#a question of loyalty comic

[isthereintruthnobeauty1968]

some excerpts / elements of 'a question of loyalty' that i enjoyed:

the implication (i think!) that spock pays less heed to valeris' flaws because he sees in her the sort of success he could've had as a young man without the complications and setbacks associated with his mixed ancestry:

the explication that valeris' reason for being involved in the conspiracy in VI is straightforward bias against klingons specifically and... really anyone other than vulcans more generally:

saavik pulling a v familiar, daresay illogical maneuver during a crisis:

and this sad little sequence:

[age-of-moonknight]

“Hunter’s Moon,” Vengeance of the Moon Knight, (Vol. 2/2024), #4.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[daydreamerdrew]

Bizarre Adventures (1981) #25

[rhyrhy]

Venom in the veins 🕸️

Spider!Ellie x Fem Villain reader

✦ Synopsis: When trust is broken, and alliances shift. Your local friendly neighborhood spiderwoman! is forced to choose between her love and loyalty!

✦ Warnings: enemies to lovers to enemies..? Angst, violence, death/grief , language, romantic tension, familial issues. 5k words.

A/n: thank you to @s0phi3w4lt3n , because their lovely brain is helping make this possible. This is chapters 1-2. (3-7 will be separate posts!) + Ellie’s suit desc is based off this beautiful art!

October 5th

I guess I finally understand what it means to wear the weight of something bigger than yourself.

Nobody tells you how lonely this gets. They say it’s a responsibility. A privilege. But nobody warns you about the nights when your body’s so sore you can’t move, or when you have to smile at people who would hate you if they knew the whole truth.

And the worst part? I should’ve seen it coming.

I should’ve known the second I woke up with a spider bite the size of a penny and a bad feeling in my gut.

But I was just a dumb kid clinging to Joel’s leg in the ER, sure I was about to drop dead…

Being a hero wasn’t as simple as they made it look in the comics she read. It wasn’t just about the mask—it was about juggling the power, the responsibility, and the weight of knowing that, at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

And in the end? It was always a game of masks. Who’s hiding behind them, and who’s fooling who?

Ellie wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.

Especially not when she had a spider bite the , wrapped in white gauze and held together with SpongeBob bandages that did little to ease her nerves. Her pain tolerance wasn’t exactly low, but weren’t black widows deadly? She could still feel the long-gone venom burning in her bloodstream—or maybe she just thought she did.

“Joel, I’m too young to die!” A younger Ellie whined, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to his leg.

“You aren’t dying. They said you’ll be sore at most.” He sighed, patting her head.

“Dramatic” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the distraught figure clinging to him like she truly believed her life depended on it. Eleanor “Ellie” Anna Williams, at the ripe age of twelve, gave her adoptive father more wrinkles than he could count.

This time, it wasn’t a scraped knee from wobbly attempts at skateboarding, or a burn on her forearm from trying to make him breakfast. It was a spider bite. She didn’t get a good look when she flung her head after the sting set in, but she was almost certain what that eight-legged creature was that had crept onto her hand while she doodled on her notebook in science class.

She rambled about it the whole way from the school’s nursing office to the emergency room. Not even the radio could drown out the frantic girl, who loved all things nature—as long as it wasn’t trying to kill her. She’d just learned to use a training bra. She couldn’t die now.

“I’m not?” she said, her green watery eyes looking up at him.

“No. Weren’t you listening to what the nice lady said? The one in blue scrubs?”

To be honest, she wasn’t. However, she did remember the woman he was referring to—and the way she made her heart race. Even now, as a young adult, Ellie would bring her up when questioned about her gay awakening.

“You’re goin’ to be fine kiddo” He bent down to her level, his Texan accent dragging out his “n”s.

Comforting her had become something Joel mastered over the years. Trying to navigate Ellie’s spectrum between smart mouth and nervous breakdowns wasn’t easy for a man in his early thirties. But he’d found a way to wedge himself somewhere right in the middle—right where she needed him.

If there was one thing Ellie learned quickly, it was that Joel knew best. With legs full of scars and scrapes and a pair of worn-out Converse that Joel begged her to throw away, Eleanor—who preferred just ‘Ellie’—skated into her high school years.

Going from Little Orphan Annie, which she hated when assholes at school called her that, to your average teenager in the big city of Seattle, everything was completely normal.

Except it wasn’t. At all.

In fact, nothing about Ellie was normal. But the unusual started small—extremely small—and Ellie didn’t know any better. At first, she thought it was just the weed she smoked with Jesse still messing with her system.

Because ever since that fateful day in seventh grade, weird, borderline supernatural things had started happening.

She couldn’t tell you exactly how it all started—at least, not without cringing through the many, many journals she kept as a teenager—but somewhere in the mess of scribbled notes and half-finished sketches, there was an entry about a joke gone wrong.

One night, on a dare to see how long she could hold a handstand, Ellie found herself upside down—only she wasn’t just balancing. She was walking. On her ceiling.

The next morning, she convinced herself it was just some weird, half-awake dream. But when she tried it again—yeah, no. She wasn’t dreaming.

“Holy shit!” she blurted out, stumbling back to the ground.

“Language!” Joel’s voice rang out from the living room, blissfully unaware of the very sticky situation unfolding just a few feet away.

Ellie swallowed, staring at her feet. “Holy shit…” she whispered again, this time to herself.

For a while, she tried to ignore it. Between figuring out her sexuality and preparing for an upcoming science fair, she had enough on her plate. So when weird things happened—like catching something mid-fall way too fast or feeling vibrations through the walls—she brushed it off.

But the signs were getting harder to ignore. Especially when she asked Riley if she could hear that sound—

—and Riley just stared at her.

“Hear what?” Riley asked, setting up their volcano project.

“That—” Ellie waved her hand vaguely. “You seriously don’t hear it?”

Riley squinted. “Williams, I love you, but you have absolutely lost it.”

Ellie would’ve argued back, but the sound was coming from three tables down.

“Booger-eater James?” Riley snorted, nodding toward the kid hunched over a glass box of spiders. Not sure how that was science experiment. “He’s just standing there. With his creepy crawlers. I pray for him once we hit eleventh grade—he’s never getting a girlfriend.”

Panic set in—sudden and overwhelming—as her mind spiraled. Was this some weird side effect of the bite? Or was it something worse? She thought about her biological family, about the things she didn’t know, about the one thing she did worry about when it came to her health.

These were crazy person signs, right? Or worse—crazy person genes running through her blood. Torn between telling a school counselor or just locking herself in the bathroom to cry, Ellie excused herself from Riley and approached the table. But the closer she got, the louder the sound became. A crawling, chittering hum that made her stomach flip.

There was no way she was communicating with something that had more than two eyes and eight legs. An arachnid, for crying out loud.

Don’t get her wrong, Ellie loved science. But people who claimed this kind of stuff? They got laughed out of programs. Stripped of titles, accreditations. Blacklisted. Snow White talking to animals was one thing. A teenage girl talking to spiders? That was an entirely different planet.

But the more she thought about it… the more it made sense.

The heightened senses. The weird reflexes. And that bite mark—the one she was so sure would scar? It was completely gone the next morning when her bandage fell off in the shower.

What started as a sneaking suspicion was quickly turning into a daunting realization.

Ellie tried to ignore it. She really, really did.

For the next few weeks, she chalked it up to stress, exhaustion, anything that made more sense than the alternative. But the signs weren’t stopping. If anything, they were getting worse.

The way her body moved before she even had time to think. The way she could feel things that weren’t there—like the vibrations of footsteps before someone entered a room. The way her grip had changed—how she accidentally shattered a glass one night at dinner, how the basketball stuck to her hand a second too long in gym class.

She stopped journaling about it. She stopped mentioning it to Riley. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. this was so , so much worse than the time she wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table until she finished her brussels sprouts.

And that was how she found herself standing in front of her bedroom window one night, hoodie zipped up, black Converse laced tight.

Sneaking out wasn’t new to her. She’d done it before. Skating out to meet Jesse, tagging walls in alleyways. But this?

This wasn’t just sneaking out.

That night, she got her first real taste of herself without the skintight suit she now wears like a badge.

Little did she know at the time, how important that near miss would be.

“Glad nobody saw that.” An embarrassed Ellie giggled to herself, standing to her feet after stumbling for the hundredth time.

Parkour always seemed a little odd to her—she preferred her guitar or a late-night reading session, but those seemed to lay still on her bookshelf nowadays. I mean, who wanted to potentially hurt themselves running along buildings, jumping from concrete to concrete, brick to brick? Short answer: she did.

Long answer: the stairwell right behind her apartment building, leading to the city’s rooftops. Mariano’s, her favorite pizza joint that always closed way too early in her opinion, the old library that closed down only to be replaced a few doors down, and the laundromat. Dusting off her jeans, she’d do this for what felt like hours.

The back and forth would make normal civilians sick—feet swollen to hell. But for Ellie, after a fight with Joel about curfew or an unnecessarily long school day, as soon as the sun set, this was her heaven.

She wasn’t normal. She’d established that a long time ago. But it’s not like she could exactly tell people she could do these kinds of things. They’d look at her the way Riley did. A FYI, she was so right about James—after graduation, he still never got a girlfriend.

Ellie, on the other hand, had quite a few up until graduation.

A shared kiss with Riley, a faded stick-and-poke cat the girl in her art class gave her, and her unforgettable first time with the first girl she could truly say she loved: Dina.

To say “fair share” was a bit of an understatement. It was more about quality than quantity. Her building real connections, some still lingering around. Some took the high road, choosing to stay the bitter ex. But Ellie didn’t see it like that. She appreciated the good and the bad, even if she did have to get a real tattoo over that stick-and-poke cat.

But times like these, where she let her feet carry her across the city, were when she was allowed to forget about all that, leave it in the past where it belonged, and focus on the future. But even with her tassel turned, she always found herself in that alleyway, climbing up that same fire escape to get to the roof.

The city lights below flickered like distant stars. So many people, but none of them knew her name. Maybe that was for the best. In this city, the only person Ellie needed to be was herself.

The wind against her skin felt sharper tonight, like she could almost taste the city’s pulse. A distant car honked, but she didn’t hear it the same way anymore. It was all part of the rhythm, the energy that seemed to flow through her, the way the rooftops called her to them.

For now, the rooftops were hers. But she knew, deep down, that wouldn’t last forever. Heroes, villains—one day, someone would come looking for her. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe.

Freshly graduated, Ellie was hanging out with friends at her favorite pizza joint, the smell of pepperoni filling the air, and the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. It was one of those normal, relaxed nights. nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least, it didn’t seem that way at first.

But when a hooded figure paced back and forth in front of their table for the fourth time, Ellie couldn’t help but feel a cold chill run down her spine. Her green eyes snapped to the sound, hands slowly lowering the slice of pizza she’d been about to take a bite of.

“That young man stole my purse!” A woman’s voice broke through the hum of the restaurant, her trembling hands pointing toward the culprit.

Ellie’s green gaze snapped to the man now hurrying down the sidewalk, his steps quick, his movements too frantic. The adrenaline surged through her as she pushed her chair back and stood, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. She didn’t wear her mask yet, but the sensation of needing to act was unmistakable.

She couldn’t just let it go.

The man was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Ellie darted into the street, weaving between pedestrians like a blur, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the city’s noise. When she reached him, she tackled him with everything she had, the force knocking the purse out of his hand and sending him stumbling backward.

He didn’t stick around to fight back. In a flash, he bolted, disappearing into the shadows before Ellie could react.

She stood there, chest heaving as she clutched the purse in her hands. The woman, now catching up to her, approached with wide eyes.

“You got it back!” The woman gasped, her voice thick with relief.

Ellie smiled awkwardly, handing the purse back to her. “I… I guess I did.” Heart still racing.

Before she could say more, the woman pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie froze, not knowing what to do. She had no idea this small act of kindness would cause a strange warmth to spread through her chest.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

Ellie gently pulled back, her heart still racing. She was pretty sure she was just a regular girl, with no superpowers or any big secret to her name. But in that moment, the feeling of doing the right thing—of helping someone in need—felt bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe she was crazy. But a little bit of crazy could do good.

And Ellie? She loved justice.

“Bullshit. No way you tackled him like that.” Abby’s voice rang out, interrupting Ellie’s storytelling.

“Alright, maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but I’m telling you, I kicked ass.” Ellie laughed, holding the door open for the tall blonde.

“Uh huh. Sure, Williams.” Abby huffed, walking past her into the bookstore. The familiar chime of the doorbell rang out above them, a small sound that felt like a second home.

Ellie inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smell of ink and crisp pages being turned. She loved it here, more than the silly pictures of cats online, which, in the Williams world, meant a lot.

Abby, tall and always a step ahead in the teasing department, fell into step beside her. One of the few friends Ellie could confide in. Even if that came with endless ribbing. Ellie could admit that she’d told the “first save” story a million times, but it was one of the few she could tell without giving herself away—without breaking her promise. The promise she made to herself when she officially earned her title as ‘hero.’

But here, in the bookstore, she could nerd out all she wanted. No secrets to hide, no need to pretend. She could throw in the subtle bragging without fear of it getting back to the wrong people.

Ellie wasn’t a huge talker. She preferred humming to herself or getting lost in her own thoughts. As she scrolled past the comic book section, her fingers brushing against the glossy covers of vibrant colors and bubble letters, she was suddenly back in time. A place of nostalgia. Staying up way past her bedtime, reading comics under the covers with a trusty red flashlight.

When the small tv in the corner of the store caught her attention. A new report, crime in the city’s streets. detailing the latest wave of crime sweeping through the city. From petty purse snatching to stolen identities—and sometimes, even lives. It was all too familiar.

“This just in: Another robbery in the city’s streets. Police are still on the lookout for the suspect,” the newscaster announced.

She hated it, the fear in people’s eyes. The feeling of a warm blanket being ripped off all because a few people probably weren’t hugged enough as kids. If anybody knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie, and what she didn’t do was use that and take it out on the world. The last thing she expected years from this moment is trying to be understanding with the one who did.

If anyone knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to lash out at the world.

In fact, the last thing she ever expected, years from this moment, was to try and understand the person behind the violence.

“Jesus, this city’s falling apart,” Abby muttered, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

It made her sick. The injustice. The feeling of helplessness.

“Sometimes, people just need to learn the world doesn’t owe them anything,”

Abby looked over at her, but Ellie kept her eyes on the chaos. The sirens were already wailing in the distance, but they’d never get there in time—not when the damage had already been done. And when the cops finally showed up. Just yellow police, tape and tears.

“Scary, huh?” Abby said, standing beside her, arms crossed. She shot a glance at the scene before turning back to Ellie. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, they always show up too late. After the damage’s already done. It’s like they just don’t care enough to stop it before it gets out of hand. Makes you wonder if anyone’s actually doing anything about it.”

Abby sighed in agreement. “Someone should.”

Ellie’s mind wandered then, as it often did in moments like this. She’d seen it all too many times—the heroes who talked big but never seemed to get things done. But the ones who really caught her attention were the ones who operated in the shadows. The ones who didn’t care about fame or recognition.

Her thoughts drifted to The Phantom—a mysterious figure who’d been cleaning up the streets for years. Nobody knew their true identity, and that was the way they liked it. No flashy costumes, no headlines, just quiet, effective justice. They worked in the shadows, out of sight, but the results spoke for themselves.

“Maybe someone like that could show up,” Ellie murmured. “Someone who teaches people the lesson that their actions have consequences. Not just words, but real, lasting consequences.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, casting her a sideways glance. “Wait, are you seriously saying you’d want to be like them? A shadowy figure, handing out justice however you see fit?”

“Maybe. I mean, someone has to.”

And someone did. She did, she had to. things quickly escalated from saving purses to kittens out of trees you name it Ellie was there.

So what about the fabric hung deep in her closet. The one she mentions hundreds of times in her journals throughout the years.

Well, It wasn’t like she had a fancy suit. No, Ellie had to make do. Her costume came from a combination of chance and necessity. Absolutely one of those “it just happened” moments that ended up being so much more.

It started with a hand-me-down.

After one night where she barely managed to escape with a bruised arm and a scraped knee, Ellie found herself on the edge of the city. In a forgotten corner of a local alley, tucked behind an old, unused storage unit, Ellie found a discarded suit. It was a mix of gray, black, and green fabric—more rugged than sleek, a little worn out, but something about it screamed potential. Her hand reached out for it, like she could feel the joy she’d bring with it on her skin.

fit like a second skin. It didn’t stand out too much, which was good; Ellie didn’t want to draw attention, not yet. The colors worked too—gray for blending in, black for stealth, and green because… well, why not? It matched her eyes.

One afternoon, Ellie had found herself standing outside a local store, looking out over the city, when a voice caught her attention. It was a soft voice, one that belonged to a little girl.

“How’d you get up there? You move like a spider.”

Ellie smiled beneath her mask, thinking about the first time she made the jump to scale a building. She was very clumsy, but she’d learned quickly. It was funny, she hadn’t really thought much about it until now. A spider… That’s what had started this whole thing.

The bite she thought would kill her.

“What’s your name, hero?” the little girl asked, her wide eyes.

Ellie hesitated. A name?… A spider? This was a loaded question. But That’s what they called her, wasn’t it? She was just some kid trying to do right by the world.

“Spider… uh… girl… woman!” She blurted out, almost embarrassed. Hoping it sounded cool, so in the moment, she went with it.

“Spider Woman. Yeah, that’s it.”

She didn’t mind the title. It was fitting, simple.

Spider-woman. Silly, right? It sounded like something out of the DC Comics stacked in her room. And she loved it.

The name was sung like gospel on the news, printed in bold ink for those who still bothered with newspapers.

On one channel, a reporter stood in front of a cityscape, microphone in hand.

“The masked vigilante, called ‘Spider-Woman’ by the public, continues to stir-up debate. Some call her a hero, while others question if she’s just another masked threat. We hit the streets of Seattle to hear what the people really have to say.”

Cop, off duty: “Look, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them. Vigilante or not, she’s got a record, and that means trouble.”

Masked kid in a homemade costume: “She’s like, a ninja or something! I think she’s cool!”

Teen girl with dyed hair: “She’s kind of badass, not gonna lie.” She shrugged.

younger woman with a toddler: “Are you kidding? She’s the only one out here actually doing something! You ever had a gun in your face? ‘Cause I have. If she’s around, I know I’m making it home.”

The tv Cuts back to the news anchor at the desk, straightening their papers.

“You heard it here folks! Love her or hate her, one thing’s for sure. she’s out there. And she’s just getting started.” The news reporter finished.

But every hero had their villain.

And Ellie? She was crushing on hers.

With Brown hair tied back, wheels skimming smoothly across the pavement. No suit today, just a hoodie and jeans, her usual off-duty attire. As a creature of habit, she skated her way to the bookstore like clockwork, the same route.

Had she finished the last two comics she bought? Absolutely. A little faster than intended. But a five-minute ride was nothing for a girl who spent most of her nights swinging across the city, trying to do right by the world. In her own way.

The streets of downtown Seattle buzzed with life, familiar shop signs blurring past her periphery—the record store with the neon “Vinyl Lives” sign, the café that always smelled like burnt coffee, and the corner thrift shop with racks of clothes spilling onto the sidewalk.

Then—“Shit—!”

Ellie barely had time to swerve, nearly colliding with someone standing dead center in her path.

“Sorry!” she called over her shoulder, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

The person barely reacted. Headphones on, phone in hand, just a slight jerk of the shoulder to let her pass. like they’d done it a thousand times.

Ellie shot them one last glance, catching just a flicker of their face. The shape of their eyes, the calm in their posture despite the near collision. No sense of surprise, Weird. Most people flinched.

Shaking it off, she kicked forward again, hitting the sidewalk with a small exhale. Board tucked under her arm, she pulled open the door to the bookstore, the familiar jingle of the bell bringing an easy grin to her face.

“Like clockwork. You are so predictable, Williams,” Josh, the store clerk, greeted from behind the counter.

“What can I say?” Ellie shrugged, stepping inside. “When you’re a comic book connoisseur—”

“—It becomes a lifestyle,” Josh finished, smirking. “Indeed you are.”

Ellie chuckled, already making her way toward the shelves, completely unaware that the person she nearly crashed into was about to become a permanent part of her life.

She just didn’t know it yet. And neither did you.

Just few moments before …

“What an idiot,” a deep voice muttered, entering the back alley. Away from prying eyes.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you leaned against the brick wall beside him. “She was skating. God, do you ever lighten—”

His hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to remind you. Not a threat. Not yet.

Your mouth shut. Swallowing your retort.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. Thinking. Shit. Your gut told you to argue, to roll your shoulders back and step away. But you didn’t.

She wasn’t. You knew that. But your world didn’t allow second guesses.

Unlike Ellie, there were no scraped knees followed by fatherly reassurances. No kissing boo-boos, no gentle words. Hell, in your world, mistakes didn’t just hurt. They burned.

And the man towering over you now, eyes sharp as a blade’s, wasn’t the type to let things slide. The city dubbed him Red Hand, a name spoken in hushed whispers.

But you just settled for—

“Will you relax, old man? I get it.” You scoffed, swatting his hand away.

Old man. Boss. Everything but Dad. He didn’t deserve that title. Maybe once, when you were too young to know better. But now? Now, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw anything close to affection in his eyes. Sure, you’d hear a gruff, “You did good, kid,” now and then—but only after running his errands. Only when you were useful.

That’s how this started. You don’t grow a hatred for the world overnight. It’s molded into you when you’re most likely to sponge it all up. Seeing people for what they really are, learning early that it’s survival, not love.

Your real parents? Nothing but a shadow of the past. A blanket. A half-hearted note. A promise that you’d be “taken care of.” Not loved. Not held. Just… handled.

And he did. In his way. He didn’t mark your growth on a doorframe. He didn’t pack lunches with little notes that said, “Have a great day, love you.”

No, that was too soft. The Red Hand was feared. With just a snap of his fingers, his problems were taken care of—no questions asked.

At first, you weren’t sure who they were—the ones who carried out his orders, the ones who came and went like shadows. Or why he always denied your late-night tea parties with Mr. Bear.

One eye missing. Fur worn and faded from too many hugs. The first toy he’d ever bought you. Well, stolen. But it was a gift nonetheless.

You used to crack your bedroom door open at night, small fingers barely making a sound as you peeked through the gap. Trying to make out the hushed conversations happening just a few feet away.

Never catching much. But it was whispered for a reason. And even as a kid, you knew better than to ask.

Then came second grade. You walked through the door with puffy eyes and a fresh bruise on your cheek. He barely looked up from his paper as he slid an ice pack across the table.

“And did you hit them back?”

Your small legs dangled off the couch as you shook your head. “No…”

The paper rustled as he set it down, finally looking at you. “C’mere, kid. Let me show you something.”

And he did. With careful, practiced movements, he taught you where to aim. How to make it count. Jabs, punches.

“Those little shits won’t bug you too much after this.”

You learned quickly. Not just how to hit, but when. Where. How to read a room. How to never show weakness.

Because in his world? Weakness was a death sentence.

So no, there were no bedtime stories. No reassurances whispered into your hair. Just lessons. And you learned them all. After all, it paid to be useful. Even if that meant the occasional run to the principal’s office

The city doesn’t care. People don’t care. They’re too busy fighting to stay on top. So why bother trying to be something else? Why bother saving anyone when they’ll just let you down? He’d shown you what the world truly was. A place where you had to take what you wanted.

A place where you had to survive, no matter the cost.

You’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. Why did they leave? Why did he allow you to stay? What was that gnawing feeling deep in your gut? You’d stopped wondering about what could be, what should be. This was it. This was all there was.

And as Ellie’s world spun with hope, with the promise of doing right, yours had long since given up. Because in your world, saving lives wasn’t enough. The world didn’t reward you for being a hero. No. It rewarded you for knowing when to stop asking, when to take what you were given.

Dressed in black, learning what was most important: to keep moving.

To be continued …..

Line dividers | 2 | 3

Ellie m.list

Taglist @0h-basic

[edorazzi]

I almost forgot it was Sunday, eek! 😱

Page 20 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust! In which Adrien comes to terms with the past Ladybug and Chat Noir despising each other, but has questions about Felix's strange loyalty to the Miraculous! 👀💍

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Weekly updates each Sunday! You can also read ahead early on Patreon, and/or buy me a Ko-fi if you'd like to support my work! 💖

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Was having a conversation with a friend about Old League lore. It got me curious, is Garens character still basically analogous to a genocide general, what with the mage hunt and all that, or has that largely been retconned away? I'm as familiar with league lore as I used to be.

It's more or less as it was. Mageseeker and the Lux comic have attempted to cast him as a reluctant soldier trying to resist bad orders to the best of his ability, but they haven't ever actually reckoned with any of his culpability and hypocrisy. It's one of those situations where the actions he is depicted as undertaking are astonishingly heinous when you think about them for even two seconds, but the story is invested in making sure you know that he personally feels very bad about doing it, and that in the name of nuance and fairness you should therefore be willing to be sympathetic with him.

Which. Y'know.

Asking us to hold sympathy for a guy who is dragging Extremely Obvious Metaphor For Queer People off to concentration, forced conversion and extermination camps is... I mean it was always a bit of an ask to make of a literate audience, but it's becoming ever more so as Current Year drags on.

idk I just don't have a lot of patience, in the present moment, for stories that try to leave heroic narrative space for people who hold pathetic loyalty to bad institutions, and commit atrocities in their name while shaking their head the whole time so everyone knows they mournfully disagree with what is currently being done, by them.

And if Garen was actually meant to be understood as some of the lowest scum of the earth: someone who knows better and does evil anyway, then that would make for an interesting story, but he's pretty consistently framed as a tragic figure doomed by his noble loyalty to a higher ideal, and oh don't you relate to his deep and complex struggle, such difficult moral questions he faces.

It feels telling of the audience that the story is written for, and the perspective it is written from.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #40

A Fool’s Gold

Imagine dis…

Booster Gold is the name of a hero that we are all familiar with both in and out of the comics.  He is commonly heard as the joker of the group, the time traveler who came with a robot to keep him updated on the latest information.

I just made this, cause I noticed that writers focus more on the Batfam, Supers, Arrows, and the Flashes when it comes to time travel in DC when we have another time traveler that hasn't been talked about too much so here we are….

…

The Watchtower’s main hall is buzzed with activity as different JL members come and go towards a mission or merely fill out paperwork. Here we see Booster Gold leaning against a console, idly flipping and folding what looks like his report from last week that should have been already filed, turning it into a paper airplane into the air and letting it pile around him.

His bright suit makes it so everyone can notice him even when Batman had already put the guy in a time-out corner until he finished filing and writing down his reports but it looks like boredom won over.

On his left, you could see the main monitor playing a replay from last week's news. Booster Gold is the main star of said news, as he is seen and captured by a news crew waving and interacting with countless fans surrounding him, screaming and awing at the sight of him, some even dared to throw themselves at said hero. Him interacting with his fans with every body language of his screams of arrogance paired with his cocky grin plastered on his face even though he should be providing support to an undercover op that is happening just a few blocks away.

Superman exchanged a glance with Wonder Woman as if to ask a silent question about Booster’s latest issue, with her answering the man of steel with rolled eyes as she seems to be fed up with the gold hero. Even Flash, the most laid-back of the team, muttered something under his breath about Booster being insufferable.

Batman on the other hand is holding Booster Gold’s last month's debrief that is filled with doodles. Gripping said reports to the point of almost tearing said reports into shreds, while also practicing deep breathing tactics to calm himself down. As much as he would want to lecture Booster he knew that Booster would have in one ear and out the other.

Besides the morals of the heroes, his knowledge of the future in ways that the Speedsters cannot comprehend is the only thing keeping him inside the JL.

…

Unbeknownst to the entire League, even from Batman’s prying eyes, Booster Gold’s true purpose and where his loyalty lies far beyond what the JL expected of him. His persona, the self-absorbed, fan-pleasing, buffoon, was meticulously planned and crafted to fit into his role.

Behind the scenes, Booster created and operated a deep network of informants made out of allies and ghosts. Many of them pose as fans of his that only pass on information using this method to fool everyone from the main members to the JL, to their hidden enemies, especially his ghost informants who needed to fit and control a husk of a humanoid-shaped android to pass on as humans and information. Thick make-up and wonky movements made them occasionally throw themselves towards Booster as to suspect no one.

Each interaction in the spotlight served as a secret exchange of information between two parties. Skeets, his loyal robotic companion, despite having all future knowledge in its database kept on changing and updating itself as to each change that he and the Speedsters made.

But Booster remembered, He always remembered.

…

He remembered the original timeline, a time and place where the love of his life Daniel “Dan” Phantom was his lover. In the apocalypse of a future when he used to live in, he and Dan have each other’s back, despite the rumors of a monster roaming around the streets killing every living human there is. So imagine his surprise and heartbroken when he learned that the reason they all live in this desolate future was all because of him.

So imagine his surprise when he encountered Dan in this timeline. Booster Gold was just trying to take a peek, a glimpse if you will, the life before he turned into Dan.

There he was, Dan who was reformed and wary, guarded especially with his younger self, Danny, his clone, and older sister, who is still alive and part of his little world.

It took a while but Dan’s family warmed up to Booster, recognizing that the man was being flocked by fans on the television than the one who looked at them with nervousness and anxiety while holding a tray of cupcakes to earn the approval of Dan’s family.

Booster took it upon himself to dismantle the GIW as it threatens not only his lover but also his new family that he slowly builds for himself. Through his human informants with new ghostly informants, he slowly but surely uncovered hidden bases, weapons caches, and classified operations.

Yet the progress was slow. Too slow.

…

The day Booster’s world shattered began like any other, it was another assigned to a space mission far away from home. The moment he stepped foot back at the Watch Tower Skeet; 's alerts began flooding his visor, message after message marked important and urgent from his informants all sending him out messages about how the GIW  had a raid on the Fenton household. By the time Booster returned to Earth, it was too late. Jack and Maddie Fenton are already dead, having sacrificed their lives to protect their children. Dan, Danny, Dani, and Jazz had been captured by the GIW.

Rage consumed Booster, gone was the carefree hero who smiled for the cameras and flashing lights. In his place stood a man filled with grief and fury, he tore through the GIW facilities with ruthless efficiency leaving trails of destruction with each step he took. The media caught wind of his destruction towards unidentified facilities and buildings, some even caught on tape his rampage broadcasting footage of the hero Booster Gold of the JL leveling a building. The Justice League watched in disbelief as the man they had dismissed as an airhead fought with ruthlessness.

Superman was the first one to confront him as the JL thought that Booster Gold might have been mind-controlled and sent out Superman to not only subdue Booster but also limit the destruction that Booster did.

Booster having known that they had sent Superman to subdue him immediately attacked, their fight was swift and unrelenting leaving the Man of Steel unconscious and bloodied in the center of a smoking crater. One by one, various JL members were sent out to subdue him, but none could capture him. Always outmaneuvering and using his technology and suit from the future to fight off each member.

…

Just as the JL thought they had cornered Booster and now arrived at another confrontation between them and Booster, the scene made them all stop in their tracks.

There, they discovered a scene that would haunt them. A massive facility painted white is now in ruins, with black smoke emanating from it, implying that it was just destroyed, most likely by Booster, known for destroying structures and facilities with similar appearances. There he stood, Booster Gold, his suit burnt and missing pieces displaying his bloody skin, his body beaten, cradling two bloodied babies in his arms. A huge monstrous creature with red-blooded eyes coiled protectively over Booster. Fangs bared, claws extended, he hissed low and menacingly at the League, his every gesture exuding a primitive need to defend. A red-haired teenager lay nearby, her head resting on Booster's thigh as a makeshift pillow, breathing shallow but steady.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Hey there👋👋 could you please do whatever love language of the bamboos are ??

LOVE LANGUAGE OF THE BATBOYS

A/N: terribly sorry I let this request collect dust. My interest in comics fell as life got hectic and whatever the hell. I won't go all Wattpad author on you.

Dick Grayson’s love language is words of affirmation. At the peak of his characterization, he is a man ravenous for praise and attention. A moment of peace, of relief, of sweetness.

Stunted, yet too grown for his own good—simultaneously. He will seek attention, showering you with gifts and compliments in hopes that you reciprocate. Holidays would read like a HallMark movie that would move suburban mothers to tears.

Dick is also the man to send romantic quotes stolen from Pinterest, and the occasional confusing poem of his own hand. His nerves would grind as he read the ‘’seen’’ stamp beneath his text, worried out of his mind that it didn't properly convey his emotions, his love.

“What, no reply yet? If you're that moved, you could always come kiss me.” He'd send the message, playing it off as a joke. But his stomach groaned with the familiar ache, that cold and empty feeling of uncertainty.

What if she doesn't like it? Will she still like me? Would I seem lame if I double texted? Am I bugging her?

The flames of self doubt would spread and eat at his mind until his phone pinged with a,” it's beautiful, babe. A hard read, but the intention was there.” And a flirtatious emoji paired with it.

Thus, the flames of doubt were stomped out, like they never existed. They liked the poem, and he would spend hours rereading it. Marveling and gushing because you liked it. Something he made.

Jason Todd's love language is acts of service. It's a loyalty thing for him.

Gift sharing could be manipulation; soft words could be lies, and he's too self-loathing to believe them anyway. Red Hood swallows his spare time, and his desire for touch swung on a pendulum—one side thirsting for it, the other side uncomfortable.

The thought of returning home to a nice and warm meal would make him melt into a puddle. Or finding his hero suit washed, and his gear cleaned and stored away.

It reignites a flame in his cold eyes, the domesticity calling forth an unclassified emotion that sent goosebumps blazing over his skin like wildfire, calling his arm hairs to attention.

Jason would return the favor. You would awake to find breakfast made, the aroma of bacon and eggs thick in the air, the sweetness of syrup carrying around the house. Scalding tea trickling into a pot, milk and sugar already on the table. Plates washed and set.

Jason would also do laundry and iron clothes. He gets those random bursts of energy (or adrenaline) and cleans the entire house spotless.

Baths would be drawn for you, and if he's feeling lavish, he'll add roses to the bubbles. The finest soaps would lather your skin, scented with the the best smelling perfumes—business was good, and it was a present. His calloused fingers would be overjoyed to massage your scalp (he hoped you'd do his next).

Tim Drake’s love language is quality time. Also, I would like to preface this section by admitting I haven't read much of Tim.

He would help you study. Textbooks adorning the wooden table after hours of quizzing. Coffee steaming in a mug, pens and highlighters scratching at paper. Kisses shared with each right answer.

He'd tease,” Oh, that was a hard one. A trick question.” A smirk, sweet as frosting would tug on his lips, then a warm kiss would swallow yours.” If I were as filthy minded as Jason, maybe I'd crack a joke.”

Tim’s gaze would find you, in the middle of whatever—washing dishes, doing laundry, exercising. They'd burst with amorous passion, like exploding stars, shimmering and twinkling in his irises.

When the sun kisses Gotham goodnight, and the moon assumes it duty, he'd find himself wishing he could be beside you. Not Batman, not Dick, certainly not Damian. That's not proof that he hates his colleagues or that his work is last on the list of priorities. It's just. . . you're higher.

“Hey, love,” he'd speak into the phone, after the voicemail prompted him.” I know you're likely sleep tonight. But I wanted to at least call and tell you to sleep safe and warm. And to save space for me.” A chuckle would roll of his tongue, the wailing of police sirens in the background.

Damian Wayne's love language is also quality time.

Time is precious to him. His mother’s presence was unreliable. He, his father, his siblings tango with dead every silvery night. Each misfortune in his family reminded him of that.

Robin is not what Dick thinks. It's not just bursting into hideouts and knocking the crap out of villains. The peril is real, as well as the potential for failure—and failure in their line of work means death.

Oracle was paralyzed in a second, one wrong move and her nerves were shot. Jason’s life was quite literally put on a clock, killed by time itself. When Damian was an assassin, it merely took seconds to end a life, one of emotion and desires and opinions—gone at the stroke of a blade.

Time matters.

Damian would try to spend all of it with you, doing anything. Attending museums, painting you, listening to your playlists. Finding the child he was depraved of for so long. Being an angsty teenager and loving it.

“This is considered fun?” A dark eyebrow of his would raise teasingly. There you sat, at a sport's game, the roaring crowd trembling the stadium and stabbing his ears. The golden beam of the sun roasting both you, and the overpriced popcorn tossing and gurgling in his stomach.

But, deep down, the liveliness of the crowd intrigued him. Even he'd find himself screaming along with the masses on their feet, yelling out praise or curse words.

Damian's jade irises would slide over to you, the sheer glee decorating your features. A painting. He'd see a masterpiece in you; how that expression would translate onto a canvas.

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 7)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: Drinking, playing party games.

Word Count: 2,904

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

_________________________________________

Playing a game his cousin made up has never ended well. Not when they were younger, and Rhys knows that it certainly isn’t going to end well tonight, especially when there’s alcohol involved.

He doesn’t know why he agreed. Maybe it was because he was thinking more with his cock than his head, the taste of your skin still buzzing across his lips like a spell you put him under. He wants to move closer, doesn’t like how you’re sitting on the other side of the circle from him, with too many people between the both of you and even more who join when Mor announces the game to anyone around who’s listening.

Of course, Amarantha pushes her way into the circle, taking up position right beside him. He stiffens, and it takes effort for Rhys to unhinge his jaw and slug back some of the amber liquid in his cup that Cassian poured him. It’s pretty much just straight alcohol, which might be exactly what he needs to endure this game if his clingy ex stands beside him all night.

Your eyes latched onto his ex the moment she entered the game. Mor made a face, knowing exactly who she is, but didn’t mention it. You wonder if she thinks that there’s a chance, she thinks Rhys and Amarantha have the possibility of rekindling their relationship, and you want to ask her how she feels about the girl, but you don’t want to seem too interested in her cousin and his ex.

It doesn’t stop you from looking, though. Amarantha’s friend flanks her side, creating a further distance between you and Rhys. You’re on completely opposites of the circle, now, and the smug grin on her red painted lip tell you she knows it, too. The stirs the neon pink straw in her cup. It makes her sharp, crimson nails pop. She gives you an innocent shrug when she catches you staring, and you tear your eyes from hers only to settle them on those familiar violet ones that are widened comically as if to tell you, Help me!

You don’t know how to help him. It’s not like you can move to sit between them; that alone would be enough for Mor to question you, and if Rhys’ ex forced you into doing something more to prove that you’re the couple you’re trying to make her think you are, it’ll be game over before it’s even begun, because your loyalties lie with your best friend.

This night has turned into such a shit show it’s all you can do to sit in your spot while Mor explains the rules.

“The name of the game is TD Bottle.” She plants a glass bottle in the center of the circle, and you already don’t like the looks of this. Peering around the circle, you assess the partygoers. If this is a kissing game, you want to know what you’re getting yourself into. There’s Rhys, who you carefully avoid eye contact with because the thought of his lips anywhere near your body again has shivers skittering up your spine. Amarantha, who hasn’t stopped glancing up at Rhys like he is her God. A few of Rhys’ teammates are scattered around the circle—Cassian, Balthazar, James, and even Azriel seems to be sitting in on the game as well, much to your surprise. The girls heavily outweigh the men, and Gwyn looks like a terrified mouse in the presence of a murder of crows.

You catch her bright blue eyes, silently asking if she’s okay. If she wants to leave, you’ll go with her, no questions asked.

She gives you a smile that you assume is supposed to be reassuring, but is anything but. But she stays. You all stay.

“Like, Touch Down?” James asks, brows bent in confusion.

“No, no, it’s like Touchy Dick,” Cassian throws in easily, eliciting laughter from the boys and eye rolls from the girls. But the mixture of anticipation and tension that hangs over the group disperses, and everyone seems to ease into their seats a little.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Mor wrinkles her nose, pulling a face of disgust.

“Please, tell us what the hell it means before they keep guessing,” Rhys mutters, bringing his cup to his lips for another swig. You watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows, and he raises a mocking brow when he catches your gaze. Shit. Maybe the few drinks you’ve had are starting to take effect, and this game surely isn’t going to help the case.

He winks, and it’s only then that you’re able to rip your gaze from his violet stare, cheeks burning warmly.

The only good thing is that Amarantha catches the interaction and her lips tighten to a razor thin line that makes her look more of like the snake you think she is.

“It stands for Truth, Dare, Bottle,” Mor says. “It’s a combination of truth and dare and spin the bottle.”

“How…” Rhys trails off, trying to find the word.

“Apropos?” You supply. You and Rhysand share conspiring smiles that feel much too intimate for the near-strangers you’re supposed to be in the presence of his cousin.

Mor whines. “That’s not fair, I can’t have one of my best friends and my cousin ganging up on me like this. I won’t stand for it!”

She means it as a joke, but it shocks you and Rhys, realizing that you should not be acting so friendly for only having met on a few occasions. Hell, Mor doesn’t even know that he’s your psychology tutor yet.

You nurse your drink, trying to ignore the knot that’s wound itself back into your stomach. It’s not mixing well with the tequila. You focus all your attention on your friend. “Sorry, continue.”

“So, one person spins the bottle,” Mor says, giving the empty glass a swing around the circle. Everyone seems to lean in closer, eager to see who it’s going to land on. You aren’t worried about it landing on you because it’s your roommate, but you’re sure this state of somewhat calm won’t last when it’s someone else spinning the bottle. Especially Rhys.

The bottle stops, it’s mouth pointing to Cassian, who beams like he’s won player of the year. “The person it lands on chooses truth or dare, and we all know how that game goes,” Mor waves her hand, gesturing Cassian to answer.

He waggles his brows. “Dare.”

“I dare you to…take off your shirt,” Mor says, and the girls in the circle whistle and cheer.

“I’m not wearing a shirt,” Cassian responds, gesturing to his bare torso hidden beneath his apron. You can see the tan skin of his broad back, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, and damn, that was a good dare.

A throat clearing draws your attention away from where you’re ogling Cassian’s body. Rhys raises an unimpressed brow, his jaw ticking as he stares you down. Amarantha’s red gaze flickers between you and Cassian, brows knitted together as if you’re some equation she’s trying to figure out.

“Sorry,” you mouth across the circle when Amarantha’s attention is diverted when Mor rolls her eyes and commands Cassian to take off his apron instead.

Rhys rolls his eyes, and you stifle the pang of disappointment at missing Cassian stripping off the top of his apron, now sitting completely shirtless in his spot.

“And now it’s Cassian’s turn to spin,” Mor finishes with a beaming smile. “See? Easy.”

“Super easy,” Cassian agrees, spinning the bottle. It lands on Amarantha’s friend, and his grin turns lethal. “Let’s make this more interesting. Alis, truth or dare?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, a move that Cassian does not mind at all, especially when it pushes her breasts up like that. She lifts her chin, staring him down as she answers, “Dare.”

Cassian ponders for a moment, before he breaks out into a mischievous smile. “I dare you to refill my cup with anything I want until the end of the game.”

Alis grimaces, and you so do not envy her, especially when Cassian immediately hands her his cup and asks her to fill it with ice and whiskey. He jokes, turning toward the circle, “Anyone else want anything?”

On and on the game goes until the bottle lands on Amarantha and she answers a truth about how many guys she’s slept with. Then, she taker her turn and spins the bottle. It lands on Rhysand, just like you knew it would somehow. It fills you with a nausea that you try to drown out with your drink, only to find your cup empty. Huh. You don’t remember downing your entire cup. Maybe you can dare someone to get you a refill when it’s your turn.

“Truth or dare, Rhys?” Amarantha says, sickeningly sweet. She even bats her eyelashes for effect, but Rhys doesn’t even glance her way, much more interested in trying to shatter the glass bottle pointing in his direction with his fiery glare.

“Truth,” he grits, bracing himself for whatever imploring question is going to fall from her lips.

“Do you miss that thing I did with my hands? When I would—”

“No,” he growls, cutting her off. Wherever she was trying to go with that question, it backfires, because Rhys reaches into the circle and spins the bottle with a flick that means business.

“Awe, I wanted to hear what she was going to say,” her friend pouts, though the glance she shares with her friend tells you she already knows.

“Well, Alis, maybe if you ask nicely, she’ll do it to you, too.” Rhys is undeterred by their gaping looks, and a few of his players can’t hold back their snickers. Amarantha and Alis’ cheeks turn red, and you think they might leave the game in the midst of their humiliation, but they stubbornly stay put.

He spins, and the bottle lands on one Cassian again, who seems to really be the only one enjoying the game. Rhys dares him to take a shot of alcohol. Lame, but Rhysand doesn’t want to play, knows that he’s only doing it because you are and he wants to bear witness to your truths and dares.

“(Y/N)? Truth or dare?”

“Um, dare.” You hadn’t meant to choose that option, but you were so distracted by the way that Rhys keeps leaning away from Amarantha every time she tries to slant against him. It yields a fire in your belly at the sight, one so consuming that you don’t realize what you’ve said until it’s too late.

Cassian grins like the cat that got the cream, and you don’t like it one fucking bit.

Rhys looks just as surprised as you do, even more so when Cassian dares you to kiss him. It’s then that he’s able to remove his gaze from you to glare at his roommate, though it does sting when your first reaction to the dare is to frown.

Mor groans, slapping Cassian’s side. “Dude, seriously?”

“Seriously,” he nods in confirmation. He’s clearly not reading the room. “What?” He asks, “Are you going to back out, (Y/N)?”

You shake your head. No, you can’t back out. Not when Amarantha thinks that you and Rhys are already together. She’d absolutely question why the two of you wouldn’t kiss, which would cause questions from Mor to unravel the plan you and Rhys have just agreed to.

“Mor,” you call, all but crawling across the large circle to reach Rhys. He catches on, something sparking in his violet eyes as he leans forward to meet you halfway. “Close your eyes.”

You hear an indignant huff, and then nothing because the pounding of your heart drowns out the noise of the party around you. There’s a question in Rhysand’s eyes and you shake your head softly, watching as he swallows harshly when you show that you’re doing this for the both of your sakes. You are not going to back down.

And then his mouth is on yours, and fucking stars explode.

You lose your surroundings completely: where you are, who you’re with, what fucking day it is. Rhys’s mouth is much softer than you imagined with all of the coarse language you know he spits on the ice.

You can taste the warmth of whiskey on his lips and you want to drown in it. He’s addicting, even more so when shivers rattle down your spine in pleasure when his tongue traces the seam of your mouth.

When you’re about to part your lips for him, a loud, forced cough steals your attention. You pull away and everything slams back into your full-force: the party, the people watching you, cheering for you, and your roommate and best friend, who looks less than impressed with your display of affection with her cousin.

Your heart that’s pounding in your chest because of the feeling of Rhys on your mouth turns into a pounding of guilt. You break Rhys’ heady gaze, quickly finding your spot back in the circle. You have the urge to straighten your shirt and fix your hair, like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than sharing an innocent kiss.

Except, that there was nothing about that kiss that felt innocent at all.

You keep your eyes averted, trying not to squeeze your legs shut to stifle the need for pleasure that aches between them. Fuck.

“(Y/N)?” Cassian sing-songs. Rhys shoots daggers at his friend. He doesn’t give a fuck about the game anymore, more worried about you and how you won’t meet his gaze. That kiss was fucking something, that’s for sure, and he can’t help but to run his tongue across his lips, chasing the taste of you. “It’s your turn.”

“Right,” you agree, pressing forward to reach for the bottle. You try not to remember the image of you doing the same only moments ago when you were reaching the distance to kiss Rhys, but the memory flashes in your head anyway, your cheeks going red hot.

The bottle spins and spins and your shoulders drop when it lands on Balthazar. You don’t know him all that well, and when he picks truth, you give him something easy.

“Have you ever cheated on a test?” You ask, lamely. All you want to do is get out of this circle, down another drink, and go home. The feeling of Rhysand’s lips still buzzes against yours, and it reverberates between your legs. If you could go home, you could…

“Yeah,” he admits, like it’s something everyone does. He reaches forward and spins the bottle, and freezes when it lands on Gwyn.

Her eyes are as wide as saucers. Her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth as she nervously thinks over her options. You and Mor share a look, both noticing how flighty she looks. Gwyn looks like she might just spring up from the circle and bolt out of here, and you can’t say that you wouldn’t be right behind her. You’re more than ready to be in the privacy of your own room.

“Truth or dare, Gwyn?”

“Dare,” she says softly, barely able to be heard over the music and chatter of the party. Balthazar hears, though, or perhaps he reads her lips because he’s staring at her so intently that you feel like you’re intruding on something.

You wonder what made her choose dare, like doing whatever he comes up with is the lesser of two evils. It’s clear that something is going on between the two of them, but you’ve never heard a peep about either of them knowing each other. Maybe they share a class?

Whatever it is, you’re entirely intrigued.

“I dare you to tell me why you won’t look at me.”

The circle goes deathly silent, which isn’t all that silent at all with the music shaking the walls of the house. But the small circle…when she finally raises her eyes to meet his, it’s like walls have shot up around all of you, like you’re on the field of the colosseum and Gwyn and Balth are the warriors ready to fight for to the death.

You’ve never been surer that you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in your entire life. From across the circle, Rhys shoots you a look just as confused as you feel. You shrug, you have no idea what’s going on, and it’s all you can do to watch.

Gwyn doesn’t respond. It’s a stare off between the two of them, with her icy blue eyes glaring at him and him staring right back, brows furrowed in a hurt confusion.

She doesn’t answer. Gwyn climbs to her feet and threads her way into the crowd without a second glance, like Balthazar should know exactly why she finds it difficult to look at him. You can’t help it, you watch his face as soon as Gwyn’s red hair leaves your sight, watching the hurt flash across his eyes before he sits back in his spot in defeat.

“What?” He asks, lamely. “It’s not like I asked her to kiss me or anything.” Balthazar laughs drily, more than done with this game.

And neither do you. Whatever just happened, you’re more concerned about your roommate. You get to your feet, gauge how you feel with the few tequila pineapple juices you’ve had, before you follow after your roommate.

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @itsinherited @w0nderw0manly

[thedemonofcat]

One of my favorite observations from this season of The Witcher is how Jaskier can adapt to different personas depending on the people he interacts with, all while remaining true to his core self.

When it comes to Yennefer, Jaskier becomes the confidant she can fully trust. Despite their limited interactions throughout the season, it is evident that Yennefer confides in him. In one particular scene from season two, Yennefer opens up to Jaskier about losing her magic. Instead of mocking her, Jaskier responds with nothing but empathy and compassion. This proves to Yennefer that she can trust him, even though they may bicker like siblings at times.

For Ciri, Jaskier takes on the role of the fun uncle. Their relationship is built on playful banter, mocking others like Geralt and Yennefer and enjoying card games together. But amid the playfulness, there are also tender moments where Jaskier encourages Ciri and sings her lullabies before bedtime. Their dynamic revolves around bringing smiles to each other's faces.

With Geralt, Jaskier is not only his best friend but also provides a dose of comic relief. Whenever they are together, Jaskier adopts a more goofy and lighthearted persona. This deliberate choice is because Jaskier knows that Geralt tends to brood and he wants to show him that there is still goodness in the world. Even when it seems that their friendship is questioned, Jaskier's quick offense is followed by a joke, indicating his unwavering loyalty and desire to lighten the mood.

In essence, Jaskier's ability to adapt his role based on the needs of the people around him showcases his emotional intelligence and understanding of their unique personalities. Yet, beneath these varying personas, he remains the same loyal and caring friend to each of them.

[isthereintruthnobeauty1968]

saavik: to be honest the way i've observed her speaking to myself and your peers suggests that she's racist

spock: 😕 but i like her

[residentwordsofaffirmationdealer]

urbanity co-opted and loyalty endured

I was reading old comic writer interviews and this interview in particular with Devin Grayson was very interesting.

"As a character, Dick is a fascinating study on contradictions. He's a natural born performed who hides behind a mask. He's an effusive, gregarious soul who is used to isolation and secrets. He's a genuine romantic who doesn't know much about relationships. He's an exceptionally bright competent and charismatic leader who is also the ultimate sidekick. He's surrounded by death, and completely in love with life. And he's restless and contemplative and in many ways something of a loner who is yet without question the most loyal man you could ever hope to meet." "Denny-san once brilliantly referred to Batman as 'urbanity co-opted'. I've come to think of Dick as ''loyalty endured'."

"The struggle to be useful and content in a dark, chaotic world. The fight to maintain a sense of purity and innocence while never, ever blinking or turning away from reality."

"There was so much there: in the dynamic between the two characters, in the rich originality of animation, in the recreation of modern myth."

Also her talking about being confused on how many robins there are was too real -- "'Robin stuff -- I mean when did he lose the little green shorts?' My friend asked me if I meant Tim. Tim? 'Well, there have been three Robins actually since -- oh, four if you count Carrie Kelley...' Three Robins? What the hell was going on?"

[year2000electronics]

i dont really get how people are confused about mario "not recognizing" mr L bc like. we the viewer know whats up from seeing that Nat can full on rewire loyalties, but the heroes have just seen that this team has a shapeshifter and an illusionist, recruiting some asshole that looks kinda like their friend/brother is right up the same alley imo

YEAH. cos i mean, lowest bar, easiest, most doylist answer: this is a game for kids and families. the level it's speaking to is the type of suspension of disbelief where a LOT can happen. this is the type of narrative where groucho glasses make someone unrecognizable. if they say nobody knows who mr. l is then nobody knows who he is. simple as.

I LIKE YOUR ANGLE TOO THOUGH cos its one of those angles that gives a tangible/interesting answer to the question without going "WHY DIDNT THEY RECOGNIZE HIM THATS STUPID". they didnt recognize him because you cant go on a rescue mission to get luigi back

i have my own thoughts on the answer, of course, which is also along the lines of "yeah team bleck is literally full of magicians, illusionists and shapeshifters, it wouldn't be hard to disguise mr. l's identity". i sketched a little comic about it since this is on my mind now

tl:dr; it's been my headcanon for a long time that mr. l's mask itself is what's doing the "heavy lifting"- it's got some sort of magic that wouldn't change his appearance at all, but make it so that people wouldn't recognize him. it would also be why the opposite fact isn't true, too, of "why don't the bleck minions recognize mr. l when he's back to being luigi?" and it would also serve a tertiary purpose of making his eye colour appear silver instead of red so, yknow, on the off-chance the heroes did figure out mr. l is luigi, they wouldn't see the one trait that gives away that people have been brainwashed by nastasia. if they ever figured it out, maybe they'd think luigi switched sides on purpose and would feel angry or betrayed?

that's all in the realm of headcanon though haha- the ramblings of someone who has been thinking about this game for wayyyyy too long

[gremlinscomics]

No comic today y'all, Crow and I are still getting chapter 2 put together, HOWEVER-

Would y'all like some more Big Mama's Assistant content...?

Just a quick intro to who she is at this point in SOOP, read it on AO3 or just continue reading down below, enjoy!

Big Mama's assistant has been given many, many names throughout her life.

A champion, a work of art, Big Mama’s finest masterpiece.

She is everything that is to be expected from someone brought up by the most powerful Yokai in all of the Hidden City. A sharp-witted young woman and the perfect extension of power.

Outsiders may say she’s barely more than a pet, never out of her owner's sight, a product of a flamboyant businesswoman's flights of fancy. 

She’s an echo, who’s voice is nothing more than myth to those around her, whose face is concealed by a well designed muzzle.

Big Mama’s loyal assistant, with not a thought of her own, merely a vessel for a higher power.

The older Yokai at the hotel, the ones that have been there since its beginning, who witnessed her sudden appearance, will deny that she’s simply just Big Mama’s assistant.

To them she is known as Venus DeMilo.

Sole heir to the Nexus and all the glory surrounding it, a child born with a silver spoon in her mouth. They say that her loyalty to Big Mama is nothing new, not something that simply appeared one day. Even from a young age, she was more than willing to obey every order. It’s not uncommon knowledge that she was raised knowing her status was high above those around her, second only to her Mother’s.

She and Big Mama once attended human galas together; Their carefully crafted cloaking brooches allowing them to seamlessly blend with the crowds of New York  elites. Venus was an endless source of bragging, with Big Mama never passing up an opportunity to talk about her dearest daughter's latest achievements or praises.

Even as the years went on and, despite her social appearances becoming fewer and further between, her reputation remained intact.

Venus DeMilo is a loyal daughter who preens at the praise of her elders and puffs out her chest when Big Mama mentions her latest accomplishments.

Venus DeMilo comes from a high pedigree, she’s a debutante. 

But, there’s an air around her, one that sets others on edge. She is something more than just a ward blinded by their admiration for their provider.

She is a soldier who will gladly spill blood if her commander tells her to.

And she does.

Venus grows up in the arena, with millions watching.

She goes from a child to a champion nearly overnight, to the surprise of few and the cheers of many. Her first match for the title of top fighter in the Battle Nexus drew in droves of Yokai, all more than eager to watch a young Venus crush opponents ten times her size under her heel.

In the arena she is untethered, no one there to hold her to the etiquette and rules of high society. She breaks bones, maims without a second thought, competitors beg for mercy when they see their fleeting lives in the reflection of her tessen and she always, always, emerges victorious.

Venus looks up after every match, like clockwork, not towards the roaring crowds who adore her every breath, but at Big Mama's private box high above them; always asking a silent question, waiting almost hesitantly for a few moments, before bowing her head and making her exit; a trail of destruction left in her wake.

Big Mama brags about her creation, her crown jewel, always praising Venus on how close she is to succeeding; Lamenting on how she’s nearly caught up to her reputation.

Over the years, Venus has never wavered, never questioned her place. She loves her mother and her mother loves her, wants what's best for her, and that is enough.

She is content with her role, she is happy to blend into the shadows until Big Mama asks her to step into the spotlight, to show what years of an upbringing under proper conditions can yield.

There’s a power behind Venus, a constant brand, reminding her who she owes her success to. It whispers and instructs, never leading her astray.

If it tells her to jump, she jumps, if it tells her to win, she snatches victory up from her competitors' cold, stiff hands.

When it tells her to live up to the statuesque legacy she’s been given, she gladly chips and chisels away every single inadequacy; always just out of perfection's grasp but nearing it more and more with each attempt.

Because she is Venus DeMilo, soon she will be Big Mama’s pièce de résistance.

Soon she won’t just be a champion.

She will be a victor.

[gallowdancingmuck]

Analyzing W(e)yler: Part One

The first thing I would like to discuss is Tyler’s role in the whole story. While we can debate on whether he is the best love interest or not (I’ll get to that) I think it can be accepted that he is a foil to Wednesday. A foil is meant to act as a contrast to the protagonist and is not always necessarily the antagonist. The difference between foil and antagonist is that the antagonist opposes whilst the foil exposes essential beliefs and characteristics of the protagonist. Something often forgotten in terms of foils is that they are extremely similar to the protagonist, but a critical factor causes a ripple effect that diverts the foil’s path from the protagonist’s path.

Lets look at how exactly Tyler and Wednesday foil each other:

Grumpy x Sunshine

Tyler showcases a positive and soft side, but hides the darker aspects of his personality (Hyde, anger, sadness, resentment). Wednesday showcases her dark side proudly but is ashamed of the softer aspects of her personality (love, affection, loyalty, sympathy). If Tyler (and people around him) were more accepting of his darkness, Hyde would not be as easily manipulated and he would probably be able to leverage more emotional control. If Wednesday accepted her softness she would also be able to exert more control with her emotions. Her “getting in her own way” comes into play because she doesn’t reach out for help and when things go wrong she makes impulsive decisions that hurt her relationships (think about how Enid and her fought because Wednesday just didn’t ask for her help in an honest way). Raw emotions are hard for Wednesday but her care for other people is always used against her and her denial makes things 10x harder for her.

Family Dynamics

Tyler’s family is broken. His mother died and his father shut down, leaving Tyler with anger, sadness, and abandonment issues. The neglect from Donovan has caused Tyler to develop severe daddy issues and a mommy complex. Tyler is chasing affection, which is why he falls into Laurel’s grasp. Wednesday’s family on the other hand is pretty functional if not a little overly expressive, however she finds their constant affection suffocating and is running away from it. She has mommy issues in the fact that she looks at her mother as competition (which I hope the reasoning behind this is explored more because it really confuses me, what led to the riff between Morticia and Wednesday?)

Outcast Status

Tyler has been forced into outcast status. As a hyde he was already predetermined to be isolated, add onto it his family dynamic, Tyler is alone and he does not know how to deal with that. He wishes he was normal as seen through the way he interacts with other characters and in Jericho. Wednesday, while seen as strange by the world, is still accepted. I think it has been seen that as long as you are a pretty girl, you can be as weird as you like (Manic Pixie Dream Girl vibes) and with the Addams family wealth and status added, Wednesday truly will always have a place. She despises this. She wants to be an outcast, but as seen in the show, her assuredness is magnetizing, so people flock to her despite her best efforts.

Wealth

Tyler comes from a working class family. While he may not be struggling to get by, a sheriff and barista’s salary is not much. The Addams family has so much money it's comical. This matters because when Tyler beat up Xavier he got sent to bootcamp. Wednesday maimed the swim team and got sent to a private school. Money affects circumstance and punishment. It begs the question of what would happen if the roles were reversed and Wednesday was a hyde? Wealth affects power, and the hyde is in constant danger of power dynamics being manipulated.

Masking

Faulkner’s diary points out how the hyde is an artist by nature, this relates to how they are actors, switching personalities or parts in society. Hydes are naturally manipulative because it is an adaptation to the tumultuous personality changes. For the most part, Tyler can act through social interactions and delight people. and that is why he successfully tricked Wednesday. He is able to save himself a lot of trouble. Wednesday on the other hand is honest to a fault. Brutal and straightforward, Wednesday scares people and causes herself a lot more trouble than she needs to.

Emotional Expression

Both Tyler and Wednesday have difficulty with emotional control. Tyler lets his emotions explode while Wednesday diminishes her’s. Moving forward I think Tyler is going to be going through therapy where he learns to not suppress the hyde, but regulate it and all the emotions that fuel it. Wednesday has been put through a lot of emotional wringers (Thing almost dying, Eugene being attacked, the attraction and betrayal with Tyler, Enid being Enid) that I think she is going to soon realize she has to manage rather than ignore them. I think learning to cope with this regulation will happen as Wednesday and Tyler reconcile and learn to work together again.

Control

Due to the nature of the hyde and how it was unlocked, Tyler has never been in control. Even before that, he had no control in his family due to neglect and secrecy. His development is about gaining a sense of control and autonomy in his life. Learning to be alone but not being forced to be. His story I think has to revolve around choice and empowerment. Wednesday is a control freak. She hates emotions due to the unpredictable nature and she can’t handle relationships because you can’t healthily control another person. She needs to relinquish control because it stands in the way of her softer qualities and often gets her in trouble.

Tyler and Wednesday are the same, but the way they approach life is different and is linked to an overall theme of Wednesday (and the Addams Family in general). The Addams Family has always been a satire about how despite the family being macabre and gloomy, they love and support each other more than the average nuclear family. Never are we expected to understand the family but more so to accept and appreciate them. If we look at Tyler’s Hyde, this character is exactly what happens when we don’t do this. The filial bond is damaged because Francoise’s hyde was never accepted and it caused this generational trauma. The hyde I think is a representation of the things that haunt people and families when they are not addressed or accepted. Wednesday is just as much about the hyde as the Addams family, so with the tragedy surrounding the Galpin family and the state of the hyde as a species, I do think that Wednesday and Tyler will reconcile (maybe not romantically) and work to resolve the stigmatization of hydes.

Plus if Wednesday wants to be odd and outcasted she would refuse to be outdone by Tyler! Not for a second time.

[allgremlinyaps]

The Most Underrated Line In All Of ATLA/TLOK And Its Many Worldbuilding Implications - A Ramble

In S2E7 of TLOK we get this dialogue from Wan and The Aye-Aye Spirit: "There are other Lion Turtles?" "Of course there are - dozens of them!" [timestamp 3:38 in this video]

It's such a quick line it's easy to miss, but there's one thing about it that made a LOT of things click into place for me about the Avatar universe's worldbuilding; the fact that there are (or were) dozens of Lion Turtles. NOT four, with one for each element, like you would assume. Dozens.

What does this mean in terms of the Four Nations? What connections might this have with other previously established lore? Well uhm follow me on this journey. I guess.

Pre-Unifications - A Global Warring States Era?

A warring states era on a wouldn't be nearly as compelling if there were only four Lion Turtles. If this were the case, everything would be perfectly balanced; why would there be disarray, violence, cultural disparity and struggles for power within each elemental group if the world was already perfectly divided into four solid groups? Why would a national identity be in question at all?

But the fact that there are more than one Lion Turtle per element... that means different groups of people being isolated from one another for long periods of time. This means different bodies of identity, regardless of element. Different city states, regional Kings, Queens, fiefdoms, dynastic power struggle, etc etc, before any sort of inherent loyalty the ones element as a national and cultural identity was established.

We know the Avatar world was not always divided into Four Nations. In Chapter 21 of The Rise Of Kyoshi we learn that Guru Laghima - a name you'll recognize from TLOK S3 - was from an era when the Four Nations had not yet been formed. We also know from Zaheer that he lived about 4,000 years before the events of TLOK (for context, thats about 6,000 years after Wan became the first Avatar).

There's further confirmation of this in Smoke And Shadow, where we learn about the first Firelord and the Fire Nation's unification wars.

However there's implications of this even in the original series; it's not some sloppy ret-con from the books and comics, it fits. Think Omashu:

In S2E2 of ATLA we get the story of Oma and Shu - and we learn that they come from "warring villages." Now why exactly would their villages be warring if The Earth Kingdom already existed? Why the need for a power struggle? Why is it not presented as a civil insurrection or civil war, but as a conflict between two distinct groups of people? The answer is that the "Earth Kingdom" as we conceptualize it did not exist. I'd go further and say that we can assume that after Omashu was established it became a powerful regional kingdom, and created strong sphere of cultural influence. Think about it - Bumi is King Of Omashu. King. NOT the Earth King, King Of The Earth Kingdom, but still King Of Omashu.

[Now there's some debate about where Omashu's founding sits on the timeline but to me it HAS to be post-Wan, probably very nearly immediately post-Wan. The line that calls them the "first earthbenders" and that they "learned earthbending from the badger moles" has caused some to question if they fit in with the "Lion Turtles bestowed bending" lore, but to me it fits pretty easily. The Lion Turtles may have bestowed the power but the actual technique was learned from the badger moles and dragons and blah blah blah.]

I also find this line from Jianzhu in The Rise Of Kyoshi very illuminating:

VINDICATION !! And Jianzhu's moaning over the cultural diversity within his country brings me to the second part of this post...

FC Yee And Gene Luen Yang Accidentally (?) Make Avatar's Cultural Mish Mash Make More Sense

Avatar's cultural gumbo of visuals has always been a little hard to parse. If you follow @atlaculture then you know it'd be kind of fruitless to try and apply any one single ethnicity/culture to one nation. A common, and very valid, criticism of Avatar is the pan-asian approach it takes to worldbuilding. I'm not here to defend that lol. I think people who dislike Avatar on that basis are well within their rights to do so, and I also think it's important to enjoy things critically.

HOWEVER, from a worldbuilding perspective, the mish mash becomes easier to swallow when you think of it in terms of multiple groups of people being unified into different nation states over a very long period of time and slowly intertwining their cultures into a single(ish) identity.

Take the Fire Nation for example: in FC Yee's The Shadow Of Kyoshi we learn that the government was much more decentralized and the country was controlled by different clans, like the Saowon and Keosho, who had individual spheres of influence and strong senses of identity. It makes me think about Mai and Ty Lee

They're both Fire Nation nobles and they both live in the Fire Nation capital - but their styles/clothes are completely different. Now, obviously that can be boiled down to personality-based character design but. There's a wide discrepancy between Mai's Edo Japan inspired hair and Ty Lee's Thai inspired performance outfit, and a little retroactive canon about them being part of different but powerful clans .. ? Yeah. That'd be fun, at the very least.

I could go on about this... was there a Water Lion Turtle at the north AND the south? How did the airbenders transition from relatively sedentary life on a Lion Turtle to nomadism? etc etc etc BUT in conclusion: TLOK and the comics have some very fun worldbuilding implications snuck in there !! Which makes up for a lot in my opinion. Personally I'd KILL for an Avatar series set in the warring states/unification period... I think that could be insanely cool...idk. The End. For Now.