#Its something to consider as I move forward as a writer

[redrobin-detective]

I think one of my problems as an AU fanfic writer is that I have a hard time deviating from canon with my ‘soft AUs’. I can and do come up with all sorts of wild scenarios and spin out from there but I like keeping the facts of canon as close as possible.

I think of the constraints as a challenge, to tell a story within my self imposed limitations. If I change ONE thing, how will events change and in many cases the answer is, not much at all on a story level while I focus on the emotional. But as much as I have adhered to canon and my only personal beliefs, it does tend to make the story a little predictable, a bit boring.

[savannahsdeath]

"I'm supposed to protect you."

knight!ellie x princess!reader

warnings: angst, readers mom is reaallyyy annoying (my mommy issues speaking up), being forced to get married (typical for those times), hidden/not tolerated relationship kinda, execution and bad english cuz its my second language sorry bear w me😮‍💨😮‍💨

writers note: wait .. im actuslly surprisingly proud of this one ?? this was supposed to be a lil 1k special because its the first long one shot im posting i think ..anyways enjoy pookies<3<3

'understand that when you leave here

you'll be clear among the better man'

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

you looked at the prince from across the table. you tried to find something—anything that'd remind you of her, so your agony will stop, or at least decrease. but even his green eyes, the same color as hers, weren't looking at you with such admiration. his sword was just as shiny, sharp and impressive, but it wasn't made to protect you. and his words, oh his words... they were smart and stern, slightly softening when speaking to you - his soon to be wife - but they were meaningless compared to hers.

you knew that's what awaits you, you were preparing for this moment since the day you were born, but this fact didn't make it any better - any easier to accept.

you peeked a last glance at him - the prince, considered being the most handsome out of all principalities. but he was also the love of your life, against your own will, and that made your body fill with disgust. your face heated up and your hands started shaking, so you stared down, trying to pretend you're focused on eating. the view of your plate, the not finished meal, made the nausea only worse.

you stood up, making a loud scraping noise when your chair moved on the wooden floor. everyone's eyes were on you.

your stare was shifting across the known and unknown faces for a split second, your gaze lingering for a little longer on your mother's disappointed, scolding face.

"i'm sorry." you muttered and quickly left the dining room, leaving a chord of whispering, probably gossiping voices behind you.

you felt your eyes starting to water up, single tears slowly falling down. you just pushed forward, hoping to find an empty corner in the hallways full of busy maids and other services.

"your highness?" someone asked, but you felt too overwhelmed to think who it was. eventually, the person forcefully grabbed your arm. even though the touch was soft and somehow comforting, you stopped walking and aggressively broke your hand free.

"how dare you—!" you shouted, sounding more sad than mad. whoever it was, you had to admit that touching princess like that was brave. you turned around and through your blurry from tears vision saw your knight, number one protector, staring at you in deep disbelief and concern. "i'm sorry." you murmured and quickly began making your way to your dorm again. you wiped your cheeks with your palm, not bothering to find a tissue in the pockets of your uncomfortable but pretty dress.

the footsteps won't stop - in fact, they surpassed you and their source blocked your way.

"what happened?" ellie asked, raising her arms to caress your face, but not doing it yet - not without your permission.

you grabbed her wrists and brought her hands to your face, leaning into her touch and falling apart in this exact second. she spent a moment trying to calm you down, but even her proximity wasn't enough. she started dragging you outside, before anyone could find you both like that.

she stayed quiet until you found yourself in the castle's backyard, decorated with every kind of flowers possible. it was already dark, since you spent the whole day preparing for your wedding. without a word, she lay down on the grass and patted the space next to her, motioning for you to do the same, and so you did. for a second nothing but silence comforted both of you. you looked at the stars, trying to find any constellations your teacher told you about. the last wet tears on your cheeks started to flow down, leaving only barely visible drying stains.

you thought about how ellie treats you, and how you treat her. does every princess feels so warm whenever her knight is near?

you felt embarrased at the thought, and about the current situation. you were allowed to cry. your cherries were too sweet? too sour? cry about it, blame everyone and act all hysterical because it's, obviously, the end of the world! you have every right to do that - you're the princess and everyone should risk their life if it means you will be satisfied.

no. you weren't like that. you didn't cry when you cut your palm with a kitchen knife or when the wound won't heal properly. you accepted the doctor's help and, what's unbelievable, thanked him for it. how could you be grateful to someone who isn't royal in any way? you'll never forget how mad your mother was back then.

while your gaze was on the sky, ellie's was on you. you could feel it, so you turned your head to the side - and you were right, prince's eyes were really nothing compared to hers.

she spoke up as soon as she saw she has your attention; "is it because of the stress?"

"stress?" you repeated, biting your bottom lip, almost making it bleed.

"maybe you're sick?" she put her hand on your forehead, surely trying to find an excuse to be close to you. or maybe she was really concerned? your cheeks were probably really red due to her closeness, she could misinterpret it. "are you feeling unwell, your highness?"

you looked away, trying to brush your flushness away by getting lost in the moonlight. the full moon was approaching, and you tried to guess how many days are there left. maybe four?

ellie's hand slowly slid down your face, stopping on your chin, before slowly leaving your body. "you should be excited." she stated, but her tone made it sound like she was ranting about it. maybe you're not the only one who's not happy about the situation.

"well, i'm not." you shrugged, trying to sound as emotionless as possible, though it probably made your discomfort even clearer. your eyes wandered around the sky and you raised your hand, pointing at seven stars. "look, big dipper."

she took a moment to find the constellation, before slowly and firmly pushing your arm down. "i need to know what's wrong." she sighed, her worried eyes begging you for an answer.

an answer you couldn't give her, because what were you supposed to say?

"you don't." you denied in a quiet tone.

"please," she continued, stubbornly not giving up, "i'm supposed to protect you."

another sigh, this time yours. you stayed silent for a moment, before spotting different stars creating a familiar shape. before your hand could fully raise, ellie held it down. in any other circumstances, she would get roughly punished for treating you like that. she was lucky you wanted to be treated like that - like a normal human, and not a piece of delicate glass.

"i don't want him." you finally admitted, rolling onto your side to look at her. "he doesn't want me, either."

she scanned your expression, her own seeming deadly serious. you looked down and saw some smudges of dirt on your dress, hoping your mother won't notice them.

she frowned a little, knitting her eyebrows together. "i'm sure he does."

"then he's bad at showing it." you muttered and saw her confusion deepen. "why would you bring me here?" you looked around and took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of flowers. their colorfulness was visible even despite the late, dark time, standing out above the solid green grass.

she thought about your question for a quite long time, not sure is it tricky or rhetorical. "i like this place." she finally spoke up, her lips turning into a soft smile.

"no, i'm asking..." you shook your head, fixing your rolled down sleeves. "why would you bring me here?"

this wasn't a question she expected. even you weren't planning it and now you regretted pushing this subject. what answer did you expect? no matter what would it be, you still wouldn't be satisfied.

"it's important to me." she tugged a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, before caressing your cheek. "and so are you." you stared at her lips as she spoke, admiring how soft they look even though the words leaving them were serious and important. as soon as she finished, your gaze shifted back to her eyes.

"i think—" you gulped, feeling the meaning behind her phrase weigh on you. "i think this is something i need to hear from the prince. from my—" husband. say it. the voice in your head tried to convince you it's not a bad word, but it just felt so wrong. you felt like you're close to breaking down everytime you remembered you're his wife. well, you'll be tomorrow.

"i mean what i said, your highness." her thumb traced the outline of your lips, as her own uncontrollably parted. your body trembled and your eyes closed shut for a while. before you opened them, you heard her body shifting and soon, you felt her lips on yours.

the kiss confirmed your belief that she is soft, but she was even softer than you imagined. her fingers glided across your face, gently stroking it and moving your hair out of the way. her body fit so perfectly into yours, like she was made for you, and you were made for her. you felt something strange in your stomach, like you just got rid of a knot inside it, though you didn't even know it was there in the first place. the time was fleeting but you managed to remember every little detail, so when she pulled away you let out a satisfied sigh.

"i'll miss you, ellie." ugh, addressing to a knight by their name in such a soft voice- if only your mother was there. but it was only you two, surrounded by the beautiful scent of flowers and stars which seemed to be hanging right above your heads.

she smiled, though there was a hint of surprise, maybe confusion, in her expression. "i'm not going anywhere."

"but once i'm married, i'll leave with the prince." you stammered, your eyes suddenly glistening. her own became glossy, like they were covered in a thin mirror glass which perfectly reflected the moonlight. "i have to." you added after a moment, making sure she knows it wasn't your choice.

"i—" she started but didn't make a second attempt to speak after her voice drifted off once. she rolled onto her back and looked at the sky. "this is your home, your highness. you can't leave." she seemed to plead you to stay, and god, how much you wanted to...

"i'm scared." you admitted, your gaze desperately lingering on her, as if she'll disappear once you look away.

"of him?" she inquired as her hand found yours and gently rested on it.

your arm tensed at her sudden touch, but your whole body relaxed as soon as her thumb started stroking your palm. deep breath. "of living without you." you whispered, ashamedly looking to the other side to avoid her. you felt her squeezing your hand, and your grip on her also tightened. you started silently begging for the ability to stay like that forever, even if it meant you will spent the eternity in silence and with teary eyes. it would be the best reward you could ask for, a dream coming true.

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

the first thing you felt after finally coming to your senses was your mother fastening the corset, tightening it to the point your breath hitched. an hour of scolding for you leaving the dinner passed and now she went back to her stern, rough, but at least not mad facade. you weren't listening to whatever she was saying, thinking about how did you end up in your bed this morning. did you came here by yourself and you just don't remember? or maybe you fell asleep, ellie carried you here and tucked you in bed? at just this single idea of her, your mind wandered to the previous late evening. you felt overwhelmed by the memory of her words and, most importantly, her kiss. your breath got heavier, the corset not making it any easier to stay calm. your body started suddenly sweating, as if a wave of heat just washed over you.

"mother— i'm in love." you blurted out, before you could think of the consequences. you just had to get that off your chest.

"well, that's good." you saw a small smile creating on her lips. you finally received a human-like kindness from her, probably for the first time in years. "i hope you won't change your mind before the wedding."

your worry quickly turned into confusion and, eventually, the same disgust as yesterday. "i'm not talking about the prince!" you paused and looked down, not wanting to drag the topic but, at the same time, not able to stop it. "it's one of the knights." you really weren't controlling the words coming out of your mouth and that could only mean one thing - problems. "ellie."

your mother quickly spun you around and forcefully grabbed your chin. "i'm not even surprised." she hissed, making sure you know how disappointed in you she is. "but i won't tolerate that." the sharpness of her statement successfully shut you up, so you didn't argue nor pushed the topic when she went back to preparing you for the big, big day. she started acting like nothing happened and kept reminding you about how important it is. of course she only cared about her own good, or at least it felt like so, as she silenced you everytime you wanted to speak.

everyone was formally dressed, even the poorest maids found something noble. they all cutely smiled at your sight, probably impressed by your dress. the dominant color was clearly white, a sign of purity which you seemed to lack. that's what your mother made you believe, at least. but maybe she was a bit right after all? because your feelings towards ellie- oh, ellie.

you shook your head, forcing yourself to get her out of your mind. you looked at the service again, and they all immediately flashed you a smile as if on command. you reciprocated the gesture, though you could guess what was really on the women's mind. they hated you. they hated the ungrateful princess which would pick a knight over a prince. your obvious dissatisfaction, even without knowing the real reason behind it, seemed stupid. if only you could swap your places with one of them— not only you'd make her happy, but you and ellie could... oh, so you're thinking of ellie again.

you tried to move your veil so it'd cover the tears in your eyes, but there was always someone who'll fix it for you, not knowing you're doing it intentionally. you felt weak. physically and, mostly, mentally. because your knees, which barely held you up, which felt so light compared to the rest of your body as if they were made of cotton wool, everything above could be explained. by stress. but the intangible weakness was way worse. the prince seemed really nice and wasn't too old, you could get along well. but your heart was already taken by...

you turned around and your gaze wandered across the benches - you saw your family on the one side, his on the other, and a row of services against the wall. you could only think about one thing. where's ellie?

the question intrigued you to the point you started mouthing it to yourself, imagining 'if i were her, where would i go?'. but did it matter? she could be everywhere - in her room, in the garden - the point is, she wasn't there. your mother noticed your anxiety and walked over to you, hoping she'll be able to stop you from ruining the ceremony.

"where's ellie?" you immediately asked, frowning but calming down as there was someone able to answer your question.

"ellie?" she queried with a frown on her own, though hers quickly softened. "oh, the knight. look, there's other knights—"

"but ellie..." you cut her off with a sigh. "only she can protect me." you looked at the opened, massive doors, staring at the little stairs leading to the church you were in now, hoping to see her.

"there are dozens of more experienced knights." she rolled her eyes, discretely pointing at the row. "you and your stupid whims." with that, she left you and the prince alone at the altar. you awkwardly fidgeted with your fingers. you didn't need experienced knights, you didn't need knights at all - you needed ellie. she knew you have nightmares after arguing with your mom or during full moon, and she was there for you. she helped you take off your corset when you were alone, because she knew how much you hate it. she wasn't only your protector, she was someone way more important. not your friend. she was the love of your life. and you had to realise that right before the priest started the ceremony. great.

the whole time, you just watched the doorstep through the corner of your eye. there's no way she'd miss the wedding, so you couldn't help but wonder 'what did my mother do to her?'. you knew you're being naive, but you couldn't stop yourself from it.

you weren't listening at all, but one statement caught your attention, since priest's voice got louder and more stern.

"should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

a wave of gasps filled the room and as you looked back at the doorstep, you saw that your prayers have been answered. her hand was covered in blood, probably her own since she had it pressed against her stomach as if to stop it from bleeding. you couldn't see how badly she was hurt, since her clothes were messy and torned. she was breathless and her knees seemed to be as weak as yours, but she still managed to shout a raspy; "i object."

it caused a bitter laugh from your mother, followed by shouting at the knights to get her. they hestitated, respecting ellie as one of the best equestrians, but they had no choice. they weren't acting quick or aggresive, and she'd easily get away if she wanted to. she knew her objection won't stop anything and it'll only get her in problems, as if she doesn't have enough yet. but she also knew this was her last chance to show that she'll always, at least try to, protect you. not only from dangerous rebels, but also a non-threatening man you're forced to be with.

you grabbed your dress, slightly rolling it up so you won't stumble as you run, but someone's hands held you in place. you turned around to see the prince and, i have to add, you never really blamed him for that. he had no idea who's ellie, maybe he thought she was a bad person, considering the queen's reaction. everything would be probably even worse if you'd have the chance to intervene. you understood that, though you couldn't calm down for long after ellie was taken out anyway.

the priest looked at your mother, asking the question to which the answer intrigued everyone. "continue." she commanded in her usual firm tone. you could see her mumbling a quiet "this stupid girl won't ruin the wedding" under her breath, but it went unnoticed by everyone except you.

and so the celebration continued as if nothing happened. you stood hand in hand with a man you'll spent the rest of your life with, believing he will never love, know or even see you in the way ellie does. you knew he won't stroke your wet from sweat hair after a tough night, he won't help you dress up and, what hurt the most, he won't take you to the castle's backyard just to rest and watch the sky.

you thought about running away, but the row of ready knights who only waited for the queen's orders made you lose your hope. of course they'd probably hesitate for a moment too, giving you some time, but you still didn't stand a chance. plus, you had different things going on your mind, keeping you busy and unfocused on the ceremony. namely - what will happen to ellie?

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

you saw an envelope laying on your desk, having only your name on it. you teared it apart, impatiently wanting to get the paper out. you knew who's it from right after reading the first two words - not only because of ellie's handwriting, but also the way she addressed to you; 'my princess.' my princess.

believe me, all too aware am i of what i did. a lot happened behind your back but it is not a topic we should discuss like that. my friend took care of me, and even with the cold taking my body over i am just proud i am still alive, with the chance to write to you. i did something reckless but i believe it was caused by love. luccy says the same, we both think the thought of you controlled me. i could never forgive myself if i didn't see you in that dress. i think this is how i will forever remember you - dressed in white, looking so pure and angelic. i won't waste the ink for trying to compare you to anything, because i will miserably fail. nothing can be compared to you.

how does being married feel? i think you were unnecessarily scared. besides my little antic, it went smoothly. that is what i am told, at least, by the people in town. the queen was wrong about them, they are much more than poor slums. well, maybe they are poor, but i am truly in love with their modest cottages. they do not need much, they are happy with what they are given, and there is something magical about it. i think i would want to live like that. with you warming the other side of our bed. we don't need anyone else, i am sure we would enjoy life on our own.

the wound on my stomach seems to heal correctly. luccy thinks it will leave a scar, but i have some already, so what is one more? our biggest problem is food, because my friend gets a portion which is only enough for her. your mother took my money and weapon, the injury makes me useless anyway. to make matters worse, i have to stay in hiding. i haven't seen the sky since your wedding. oh, the things i would do to see big dipper again. i am not sure how it looks anymore, i have to admit i wasn't paying much attention. i apologize, but in my defense, my focus was on you. you are more interesting than any constellations.

i hope your poesy ring is pretty, at least. i want you to rememeber that you will always be in my heart and a simple ring other man gave you won't change it. maybe he did claim you, but i see you as mine anyway. my princess.

the letter wasn't signed, maybe to avoid any problems if someone else found it, but you were sure who's job is it. you quickly took a piece of paper for yourself to write, but you remembered the envelope didn't contain her address. you were left alone, your only hope was praying you'll get more messages from her. you could try to find her, ask the town residents, but they'd quickly start gossiping.

you looked down - at your promise ring. you couldn't deny that it was perfect and most definitely woth a lot, an ordinary resident of your kingdom could probably afford a food supply for the rest of their life with it. it was way too loose, so you started rolling it around your finger, deep in thought.

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

your mother pushed you forward, motioning you towards the gate. you saw a young woman led by a pair of knights, just another prisoner. she intensively stared at you and you wanted to ran up to her, no matter how suspicious it'd be. she just seemed so... familiar.

you slowed down, much to your mother's displeasure. "where are we even going?" you inquired, glancing at the carriage. days passed and you should be in prince's castle by now. yet, his visit kept getting longer.

"surprise." she murmured, her tone sucking every remaining bit of happiness inside of you.

you looked back at the woman, getting further and further away from you with each step. you hestitated between obeying your mother or trusting your intuition. the second option prevailed as soon as you saw, or at least could swear that you saw her mouthing ellie's name. you ran up to her, ignoring the queen's shouting at you to go back. the knights ignored you, holding the prisoner's wrists behind her back. you had to walk backwards in order to be able to look at her face. your dress made it hard, but you had to find out what's going on.

"ellie." the woman spoke up, her voice was weak but not from sadness, it sounded more as if she lost it due to screaming for too long. "i'm sorry, your highness. i couldn't protect her—"

"you tried." you cut her off, trying to sound reassuring. "where is she?"

luccy bit her lip and looked down. you wanted to push the topic, but as you turned around to see if you have any obstacles on the way, you saw you're already near the basement - were prisoners were usually located. without thinking, you took your ring off and put it in her pocket. maybe she'll be able to bribe the knights, and even if not, she'll definitely need it more than you.

as you went back to your mother, her yelling wasn't getting to you. you didn't pay attention to anything she said and once she finished, you whispered a quiet; "where are we going?" again. she, obviously, got even more mad at you for ignoring her. the whole ride passed rather quickly, as you relaxed to the melody of your mother rambling about how much of a disappointment you are.

when you arrived to an open area, full of people of all social degree, you felt a knot in your stomach. your whole body was either hurting or weak. you didn't see what are the residents watching, but only big events get so much viewers. you left your mother behind, though this time she didn't try to stop you with her worthless shouting as you made your way through the crowd. you probably hurt a lot of people while doing so, but it was worth it, as you were now standing in the first row, right in front of the... oh. gallows.

a wave of nausea and tears washed over you and you had to hold yourself up by an unknown man's arm. he didn't complain - everyone here knew who are you and they didn't want to end up being the executed ones. as you calmed down, you looked up to see ellie, seeming fearless or even proud. her chin was bruised but raised, showing how unfazed she felt. maybe she was only pretending, who knows, at least she was a good actress.

you screamed out her name, your voice breaking and trembling, as you swallowed your own tears which flowed down your face. she was surprised to see you so close to the gallows without anyone protecting you. her unbothered facade drifted away, and she mouthed "go!" or "don't look!" towards you, wanting to spare you the view. but you couldn't look away, you had to enjoy her green eyes until they were opened, and freckled skin until the blood was flowing beneath it, honoring her with a slight blush. she bit her bottom lip, just like luccy did not long ago, and broke the eye contact. unlike you, she couldn't stand the view of her love. not in those circumstances.

you saw your mother standing outside of the crowd, closer to the gallows than anyone else. she scanned the faces of the already dead people, and you wondered what did they do to deserve this. then, she gestured for some formally dressed men to start. as the noose wrapped around ellie's neck, you screamed again, this time taking action. or, well, trying to, since the crowd held you back, forcing you to not leave them. queen's commands. you cussed them out, trying to break free with all the strength you had.

"any last words?" your mother tauntingly asked, pacing back and forth.

ellie cleared her throat, before looking at you, what only gave you energy and motivation in trying to pull away. "if that's the price of love, then so be it" she was speaking slowly and clearly, making sure these words will be remembered by the community. "i am supposed to protect our only princess, so i'm more than happy to die knowing i did everything i could to—"

"oh, enough!" the queen hissed. "how dare you talk about love!" the way she snapped felt personal, so you almost forgot hundreds of people watch it too. with that, you also failed to remember that they're holding you, so you stopped fighting back and just hopelessly watched the scene.

"what else do we have to talk about?" ellie bitterly laughed, her voice a mix of amusement and hatred. the noose around her neck didn't seem to bother her. she was just so strong and- god, how much you admired this woman.

your mother turned around, waving her hand at the men responsible for the whole ceremony. you screamed again, though this time it wasn't her name. it was a weak but loud scream of protest, the one that tired you to the point you fell down on your knees, violently sobbing as the trapdoor opened.

✧˖°

endings;

the witch hunt

the loop

the connection

[lizbetlovesbyler]

still thinking about this

tw ; talks about gun violence, racism and homophobia

I love everything our community has done and all the work that has gone into analysis, but you dont need a 300-something slide goodledoc to prove there's something going on here.

They talk about wills sexuality in the first episode, going so far as to use what is now a slur to describe him.

"oh but, lizbet, it was the 80s, it wasn't a slur then" I'm aware, but every film/show/book/play that is written in a different time period than the one it is set still has to be relevant to the audience it was made for. A lot of people think stranger things is set in the 80s to call back to classic thrillers like IT and ET, which it is...at its very basic, fundamental sketches. If that was all it is, the GA and younger watchers especially would not care for it as much as they do.

Anyone who ever read 'An Inspector Calls' in school should know what I mean. In 'An Inspector Calls', he author writes about the ignorance of an upper class 1912 family living in capitalist England through the context available to a 1947 audience. The audience knows the family faces two upcoming world wars, the titanic sinking and the great depression, this knowledge is used to highlight the ignorance of the family by believing England, and they too, are free from mistake or flaw. This dramatic irony screams out at you as you are watching/reading it. the typical audience doesn't scrutinise every detail, despite if those details are intentional.

"what makes stranger things relevant?" I hear you ask. "what context do we have that enhances the storytelling?"

Rising Russian-American tensions - Russians weren't actually shown as a threat in the show until season 3. Before then, it was pure paranoia from the US government in the show that fuelled their research and experiments, as the show is set during the cold war, it is relevant for the time period. The show reflects real life tensions as they've spiralled out of control due to the Russo-Ukrainian war through the actual introduction of Russian villains. (I think its common knowledge that the USSR were not actually opening interdimensional portals underneath 80s malls.)

The opening scene of season 4 showing the massacre of the lab children, children we'd seen innocently playing in the rainbow room. 010 we see taking a 'lesson' with Dr Brenner, the interaction is calm and the two joke. Moments later, every single one of those children is murdered. we hear sirens, screaming, and gunshots. The US in 2022 saw 51 school shootings. Gun laws in the US are a topic that a lot of people still do not want to address, but through stranger things, the writers force forward the reality of modern America in a way impossible to ignore. The reality that the leading cause of death in American children and teens is gun violence. The reality that an estimated 4.6 million american children live in a home where a gun is kept loaded and unlocked. The reality that, on average, 23 children are shot in the United States every single day. It's also the idea that it was the forced conformity of Henry Creel that pushed him towards this warped perception of humanity, allowing him to justify his actions. Reflecting the cases in which the shooter was a bullied student. Forced conformity being a core theme of the show, because it is relevant.

Constant reminders of a racial divide and aggression towards black characters, a theme that has persisted throughout the seasons much like it has persisted in real life.

Growing LGBT acceptance

That's all I can come up with at the moment, I'm really eager to hear other peoples ideas on this, but moving on.

Each of these themes can be traced back to the very first episode.

and then we have

If you think this is far fetched, consider how you'd write the first episode of a multi-seasonal period piece to introduce ideas and themes relevant to your audiences.

Consider how the recent legalisation of same-sex marriage in the US would impact your choices.

For the purpose of portraying Will as a reserved kid for which it is unusual for him to not have come home, it would have had the same effect for Joyce to stop at the fact he is made fun of at school for his clothes and such.

this line adds a layer to her concern, that Will was targeted and hate-crimed, she is trying to get the police involved. What does Jim do?

He expresses judgement.

There is no reason to include this other than to lay the groundwork for a theme that will come back later in the show.

A theme that did come back and slapped us all in the face.

A theme that didn't go away like a lot of people wanted it to/assumed it would.

Assumed it would go away because so many shows nowadays drop a label or a flag pin on a character and leave it at that. It's frankly humiliating how people stoop so low to kiss the feet of writers who reduce them down to a few stripes. (most prominent example to me is Sasha Waybright's pitiful bi sticker in the last 3 minutes of the final episode that got people screaming in excitement.)

If this were the Russian-American tensions theme, it would be unusual to drop it before the shows concluding season, its core to Elevens storyline and the interactions of the main cast with ignorant government officials.

People have grown accustomed to the representation of queer characters with labels, that representation is the co-existance of hetero and homo characters without ever needing to address the differences. But we are different, its the beauty of being different that is ignored. I feel quite a lot of representation nowadays fails to reflect the core of LGBT experiences - love.

It is the love that makes us who we are, not the labels.

This is what makes Stranger things worthy of recognition, the queer characters are introduced through their love for others, not a single label is needed, they actually make a point of not labelling a single sexuality, which a lot of people mistook for them "dancing around the topic".

You think, for even a moment - with a style of queer storytelling such as that, that Wills love is going to be used to fuel the heteronormative relationship?

Stranger things - the show about being different, about love conquering hate - wouldn't go so far as to let Mike return that love?

yeah, right.

(i would like to add that these themes are serious issues i'm grateful the writers address. this post isn't meant to prove byler endgame, but the impact a requited love between them would bring to audiences and why that is important, much like the other themes.

the only way to have the full impact is for this theme to persist another season and play a crucial role to the shows conclusion, hence why Mike and Will are likely centre stage, even if they dont "get together", their bond is crucial to the plot, whatever happens with them and rovickie will be unforgettable.)

[theyapper0]

Doodles for the finale and some things that I picture will be BIG points in S2 of this rewrite!!!

A lot of the post-finale stuff is written w the drawings BUT I do wanna say that the hotel isn't getting rebuilt in just one 4 minute song

It's gonna be something that's gonna be in the slow process of rebuilding over the course of season 2, serving not only of a physical representation of how the whole idea of the Hazbin Hotel is basically starting over from scratch due to what happened in the finale (tarnished reputation bc of Adam's death, redemption being possible, etc)

AND it will also be another force in the season why characters STILL won't take our gang seriously DESPITE THE FACT THAT CHARLIE AND VAGGIE'S THEORY WAS RIGHT, the hotel is nothing but scaffolding and garbage by the time season 2 takes place, who's gonna believe THAT PLACE is the holy grail for redemption?

And there's some ramblings about this rewrite and what im considering moving forward!!! Just about my thoughts for season 2!! Feel free to read, or not!

I'm still on the fence with how I wanna go about season 2. On one hand, Im really curious to see how the writers decided to have the next season play out in canon and I'd totally be willing to implement any ideas that I liked just like I did with what I have so far!!!!

But on the other hand..... I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS........ So many plotlines for the story and the characters that I WANNA DO!!!!!! I WANT LILITH TO BE THE ONE WHO ALASTOR MADE THE DEAL WITH, I WANT ALASTOR AND CHARLIE TO FIGHT, I WANT LUTE AND VAGGIE TO FAC EACH OTHER AGAIN I WANT EMILY AND CHARLIE TO BE ON AWFUL FOOTING I WANT SO MANY MANY MANY THINGS MAN!!!!!

I have a lot of ideas and theories that I wanna do in this that I KNOW will get disproven when the actual show gets its next season and Im scared of this turning into something else entirely.

I mean, Im not scared of it being something different, Im just worried that people wont wanna read it if it strays too far away from the source material. Ik a lot of people (myself ESPECIALLYYYY) get turned off when it comes to super convoluted aus that has so much story and shit and is so far away from canon, too much to follow -> ppl don't care (like i get it, I AM THE SAME WAY OK........)

But does this stuff make any sense??? idkkk

I have a couple posts worth of doodles that I'll be uploading w in these days so look forward to that!

And I definitely have some ideas that I'll be sharing about this rewrite's version of S2 so.... I guess if people like what I have planned for it, I'll keep going? IDK!!!!!!

Thanks for reading this jumbled mess!

[twstjam]

a/n: Breaking news!!! local fic writer realises she can write whatever tf she wants and did just that. Have this one-shot based off that one scene from httyd where Astrid and Toothless almost killed each other protecting Hiccup when they met for the first time but with Ace and Deuce, Malleus, and Yuu(you). I actually wanted to write something like this for a later chapter of "This will be the death of me" but I got impatient so. Consider this an indirect continuation of "This will be the death of me Part 1" maybe?? Word count: 867

----

Everyone who knew the infamous trio of Heartslabyul would say that you're the most rational one. Ace was a mischievous trickster and Deuce was well-meaning but temperamental with not as much brain as he had brawn, so you're usually the one playing the mediator or guiding your group onto the safe(r) path.

So when Ace and Deuce tailed after you as you wandered away from camp again to most definitely not forage for berries, the last thing they expected was for you to be cuddling up with the void itself.

Ace and Deuce weren't the sharpest tools in the shed, but they reacted like any person would upon seeing their fellow idiot friend in the clutches of death.

"Get down!"

A flash of magic shot from Deuce's magic pen. It bounced harmlessly off the dragon's hide, but it was caught off-guard and the force of the blast caused it to stagger. The distraction allowed Ace to jump in and drag you down to the ground with him to cover you from any attacks.

Upon being startled, the dragon reared up, long neck stretching out to lift its massive, horned head and bare its razor-sharp teeth. Its black wings spread and seemed to shroud the entire forest in darkness as they stretched to their full length.

The creature's roar was ear-splitting, not unlike the thunder that rumbled in the previously clear sky. While you lay dazed on the ground, Ace was quick to get back on his feet and stand between you and the angry beast.

"Run!" he screamed. Ace and Deuce raised their magical pens. The winged beast narrowed its glowing green gaze before lunging—

"No!" You sprang to your feet and forcefully pulled your friends behind you, narrowly saving them from being torn to shreds by a thousand pounds of rampaging dragon. They both fell to the ground with surprised yells, magic pens scattering as you scrambled to placate the dragon throwing a hissy fit.

"It's okay, it's okay!" you rushed out as you held your arms up. You pushed the dragon back when it tried to move past you and Ace and Deuce gaped incredulously as you somehow wrestled it back from snapping them up in its jaws. "They're my friends."

To your friends' utter bewilderment, you held the dragon's head close and began to stroke its scaly snout. The creature continued to growl, its green eyes ablaze with fury, but it leaned its weight against you instead of lunging forward again.

"You guys scared him," you grunted, fighting with your own weight against the dragon when it ducked its head forward with a snarl.

"We scared him?!" Ace sputtered incredulously as he and Deuce stumbled back to their feet. They tensed simultaneously when the dragon hissed and green sparks jumped out of its mouth. "You're kidding, right?!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there," you said in the most calming tone you could muster to the oversized lizard in your arms despite your heart beating out of your chest. "Calm down. It's okay, Tsunotarou—"

"Tsuno—What?" Deuce spluttered.

"You call that��� thing… Tsunotarou?!"

"Ace, I'm trying to save you guys from becoming dragon chow. I'd appreciate it if you didn't—" You huffed as you pulled "Tsunotarou" back down when it—he—tried to rear up again. "—If you tried to make yourselves at least slightly less tempting snacks??"

Ace opened his mouth to say some sort of retort, probably something along the lines of "What the fuck are you even doing hanging out with a dragon in the first place?!" but the aforementioned dragon huffed smoke out its nostrils agitatedly and he backed down. Deuce stepped in front of him, holding his arm out protectively as if it might do any good against a literal living flamethrower, but if he wanted to be the first in the direct line of fire Ace wasn't one to argue.

"Er—Sorry?" Deuce said sheepishly. The dragon narrowed his gaze and he added a, "Um—Sorry… sir?"

The dragon, even with his face that's layered with stiff armored plating, somehow managed to look unimpressed, but he seemed satisfied as he relaxed more against you. His wary eyes still remained on the boys though.

"Okay, I think we all got off on the wrong foot here," you said, as if almost getting mauled by a dragon was comparable to "getting off on the wrong foot". "Ace, Deuce; this is Tsunotarou. Tsunotarou, Ace and Deuce."

The dragon huffed as if in greeting, but it was far from friendly. The only person he seemed to approve the presence of was you, who he continued to lean his massive head against. His spiny tail curled around your feet protectively which was all kinds of ridiculous for obvious reasons.

"Nice to meet you…?" Deuce said with a strained polite smile. Internally, both you and Ace commended him for trying.

"Yeah, we're real charmed," Ace added as he eyed the great big dragon practically snuggling up to you. "First of all: What the Hell man?! Second: How in the Seven's names did you get chummy with a fucking dragon?"

You smiled at him sheepishly as you hugged the massive snout nuzzling your neck.

"Ha ha… Funny story…"

[colderdrafts]

How about the reader teaching the Driders how to kiss?- on the mouth.

*Kiss on the cheek for you* You are an amazing writer and I look forward to more of your writing.

You get a lil cheek kiss back thank u <3

Ooooh that's a neat idea. This got a little away from me (as things tend to do..) Whoops. I wanted to explore how both the spoods would react to a sorta similar experience, and had a lot of fun with how they respond differently. Anyhoo, class in session? I guess? Enjoy!

Tw for suggestive content (as one can imagine)

It's rare for Dren to venture outside the cave for any reason other than to get supplies. But, ever observant, he's taken note of your stir crazy and subtly spending longer and longer outside whenever you go to catch some sunlight.

So he's strapped the basket sheltering his young to his abdomen and gone with you for a little outing, for no other reason than to look at the changing leaves in the forest, some fresh air, and enjoying spending time with you.

You ask him about the surroundings, and he eagerly puts his odd collection of knowledge to good use when indulging you. You can always name and recognize at least three new species of plants whenever he does this. It may not be useful knowledge to you, but it is endearing watching Dren excitedly talk about things, loosening up a little around you.

You enjoy his company underneath the extensive forest canopy, sunlight filtering through the leaves and a brisk, cold wind. You pull you cloak a little closer and step to Dren's side for warmth as you walk, idly chatting along the way.

The peace is broken when the sound of other people speaking reach your senses. Dren stops moving to look for the source, suddenly going quiet again. The path ahead splits, and further away you see another group of common-folk slowly coming toward the path you're currently on.

You glance up at your companion. He stares at the strangers approaching with eyes narrowed, like he's trying to figure out how to diffuse a ticking time bomb. You know he's sensing for a shift of vibrations in the air, considering if he should be on guard or not.

You sigh, knowing his anxiety is already running ragged. You don't want what was supposed to be a fun shared experience triggering his overprotective instincts, but the way his dark lower body changes its stance like prepping for an impact tells you it already has. His paranoia still gets the best of him at times.

"We're just gonna pass them by," you offer quietly, running a hand over the sensitive black hairs on his front leg. He seemingly snaps out of it, and focuses on you instead. "Just like at the marketplace. Easy as pie. Who'd stop us, right?"

Dren nods, calming himself at your words and starts walking again, following your lead. Though you notice he steps a little heavier than usually. Surprising, considering he can be completely soundless if he wants to remain undetected, but it may be for the benefit of the common-folk you're about to cross paths with.

Less incentive to act on surprise if they hear him coming.

And they do, the group practically stops dead in their tracks at your approach, conversations cut short, several eyes staring - a family of five, it seems, three adults and two adolescents. They're a group of some sort of humanoid canines.

You push forward, however. If you stop too, you're admitting it's a standoff. You've learned to play it off casually. Dren stays close enough so you can feel the weight of his presence right behind you.

"Good afternoon," you offer politely as you get closer, an unspoken ask for peace.

"G'afternoon," one of the adults reply, silently agreeing to it.

Most of the group turn to keep on their way, though one of them stops to look you over. Something about their stance makes you glance at them once more.

The spear they carry on their back tells you they're not just any common-folk. The way they carefully watch you puts you a little on edge. Dren notices too, and you can literally feel the dangerous shift in his energy as someone who's clearly a hunter shows just a little too much interest in you.

The family hurries past, waiting further down the road, as Dren calmly steps to your front, one leg blocking you from view. You glance under his abdomen, and the legs carrying his young clutch the side of the basket, as if subtly preparing to tear it from himself. He's readying in case he has to quickly hand them to you.

"Leave us be," Dren says, voice steady and sure, though you note his claws gripping at the ground. "There will be no conflict if you do not make it one."

"I intend not to," the hunter replies cautiously, arms out in a placating gesture. Unarmed. They return their attention to you. "Sentry. Are you alright?"

Dren can't hide a subtle hiss when the hunter addresses you, and you put a hand on his waist to calm him. You frown. Why would a hunter of all people show concern for you?

"I'm fine. Leave us alone," you reply shortly.

The hunter watches you for an uncomfortably long moment, though glances at Dren and wisely decides not to push it. They turn, and go to follow the rest of their group.

You turn as well, silently grabbing Dren's hand to pull him with you.

"Blue moons, they're nasty up close," one of them breathes when they think you're out of earshot.

"Poor thing," another whispers. "They're always completely brainwashed."

You quickly send a rough glare back in their direction, though it seems the group is focusing on moving on, and they don't catch it. You ignore them instead, and gently nudge Dren to keep moving, praying he didn't hear that.

His very stoic silence proves that, unfortunately, he did.

Once you've covered some ground, and sure you're alone again, you gently pull at Dren's arms to make him turn towards you and lean down. He's avoiding your eye and fidgeting.

"Hey, don't listen to them," you assert, gently moving a stray black hair from his face, hand resting on his furred shoulder. "You know they just don't get it, and they're not interested to learn. That's on them."

"But their words are always on us," he growls, uncomfortably stepping in place. He looks at you, sighs, and softly leans into your hands, resting his forehead against yours. "But not to worry, I'm not listening to them. I'm not sad. I'm angry."

"And you have every right to be," you agree, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "They're being extremely rude for no reason. I'm sorry to drag you out here and then this happens of all things. Let's just get back."

You go to pull away, but Dren puts a palm on your face to stop you, staring at you curiously. You peer back, a little confused. His anger has seemingly all but evaporated all of a sudden.

"What was that?" he inquires, chittering quietly.

"What was what?"

He tilts his head at you. "You put your mouth on my face."

Oh. You did, didn't you?

Wait, is this the first time you've kissed him? You didn't even think about it. It just came so naturally in the situation to reassure him, enjoying his proximity, indulging his warmth -

"Shit, dude, I'm so sorry," you realize in horror. If he doesn't even know what a kiss is- "I should have asked -"

"No, no, it's alright," Dren says quickly. He keeps his hand on your chin, not letting you look away. His gaze softens. "Actually - could you do it again?"

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Again - give you a kiss?"

"If that's what it was, yes," he says, a small smile playing on his lips. "The gesture seems regular to you? If you want, I'd like to try it again."

His vicinity and complete earnestness is not doing wonders for you at the moment. Neither is the direct fixation in his eyes, like he's just daring you to look anywhere else. He's drawing you in again, as effortlessly as ever. You wonder if he even knows he does this.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Does he realize how awkward this is? Perhaps he just doesn't care. Ever patient, he just watches you think things through.

But you do perhaps want to kiss him again. Just to give it a try? It couldn't hurt to show him the ropes, could it?

"Okay - but I'm going to do it a little differently this time, if that's alright?" you ask. "If I do this, I want to do it right."

Dren nods, intrigued. "Go ahead."

Your heart start hammering as you reach the back of his head to slowly guide him to you, leaning in and gently brushing your lips across his. You can feel him tensing a little, fingers ghosting over your neck and chin, unsure where to put them. He's angling himself to better accommodate your movements. Even though you're taking the lead, he's trying his best to be careful.

Christ, has Dren always been this soft and warm? You know he can be, but this is like experiencing him again. You recognize the gentle energy within him calmly reaching for you, and you melt into him in a completely new way.

You can feel something sharp on your lip, his pointed teeth and mandibles brushing across your lips and face as he leans in further, looking for more - but the little stings don't matter. You know for sure that any danger he possesses would never be a danger to you. You carefully move your lips against his, and he copies you, eager to learn this new skill, his warmth completely engulfing you like a soft blanket of trust.

When you finally pull away again he's seemingly breathless, and so are you. You only notice now he's completely curled both his pedipalps and legs around yours, pressing close up against you like a lifeline. A deep, guttural purr escapes him as he stares, obsidian eyes sizing you up like a starved man going for seconds. The sound lights a fire in your stomach, your heart leaping out your throat as your face burns.

"Woah dude, not in front of the kids," you blurt, borderline hoarse.

Dren blinks, the spell officially broken, and bumps his face into your shoulder, howling with laughter.

"No, fuck - ugh," you groan at your own lack of filter for ruining the heated moment. "I'm so sorry," you laugh, holding onto him to hide your face.

Dren pulls you to him and lifts you off the ground effortlessly, losing himself in the moment to hold you close. You steady yourself with arms around his shoulders to keep balanced at the rapid movement.

Dren's laugh settles as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, breathing deeply.

"I've not laughed like this in my life before you came around," he says, softly nudging you. "Please never apologize for that."

"I'll apologize for not handling this well," you argue, running your fingers over the back of his head. "I really think you should be able to enjoy a kiss, especially if it's the first time you're doing it."

Dren pulls back to look at you fondly, supporting your weight with his front legs.

"I did enjoy it. Very much," he chuckles, pressing his face against your cheek. "Perhaps I just need to learn to contain myself, should you ever wish to do this again."

************************************************************************

It's been a quiet day today, taking a break at an idyllic lakeside deep in the forest. Morgan has their mind set on a small town they've never seen and you're prepping to spend the night in this little safe spot underneath the stars before you reach it tomorrow.

You've finished starting a fire and settled back when Morgan suddenly sneaks up behind you, pressing their face against your cheek and chittering. You let out a not so dignified sound at the startle.

"What?" you grumble at them, waving their hair out of your face. "Don't you have a task to do?"

"You should pay more attention to your surroundings," Morgan purrs, eyeing you. "You must be tired. Good thing the pod is all finished and ready for sleeping. I just need you now."

"Don't hold your breath," you mutter, and look up to the canopy above.

Indeed it seems the webbing they've spun to accommodate you both for the night is finished, expertly secured and up high, spreading out over multiple trees. They did all of this this surprisingly quick. The strong, silky strings glint slightly in the dwindling sunlight, looking rather impressive, you reluctantly admit.

Morgan is nothing if not efficient. And so, so eerily quiet when they want to be. You hardly noticed as they worked right above you.

They watch you admire their construction, obviously pleased with themself. You avoid their eyes by looking into the flames in front of you.

"I'll take your deafening silence as approval," Morgan teases. They lie down next to you, flat on their torso, resting their head in their hands, abdomen stretching behind them.

"Also, I found something when moving about. I thought you might like it," they add, holding out a clenched hand to you, something hidden in their palm.

You eye them cautiously, assessing their nonchalant expression and easy smile as they eagerly watch you right back. Gingerly, you put you palm out to accept the offer.

They unfurl their clawed fingers, dropping a small soft object in your hand. It's some sort of flower head with blueish-white petals, stretching almost like small tendrils.

"These are good for insomnia," Morgan explains softly at your confused expression. "You've been having trouble sleeping lately, and they grow a lot around here. If you want, I'll show you how to make use of them."

That's - oddly considerate. Well, in many ways, they are. Your thriving and consequent survival means theirs as well, after all.

Though something in the back of your mind tells you not to let Morgan give you something that'll leave you even more defenseless in your sleep. There's, after all, a very good reason you've not been sleeping well lately. And it might have to do with sharing your sleeping space with an incredibly dangerous predator.

No matter how much their proximity calms you immensely.

As if sensing your train of thought, Morgan leans into your side, resting a head on your shoulder. You can practically feel the anxiety flee your body like it's scared of them.

"Just let me know," they hum at your silence. "I wish you'd just let me help you instead, though. I could lull you to sleep pretty easily."

You lean your head against theirs heavily. "So why haven't you?"

"Because I want you, to want me, to do it," they shrug, absentmindedly running a hand over your arm. "But I understand I can't right now. My sentry doesn't trust me at all. So, for now, let's keep this as a backup if your insomnia gets worse, hm?"

This is honestly surprising. For all their unpleasantness, Morgan at least seems somewhat genuine when it comes to taking care of your health. You can't trust them, but you can at least trust their consistency in being hellbent on keeping you alive. This little gesture is just further proof of that. You sure don't feel like you owe them anything, because you don't. But perhaps you can throw them a bone for this one. If you're stuck together anyway, might as well reward good behavior.

"Thank you," you sigh, absentmindedly pressing a small kiss to the top of their head still resting on your shoulder. They smell faintly of grass and sweat. "I'll keep it in mind."

Morgan slowly pulls away from said shoulder in favor of staring into you, an inch away from your face. You recoil at the startling change as their red eyes zero in on you.

"What was that, sentry?" they ask curiously, lowly, tilting their head. You can feel their breath, their energy fluttering against you.

And it only now occurs to you what you just did without thinking. What possible consequences could it have giving Morgan that type of affection? And after all this work, being so careful to not indulge them. Foolish.

"Nothing," you brush it off quickly, turning to grab a stick to stoke the fire unnecessarily.

Morgan keep hovering close, and you feel their hand curl softly around your shoulder. You don't need to look to know they've got that obnoxiously knowing expression on their face. They get it whenever you try to hide something, your fluster never failing to be extremely amusing to them.

"Nothing? Then why are you so embarrassed?" they tease, nudging your side.

"It was a little kiss," you snark, resisting the urge to glower at them. You don't want to look at that face again. "I think you know that very well."

"Kiss," they repeat, tasting the word and casually trailing their fingers over your neck. You shiver. "I don't think I do. Care to explain it to me? It's very soft. I like it."

Their hands settle over your chin, gently turning you to face their humored staring. You can't tell if they truly don't know, or if they're just enjoying watching you squirm with this. They seem relaxed, and you can feel its infectious energy traveling through you as well. An attempt at reassurance.

They do genuinely seem intrigued, however. And this wouldn't be the first time you've had to explain a certain social etiquette to them. They're well versed in most things from watching others, obviously a fast learner with a keen memory and ability to mimic - but sometimes, certain things like this has just somehow escaped them. A life of pure, cold solitude could do that, supposedly.

But do you really have to explain this to them? They look at you expectantly as if you do.

"Fine," you cave, mentally preparing for the havoc you're about to cause. "Kissing is a way to show affection. You've got a lot a sensitive nerves in the lips, and just pressing them against someone feels nice. I didn't really think about it right now, so you shouldn't either."

Morgan doesn't say anything for a bit, considering your words. Then they simply grasp your chin, briskly lean in, and press their lips against your forehead. They're being careful, analyzing the situation and the best approach like always. Regardless, your breath gets caught in your throat.

You can feel the fangs of their mandibles scraping across your skin, a faint but very stark reminder of the paralyzing venom that runs through them. It makes you freeze in place, gripping at their wrists on instinct, unsure if it's a search for safety or an act of silent plea.

Morgan hums lowly at your reaction, sensing unease and attempting to calm it by gently brushing their hands over your skin, like smoothing out tension. Oddly enough, it works. It always does. You relax a little bit, like any nervousness has just been deftly removed. Reassured, Morgan pulls away again.

"You're right. It does feel nice," they whisper, tilting your head up to meet their eye again, searching your face. "You did it first. So why are you suddenly so agitated?"

There's no point in lying to them point blank like this. The annoying arachnid can all but smell it. "Your fangs," you reply simply.

They blink. Then they chuckle fondly, cupping your chin and brushing a thumb over your cheek. "Sentry, even if I could pierce your skin on accident, nothing would happen without me wanting it to. If anyone gets to feel my venom it will always, always, be because it's on purpose."

You look them in the eye, trying to ignore the subtle way their voice curls around your senses. "And that's why you did it that one time?"

They give you a look like you're being silly and lean in again, forehead against yours, legs curling around your space. "Only on purpose, and when necessary. Unpleasant, but harmless. You know I'd never hurt you."

You hesitate. "Do I?"

"I have been trying to show you," Morgan offers with a sigh. They frown, thinking for a bit. "But if my kind of affection doesn't work, perhaps your kind will? Are there other ways you'd do this?"

You get a mental image of Morgan's lips on yours and your face flushes. You can tell if it's by disgust or need, and the contrast makes you squeamish. You know Morgan has honed in on an idea from the way their smile stretches. Crap.

"There is, isn't there?" they purr.

You just nod an affirmative. You can't even pull back. Do you even want to? There's just the red of their eyes in your mind, and their palms on your cheeks.

Morgan keeps the suffocating closeness, smiling as they lock your focus on them completely. "Show me."

Their face barely an inch from yours, they patiently wait for you to do the rest. They want you to come to them. And you do. You just can't help yourself.

You brush your lips against theirs, careful and soft, their low pleased chittering filling the space. Seems they like it. Encouraged, you lean further into them, drawn by their warmth and reassurance, reaching your hands up to rest against their chest. You can feel them smile through the kiss, and they angle themself to reach you a little better.

You pull back briefly for air, and Morgan follows you, pushing forward and seeking you out again like they're scared you'll vanish if they don't. Something curls around your hips and pulls you closer, you recognize the familiar strong grip of their pedipalps, and their arms slowly wrapping around your torso. Your feet leave the ground as they simply lift you up to meet them better without having to lean down. They lean into you with a contended sigh. Seems they really like this.

"Again," they whisper in your ear, almost sounding giddy. "Let me get it right."

Their lips are on yours again, soft but a little more insisting. As promised their fangs don't pierce your skin, but the prickling impression of danger mixed with the pure endorphin rush from this new sensation you can share with them sends a fire through your system. You can't help but fall back into them, their warmth encompassing both of you in an entirely new intoxicating way. They're a fast learner indeed.

You try to break off for air, and Morgan smiles at you, all fangs and intense staring, their chittering purr almost making your tremble.

"Don't run from me," they hum softly, their breath on your lips. "Trust me."

Their legs settle under you to help support your weight, and you completely relax into them. It's like you're floating. The only thing on your mind is Morgan. They're everywhere around you, against you, within you, pulling at the little connection lodged to your core.

Carefully you poke your tongue out, and perhaps that was a mistake, you're just giving them ideas, but it's just so nice to be in their arms, it always is. They hum, and gently grip the back of your head and push their tongue out against yours in turn. It's warm, so warm, and you just let it in your mouth to explore, messy and experimental. A low growl escapes them at the feeling, and they lean further in, seeking out the taste of you like a moth to a flame.

It seems Morgan doesn't even need the venom to paralyze you. They kiss you like they're prepared to swallow you whole.

[snapscube]

As you've said more Sonic Destruction is coming, do you have a line or two from ep 3 you could share that doesn't have a huge spoiler or anything tied to it?

It has not been written haha. I wanted to write it a lot sooner but truth be told I've been kinda intentionally not interacting with my usual AI channels as a small show of solidarity with the writer's strike going on, since though AI is not the biggest concern of the strike necessarily it is a talking point that is brought up and part of the fight is for regulation of AI tools in artistic industry, which is something I agree with. I do think that there is an ethical place for AI tools in creative work, Sonic Destruction is not the first example of something like that (plus it helps that kinda the whole point of SD is to giggle at how silly the idea of writing an entire script with little to no human input is anyway), but right now the technology is being pushed in a direction that is designed to replace humanity in art with efficiency, and maximize return on investment. Which is just... not the point of why we create, imo. So it's a subject I care enough about to shoot myself in the foot a little lmao.

I HAVE actually considered moving forward on the video anyway and maybe using its reach to communicate some of my stance on these ideas, but I'm not sure how tasteful it would be to do so. I defer to public opinion on that, so if you have any opinions feel free to let me know.

[prideprejudce]

im genuinely curious since i keep seeing this opinion, but i rly dont think hotd writing was bad? nothing is perfect but idk, unless someone points to me the times they had shitty writing im having a hard time seeing it. unless i dont actually know what "writing" means here. english is not my first language, i COULD be misinterpreting things lmao. i rly liked how they did things this season, i think it made sense with the last one, this one was just Tenser because at any second the war will reallyyy break out n we dont know when cuz we have two driving forces from opposite sides not wanting that to happen, thats the entire point of s2 i think: establishing that in war there is no clear winner ("strange victory" n all that), that everyone is going to die, that there is no point to any of it theres no point to war at all, that every character is "heroic" and "villainous" in their own right in the right pov. i think it was a fun season to flesh out the characters, have us not feel entirely happy to be fighting for one side cuz theres innocents in both sides but ultimately we all know they will all die and its all for nothing. thats the tragedy of it all imo. i loved it to pieces. i guess id say im sad some characters didnt interact but also i dont see how they would considering how this season went. n also i wanted more rhaena (i do hope she'll have a cool ass role next season, idc idc)

i personally think this season was truly a transition season to full out war. people are pissed because they wanted war to instantly happen after lucerys died last season, but in reality things arent that black and white and i think it would have cheapened the plot to fast forward through the political negotiations and underhanded scheming to try and win without fighting, to just full on nuclear dragon war.

I actually like the idea that this season was like standing on a cliffs edge where one wrong move led to oblivion with millions of people dying and the practical annihilation of half of house targaryen. I'm glad that the writers took the time to emphasize how dire this war could become before barreling us into it. the political battles and moral dilemmas are just as fun to watch as the actual battles

that being said, there are still valid criticisms of the show being brought up too: like the weird pacing and absolute dragging on of daemons harrenhal ghost adventures. on one hand I get it, because in the books daemon just disappears for weeks at a time, and the writers had to do SOMETHING with him this season instead of having him peace out for 7 episodes. but I agree that the harrenhal visions became repetitive, and I'm also not a huge fan of the back to the future magic being shoved in our faces instead of more subtle clues to it

overall, it was a transition season, not the absolute best season of television history, but it's definitely not the worst (and not even CLOSE to being as bad as got s8). I think in modern age media consumption, people now equate "i personally don't like this" to "this is all horrible and the whole show is trash now"

[beevean]

Flynn saying that Amy should move on from Sonic because their dynamic will never get a "proper conclusion", and it gets in ths way of her character shows a clear misunderstanding of Sonic and Amy dynamic, and Amy herself. Amy doesn't follow Sonic around just because she loves him, but she also loves adventures like him, she can help people while loving Sonic, like on sa1 where she helps and a small flicky, befriends gamma and even protects it from Sonic.

Putting the clip here to let everyone experience how snide and mocking he sounds. "Will they have kisses one day? 🥴" shut up, you are a paid professional ffs.

I'm not afraid of calling it sexist. I'm not saying Flynn, as a person, is some sort of asshole misogynist, but there is a very obvious pattern in the things he writes and says, ever since his Archie days and continuing nowadays: he clearly doesn't like cute, feminine traits in female characters, and he prefers masculine traits that he associates to maturity (something something sally). I don't like it. You can let Amy have her silly harmless crush and still write her with respect. Sonic considers her a trustworthy friend eve in games where she's more forward with her infatuation (SA1). There was no need for him to waltz in like he owns the place because he got tired and he wanted them to "move on", like some sort of fic writer who ships the two with other characters and wants to break their canon dynamic.

And I still hate his rhetoric that "she has so much love to give, she has potential!". What a slap in the face towards the character. Amy's most famous scenes are precisely her giving love to people other than Sonic! The Flicky, Gamma, Shadow, Big, Cream, Silver, even Professor Pickle in the ending of Unleashed, all people she protected or supported or comforted in times of need without Sonic involved. You are not revolutionizing anything! I'm not pretending Amy was peak character in the 2000s, but she was not always a Sonic-obsessed yandere. Hell, you can't even say "muh meta era, he needs to fix the bad pontaff writing", because she was perfectly fine in Lost World and Forces. Do I need to repeat how little Frontiers does with its supposed "character development" moments? Or how Amy, in her quest to "give love" to the Kocos, accidentally forgets that Tails' life is in danger?

I'm glad Twitter for once dragged his ass.

[shmowder]

If it gives any peace of mind the rumor is he sold ipl and isn’t involved heavily in p3’s development due to addiction related problems. Though I understand that really doesn’t make it any easier to stomach and I feel a similar amount of disgust. It’s all very upsetting and genuinely wouldn’t blame you if you distance yourself from the series as a whole

In the conversation screenshots where he's financially threatning his wife after physically abusing her, he has a black and white picture of himself as his WhatsApp profile.

It's taken in the same black and white style of the Pathologic Classic portraits.

Does he think he's a video game character? Does he ever stop sucking his own dick to realise how vile the things he did? The physical abuse? The grooming?

What a fucking joke of a person, to think I ever respected him as a writer. As a creator. What a pretentious self-centered piece of shit. He created one decent story, and that suddenly means he's the genius of the century? It's just one fucking game. These are real people with real lives involved.

He referred to the son he kidnapped as "his favourite son." since he has other children with different women. What a sick individual.

I don't know what I feel. I feel angry, disgusted, cheated, and horrified. I feel nothing but immense empathy for Renata. I hope she's in a safe place with her son. I hope her son's recovery goes well. I have a niece his age, just the thought of her going through that is making me tear up.

I'll definitely distance myself from Pathologic for a while. I'll keep on eye on this case and follow its development. I hope Ice-pick lodge seperate themselves from him moving forward.

The reddit account of u/thelxr who claims to have worked on P1 and P2 have said the following.

"he is not the studio, and isn't involved much in development since The Void - do NOT take out your anger on the talanted and good people working of Pathologic 3"

The original source and full-length comment are under the cut

But Ice-pick lodge, the company, the developers of the game, the writers, the everything. They don't deserve to be punished for his actions. Likewise, I don't feel comfortable giving money to a company knowing any of it might end up in the pockets of this shithead, since at the end he owns the IP, even if he isn't involved in the current development of P3. I feel conflicted.

This is an old case and not something that suddenly popped up after the announcement of P3. There are evidence, pictures of real people, and legal documents. It's very unlikely any of this is false, but if it is, I'll go back and edit these posts to clarify. However, I won't delete them.

As a former colleague (I worked on Pathologic 1, The Void, Cargo, and a bit of uncredited work on Pathologic 2), I am sad to confirm, that this is most likely true. There is a link to follow the ongoing court considering the child alimony payments, and it looks like there will be another one, considering recent occusations. (As link to Russian websites are banned, see original source in the mod comment. You will need a VPN to go further down the first link in the post to see the court progress, or use google translate on that link to bypass the need for VPNs)

I know Nikolay well, from at least 2006, and unfortunatelly his "misbehaviours" have been an open secret for a long time, on which I didn't comment for two reasons. One - he is not the studio, and isn't involved much in development since The Void - do NOT take out your anger on the talanted and good people working of Pathologic 3. Second - I've been kind of a coward, until I've learnt in 2018 or so, that a girlfriend of mine was also groomed by him, while we were still dating, and since then I broke all ties with Nikolay.

He has been a raging, violent and erratic alcoholic, a sociopath and a pathological liar all these years. I personally know at least 10 people who he harmed directly in relation to public accusations (but it's their stories to tell, not mine). He is a manipulative sociopath, that is very good with words, another reason why these stories only surfaced now.

The reason I'm speaking up right now is because I figured that after the last ephebophilia and grooming accusations, that cost him his job as a univercity teacher, and danger of going to court, he would change his ways. But things have gotten worse and more rotten since then.

There isn't a reliable "reputation institution" in Russian gamedev, but it must start at some point.

I believe the best path for Nikolay would be to leave Ice-Pick Lodge to not tarnish their reputation with his own fuckups, and leave the current studio to work as is - they're doing a great job on Pathologic 3, and they once again should NOT be harrassed for a single person's misdeeds.

-

Source

[deaf-solitude]

can i request platonic frenchie&reader where they run scams or heists together? reader can be g/n!

(A/N: Of course! :D So sorry for the delay, I’ve been dealing with a lot these past months and trying to get out of writer's block. I may have gotten… a little off topic and carried away but I meannnn… I had a vision and I ran with it. I hope it didn't come off as romantic due to some dance scenes. Hope you enjoy! <3 (also season 2 RAHHHHHH!!! I’m staying up to date with the episodes as soon as they come out, so feel free to submit requests for season 2 stuff as well!) also this starts in third person, but is written in 2nd person afterwards!)

Pairing: Platonic Frenchie x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: None (aside from rich people ugh). Very fluffy :]

Summary: You and Frenchie snuck into a fancy party to rob some rich people, as one does. The night was going so very smoothly, and you both racked up quite the haul for the night. A bit of trouble arose as you were trying to leave, but there's nothing you can't... dance your way out of?

“Hey, get back here!” A voice shouted from somewhere in the crowded ballroom, but it was only met with giggles and hushed exclamations as two figures rushed away from the fancy Englishman. A few other posh citizens were shoved to the side as they ran, causing them to let out offended gasps and surprised shouts, but that didn’t deter the pair from making their getaway.

“Go, go, go!” One of the two encouraged, pushing the man in front of them around a corner to get away from any pursuers they may have picked up. The two yelped as they turned the corner, coming face to face with a taller, burlier man. He… did not look pleased. The thief behind their male counterpart suddenly launched forward, grabbing his hand and dragging him down another hallway. He stumbled slightly from the abrupt movement, but quickly regained his footing and kept pace with them.

They could hear the larger man giving chase behind them, spurring them to run faster. Through many narrow hallways and past many closed doors (which they didn’t dare test to see if any of them were locked or not), the two finally saw a break as they turned a corner: an ajar door. They charged through the doorway and nearly crashed into the wall opposing it, but scrambled to quietly shut the door behind them anyway. The space was small, almost too small for the both of them, and they were forced to painfully squish together.

They covered each other’s mouths with their hands as they heard the hurried footsteps of their pursuer, lying in wait as they approached and then passed their hiding place. They could hear each other's racing heartbeats in their ears from the close proximity, waiting at least a minute more before even considering moving. Slowly, they exchanged wide-eyed glances before breaking down into quiet laughter.

“Up top!” You exclaimed through laboured breaths, struggling to free your arm before holding one of your hands up toward Frenchie. He grinned and enthusiastically gave you a high five, doing a little fist pump right after. You giggled quietly at his action, covering your mouth with your hand. 

“You got the goods?” Frenchie questioned eagerly, to which you procured a decent sized pouch from behind your back, its contents jingling around as it moved. 

“I sure do,” you responded with a mischievous grin, shaking the pouch slightly before tucking it back behind your back, straightening up a bit–or, as much as you could in the small space. “Now let’s get the fuck outta here, yeah?” You proposed, gesturing the best you could to the small closet the two of you were still standing in.

Frenchie nodded, “right, right.” He leaned forwards to slowly open the closet door, carefully peeking his head out to scan the hallway. Empty. He withdrew his head and gave you a thumbs up, indicating the coast was clear, before shoving his hands in the small, intricate satchel tied around his waist, trying to look for something. He fished out two masquerade-esque masks with a flourish a few moments later, the masks similar to the ones some of the other guests were wearing, but a little more crude due to the materials Frenchie had on hand when making them. “Our disguises,” he announced, handing the one over to you that matched your outfit’s theme and colours.

“Oooo, very nice,” you complimented, taking the mask offered to you gently. It covered a little more of your face than a normal mask would, and yours had some beautiful feathers fanning out from one side, no doubt stolen from that rich man’s ship that Blackbeard’s crew had raided earlier. “You sure these masks will be enough to stop people from recognizing us? Or rather, the blokes that were chasing us earlier?” You questioned as you fastened the mask to your face, adjusting the string holding it in place so it wouldn’t slip.

“Oh yeah, a hundred percent. We’ll be out of here in no time.” Frenchie reassured, waving a dismissing hand at you as he fumbled to put his own mask on. You nodded at Frenchie’s words, choosing to believe him rather than fret over the fact that the masks would definitely not conceal your identities well enough, but you supposed you would cross that bridge when you got to it.

Within a few more moments, you were both ready to go, checking that the hallway was clear once more before exiting the cramped closet. You made quick work of navigating the halls the two of you had just been running down, making your way back to the main area. There was only one problem that stood between you and your escape: you had to make your way back through the crowded ballroom, where you had both stolen several valuables from several different people. You found yourself standing in front of that very room before long, pausing in one of the extravagant arches that led into it. It was still as packed as ever, and the band set up in the corner of the room were still playing their baroque music.

“Ugh, this is going to be terrible,” Frenchie groaned, already shivering in discomfort from the thought of having to get through this room in a non suspicious manner, which most likely called for some interaction with these upper class snobs. You also found yourself shuffling your feet anxiously, your mind already jumping to find other solutions. 

“Uh, maybe there’s a way around…?” You had begun to move away from the busy room when suddenly you were taken by the arm and pulled in another direction. Your head snapped to the side to see a posh Englishwoman had hooked her arm with yours, a tight smile on her face. “Oh, darling, I love the embroidery on your outfit! Wherever did you get it?” She gawked, eyeing you –an unsuspected thief– up and down.

You were quick to put up a bashful facade, giving the woman a coy smile in return, but you couldn’t shake the nervous twinge in your body language. “Ah, this old thing?” You waved a hand at her, straightening up a bit, “I’m afraid it’s handmade by a friend of mine, a gift to me. They don’t take clients, unfortunately.” Of course, you were lying through your teeth: this ‘friend’ of yours was actually that wealthy man that had been robbed earlier that day, who had an odd amount of fancy outfits aboard his ship. He was dead now, courtesy of Izzy. You supposed the outfit counted as a gift, along with the feathers adorning your mask.

“Oh, please, you must put in a good word for me! Their work is simply exquisite!” The woman pleaded, holding both of your arms now. You chuckled nervously, trying to wrench yourself from the woman’s uncomfortably tight hold.

“Of course, of course! I’ll be, uh, sure to do that!” You responded hastily, your gaze flicking to the side to meet Frenchie’s, but instead found that he was missing from where you were just standing next to him. Your eyes widened in panic, beginning to search the rest of the room for your companion. Luckily, it didn’t take long for you to catch a glimpse of him again, the poor man also being dragged away and crowded around by some posh couple. 

Shit, you cursed inwardly, excusing yourself from the Englishwoman as you began to make your way over to Frenchie again. You nearly groaned as yet another person intercepted your path, talking your ear off about some party gossip you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to at the moment, only responding in hums and nods as you kept your eye on Frenchie. Eventually, he turned and met your gaze with a distraught expression, a frown tugging at his lips.

At that moment, a new song started up, and all of the partygoers suddenly perked up and started to cheer, seemingly getting into… pairs? Oh. OH. Your heart dropped into your stomach, realizing that people were starting to dance. Unfortunately for you, it seemed as though the crowd was pulling in any dance partner they could find, which included onlookers. You looked back to Frenchie with a panicked look–you were never confident in your ability to dance. He gave you an empathetic look, shrugging before being pulled away by a tipsy woman who was far too giggly for his liking.

“Out of all the fucking times,” You grumbled to yourself, your fists clenching at your sides in annoyance and slight nervousness. A tap on your shoulder had you whirling around, your posture stiff as you stared at the masked woman who had wanted your attention.

“Oh hun, you seem awfully lonely. It’d be a shame if you missed out on all the fun,” she purred, holding out a hand. You hesitated, trying to ease the tension in your voice and body by clearing your throat as you scratched the back of your neck.

“Oh, I don’t know… I’m not the best dancer,” you explained, but your hand was grabbed by the woman anyway. You were startled at first, every muscle in your body screaming to pull away from the unfamiliar woman, but fuck it, causing a scene was the last thing you needed right now.

“That’s quite alright, just follow my lead,” the woman responded quietly, unnaturally kind for someone of her stature. You nodded without a word, letting the woman take the lead in a more relaxed step pattern. It was easier to get into the flow than you thought, and after a bit of stumbling, you were following the woman’s movements effortlessly. She smiled up at you, pulling you a bit closer. “See? You’re a natural.”

You barked a laugh and dare you say, although the woman’s proximity was a bit worrisome, you found yourself having a bit of fun. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually enjoyed dancing without making yourself look like a fool. “I wouldn’t say a natural,” you responded casually, your gaze wandering to inspect the rest of the ballroom, looking for a way out despite the fun of it. That’s when you spotted your counterpart a few feet away, trying his damndest to keep up with an overly eager damsel. You suppressed a laugh, lest you make your own dance partner suspicious, and took the lead to slowly make your way over to him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” You smirked as you passed Frenchie on the dance floor, bumping your hip into his as you spun your dance partner away from yourself for a moment. Frenchie, taken off guard for a second, chuckled at the action and was grinning at your unusual confidence, but was pulled away by his own dance partner before he could get a word in. The interaction left a giddy smile on your face, even as your dance partner came spinning back into your arms.

After another minute or so, the song picked up the pace and suddenly everyone was switching dance partners. Despite her friendly attitude, you still couldn’t help slipping off the gold rings around the woman’s fingers as the two of you parted, discreetly pocketing them with a smug smile. You half-bowed to her as you scurried off, hoping she wouldn’t notice the small accessories missing anytime soon.

You tried picking out Frenchie in the crowd as everyone mingled again, but were unable to before a man approached you with unmistakable, arrogant confidence. “Why, hello there,” he greeted, his voice nasally and annoying as he grabbed your arm and pulled you much too close to him, “may I have this dance with you?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying your best to keep your smile from slipping as you eyed the exit, still having half the room to traverse. You turn your attention back to the man in front of you, eying him up and down with a feigned look of coyness. “I suppose,” you trailed off, fighting hard to bite back any snarky remarks or pointed looks. As he took your hand and started to lead you in dance, however, you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping on his shiny shoes a few times… accidentally, of course.

You found yourself smiling, not because of the dancing, but from the pure enjoyment of toying with the man in front of you as he tried to remain polite, despite his lips twitching in annoyance. Another step on his foot nearly had him pushing you away from him, and you tried hard not to laugh. It came out as a stifled inhale, easily mistaken for a gasp. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight,” you pouted up at the man, rolling your head to the side to rest it on your shoulder.

The man sighed heavily, but still managed to give you a strained smile as he pulled you close again. “Ah, it seems dancing just isn’t your forte,” he rudely commented, his hand trailing up to your face and towards your mask, “maybe we should just cut to the chase, hm? See that pretty face of yours?” 

Your facade broke instantly, reflexes almost lightning-quick as you seized the man’s wrist in your hand, your breathing suddenly uneven with anger and surprise. You glared up at him as your lip pulled back into a scowl, but before you had the chance to spit any insults at him, everyone was changing partners again.

You swiped the jeweled bangle from his wrist in all the commotion before eagerly shoving the man away, who stumbled from the force. He was taken aback to see you flipping him off as you backed away from him, giving him a disgusted look. He didn’t have any time to take action against your sudden impertinence as another woman swooped in and begged for him to dance with her, but you still refused to turn your back on him as you continued walking backwards.

That is, until you inevitably backed into someone. 

You whipped around, agitated and ready to snap at whoever had gotten in your way, but your expression and posture immediately softened when you saw who it was. “Hey! Thought I lost you for good for a second there!” Frenchie exclaimed, smiling brightly at you. It was contagious, really, and you found yourself smiling along with him.

“Yeah, it’s easy to get caught up with the crowd in here,” you chuckled, tension leaving your body with every second spent being in Frenchie’s presence. You don’t know what you would’ve done if you had to spend one more second mingling with these upper class gits.

“Tell me about it! I never knew these snobs could be so energetic,” he admitted with a sigh, and now you could see the exhaustion that had begun to slow his movements down. You hummed in response, your eyes flicking to the side as you caught an Englishwoman approaching the two of you in your peripheral vision. You were quick to grab Frenchie’s hands in response, pulling him in the opposite direction and easily transitioning into a slower dance in order to prevent the two of you from getting dragged apart again. He let out a small yelp of surprise from the action, but didn’t pull away or protest as you guided him away from any prying hands. 

You were both silent for a moment while you focused on getting into the rhythm, but before long, you had looked up and made eye contact with him, causing the two of you to burst out into stifled laughter; laughter from the absolute insanity of your situation. “You’re not a bad dancer, if I do say so myself,” Frenchie grinned, promptly stepping on your foot and immediately gasping out an apology as he did. You winced a bit, but laughed it off when you caught sight of his guilty expression, his lip pouted as it usually was.

“Thank you! It doesn’t seem you’ve gotten the hang of it though, eh?” You joked, continuing to lead him in the half-ballroom style the majority of the partygoers had adopted. It was so easy with Frenchie, despite his slightly messy footwork: easier than it had been with the first woman you danced with.

“Oh, fuck off, will you?” Frenchie retorted, smacking your arm lightly. A warm laugh bubbled up from your chest again, and you were unable to fight the bright smile that stretched across your face. You debated spinning Frenchie away from you for his little comment, but when you went to see if there was room behind him for the maneuver, you paused very suddenly and caused Frenchie to stumble.

“Wh-? What’d you do that for?” He whined, following your gaze as he looked over his shoulder. You were both suddenly frozen in place, realizing you had made it to the other side of the room with your antics. The two of you stared in disbelief for a moment, trying to figure out how you had even ended up here–if you even wanted to leave–before a loud shout resounded behind you: “There they are! Get them!” 

Dread filled both of you, slowly turning around to see the two men that were chasing you earlier, and then slowly turning to look at each other. The moment you made eye contact, you bolted forwards and out of the ballroom with the two men in tow again.

Through the marbled front foyer and out the grand double doors, you two left the beach-side building sprinting, laughing and shouting as the men tried to give chase behind you. You both stumbled onto the beach, Frenchie momentarily losing his footing in the soft sand before you pulled him back up to his feet and continued running. The cool ocean breeze was like heaven on your skin, cooling you down from the stuffy interior of that stupid ballroom.

When you reached the rocky shoreline, Frenchie almost leapt into the rowboat hidden behind a larger formation of rocks, despite the men having stopped chasing as you ran onto the beach. You were both still giggling at the whole interaction, not even noticing that the bottom of your outfit was getting wet as you clumsily pushed the rowboat out and hopped in yourself.

You both lay in the small dinghy for a moment, exhausted but entertained, as you attempted to catch your breath. “Fuckin’ mental,” you mumbled, leaning your head back and over the side of the rowboat. Frenchie hummed quietly in response, and when you sat up to look at him, he looked like he was on the verge of passing out; his eyes were firmly shut and his limbs splayed out across some of the benches, but his lips were still slanted upwards in a small, soft smile.

You shook your head with a light chuckle, taking off your mask and fully sitting up, adjusting your position so you could start paddling back to the Revenge, which was anchored a little ways off the coast. It was late now: the sun had begun to dip below the horizon line and painted everything in a brilliant orange light. Backdropped against the fading sun, the Revenge looked even more magnificent than usual.

Frenchie called your name quietly, and your eyes moved back to him to see that he had straightened up a bit and his mask had been removed as well. “Pass the bag here, yeah?” He mumbled, his movements sluggish as he extended a hand out with a grabbing motion. You snickered and stopped rowing for a moment, reaching your hand behind your back to untie the bag from your belt. In a few moments, the small bag was in Frenchie’s hands, and he was eagerly digging through it like a kid on Christmas.

He went through the pouch of assorted jewelry, pulling out a few different accessories to examine before dumping them back in. There was a surplus of pearl necklaces, of which he promptly ignored. Finally, he caught a glimpse of a bejeweled necklace and pulled it from the bag, studying it carefully in his hands. The gems that adorned the necklace were bright and beautifully cut, reflecting the orange light of the sunset in every which way.

It wasn’t long before he lifted the necklace up to his neck and made some smug expression, turning his nose up in an exaggerated manner. “Why, I can’t believe you’d disrespect me so!” Frenchie croaked, his voice a bit hoarse as he strained to talk in an octave above his usual tone. “Do you not know who I am? I am Zippery Von Sweets the sixth! I-”

You had already been fighting laughter for the entirety of his impression, but as soon as he had uttered that ridiculous name, you cut the rest of his impression off and started cackling. Watching you doubling over, Frenchie joined in soon thereafter and threw his head back as you both laughed, the action rocking the boat slightly.

To say tonight was a success would be an understatement.

End. <3

[hypotheticalprose]

I'm an amateur at writing fanfiction, and part of that is because there's absolutely a stigma that surrounds it among "serious writers." I've gradually come to the conclusion that anti-fanfiction snobbery is pretty self-destructive for a writer to indulge in.

When I was in college, I wrote a research paper comparing and contrasting fanfiction with young adult and new adult fiction. As someone who had only really dabbled in fanfiction before that point, it was striking to me how gendered it was as a practice. Surveys of AO3 users have consistently shown more nonbinary users than male users, and the majority is, of course, overwhelmingly women.

That isn't especially surprising, considering the overall gender disparity among young boys and girls. Literature has become an increasingly feminine-coded art form (aside from the world of "serious literature," which remains dominated by men, but that's a whole other can of beans).

This was something that caught me off guard at the time, because I had my nose in a book way too often while growing up to notice that other cis guys weren't really reading. I tended to be friends with readers, so there was also an element of selection bias there.

Fanfiction is unique, though, because it is written by its own audience. Teenagers read it and write it just like adults do, and success is determined purely by the quality of the writing. As a result, you end up with a lot of future professional authors (again, mostly women) who are publishing fanfiction before they even end up in college. I have no doubt that this is only going to contribute to the gender division in the art form moving forward.

(BTW, plenty of professional authors cut their teeth by writing fanfiction, especially among newer cohorts. Some of them are willing to admit it, others are not.)

I have complicated feelings about the gender disparity that is emerging in literature. Do we really want hordes of barely-literate men running around? On the other hand, might I benefit from some sort of fucked-up affirmative action shit if there's barely any other guys who are interested in writing? It really makes you think.

I do believe that on an individual level, turning one's nose up at the opportunities that fanfiction provides is self-destructive more than anything. Being a writer means you write. The specifics past that point are mostly semantic. Writing fanfiction is no better or worse than any other form of writing, as long as you're trying to improve and don't let yourself stagnate.

On a personal level, I've greatly enjoyed writing fanfiction as a way of testing my skills in genres I'm less experienced with, as well as getting feedback on my writing that isn't coming from people I know. Because you're piggy-backing off the interest of a broader story, you get a certain level of buy-in that most WIP's aren't afforded.

The main thing that prevented me from getting into reading and writing fanfiction before I entered college was the lack of quality control. I think plenty of other people have had a similar experience that put them off fanfiction, where they read something, are unimpressed, and write it all off.

Don't get me wrong; the vast majority of fanfiction is not written to the same standards as published work. But unpolished gems are gems. I've read some seriously good shit now that I have a better idea of how to look for it. My gold standard for art is "did this make me want to start writing?" I've read a couple of stories that hit that mark, and that's high praise.

Anyways. Maybe I'll do another write up some time about how fanfiction is more of a commercial term than a real thing, since most literature is basically fanfiction.

[nicklloydnow]

““Dorothy reminds me in so many ways of Toni Morrison,” West said. “You know Toni Morrison is Catholic. Many people do not realize that she is one of the great Catholic writers. Like Flannery O’Connor, she has an incarnational conception of human existence. We Protestants are too individualistic. I think we need to learn from Catholics who are always centered on community.”

(…)

She viewed belief in God as “an intellectual experience that intensifies our perceptions and distances us from an egocentric and predatory life, from ignorance and from the limits of personal satisfactions”—and affirmed her Catholic identity. “I had a moment of crisis on the occasion of Vatican II,” she said. “At the time I had the impression that it was a superficial change, and I suffered greatly from the abolition of Latin, which I saw as the unifying and universal language of the Church.”

Morrison saw a problematic absence of authentic religion in modern art: “It’s not serious—it’s supermarket religion, a spiritual Disneyland of false fear and pleasure.” She lamented that religion is often parodied or simplified, as in “those pretentious bad films in which angels appear as dei ex machina, or of figurative artists who use religious iconography with the sole purpose of creating a scandal.” She admired the work of James Joyce, especially his earlier works, and had a particular affinity for Flannery O’Connor, “a great artist who hasn’t received the attention she deserves.”

What emerges from Morrison’s public discussions of faith is paradoxical Catholicism. Her conception of God is malleable, progressive, and esoteric. She retained a distinct nostalgia for Catholic ritual, and feels the “greatest respect” for those who practice the faith, even if she herself wavered. In a 2015 interview with NPR, Morrison said there was not a “structured” sense of religion in her life at the moment, but “I might be easily seduced to go back to church because I like the controversy as well as the beauty of this particular Pope Francis. He’s very interesting to me.”

Morrison’s Catholic faith—individual and communal, traditional and idiosyncratic—offers a theological structure for her worldview. Her Catholicism illuminates her fiction; in particular, her views of bodies, and the narrative power of stories. An artist, Morrison affirmed, “bears witness.” Her father’s ghost stories, her mother’s spiritual musicality, and her own youthful sense of attraction to Christianity’s “scriptures and its vagueness” led her to conclude it is “a theatrical religion. It says something particularly interesting to black people, and I think it’s part of why they were so available to it. It was the love things that were psychically very important. Nobody could have endured that life in constant rage.” Morrison said it is a sense of “transcending love” that makes “the New Testament . . . so pertinent to black literature—the lamb, the victim, the vulnerable one who does die but nevertheless lives.”

(…)

Morrison is describing a Catholic style of storytelling here, reflected in the various emotional notes of Mass. The religion calls for extremes: solemnity, joy, silence, and exhortation. Such a literary approach is audacious, confident, and necessary, considering Morrison’s broader goals. She rejected the term experimental, clarifying “I am simply trying to recreate something out of an old art form in my books—the something that defines what makes a book ‘black.’”

(…)

Morrison was both storyteller and archivist. Her commitment to history and tradition itself feels Catholic in orientation. She sought to “merge vernacular with the lyric, with the standard, and with the biblical, because it was part of the linguistic heritage of my family, moving up and down the scale, across it, in between it.” When a serious subject came up in family conversation, “it was highly sermonic, highly formalized, biblical in a sense, and easily so. They could move easily into the language of the King James Bible and then back to standard English, and then segue into language that we would call street.”

Language was play and performance; the pivots and turns were “an enhancement for me, not a restriction,” and showed her that “there was an enormous power” in such shifts. Morrison’s attention toward language is inherently religious; by talking about the change from Latin to English Mass as a regrettable shift, she invokes the sense that faith is both content and language; both story and medium.

From her first novel on forward, Morrison appeared intent on forcing us to look at embodied black pain with the full power of language. As a Catholic writer, she wanted us to see the body on the cross; to see its blood, its cuts, its sweat. That corporal sense defines her novel Beloved (1988), perhaps Morrison’s most ambitious, stirring work. “Black people never annihilate evil,” Morrison has said. “They don’t run it out of their neighborhoods, chop it up, or burn it up. They don’t have witch hangings. They accept it. It’s almost like a fourth dimension in their lives.”

(…)

Morrison has said that all of her writing is “about love or its absence.” There must always be one or the other—her characters do not live without ebullience or suffering. “Black women,” Morrison explained, “have held, have been given, you know, the cross. They don’t walk near it. They’re often on it. And they’ve borne that, I think, extremely well.” No character in Morrison’s canon lives the cross as much as Sethe, who even “got a tree on my back” from whipping. Scarred inside and out, she is the living embodiment of bearing witness.

(…)

Morrison’s Catholicism was one of the Passion: of scarred bodies, public execution, and private penance. When Morrison thought of “the infiniteness of time, I get lost in a mixture of dismay and excitement. I sense the order and harmony that suggest an intelligence, and I discover, with a slight shiver, that my own language becomes evangelical.” The more Morrison contemplates the grandness and complexity of life, the more her writing reverts to the Catholic storytelling methods that enthralled her as a child and cultivated her faith. This creates a powerful juxtaposition: a skilled novelist compelled to both abstraction and physicality in her stories. Catholicism, for Morrison, offers a language to connect these differences.

For Morrison, the traits of black language include the “rhythm of a familiar, hand-me-down dignity [that] is pulled along by an accretion of detail displayed in a meandering unremarkableness.” Syntax that is “highly aural” and “parabolic.” The language of Latin Mass—its grandeur, silences, communal participation, coupled with the congregation’s performative resurrection of an ancient tongue—offers a foundation for Morrison’s meticulous appreciation of language.

Her representations of faith—believers, doubters, preachers, heretics, and miracles—are powerful because of her evocative language, and also because she presents them without irony. She took religion seriously. She tended to be self-effacing when describing her own belief, and it feels like an action of humility. In a 2014 interview, she affirmed “I am a Catholic” while explaining her willingness to write with a certain, frank moral clarity in her fiction. Morrison was not being contradictory; she was speaking with nuance. She might have been lapsed in practice, but she was culturally—and therefore socially, morally—Catholic.

The same aesthetics that originally attracted Morrison to Catholicism are revealed in her fiction, despite her wavering of institutional adherence. Her radical approach to the body also makes her the greatest American Catholic writer about race. That one of the finest, most heralded American writers is Catholic—and yet not spoken about as such—demonstrates why the status of lapsed Catholic writers is so essential to understanding American fiction.

A faith charged with sensory detail, performance, and story, Catholicism seeps into these writers’ lives—making it impossible to gauge their moral senses without appreciating how they refract their Catholic pasts. The fiction of lapsed Catholic writers suggests a longing for spiritual meaning and a continued fascination with the language and feeling of faith, absent God or not: a profound struggle that illuminates their stories, and that speaks to their readers.”

[sailor-artemis]

WIP Wednesday

Got tagged by @ferrocyan last week, and I finally decided to get back on the writing horse and make a little headway on my huge G'raha Shadowbringers POV fic, so!

I'm struggling to remember who my fic writers are out there, so if you see this and wish to share a WIP, consider yourself tagged!

Shadowbringers spoilers ahead, through the final dungeon of base 5.0.

---

As he stepped across the threshold, G'raha suddenly felt the heat of the fires that seemed only phantasmal from the outside. He could see the impossibly tall buildings of Amaurot slowly crumble and fall to the ground in the distance, soundtracked by the cries of those who'd realized the world they knew was truly lost.

He didn't have much time to take in the view. Though the city itself was illusionary in some respects, G'raha had no doubt that if he waited much longer, there might not be a path forward for him to walk. As if reading his thoughts, the road before him began to loudly crack and shift apart, which broke him out of his momentary wonderment and spurred him to action. As he had so many times before, he simply grimaced through the pain and pressed on.

For another small mercy, G'raha found that even though the road was quite treacherous to traverse due to the instability, any foes that Emet-Selch had likely conjured to oppose the Scions had all been dispatched. Picturing Lehon'a and Ar’beunti fighting through those hypothetical horrors while their own bodies tried to tear themselves inside out only pushed him to move faster. Though it was certainly preferable to the alternative, the absence of enemies left him alone with his thoughts. As the ambience of a city in its death throes began to slowly grow in intensity, his gaze swung from side to side, searching for something to take his mind off the throbbing that emanated from his back and the worry for his comrades that held his mind in a vise.

The light of the flames dancing across the façades of the buildings caught his eye as they burned, highlighting tiny details that someone less dedicated to their cause might've neglected to recreate. It was the kind of thing that only a scholar of history like himself might truly appreciate, and even though he stood firmly in opposition to Emet-Selch and his vision for Etheirys, G'raha found himself admiring the handiwork all the same. As he staggered forward, pulling in sharp breaths, he did his best to commit what detail he could to memory. If we survive this, he thought, someone ought to record it. Someone has to.

[justalittleficsideblog]

Heyy!!! I'm kinda new to tumblr... uhm.. so idrk how to work this. could you do like a touch-sensitive MC x the bros? (basically howd they react, also what i mean is like mc that'll tense up at the slighest touch but not in like a "i hate it, dont touch me there." its like a "im very surprised, but keep going." way??? sorry if this isnt the right place im like very new to tumblr- (obey me btw)

Hey anon! I did the first 3 eldest for this prompt. Let me know if you want the rest of them for this prompt! I really liked writing this, it kinda got me outta my writer's block that I'd been sitting with for a bit.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none.

Lucifer, Mammon, and Levi with a touch starved!MC

Lucifer

he didn’t really notice it at first, hes not one to initiate much contact himself unless you do. I wouldn’t really consider him touch starved, more like he is untouchable.

as the two of you grow closer though he does notice how you shy away from large hugs or related moments from his brothers.

The two of you had been invited out to one of the popular festivals in the devildom. Lucifer, being the ever-cautious demon, made it a point to stick close to you amongst the sea of demons that were swarming the streets.

Lost from the other brothers, you stuck close to Lucifer, hovering just out of his reach but close enough that you could feel the broad scope of his shoulders behind you. As you were looking throughout the stalls, one of the more interesting food ones caught your attention, causing you to bump into a lesser demon walking by.

As you squaked an apology, you felt a sudden hand on your shoulder. Pulling you back into his chest, Lucifer snarled at the lesser demon and moved you both out the way.

You had startled at his touch. You weren’t bothered by it per se, but his broad hand grasping your smaller shoulder wasn’t something that you were familiar with.

“Does my touch… bother you?” he asked cautiously, gently lifting his hand away from you and holding it against his side. “I apologize for earlier—”

“Oh no!” you yipped. “It’s… not really like that. I don’t mind you touching me. I’m just not used to that sort of… “ you trailed off.

“intimacy?” he tried, eyebrow raising in question.

You huffed a laugh, “something like that, yeah.”

“well, then.” He started, tucking a loose strand of hair over your ear before he reached to take your hand. “Maybe some exposure therapy would work?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand back before leading him out into the crowd.

Mammon

I feel like he would be really similar in this regard. Like, he would want to touch and hold you, but anytime you brush fingertips or he grazes your side he would like flinch and run off.

So if anything you’d have to be more into giving him a gentle nudge as well. a learning experience if you will.

Ever unaware of your mutual pining, Asmo is the one that ends up giving you both a nudge, insisting that you both go to a stuffy night club with him. However, you both found yourselves tied together, Asmo nowhere in sight.

“I cant believe he just up and left us!” Mammon tossed up his hands, voice booming over the loud music and bass that reverberated through your bones.

He slammed his hands down, accidentally brushing harshly against you in the process. You noticed he jolted away, face turned as if he was looking for Asmo in the crowd of people.

You tried to shout to get his attention, but he seemed too preoccupied pretending to search the crowd. You huffed, moving against the sea of bodies to reach out for him.

Just as your hand reached out, you felt yourself get jostled by a clearly intoxicated demon. Causing you to flail and tip backwards.

A warm hand gripped your shoulders. Surprised at the touch, you scrambled forwards getting your bearing again.

Mammon threw his hands up in mock surrender, grimacing.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” you shouted over the crowd. Mammon made a confused face, and gently grabbed your fingers to lead to towards a less busy area of the club.

He immediately released his grip when you were both alone.

“Geez.. uh, sorry about that. I know you’re like.. weirded out about me touchin’ ya and all but—” he rubbed the back of his hand, eyes lowered as he spoke to you.

“What? Oh no! Mammon, please. I was just startled is all, I’m not used to being… held like that.” You smiled, gently easing your head onto his shoulder.

He tensed up beneath you briefly before relaxing into you, leaning his head on top of yours.

“How about we get out of here?” you murmured, glancing up towards his eyes.

He gave you a crooked smile, before grabbing your hand and pulling you out the door.

LEVI

I feel like with Levi, he’d be very into “accidental” brushing up against your shoulder, leaning in to show you how to use his controller or reaching across you to grab some popcorn or snacks while you watched shows.

I don’t think he’d truly realize it until you brough it up yourself. Or when he noticed you would shy away from him a bit.

He definitely got self-conscious about it. did he smell? Were you uncomfortable around him? He would sit there and worry about it and distance himself from you for a while he sat with his thoughts.

It was the second time that he cancelled plans with you that you went into his room to figure out why he was avoiding you.

You knocked repeatedly on the door in front of you, anxiously tap tap tapping your foot as you waiting for it to open. When there was no response you called out.

“Levi! It’s me, I’m coming in.”

You pushed the door open and scanned the room for him. Looking for that familiar frame you finally spotted him curled in the tub, a blanket draped over him as he stared at his D.D.D.

“Levi?” you muttered softly, tentatively walking over to him. “Is something wrong? Why have you been avoiding me?”

He huffed and turned over. “It’s nothing.”

You rolled your eyes, “It’s clearly something if you can’t even talk to me about this.”

There was a long pause.

“Do you hate it when I touch you?” The words were spoken so softly you almost had to strain to hear them.

Brows furrowed; you tilted your head to gaze over the tub.

“Any why would you think that?”

“am i… repulsive to you? You finch whenever I get too close, or shy away from me when we sit near each other.” He sounded heartbroken, his voice cracking towards the end of it.

You kneeled down by him, your cheek resting on the side gazing down at him.

“I have never been repulsed by you. It’s more of the opposite, really. I’ve just… got little experience with being touched at all, so I’m just unsure how to react when anyone gets close to me.” You paused. “I don’t… I want to be touched, though.” Your cheeks aflame, you turned away.

Suddenly, you felt yourself getting pulled in. crashing into a firm body and arms wrapping around your torso. His face was buried in your hair, and you could almost feel his grin.

“Maybe we can learn together.”

[co-mixed]

Fantastic Four by John Byrne 

This run is considered to be one of the must-reads, so well, I read it. And the whole thing left a weird aftertaste. Very similar to the one you have after learning more about its creator. Yes, one could be a good artist and a decent writer without being a good human. 

But we’re here to focus on content, not the creator, and that’s what I’m going to do. 

What it feels like

I jumped into this run right after Lee/Kirby, skipping most of the stuff in the middle. So it was a new take on the team right off the bat. Byrne focuses on the human sides of the FF a little more than the original run does. The structure of the stories also changes from a day at the Baxter Building -> a villain appears -> the villain is defeated. We start getting multiple chapters or issues in every arc, and it makes them more complex. 

In fact, complexity is certainly something that appears and grows from the 1970s to the 1980s. That’s true for most comics. 

But then there is the how it’s done and the what is done. And while one is a huge leap forward, the other is very controversial. I couldn’t find any explanations for some of the storylines aside from the idea hat (you know, when you get a hat, throw random ideas in it and start pulling.) Because of that, the stories seem disjointed. They connect to one another but it’s hard to say what exactly was the writer implying. Unfortunately, the more we know about the writer in question, the less chances we have left to misinterpret it into something more digestible. 

It’s not like that (or it shouldn’t be)

Byrne leans into the white savior trope. Every time the characters encounter racism, it feels ingenuine. Especially when blond blue-eyed Johnny jumps in to save Wyatt. This same feeling I got from Roy Thomas’s apartheid issue (FF #119) and it doesn’t get better. Yeah, we can argue that this is the 80’s but that trope is in no hurry to disappear. 

When it comes to political takes, Byrne’s are controversial, to say the least. I wrote a whole longread, complaining about the bizarre Latverian arc, in which the FF organized two coups in a row first bringing democracy to the people of the country, and then, handing it back to Doom. It’s all disguised into a lesser of two evils issue but it won’t sit well with anyone who’s familiar with autocratic regimes. 

Barely moving forward

Byrne also shakes up the character dynamics. But was any of it for the better? At times, he presents a more acceptable version of Reed. He is still an easily hooked, eager scientist who can neglect his family in favor of his work. But he’s not an absolutely intolerable garbage human anymore. He is also the least interesting character of the bunch because aside from science and condescending explanations, he doesn’t have much going on. He becomes more observant though, even noticing the change in Johnny when he starts dating Alicia (and I later will circle back to that absolute eww moment.)

While all that is true, Reed is also shown to be racist against Skrulls during his trial. His statements are what any racist would say. Verbatim.

It almost feels like Byrne himself is interested less in Reed and more in other members of the team. 

Women of Marvel

A lot of attention goes to Sue, Frankie Raye, and She-Hulk. And here I’d have to give Byrne some props. They are shown as competent and as strong (or potentially as strong) as their male counterparts. It’s suggested that Sue is actually the strongest member of the team, and it’s a very reasonable statement too. She stops being a quiet voice in the back and even reflects on that.

Unfortunately, I have to retract the props immediately because there is a weird violence kink that accompanies all the development. Like Alicia being badly beaten up by Annihilus, Sue being tortured by Mephisto, She-Hulk being photographed and then verbally assaulted by an editor. This is a repeated offense with Byrne's writing. 

Then, of course, there is the arc with Sue’s miscarriage and the one with Malice. Now the first one might not rub everyone the right way, but I think it’s something that made the 80s comics relatable - human issues that heroes face. And in this case, it’s one that comes not as a result of her superhero life but of her being exposed to cosmic rays. She doesn’t immediately forget it either, this arc echoes through the following issues and while I don’t know whether the portrayal is at all genuine, it’s there and that’s quite innovative. 

Go ask Malice

Malice is another Sue-centric concept, it’s her evil alter-ego that’s brought forth by a villain.

And here I have an issue because maybe instead of Psycho-Man - a hate-based villain (which was a mediocre concept all around) it could’ve been a manifestation of her grief and exhaustion with his behavior.

This could have (and should have been) an internal family matter for the FF with Sue confronting and possibly blaming Reed and Reed finally acknowledging how crappy he’s been and changing for the better. 

Sure this doesn’t have the scale of the whole NYC in a hate-fueled frenzy but it does have just the right tone for a family. While we’re at it, Byrne doesn’t have the best track record with tackling racism or bigotry issues so again, that would’ve been much better. 

Even if the concept itself was interesting, Byrne’s execution fumbled it completely. Sue’s hate is a twisted form of her love. And when it comes to Reed, Malice actually addressed all the reasonable points. He really has done every single thing she’d accused him of, and he proceeds to do them again. So really, he doesn’t learn anything from this whole ordeal. 

It’s even worse that Sue attacks him later, again, with reasonable demands of revenge on Psycho-Man, and Reed tries to dismiss her to focus on ‘more important stuff.’

I’d say the right thing to do would be to allow She-Hulk to immediately side with Sue because that’s what any woman would do no questions asked. Ideally, Johnny should have done the same – he was raised by Sue after all. On the other side, his only male role models are Reed (ew no thanks) and Ben (ew no thanks.)

When they finally face the villain, Byrne goes back to his favorite tools - torturing Sue. The torture isn’t physical but Sue keeps seeing an exaggerated version of Reed who blames her for everything and treats her like garbage. Shockingly, he’s not that different from the real Reed. 

I don’t have to be too negative here because, in the end, Sue does defeat the villain, punish him, and save Reed. She even changes her monicker to Invisible Woman (and that’s the name we know her by now). But again, some very odd decisions preceded that positive outcome. 

This arc is pretty sad to read because psychological manipulation and violation of a person’s psyche is a big deal. This could have been a groundbreaking arc. But instead, it gets cringey at times and doesn’t do the characters justice.

...And others

Like I said, Sue isn’t the only lady who gets to stand in the spotlight. I quite liked the character of Frankie (before she fell in love with Galactus for like 3 panels). She has quite a story, having a power she couldn’t access and a phobia connected to said power. With a little more development (I’m talking modern-day standards) she could’ve been a way more compelling character. But ultimately everything worked out pretty well, especially after her over-eagerness to resolve everything with brute force paid off when she became the herald of Galactus. 

She-Hulk is always a joy to encounter, and she takes over the Thing’s spot on the team for a while after the Secret Wars. She has a cute romance with Wyatt and that’s probably one of the most adorable things in this run. Because, you know, all the other romances are getting a hit. 

But not everything is as well as it may seem. As soon as Byrne’s done torturing Sue, he proceeds to torture She-Hulk.

What about love? 

Byrne delivers us one of the most unnecessary romance stories ever, and I’m saying this as someone who’s seen Scott fall in love with Jean’s clone, Gambit making out with Storm every chance he gets (I still ship it), Wanda and Cap, even Batman and Batgirl (and that was a new low).

So Johnny and Alicia. What was that about?

I could see that happening if she hadn’t been Ben’s very serious girlfriend: there are very reasonable elements in this story that reflect the schism in their relationship. They are both growing out of it and it makes perfect sense since Alicia is younger than Ben. In fact, she’d described as just a couple of years older than Johnny who in the beginning was in high school so… best not to think about it at all. Why are old comics like that (heavy sigh). 

Either way, before they break up, Ben stays on another planet and contemplates his relationship with Alicia, deciding that they should break up. Alicia comes to the same conclusion and bonds with Johnny over tragedies and danger. 

Here’s the thing though (for this, imagine me with a cup of tea and my glasses on). Johnny has known Ben his whole life and he has to have more decency than to start a relationship with someone who hasn’t yet broken up with Ben. The same can be said about Alicia but I hardly can hold this against her, since she is friends with them all but she still isn’t (at that time) tied to them that strongly. So yeah, I can see her do that and feel justified. 

But in general, what is this whole thing about? It’s a story that doesn’t do anything but portray both characters in the worst light. And it would’ve made sense had it been the endgame. But it wasn’t, we all know that. So I’m going to take it as a temporary insanity thing and push into that ‘We don’t talk about…’ drawer where things like Connor (Angel’s son), Xavier’s crush on Jean, and the whole Avengers 200 thing go to die. 

Another thing that goes into the same drawer is the origin of Sue and Reed’s relationship (I’m guessing pre-retcon). I’m not going to comment on that because I hate Reed enough as it is. There’s just nowhere for the hate to grow.  

Moving on

There’s also Franklin and he is growing, he’s 5 now and he… becomes an adult, puts blocks on his powers, goes back to being a kid, defeats Mephisto, and sees prophetic dreams about impending Doom. Not necessarily of the doctor variety. 

I have nothing to say about Franklin just yet, except that he looks like a very short adult rather than a 5 y/o. And that’s the creepy trend that plagues the comics of the 80's. 

Same old story

I feel like Byrne simultaneously tried to bring something new to the story and burn (or Byrne!) everything just to watch the flames.

And yet so many conflicts remained the same! Johnny goes through a weird love triangle just to end up with Alicia. The Thing is stuck in the same I-wanna-be-human-I-don’t-wanna-be-human vicious circle and I’m starting to wonder if they’re even planning on giving that up. We covered Reed already, and Sue is the only one who has some new stuff going on. But she is enough to make the run interesting.

As the run nears its end, there is an issue that reminded me more of Nocenti’s style (which I don’t know who started in the comics but she definitely perfected it), that focuses on Johnny dealing with his own impact on humans. It started out interesting with the boy burning himself to be like Human Torch, but then Beyonder showed up and instead of a psychological journey (as Nocenti probably would’ve done) we get a Deus ex-Machina solution.

Was it worth it? 

I write the following with a clear understanding that I was ready to give up at least thrice during this read-through. 

I would say that there are several arcs that deserve attention: the rewritten origin of Doom (that still doesn’t explain how we’re supposed to view him as a necessary evil rather than a terrible dictator), Galactus stories, Negative Zone travels, Sue telling off Reed, and so on. So if you’re thinking of reading the run, I’d say do. 

Keep in mind that there are trigger warnings, such as racism, violence against women, and miscarriage. Byrne's run is… a lot. If you feel too disgusted, better skip it. 

At the end of the day, we're really talking about this whole thing from today’s perspective. That means we all know the red flags in writing just as well as we do which tropes are harmful and why. 

We also realize that there are more ways to look at an issue than through the eyes of a stereotypical protagonist of the era. In the 80s comics were still becoming the art form we know and love today, and narrative mistakes were made. It’s easier to follow the story if you note them but don’t focus on them. Without that, they’ll be just a bunch of outdated narratives and harmful stereotypes.