulous prior to coming over, thinking on whatever lone star trailing in the sky that you’d be seducing Carol tonight; you’d purposefully worn your skimpiest pair of underwear just to show her what she could have if she was with you. It’s only when you see the look on Natasha’s face, the way her pupils dilate and her jaw slackens the slightest bit as her fingers skim in between the folds of your thigh and vulva and feels lace that you feel something resembling satisfaction. “You came ready for a distraction, princess,” she grumbles, moving your underwear to the side and swiping her fingers through what is now sheer want dripping from you. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“N... Nat,” you whine, squirming around in the pursuit of pressure. “Touch me.”

She places the tip of her finger at your entrance, just barely teasing it in. “Ask nicely, honey.”

The words spill from your lips without thought. “Please, Nat, please touch me, fuck m—” She cuts you off as she slips her finger inside of you and you all but rocket up the side of the wall at the feeling. Her free hand, still underneath your shirt, wrestles out from beneath the fabric and is slapped over your mouth to muffle whatever noise you make.

“Thought I told you to be quiet,” she says between her gritted teeth. “Here.” She presses her index and middle fingers against your lips and you acquiesce, opening them wide enough to allow them to slip in. “Suck.”

You do as you’re told, happy to oblige as she begins to finger you. There’s nothing soft or sweet about the way she fucks you; she adds another finger and finds a steady rhythm, curling each time she’s knuckle deep inside of you just so she can be rewarded with you humming around the fingers in your mouth. It amuses her to some extent, the way her eyes have darkened and her mouth is slightly agape. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and considering how tight you are wound, you’re not going to last long.

"Clench around me, pretty girl,” she hisses amongst the other litany of dirty things she’s whispering in your ear. “Such a sweet pussy, does whatever I ask it to; what if I want this pussy all to myself? You gonna let me have it?”

You nod, Natasha withdrawing her fingers from your mouth before she hauls you in for the filthiest kiss of your life. “Fuck,” you whimper against her lips. “Yours, Nat, your pussy.”

“Yeah, I know. This is my pussy now, all tight and hot and wet and desperate just for me. This was what you needed, wasn’t it? Needed me to fuck you silly until you forget how to put one foot in front of the other.”

“Please, Nat, gonna...” 

“What?” she teases, her thumb flicking across your clit and you know that she’s doomed you, mind and body barreling down a track that there is no return from. “What, baby? Use your words.”

“Gonna come,” you manage to get out, and she fucking laughs.

“‘S right,” she agrees. “Gonna make this little pussy come all over my fingers, since I’m the only one who can. That right?” You nod; her fingers tighten in your hair and pull your head back so your neck is exposed for her. “C’mon, baby, wanna see you make a mess on my hand. Come for me like a good little slut. You know you want to.” You do, you do, and everything is bordering on the edge of too much the way Natasha is sucking your neck and rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Show me who’s pussy this is. Come.”

Another few thrusts and flicks of your clit and you are gone, Natasha bringing her mouth back to yours to swallow the keens and cries of you hitting your climax. The brick wall underneath you scratches at your shirt but it is a heavenly feeling, losing control underneath Natasha. She just smiles when she pulls away and you slump into her, perfectly sated. 

“That was hot,” she says with a wicked grin, pulling her fingers out of you. She doesn’t break eye contact as she brings them up to her lips, sucking your taste off of them. Her eyes alight with pleasure, a contented hum reverberating from her vocal cords. “Thanks, pretty girl.”

Beat that, Danvers.

[noperopesaredope]

I am a hardcore Collector apologist, and I will stand by them forever. I do believe that they aren’t truly malicious, they just don’t realize that what they’re doing is wrong. 

But I also kinda like it when fanfics portray them as both blissfully naive and straight up sadistic at the same time. It’s honestly one of the things that draws me to his character. Sure, I adore it when the Collector is just an easily manipulated little kid, but I also like seeing portrayals of them in which they describe how he will violently maim someone. I actually like seeing both portrayals at the exact same time.

One of the things that I like about the Collector is what I call “Terrifying Innocence.” The Collector is definitely a naive little kid and mentally quite innocent and impressionable, but here’s the thing about little kids: they can be really fucked up. Even the sweetest and most kindhearted children can be scary af.

Cognitive empathy is mostly a learned trait rather than an inherent one. Children do not come out of the womb with the knowledge that other beings have feelings and that their actions affect others, and this is clearly the case with the Collector. So they can commit different types of violence with no reaction, as they might not be aware that it is wrong. 

It’s like children who torture ants during recess. They are more fascinated by it than anything, and they don’t fully process how cruel they are actually being. When you don’t understand that other people experience pain, can’t properly empathize with it, or generally feel extremely removed from it, you become fascinated by it. It’s the same reason people like true crime or even slasher horror.

Honestly, as I said, I kinda like it when the Collector is shown to be weirdly playful upon seeing horrific things. It’s because he feels less like a sadistic ass like Belos, and more like someone who is really into slasher movies. Little kids are into violence a surprising amount. 

I have been told that I’m a very compassionate person (I don’t completely believe that I am, but a bizarre amount of people have told me this, so I guess it’s true), but as a kid, around the Collector’s age, I had multiple “disaster” phases

I had an obsession with the Titanic for a while, particularly the part where hundreds of people died. I had an even bigger obsession with Pompeii, and upon seeing a museum exhibit with some of the preserved bodies, I actually took a good few minutes imagining how each individual person died and what their last moments were like. Fucked up, I know, but it happened.

Children don’t typically go out of their way to hurt others once they realize that their actions can hurt others, but they will occasionally watch (from a distance). I imagine that the Collector is like this as well. Maybe they did watch Belos hurt the Grimwalkers and were still playful about it. 

I even brought up a small potential headcanon that they (slightly unintentionally) gave Belos ideas. Kinda like “what if you EXPLODED one of them? Ooh- ooh- or...you could THROW THEM IN LAVA!” Not an evil whisper-in-your-ear kinda way, more like asking a preschooler to describe what they think demons would do to people in hell or something. Kids get creative with it.

It wouldn’t be that he truly meant harm the way Belos did, they would do it because they found it interesting. They don’t understand other people’s pain, and therefore just experiment without realizing how bad their actions are. It’s interesting to me to read portrayals of the Collector where they are still show in a sympathetic light and he’s clearly just a little kid, but he also doesn’t really seem to care about others that much.

It’s realistic in a way that I like and captures the spirit of the messiness that is a child’s morality. They aren’t evil or completely sadistic, they just don’t see the severity of their actions and are mostly self-centered in terms of worldview.

So, in conclusion, we need more fics where the Collector is a blissfully innocent kid with a love for slasher films.