#But surely a wrong concept for intended use

[windvexer]

would it be considered bad to just work with deities because youd like to work with them for spellwork or w/e? i dont want to seem like im just using them bc id be giving offerings as payment but like idk if id be fucked up to start doing that

Considered bad by whom? Because in this case it seems like the opinion of the individual god is all that should matter.

I've had my fair share of experiences with gods and I feel confident in assuring you that if they don't like how you're treating them, they're more than capable of just not showing up or helping you.

The gods are many things, but so far yet I've never met a single one that was stupid.

(Please forgive me if I have over-read) It seems like the implication of your ask is, "would it be morally wrong of me to get away with something that could be construed as being a user? Because I know people do this and it works, but is it wrong?"

If people do this and it works, then I think the gods must be going along with it. How many posts or books or resources have you seen under the concept of, "here is how I trick gods into thinking I love and worship them so they help me with spells"? I have never seen a single one.

If paying a god to help in magic made the gods feel used, they can just not get involved. And we don't get to decide how they feel; they are not empty projections, they are not egrigores. They are living beings who have thoughts and emotions independent of humans.

Unless you're getting Solomonic with it and commanding gods to appear in a circle under threat of punishment, it should be understood that gods will appear to you of their own free will, that it's remarkably difficult to trick them (many people I'm sure believe they can't be tricked), and that they have the intelligence at least of a 10-year-old with a prankish sibling.

Now to actually answer your question!

I believe in any relationship with the gods, regardless of the intended dynamic, people can come off as users whether they mean to or not. I do not mean to speak to any individual's interpersonal relationship with a god. This is only a generic perspective.

Paying a god in exchange for help with spells isn't inherently using, just as treating a god as a beloved parent or spouse isn't inherently giving.

I believe any person is wise to always approach relationships with gods - even strictly business-like, professional relationships - with a sense of respect and honor.

I believe it is wise to strive to act with great respect, and always build your interactions around the honor and comfort of your divine guests and business-partners.

I believe it is also very wise for you to sit down and think about the boundaries you want to establish with gods.

It is my experience that when you begin calling gods into your life, they will answer and appear. And some of them might not want a business-partner relationship with you. Some of them might want you as a devotee, or want to be your tutelary spirit, or have a more intimate interpersonal relationship with you (it's not all that uncommon).

Therefore, before you venture into all of this, I think you are preparing to behave with respect and honor if you anticipate that these gods are living beings who may ask things of you that you do not want to participate in, and be able to politely but firmly say no.

Most of all, it's best to anticipate that these living beings may evolve and change over time, especially in their relationship to you as you call on them repeatedly, and be prepared to grow your practice to them, instead of pigeonholing them into the facets most useful to you.

But it's not like working with the gods as a business partner automatically makes you a user, any more than someone treating the god as a parent and constantly demands gifts, blames them for everything, and screams at them to unload their parental trauma is automatically a giver.

[arianaofimladris]

I tried making a tiny pouch, because we talked about them with my friend and she tried one as her first leather project. Since my mum asked me for a pouch to attach to her dog's line with the intention of keeping there poop bags, I decided to give it a try.

Conclusion - it might look super cute, but I think it's too tiny for a whole roll of bags, and also doesn't look comfortable to close with one hand. I will figure out something different and this one I guess will be just a tiny thingy to store three emergency bags rather than a whole roll. Also that green suede seemed too thick, at least for this small size.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

truly lmao 2024 lambda literary award finalist wynnstannery

[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[madamedramatics]

A scenario where Shepard jokes with Vega, saying she's practically Garrus' wife now after she promotes him to her XO during the war, resulting in them unintentionally spending a lot more time together.

The joke goes over Vega's head, and he goes to congratulate Garrus personally. Garrus is confused, and Vega promises to keep the "secret marriage" a secret. Garrus now has to figure out how in the hell he accidentally proposed to and married a human and how is he supposed to tell his dad he missed the unplanned wedding and the ceremonial meeting of his fiancé. He was almost 30, but this was going to get him grounded for at least another 30 years or maybe even life.

Was he supposed to get his new wife a gift? Where they supposed to get matching tattoos like Turians? He could've sworn he read somewhere that humans consummated their vows the same way Turians do. Where did he go wrong dammit!?

He adores the idea of Shepard being his wife and loves knowing that she was so excited that she even told Vega about it. He just now has to figure out how he married her in the first place without her knowing he doesn't know. Because then she'll think he never wanted to marry her, and that is NOT the case. Maybe Tali will know? No way. She'd just call him a bosh'tet. Wrex will also call him a professional idiot. Liara won't judge, but he's sure she still hasn't gotten over her crush on the Commander, and he doesn't want to rub his new marriage in her face. Maybe Joker will tell him if he promises him the new fornax issue.

Garrus has had his fair share of giving his dad a pseudo aneurysm, but this one was going to send him into cardiac arrest for sure when he finds out his son married a woman the family didn't even meet. He needs a drink...after he finishes bribing Edi to scrub away everything she just heard him say out loud.

Garrus doesn't know that Vega is the galaxy's worst secret keeper, telling Shepard he's keeping the secret marriage a secret unwilling to let Shepard convince him that she's actually not married yet. She goes to see Garrus to have a good laugh about Vega's idiocy but walks into Garrus telling Edi he will use Shepard's override if she doesn't get rid of something.

Garrus is absolutely mortified and gives the cheesiest greeting to his "wife." She assumes Vega already brought the joke to Garrus but she's not overlooking him trying to be suspicious with Edi. He recovers, mentioning it was for his sesrch history for a gift he wanted to get her. He did intend to get her a gift so the phrase wasn't a complete lie...

She jokes about it and calls him her husband. Garrus, the realist he is, does not take this as a joke. She leaves him to his vices, and Garrus is now in a full-blown panic. He needs to understand what he did, and he needs to know now.

(If my brain gets any more random ideas, I'll at least finish and provide a resolution to this concept, lol. Feel free to offer your own ending)

[somewhereincairparavel]

Alright. I came across someone saying that Rick "put Jason in a pedestal" and "overhyped" him by emphasizing how good looking he is and that Jason shouldn't have been so attractive looking. (Tbf tho that person made it sound like they seemed more mad bc their least favourite character was considered good looking lol) but I'll yap about the significance here anyways. Beware of a very long yapping session below.

I do understand their frustration though, because jason getting told that he looks good all the time makes it seem very shallow and unfair to the others.

And let me tell you, Jason is SUPPOSED to be gorgeous looking in everyone's eyes. He is supposed to be conventionally handsome, Rick didn't intend for his looks to be "beauty is in the eyes of the beholder " or something like Percy's (like how Piper didn't find him as impressive) Percy's is supposed to be more authentic. Percy's character isnt centred in people idolizing him, everyone can acknowledge that he's handsome looking, but it isn't in a "perfect" type of way, he's a carefree spirit and that reflects on his looks. While Jason is hardwired as this ethereal looking hero in people's eyes that not even ONE can deny that he looks good, bc ppl in Rome had set him as the "standard". Jason said this before in the lost hero, that him being a son of Jupiter, makes him feel like the support he gets is only because his dad is a very regal and intimidating figure.

That's kind of the whole point, he's supposed to look like this perfect man who can do no wrong. His "Golden noble boy" arc is literally the whole concept of his character. Why else do you think rick wrote Aphrodite approving of Jason's looks saying that he needed no improvement (which she rarely does) ?

Because Jason is supposed to be put like a statue to admire and idolize, that's ALSO why rick made sure to add that Jason looks like a Roman sculpture, bc that's like a metaphor for his inner conflicts. The guy was put like an artifact for people to ogle at in camp Jupiter ever since he was a kid of 4. That's part of the tragedy.

Annabeth said it perfectly “Annabeth tried to hide it, but she still didn’t completely trust the guy. He acted too perfect - always following the rules, always doing the honorable thing. He even looked too perfect. In the back of her mind, she had a nagging thought. What if this is a trick and he betrayed us?” Mark of Athena, page 6.

His mother, whom he's supposed to look like, is also a literal world wide tv actress. So you can't expect anything less either.

Also, Jason is supposed to mirror Percy. And let's be real. Rick put Percy in a VERY high pedestal looks wise, aswell, Not just Jason. And that's okay.

Rick made Hazel mistake Percy for a literal god because he was just that good looking (tbf, in a way, when I was younger, I found this to be a little bit of an exaggeration, bro was covered in mud and seaweed and was compared to a god, it was rlly funny to a 10 year old me 😭 yeah but don't mind this though, this was just a younger me jealous that I couldn't be as pretty as Percy was in mud lol) If Percy can be "hyped" up so "unrealistically" in that particular situation then so can Jason. They are both literal half gods, so unrealistic praise is very normal) and rick also made sure to emphasize that almost all the teen characters had a crush on Percy. So apparently that isn't called putting a character in a pedestal but Jason's is? They are BOTH put in pedestals, because they're both heroes.

Jason and Percy are supposed to be equals, so both of them being in the top two when it comes to looks makes SENSE. Because people are supposed to argue about who is better looking, since they're written as foils.

You cannot expect rick to make Percy look like a god and Jason look like a rat 😭 then there's no point of having them as parallels if one has the upper hand in something. Rick did a good job by conveying that they are BOTH attractive, but in different ways. That's why the Percy/Jason looks debate always have mixed answers.

Jason getting complimented by Aphrodite, the GODDESS of beauty, for his looks and her saying that he didn't have anything to "fix" in his face BC it already looks gorgeous = Percy getting compared to a gorgeous Roman god by hazel. They are both equal comparisons in slightly different tones.

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 1 of 5

Series Masterlist

Summary: The king intends to take a bride.

You just never thought it would be you.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)

I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).

The king intends to take a bride.

At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.

You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.

You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.

The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.

Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.

But you don’t know any of that yet.

*

You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.

The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.

You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.

As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.

You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.

You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.

He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.

And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.

You swallow hard. No. Not him.

Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.

Fucking hell.

*

The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.

Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.

You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.

You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.

The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.

You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.

The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.

You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.

The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.

You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.

You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.

“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”

You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.

You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.

He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.

“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”

You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.

“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.

“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.

“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”

You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.

“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.

It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.

“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”

“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not.”

You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”

You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”

His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.

“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.

“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”

For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”

You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.

You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.

He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.

He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.

You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.

You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”

He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”

Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.

His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”

You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”

You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.

“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.

“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”

It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.

You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.

He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.

He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”

Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.

It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.

He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.

Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.

“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.

“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.

“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.

He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.

“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”

“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.

He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”

His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.

He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.

“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”

“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.

“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”

You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.

“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.

You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.

This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.

“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.

“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.

“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.

You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.

You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”

He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.

Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.

Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.

His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.

“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.

He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”

Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.

“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”

He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.

Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.

“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.

“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”

He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.

He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).

But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.

He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.

You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.

He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.

You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.

“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.

You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.

There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.

Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.

You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.

“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.

“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.

“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.

“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.

“Please fuck me.”

You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.

There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.

He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.

It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.

But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.

He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.

And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.

“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”

You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.

“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”

You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.

You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.

“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.

But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.

And again.

Fuck.

Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.

“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.

You whimper, your back arching.

“Give into it. Let me feel you.”

One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.

“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.

It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.

Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.

“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.

“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”

Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.

You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.

His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.

You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.

You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.

You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.

But also…it feels nice.

It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.

You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.

Be angry.

His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.

Be angry.

You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.

Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.

“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.

Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?

He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.

You scowl at the thought.

“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”

“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.

“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”

And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.

Next chapter

[pruneunfair]

The internalized sexism in remarried empress, (for an ask)

*this is going to be a long one so hold on tight*

It's no question that remarried empress is one of the most popular manhwas on webtoon and being so popular it holds a lot of influence, unfortunately, that influence promoted the internalized misogyny in not just the readers but in other works as well.

In the first chapter, Navier is presented as this baddass perfect woman, during her divorce trial she brings in a hot rebound who also happens to be another Emperor so she wont have to give up her life as empress, sounds pretty feminist right? Unfortunately that's only one of the few times we see anything related to feminism at all.

We are soon sent back a few months before the trial and right away, Naviers ladies in waiting are tearing another woman down and already believe this new woman is a threat to Navier because the Emperor Sovieshu is attracted to this newbie

We are shown the basic concept of how the narrative wants us to view these two characters. Navier is perfect empress who is being wronged by her husband and this unnamed woman who's only crime so far was existing is a wench and a homewreaker, the ladies imply it as some sort of extreme act of disrespect for having to bathe what they believe to be a slave, proceeding with sucking up to the lead by saying they only wash their hands to bathe her as they don't even wash themselves and even when they admit this mystery woman to be beautiful they backtrack to making sure Navier is supported. You might think that this is just friends supporting friends but it goes beyond on that later on.

Later on we are introduced to this mystery woman, Rashta, a former slave found by Sovieshu in the woods who is immediately portrayed as rude, stupid, and a crybaby

The reason she cries is because she was struck and referred to as "the slave" while she wasn't very polite it's clear Rashta isn't doing this on purpose, rather it is sheer ignorance and an unusually large optimism

now, a lot of people like to say that Rashta must've done something on purpose to get Laura imprisoned and that she knew what she was doing, therfore justifying the hatred for her existence. However, Laura hit Rashta for reaching out to Navier and calls her a wench in the process

Some fans use the excuse that she smirked after Laura got sentenced to 3 days imprisonment and yes while that is excessive for Laura, Rashta was a slave only a few days ago and she's been mistreated by nobles her entire life plus I don't think she's smart enough to pull off Hannibal levels of planning like that, I personally think her smirk here is meant to be more of a "that's what she gets for treating me like that." Then a "hee hee my evil plan worked!"

the rest of the comic goes the same way, Rashta is continuously portrayed as a whore who ruined Naviers life by turning her husband against her, and she's written to be hated as a pick me who won't know her place. Rashtas pretty much every part of those "other girls" in those not like other girls templates. She's girly, loves the attention, emotional, dainty, overly sweet but secretly only has ulterior motives, and in the novel, she acts extremely childish even referring to herself in 3rd person, even when she makes good points it's all intended for the reader to laugh and jeer at her.

Shes practically designed to be the pick me archetype for baddass mary sue fans to despise and she sadly only gets worse as time goes on, not just in morals and personality but also in her writting

And how is Navier perceived?

Shes endlessly perfect, everyone loves her including several different powerful men from all different countries. Even her cheating ass husband is given the cheapest redemption arc in the end just for being sorry that he cheated and realizing how much he wants her. All the characters your meant to view as good adore her and anyone who doesn't is written as the meanest bad guy on the planet worthy of death. While she isn't the worst character I've seen, the narrative tries so hard to make her more amazing that Navier looks worse as a result, such as not caring about slavery despite being described as kind and devoted to all her subjects. Ergi even says it straight to us that there will always be that invisible wall between her and the poor.

The characters we're supposed to see as good are:

Heinrey: A king who planned on going to war with Naviers country and only stopped when he fell in love with her at first sight, who also tortures and threatens anyone who even so much as inconveniences or talks shit about her all while he puts up an innocent front to appear non threatening (wonder who that sounds like)

Kaufman: A grand Duke who drugs other people with love potions which are essentially date-rape drugs and gets away with it once another woman takes the blame

Kosair: Naviers brother who violates Rashtas autonomy by slipping abortion drugs in her food and it's never talked about again.

Lebetti: One of Rashtas slave owners who still continues to harass Rashta and views anyone lower than her with contempt including her own nephew and so on

And who are the characters we are supposed to hate?

Besides Rashta and Sovieshu, the only other characters so far are Krista, the former queen of the west and her father

Ironically Krista is hated for the same reason readers supported Navier for: not wanting to replaced as queen, which isn't helped by Heinrey asserting that Navier is the one and only queen and anyone who objects will face serious consequences but they fix that by dumbing her down and blaming her for Kaufman drugging Heinrey. As for her dad, the old Duke. While he is the only man actively against Navier so far the only ways he has been punished is being told that Krista killed herself. (In the novel the old Duke does face serious consequences which involved him being murdered along with innocent people after his son attempted a hit on Navier)

But overall you get the message, most of the characters you are supposed to love are men and ladies with no personality, men who do atrocious shit yet we're supposed to look past it and conveniently the only man who is punished is an ugly bastard.

The ladies in waiting are the biggest contributors to the internalized misogyny, often they support it by insisting any new woman who shows up must be an evil whore, even Krista's ladies in waiting do this

Not like it matters though anyway since Navier basically wins most of those girls over on her side and they're never seen again

You see what I mean? Every other woman in this story has little to no character, they exist solely to push the FL up and punch down at any woman they don't like which usually consists of women that either dainty "other girls" or ironically women in a situation similar to Naviers and any woman who opposes Navier is affectly an idiot who gets girlbossed back into place. Meanwhile almost all of the men who commit absolutely horrible acts get away with it since they all essentially go awooga for Navier, with the only exception being less than conventionally attractive dudes like Krista's dad.

for fucks sake even Alan, one of Rashtas other masters who 🍇ed her, got her pregnant and participated in keeping her child away from her until she got successful is viewed as this sorrowful wittle baby who got taken advantage of by the evil Rashta and was "wrongfully" told to screw off by her. It took an episode where Alan was so unfathomably stupid to get readers to realize they shouldn't side with a rapist, and yes, while the narrative will try to push the idea that Rashta took advantage of him to raise her status and that she consented. News flash: a slave cannot consent to someone who owns them, it's like a student-teacher relationship.

Now the hypocrisy. Navier can do one thing and it's viewed as such a girlboss power move but when someone else like Rashta does something similar, it's embarrassing and pathetic. For example, Rashta is mocked by nobles mind you, for wearing an expensive and flashy wedding dress. Meanwhile Naviers wedding dress is literally weaved with thousand of gemstones

Hey, it's their words not mine.

Or how Rashta was considered evil for stealing Naviers spot as empress (even though Rashta didn't even want to be empress at first and Sovieshu gave her the offer, it's not like she held a gun to his head) but when Krista shows distress over being replaced as queen, the comments basically tell Krista to suck it up because Navier deserves it more. Everytime a man does something wrong in this story, the characters and even the readers trace it back to somehow being a woman's fault.

Readers are even encouraged to laugh at Rashta for not being able to learn as fast and eventually having a breakdown from the stress (not to mention she's also pregnant here so those hormones must be going wild)

yeah let's just blame a pregnant woman who wasn't educated in reading until a few months ago for not being able to be as smart or stoic as Navier and then crying from the stress.

finally, how this promotion of internalized misogyny affected other works. The Trashta nickname has become so popular that it is used everytime a woman who doesn't support the MC or even just inconveniences her is introduced, constantly the comments never shut up about the "new trashta." Even women who don't mean harm like Helena from kill the villainess was treated horribly because she's the "other woman" it erases any attempt at creativity in these stories and dumbs down any other woman who isn't constantly worshipping the FL as an evil bitch who needs to go.

Conclusion:The Remarried empress isn't the feminist power book with complex characters, maybe in season 1 but not anymore. Women who even think about being rude to Navier are punched down and killed if they don't change their mind while almost all the men are excused for their cruel actions because their hot guys with abs who only wanted to protect the one and only goddess Navier.

[kiyo-cant-write]

req: Jade with a yandere reader. He’s fully aware they’re spiraling and growing obsessed but he’s just feeding into it for fun (turning a blind eye, leaving things out for them to take, giving them attention, etc). He thinks it’s harmless since they’re “weak” and lowers his guard because of it (probably a bad idea). You can decide if he actually likes them back or if he just sees it as a game, I just think yandere reader stuff is fun :)

jade w/ yandere!reader ✧･ﾟ

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Thank you for requesting. I used to be active in the Diabolik Lovers fandom so I think I know how to write yandere even though it's not something I do/did often. I hope I did your concept justice.

Readers, please note that viewer discretion is advised for this piece. Check the trigger warnings!

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Summary: Jade Leech has gotten himself into quite the situation with his "lover" of sorts. It started as a game, but is it a game anymore? They say they love him, that they want him to be theirs. Is he? Jade isn't sure what the answer to that question is anymore.

TW/CW: obsessive behavior, toxicity, yandere

Notes: established relationship, the reader is human, they/them pronouns used for the reader, the reader is described as smaller than the tweels, the reader is not explicitly Ramshackle Prefect.

Guest Stars: Azul Ashengrotto (mentioned), Floyd Leech

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Jade Leech

Jade didn't intend for this to happen. It was an accident.

At first, he was simply curious what [Name] would do.

How far would they go? How interesting~

He was tempted, he knew that. So did Floyd and Azul.

But, as time went on, he began to feel things were different.

[Name] was intense, and controlling at times, but they weren't someone so strong that he worried about it. They were weak.

What harm would it do playing along?

A certain degree of damage it would seem.

Now Azul is upset and Floyd is even a bit worried.

But how does Jade feel?

He smiles and seems fine with it all.

Why is he okay with all this?

Jade has only ever tolerated Floyd's whims before.

What kind of spell does this human have him under?

As far as merfolk were concerned, they were supposed to lure humans into their traps... not the other way around.

But Jade made a mistake, Jade assumed their strength.

Jade Leech was wrong.

"Name-san asked me to bring them something. That said, I will need to use my 15-minute break to do so," Jade told his brother in his typical voice, a slight smile playing on his lips, "You don't mind, do you?"

Floyd sighed. It was always like this. Jade would disappear to spend time with that weird human from another dorm. At first, Floyd didn't care who Jade wanted to play with, but it had been months by now. Wasn't it boring yet? Or was this human really so interesting?

Jade had told him they were together, but what did that mean?

Floyd doubted their parents would allow marriage at this age with so much... work to do for the family business. And the more Floyd looked at it, the more Jade seemed like some kind of butler for the human, even more so than Jade's little tasks for Azul!

It was getting weird! Really weird!

Azul was annoyed too, Floyd knew that. He would always say "get Jade back here" and "where is Jade?" and "Floyd! Tell Jade to come back from his date this instant!" It was such a pain...

"Are you sure you're okay, Jade?" Floyd asked instead of answering his brother's statement, "You're with that person a lot."

Jade cocked his head to the side. What did Floyd mean?

"I'm fine, Floyd. You need not worry," he assured Floyd with a smile that would convince most, but not his brother, "Let Azul know I will be back soon, alright?"

Floyd sighed in defeat, he was doing that a lot lately.

"Alright. Don't be late, I don't wanna solo this shift."

"I will do my best, hehe," Jade offered though the following chuckle was not promising, "I'll be going then."

Jade turned and walked out of the lounge, headed toward the meeting spot that he and [Name] shared. It was, Jade thought, rather impressive that his "love" of sorts let him continue to work. As Jade had noticed, they seemed particularly upset that he must leave their side for "another" even if it was his job, his brother, and that very stingy octopus they worked for.

As their form came into view, he greeted them.

"[Name]-san."

"Jade~!" they said, smiling as they came up to him and enveloped him in a hug, not seeming to care that Jade had to adjust himself to not drop their order, "I missed you! ...Where were you?"

Their tone darkened as they asked the question.

"Preparing your food," he answered with the practiced precision he used to serve Azul (and one time, Pomefiore's housewarden).

Jade offered a smile and [Name]'s mood brightened.

"You're such a good boy, Jade. Thank you!" they said, taking the food from him when he offered it, "What would I do without you?"

"I am not sure," came the response from Jade.

"You wouldn't leave me for your silly job, would you?" [Name] cooed at him, that strange side of them coming out to play.

He shook his head, deciding that playing along even now was still a fun pastime for him (despite what Floyd might say about it being too weird and sketchy for even them to do).

"Of course not," he told them, "I am yours."

"You are mine," they confirmed, "My little Jade."

It was a funny line given Jade's height in comparison to theirs.

They stepped closer to Jade and took his hand in theirs, pulling him closer to them. [Name] had set their food aside, finding Jade much more interesting than the meal he had brought them for lunch.

"Jade, you're never going to leave, right?"

Jade paused for a millisecond, weighing the options quickly. He could say he was theirs forever and keep up this charade or he could give himself an out. What to do, what to do...

Their grip tightened slightly as they sensed hesitation.

"Jade."

"I won't leave your side."

"Good," they said with a sweet smile, their typical persona returning, "Then I won't have to do anything just yet."

"Oya?"

"Silly fishie, if you left me for that lounge I'd have to take more drastic measures than just this," they explained, still not letting go of Jade's hand, "I can't have my future husband abandoning me."

Jade noted what they were saying. Perhaps he had miscalculated their will to keep him in their clutches. Would they make an enemy out of Azul and Floyd? The lounge wasn't a good space to wage war.

"I see. I will be sure not to put anything above you," he told them.

Jade tried to ignore the feeling that something was wrong. How could he have lost the game to such a small human? This human lacked the strength that he or Floyd possessed. From his research, their UM was not as potent as Azul's or the other housewardens'...

What was he missing? What had he forgotten?

"You'll stay with me forever, Jade~" they told him.

He sighed and nodded, resting his gloved hand over theirs.

As terrifying as it was to have lost such a game... perhaps it was the thrill he yearned for. What was that saying? The spice of life?

.

.

Imagine the rest yourself~

.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

[ilguna]

Can I get 6 and 23 from list 2 with Finnick please?

☼ sunburst (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, gun use, blood mention, ehh gore.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 6. "I know, it hurts. I'm so sorry, but we have to get this out." AND 23. "You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer."

--

When you were recruited to be a part of the mission to storm the Capitol, you were under the impression that you’d actually be in some danger. You spent weeks training in District Thirteen, thinking that you were going to be running for your life every waking moment. It was supposed to be more like being inside of an arena, than a walk on the bad side of District Four.

Both of which you can handle, for the record.

What you can’t handle is the boredom that comes with being a member of the Star Squad. While you were told you’d be at the front lines with the rest of the rebels, the reality is that you’re stuck days behind them. President Coin is too afraid of putting their precious Mockingjay into danger.

It’s an interesting concept, considering that Katniss has expressed no issue in the past surrounding the idea of putting her life on the line. The first time she did this was when she wanted to get sent to District Eight, an active battlezone, to see the citizens there. The next time was District Two, where a gun was held to her head, and she still proceeded to give a speech, and got shot for it.

You suppose that’s the exact problem, though. She can be a magnet for trouble, whether she intends to be or not. In that case, you’re not sure why they didn’t tell you that you’d be stuck here with a mixed group, beforehand. You might’ve changed your mind and found a different way to help the rebellion.

And it’s not like you haven’t tried to have patience, because you have. It’s been severely run thin by the propo team—a camera crew from the Capitol, their only job being to film videos to slice together to show the districts. Their incessant need to get a shot of absolutely everything that’s going on has got you beyond irritated.

They’re so demanding with it, and all it is is a bunch of bullshit. They want you to walk down the street the right way, looking fierce and in the middle of battle. When in reality, there’s no one for a several mile radius, and all the threats are being given away by the Holo. A device that was made to tell you where the traps, the pods, are. 

If you could, you’d tell them that you’re done participating, but you really have no choice. You’ve been seen in so many of their other videos, that it’ll make the districts and the Capitol question why you’re not in the rest. Either they’ll think that you died, or that you’ve decided the rebellion isn’t worth fighting for.

Which isn’t true in the slightest. You just think that it’s morally wrong to be back here, pretending like you’re fighting, when the faceless rebels at the front lines are the ones almost getting killed everyday. You want to be up there, with them.

The rebels ahead don’t set off all the pods, though. They leave the mild ones behind, marking them as such, assuming that the group behind them will take it out when they pass. That group happens to be you.

Sometimes, Boggs, the squad leader, will see a pod on the Holo, so he’ll ask for volunteers to set it off, naturally. You don’t even know what the point of raising your hand is, anymore. He won’t call on you, or Finnick, or Katniss. He keeps his attention on the District Thirteen trained soldiers to do the important tasks.

Despite the fact that you had, once again, spent weeks training to be able to do something like that. 

What will happen is that Katniss will pretend to set off the pod with an arrow at a distance, to keep her from getting hurt by accident. While a soldier off to the side will trigger it. This makes the rest of you all duck for cover, afraid of whatever the pod has to offer. And when it’s all said and done, and you’re ready to move on, the next step is to reenact your reactions to defending yourself from whatever threat came out of the pod.

It’s been four days of this, and it’s driving you crazy. You’ll spend a few hours pretending to fight, and then return to camp for the rest of the night, safely out of harm's way. It’s taking everything in you not to ask Boggs to leave to go back to the Nut, where the rest of the rebel soldiers are. Maybe there, you can get reassigned.

The problem would be convincing Finnick to go with you, because he doesn’t mind being in the Star Squad. He thinks it’s great, because that means you’re not in any immediate danger. After what they did to Peeta, the last thing he wants is for the Capitol to potentially get their hands on you, or for you to die.

Neither of which you plan on letting happen.

The only way you’ll be able to get him to leave is if you do it without bringing it up to him first. Cut out the whole conversation on how he’d prefer if you went with Coin’s plan, instead of making your own. He has a way with words, and he knows this. That’s why your resolve can crumble in the matter of fifteen minutes, all because he’s the one reasoning with you.

That’s what you’ll do tonight then; you’ll go talk to Boggs.

The Holo begins to beep loudly, warning your squad that you’re coming close to a pod. Boggs slows his pace, opening it up to take a look. When he comes to a full stop, so do you.

A sigh escapes you, Finnick glances over, watching as you turn around to take a few steps away. This is the fourth pod that you’ve come across today, meaning that Boggs will probably call it a day after this. Even though you’ve covered more distance today than you have the past three.

“The Holo says it’s going to be a swarm of muttation gnats.” Boggs says, “Who wants to hit it?”

You turn to face the squad, watching as almost every hand flies up, with the exception of you, Finnick and Katniss. Even Gale, Katniss’s best friend from Twelve, has his hand raised. You think he’s been tasked once, which is the hope he’s probably holding on to.

Regardless, Boggs motions at one of the Leeg twins. “Leeg, I want you. The rest of you, go find someone to stand in the meantime.”

You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head. “Predictable.”

“Come on, (Y/n).” Finnick grabs the underside of your arm, pulling you with him to the other side of the street.

The pod is disguised as an electrical box on the side of an orange shop. If it weren’t for the Holo, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing of it, but that’s the whole point. The pods are hidden in plain sight, meant for your eyes to glance over them, so that they can kill you later on.

The best the Capitol can do is gnats?

“Okay, Katniss, we’ll focus on pulling the arrow back, and holding it.” Cressida begins, she’s the one that has the specific propo visions. If this doesn’t go according to her plan, she’ll rework it and have Katniss do it over again until it’s right.

“Just a regular arrow?” Katniss asks, reaching back to grab one.

“No, we’ll have Leeg set off the pod, and then you’ll use an explosive arrow to kill the gnats.” Cressida says, looking at Boggs. He gives her an approving nod.

“What happens when that shot isn’t good enough and we have to start over?” You mutter, Finnick bumps your shoulder.

“I know you’re unhappy, but can we please not make enemies out of the people that could save our lives?” Finnick asks.

You look at Finnick, “I’m not making promises I won’t keep.”

You watch as Cressida gives Katniss directions on where to stand and how to hold her bow. This gives the cameramen, Castor and Pollux, enough time to find their angles, because realistically, there won’t be an opportunity for reshoots. With one of them on Katniss, and the other on the pod, Cressida gives Boggs the go ahead.

“On the count of three, Leeg.” Boggs tells her. Finnick adjusts his footing, prepared to duck if necessary. You don’t move from where you stand, staring dead at the pod. “One, two, three!”

Leeg shoots at the pod, piercing the metal that encases the gnats, leaving bullet holes. The sound of metal on metal screeches through the quiet street, as the door swings open, releasing what’s inside.

A startled scream comes from you as piercing pains hit you all across your body, throwing you back onto the ground. The back of your head slams against the cement of the sidewalk, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut, as the world begins to spin.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick’s voice wavers.

The punctured points in your body begin to deepen, as the shrapnel from the box begins to burrow in your skin. You grunt, writhing, eyes opening suddenly to see it for yourself.

It’s not shrapnel, they’re metal darts, and they've got claws that are digging into your skin.

“No!” Someone cries.

“We need the medic team!” Jackson barks, her voice is clear. “We’ve got two down, Boggs!”

“Copy.” He says.

From what you can tell, you got a brunt of the hit, a consequence of not taking cover like you were instructed to. There’s over a dozen of these, stuck in your body, going deeper as the seconds tick on.

“Get them out.” Your voice is rough, as you reach to grab one. “Get them out of me!”

“(Y/n), honey—” Finnick seizes your hand, keeping you from doing it. “Stop, leave them.”

“They’re in me!” You cry, “They’re going to kill me.”

“We can’t take them out. We learned this, remember? They’re stinting the blood, we have to wait for—”

“No, she’s right.” Katniss is standing at your feet. “Look at them.”

You don’t want to, not when they all move at once, ripping your skin open further. You can see the brief stream of blood in the air, before it’s gone, covered by the dart. It’s not large enough to block the chunk of skin it’s pulled from your body, though, because the blood begins to pool, quickly.

“Shit.” Finnick says.

There’s a girl crying, when you lift your head to see, you find that it’s the other Leeg sister, on her knees, next to the first one. The one that had shot at the pod, now has a dart sticking out of the side of her head. It’s already found her brain.

She’s dead.

You begin to breathe heavier when you realize that this will be your fate, too, if they don’t start to pull them out. Which must be the same conclusion that Finnick comes to, because he rolls back his sleeves, hands hovering over one of them.

You grab the heel of his shoe, knowing that you’ll need something to hold on to. He gives you a look, and you nod quickly, urging him to do it. The second that his hand is around the dart, it begins to wiggle. To keep it from going further, he yanks.

You scream, throwing your head back, body tense, as the entire world goes white. It clings on, refusing to be pulled off in just one attempt. 

“Stop!” You tell them, “Stop!”

“Katniss, I need help.” Finnick says.

She drops her bow without question to get to her knees to help him. You watch through blurred tears as she holds the dart while he pries the claws apart. It’s like a thousand needles jabbing into your skin repeatedly, refusing to leave the area alone.

And then they get it free, and the first tear slides down your cheek.

The metal clinks on the ground from Katniss dropping it. 

You can’t help the sob that breaks through your lips. This is just the beginning isn’t it?

“Hold on, honey.” He tells you.

“I don’t—”

He begins to pull at this dart, more aggressive than he was the first time. Unprepared, you cry through gritted teeth, squeezing his shoe. He manages to unhook it faster this time, but that means little to you.

Him and Katniss go back and forth, pulling them out of the areas they think will hurt the least. There’s a few times where their hands slip, which causes an indescribable pain. 

The pool of blood beneath you is growing. You can feel the puddle reach your fingers on your free hand, coating your skin in red.

“There’s only two left, (Y/n).” Finnick smooths your hair back. “These will hurt the most.”

“Just wait.” You tell him, grabbing onto the bunched sleeve.

“We can’t stop, or it’ll keep digging in.” He tells you. “Breathe, okay?”

“Finnick.” You warn, bracing yourself when he secures his hand around the metal dart, beginning to pull.

The feeling of your guts being yanked from your body, makes the dark spots at the corners of your vision come around quickly. For a moment, you’re gone, drifting off into the peaceful voice, until Finnick’s lifting your head up with one hand.

“You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer.” Finnick tells you

“I can’t.” You sniff. “I want to be done.”

“One more.” He tells you, lowering your head back to the ground.

“No.” Your lips tremble.

He grabs the dart, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Please! Please, please, please! It hurts!”

“I know, it hurts.” Finnick says, he doesn’t sound very happy that he has to do this to you. “I’m so sorry, baby, but we have to get this out.”

This one has decided to hold on, taking twice as long as it normally does. For a second, it almost slips out of their hands, when Finnick’s able to pry the claws open.

A faint sense of relief floods through you, but it’s gone when your body begins to tingle. “Finnick.” You whisper. With a shaky hand, you dip your fingers into one of the many wounds that will end up being scars. The exposed raw flesh against your fingers makes you nauseous.

It subsides slightly when you pull your hand out, and find an orange substance mixed with the blood.

Poison.

“No.” Finnick says, looking at Boggs, presumably. “How far out are the medics?”

“They’ll be here any minute.” He says, coming over to see better.

“They need to have an antidote ready.” Finnick’s voice echoes, bouncing back and forth in your head, as he splits into two people, then four…

Your eyes flutter shut.

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[sugar-crash]

🏎️Turbo (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🏁

(Beginning Relationship Pt. I Edition!)

(It took me fucking forever to find a picture from the movie of Turbo [far too cowardly to use fanart]. Which, as we all know, is fitting.)

- To go into deeper detail on this, your time dating Turbo when he was all high and mighty was… Eventful to say the very least.

- We don’t know much about how Turbo pre-RoadBlasters disaster besides the most obvious points: passionate, sore winner, an even sorer loser, hot-headed, and finally the cherry on this red-white cake; Spite.

- His passion for various things bleeds into the other things in his life, giving a drive that goes beyond the racing track, with the relationship he gains with you being one of those things with a lot of time and patience.

- Victory kisses at the end of the day are a must, even when listening to his frustrated woes from certain players playing game wrong, saying things like “I’M FATTEST RAT IN THE RACE! WHY SHOULD I SUFFER WHEN THESE MOTION DEAF TERMITES DECIDE TO PUT A COUPLE OF COINS IN MY GAME???” ….Yeah <3

- I think in many ways that if you get his trust so much to the point where you guys start dating, he just kinda expects you to listen to his aggravated rants and not do the same for you— Which takes a lot of time to rectify, in his mind he doesn’t think you “have it as bad” as him, as ignorant as that is.

- Yeah he doesn’t exactly get a trophy for “best lover”, that’s for sure.

- And his stubborn behavior doesn’t make that any better, takes him a while to get certain things drilled into his brain when he finally realizes what you’re saying isn’t “nagging”.

- Don’t get him wrong, I genuinely think he has the capability to care for someone else over himself, it just takes a whole lot of work for him to consciously realize that.

- PDA isn’t really much of a thing for Turbo (except for his “well earned” victory kisses) , he has a reputation to uphold as one of the most popular game characters in the arcade, though behind closed doors he basically demands the attention you give him at first.

- If you don’t like being ordered around and tell him as such, it takes a series of fights to realize being bossy in a romantic relationship (or any in general) isn’t exactly the best thing. The obvious in these situations isn’t to him, he has a very one track mind (pun intended) and doesn’t like change when it effects him.

- Which is very understandable, human even, I think that many of us, if we had a choice, would keep things just the way we like it. But— Life itself is all about change, conflict, differing opinions, etc. And while it is aggravating to no end, it’s something a person has to come to terms with.

- Someone like Turbo struggles with that concept, why can’t he act the way he finds more natural?? This stone set mindset drives many way, even the people from his game— Even you at times.

- He loves you to death, with the way he sticks close to you after hours, the way he gets a momentary soft look at you when he thinks you aren’t looking is perceptible to people who pay attention.

- Much like his latter self, King Candy, he has the tendency to hide things from you— Not in a way that maintains a noble or joyous persona, but in a way that tries to hide his softness for you, the desire to clutch you close and never let go.

- The feelings your mere existence gives him scares him, not that he would ever admit that, not even to himself.

- He hates that at times his feelings depend on how you feel, and trying to understand it only stirs the pot, touches of comfort are met with a scoff and some variation of “I’m not some fragile lamb you can comfort.” Though at that point his reactions aren’t nearly as explosive as they used to be.

- Over time I believe that with your help he is able to maintain more composure— Thinking before acting, which is something he is desperate need for.

- Your relationship is very hit and miss at times, but what is love without conflict? BORING, that’s what I say at least.

- Who he is as a whole is both a blessing and a curse, really makes a person think in a “What goes on in that asshole’s head? And how the fuck did he get with someone?”

- The time you have with him before RoadBlasters was installed was special, not perfect in the slightest, but you guy had your moments that one can look at later on with a sense of melancholy.

(Abyiv-ahzapj! *SVBK MHYA UVPZL*)

[mymoshangthoughts]

oki i know we've all just chosen to accept that beatings are a part of demon mating culture and like, i dont think thats 100% wrong, but also thinking about linguang-jun's reaction to seeing shang qinghua beaten at the ascension incident, im kinda hesitant to fall into it 100%

oki my biggest defense for it being a demon-culture thing is that sha hualing didn't show any disagreement when mobei jun suggested "three beatings a day" in that particularly hilarious conversation, but that's honestly pretty thin. we know that she loves binghe and she never makes any attempt to fight him or to have him fight her. if anything, she strives to avoid it

there's also the possibility that the 'beating' that linguang-jun witnessed the conclusion of was a particularly unromantic one via demon standards. he saw shang qinghua and said "oh you were clearly displeased with him" so mayyybbee there's something to the pattern of bruises that speaks to intent but again, that's pretty thin

so might i suggest, from my humble little insane brain, that rather than beatings being a demon-culture thing, mobei jun is just fucking weird

oki bear with me oki but i rlly like this idea a lot LOL

im not even saying that mobei jun is a sadist (altho def not opposed to that), im saying that my socially awkward icy demon lord just straight up has no good concept of how to get the attention of his intended and this is sincerely his best effort. there's no research, no demon custom, no human custom, it's just mobei jun desperately screaming "look at meeeeeee pleaaassseeee" in his own extremely unique way that fucking no one understands

i would defend that this is likely due to his fucked up childhood and trust issues. like maybe linguang-jun isolated him to such an extent that mobei-jun winds up relatively divorced from his own culture for courting and doesnt even fucking know the first thing about it. maybe he has some twisted history of "look the only time i was shown affection was during martial training, which were basically beatings, so beatings = affection, yeah?" or maybe he's just so stupid and desperate that he has no fucking idea and no real plan, he's just trying to get shang qinghua's attention by any means necessary

i sort of like a mixture of all of the above. like linguang jun was the only person who showed him more typical signs of affection, and that was the prelude to betrayal. so mobei jun doesnt trust those types of affectionate gestures. but when he received martial training, either from his uncle or in one of the handful of times he'd seen his father, it was at least useful. like he can remember getting beaten and know there was an honesty to it. beating him made him stronger, being strong helped him to survive, it was the truest affection he's received in his life. and look, mobei jun hasn't exactly put all of that together all of that in as many words, but the effect is long lasting. and not all of shang qinghua's beatings were out of affection either. ultimately, there's this suspicious as fuck cultivator who's groveling at his feet and mobei-jun isnt exactly keen on humanity to begin with. and with shang qinghua prone to more typical shows of affection, the way his uncle was before the Betrayal? he's not going to be tricked again! he'll beat the human into submission to prove that he's strong and he's not a small defenseless child anymore who can be so ruthlessly abandoned! but then he really does start to develop feelings for shang qinghua and really does want his attention and qinghua simply wont look at him. sure, he'll throw out a million words of groveling and acting pathetic, but what does any of that even fucking mean?! does qinghua only see him as a king? does qinghua even see him as that or is he waiting for a chance to betray him? how can he get shang qinghua's attention? how can he keep him? and so he thinks about his only fond memories of 'affection' and starts the habit of beating qinghua lightly three times a day. it's gotta work. it totally has to work. it MUST be working, bc qinghua just told the demon emperor that acting pathetic is a way of showing affection!!! SO CLEARLY QINGHUA MUST LOOK AT HIM NOW RIGHT?!!? but their relationship just doesnt seem to be progressing and after the qinghua saves him from falling, mobei jun now has a brand new "height of being show affection" memory to cling to but its... very much the opposite of his memories of being beaten. and a whole lot better too. being caught by shang qinghua and protected in that way has his heart thudding every time he remembers it and suddenly beating qinghua has lost its appeal. how can he do something for qinghua that matches that feeling??? because now it feels poultry to offer qinghua mere beatings when those barely even seem enjoyable for qinghua anyway??? and he doesnt particularly enjoy qinghua acting pathetic for him either, even if he knows theres affection behind the gesture, and qinghua always acts extra pathetic during beatings so thats another reason to lay off. so mobei jun is in the middle of contemplating this shit and stops beating qinghua so much when suddenly its time for his ascension ceremony and he drags qinghua there with him and now qinghua is talking about leaving him and mobei jun's heart just about shatters. is it because he laid off on the beatings? is it because qinghua was always planning to betray him, the way he always feared? is it because mobei jun misread this whole thing? in front of his dead fathers door, a man who never gave much of a fuck about him, while anticipating the arrival of his horrible uncle, vulnerable and reminded of every reason he's never trusted traditional shows of intimacy and so he tells qinghua to fuck off, beats him without any affectionate intentions, and greets his uncle in heartbroken misery. but then qinghua COMES BACK WHEN HE NEEDS HIM and he apparently always hated the beatings which is a blow but also now QINGHUA IS LEAVING HIM AGAIN AND THIS IS HELL, MOBEI IS IN HELL RN.

and not to mention, he witnessed linguang-jun beating shang qinghua and suddenly, he doesnt even know why he ever thought beatings were all that affectionate either because this is horrible and he hates it and mobei jun is Not Equipped To Cope With Guilt, it's not something he's been trained in and he is not coping with ANY of this well tbh, not his uncle, not his heartbreak, and he just wants the familiarity of shang qinghua's normal pathetic behavior. something normal. something to ground him. but shang qinghua is not normal right now and he's still planning to LEAVE and mobei jun is all panic, no thoughts. and now shang qinghua is saying shit like "you only beat me cuz i was easy-going and weak" and ow? that hurts? and then shang qinghua is saying he was only ever indulging mobei jun and OW? THAT HURTS?! and mobei jun is prideful and in pain and upset so he's relying on familiar emotions. being angry. being prideful. being haughty. pretending he has any control over this situation. unsure how to act outside of their normal dynamic. unsure how to respond to this very different side of qinghua. but no matter what he says, qinghua is leaving. qinghua pinches his cheeks and insults him and calls him spoiled even when he's seen directly how his own uncle treats him and calls himself his father in front of the room where his father lies dead and yeah, it hurts when qinghua pinches his cheeks. not just the physical pain, but the knowledge that qinghua wants to hurt him. that hurts most of all and it's pathetic but mobei jun's head is swimming with the knowledge that maybe violence was never a good idea between them but what else can he do in this situation? he's completely out of his depth! so he threatens qinghua not to leave and he still LEAVES

so now he's trying to find qinghua and the entire time his mind is a complete mess of emotions because was he wrong all this time and qinghua cannot be gone, thats unacceptable, and what can he offer to make qinghua stay? how can he possibly not lose this person?? and the best he can think of is to let qinghua hurt him in return, let him get his licks in, and maybe that will help

but shang qinghua doesnt hit him when offered and qinghua seems a bit scared of him and for the first time ever that seems kinda fucking awful and mobei jun is out of his depth, but the warmth he feels when shang qinghua wont hit him is really... something. and maybe theres a lot more shows of affection he should be learning, like the feeling when someone could hit you but chooses not to. and look, he's starting from abysmal standards. and yeah, when shang qinghua suggests he cook for him that sounds weird and demeaning and mobei jun instinctively wants to turn it down

but when he thinks about how it might be a way to show affection that they both appreciate, he's really determined to see it through

anyway thats a verrrryyyyy long over-explanation as to why i dont think the beatings are demon culture, i think mobei jun is just a terminally awkward traumatized weirdo who doesnt know how to communicate

[quirkwizard]

The Metapocalypse

So when the series ended, I saw that a handful of fans were confused or disappointed about a certain plot point being resolved. That being the Quirk Doomsday Theory. I saw many fans follow that this idea would be important to the manga somehow. Now, I could easily dismiss this as fans latching onto something when the author never intended it to be that important. However, I still wanted to discuss it. Because I do think that there is something to this concept, but not in the way that everyone seems to think it is.

The Quirk Singularity, or the Quirk Doomsday Theory, is the idea that Quirks become stronger with each generation as they begin to intermingle with one another. And, when these Quirks grow too strong, more complicated, and dangerous to handle. The Quirks as a whole would grow to the point where people and society at large would not be able to handle them. Now, there isn't any denying that something like this is happening. There are a lot of examples of Quirks getting strong as time passes. There are the kids that Bakugou and Shoto work with, there's evidence from Destro's book about kids beating their parents during mock battles, and the absurd heights of the kids of Class 1-A. So it's clear that the manga is pushing the idea that Quirks are getting stronger.

However, the "doomsday" part of the theory is a lot more questionable. Of the Quirks we've seen, there haven't been any major examples of Quirks being too dangerous from the previous generations. Just look at all the pro heroes and the students. They all have their own downsides, but none of them are so strong as to be an active, uncontrollable threat to themselves and anyone around them like the theory is suggesting. What examples we do have are questionable. Tomura and Aoyama were originally the prime examples of this. However, it was eventually revealed that Tomura and Aoyama were given their Quirks. It's an unnatural process, one that their bodies were designed for. They hardly seem like the most fitting examples now.

I would argue the best examples are Dabi and Eri. Yes, their Quirks are dangerous, both to themselves and other people. Yet again, though, Dabi is a result of a very specific combination of powers. Two powers that are active counters to one another and have a very high chance of going wrong. If anything, he could just as easily be used as an example of Quirks potentially getting weaker when they intermingle. Eri is a deviation as well. Her power is so far out of the scope of the setting that I'm not even sure if it counts. Even then, they aren't a threat to the world at large. With the right help, whether it be through training their powers or giving them the right equipment, they could easily live among everyone else. Shoot, you could snap off Eri's horn, and her power becomes harmless.

The only person who really pushes for this idea is Dr. Garaki himself. And yes, Garaki is the number one authority on Quirks in the series. If anyone can have any say on what is happening with Quirks, it's him. However, he's also the guy who made the theory. Of course he's going to see everything as confirmation for his idea, like what's happening with Tomura or the drug made from Eri. All while cackling like a madman about it. He isn't exactly an unbiased source. Especially since a lot of what supported his theory he had some hand in, such as Tomura's bizarre body modifications. There's a reason why people keep calling him crazy, like Present Mic. Because when you really look at the theory and compare it with what we've seen, it doesn't line up.

So, what is the point of all this? Why introduce this theory outside of some neat worldbuilding? I think it has more to do with the themes of the story than being any kind of plot point. The only two people who believe in the idea are All For One and Garaki. Two old, long-lived men who want nothing more than for things to regress and stagnate. That's the whole point of them as villains. The Quirk Doomsday Theory is supposed to show the villain's stance against progress. That it's something to be feared. However, the series runs counter to this. That people shouldn't be afraid of things progressing. That older generations should be working to cultivate and help the next generation grow. It's why when it's first introduced, it's when Bakugou and the gang are doing that exact thing with all the troubled kids.

[tobydandelion]

Disabled Villainy isn't Ableism, it's Realism, or; Some People are Wrong about Nessa.

[Some 'Wicked' stage musical/Movie part 2 spoilers]

So I've been seeing a lot of takes about Nessa, (mostly on YouTube since that's the best social media platform for my current neurological needs), and there's a somewhat common one that I have the strong urge to dispute into the void. Some folks seem to misunderstand Nessa's role in the deconstruction of 'Evil'.

The Wizard is Systemic Evil, Glinda is Complacent Evil, and Nessa is Socially Traumatized Evil.

Because Wicked isn't just deconstructing society's perception of evil, but also Evil in practice- which comes from not only bias, misunderstanding, apathy, and greed- but also, the cycle of abuse. And a lot of disabled people don't like to hear this, because there's that lovely statistic that we can point to that says we're "more likely to be victims"- and that's true of abuse that reaches the level of criminality- but I dont think that's true of day-to-day, average, 'just plain mean' abuse. That kind of abuse is a learned behavior that comes from trauma. And, emotional neglect from your peers is trauma. Feeling like a burden is trauma. Watching all the other children playing and feeling left out is trauma. Being made to feel different over your entire life, is trauma.

Nessa isn't an ableist character, she's realistically Borderline for being disabled in a world without Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. Her character literally feels like she was written with BPD/NPD in mind- lashing out the most when she's feeling abandoned by a person she perceives as "hers", feeling the need to control the people around her, not caring how she hurts people in the process of that attempt to control their affection- she's literally my ex wife. They're both very extreme examples, but, with an understandable pathology. And the less extreme version of that is someone a lot of us need to actively fight against becoming every day. It's not fair that that's our burden, but it is. It's the thick line between healthy self-loving disabiltyPunk, or just being a dick. And it's a part of our extra personal labor that 'Entitles' us to an extra amount of grace that I don't think I'll ever really be able to properly quantify, because that line can be hard to see in the heat of the moment, through years of gaslighting and guilt and shame and resulting internalized ableism that we have the urge to fight against. The only way we can really see that line is in hindsight.

And while media that more thoroughly deconstructs this cycle is neccessary, so is simple media like Wicked. Especially in the context of an example of another traumatized marginalized character who made the decision to start actively trying to follow their ethics over their emotions despite their trauma. And, once again, the solution isn't limiting the options for marginalized characters, it's just making more marginalized characters in general.

A lot of folks also take issue with the entire concept of depicting disability being 'cured' in media at all, but, and thankfully I have actually seen this rebuttal: nothing about her life gets better once she becomes abled. And that's because she still has all that trauma from those years of severe marginalization that resulted in ostracization and feelings of powerlessness. She's still disabled- just only neurologically so, now. This is a terrific example of how different disabilities can intersect, and be exacerbated, or even created, by the neurological impact of marginalization.

In fact, that brings up another criticism that I've heard- that the characters are realistically ableist... in a society falling to fascism... in a story all about marginalization. I'm pretty sure that's intended, you guys.

Maybe I'll turn this into a script to film for shortform content next year when Part 2 comes out- I hope I'm out of Postpartum Depression by then. But I couldn't get this out of my head until I got it into words this morning. I think that's probably a good sign I'm starting to feel more like myself. Thankfully I had time to sit down and rock and type this morning, since my partner is taking care of our baby in the other room right now. (Not just babysitting, either- he's washing bottles.❤) He's 6 months now, and the most beautiful, funny, amazing person in the world. Meeting the new version of him every day as he gets stronger and brighter has been the light keeping me going. And we're already doing PHONICS. 💪🧠

[howtofightwrite]

Hello! I know yall have talked about how overusing violence in a story makes it less impactful especially if it doesn’t cause lasting impacts for the characters. In my story this lack of impact slowly clues the mc in that something is Wrong with [them/reality, they’re not sure] because hey, these things *should* be having some effects, healing in this setting may be magic but it’s not *miracles*, but I’m not sure how to differentiate it from the typical outcomes of violence in fiction that the reader will simply be used to seeing, outside just the mc’s thoughts on the matter. What are some things yall would want to see acknowledged and/or explored when treating violent encounters this way intentionally? Would someone become more violent (or more willing to do awful things to others when engaged in violence) over time when it didn’t have lasting consequences? Thanks!

Okay, so there's three separate things going on, and two of these intersect normally, but we usually approach them separately.

The first is the diminishing returns on violence; the simplest explanation would be that the less violence you have in your story, the more impactful (or potent) it will be. For example, looking at a pair of films from Tarantino's career. The violence is Reservoir Dogs hits much harder than the violence in Kill Bill. For example, if you've seen the former and I mention, “the ear scene,” you know exactly what I'm talking about. Yes, it's a somewhat gruesome scene, but it sticks with you, even decades later, potentially even to the point that you can't listen to Stuck in the Middle With You, without thinking of that scene. Now, how many people were decapitated in Kill Bill? It's a bit of an honest question, because I genuinely don't remember. While Tarantino has a well deserved reputation for violence, the violence in Reservoir Dogs is far more memorable, because there's far less of it, and the violence that occurs serves very deliberate story purposes. None of it is gratuitous for the purpose of, “here's a fight.” Where Kill Bill basically posits the question of, “how much can you cut out of an action film, while keeping the fight scenes, without the narrative completely collapsing?” As a result, there's a lot of violence, but none of it sticks with you. None of it has any particular impact. Even the moments that are supposed to be meaningful (such as the wedding) blend together.

Managing consequences of violence is more about preserving narrative tension. If that violence poses a real threat to your characters, then putting them in situations where they could be seriously injured or killed does have tension. But there are multiple points of potential failure with this thought process, and the more violence you engage in, the more risk you'll accidentally vent tension when you didn't intend to.

A major issue that can undermine your tension is when your characters, inexplicably, avoid harm. This is frequently an issue with non-powered superheroes, where throwing mountains of cannon fodder at them doesn't result in any meaningful wear and tear on the character.

Ironically, being too cavalier about violence can have a similar effect. Kill off too many characters, and your audience just won't care anymore about the survivors.

There are ways to manage this. A lot of the time a better option is to tie your characters' “fail state” to something other than your characters being hurt or killed. In fact, a lot of superhero narratives have to find other ways to maintain tension, because the protagonist is functionally immune to harm.

For example: The danger that a superhero will become completely ethically detached from their humanity. I hate to break it to you, but that's not a strictly new concept. The classic example of that is probably Dr. Manhattan from Watchmen, though The Comedian from the same is probably a better affirmative answer to your question. Could someone become completely debased when they're insulated from the consequences of their actions? Yeah. You don't even need fictional examples. Whoever Fights Monsters by Robert Ressler is a pretty decent, introductory, look into serial killer pathology, and the process of escalation they go through. Lack of adverse consequences can lead someone down a path to becoming their worst version of themselves.

Specifically talking about superheroes, Watchman casts a long shadow, and one of the issues that a lot of imitators suffered from was to pawn off a superhero's psychological problems into far more mundane causes, like abusive childhoods. (If you're wondering, this is why I'm not recommending things like The Boys, Irredeemable, or Invincible, it's because the only one of those that's even peripherally applicable is Invincible.) If you really want another example, Planetary comes to mind, though it won't be immediately apparent why that's relevant.

Something that's probably worth saying is, it's not about what I, or anyone else, wants to see from your work. This is about you finding the tools to do the best you can with your idea. So, I'm not really sitting her as an arbiter about what you can, can't, should, or shouldn't do. Rather, I'm mostly sitting here observing that, “this is how these things tend to work,” in a story. So, ultimately the decision is what you want to see in your work.

It's also worth remembering that hyperviolent media does exist. The violence doesn't have the same impact as in a more constrained narrative, but that doesn't make one story better than the other. I'm sure there are people who will argue that out of Tarantino's career, Kill Bill is the better film than Reservoir Dogs, (even if I'm not one to make that specific argument.) The point I don't often draw attention to, within the diminishing returns is, if you're going to use a lot of violence, it becomes difficult to pull out an individual violent moment and say, “no, this one's different; this one means more.” You can write an absolute gore-fest, but the individual moments of violence won't have the same kind of weight, and if you want one of those to carry more emotional weight, it's going to require a lot more care in how you structure your events.

A lot of the times with writing advice, it's not about, “right or wrong,” it's about identifying what works and what will take a bit more finesse to get working.

-Starke

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[benedictscanvas]

bluebells - remus lupin x reader

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

word count: 0.8k

a/n: i just keep thinking of teeny tiny remus concepts and i have to write them every time. thought it would be fun to do another in the recent universe (1, 2 & 3) from sirius' perspective. this is quite unedited, but i'll have a check on it tomorrow. enjoy sunflowers <3

---

“Do you have a secret admirer you haven’t told us about?” Sirius asks, as innocently as he can.

The question has Remus sitting up a little straighter on the stool in your kitchen, just as he intended. Remus may never have spoken to him about his feelings for you, by some miracle, but they were plain as day to anyone with a brain cell between their ears. Sirius was fairly sure you were equally enamoured - but you were harder to read than his precious Moony.

“What are you on about now?” you laughed, able to shrug off the question easily. Sirius sidled up to the tiny vase of flowers that sat on the granite countertop, filled with imperfect bluebells that didn’t look shop-bought.

“Only the very pretty bouquet in your kitchen that someone has clearly picked for you,” he practically purrs, “And don’t try to convince me you picked them yourself, doll, because I know for a fact you haven’t been walking in the woods.”

That only makes you laugh harder, and Sirius knows he’s got you. He’s hoping you’re about to praise whoever picked you those flowers and Remus will get sufficiently jealous to snog you senseless or something. Sirius hasn’t figured out his full match-making plan yet, admittedly.

“Obviously, I didn’t pick them,” you agree, glancing with obvious shyness towards Remus, who already has telltale pink cheeks, “Remus is the one doing all the woodland walking in this group. He is sometimes kind enough to fill my teeny tiny vase for me.”

And Sirius just gapes at you. Then at Remus. He can’t help it, because whatever he was trying to achieve, it is utter madness that Remus himself could be the one to pick you flowers and still neither of you could move past a more than friendly friendship. 

Remus is glaring at him now, because he’s clearly been gaping so long that he’s made the whole atmosphere awkward. You turn your attention back to making cups of tea, but Sirius sees the way you fluster. He’s made it weird. He was trying to make it a bit weird, yes, but not like this.

“Sorry, I had to take a second there,” he said, through a half chuckle, “Just struggling with the idea that Moony is bringing you flowers and he’s never once thought to bring some for me?”

Sirius is just charming enough to get away with it. Remus softens, his glare now holding far less scorn and you throw him a smile over your shoulder as you get the milk out of the fridge.

“He likes me better,” you argue playfully, sticking your tongue out at him. Just like that, all awkwardness is gone and replaced by the almost flirting thing the two of you do that drives Sirius mad - he wants to tell you both to give your heads a wobble.

“I can give you the leftovers if you like, Pads,” Remus chimes in, “But I’m afraid the finest flowers are already reserved.”

And Sirius watches Remus smile at you like you’re the sun and moon and all the stars combined, and it melts his heart a little. Who is he to rush you? You grin back at Remus like there’s a secret to be shared.

But of course, Sirius must keep up the facade and so he grunts in annoyance.

“I see how it is. Fifty years of friendship and look where it gets me,” he grumbles, “Pretty sure picking flowers is objectively wrong, too.”

“Drama queen,” you say through a cough, then adopt an instant wide-eyed innocent look when Sirius rounds his glare on you.

“Fifty years? We’re in our twenties Sirius.”

“Friendship like ours defies the laws of nature, honey,” Sirius smirks, and Remus’ nose wrinkles.

“And if you pick flowers in moderation, it can actually benefit their conservation,” you say, placing the three cups of tea on the table and waving Remus over from the island stool to sit with you and Sirius, “So drink your tea and stop whinging, Sirius.”

He gasps in mock offence and then pretends to burn his tongue on the tea, just to see you and Remus roll your eyes at him together. When Remus sits down, he thanks you for the tea under his breath and you smile your brightest at him, squeezing his elbow as you hurry away to get the biscuit tin.

Sirius takes another look at Remus’ lovestruck face even though all you did was touch his elbow. He’s not sure whether it’s cute or slightly sickening, but he glances at the pretty shitty bluebell bouquet on the table again and decides that if the two of you are happy as you are, he won’t try to interfere again.

(it lasts all of thirty seconds, because the two of you gang up on him about biscuit choice as soon as you sit down with the tin, and Sirius immediately decides it’ll be worth it to fluster the two of you, if only for his own amusement)