#and I'll own to choosing not to see some of that stuff before all this went down bc the books were meaningful to me

[brummelliana]

I don't deny that John may have had romantic feelings for Paul, but I don't like McLennon - in the sense of turning all of this into a kind of yaoi and eroticizing the whole situation. In my vision and knowledge if they were a couple it wouldn't be healthy like any John's relationships he had. John didn't deserved Cynthia, Yoko, May or even Paul, this bastard deserved THERAPY at first before have any romantic relationship (even tho it would be difficult since it was seen as taboo in that time)

Idk why you're ANONing me this, we are totally on the same page fr. Oncoming word salad. 

John WANTED that McPaulussy, that's just a fact, but he fumbled it and he fumbled hard. Paul loved attention, but loved pussy more. There can be more nuance, sure, but you can leave that to people who really care about the Beatle academia. I'm more of a casual, and picked things up over the years. Yet there is so much misinfo, even in published books, faded memories, who can really say the truth. At this point I just choose the Beatles canon in my mind that amuses me most. 

To your second point, I completely agree. Taking the Lennon-McCartney relationship too seriously, turning it into some melodrama yaoi is dumb imo. 

HOWEVER. At this point in my internet tenure, I don't really care. Sure, I'll get secondhand embarrassment here and there, but like…. Who cares what people do. If it makes them happy, brings some joy into their life to eroticize Lennon-McCartney, who cares? This world is cruel enough as it is, and it does no harm. Though, for their own sake, hopefully it's self-aware. 

Furthermore, there are a lot of very talented artists and writers in the community who engage with it and create great stuff.

I'm too much of a jaded cynic to invest in shipping real people from real life. No, not from a standpoint of respect, I clearly don't respect either of them. I'll draw them making out sloppy style cause it amuses me. John is so pathetic, and Paul's such a whore/bitch. Sometimes I'll play up the melodrama cause its funny from an irony standpoint, how much people (both fujos and old men) put their relationship on a pillar. 

As I've gotten older, I've really fallen off shipping anything, but when I do, I like literary tragedy, and soulmate-type stuff that simply doesn't exist in reality. In fiction, the characters and plot is predetermined, while real life is disorganized chaos. Connections come and go, and infatuation is easily lost. 

People don't get that the Beatles drifted apart, and after a certain point, the most important people in their lives weren't each other. John and Paul's life isn't a predestined love story, with a coherent linear plot structure. 

I feel that a lot of fans are stuck in the 60s. That was so long ago. 83 year old Paul doesn't cry himself to sleep each night over his soulmate who died too soon. (I stand by the theory that he plays up their connection cause he knows it makes fans squirt. Like the "turning away from the stage to look at get back john" was for publicity. I'm not saying he doesn't miss him or whatever, but I am positive he plays it up.) 

Of course their past will always be, and nobody else will understand what Beatling was like, but honestly… my heart breaks every time I watch a George Harrison interview from the mid-seventies onward, and all they want to talk about is the Beatles. I see that miserable empty look in his eyes and I'm right there with him. He has a life outside of that!! He's released more music BETTER music since then! Yet all they want to talk about the guys he used to wank off with. 

As for john getting therapy… oh who cares. I think people throw that around too much. Therapy doesn't always solve anything. Besides, forget about taboo, If I were John, I wouldn't even trust a therapist not to leak his sessions. They couldn't even trust their dentist! He wasn't just some guy, he was one of the most famous men on earth. John's mommy issues and weird sex stuff is going to be revealed during his life rather than from raiding his diaries posthumously. 

I'll tell you, I never looked into John post-breakup besides passing knowledge, because like a puppy is abandoned once it grows into a dog, I stop caring about John once he stops being cute to me (1968)

In the Mclennonites' defense, John and Paul's story is really compelling. I can see why people would want to write about it, even if I've gotten bored of fic a few years ago.

Why do you think I've been interested in the Bealtes so long? Fact is more interesting than fiction, even if we'll never know the full story. There's so much to interact with. Maybe my problem with the shippers is the tendency to simplify it too much. Turn the boys into two dimensional tropes without understanding the history, turning the story into a cookie cutter romance.

Then there are the McLennonites who think its hot for the Beatles to wank each other off, and their engagement is purely sexual. This is the demographic I respect the most.

[yossariansliverpain]

hate getting tired when i wanna work on smthn...

[theobservatory]

Don't Wanna Cry Alone｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: He came home in a good mood. His day job was good, the coffee seemed to be less watered down than usual. Then he came home to you. Sobbing on the couch. What does he do now?

｡⁠☆Cw: crying, invasion of privacy, mention of sex, mention of murder

｡⁠☆CH: Damian ⁠☆ Duke ⁠☆ Tim ☆ Jason ☆ Dick

✧Dick✧

He's engulfing you in a hug. He doesn't bother to take off his shoes or coat, you're lucky he remembers to shut the door behind himself.

He's hushing you, petting your hair gently. Soft murmurs of "I'm here", "it's okay", "talk to me sweetheart", are drifting through your ears.

Whether you choose to tell him what's wrong or not doesn't matter, at least not right now. Right now he just wants to make sure you're okay. Your comfort is always his first priority.

Of course, if you're one of those people who hates being touched while you're crying (me too gurl, I hear you), he's backing off as soon as you make any indication you want to be released.

He won't be able to bring himself to stray any further than down the hall, or across the room, and heaven forbid you try to close him out of a room. But he'll try to keep his presence small, but grounding.

✧Jason✧

He freezes, lingering in the entryway.

It's not like he hasn't seen you cry before, but these gut wrenching sobs? Tears that make you cough and gag on your own anguish? This is new territory for him.

Should he touch you? Should he walk away? Should he sit with you?

... "I brought us food."

He panics a little when you cry harder.

Then he's next to you, crouched in front of where you're curled up on the couch, food on the coffee table. He has a hand on your knees, and the other gently removing the one covering your face.

"Hey, what do you need me to do?" Because seriously, he's lost. "I'll do anything you need. Lemme help."

The minute you tell him what you need he's moving. Whether you open your arms for a hug, or sob out that you want to forget, or just begin stuffing your mouth with takeout. He's following your lead.

✧Tim✧

See, this is why you should let him install something to monitor your vitals! If he had that he would've seen the moment you started crying, and could've been there immediately!

That's okay though, he can help now. He will help now. If you told him the only thing that would make you feel better is if he jumped off a cliff, he'd find the highest one and throw himself off.

He's immediately dropping all of his stuff at the door, and dropping on the couch next to you.

He's asking all types of prying questions. If you're short tempered this definitely gets annoying very fast, but he's trying to show he cares! He wants to fix it!

Tim isn't good with the whole "shoulder to cry on" thing. He's not good at listening. He's good at action. He can do anything you need, and if he can't do it, he'll hire someone who can.

The moment you express annoyance he's frowning like a kicked puppy. So he changes tactics.

What can make it better? Food? Manslaughter? Drugs? Sex? Cuddles? He's practically begging you to let him give you a solution.

And it's okay if you never told him what made you cry like that. He has cameras everywhere. Who knows if he has some planted on your person. Just chill out, he'll find out by himself.

✧Duke✧

Is giving you distractions. Food and movies are cued up in seconds.

His voice is soft and low. He touches you tenderly, and keeps the majority of his attention on you. If you can't tolerate the attention then he'll pretend to be focused on the movie.

He's talking to you about nonsense. He's talking about his college classes, or patrol, or literally anything to rope you into a conversation.

As soon as you're calm he's asking what's wrong. He fixes what he can, and helps you stop dwelling on what he can't. If you don't tell him at all, he'll get pouty, but accept it.

If this happens a second time then do not forget that he was adopted by the greatest detective in the world, he will find out if he deems it pertinent.

✧Damian✧

If anyone says he freezes outside the door, no he didn't. He will deny that he froze to the end of time.

Then he's marching has way to you. He scans you for injury before touching you in any way, and his eyes are intense enough to make a mountain lion nervous.

As soon as he deems you clear, he's placing himself next to you. He grabs you, tight enough that you can't pull away, but still more gentle than he is with anything else except his paintings.

He's checking for injuries again. His hands glide across your arms, face, legs, chest, until he's once again deemed you clear.

He's no good with emotional wounds, but he'll try his best for you.

The "Who did this?" That comes out of his mouth sounds less like a question, and more like a threat. It's hard for him to not sound angry when he's worried.

Dear God, tell him what is wrong. He doesn't like being in the dark, he doesn't like not knowing things about you. This will literally eat him alive for months if you do not tell him what's wrong.

And the moment you elaborate, have no doubt that he will be taking care of the problem with haste. He will never have moved faster in his life.

Heyy first time I've written anything for Damian (that I've posted, I mean) !! Nice !!

Someone give me a request for Jason Todd.. I wanna write something for him but I have no ideas (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)

｡⁠☆Requests open

[cheriladycl01]

Study Buddy - Oscar Piastri x Uni Student Reader

Plot: In which Oscar is the best boyfriend when it comes to helping his super smart girlfriend study.

You'd always loved maths and physics. For some reason you were always really good at it which prolonged your love for it where your classmates and teachers would constantly praise you for how genius your brain could be.

In your GCSE's you took English Literature and Language, Maths, Combined Science, German, French, Computer Science, Geography and Ancient History. You done really well across the board but happened to be in the top percentile for your Science, Maths and Computer Science.

Going into ALevel's you took Maths, Physics, Ancient History and French. You continued learning German in your own time but French was sort of a cheat exam as you were bilingual from birth thanks to your French father and British mother.

Then became the huge decision of what you wanted to do in university. It caused many rifts in your family as you'd originally wanted to do Ancient History as it was interesting to you and didn't come as easily as Maths and Physics did and you loved a challenge. But you're parents said that it was best to do what you do well as you'd enjoy it later in life.

So that lead you to where you are now doing a joint honours degree in Maths and Physics as you genuinely couldn't choose between the two.

Right now you were sat on the sofa in your university studio flat your legs over Oscar's lap as you wrote notes from your text book for your Quantam Physics Module. Oscar was simply doom scrolling, adding to the Spotify Session you'd started around an hour ago to help you not get distracted.

Oscar was the best study buddy ever. Way better than the friends you went to the library with and there was many reasons why.

Times like now where he's sat with you in a nice silence knowing better than to distract you. It was also like he had this weird read on you where he knew exactly when you needed a break (even if you didn't yourself) when you needed a drink and snacks, when you needed a shoulder to cry on. It's like he knew your next move before you'd even thoiught about doing it.

"Hey baby, can i just move your legs off me. I need to go to the bathroom!" he says, and you look up at him, pushing your oval shaped glasses up your nose before having a little wiggle before putting your legs down.

"Hmmmm i think i need to go too! I'll go after you!" you insit as you stand up to wait outside the bathroom door with him.

"No i insist you go first" he offers standing up and holding his arm out in the direction of your bathroom which was only a few paces to the left.

While you do your business and freshen up, Oscar's in the kitchen putting you together a little snack platter. Now he would always try and bring healthy stuff with him when he stayed with you as he knew your university diet wasn't the best, not that he cared but he just wanted you to see a few greens and some fruit if he could more than afford them while you struggled.

He was cutting up some celery and carrots with the hummus he'd brought yesterday. Some tomatoes and cucumber and then the rest of the snacky bits that were around your apartment like the cookies from Tescos and the bag of Butterskits popcorn.

You came back seeing the plate on the table and your waterbottle filled up with ice and water.

"You did all this?" you ask looking down at the table before grinning at your boyfriend who looked far to casual to have just made all of this for you.

"Mhm" he nods nonchalantly not even sparing you a glance. Not until you dive into his lap, cuddling into his hoodie clad body.

"I love youuuuuu" you say before making kissy noises and squishing his face kissing all over it. He squirms, not uncomfortably but just laughing along with your antics.

"Come on. How about i quizz you." he asks pulling the flash cards you'd made for yourself. You curl up in his lap and listen to his questions as you answer them. For each one you get right he gives you a small peck on the lips.

"I like these rewards!" you grin up at him, leaning in for one more until he puts a finger to your lip.

"Uh uh, concentrate!" he chides and you shake your head, sitting up a little, crossing your legs whilst sat opposite him.

After an hour of quizzing he looks out the window seeing that the sun is starting to get low. He checks the time seeing that it's getting late and you guys haven't left the house at all today.

"How about we go out for a walk and grab some dinner of the way back?" he asks, standing up and stretching his back out. You think for a second before nodding and grabbing your own hoodie. You both start to put your shoes on together before you grab keys an a shopping bag to place dinner in.

You guys walk hand in hand around your city, there was a river that you both always loved to walk along seeing all the swans and if you guys can spot any fish swimming upstream. As it's summer there's people sat on the roofs off their house boats having drinks and listening to music which adds to the nice relaxed vibe of the walk.

Eventually the sun is getting too low and Oscar diverts the route to the closest shop to your apartment. You guys shop about and he makes sure to add lots of goodies for you as today would be his last day with you for a while as he had a triple header that he was about to start.

Once you get back, Oscar starts to cook a basic curry. It was a recipe he’d learnt from his mum and you’d become obsessed with it the first time you met his family so he would always try and make it for you whenever you were together.

While Oscars cooking you sit at the island in the kitchen typing away on your laptop flicking between the word document that held your essay and the theorem you’re currently researching.

“God I don’t even understand half those words. My smart nerdy girlfriend” Oscar teases you as he places your dinner next to you. You continue to write as you spoon the food in your mouth a groan of satisfaction from the meal coming into your mouth.

You continue your essay despite the fact that you’re getting very tired and Oscar can tell by the way you keep rubbing your eyes. He shakes you, before you nod saving your work and sighing with relief that you could now enjoy your last evening with Oscar.

“How about a movie?” He asks, and you can’t help but nod. He lifts you up plopping onto the sofa pulling the blanket over the pair of you before snuggling down into you neck as you flick through Disney+

“I’m gonna miss you” you sigh. And he nods,

It never got easier when he left but it was all worth it when he came back.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[gay-dorito-dust]

omggg bob with a sanrio fan partner and he absolutely loves sleeping in their bed with a bunch of their sanrio plushies and pillows

Ironically I have a lot of Sanrio stuff, I blame my friend who’s gotten me into it. seriously i've got this massive plush of hello kitty on my bed that i use as a fucking pillow since it's so big.

If there was one room within the tower that Bob loved to be in, it was your room. If he could describe it would have to be comfort for the moment he steps into your room, he felt himself relax and at ease, like nothing he could say within your room would ever be viewed as silly as your many cute plushies and pillows were there to offer something to hold when his mind got too loud.

You had these plushies and pillows of cute cartoon animals which he later found out was called Sanrio and how it was incredibly popular, even having populatrity polls now and then. Your favourite varied from time to time he soon learned but as for right now your favourite was the golden retriever with the brown beret known as Pompompurin, or pudding dog.

Bob on the other hand didn't know which one was his favourite, theres was too many and he didn't want to leave anyone of them out, but if he really had to choose it would be the white dog with the red shirt and floppy black ears known as Pochacco. He just thought he was neat and would often hold the plush you had gotten of Pochacco tight against his chest. He never really gave much thought as to how comforting and soothing it was to hold a plush of a cartoon dog with a red shirt and floppy black ears were, not realising how at ease it puts him and silences the Void from trying to poision his mind to think of the worst.

So every night Bob would avoid going to his room and go towards yours as though it was second nature before flopping onto your bed, burring his face within the massive 20inch hello kitty plush you had been using as a pillow for months, much to your amusement as you ran your fingers through his hair as he sinks deeper into the plush.

'i'm starting to think that you love Sanrio more then me, i'm starting to feel a little jealous.' You said playfully. You didn't mind Bob hogging your plushies, he deserved a sense of security and a sense of saftey and if you plushies coul provide him that, then why should you deny him of such simply comforts. He's been given a hard life and yet had a soft heart regardless of it all, and now all you wanted to do was give him a space where he could find peace and not feel suffocated by everything.

Bob groans as he moved his face so he could look at you, smiling softly as his body relaxed quickly within the presence of your Pompompurin, Kuromi, Hello kitty and My Melody plushies that only made him feel at ease despite almost having them burry his body underneath; an adorable sight that never failed to make you smile the more you entered your room only to find only his face amidst the hoarde of plushes that had only gotten bigger since the first time, and yet it only served to give Bob more happiness as he would scoop up as many as he could within his arms.

'Then stop getting so many plushies.' He jokes back as he tighens his hold on the Pochacco plush he had carried with him to your room, tucking it under his chin as he looked at you as he struggles to fight agaisnt sleep.

'Never.' You replied, leaning down to kiss his forehead. 'They make you happy, so i'll keep getting them if it means getting to see you this relaxed more often. i should put some in your room so that you have your own collection.' you added, already spotting a few plushies that you could spare as it meant more room for you to get even more, though then again you'd do anything to see him smile and content rather then looking over his shoulder at the darkened corners of the rooms he was in.

Bob pouts as he shuffled closer to your side. 'No, i like coming to your room and being amongst your plushies, your room is the only place that can make me feel this calm and at ease,' He begins as he fiddles the ears of his Pochacco plush, feeling the soft faberic between his fingers gingerly. 'and all i want to do is stay here with you as it's the best sleep i have gotten in a long, long time. Not that i even remember being given a plush ever.' He finished and you couldn't help but feel your heart break for him, you'd give everything to see him smile, and be happy in general to make up for the lifetime of substance issues and a terrible upbringing.

'Then you should just move into my room then.' You offered but didn't want to pressure him into doing so if he wasn't comfortable with the notion of sharing a bed with another just yet, after all it had only been a short amount of time since you both gotten together. You'd love to come back to your room to see him passed out amongst your plushies, but it wasn't your choice to make, it was Bob's and only he could make the decision he was most comfortable in making for himself without otuside influence.

'That doesn't sound too bad.' Bob murmurs, sleep now starting to take hold over him. 'Then i get to see you every morning, or one of your many plushies,' He yawns mid sentence, 'I'll have to help organise them at some point.' He adds and your heart had never felt fuller in this moment, sure you'll hvae to ask him again when he was awake and more alert, but for now you burrowed yourself into your Sanrio bedspread as you joined Bob in the land of slumber by cuddling close a Pompompurin plush close to your chest while resting your forhead softly against his; feeling the safest you've ever felt with the man you adored as a smile eoffortlessly streched across your face.

'I'd like that.' You whispered before you joined him in sleep. 'i'd like that alot actually.'

while in his sleep, Bob reached for your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, feeling as though he was able to breath and live within your room compared to his own room, happy to be here with you and your enourmous pile of plushies that he'll defintly sort through in the morning; but for now He's content and he's not going to let anything take this away from him.

[belovedniki]

—“Rhythm of your body”

summary: Since you remember, you've been competing with ni-ki. you were the best dancers in your academy, and graduating seemed to be not enough to stop the competition, since you two ended up in the same dance company as choreographers. maybe a collaboration and one night was all it took for you to convert your pure hate to lust.

warning/tags: dom!ni-ki/sub!reader, smut, porn with plot, unprotected sex, cumming inside, angst if you squint, petnames, fingering, oral sex, edging, dirty talk, overstimulation, hair pulling, choking, and idk. (Author's first language is clearly not english lmao)

w.c: 5k

— It was another day at your dance academy, you arrived early to warm up and polish the final choreography you've spent months working on. You had a solo competition in a few weeks and had to travel all the way to Chicago, resting was not an option.

As time passed and you did as many rehearsals as you could, you realized your water bottle was missing. Maybe you forgot it downstairs, so you made your way to find it.

As you were walking, you accidentally ran into the CEO of the company, nervousness took your whole body.

“I'm sorry! I didn't know where my mind was.” you excused yourself with a 90° bow.

“y/n! I was looking for you.” he said smiling slightly.

You looked at him in confusion. “What happened?”

He guided you towards his office, it was quite a long walk, the academy was huge. He spoke while waving at some other employees.

“As you may know, the competition is just weeks away, and we made some changes to our trip, stay and stuff.

You are one of–if not the best–dancer in our academy, and we would be happy to know if you want to share your spotlight.”

You looked at him. “Share my spotlight?”

He opened the door to his office, there was a familiar figure, turned back. The moment the door clicked open, he turned around, your eyes met in heavy silence.

Nishimura Riki.

“This is what I'm talking about! Our two prodigies.” His excitement was clear, smiling and pointing at you two.

Your gaze never left Riki's, mumbling words you wish your CEO couldn't hear.

Among all the amazing dancers you met here, choreographers, performers, actors, he choose him?

“I-I'm sorry, what is this?” you spoke confusedly as you faced your boss.

“You'll be sharing the choreography.” he said naturally. “You'll both perform a duet for the final round in Chicago.”

“A duet?”

You blinked slowly, trying to process the words that left you almost breathless.

Ni-ki scoffed. Loud enough.

Your sharp gaze met him, catching a glance at the light smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He already knew how much this would ruin your week, month, or your life.

“Exactly. We think combining your strengths and passions is what this academy needs to win. The panel wants emotions, history, something they've never seen before. And you two... Well, you have history.”

You laughed, short and dry.

“With all due respect, sir, I don't think someone like him could adjust to my style and my hard type of work here. And if it was not obvious before, we can't stand each other.”

“Yes! Let that fuel the performance. I've already registered you both. You leave next week. Practice will start there.”

You barely noticed your hands clenching into fists and Ni-ki's smirk as he finally spoke.

“Hope you can keep up, y/n.”

The sound of your name in his voice, that low challenge behind every syllable, made something coil tight in your chest.

You bit down a retort. Smiled instead. Sharp. Icy.

“Don't trip over your own ego.”

The CEO laughed awkwardly, patting his shoulders like he didn't just sentence you to hell.

“You can leave now. I know you have things to do.” he opened the door and waved at you. As you left, the door closed and you were left outside, facing your worst opponent. And now, partner.

“I'll destroy you.” You said clearly, trying to hide the way your heart pounded your chest due to your nervousness.

“We'll see.”

That tortuous week passed.

You've spent all the days talking with other choreographers, your friends and family. What kind of dance were you supposed to do? What did the CEO expect to see?

“We're here.” you didn't even realize the car stopped at the airport, you were consumed by your own mind and thoughts.

After paying him, you quickly got off the taxi and made your way to where your manager was waiting for you.

“Finally!” she said looking at your direction and your lost gaze. “How are we feeling?”

“Terrible. I don't want to do this.”

“Well, are you gonna reject this opportunity and let him know you can't even be near him?”

Your mind cleared and your eyes met her's, that single question changed your perspective. You denied vigorously.

“I'll make him regret for even thinking he can win.”

You left your luggage and walked towards the plane, your flight was just minutes away from leaving. As you checked your number seat, you realized someone was already sitting there, face mostly covered by a face mask and a cap.

“U-uhm, excuse me.”

He didn't even looked at your direction.

“This is my seat.”

“So?”

That fucking voice. You knew the owner of it more than you wish you did.

“I said this is my seat. You need to move.”

“I won't.”

Your blood started to boil. Redness spread across your face, a clear sign of your growing annoyance.

“Where is your seat?” you asked, trying to keep your tone gentle, using the best of your will to not punch his face right and there.

“B7.”

You sighed and glanced at the seat right next to him. B7.

“It's literally next to you, can you move?”

“I like the window seat better.”

You decided to take a deep breath and try and stay calm. The flight attendant spoke through the speaker, her voice resonating in your ears.

“For god's sake, can you move so I can sit?”

”Come sit then.”

Those sudden words made your eyebrows furrow. Heartbeat skipped a beat. You looked away. What was he implying?

There was no point in arguing, you sat down next to him.

The flight was almost twelve hours long, plenty of time to get some rest or distract yourself with movies.

It transcended quite calm, despite it being a whole pain of ass at the beginning. The real issue? He wouldn't stop moving while asleep. His snores were loud enough to disturb your peace.

You sighed and tried to sleep.

After what felt like an hour, you stirred awake. You were far too comfortable for your own good. As you rubbed your eyes, you realized you had been sleeping on Ni-ki's shoulder.

You moved away as quickly as your body allowed, catching a glimpse of his face to see if he noticed. He didn't.

With your eyes barely staying open, your body relaxed once again and decided you needed to sleep more.

Night had fallen by the time you woke up. Everything was silent and quite peaceful. Sure, just if you ignored the boy next to you.

Your hands moved to the monitor in front of you, going back and forth between all the movies you could possibly watch after arriving in what you thought could be 3 hours.

After finally choosing one, you adjusted your blanket, you were feeling cold.

Ni-ki's snores ceased, he was still sleeping. You stared at him more than you'd like to admit. His lips had turned slightly purple.

He was cold too.

You looked away, as if it was going to make you ignore what you were about to do. Gripping your blanket, you covered him, adjusting it to make sure he'd be warm soon.

Just like that, time passed. The plane landed.

You got off with both of your managers, looking through the giant glass window. The sunrise looked ethereal. Your gaze fixed in it just enough.

“Should we go now?” Ni-ki's manager asked, grabbing his luggage.

The three of you nodded and grabbed a taxi to head to your hotel.

After finding your room, you didn't even bothered to unpack your suitcase. Your body was way too tired to even function. You threw yourself on the bed, sighing.

You didn't even realised you had fallen asleep until you woke up the next day by your phone buzzing.

“Hello?” Gosh. Your breath stank.

“Good morning, y/n.” It was Ni-ki. “Practice will start at 10:00. I'll wait for you outside.” He hung up.

You quickly headed to the shower. The warm water made you melt under its touch. Body relaxing just enough.

At 10:00 you were leaving the hotel. Ni-ki was waiting for you outside, as he promised.

Another taxi pulled up. Silence was loud. His body shifted uncomfortably, knee brushing against yours.

You didn't move.

You couldn't.

Just like that, you were soon at the entrance of the giant academy. It was aesthetically pleasing, neutral tones all throughout and dim lights could be seen from the outside due to the crystal window. You smiled.

—“Are you gonna stand there smiling like an idiot, or are you coming in?” You hadn't even noticed Ni-ki was already at the door, holding it open for you.

You nodded and walked towards the entrance. Your gaze caught by what looked like a cozy coffee area.

“Hi, how can I help you?” A lady asked.

“We're looking for... This room” he handed her a small slip of paper with a set of numbers and letters.

She grabbed it, looking around.

“Right over there," she pointed at a black door. “You can practice as long as you want to. It's reserved for you."

You both bowed politely and entered the practice room. Spacious and full of cold-toned lights. Around 10 water bottles, along with small hand towels.

“It's nice." You said smiling, glancing around.

“It's comfortable enough." He replied casually.

You played music and settled yourself on the floor, starting to warm-up, waiting for your choreographer to come in.

He pulled up a minutes later. Practice began.

You were set to perform 'One Of The Girls'.

The choreography was sensual–full of eye contact, lingering touches, subtle smirks. Everything you didn't want to perform with him.

Maybe his hands gripped your waist a bit too tightly. Maybe your lingered around his neck longer than they should have.

Many hours passed. The room remained silent, broken only by the occasional beat of the rehearsal music, the loud footsteps of yours, along with your heavy breathing.

“I think we did nice, you two are truly a magic duo!”

You smiled and bowed. Tossing your sweaty hair out of your sight. Ni-ki repeating your actions.

“We need to polish some details and finish the rest of the piece though, we can continue tomorrow. Does that sounds good?" He handed you a water bottle. You received it with a slight smile.

“I'm okay with that. Although I'm going to stay for a while. Some steps still feel off.”

He smiled. “You work really hard, don't you?”

You didn't catch the shift in Ni-ki's expression.

You didn't see how his jaw tightened.

How his tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek.

“I think it's enough for today.” He said, voice loud and rough.

You glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I said I'm staying.”

“You're not.”

In a quick movement, his hand grabbed your wrist.

He didn't listen to your words saying he was hurting you.

He didn't stop his walk until you were outside the building.

You yanked your arm back, nearly shouting,

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!”

He didn't answer. His eyes wandered, unfocused. His jaw was starting to relax–not tight with anger, just... off. There was something in his expression you couldn't quite place.

“Am I talking to myself? Can you fucking answer me?"

“We're going to pretend you didn't notice how he was flirting with you? What's with all those smiles, those full–of–love eyes, blushing at his words?”

He replied. His fist clenched. Red spreading across his face.

You scoffed. “What are you even talking about?, he was not flirting,”

Your eyes tried to catch his, he avoided it. His gaze dropping at the floor.

“And even if he was... what does that have to do with you?”

He finally looked up at you.

His expression was unreadable.

It was like he wasn't there–not his mind at least.

He took a deep breath, “I guess you're right. It doesn't have nothing to do with me.”

He broke the eye contact, looking down as he turned. No more words came of his mouth. He started to walk away.

You didn’t stop him.

Your pride, or maybe fear, rooted you to the ground.

You just stood there, watching his figure fade into the distance.

Your body started to tremble—from the cold biting at your skin, or maybe from something deeper.

Maybe it was anxiety.

Or regret.

You stared at your hand–still red from where he tightly grabbed your wrist.

That same hand now gripping your water bottle, minutes before the rehearsal.

You told yourself you wouldn't think about it.

You lied.

Your mind wandered around the same scene all night long, his voice echoing inside your head every time you tried to sleep.

The sudden click of the door opening made your mind clear instantly with a flinch, looking at where the sound came from.

The owner of your nightly thoughts was there.

Your eyes flew away off him, pretending he didn't exist.

He did the same.

About 10 minutes passed. A torture for both of you. There were no words coming from your mouths. Room full of awkward silence, lost eyes and dry lips.

You thanked God your choreographer appeared with a smile. Your eyes traveled to his hands. He had two small designer bags with gift's bows.

“Good morning!”

You bowed and went his way.

“This is for you,” he said handing you one of the bags, then doing the same with Ni-ki. “I hope you like it”

You carefully opened the bag, pulling out a small box inside.

A delicate silver necklace sat inside, your initial engraved on the charm.

“Wow, this is beautiful” You whispered as you took the necklace off the box and attempted to place it on your neck.

Your nails were long, which made your tries fail. You still tried to clip it.

What you didn’t realize was that Ni-ki had already moved closer.

Before you could protest, his fingers gently gathered your hair into a loose ponytail, lifting it up.

You froze.

His hand brushed your neck.

You felt the clasp click softly into place.

You didn’t breathe.

Your eyes connected through the mirror.

His eyes were unreadable.

Yours were full of doubts.

He quickly removed his hand from you, faking a cough and looking away from your direction.

Practice went decent that evening. You polished almost every step and finished the piece.

What didn't went nice was the tension.

If felt like you didn't knew each other.

You barely looked at him.

He barely touched you when he was supposed to.

Even the choreographer noticed the awkward stares you both had, but he decided to remain silent.

As time passed, practice ended. You had to go back to the hotel.

“I hope you can keep up tomorrow too, I don't have the right to do this and it is not professional,” he sighed before speaking again. “but I don't need you being awkward with each other.”

You nodded slowly, gaze dropping to the floor. Sighing.

“I can tell something's not right. It is ruining the performance. I'll ask you to resolve your issues and be professional about this.”

He left the room. Silence flooded. Eyes wandered around.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Just that same silence filling the room—thick, uncomfortable, almost unbearable.

You could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning, the soft tap of Ni-ki’s fingers against his water bottle.

And then—

“We can’t keep doing this.”

His voice was low, rough from hours of rehearsal… or maybe something else.

You looked up. He was already staring at you.

Not with anger.

Not with arrogance.

Just... tired eyes.

“I know.” your voice barely audible.

He sighed again. Looking around. “You hate me. I get it. But we're stuck with each other. At least for this.”

Your lips parted dry. “I don't hate you.”

His eyes slightly sparked. Looking at you, speechless.

You sighed and met his gaze. “You were really good today. And yesterday.” You added. “I mean it.”

He looked at you a second longer before speaking. “You too. You always are.”

It felt like a start.

Not a friendship.

But maybe the first crack in the wall you'd build between each other.

The last three words that came out of his mouth echoed in your head.

Something about the way he said it. His tone, his sincerity. It made something tighten in your chest.

Your eyes dropped to the floor once again. “Then why do you always act like I'm beneath you?”

He tensed. Almost embarrassed.

“I don't.” he muttered.

You laughed, but it was bitter.

“You do. You always have. Since we were kids. You’d win something and look at me like it was your birthright. Like you were always supposed to be better.”

He didn’t answer.

You took a step forward.

“What did I even do to you?”

Silence.

And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it—

“You existed.”

Your breath hitched.

“What?”

His eyes finally met yours again. Sharp, guarded, but there was something fragile behind them. Something cracked.

“You existed,” he repeated, more firmly now. “You were always there. Always ahead. Always… perfect.”

The word felt like venom on his tongue.

“You don’t get it, y/n. You never did. You weren’t just competition. You were the reminder that no matter how hard I worked, I was always second best.”

You stood frozen, throat dry.

“I hated you,” he continued, voice low. “But not for the reasons you think.”

Something in you twisted.

You stepped closer — barely a foot of air between you.

“Then what were the reasons?”

His jaw clenched.

He looked away.

“Forget it.”

“No,” you said, voice firmer now. “Say it.”

His breath caught.

And just when you thought he might say something, finally, he shook his head and stepped back.

“We should get some sleep.”

The room suddenly felt colder. Your eyebrows furrowed.

He turned towards the door, gripping the handle, hesitating.

And before he walked out.

“You’re still perfect, y’know.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you stood there, heart pounding, wondering what the hell just happened.

You swore your legs moved on its own.

You were chasing after him.

As you saw him almost walking out the building, you grabbed his arm from behind.

“You can't say things like that and just walk away.”

He stood there, still back–facing you.

His breath hitched.

“I just said the truth.” He whispered.

“Can you look at me?” You almost begged. Voice barely making it past to your lips.

He hesitates, his feet slowly turning to your direction.

His eyes meeting yours.

Silence fullfilled the entire building, since no one else was there.

Your hand still tugging his arm.

You swore you could hear your own heartbeat.

He removed his arm from your grip.

You looked at it.

He sighed.

“I didn't meant to confuse you. Or make things even more awkward.” he paused, looking away. “The words came out on their own. I guess.”

You nodded. Still repeating his words in your head.

“You're still perfect”

Silence was quick to appear again.

No stares.

No words.

No touches.

Both of you tried to remain silent. He took a step closer.

You stared at him.

“You don't hate me, do you?” his tone was full of sincerity. Politely asking.

“I don't.” you said. A smile tried to break into your lips.

He nodded and almost gasped.

His gaze went down to your chest, were your necklace–that he placed there–stood. He slightly traced his fingers along it.

You tried to maintain your breath steady. But he was so close, it was almost impossible. Your eyes trembled.

His hand moved along your neck, tossing your hair out of his way and placing his fingers on your nape.

His cold touch almost made you gasp, he noticed it and smirked slightly.

His eyes connected with yours. He looked at you almost asking for permission, you nodded.

His other hand moved quickly to your waist, pulling you even closer and resting his forehead in yours. He gulped and whispered. “I can't wait no more.”

And the moment finally came.

He was kissing you.

It wasn't fierce, it wasn't rough.

It was full of emotions, questions unsolved, words that didn't came through.

His lips moved at a slow pace, tracing yours with his tongue. When his tongue intertwined with yours, you instinctively moved your hands to his hair, gently pulling it.

He almost whined and grabbed your neck. The kiss deepening even further.

His hands became bolder. Gripping the curve of your ass. You moaned in response.

He pulled back, gasping for air. You sighed and blushed.

Still staring at each other, he pulled you close again, delivering a small kiss to your lips, barely touching them.

He smiled.

“We should go.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, nodding at him.

A few minutes later, a taxi pulled up.

You got inside, heat still burning in your chest.

You walked along the dark and silent hotel. Looking for your room, saddening at the thought of the kiss not repeating again. You two knew it wasn't right.

As you reached it. He stood behind you.

“You should get some sleep. We need to practice tomorrow morning too.” His voice came raw, almost a whisper.

You looked back at him and tried to smile. “I think so.”

He walked a few steps away. Sighing.

You pressed your hand at the door handle. Fighting your impulses.

Closing your eyes, you opened it.

Suddenly, you felt cold hand grabbing your arm, pulling you back.

He kissed you again.

This time it became bolder much faster.

Tilting his head to reach deeper into your mouth with his tongue.

His hands tracing your whole body.

You whined as he placed you against the door, now fully open.

You were quickly to explore his body with your hands too.

As you two started to gasp for air, the kiss broke.

He gulped and caressed your hair, almost pulling it.

Lips still swollen from the kiss.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, voice rough.

You didn't answer with words. Just grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him inside the room, closing the door behind you.

Roughs kisses came again, his hands traveling to your hips, brushing his with you.

“Do you feel it? You feel what you do to me?” he growled into your ear as he grinded up against you, both of you still fully closed, but the heat–god, the heat.

You whined shamelessly, head falling back against the wall. “Please...”

“Please what?” he teased, voice lower than ever. “You want this cock, huh?” His lips hovered above yours.

You nodded quickly, bitting your lip.

“You're so cute... You don't even know what you do to me.”

You kissed him hungrily, walking back wards to your bed.

As he felt the edge of the mattress hit your knees, he gently placed you onto the bed.

Hands everywhere, desperate, slow.

He trailed kisses down to your collarbone, cupping your tits with his hands, stealing moans out of you.

Your hips instinctively bucked up, begging for contact.

“Is my princess needy?” he teased. “I'm gonna fuck you so good, you're gonna beg me to stop.”

His hands moved below your shirt, tossing it off.

“So fucking perfect.” voice thick with need and desire. Tracing every curve of you with his fingers.

The same ones that ended up teasing the waistband of your shorts before taking them off.

He rubbed his nose against your clothed pussy, smelling you and whining.

“I wanna taste you so bad.”

“Please.” you whimpered in need, cheeks blushing.

He pushed your panties aside, thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. “Already dripping for me.”

His tongue flicked over your swollen bud, sucking hard as his fingers slipped inside you, curling just right. “You're so tight. So needy.”

You moaned. Hips bucking in search of even more contact, a try to alleviate your despair.

His experienced tongue moved along your folds, sucking and pressing flat against your clit.

He hummed–drown in ecstasy, sending vibrations repeatedly through your core.

One of your hands moved to his hair, pushing it even closer to your crescent heat.

He started tongue–fucking you.

“Oh my fucking god. Yes!” you almost screamed, feeling a knot tidying on your stomach.

“You close, baby?” he smirked against you.

“Y-yes, please, don't stop.” you moaned breathless, pulling his hair.

He kept his pace, fucking you with his tongue as his thumb traced circles around your clit.

Just when you felt you were about to come undone, he pulled back. Your climax almost hit you.

You whined at the lost of contact, eyes glossy, almost crying.

His eyes darkened as he soaked his lips with his tongue, still tasting you.

Something in him shifted at the sight of you.

Body trembling beneath him.

Lips swollen.

Eyes begging and full of tears.

He connected your lips and made you taste yourself on him. He grabbed your throat gently, you moaned in response.

As he broke the kiss, he removed his own clothes.

Ending in just his boxers, bulge big and hard.

You gasped and traced the shape of it with your finger, making him groan.

With inexperienced movements, you removed his boxers, his cock showing and bouncing against his abdomen.

You wrapped it with your hand, stealing moans off him.

You moved your hand up and down slowly, almost deviously.

His pre–cum made it easier for you to slid your hand, going faster each time.

Soon, you placed your tongue against his tip, going from the base to the top in a slow pace.

You stuffed it in your mouth, cheeks cupping.

You tried to deep–throat it, but he was so big you choked almost halfway in. Tears dripping by your blushed face.

He chuckled in pleasure at the vulgar view he had.

Your mouth full of his cock, tears coming down.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you down. You choked even more and moaned, the vibrations sending him to the edge.

“You–fuck, you look so pretty like this. Your mouth full of my dick” he groaned and set the pace, moving your head up and down as his will.

“I–I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum all over your mouth.” he warned you, voice full of lust.

His eyes rolled back due to the pleasure, like he was at the edge of ruining you.

With a gasp and breathless whines, he came undone on your mouth, stroking himself.

You closed your eyes and felt his seed stuffing your mouth.

You swallowed everything, opening your eyes. His gaze fixed on you, almost moaning.

“You did so good, baby.” his voice came out in between gasps.

You could feel his cock softening.

But the heat of your mouth,

your eyes still glossy,

your hair messy on his fist.

Everything drove him insane, every thought of ruining and claiming your body were quick to hard his dick once again.

He grabbed your neck with force, you choked on air.

He kissed you fiercely, tasting himself on you.

His hands moved you with ease, pushing you back onto the bed, his lips attacking your collarbone this time.

His fingers along your folds, your whines coming out loud.

“Shh, baby. We don't want anyone to hear us, do we?” he smirked and put two fingers inside you. “So wet, so fucking tight... I'm gonna ruin you.”

“I need you, please.” you whimpered, your body trembling with need.

He chuckled mockingly while removing his fingers from your inside. “Beg for it.” he said as he settled himself in between your legs.

You swore your throat was dry from every moan and whimper that came out of you, but you felt incapable to stop. The pleasure was overwhelming.

“Ni-ki, please. I–I need you to fuck me.” your eyes sparkled with need, looking at him.

He groaned, running the head of his cock through your folds. As he grabbed your hips, he pushed deep inside you.

He slammed into you with one deep thrust, making your mouth fall open in a silent scream.

“Shit– That's it.” he groaned into your shoulder. “That tight little cunt was made for me.”

You were shaking, gasping under him, lips parted, tears running down your temples. He didn’t slow down—he couldn’t. You were too warm, too wet, too perfect. His cock throbbed deep inside you with every thrust.

“I can feel every twitch.” he hissed. “I love to stuff you full of my cock.”

You nodded, whining beneath him.

“Taking me so good, like a good fucking girl.” He grunted, hips slamming against yours.

He rubbed your clit with his thumb, making you tremble under his touch.

“Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cream all over my cock?”

You could barely speak–just moans and whimpers made it past your lips.

He thrusted even deeper and faster, his head falling back and moaning almost loud.

Your eyes closed by themselves, feeling your climax almost break you.

“That's it, baby. Cum for me.” he groaned, lifting your legs up his shoulders, reaching that spot that made you almost cry.

With a few more thrusts, you came undone. “Fuck–so good!” you screamed whining and gripping yourself on his arm.

He hissed as your walls clenched his cock. “Fuck—you're milking me, baby. Don’t stop.”

Still inside you, he slowed his thrusts, letting you ride out every aftershock, lips brushing against your cheek. But you were still trembling, gasping for air.

As you steadied yourself, he moved your legs away from his shoulders, placing them onto the bed.

“You did so good, princess.” he caressed your cheeks with his thumb, pulling you close to kiss you. “Think you can give me another one?”

You nodded, eyes glossy. “Please... more.”

That was all he needed.

He pulled out slowly, admiring the way your arousal coated him. Then without warning, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach.

“Ass up,” he ordered, smacking your thigh lightly.

You obeyed, lifting your hips for him, back arched, face pressed into the sheets.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, gripping your ass with both hands. “So wet, so ready.”

You whimpered as he spread your legs further, positioning himself behind you. One slow thrust and he was fully inside again, groaning deep from his chest.

“Fuck–you're amazing. So deep, so tight... You make me crazy.” he groaned.

His hips slammed against your ass, his hands gripping you tight. The filthy sounds of your soaked pussy growing louder, messier.

“You're dripping.” he smirked, slapping your ass with one hand. “Fucking leaking down my balls. So desperate for me.”

You clawed at the sheets, overwhelmed. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“Oh, you will,” he growled, pounding harder. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock again. And again. Until you forget your fucking name.”.

You whimpered, tears pooling in your eyes from the overstimulation and pressure building again.

“You want me to cum inside this pussy? Stuff you full like you need it?”

“Y-yes—please! Fill me up, I want it—I want your cum so deep inside me,” you begged, nearly sobbing.

He groaned in pleasure, you felt your orgasm approach again.

And with one final deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, cock pulsing as he filled you with thick, hot ropes of cum.

Your climax came almost at the same time. You collapsed beneath him, legs trembling, body spent and marked by him.

He leaned down, breath heavy in your ear. “You did so fucking good for me.”

He collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, there was only silence—your bodies tangled in the sheets, your heart still racing, the air heavy with the scent of sex and something deeper.

He reached out a towel from his side. Placing himself in between your legs, cleaning you up.

After finishing, he placed himself onto the bed once again.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes searching yours.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” His voice was low, almost like a secret.

You smiled, still catching your breath. “You started it.”

WELL this is my first post ever, I already told you english IS NOT my first language, this took me 5 solid days to write (plus I don't know how the fuck y'all make posts, shi was hard)

Ngl it was fun and a new experience, I realised I need to study more tho.. but anyways I hope you enjoyed it!!

[tranquilreign]

superhuman | series | 18+ | I.

- © tranquilreign - all rights reserved | DO NOT STEAL, TAKE or COPY any of MY WORK without MY PERMISSION.

pairing; jungkook/reader genre: mafia au! dystopian au! tattoo artist au! warnings: alcohol consumption, drug consumption, sexual themes, swearing, death, blood, violence, eyeball stuff (please if you are squeamish take care) word count: 3.3k synopsis: the year 2107, seven years after the first superhuman was confirmed. Though few in numbers, they are dangerous. deadly. as their appearances have become more frequent, you have your identity hidden for your own safety. but the superhumans seem to be one step ahead. notes: please understand that the mafia/tattoo artist au is inspired by wattpad story blood ink by pocketbangtan. nothing else. taglist: @taekrve @taerjin @softhaes

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The rain poured down heavily, soaking the vibrant streets of Seoul as you weaved through the bustling crowd. After much contemplation and gathering the courage, you were finally on your way to a tattoo studio, hoping to arrive before it closed.

After conducting thorough research and exploring various websites and Instagram pages, you finally found the perfect tattoo studio. Initially, you felt uncertain because the studio only employed male tattoo artists and had a rather hardcore vibe.

That changed once you saw that they welcomed newcomers to tattoos. You followed your map under your umbrella, murmuring quiet 'excuse me's' as you pushed through the crowd.

"Two minutes away," you said to yourself.

As you rounded the last corner, you spotted the studio's sign in the distance. It gleamed in bright neon red, with the letters "BTS" prominently illuminated. Beneath that, the words "Body Tattoo Studio" were displayed. For some reason, you found the name of the place particularly appealing.

You sprinted down the street, closing your umbrella despite the relentless rain. The downpour soaked through to your skin, making you shiver from the sudden cold. When you arrived, you stopped, placing your hand on the wall and heaving to catch your breath.

The sound of a door opening caught your attention, and you looked up. A head was poking out from behind the glass doors of the studio, looking everywhere until it's eyes landed on you.

"Oh! Hello there," the man chirped cheerfully. "Are you alright? You look rather wet."

"I'm-" you gasped, "-I'm fine. Just wanted-" another pause. "Wanted to get here before you closed," you replied, struggling to get the last part of your sentence out.

"Well, come on in! I'll make you something to drink. Do you want coffee? Tea? Perhaps a hot chocolate?"

The door to the studio swung wide open, and you entered without hesitation. You grabbed your arms in a poor attempt to try and warm yourself up.

"Tea, please, if you wouldn't mind," you spoke, taking in your surroundings.

The waiting area was filled with tattoo designs showcasing various styles. You were in awe, wondering how to choose one among so many.

"See one you like?"

The sudden voice made you jump, making you look around for the owner. Your eyes fell upon another man. He was slightly taller than the one who let you in, leaning against the counter, arms folded. His hair was dark, contrasting elegantly with his beauty

"I don't know. There are so many to choose from," you responded honestly. "But they are beautiful," you quickly added.

The man hummed, moving behind the counter and sitting in a computer chair. He didn't have many tattoos, but you took note of the one that ran up his forearm. It looked as though it was a barcode, but with large numbers underneath. 21001031.

At that moment, the man from before returned, holding a cardboard cup of tea. He handed it to you with a smile.

"Thank you," you mumbled, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it quicker. "I'm sorry. I was just speaking with your colleague, and I haven't actually picked one out," you admitted, suddenly growing embarrassed at your lack of preparation.

"That's fine," the man replied. He suddenly gasped. "Please forgive me, I forgot to introduce myself! My name is Mirage."

The man held out his hand, which you gently took with your free one. You smiled, glancing over to the other man who was looking between the two of you.

"It's nice to meet you, Mirage," you smiled. "That's a really unique name." The man laughed.

"Oh no. They're just our artist names. My actual name is Tae-"

The man was cut off by a sudden cough. You both looked in the direction of the man in the chair, who was staring Mirage down. Nervously, he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Sorry about him. We keep our names classified. We've had a few customers in the past who have caused us a bit of trouble."

Your eyes widened at his words. What did he mean by trouble? As if Mirage sensed your worry, he suddenly stuttered and waved his hands in front of him frantically.

"I just mean with stalking! We've had a few customers here in the past who have taken a liking to some of our artists. So for our own safety, we started to use fake names."

"Ah," you responded. "Well, I'm Y/n."

There was a silence in the air, tense. You looked at the two men, wondering if you had said anything offensive. Mirage quickly smiled again, putting his hands on his hips.

"Well, I have to head through to the back! I have a client soon. If you need any help, speak to Doc. He'll help you with anything you need."

With that, Mirage scurried away into the back, leaving you alone with the man you now knew as 'Doc.'

"Is there a particular design you have in mind?" he suddenly asked. "Like, are you a fan of flowers, or animals-"

"Animals," you replied quickly. "I like animals."

"It shouldn't be too hard to find one you like, then. We have loads to choose from," Doc explained, getting up from his chair and standing next to you. "Any particular animal?"

You stood for a moment, never having thought about what animals you actually liked. You were never usually picky; you liked them all.

"I suppose, maybe a snake? I quite like the idea of having a cunning animal," you answered.

Doc thought for a moment, processing what you had just said. He then moved back behind the counter and hauled out a large black binder from underneath the tabletop, thumping it down onto the surface.

"When it comes to a cunning animal, foxes are typically what people tend to think of. Snakes are a good option too for that as well, though, so your idea wasn't entirely wrong."

'Wrong?' you thought, scowling slightly at the man's words.

"Sorry, I just meant that when it comes to cunning animals, a snake most likely wouldn't be a first pick," Doc corrected, noticing your frown.

You shrugged, both of you now looking through the binder together at the various animal tattoos. You slammed your hand down onto the page, startling Doc.

"This one," you breathed.

It was a snake, its body wrapping around itself continuously as if it were infinite. The intricate details of the scales mesmerised you, as if the snake were real.

"You sure? This is a pretty big piece, and with it being your first tattoo-"

"How do you know it's my first tattoo?" you asked suddenly, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I can just tell. You have that vibe about you. And no offence, you look clueless," Doc chuckled at your expression.

You huffed.

"Alright, so it's my first tattoo. But I have a high pain tolerance, I know I can handle it."

"Alright," Doc sighed, leaning over to the desk opposite you and grabbing a clipboard. "I'm going to need your details. You are over eighteen, right?"

"Yeah. I'm twenty-three."

"Good. If you just fill this out, I'll get Wraith to come and have a chat with you."

Doc walked away, leaving you to fill out the paperwork in silence. You moved, sitting down at one of the seats against the side wall, throwing your leg over the other.

You filled out the paperwork quickly, letting the clipboard sit in your lap as your leg bounced, your nerves returning now that you were alone. Deciding that sitting was making you more anxious than you needed to be, you stood up, wandering around the room looking at all the designs.

They truly were beautiful, making a mental note of the artist's names in the bottom right corner of each design. You seemed to like their styles most.

You suddenly felt a presence behind you, startling you. You spun on the spot, bouncing back and holding up your fists, ready to defend yourself. The man in front of you eyed you, confused. Seeing that he posed no threat to you, you sighed, letting your hands drop to your sides.

"Sorry, you startled me," you breathed.

"That's quite alright," he replied.

His voice was smooth, alluring. He looked at you with such intensity that it sent shivers down your spine. The man tilted his head, a smile gracing his features as he looked at you.

"You fight?" he asks.

"What?"

"Do you fight? The defensive position you took when you moved away makes it seem like you fight," the man explained.

"Ah," you said. "Yeah, I took taekwondo when I was younger."

"Oh!~" the man mused. "Black belt?"

You nodded, making the man's smile widen. He stepped closer to you, taking your hand in his. You could barely think, your mind growing hazy at his touch. It was like you were being wrapped in a blanket of silk, and you didn't want to leave.

"A pretty woman like you shouldn't be fighting," he mused, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. "Do you not have someone to protect you?"

You were in a daze, chest heaving as desire filled you. The smile on the man's face had turned into a smirk, watching as you fell under what you could only describe as his spell.

In that moment, you bit your lip hard. The pain pulled you out of the drowsiness. You pulled your hand away, taking the man aback.

"I'm afraid I don't need anyone to protect me. I don't want to put that burden on anyone else," you explained, smiling at him.

You had no idea what had just happened, whether it was a moment of confusion or you spaced out, you didn't know. Only now realising just how hard you bit your lip, you winced. An unfamiliar metallic taste sat in your mouth, a clear sign you were bleeding. Gently, you pressed your fingers to your lips.

"Shit," you cursed. "Do you have a tissue?"

The man walked behind the counter in silence, pulling out a packet of wipes and handing one to you. Quickly thanking him, you pressed it against your lip, the chemicals stinging your small wound.

Doc had returned, the man you assumed to be Wraith following close behind him. The two men looked between you and the man in front of you, analysing the situation.

"Siren, what did you do to her?" Doc scolded, moving towards the shorter man and smacking him on the back of the head.

"Ow! I didn't do anything," Siren pouted, rubbing the back of his head.

"Well, you did something. She wasn't bleeding when I left her."

You watched as the two men squabbled, stifling a giggle. Your gaze drifted to Wraith, and your breath hitched as you took in his appearance. He wore a tight, plain black t-shirt that hugged his body perfectly. Black ink adorned his neck and extended down to the sleeve of his right arm. His dark hair matched his eyes, creating an effect as if you were staring into a black hole—dangerous yet utterly mesmerising. Pulling yourself out of yet another trance, you turned your attention back to Siren and Doc.

"I bit my lip, is all," you explained. "I was feeling- well, I don't actually know what I was feeling. Drowsy maybe? I know that sudden pain helps keep you alert, so I bit my lip. Maybe a bit harder than I intended."

Doc looked at Siren for a moment, then back at you, unsure of what to make of what you said. Instead, he chose to ignore it, placing his arm around your shoulder and escorting you over to Wraith.

"What have I told you about smoking inside the studio?" Doc sighed, shaking his head.

Wraith held a cigarette between his lips, hunting for his lighter in his jeans pockets. You eyed him as he moved, unable to stop watching the way his muscles flexed ever so slightly. Doc muttered under his breath, walking away.

"Fuck, must have left it back in the room," Wraith cursed.

Finally, his attention turned to you. He looked you up and down, an eyebrow raised. He removed the cigarette from his mouth, letting his tongue dart across his upper lip.

"So you want a snake?"

"I uh, yes," you fumbled, feeling rather foolish.

You couldn't help but bite your lower lip, drawing more blood from your bite wound. You silently cursed yourself for forgetting and quickly wiped away the blood with the wipe Siren gave you.

"Good. Come with me."

You followed behind him to one of the back rooms in the studio. It was a small room, with only a chair and a table in the centre of the room. Wraith moved to sit down in the chair, making a grab for the lighter.

"Doc showed me the snake design you liked. You chose the best one."

"Oh? I did?" you spoke, smiling.

"Of course. I drew it," Wraith replied with a smug look.

Oh, he's one of those guys.

"I see. Well, I really like your drawing style," you complimented, still standing at the door.

Wraith lit his cigarette and leaned back in his chair. He turned his head to look at you, silently urging you to come closer. You obeyed and moved next to him.

"Sit on the table and I can get you set up."

"Alright," you answered, moving to sit down. "Would you happen to know any good places to get-"

You were silenced when Wraith stood in front of you suddenly, gripping you by the hair, pulling your head back. You had no time to let out a yell, and he pulled his tattoo gun so it was millimetres away from your eye. You stopped breathing, scared the slightest movement would result in having a needle in your eye.

"You are really brave coming here alone, you know," Wraith whispered, his breath fanning against your face.

Wraith pulled the needle away from your eye, pulling you up by your hair to make you stand. You let out a strangled yelp, but it was quickly silenced by a hand covering your mouth.

"I could hardly believe it when Doc came through and said you had walked in. And just after we started planning your capture. How convenient indeed."

You were confused, tears pricking your eyes, at the immense pain in your scalp was in. Wraith leaned down to your level, letting his lips brush over your ear.

"Don't worry, love, we won't kill you. You're simply too valuable to us dead."

Your eyes widened at his words. He grinned, letting go of your hair and stepping back. Wraith's head was tilted, arms open slightly as if inviting you to try to escape.

You quickly moved, suddenly grabbing the chair and holding it in front of you to create a barricade between you. he chuckled. You held the arms of the chair tightly, staring at him with fear and anger.

"And what's this going to do, hm? Even if you get past me, which I doubt you will, six more of us are waiting for you outside this room," Wraith grinned, watching you closely.

You tried not to look away from him to find something to defend yourself with. He would be able to read your every move otherwise. He moved slightly to lean against the wall, waiting for you to react.

"Give it your best shot, love. I do enjoy a challenge."

Everything happened so fast before either of you realised what was happening. You had pretended to push the chair to the left, instead bringing it back and putting your foot on it. You kicked it towards Wraith with such force that the back hit him in the stomach, winding him momentarily.

You jumped over the tattoo bench and flipped it onto its side, moving to hide behind it. This gave you time to look around the room for something to grab. You noticed a towel lying on the floor. You crawled over to it, grabbed it, and stood back up.

Enraged, Wraith grabbed the chair and threw it out of his way, crashing against the wall and breaking the mirror next to it. You flinched at his strength. He moved, quicker than you had ever seen anyone move, and attempted to jab your side.

Using the towel, you wrapped it underneath his wrist and pushed upwards, the blow barely missing you. With his stance now broken, it created an opening for you to land a powerful kick into his side. He stumbled back, watching as you moved into a defensive stance.

"Taekwondo," he breathed out a laugh. "I hate to break it to you, love, but you're not beating me. No one ever has, or ever will."

"Looks like you're doing a pretty shit job then," you taunted.

His eyes burned with rage and excitement at your words. His speed was unlike any other, moving in so close and quickly that you couldn't react this time. Wraith grabbed your wrists and pinned you down to the ground.

Struggling against his iron-like grip, you wriggled underneath him. He chuckled, leaning down so his lips barely grazed your ear. He wasn't out of breath, surprising you when he spoke smoothly.

"Goodnight, love."

He pinned your hands above your head, holding them down with one hand as he moved the other to the back of your neck. Running his hand up your back, you shivered, feeling his fingers gently grip your neck. He pressed hard against your skin, making your body go limp.

to be continued...

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

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[thesweetestdevotion]

🎀🫧PAC: Good News!🫧🎀

hi!! Here is a Glinda (or Galinda?) inspired PAC for you all! I've become obsessed with the Wicked movie so I made a bunch of cute moodboards on Pinterest, and then they inspired me to make a PAC. Today I'll be reading about good news coming your way! Remember to take things as they resonate and leave the rest, these readings are for collectives of people so not all things are meant specifically for you! Have fun and enjoy the pretty pink vibes hehe!

🎀paid readings (spring sale!) 🎀masterlist 🎀ko-fi! 🎀

divider cred: @bernardsbendystraws | pictures sourced from pinterest

🫧 pick your pile! 🫧

🫧 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 🫧

Signs this is your pile: kabuki brushes, purple, yik yak, Sagittarius, 5th house placements, leo rising, rahu dominance, baby's breath flowers, mariachi, "ojos negros, piel canela..." song lyrics I think, blue butterflies, "battle scars"

What good news are coming your way: The World rv, Temperance, The Lovers, Ace of Pentacles, Knight of Pentacles

I see you gaining a new opportunity here. Your cards tell me that you are ending an old pattern or cycle in your life and embracing the new opportunities that are going to come in! I see that you are in a harmonious and balanced energy which is allowing you to invite positive change and endless opportunity. Specifically I see a leveling up in finances and the material realm in general. Perhaps you are coming into a new job that increases your income. I'm hearing some people here could be starting an internship too! I also see a positive influence in terms of relationships, you could be meeting new people due to this new opportunity. I see you being in full alignment with the people spirit is putting your way! I think you will enter an era in your life where you are glowing, and your aura is attracting amazing experiences!

What can you do to prepare/advice: 2 of Swords, The Sun, The Tower, 4 of Wands, The Empress

I see that in order to prepare you need to make a choice. For those that this is about a job, you may have to choose between two offers, for example. Mostly I just see you needing to have good discernment and to become in charge of your own life. If that means some people have to hear no's from you, then so be it! I also see a need for you to be aware of your tendency to expect the worse all the time. Yes, bad things happen all the time, but don't let that become an obsession with control. Let life flow to you, both the good and the bad, and learn the art of detachment. Also, many here need to care for their home, cleaning, throwing away old things, that kind of stuff. Throw out the old and make way for the new!

good luck xxx

🎀 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 🎀

Signs this is your pile: island in the sun by weezer, the last of us, stitches, sewing, spanish, "ten toes down" ?, broken nail or hand, france/francophone, "li", lookism manhua, cancer, 10th house placements, jupiter dominance, libra rising

What good news are coming your way: 8 of Cups, Knight of Cups rv, Queen of Pentacles rv, 4 of Coins rv, 6 of Cups

I think the good things coming your way will be the reconciling of your past. This pile seems like they have had very adverse experiences in their past, particularly in childhood. I think these experiences have weighed heavy on you for a long time. I'm seeing some dealt with poverty, harsh/abvsive mother figures, heartbreak, and more. I think it is time for you to finish healing and move on. I see that you have tried to do so before but to no avail, this time I see you stepping into your power. You needed to feel better before being able to move on, I'm seeing some of you actually moving somewhere else physically. Perhaps this is going to help you even more, as new environments can enrich us and help us grow! I just see you perhaps reminiscing about the past a bit, but ultimately changing this for the better. I think you may be needing to spend more money than you usually do, but I don't see this as a bad thing. Remember that money flows both in and out, so you shouldn't limit yourself so much, especially when it can be used to help you. Your relationship to money, food, and comfort will be going trough a transformation as well! I keep seeing a man? dark haired, light skin. This man is not good and has hurt you in the past, trust your instincts on this (veryy specific).

What can you do to prepare/advice: Emperor, The Moon rx, Knight of Swords rv, Ace of Swords, 2 of Cups rv

I think you need to step into a more authoritative and leading energy. I see you needing to be proactive in creating this new reality for yourself because it is going to take a lot of tangible work. Be level headed and plan things out. I think you need to start cutting some ties as well, healing only takes you so far if the people/situations that made you feel bad are still lingering around you. You also need to be more open and honest with yourself and others, don't hide your emotions to make people comfortable. Sometimes we need to be harsh and stand strong on certain issues. So speak up, and don't be afraid to advocate for yourself!

wishing you all the best xxx

👛 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 👛

Signs this is your pile: lonely in gorgeous by tommy february6, red note, toji? or tony? idk but I heard that, photo album or book, curly hair routine, axolotls, dunkin donuts, riding a bike, hiking, libra, 7th house placements, mars dominant

What good news are coming your way: The Chariot, The Devil rv, 5 of Cups rv, King of Pentacles, 5 of Swords

I think you are leaving a lot of bad habits behind! I see that you have been in bad cycles of overindulgence and self sabotaging behavior which has only served to keep you off track and make you too dependent on other people. You will be gaining the willpower and strength needed to break out of this. I think these changes will be coming at you very fast and will get you in a whirlwind, so be prepared for things to pick up now. I think you have been in conflict with this side of yourself for a long time, it's time to stand up and make changes for yourself. Nobody is ever perfect, so don't be afraid that you aren't good enough or that you are going to somehow fail, because not only is it not true, but I see that you have success and movement in your future!

What can you do to prepare/advice: Ace of Wands rv, 9 of Wands rv, The Fool, Ten of Swords rv, 10 of Pentacles

I think you need to be open to new things. This new cycle in your life is going to be unlike anything you've ever seen before so you will be out of your comfort zone, its only natural! You will have to learn a lot of things, both about yourself and the world around you. I think you need to focus on just being at this time. Don't get too fired up, because like I said, your world is going to get hectic soon, don't add too much onto your plate. You also need to spend time with loving and supportive communities, whichever those are for you. Could be family or friends, lean onto their grounded energy and seek out their advice for when you feel lost or confused, they will be more than happy to help you!

be blessed love xxx

hope you guys like this one! it took me so long for no reason lol xxx

[tinycoffeeroom]

birds of a feather | daniel ricciardo

face claim: N/A ♡

request: here !

pairing: daniel ricciardo x british!reader

cw: mentions of chr*stian horner, singapore gp 2024

a/n: sorry for the long hiatus but i just had to come back and make something for danny. i've loved that man since i got into f1 and the idea that i won't see him on track anymore hurts so deeply. thank you for the memories honey badger, you will always have a place here on tinycoffeeroom <3

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Hi baby.

Hi love.

You sound exhausted, did you not sleep well last night?

Not really, I've been trying to go over strategies with the team, but nothing seems to be working. There's no way I'm getting in the points this week.

I'm sorry Danny, I know how much you've been working on this...

Have you asked them about that power unit thingy you were talking about?

Yeah... they don't have the time to test it and add it in before this race or even COTA.

What about the new rear wing?

Well...

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Anyway, enough about this shit show. How are you, darling? I miss you.

I miss you too, pretty boy. It sucks that this conference overlaps the race, I wish I was there so bad. Just wanna hug you.

Me too, y/n. Me too. I'm coming back as soon as the race is over. At least we have 4 weeks before the next one. Did you manage to book time off?

I did! 2 whole weeks to follow you across the globe watching you strut your stuff! Hopefully we can get Horsey back for the memories.

Blake's been emailing the owner, so hopefully Horsey will make a reappearance. (LAUGHS)

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Oh wait, Helmut's calling me, I'll call you back babe.

Ok! Lemme know what he says!

Always do. Love you.

Love you too pretty boy.

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It had been a last minute decision, choosing to fly out to Singapore. You knew Daniel would never put his own needs above yours, and while the conference was important for your career, he was important to you too.

It had been easy getting everything sorted. By the time you were texting Blake about flying over, he had already sent you a message, a simple "you know?".

A quick email to your boss, a semi lie spun about a family emergency, and a whirlwind of packing bags later, you found yourself sitting in Heathrow.

Your fingers twitched nervously as you checked the time differences between England and Singapore, double checking Daniel wouldn't find it strange if you didn't respond to his texts for the next 13 hours.

Your flight left at 8PM Singapore time, that gave you at least 10 hours before he would wake up for the race.

Blake had sneakily upgraded your tickets to first class so you could sleep comfortably on the flight and be ready to go straight into race day, or night, when you landed.

Tapping your phone awake, you smile at the lock screen staring back at you.

You and Daniel had gone away with a few other couples from the grid, a well needed break from the stress of Formula 1. In the midst of a late night beach walk with Charles and Alex, Daniel had grabbed your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder.

Your shrieks of laughter had drawn some weird looks from those around you, but neither of you cared. You'd clawed your way back, legs settling tightly around Daniel's waist as his arms wrapped tightly around yours.

You didn't even notice the flash of Alex's phone, too enthralled in the wide smile encapsulating the man holding you, all teeth and gums and happiness dripping from him like sweet honey. A quick peck to the bridge of his nose and then the corner of his mouth was enough for him to lower you gently to the ground, arms still encompassing you tightly. 

The sound of Charles fake gagging beside you finally pulled the two of you out of the lovesick stupor you'd been caught in, eyes roaming the shadows cast across your lover's face from the fading sunset. 

When Alex had texted you the photo once you were back in the hotel room, limbs wrapped around one another in the cool, air conditioned room, you'd chuckled lightly, drawing Daniel's attention. 

"What's so funny?" The hand gripping your thigh draped lazily across his lap squeezed once, thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. 

Turning the phone to face him, you watched his eyes light up, that same dazzling smile spreading as he took in the photo. 

"Send that to me."

You hummed in response, airdropping the photo to him as he pulled your thigh higher up his lap. As he leaned forward, lips searching for yours under the dim lamp light, you quickly set the photo as your lock screen, no doubt in your mind that Daniel would soon do the same. 

A tannoy drags you back to the present. 

"All passengers for flight SIA324, please make your way to the gate. Boarding will begin in 15 minutes."

Typing out a quick goodnight message to Daniel, you pocket your phone, sighing as you make your way towards what could be the last time you see Daniel in a Formula 1 car.

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ynstagram uploaded three stories to their close friends

replies:

lilymhe 💔 if i knew you were coming to singapore, i would have come too! ↳ ynstagram was a last minute decision sorry babe xx ↳ lilymhe ... don't tell me ↳ ynstagram 🙃

maxverstappen1 how did you get time off?? i thought you were super busy with work ↳ ynstagram claimed a family emergency, even if danny doesn't want me here, i needed to come ↳ maxverstappen1 he needs you y/n, more than i think even he knows

landonorris does dan know you're coming? ↳ ynstagram nope, blocked him from my close friends for a bit ↳ landonorris sneaky, i like it ↳ landonorris see you soon y/n, glad you'll be here :)

iamrebeccad you're coming to the gp??? come to ferrari hospitality if you can!!!! alex misses you 🥺 ↳ ynstagram don't think i'll be leaving vcarb this weekend, we can meet up for brunch soon though 🩷 ↳ iamrebeccad oh... yeah sure, just let me know 💜

blakefriend hope you got to the hotel alright, me and dan are out for his training session, did you get the keycard ok? ↳ ynstagram i did, and the paddock passes. thanks for this blake, i know with everything going on, last minute admin is the last thing you need ↳ blakefriend if it means dan can have some sense of calm in this mess, i'd do it 10 times over ↳ blakefriend we'll be back at 1pm, see you in a few hours ↳ ynstagram 🫡 see you then

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Getting from the airport to the hotel had been easy enough. Piling the bags you had brought from Monaco to London and now to Singapore onto the only trolley remaining, you make your way down to the Arrivals.

Stepping through the automatic doors, your eyes dart between the people around you. Families reuniting with bright laughter and happy tears, lovers sharing intimate kisses under the harsh airport lights. Businessmen already glued to the phone in their hands as they weave through bodies with ease, their bodies twisting and turning like a well rehearsed waltz.

A man in a black suit jacket and oversized chauffeur hat catches your eye, his eyes following your figure as you try to move around the other passengers. You glance down at the large piece of paper held just above his waist. 

“Y/N L/N” is scrawled in large black letters across the paper, chicken scratch that looks very much like Blake’s.

Making your way over, the man tips the edge of his chauffeur hat slightly, reaching a hand out to shake yours. 

You want to apologise for the clamminess of your palms as you accept his welcome, but before you can speak, he’s reaching across to take the trolley from you, his head tilting briefly in the opposite direction.

You follow behind him, feet double stepping to keep up as he expertly navigates the sprawling grounds of Singapore Airport. 

By the time you reach the car out front, a sheen of sweat covers your upper lip and you cringe, feeling your t-shirt slowly cling to your back. 

The man opens the boot, then the back door and ushers you in. The cold air conditioning feels like a welcome home kiss, brushing away the humidity that clings to your skin from the small journey between the airport and the car. By the time the man sits in the driver's seat, your eyes are slipping closed, head lolling against the headrest behind you. 

You didn’t mean to sleep for the entire car journey, but you’d barely been able to rest for more than 20 minutes on the flight, opting instead to cycle through nonsense films to play in the background as the thoughts in your mind waged a war on your emotions. 

It had been a tense 13 hours, trying to work out what had happened on that phone call between Daniel and Helmut. You knew there were talks of him not extending his contract, but leaving mid season?

Your Danny? The self proclaimed and well known Honey Badger, king of late braking and divebombing his grid mates. You’d been with him since the Red Bull days, and even if he wasn’t winning podiums, or even points sometimes, you thought there would be more of an uproar about this from him. 

This wasn’t the same man you’d watch nearly fight a waiter because he refused to bring you a new meal after they’d brought out a completely different dish, the same man who left everything on the tarmac and often dragged you to his trailer post race interviews for a well deserved nap. 

His texts had been despondent, almost like he believed this was the goodbye he deserved. 

That’s the part you couldn’t move past. The idea that he was going to finish his last race without the flair of Daniel Ricciardo, no doughnuts, no grid walk, no party to celebrate the last 13 years. 

After the McLaren debacle, you understood why he chose to fly under the radar. With COVID and the situation with Oscar, he’d been more than willing to slip away peacefully but this was different. 

This was Red Bull. Or the subsidiary at least. The team he’d spent the longest time in Formula 1 with. The team who took him in as a junior, that he’d won 7 Grand Prix’s with, scored well over 1000 points racing for. 

You would have thought that they would have wanted to give him a goodbye worthy of what he had brought to the team.

By the time the chauffeur shakes you gently awake, your mind is no clearer but one thing is for sure. Daniel will not face this storm alone.

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The time of Daniel getting back from his workout was looming slowly. Since entering the hotel room, you’d hopped in the shower, scrubbing the aeroplane smell from you. The suitcases were lined up against the wall and you were currently lazing on the bed, scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok. Every so often, you’d flick to the notification screen, just in case Blake’s incoming text had somehow slipped past without you catching it. 

Your eyes flutter slowly closed, maybe a 10 minute nap wouldn’t hurt. Before you can lock your phone and settle into the plush pillows, a notification pings through. Eyes darting open, you catch the banner notification before it slides up. 

They were in the lobby. 

“Fuckin’ hell Blake.” Scrambling up from the bed, you round the corner and make sure there is no sign of you in the living room section. Your shoes are tucked away in the bottom of the closet, jacket strewn across the chair in the corner of the bedroom. 

The telltale ring of a keycard being swiped rings through the air and you slide to hide behind the wall, heart thumping against your chest. Doubt begins to swirl through your mind. What are you even doing here? What if he didn’t invite any of his family or friends because he didn’t want them to see him go out like this? Would he want you to? 

Loud voices echo through the hallway, Aussie slang thrown about but you focus on the one thick with a Perth twang. 

Your Danny. 

“Mate, I’m just gonna go point Percy at the porcelain.” Blake’s voice grows louder as he walks through to the bedroom. He locks eyes with you, giving you a quick one armed hug as you exchange quiet greetings. 

Once enough time has passed, he gestures with a finger to his lips to be quiet, head popping around the corner to Daniel. 

“Did you bring Y/N’s jacket with you by mistake?”

A confused “No” comes from the living room before Blake leans across you, grabbing the clothing from the chair. He holds it aloft, in Daniel’s line of sight. 

“No idea what that’s doing here, mate. You know I always bring a t-shirt of Y/N’s which should be under the pillow.”

Your heart swells at the statement, you had no idea he’d sneak something of yours with him whenever you couldn’t attend races. The earlier doubts dissipate, you knew right here, with Daniel, was where you were supposed to be. 

“Strange… oh! I know what’s happened.” Blake shoots you a grin before wrapping a hand around your arm, pulling you into the doorway. 

Smiling softly at Daniel, you huff lightly at the way his eyes widen almost comically as he takes you in. Silence spreads through the room, the two of you locked in intense eye contact as Blake slowly moves aside to let you reunite. 

“Hello, my love.”

Daniel’s bottom lip wobbles slightly and before you can process it, he’s launched across the room, almost body slamming you with the force he runs at you with. Arms latch tightly around your waist, his head tucked tightly into your neck, trembling lips resting against your pulse point. 

“What, I, how?” The words are muffled against your skin, the edges of them tear soaked as the collar of your t-shirt dampens to match. 

Carding your hand through his still sweaty curls, you scratch lightly against his scalp. “As soon as you told me, Blake texted me. He booked me on the next flight.”

Daniel’s head pops out from his hiding place, all three of you ignoring the tears smattering his cheeks. He looks across to Blake, who simply shrugs his shoulders, reaching down to grab his gym bag. 

“You needed them, and they needed you. It was a no brainer. Also, don’t get sappy with me, I charged the flight to your business card.” A chuckle follows and he claps Daniel on the back once, nodding in your direction before heading out the front door, the sound of it closing echoing slightly. 

Daniel’s eyes track from the closing door back to you, wide in wonderment. “But your conference?”

Shrugging, you lean forward to press a soft kiss to the apple of his cheek. “Called in a family emergency. There’s no way I was letting you go through this alone.” You lift your hand up to his face, tracing a path across the same cheek you’d just kissed. “I know your parents or your friends can't be here, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you having to deal with everything going on with no kind of support. I know Blake’s here but-”

You’re cut off by his lips covering yours, desperation seeping through as the words die on your tongue. The taste of salt blooms, the tears still dripping slowly from his eyes. Yours join in quick succession. A rushed “I love you” slips from your mouth the moment you part, his own coming straight after. 

The slide of his lips against your own turns molasses slow, the cooled sweat on both of you soon making way for its heated counterpart as you gravitate closer to one another. Warm hands sneak under your t-shirt, the palms cupping the swell of your hips as Daniel whispers words of gratitude through stolen breaths. Your own hands rest against his neck, nails creating slight grooves under the pressure. 

Knowing what will come tomorrow, you take in this moment, second by second. The feel of his sweat slick skin under your palms, the slight stubble on his jaw scratching at your chin, the way his heart beats erratically in his chest pressed close to yours. 

Every part of this Daniel you memorise, capturing each memory in a gold plated frame. You store them away in the evergrowing gallery of your brain dedicated to the man before you, seal them under lock and key for your eyes only. 

You always knew that one day, you’d share them with him. When all the racing was over and the two of you had the house with the white picket fence, or more aptly, the farm with the white picket fence. You’d dissect every moment of him you stored away, stacked one by one for safekeeping. From the moment the two of you met in that busy London street, every grand prix win, every high followed by every low. Just in case he began to forget the man he was, the man he would still be. 

You just didn’t realise that day would be coming so soon. 

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ynstagram danielricciardo

[caption 2: gorgeous boy xx]

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After the race, you’d left Daniel to his own devices. You knew he would want to spend his time wandering around the track, soaking in every moment of what could be his last ever race. 

Grabbing a ride back with Blake, the two of you stick to small talk, neither able to formulate the words you truly wanted to say. 

He’d given you a brief goodbye in the lobby, arms wrapped around you in a tight squeeze before the two of you separated, him taking the stairs and you choosing to ride in the elevator. 

Shuffling through the front door, you kick your shoes off, nudging them next to the other pairs in the entryway. On the way up, you’d sent Daniel a quick text to let you know when he was on his way back. 

Expecting him to respond around midnight, you slowly work through your nighttime routine, opting to wear one of his shirts to bed instead of the pyjamas you’d neatly packed. 

Slipping into bed, you unlock your phone, squinting at the brightness. Still no messages from Daniel, the 1:27am at the top of your phone making you sigh deeply. Reaching over, you plug your phone onto charge before starting up a well loved podcast, choosing an episode you could probably quote from memory with how often you relistened to it. 

As the dulcet voices fall away to background noise, you settle in for the night, head half shoved into the pillow beside you, Daniel’s scent still lingering from this morning.

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Blearily opening your eyes as the other side of the bed dips lightly, you quickly tap your phone to see the time. A bold 3:57am blinks back at you briefly before the screen goes dark once more. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you, sorry babe.” Daniel’s voice whispers in the darkness, hand winding its way around your waist to pull you back to his chest. 

Resting your hand over his, fingers interlocking in the open spaces, you squeeze twice. “s’ok, wanted to see you when you got back anyway.”

Silence follows and before you can roll over to look at Daniel, his face presses into the centre of your shoulder blades, the skin warm through the fabric of the shirt.

“Danny?”

He stays quiet, the hand on your waist gripping tighter. You can hear the way his breath starts to shake on the inhale, the tears from his eyes slowly dampening the back of his shirt currently wrapped around you. 

“Danny, lemme see you.” A shake of his head rustles the shirt. “Baby, please.”

His grip on your waist loosens and you shuffle around carefully, trying to avoid shoving an elbow in his ribs and adding further insult to injury. 

You can hardly make out his face, the small amount of moonlight shining through the haphazardly closed curtains barely illuminating the curve of his cheek. It does catch the glint of his honey brown eyes, tears shimmering along his lash line. 

“Oh, my love.” Your heart breaks at the sight of the man in front of you, a shell of who you’ve come to know and love. The pressure behind your eyes builds, tears threatening to mirror Daniel’s. “C’mere.”

One hand wrapping around the back of his neck, you pull him to lay against you. He burrows in, head pressed tight into the junction between your neck and shoulder, a sombre juxtaposition to this morning. 

“This is the end. Everything I’ve worked for, over. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” His arm wraps tight around your waist once more, his leg coming to rest between yours. “I’m officially a has-been.” A wet chuckle escapes him, the noise too loud in the surrounding silence. 

You can’t stop yourself from tapping the back of his neck lightly. He knows you hate when he talks like that. “No one’s allowed to talk about the man I love like that.”

His head lifts from your neck to throw you a quick glance. “Even if it’s the man himself?”

Pulling him back to rest against your neck, you run your hands through his hair gently, twirling the longer strands around one of your fingers. “Especially if it’s the man himself. You’re not a has-been, never will be. You’re so talented in so many different ways, there will never be a time you can say you’re past your prime or whatever stupid shit is running around that gorgeous head of yours.” Your fingers tap against his scalp to drive the point home. “Even if you never step foot in one of those cars again, you’ve got your dirt biking, the wine company, Enchante, the 17 other high intensity sports you do that raise my blood pressure every time I watch. You’re smart enough to know how to adapt, and that is what you’ll do. I know it.”

“You seem very sure.” His voice comes out muffled from its spot against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. 

“That’s because I am. I was by your side during the papaya setback, I saw how you came back stronger. That’s what this situation is too, a setback. You’ll find a way through, even if I have to stand by the solution with a flashlight to guide you that way.” 

He chuckles, the edges of his voice no longer tainted with sorrow. “Can you still not say their name?”

You join his laughter, remembering the last time you’d spoken about McLaren. “Last time I mentioned that company, I got a cease and desist. Don’t think Zac was too happy with the way I was deservedly slagging them off.” Your nose wrinkles as you think back to the snottily worded email and attached letter that dropped into your inbox a few days after your last public comment about their shitty management. “So I promised to never let that name slip from my lips again.”

The room falls silent again, just for a moment. The two of you still tangled in an embrace, even as the first prickles of sweat bead against your hairline from the heat of your bodies in the warm Singapore evening. 

Daniel sighs, shuffling minutely to run a hand up and down the length of your side. “I just… I remember when I was 20. Being so excited to get into an actual F1 car, even as a tester. I remember jumping out, seeing that I was the fastest and thinking ‘this is it. This is my chance.’ I wanted to be a Red Bull driver so bad, with every part of me. To win a race, maybe even win a world championship, leave a legacy behind. And now I’ve wasted over a decade of my life with only 8 race wins to show for it. Not even a championship. What kind of legacy does that leave me?”

The sorrow creeps back into his voice, and you have to clear your throat before responding, willing the tears back once more. “A legacy doesn’t have to mean winning a world championship. Or even a race. Think about Jacky Ickx, Stirling Moss, Juan Pablo Montoya. All legends in their own right, but none of them had a world championship. If this was your last race in Formula 1, you leave behind a legacy in your own right. People will know your name for years, even decades to come. King of the late brakers, the guy who always had a smile and a kind word to say about everyone he ever met; even if they didn’t deserve it, the aptly named Honey Badger. Just because you don’t leave behind a legacy in being number 1, doesn’t mean you won’t be up there with the greats.”

Daniel hums, taking in your words, dissecting them one by one. “I’m scared. Where do I go now? Do I even try to come back? Move to a different company entirely? Retire officially and retreat to the farm? I don’t know who I am without Formula 1.”

You take a moment to think about the situation for yourself. A world where Daniel Ricciardo is no longer a Formula 1 driver. It always seemed so impossible to you, the company so deeply ingrained into his being that the very idea of him would cease to exist without it in his life. 

“Truthfully, I don’t know.” Your hand continues to card through his hair, a soothing gesture. Whether it was meant to soothe him or you, you weren’t too sure. “I wouldn’t even know where to start with advice, I’ve never had to walk in your shoes. But that doesn’t need to be something to think about right now. Enjoy some downtime, go home and spend time with your family, race dirt bikes around different parts of the world, go see Scotty and Chloe. The future is still so bright for you, Danny. And I’m just happy that I get to be beside you through it all.”

Slowly, he raises his head from its perch, bright eyes finding yours. Despite the situation, you swear he’s never looked more beautiful than in this moment. Teeth bitten lips find yours in the dim light, clumsy and fierce, but perfect in its own right. 

“I love you. So fucking much. From the first day we met and you shouted at me for splashing you with a puddle, I knew you were the one. Thank you for never leaving.”

You laugh aloud, remembering how you’d been late for university, umbrella thrashing in the England wind, when a bike had come up dangerously close beside you, running straight through a puddle and covering your jeans in muddy water. 

After a long rant at the rider, you’d looked up into apologetic golden eyes and high cheekbones, and immediately the anger had dissipated. “And I love you. Maybe not from the puddle moment, but you won me over nearly immediately after. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here, with you.”

This is the moment. The moment to open the gallery in your mind to the man in front of you. To recall each and every moment you’d captured in glossy oils and remind him of who he is, who he always has been. 

And then Daniel lays his head back down to your chest, lips pressing an appreciative kiss to the shirt underneath, warmth blossoming through the fabric to your skin below. And the moment passes. 

Pressing your head back into the pillow below, you listen to how Daniel’s breathing slows, settling down as he drifts off to sleep. The perfect moment will come back. There’s still time.

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liked by fan, fan and 982,167 others

formula1 BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo to leave RB, the team have announced

see 238,816 others

fan what the fuck

fan not danny ric 💔💔

fan we just got him back😭😭😭

fan helmut marko watch your back.

user lol not surprised, we all knew he was washed ↳ fan 123.456.789.012 ↳ user did i just get doxxed?

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👤 danielricciardo liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 890,274 others

ynstagram the man of many names. danny ric, ricky bobby, honey badger and most importantly, the love of my life. i've loved you for 6 summers and i'll love you for 600 more.

in the words of our favourite musical, wherever you go i won't be far to follow. whether it's in the navy of the bulls, papaya of [REDACTED], the bee striped renault or the dazzling white of vcarb, you bring so much light and happiness everywhere you go, and i've been privileged to bask in the warmth of you.

and until the next adventure, i will always be here to remind you of the power and strength you inhabit, the souls you've breathed life into and the happiness you've brought to the sport you love (sometimes more than me) for over a decade.

always and forever, your y/n x

see 10,286 other comments

fan anyone else absolutely sobbing right now?? ↳ fan as if his post wasn't enough to make me bawl, ofc y/n drops this

fan to have a love like y/n and danny...

fan not y/n censoring mclaren, they hate that damn team so much ♥️ ynstagram

danielricciardo my darling, i love you, always and forever ❤️ ↳ ynstagram so excited for our future, whatever it holds ❤️

landonorris thanks y/n max is crying now 👍 ↳ ynstagram 🤣 which one? ↳ maxfewtrell both ↳ maxverstappen1 both

alexandrasaintmleux 🩷 we need another double date when you're back in monaco x ↳ ynstagram do we have to bring them? ↳ danielricciardo on my own dedication post... wow ↳ ynstagram 🤷 gotta show my girl love whenever i can

fan helmut better hide, y/n doesn't play when it comes to their man ↳ fan fr don't let the sappy post fool you, ik they have a hitlist in their notes

fan him leaving before COTA is so messed up, he loves that track 😭😭😭 ↳ ynstagram wish you guys could have seen the special helmet :( ↳ fan OH HELMUT MARKO WHEN I CATCH U!!!!!!! ↳ fan special helmet... pls we need to see i BEG

lewishamilton with you by his side, the future is bright for the honey badger 🤍 ↳ ynstagram thanks lew 🩷 ↳ danielricciardo thanks man :)

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a/n: this is not proof read, so ignore any mistakes. i can't wait to see what danny does in the future, whatever it is, i'll be supporting him all the way <3

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Original Sin: The Failure of the Dancestors

Establishing an Eden-like paradise from which there is some departure through sin is sort of the boilerplate basis for religious lore. [...] The failed players from peaceful Alternia made a classic "deal with the devil" move by causing the scratch after being given a choice by the mother of all monsters. (Echidna. Hey, she's a big snake!) By doing so they brought Scratch into their universe, and therefore all the things you'd expect that comes with summoning the devil.

Andrew Hussie, Formspring, Aug. 12, 2011.

Warnings for: Mostly? I'm going to be really mean to the dancestors, so if you aren't here for a thorough (and I mean thorough) dancestor takedown, please do not read this. Ableism, questionable consent and outright non-consent, horrific interpersonal relationships, and Cronus ahead.

Overview

I hesitated to write this because I know there will be some really controversial interpretations in here. Many of the circumstances I bring up as failures on the Dancestors' part are interpreted by the fandom as positive things. A common one I've run into before is Latula x Mituna, where I maintain it's bad, but the fandom often sees them as cute. I'll also be condemning things like Horuss's plurality, or Cronus's kinning, not because I have any beef towards this stuff IRL, but because they're framed as failings on the characters' part within the context of the comic, and I'm analyzing the characters within the context of the comic. I'm not asking anyone to agree with me, but I am asking that you approach this essay with an open mind, and not send death threats over a silly webcomic from the early 2010's. I would not be asking for this if it hadn't already happened, which was embarrassing for all of us TBH.

The Dancestors, as made clear from the Hussie quote, are the story's original sin - the initial failure point from which all the comic's problems stem. Their role in the story is antagonistic - with very little exception, the Dancestors are not meant to be sympathetic, and/or their flaws outweigh their sympathetic qualities. Every single one of them succumbed to some major failure (some their own fault, some brought on by others on the team), and practically only Porrim showed any improvement after death.

There's another really important thematic shadow hanging over them: if Homestuck is a coming-of-age, then the Dancestors represent a prior generation that reached physical maturity, but failed to grow up.

[The dancestors' choices] resulted not only turning Alternia into a planet full of violent murderers, but it only technically granted them what they wanted with a huge caveat, as is the case with such ill-advised bargains. The players were strong enough to win, but made a terminal universe, were barred from entry, hunted by a demon, and then started killing each other.

They're an older generation defined by how entitled and immature they are, who invited terrible forces into society and allowed the perpetuation of cruelty to continue after them. In other words, theyre boomers. It's important to note that they literally had the choice, before their Scratch, to prevent the birth of LE by simply choosing to let their species die with them - but they made the selfish choice of what was, functionally, having kids:

The heroes could either accept their defeat along with the extinction of their race, and put no others at risk. Or, [Echidna] could show them a path to a second chance, to a reality in which the chosen heroes of their race would be strong enough to succeed with ease, and claim the reward.

For more on Homestuck's coming-of-age, anti-fascist, and feminist themes, please see my essay on the Alpha Timeline. Note that I have an updated opinion: the ending was, in fact, bad on purpose, because it was a continuation of the theme of narration needing to be refuted - "who's telling the story, and why are we listening to them?" You can read more about that here. Sorry to have to link two long essays at the beginning of a really long essay, but these are the backing arguments to many of the claims I'm about to make.

I also want to refute a common fandom belief. A take I commonly see is "the dancestors are one-dimensional assholes as a snub to the fandom" - this is not true, at least to any extent moreso than the Alternian trolls.

Yes, the dancestors are riffs of Common Fandom Types of Guy, especially Types of Guy on Tumblr while the comic was being written. However, the beta trolls/kids are ALSO Internet Types of Guy - the reason the trolls are named "trolls" is because part of their original conception was that they each represented a common type of forum troll. The dancestors aren't making fun of the audience any more than the Alternian trolls are, since Hussie got his start on fora.

Moreover, they aren't actually one-dimensional, or at least not in a way meant to be a snub to people. In fact, I find the entire attitude people have that they're somehow owed the dancestors being "good" or "likable" weird. The dancestors, as I said before, are antagonistic - if not at times outright villainous. They're the story's cautionary tale, a look at what happens when a session fails and the kids in it don't grow up.

On the whole, they simply don't need a bigger role in the story than just existing, as their past actions are what spurred the plot into action, and their narrative utility now is as a window into those. Moreover, if you read between the lines and analyze them a little beyond the surface, there's actually a lot going on, which I hope to uncover in this essay.

On the Topic of Kid-Kissing

It needs to be addressed now and needs to be addressed early. The dancestors are physically 19, and the beta/alpha kids are 16 at the oldest and 13 at the youngest. Lots of the dancestors are uncomfortably okay with pursuing romantic relationships or performing romantic acts with these actual children. Cronus gets the most flak for it, but the list includes:

Cronus, who asks Eridan on a date,

Meenah, who has a "manic obsession" with Karkat, and later dates Vriska,

Meulin, who eagerly offers to ship Meenah with Karkat in red, and gets really excited about shipping the children in general, calling them her "gay babies",

Aranea, who's willing to smooch Jake in a sexy way as part of healing his brain because she thinks he's attracted to her.

Now, as gross as this all is, I do think it serves a narrative purpose. One can debate whether that narrative purpose was worth its inclusion at all, but I'm personally going to bypass this discussion since this damn essay is long enough. At least I'll clarify what I believe the narrative purpose is:

It was an extant trope at the time of the comic's writing (which has thankfully fallen out of favor) that an adult character would date a highschooler in order to show how immature, and not suited for adulthood, the adult was. One of the most famous examples of this is Scott Pilgrim's relationship with a high schooler in Scott Pilgrim, something other characters call him out on constantly.

Given that basically none of these dancestor/child relationships are intended to be read as comfortable, pleasant, or even good (I'll get more into this later), I fully believe that this is the reason for their inclusion in the story: a demonstration of the dancestors' immaturity and failure to grow up, such to the point that they see actual children as viable dating partners.

Finally, while most of the dancestors have very limited screentime, one thing we DO have is all their classpects. I'll be using my definitions, which you can find here. Please note that, while that essay does not have any textual evidence (as it was already 10k words long without any), I'm willing to back up every claim in there with textual evidence upon request.

The TL;DR is that class is correlated with character arc and starting circumstances, while aspect is correlated with base personality traits, and what qualities would make the character a successful (and unsuccessful) hero of said aspect.

I firmly believe that, given what's in the comic, it's entirely possible to deduce what each class and aspect actually do, so being provided with every Dancestor's classpect means that we have a very powerful vector by which we can understand how their tragedy unfurled.

So please join me as we turn over this big rock and take a peek at all the skeletons living in the dancestors' closets. There are a lot of them, and they are rancid, but the complex ways they interlock are endlessly fascinating, and I hope you walk away from this with some new insight, or at least a new perspective.

Establishing a Baseline

First and foremost, let's factually review the events leading up to the dancestors' Scratch, organized in the way that makes the most sense to me. Many of these events don't have any set timelines, and aren't even described in relation to each other, but by going over them in general, we can get a big picture overview of the tragedies, and it helps to make sense of the interlocking nature of their failure.

Pre-Game

The dancestors grow up in a version of troll society as designed by Feferi Peixes, where the main difference between the two is that "culling" means "coddling excessively" rather than killing. Therefore, casteism still exists, but usually does not have as life-threatening effects. Characters who would've been culled on Alternia are likewise targets for culling on Beforus - this is most relevant to Mituna and Kankri.

Meenah finds the idea of becoming the next empress so distasteful that she flees to the pink moon, where she finds and transcribes the code for SGRUB and bothers her friends into playing it with her, in large part because it promises an escape from her responsibilities.

Cronus believes he's a chosen one destined to defeat an evil wizard, who tried to kill him when he was a wiggler. The story is one part Harry Potter and Voldemort, and one part Definitely About Lord English.

Kurloz and Meulin are probably dating in red, and Kurloz and Mituna are probably dating in pale.

Latula suffers an injury that leaves her unable to smell, something she remains insecure about for the rest of her existence. Communing with her lusus à la Terezi teaches her "new ways to smell".

Damara and Rufioh are dating in red.

Kankri was likely culled on sight, while Mituna was destined for one of the highest/"cushiest'" degrees of culling possible, echoing Karkat's and Sollux's relationships with culling.

Porrim is being trained for the breeding caverns as a jade-blood, and is not happy about it. It's likely that jades are the caste with the least privileges and freedoms, given the culling system (yes, I know culling is still a form of oppression, but it's still a cushy position to be in, compared to jades being forced to work breeding duties by birth).

During the Game

All of this happens over the course of six years.

Mituna spends the whole game attempting to warn his team to stop being such assholes or else something really bad is going to happen to them, using the prophetic insight he has as a Doom player.

Meenah starts cruelly bullying Damara, under the supposed motivation of "trying to galvanize the team into action".

Porrim outright ignores frog breeding, opting instead to go on a bra-burning rampage across her session.

Meulin is shipping her friends. Due to her Mage powers and predilections, not only do these ships come true, but they're really unhealthy and toxic as a rule.

Horuss begins an affair with Rufioh.

Kankri argues with himself nonstop, rendering most memos pointless.

Kurloz has a terrible nightmare and accidentally deafens Meulin, an act he finds so shameful that he stitches his own mouth shut. The two break up, but are still "very close friends"/in a situationship.

Someone talks Cronus out of his wizard beliefs, likely Kankri, and Cronus completely loses faith in magic, as well as a sense of identity. This is really bad, given what Hope does.

Meenah finds out about Rufioh and Horuss's affair and uses it as bullying fodder.

Damara snaps, kills Meenah, renders Rufioh a quadruplegic, and begins to perform acts of "timeline sabotage," which are even more impactful given her Witch class. It's heavily implied that Damara is the cause of the dancestors not performing their own ectobiology, the glitch that rendered their game unwinnable and serves as a "calling card" for LE.

Mituna tries to divert a terrible tragedy, something "only Kurloz was witness to". Said tragedy is implied to be Kurloz's Prince meltdown, and Mituna fails, rendering him brain damaged to the extent that he can no longer think or speak coherently. The team does NOT heal him or even reference TRYING to heal him, as it's implied they're more comfortable with him like this than they were with him telling them they were all doomed assholes.

Kurloz fully commits to his doomsday clown religion and begins using Meulin and Mituna as hynopuppets/conduits to bring about the end. It's likely that they rope Damara into their religion at this time.

Latula and Mituna start dating in red. For various reasons I'll get into later, this relationship seems to have started AFTER Mituna's injury.

Meenah bakes a cake. Isn't that nice.

It's never made very clear how long it took for all of this to go down, but the way it's framed is that everything major happened fairly early on, before the Reckoning, and they spent the rest of their session faffing around. While the beta kids have a nonstandard-ly short session, the beta trolls have what seems to be a more standard timeframe of about 612 hours, or several weeks. Again... SIX YEARS elapse. The dancestors reach the age of physical adulthood within the game.

Finally, seeing no way out, Aranea goes to Echidna for her quills in order to initiate the Scratch. The Choice that she's given is to immediately stymie the harm the dancestors' actions will bring (LE) by letting their species die with them, or to try again by passing the buck onto the next generation of heroes. The pick is obvious.

Damara, who's been uncooperative since she snapped, chooses to help out with the Scratch, muttering that everyone will "get what they deserve".

Meenah uses a tumor-like bomb to kill them all just before the Scratch goes off, in the window where god tier immortality pauses before bringing them back. This allows them to exist in the afterlife with memories fully intact. It's not fully clear how many of them achieved god tier before dying.

Afterlife

Meenah stays in her castle, echoing the way she fled responsibility to the pink moon, for the millenia that her friends have been mingling in the afterlife. Her descent from her castle after LE starts popping bubbles is the first time she's interacted with her team since she died.

Porrim is the ONLY dancestor that shows improvement or reflection, coming to view her frog breeding duties as something she probably should have paid more attention to, and toning down her feminism to thoughtful, reasonable critiques. This still doesn't excuse her total bystander nature while everything else was happening, which continues into the afterlife, but it's nice to see that she's doing better, since that's so rare in this team.

Kurloz starts readying for Lord English's birth, building labyrinths in the afterlife and using Meulin and Mituna as mind-controlled helpers (and possibly Damara as well).

Meulin and Horuss start dating in pale after Horuss is inspired by the meowrails. Despite Horuss's internal anguish and anger, he's been told by Meulin to cover it up with forced positivity no matter what.

Cronus is kinning a 1950's human greaser, an act which he himself admits is probably just a cry for attention, and a greater symptom of his struggles with personal identity in the wake of losing interest in magic and wizardry.

Rufioh wants to break up with Horuss, but doesn't have the backbone to to get pushy with these requests. Horuss has difficulty hearing what he doesn't want to hear, so Rufioh winds up wilting and agreeing to continue dating him every time he tries breaking up with him.

Aranea... does all that, spurred on by a desire to be important.

Meenah decides to encourage Vriska to shirk responsibility, running off with her and starting a romantic relationship with her.

Woof, that's a lot! So, now that we've established an overview of what went wrong, something I should probably note:

It's not JUST that Damara caused the timeline glitch that retroactively summoned LE, or JUST that Meenah bullied her. When I say that the dancestors' failure is multivalent and interlocking, I mean it - especially once you get into the implications of their classpects. Cronus being a Bard of Hope - Hope being the aspect of making fake things real - losing faith in his own destiny of defeating an evil wizard likely had some karmic contribution to the first half of that destiny - the existence of the evil wizard in the first place - coming true. So on and so on. So the rest of this essay will be a deeper look into each individual dancestor, and the contributions they made towards the ultimate blowout.

Porrim Maryam: The Ultimate Bystander

Porrim's drama is the least connected to the various conflicts suffered by everyone else, though it's one of the most consequential.

The Maid of Space was of course our all-important Space player and Stoker of the Forge, 8ut as you know, we never made much progress on the frog 8reeding front, or really any aspect of the game 8efore the reckoning. [...] She challenged these roles wherever they existed in 8eforan society, as well as where she found them woven into our session, in kingdoms, class assignments, consort culture and the like.

While she is pretty much the only dancestor that reflected on her failures - having come to a realization after her game's Reckoning that she probably should've paid attention to frog breeding - the fact remains that she totally ignored this duty in favor of going on a feminist rampage.

I do actually believe there is merit to her viewpoint, something Hussie appears to agree with:

HUSSIE: Porrim is better at social justice than Kankri because she isn't a boring asshole. [...] Porrim wants there to be equality for ladies. Not everybody cares about that though, which makes it hard for people like Porrim. That's the way it is in the real world. CHALLENGES.

Note that while Hussie is a deeply unreliable narrator (he describes his own self-insert as "oafish" and "buffoonish" in the book commentary, and his narration being biased and full of holes is a very deliberate choice), there is still meaning to be gleaned from his words, especially once you identify what biases he's performing. In this case, I think he's being genuine, as Homestuck has a deeply feminist and anti-patriarchy message overall, which I touch on in my essay about the Alpha Timeline.

However, Porrim's failure is that, as correctly as she identified sexism as being an issue, she became tunnel-visioned on it to the point that she failed to do anything useful at all. Frog breeding, AKA creating a new universe, is practically the entire point of SGRUB, and though her energies could've been focused on creating a new world free of sexism, she prioritized nitpicking it in session constructs.

Her other big failure is that of being a total bystander. In her conversations with Latula and Meenah, Porrim doesn't make any references at all to the bullying Meenah perpetrated, and otherwise seems surprised at the Redglare/Mindfang situation. She's also known as promiscuous, willing to sleep around with nearly anyone, tacitly approving of her teams' actions. Much of her feminist rhetoric is undercut by the fact that she has no comment to make on the way Meenah - the team's rich fuchsia - was primarily targetting a rustblood immigrant. It's implied her constant bickering with Kankri was in part due to her complete lack of intersectionality (with the other, more major part being Kankri's misogyny, but we'll get to that).

Interestingly enough, these three failures - poor prioritization, tunnel vision, and bystanderism - are failures of Space. There are two ways for an aspect (which is associated with base personality) to fail - the first is a toxic overabundance of the aspect's natural worst traits, and the second is a dearth of its positive qualities, to the point of resembling its counterpart. Space is associated with cycles and interconnectivity, patience and passivity. Its players are distractible and frivolous, but kind and permissive. However, it's easy for Space players to become so distracted that they lose sight of the bigger picture - we see this in Porrim's poor prioritization, and the tunnel vision she incurs in pursuit. It's also easy for them to become so passive that bad actors take advantage, and this, too, is present in Porrim's complete failure to grasp her team's cruelties.

Maids, meanwhile, are victims of oppression, and start the game under some form of control. Jane's been bombarded with hypnotic subliminals her entire life, and is ultimately directly controlled hy the Condesce; Aradia is killed so as to be Doc Scratch's servant via the Handmaid, and Hussie even outright calls her a slave in his book commentary. Porrim is not an exception to this:

On 8eforus, well 8efore her drinker a8ilities had awakened, she grew up in the caste almost solely devoted to tending to the mother gru8, hatching the young and proliferating the 8rood. The jade 8loods were also an almost exclusively female caste, and she 8egan to resent the roles she was hatched into, designated for 8oth her class and gender.

Ultimately, Maids can't shake off their oppressors alone, and outside intervention is needed to rid them of their shackles. Nobody on Porrim's team seemed to give a shit about what she had to say, however, nor did they attempt to relieve her of frog breeding or attempt to alleviate her workload - leaving her ultimately shackled to frog breeding, which, aside from the final frog (usually implied to be long in the Space player's past), did not HAVE to be conducted by her. In fact, Echidna being Aranea's denizen, when she's normally associated with the frog-breeding Space player, further implies that it didn't necessarily need to be up to Porrim - perhaps the team could've come together to take up frog breeding, splitting the duties equally, freeing Porrim from oppression.

But that didn't happen, and thus, our Maid of Space is disconnected from everything but the breeding duties that bound her so.

Kankri Vantas: The Hemocaste's Number One Fan

Kankri is a casteist, ableist, slut-shaming misogynistic bootlicker.

I'm going to go a bit lighter on the citations, because he uses a hundred words where ten will do, but if you actually bother to read his diatribes, he's all-in on perpetuating oppression. Here's a quick rundown of some of the awful shit he's said:

He tells Mituna that Mituna is bad representation for disabled people, and basically tells him to his face that he wishes everything about him was different, likely as displaced jealousy that Mituna is dating Latula. This shows that his rhetoric is actually just a mask, a tool he uses to disguise his actual intentions.

He complains about how burgundies have to "check their privilege" because they don't know how good they have it compared to off-spectrums, showing that he resents it when others attempt to address their oppression.

He tells Porrim that he thinks misogyny isn't real, and then slut shames her by insinuating that she's even willing to go for the Mayor. Once more, a display of how he resents when others challenge his points, or try to take away attention from his causes.

He calls Horuss and Cronus's beliefs fake even as he's defending their right to believe in them, revealing that it's not about justice for him, but about whatever puts him in a position of power over the situation, as the quote-unquote "spiritual leader".

Kankri was very likely culled on sight for his mutant blood color, mirroring how Karkat would've been. He clearly has complicated feelings about this, as he reacts very poorly to Porrim's mothering, but it's also the source of his deep-seated casteism, and the favor he shows towards the two sea dwellers on the team. While it IS a form of oppression, those culled on Beforus ARE provided extremely comfortable lifestyles, and Kankri would've been subjected to an intense amount of pampering, being a mutant.

In other words, he's been taught his whole life that he's a very special little boy, and he both feels entitled to the emotional energies of others, and gets upset when he isn't the center of attention. In contrast to Porrim, who had valid points but prioritized poorly, for Kankri, "social justice" is just a smokescreen he uses as he verbally browbeats his team into falling into line. Any valid points he makes are twisted to suit his personal agenda of being the loudest voice in the room, and he hides behind them so nobody can properly challenge his position. The actual oppression he did face, and a genuine desire buried deep down to make the world a better place (which I do believe exists), are ultimately undercut by his willingness to play victim in order to sate his own desire for attention and control.

Kankri himself didn't contribute as directly to the team's failure, but he was, overall, a binding force of stasis - perpetuating societal prejudices, fixing them in place. It should be no surprise that the two who find Kankri the most tolerable - Horuss and Cronus - are the two biggest casteists on the team.

Blood is about bonds - familial, platonic, romantic, and societal. It governs oaths, promises, compatability, and all interpersonal relationships. Its players, in contrast to Breath's free-spirited youthfulness, tend to be neurotic and controlling. At their best, they're mature, empathetic, and responsible, and indeed Karkat is one of the most level-headed and generally correct members of his team when he's not flying off the handle, but at toxic overabundance, they become iron-fisted dictators, "my way or the highway" types - to the point of shirking their innate sense of empathy and natural compulsion to be helpful to others.

Seers, meanwhile, struggle with blindness - either by hubris and ego, or else by shame-induced self-infliction. Rose's ego prevented her from bonding with her mother, and her need to be the smartest person in the room let Doc Scratch manipulate her; she later copes with her grief by drinking herself stupid, opposite Light's association with knowledge and insight. Terezi boldly painted herself into a corner where the only option left was killing Vriska, and coped with the guilt by throwing herself into a toxic relationship with Gamzee, a Gamzee victory that triumphed over Mind's sense of justice and karma.

Kankri is so moved by ego - his selfish desires for a society that works best for him personally, and his confidence that he knows better than the rest of his team - that he's blind to how harmful his rhetoric is. He damages their ability to move forward by chaining them in place, an ultimate failure of Blood.

Moreover, he's also inflicted a "blindness" upon himself - due to his staunch celibacy, he doesn't seem to notice that he has clear red feelings for Latula and pale feelings for Cronus - and this is to disastrous effect. The motivator behind his cruelty to Mituna appears to be jealousy, and he interrupts a conversation Cronus is having with Meenah, where she's about to make him reflect on choices that are harming him, just in time to prevent Cronus from reaching his epiphany. In fact, it's implied that Kankri is the one who talked Cronus out of his wizard faith in the first place, which we'll get into later (this is the most direct contribution Kankri made to the dancestor's failure).

As such, our Seer of Blood is sightless, and through blindness both based in ego and self-inflicted, he can't see the damage he's dealing.

Cronus Ampora: Hopeless - And That's Everyone's Problem Now

Cronus is a nasty casteist fuckboy who's greatly disliked by his team, and also everyone else, for good reason. He's mostly irrelevant to everyone and failed to do anything of worth. The problem is, he's a Bard of Hope, and thus, was one of the greatest contributors to the creation of LE.

Cronus as we see him is easy to explain. He's fundamentally a directionless, shitty rich kid, who's never had real problems before, and thus, never had the kinds of formative experiences that would've built him a personal identity. In an effort to find something to give his directionless (after)life some meaning, he's decided that he's humankin, specifically a 1950's greaser. He's also trying to get laid for similar reasons. What else is there to do when you don't feel like you have a real personality, and thus, don't really know how to open up to others or connect on a deeper level, but still crave an intimate relationship of some sort?

The thing is, Cronus wasn't always this way, and in fact, started out his game quite different:

[H]e once had a deeply a8iding faith in magic, and dedicated himself to 8ecoming a great wizard. He 8ecame convinced he was hatched to defeat an extraordinarily evil magician, one he swore the angels foretold of. Though when pressed for the name of the man, he would not say it, claiming it was too dangerous to even enunciate. Part of his self-aggrandizing mythos was that this magician once somehow from afar tried to strike him down at a young age, so he would never have to face him. 8ut the evil spell was deflected, sealing the magician's spirit away in a series of unassuming vessels until he could find some other cunning way to enter our universe. The attack supposedly left him with his distinctive scar, which he was not reluctant to point out when trying to hit on me.

Now, while this is definitely Harry Potter, it's also worded so as to resemble Lord English, and this is not a coincidence. You see, Hope is a power that makes fake things real.

Believing in things reduces their fakeness attribute. It's the force that shapes your reality, used to snatch personal meaning from the jaws of a cynical and nihilistic environment. Could this be why Hope is framed as the most fundamentally powerful aspect?

Ultimately, it didn't matter if Cronus's stupid wizard faith (and it is framed as a faith, a religious belief - put a pin in this) was real or not. In fact, the more credible journey for a Hope player would be if his personal mythos were fake - because Hope would've made it real.

However...

8ut at some point he 8ecame disillusioned with magic. [...] Perhaps someone talked him out of his 8eliefs. May8e a friend close to him. Or, if one is to 8elieve his fantasy held any water, perhaps someone who was in league with the evil magician.

As all Bards do, he suffered a crisis of faith, and he was never able to recover. Now, the identity of the person who talked him out of his religion is never made explicit, but I'm firmly convinced it was Kankri. First of all, who else on the team would qualify as a "friend close to him"? While "someone in league with the evil magician" might refer to Kurloz, Meulin, or Damara, Cronus seems wholly unrelated to the latter two, never mentioning them once, and while he's "scared" by Kurloz, it's not enough to not hit on him.

However, "in league with the evil magician" can also be interpreted metaphorically - someone who represents the same values as Lord English does, especially those of misogyny, fascism, and oppression. Which, again, points to Kankri. In fact, the main interaction Cronus has with Kankri illustrates the harm Kankri is doing to him: right as Cronus is about to have a personal epiphany that his humankin schtick is doing him more harm than good, Kankri jumps in to guilt-trip him until he continues with the act.

CRONUS: to be honest, she might be right. sometimes i think i might only be saying im a human to get attention. maybe i should givwe it up. KANKRI: I'd 6e extremely disapp9inted t9 hear that, if it were true. That w9uld 6e such a slap in the face t9 all th9se wh9 kn9w themselves t9 6e an alien while trapped in the pedestrian 69dy 9f their 9wn race. It w9uld 6e unspeaka6ly invalidating 9f their struggles and massively triggering t9 their em9ti9ns.  #TW #invalidated struggles #triggered em9ti9ns KANKRI: 6ut f9rtunately, I kn9w y9u w9uld never st99p as l9w as that. Y9u understanda6ly have d9u6ts a69ut y9ur feelings and pr96a6ly d9wnplay them as a defense mechanism, since s9 few are prepared t9 rec9gnize the legitimacy 9f y9ur plight. 6ut I am, and I just wanted y9u t9 kn9w that I'm here f9r y9u, and am prepared t9 lecture t9 y9u extensively, I mean, listen t9 y9u extensively, a69ut y9ur ultra-imp9rtant pr96lem.

Fucking Kankri! He doesn't even believe in Cronus's act himself (calling it a "fantasy versi9n 9f [him]self"), but Cronus's conversation with Meenah is pale-coded, with Cronus being the only person on the team able to make Meenah have doubts about how awesome the Condesce (and by extension, her own worst qualities) are, with her able to pierce through Cronus's bullshit and make him rethink his choices. But Kankri has a palecrush on Cronus, so he cannot abide by Cronus having a pale interaction with anyone else.

KANKRI: Listen, I was d9ing y9u a fav9r. Y9u d9n't need t9 6e dating any9ne wh9 can't appreciate y9u f9r wh9 y9u really are[.]

But his interruption of Cronus's character development, and also his breaking of Cronus's faith, aren't just disastrous for Cronus's ability to self-actualize - remember, Cronus is a Bard of Hope.

UU: while the more passive bard coUld be seen as "one who allows x to be destroyed, or invites destrUction throUgh x," as if by the will of the aspect. TT: I'm obviously no expert, but that sounds like a pretty odd thing for a Bard to do. UU: maybe! it's a qUirky class. UU: somewhat like a wildcard role for a hero. very Unpredictable. UU: they are typically known for their spontaneoUs and dramatic story-altering inflUence on the fate of a party. UU: some of the more remarkable tales involve sUch parties, where the bard is single handedly responsible for their spectacUlar downfall or improbable victory. or both!

Bards act as a conduit by which their Aspect dramatically alters fate, for better or for worse, and Hope is a power that makes fake things real. Cronus had a Bard crisis of faith, never recovered, and, in his failure to do so, began to exhibit his aspect at its nadir - where Hope players should be idealists, dreaming up better futures with a naive and shameless sincerity, Cronus has become self-conscious, frustrated with himself and magic, and utterly materialistic, seeking only immediate physical gratification. Hope, at its worst, picks out such bleak possibilities to invest its incredible, reality-altering power into, that it actually serves to close possibilities and ruin everything - mirroring Rage's ability to tear down false truths.

It is, therefore, incredibly likely that the direct manifestation of his Bard of Hope abilities is the materialization of the first half of Cronus's faith - the existence of the evil wizard - and not the second - that he would become a wizard to defeat him. This is one of the single greatest karmic contributions to LE's improbable existence. Perhaps this is the source of Kurloz's pivotal nightmare, which would've sprung out of nowhere, given LE doesn't exist until after the Scratch? We can only speculate, but this seems to me the most likely source of Lord English worship within the dancestors - Hope made him real.

And so, our Bard of Hope is faithless, and by extension, hopeless - in such a way that he breathes active calamity into existence.

Mituna Captor: Tried to Warn Them, but Nobody Wanted to Listen

I'm going to preface this section with a small list of what we will NOT be discussing, not because the conversations aren't important to have, but because they are not relevant to his essay. First of all, I will not be litigating the issue of whether or not Mituna's portrayal of TBIs/neurodivergence/etc. is problematic. I will also not be discussing the greater conversation surrounding those with such conditions to consent romantically or sexually. These are important topics to talk about, but they're just not in the scope of this essay (it's long enough as it is!).

As a break from form, I'm going to discuss his classpect first. This is because the implications of his classpect provide vital context for how we are meant to interpret and understand Mituna's arc.

Doom is the aspect presiding death, sleep, the future, and endings. It sits opposite Life, as Life's equal-and-opposite, which helps shed some light on Doom-specific qualities, as we have little exploration into Doom itself. Most notably, our three Life players are stubborn optimists, and our two Doom players are mutable pessimists. Sollux is literally introduced by changing his mind about being introduced, before changing his mind a second time, while Cronus notes that Mituna has a long-running schtick of being wildly offensive, and then pathetically contrite. Mituna is stated to have visions of the future even without being one of the two future-sighted classes (Mage and Seer), making some degree of prophetic insight a part of Doom.

I'm also firmly convinced that it's Doom, and not being a Captor, that makes both Sollux and Mituna dual-dreamers. Most non-Seer/non-Mage players' main interaction with prophecy will be the clouds of Skaia or the whispers of the Horrorterrors while they're asleep, and being a dual-dreamer gives Doom access to both, as well as an extra "death" to spare - which Sollux makes great use of, as he arrives to his session dead. Moreover, being a dual dreamer allowed Sollux to be "half-dead" in the afterlife, granting him the special ability to leave - and navigate - the dream bubbles. This influence over the realm of the dead is notable, so please put a pin in it.

Heirs, meanwhile, bear a character arc of defecting from decadence. They're born into positions of wealth and comfort relative to their societies - John enjoys an upper-middle class lifestyle, with a supportive and loving father, and Equius enjoys being high enough nobility not to worry about culling, but low enough not to bear any pressing responsibilities, and has a supportive and loving lusus. Mituna, similarly, was born to a supportive and caring bicyclopsdad (as opposed to Sollux's, who was a big terrible idiot), with an eventual fate of being culled for his powerful psionic brain.

Before anyone protests that culling on Beforus is still a form of oppression - it's "a position of wealth and comfort relative to their society." Ultimately, being a stuffy capitalist isn't exactly a great destiny, and being a noble on Alternia still means being subject to a horrific system of murdering and being murdered. In a similar vein, Mituna's inheritance is a wolf in sheep's clothing. In fact, this exact wolf-in-sheep's-clothing nature of inheritance factors into the Heir's arc.

Heirs are on a ticking clock. Their aspects are powerful, but they struggle to control them. After all, they're a passive class:

He is the Heir of Breath after all. It's a passive class, and he's a passive guy. An heir, literally speaking, is one who inherits stuff.

And passive classes work best when they're allowing their aspect to be used for others:

UU: the +/- distinction can mean many things, bUt coUld be qUite roUghly sUmmed Up in this way: active classes exploit their aspect to benefit themselves, while passive classes allow their aspect to benefit others.

We see this with John, who gains the incredible power to retcon the story, unsticking it from the alpha timeline, but doesn't know how to effect useful change without guidance from others. Even Equius's first chronological expression of Void is his mere presence providing a shield for Vriska from Doc Scratch's omniscience.

But because of their privileged upbringings, it's difficult for them to know how to help others, or even that they should. John is goofy and friendly, but doesn't seem to notice that Dave is being constantly abused, and doesn't question the horrific violence of troll culture when Vriska tells him about it (something which Hussie chastises him for in the book commentary), while Equius's blind spots are even more glaring, given his casteism and complete obliviousness regarding his own fetishes.

Thus, like wealthy inheritors in real life, an Heir that fails to interrogate the systemic injustices of the system they were born into becomes swallowed up by their inheritance, another brick in the wall, rendering their aspect out of reach. John's retcon powers, before he gains control over them, nearly take him out of the story entirely (Breath and its associations with freedom and independence), while Equius succumbs to his fetish for submission and allows Gamzee to strangle him to death (Void and its associations with vice and sexual pleasure - Hussie notes on multiple fronts that Equius could've escaped at any point just by flexing his neck muscles, but chose not to because horny).

While we don't have very much information about Mituna before his injury, the dancestors' failure is a foregone conclusion; therefore, we can conclude that Mituna's current state is a reflection of his failure as an Heir, and subsequently being "swallowing up" by Doom. Mituna's injury is, within the context of the story, therefore a bad thing that happened to him, and thus, it reflects poorly on every other player who not only didn't heal him, but never mentions ever trying to.

It's here that I want to point out something odd about the dancestors as a group. Isn't it strange that they retained many of their injuries even into death?

Injuries don't need to carry into the afterlife - here Tavros is with his legs fully intact. Even if you assume that characters who consider their injury to be part of their identity, like Terezi and her blindness, therefore get to keep their body in that state after death, Latula clearly has insecurities about her sense of smell, Meulin was so disheartened by her deafness that she broke up with Kurloz over it, and there's no way that Mituna is happy about the fact that he can hardly string together a coherent thought anymore.

But remember, Heirs are experts at leveraging their aspects on others' behalf, and Doom has influence and sway over death and the dead. And so, on that note, let's actually begin analyzing Mituna himself.

The primary description we have of Mituna before his injury is this:

The Heir of Doom was once a powerful psionic. He was gifted with vision twofold, and had strong prophetic insights wherever a 8leak future was concerned. He had much to say when it came to warning us a8out the path of doom and destruction we were all headed for, 8ut no one took him very seriously. 8ut one day he lost all those a8ilities when he 8adly overexerted himself. It's hard to get any specifics from him, 8ut indications are that he applied every last 8it of energy he had toward some great act of heroism, saving us all from some looming threat. Not only did his exertion permanently 8urn out his psychic a8ilities, 8ut it left him somewhat... er. Incoherent.

Doom players tend to stagnate and stay in place. Their mutability, ironically, means they have a tendency to go nowhere. However, their pessimism can cause them to become fixated on these nowheres - to become so certain of an unhappy ending that they can become energized by the notion, steamrolling over others, which can resemble Life's stubborn optimism. It seems this may have been what happened with Mituna - though it appears to be far and away aggravated by his injury, there's an implication when he's talking with Meenah and Cronus that he was already prone to being wildly offensive and aggressive even before it:

CRONUS: your vwhole bifurcated demeanor is such an act. half the time you are noxious and incomprehensible, and the other half you are mild and contrite? sure, "PAL." CRONUS: as if im not SO on to you. you only pretend to say youre sorry to get girls to like you more. sure seems like pyropes a sucker for the ruse. like im not familiar vwith THOSE tactics. vwho do you think vwrote the book on that??

MITUNA: 817H1CH WH4Y D0N7 Y0U 5H00V3 M0Y R4D 1NJURJY P4N3L 1N7H0 URR N457H7Y 53XXXU4L3 PR1V457 P4R7H 0RF P3R3RF3R3R4NC3 MEENAH: thank fuck you were never a major playa at least from my personal vantage over the course a this ridicu huge narrative  #way minor character yo MEENAH: probably woulda offed my shellf even schooner if i had to hear you talk much  #really too bad since you got the bestest fishiest name of anyone #38( MITUNA: ..,.,..,,...,..,.,. MITUNA: 50RRY

What's worse, remember how I said earlier that it's implied that all the major problems occurred before their reckoning (which was likely on a timeframe of weeks or months), and then they spent six years faffing around in their session besides? This means that Mituna was left injured for six years, and not a single time does anyone mention even attempting to heal him. Even if you subscribe to the idea that their Life player's class precluded her from healing people (and it doesn't; the Helmsman's lifespan is explicitly extended by the Condesce's powers), Aranea's powerset is explicitly geared toward healing injuries of the mind:

ARANEA: I can see every fault and fissure in your mind. My vision 8-fold sheds light on every injury you have ever suffered, whether emotional or physical. ARANEA: I can repair it all for you, Jake. JAKE: (Oh no...) ARANEA: I can heal your mind. JAKE: (Oh n-n-n-) ARANEA: I can heal your soul. JAKE: N-n-n-n-n-n-n-nooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

... So why doesn't she? Why doesn't anyone? Well, the implication is... that he was annoying! He was the only member of the team who was trying to tell them to stop being such assholes, or else they would be hurtling themselves face-first into a catastrophe, and this was such a bummer and so unpleasant to hear (likely not helped by his aggressive and offensive way of wording things) that his team actually prefers him injured. At least this way, he isn't constantly calling them out for the horrible shit that they do to each other on a regular basis. Doom players are commiserators, not a healers, and their power lies in their ability to empathize and relate, opposite Life's tendency to charge forward, not caring who they trample on the way. Mituna was never able to tap into these powers of empathy enough to get people to listen to him, and he paid for this with his injury - the version of him his teammates prefer, because now they can take advantage of him.

Cronus does so most obviously, with his unwanted advances that Mituna sits there and takes because he can't reason well enough to escape of his own volition, but I posit - and will stand by this claim - that Latula and Kurloz, his two romantic partners, are taking advantage of him, too. Kurloz is implied to be directly puppeting him the way he puppets Meulin, the source of the "rumor" Cronus heard that Mituna is "lucid" when he's around Kurloz - in fact, it's implied that Mituna's injury was directly caused by Kurloz, as part of his Prince meltdown, something we'll get into more when we discuss Kurloz. I believe this is why several of the dancestors retain major injuries into the afterlife - in a dark reflection of how an Heir is supposed to operate, Kurloz is using Mituna as a conduit to exert influence over the afterlife, rendering Doom and death an oppressive force rather than peaceful resting place. I think there's a reason that Meenah questions the fact that some people have stayed injured when talking to Mituna. It should be his area of expertise, after all!

Now, while we are sidestepping the greater discussion overall of the consent of those with TBIs, I want to state that Mituna specifically, post-injury, cannot be considered fully consenting.

Cronus says the quiet part out loud:

CRONUS: i really feel like youre one of the only people i can open up to about my feelings. i guess it really does help to confide in someone vwho basically lacks the ability to repeat vwhat you say vwith any clarity or coherence, or evwen understand vwhat you said in the first place.

And unfortunately, this is pretty true: Mituna is impaired to the point where he:

Can't answer yes or no to whether he's god tier, because he doesn't know/can't remember/doesn't fully seem to understand the question.

Can't seem to understand that Meenah's asking him to strip because she's trying to check if he has god tier wings, instead enthusiastically assuming that she's asking to have sex with him.

Forgets how to take his own shirt off.

Doesn't understand that Cronus is touching him as a prelude to sexual intentions, just that he doesn't like it.

As is often the case with TBIs, he does have glimpses of clarity, but - whether this portrayal is offensive or not - the clear indication to me is that, within the context of the comic, we should come away with the understanding that Mituna can barely register what's going on, can barely understand what others are trying to communicate to him, and can barely voice what few thoughts he is able to string together. And I think it would also be one thing if he was simply born this way, but again, this is the result of an injury that is portrayed as a terrible thing that happened to him, and his injured state is not a reflection of who he was, and what decisions he would've made, before it happened.

[EDIT (March 02): This keeps being a contentious opinion that overshadows the entire rest of Mituna's section of the essay, so let me clarify.

The through-line of Mituna's entire character is that people are taking advantage of him. Whether or not he is, in fact, fully capable of consent (and this is dubious since it's dubious whether or not he's even fully capable of understanding what's going on around him - please note again that I am NOT saying people with TBIs/neurodivergence IN GENERAL can't consent, I am saying that IN MITUNA'S SPECIFIC CASE it's DUBIOUS), people are still using whatever impairment he has to take advantage of him.

I am also going to state again that whether or not it is depicted well, the comic has also chosen to portray Mituna's injury as one of genuine cognitive impairment. Sollux feeds his lusus mind honey in order to "[help] him not be such a complete idiot all the time. Merely most of the time, instead." The clear implication of Mituna begging for mind honey from his lusus is that it helps him think clearer and more lucidly, because his injury has left him cognitively impaired. Not only that, but this is a healable injury, given that Aranea stresses so strongly that she's capable of literally healing minds (not to mention alternate methods of healing available, such as Life powers or killing/god tiering him). There's a reason that Kurloz is capable of using Mituna as a hypnopuppet after the injury, but doesn't ever have seemed to before.

Because his condition is cognitive impairment that could be considered temporary, and because every single person pursuing him romantically is taking advantage of him, and because the team as a whole appears to have left him deliberately unhealed so that they can take advantage of him, and that's the POINT OF THE CHARACTER - to illustrate how shitty his team is by showing how many of them are willing to take advantage of him - I personally find it more thematically coherent if he cannot, in fact, be considered fully consenting, or at the very least for it to be intentionally uncomfortable that so many people in his team have romantic interest in him only now that he's cognitively impaired, because he's easier to take advantage of like this. It completely tracks with how many of them are also perfectly content to pursue literal children romantically.

Feel free to disagree on this specific issue, but please don't let that disagreement overshadow the greater point that I'm making, which is that Mituna is being taken advantage of. Whether or not he's capable of consent, his party is exploiting his injury-induced impairments - which could have been healed - for their own comfort and benefit. That's the point I'm trying to make here.]

And thus the Heir of Doom has inherited Doom in the worst way, becoming Doom as a force of oppression, bereft of empathy, understanding, or peace.

Latula Pyrope: Insecure Poser, Derelict Duty

Latula is a rad gamer girl... not! This is an act, and she even admits that it's an act.

PORRIM: I just think yo+u sho+uld be yo+urself mo+re o+ften. We already kno+w yo+u are stro+ng and go+o+d at games and all that. Yo+u have no+thing to+ pro+ve. LATULA: y34h. your3 prob4bly r1ght. LATULA: 1ts k1nd of str3ssful som3t1m3s, k33p1ng 1t up! som3t1m3s 1 forg3t to put z33s on th3 3nd of words, 4nd 1 r34lly str3ss out 4bout 1t.  #sp3c14lly wh3n 1m off my m3ds

So what's Latula's actual deal? Well, we get a really good glimpse of it here:

LATULA: for most of th3 t1m3 w3 kn3w 34ch oth3r, 1 w4s 4ll l1k3, WHY SHOULD TH3R3 B3 TWO B4D4SS, 1N-YOUR-F4C3 GRLZ 1N TH3 GROUP??? LATULA: sort of ov3rk1ll, r1ght? MEENAH: mehhh  #u searious? LATULA: 1 w4s k1nd of v13w1ng you 4s 4 comp3t1tor, 1n l1k3 4 two grl RAD-OFF. 1 w4s w1nn1ng 1n my m1nd, of cours3. but s33, 1 h4d 1t 4ll wrong!!!! MEENAH: did you LATULA: Y3AH! s33, 1m th3 t34mz R4D GRL, wh3r34s YOUR3 th3 t34mz B4D GRL!!!! 1t 4ll m4k3s p3rf3ct s3ns3! do3snt th4t m4k3 SO MUCH S3NS3??? MEENAH: that MEENAH: is the stupidest glubbin thing to require any sorta rationalization i ever heard  #p lame tules LATULA: s33 p4ych3ck? 1 kn3w 1 could count on you to b3 just1f14bly cyn1c4l 4bout my n3urot1c bullsh1t. you RUL3!!!

Latula is another character we get little direct development of, so I'll head into classpect analysis early, as she's much easier to understand once we have the context of Knights and Mind players.

Mind governs logic, rationality, justice, karma, behaviors, and consequences. The justice and karma associations are explained as a Mindy Thing by Latula herself:

PORRIM: Did yo+u no+t kno+w that?  #Mindfang gave yo+u five #Then left yo+u hanging LATULA: n3v3r r34lly thought 4bout 1t. but now th4t you m3nt1on 1t, th4t outcom3 m4k3s 4ll sorts of s3ns3 to m3. PORRIM: It do+es? Ho+w? LATULA: just do3s, b4b3z. PORRIM: I do+n't really understand karma. LATULA: th4ts c4us3 your3 not 4 m1nd pl4y3r.

Mind players tend to be cunning and manipulative. As the aspect presiding over the "effect" of cause-and-effect, they're finely attuned to the various webs of actions and consequences, but not so much to the inner workings of emotions and identity, which are Heart's domain, Mind's equal-and-opposite. As such, Mind players have a tendency to deemphasize their own emotions, substituting systems of karma, justice, societal attitudes, etc. to make decisions instead. We see this in Terezi's primary character struggle, the way she painted herself into a corner where the only viable outcome was killing Vriska, which happened because she consistently prioritized what Vriska karmically deserved over her own desire to maintain their friendship. In the worst case, their own identity and sense of self can become so confused that they seek out unhealthy relationships with others, in an attempt to supplement their poor sense of personal identity with some sort of external validation - you can see this in Terezi's toxic relationship with Gamzee, or, indeed, with Latula's relationship with Mituna (more on this later).

Knights, meanwhile, struggle with great insecurity. Often provided a significant role by the forces of fate and prophecy, they suffer deeply from imposter syndrome and/or self-loathing, and to help them cope with these feelings, they effect a facade that distances them from their aspect. Karkat, whose aspect presides over bonds and relationships, insists he's a big bad leader who doesn't give a shit about other people, and this breakdown of Blood's bonds culminated in Murderstuck. Dave, whose aspect presides over minutiae, goal-orientedness, and struggle, pretends to be a disaffected cool guy. In the worst case, their insecurity can become so intense that they invest completely into their facades, laying down their weapons and refusing the call entirely. Dave, at the belly of his whale, declares that he won't fight LE, as he "doesn't even think he did anything directly bad to them" - despite Dave literally being haunted by LE for his entire childhood under the guise of Lil' Cal, a detail he'd normally notice, given how often he secretly pays attention (which is a Timey Thing).

Latula struggles greatly with her own personal identity, her anxiety surrounding not having anything unique or standout about her in her friend group. To cope with this, she projects a facade that practically screams its "personality" from the rooftops - she's a dumb but radical "gamer girl". In doing so, she distances herself from her actual aspect - gone are Mind's cunning and intellect, which even Porrim calls her out on:

PORRIM: Yo+u can pretend to+ misunderstand all yo+u want, but we've talked abo+ut this befo+re and I kno+w yo+u're smarter abo+ut this than yo+u let o+n.

But, crucially, it also distances her from Mind's ties with karma and justice. Latula states that, not only does she dislike Aranea, but she can also absolutely understand the chains of karma and destiny that would've led to Mindfang and Redglare having such a contentious relationship that it led to them killing each other.

What else is Latula aware of, that she's completely chosen to ignore, out of desperate fear that it wouldn't suit her image, would make her seem less "r4d"?

Well... let's talk about Mituna. As we've already covered in his section, his ability to consent to this relationship is dubious, and the fact that it's dubious at all is already not a great sign. But I also want to bring up a couple other things. Did you know that, throughout all of Mituna's dialogue - including when he's enthusiastically trying to strip to have sex with Meenah - he doesn't mention dating Latula even one time?

Other characters will bring it up, but Mituna himself doesn't say anything about it. And, again, given that he's enthusiastically ready to get nasty with Meenah... one wonders if he's even lucid enough to know that he and Latula are dating.

MEENAH: look take off your rad shirt deal and lemme see if you got wings MITUNA: 3H3HH3H7H37H37H3 YY35 MITUNA: 7H0NGH7 Y0DU N3V3R 45K MITUNA: 817HCH 4C4M3 4R0UN57 70 MY W1L135 MU7H4FUCK5!  #W1L135 #MUH #FUX MITUNA: W417 H3LUP  #!!!!!!!!!! MITUNA: H3LP H0W D01 74K3 0FF MY CL07H37H 4G41N?  #8( MEENAH: yeah keep your shirt on you made that exchange beyond awful

Hey, maybe he does. He does get sad when Cronus tells him that Latula's only dating him out of pity. But still, the fact that it's in question at all - and also the fact that he's totally up for cheating with Meenah - are bad signs!

But even putting that to the side for a second... what does Latula even see in him? He's constantly saying slurs, he's down to cheat at the first opportunity, he's questionably capable of stringing a coherent thought together... well, good news! It comes up in conversation.

MEENAH: mother glubber MEENAH: seriously didnt think T)(ATD last LATULA: 1dk, th3r3z w4y mor3 to h1m th4n. w3ll, 4ll th3 t3rr1bl3 4nd stup1d sh1t h3 s4ys 4ll th3 t1m3. LATULA: 4nd 1ts 4lw4yz f3lt l1k3 h3 n33ds m3 1f th4t m4k3s s3ns3, 3v3n 4ft3r dy1ng. so th3r3z th4t!!!!

So, let's actually break down what she's saying here.

She feels the need to insult him while she's trying to come up with something nice to say.

She can't actually name anything specific that she likes about him...

Except that he's dependent on her. She likes him because he can't reliably function away from her. Woof.

But I also want to turn your attention to the phrase "way more to him". What does she mean by this, exactly? Does she mean some of the traits he had before his injury? If so, how come it never comes up that Latula wanted to heal him, or tried to heal him? In fact, Aranea - who, again, has a powerset specifically suited for healing minds - comes up in conversation between Porrim and Latula, and Latula doesn't mention ANYTHING about Mituna. She's even on friendly terms with Aranea.

PORRIM: Like, as far as I kno+w, yo+u and Aranea always go+t alo+ng. Didn't yo+u?  #Radglare #Kindfang LATULA: 3h 1 gu3ss. n3v3r sp3nt much t1m3 th1nk1ng 4bout s3rk3t, tbh. LATULA: 4lw4ys thought sh3 w4s 4 s3lf 4bsorb3d snooz3, 1f you r34lly w4nt to know.  #zzzz #not 3v3n th3 r4d k1nd of z33s

The only other possible indication that they might secretly have a good relationship is that she threatens that if Damara touches Mituna, she'll kill Damara. Now, we'll have to save a lot of this for the Damara part of the essay, but I'll note here that Damara is perfectly pleasant and kind to people she doesn't have any personal beef with, with the example being the human kids. However, since the bulk of her team were complicit bystanders (and even Meenah's friends) in her horrific bullying, she obviously has great anger at all of them. However... if there's any exception to the bystander disease that plagued her team, it would've been Mituna, the only one trying to warn them they were headed for a terrible, bleak ending. Wouldn't he, out of everyone on the team, be someone Damara is fond of?

So, there are several options here... but they ALL make Latula look bad to varying degrees.

Damara really IS a threat to Mituna.

This still makes Latula a bystander in Damara's abuse, and a terrible hypocrite, as Kankri says one of the things he likes about her is her egalitarian, non-casteist demeanor, but she totally let a fuchsia bullying a burgundy slide, but I suppose it's the option that makes her look the least bad otherwise. Again, it seems unlikely, given the way Damara operates, but it's technically possible.

Damara is on friendly terms with Mituna, but Latula doesn't know this, and thinks she's protecting him.

This means she's still a bystander, as described above, but ALSO seems unlikely given we know Latula has Mind insight into webs of karma, and is a lot smarter than she lets on, which brings us to:

Damara is on friendly terms with Mituna, and Latula is keeping them apart deliberately.

Unfortunately, it's possible... she's dating Mituna at all, meaning she's already taking advantage of him. Ultimately, we can't say for sure what's going on there, but I don't think it's as fully innocent as it seems, especially when so much of the rest of her and Mituna's relationship is cast in such a worrying light.

Knights are tasked with leadership positions, and their failures to live up to them result in the breakdowns of their teams. Karkat's failure to manage his team's interpersonal relationships blew up into Murderstuck, Dave's refusal to keep working towards their goals means the bad guys win, and Latula's refusal to engage with the lattices of karma within her team, or deal directly with her own insecurities, means that none of these injustices ever get addressed. Even though Latula isn't a casteists, casteists are allowed to continue on being castests; even though Latula has insecurities about her own disability, those who take advantage of disabilities proliferate; even though Latula commands great respect and admiration from her team, she never comes down with the hammer - and passively allowing evil to exist is the same as picking evil's side.

And so our Knight of Mind is too busy pretending to be something she's not, cutting off her intellect, cunning and acumen, rendering justice a non-entity.

Aranea Serket: Enabled Too Close to the Sun

Aranea's another one of those characters that doesn't really directly seem to contribute to the team's problems as much, and ironically, because we have so much more of her available to peruse, there's a lot less that I need to say. It's pretty obvious what happened - she was always secretly pretty selfish and cruel, and ended up desiring the spotlight so hard that she went power-mad, challenged the Condy, and GAME OVER'd herself.

As a result, I'm instead going to do a classpect read on her, so we can better understand what she contributed to her team before her death. Which was mostly nothing good!

Light is, fittingly, one of the most well-explored aspects in the story. Governing the realm of knowledge, fortune, and vision, its players are erudite, learned, and guiding stars. Light players tend to love the spotlight, to be important, to be acknowledged - this is the crux of both Vriska's and Aranea's respective arcs, but Rose also has a flair for the dramatic, and writes her long-winded Gamespot guide as a form of one-upsmanship to the other extant guides. This desire for external validation, however, means that they're always playing to an imaginary crowd, and they don't deal very well with having that attention taken away from them. Light players are volatile and complicated, attention hogs and drama queens, and they deal poorly with embarrassment, shame, and failure.

But we already know about Light. Light players won't shut up about Light. Let's talk about something a bit more enigmatic: Sylphs.

Aranea presents Sylphs as healers and nurturers, but she's hardly an unbiased source. In fact, bias happens to be a common thread linking Sylphs, and their active counterpart, Witches, together. The struggle at the core of being a Sylph is that Sylphs are enablers.

"Enabler" is the single most consistent word Hussie uses to describe Kanaya, and I don't think it's just her Space aspect at play. Even Kanaya herself discusses how one of her major personal problems is a fascination, an attraction, with "dangerous" people. We see this exact tendency mirrored in Aranea, who has a fascination with her team's resident Thief, too.

In fact, one of the most notable things about Aranea's little expositional blurbs is the way she downplays the cruelty of her teammates, especially Meenah. Meenah's bullying was horrific, constant, and had major undertones of racism/casteism, and here's how Aranea describes it:

ARANEA: So you did your 8est to rile up the crew any way you could. Appealing to peoples insecurities, 8uried hostilities, 8rewing rivalries... needling anyone you could into confrontation with others. Your theory was that increasing everyone's state of aggression would make them 8etter equipped to play the game. And you were sort of right a8out that! 8ut the Alternians would prove it. Not our group, sadly. ARANEA: The poor girl who took the 8runt of your 8ullying tactics was Damara Megido. You talked up her matesprit's 8etrayal making her feel even more dreadful, while pushing him further into the arms of her rival, until she simply snapped. She attacked him, paralyzing him from the neck down. You finally got the aggressive confrontation you were looking for. Unfortunately, you unleashed something even you weren't prepared for, and you had to deal with her yourself. After a long 8loody duel, she killed you. And you would have stayed dead if not for me! ARANEA: You never listened to me. You just kept needling and fussing and meddling until eventually you paid the price, and I had to 8ail you out.

Let's notice where Aranea chooses to put the focus: not on the cruelty of the bully's actions, not on the horrific pain and suffering that Damara must've endured, but on how ARANEA had to save poor Meenah.

In fact, this shocking callousness is a constant fixture of Aranea's exposition. It mirrors Kanaya at her worst, as they both pick and choose their favorites in the team to lavish with kindness and attention, and treat others like objects of ridicule - Kanaya mocks Eridan to his face, and Aranea:

Mocks Latula's inability to smell.

ARANEA: She was truly an inspiration, and proved 8eyond a shadow of a dou8t that any handicap can 8e overcome, and doesn't have to stop you from 8eing as rad as you can truly 8e. MEENAH: wuuut MEENAH: serket are you whistlin through my blowhole with his idiotic shit ARANEA: Yes, that last part was a joke. Lighten up, Peixes!

Mocks Cronus's wizard faith (his one redeeming quality).

ARANEA: Whatever the case, it was pro8a8ly for the 8est, since pretty much everyone who had half a think pan thought it was all a 8unch of ridiculous nonsense. MEENAH: serket why do you got to hate on other peoples religions MEENAH: dont you kno they just as much a load of crackpotty bunk as all your spiritual bullfuck ARANEA: 8ut I........ ARANEA: Yes, I guess I was out of line. ARANEA: Sorry, I was just trying to riff with you little on a mutually disliked acquaintance. Is that really so 8ad? Why do you have to take every opportunity to knock my personal 8eliefs? ARANEA: You can really 8e so mean sometimes.

And says this incredibly out-of-pocket thing:

And says this incredibly out-of-pocket thing: ARANEA: It was almost a little eerie how happily she complied with our plan. What did Rufioh say she said? Something a8out how we would all finally get what we deserved... ARANEA: Which at the time, I thought sounded chilling. 8ut there's really two ways of looking at it. One is how the Scratch re8ooted our world into a state of pure chaos, culminating in the annihilation of our universe. 8ut on the other hand, we all got the chance to live out our wildest fantasies as adults on Alternia! ARANEA: At least you and I sure did. And I wouldn't dou8t she feels the same way.

Yeah, it sure was Damara's wildest fantasy to be abused by Doc Scratch to the point of making actual suicide attempts to escape him... and Kankri's wildest fantasy to be troll crucified, and all his friends' wildest fantasies to be hunted down for their association with him and turned into slaves, exiles, or worse... or Porrim's wildest fantasy to be raped by Mindfang.

But apparently that's part of Aranea's wildest fantasies, huh?

We also see from the Terezi situation - where Aranea first frames her abilities as "healing" and "nurturing," and makes an offer to heal Terezi's eyes as an attempt to help her "heal" from her emotional wounds - that Aranea has no idea what healing is at all. Rather, she helps people avoid (Void) what they're hurting from, what they should confront, grapple with, and accept, in order to truly move on. Knowing that Void is associated with sexual pleasure and vice, and that an Aspect often resembles its counterpart when its player is at their worst, what does this say about Actual Rapist Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, or the Jake-kissing Aranea?

Light players have an innate sense of the spotlight, and an understanding that, for it to shine on one person, it must necessarily be taken from another. Aranea enabled the two Thieves in her (after)life until they chummed up so much that they didn't give a shit about her anymore, at which point she decided to enable the one bastard she could count on - herself. And in attempting to hog that spotlight all by herself, she cosigned the entire timeline to obscurity.

And so our Sylph of Light leaves a legacy of cruelty, toxicity, suffering, pain, and oblivion, her light a poison, not a salve.

Kurloz Makara: Gave Up On "Better"

I do want to go through some Kurloz stuff before I launch into the classpect things, most notably that he's really utterly vile by the time we see him. Before his Prince meltdown, which we'll get to, perhaps there was something redeeming about him, but by the time we get to see him in the comic, he's lost any respectable qualities.

Kurloz is an adherent of the same religion as Gamzee, although, somehow, he carries even less hope than Gamzee does. Let's note the basic tenents of their faith:

You belong to a RATHER OBSCURE CULT, which foretells of a BAND OF ROWDY AND CAPRICIOUS MINSTRELS which will rise one day on a MYTHICAL PARADISE PLANET that does not exist yet.

Now, exploring this faith, and the way its interpretation changes throughout the comic, could be an essay of its own, but what's important to note here is that Kurloz will never see its fruition. He's dead, and neither has the ability to revive himself, nor the desire to do so. Thus, it follows that his personal interpretation of their faith must be darker than Gamzee's - Kurloz has so utterly given up on himself and his team that being cosigned to utter oblivion, destined to double-die by their godhead's rainbow breath, seems like a totally great outcome that Kurloz both wants and is working toward. The paradise planet doesn't actually matter to him - the act of betraying his friends, and getting everyone killed (and double-killed), seems reward enough.

KURLOZ: WE SHALL NOW BUST OPEN THESE BITCHIN ELIXIR FORTIES KURLOZ: AND POUR SOME SWEET SWILL OUT FOR THE SOULS WHO SOON WONT BE NO MORE  #:o)

To that end, he's willing to lie to his teammates, and use the two people closest to him - Mituna and Meulin - as literal slaves, furthering LE's goals and pushing for LE's existence, making him one of the most direct forces acting against the dancestors.

But, as I said earlier, he didn't start out this way - so how did he get to this point of utter clowny despair? Well, let's take a look at what it means to be a Prince of Rage.

Princes have a fairly simple arc to discuss, though actually dealing with a Prince is arduous and difficult. Princes are, in a very masculine way, driven by an anxious forward momentum, by feelings of duty, by a masculine need to appear strong and take on burdens. Dirk is the most anxious of his team about their fate to sit around and wait, and Eridan's entire character has been shaped by the duty he had to keep Feferi's lusus placated.

However, these driving forces tend to make Princes controlling, aggressive, volatile, and nasty, and it's difficult to even be near one, let alone help them deal with their emotional problems. Thus are princes on a marching path to self-destruction, overtaxing their engines, burning themselves out. And given that one's "self" is tied inextricably to their aspect, this means that they take their aspect with them.

Thus are Princes on a ticking timer, and left untreated, they'll suffer a spectacular meltdown, which removes from play themselves, their aspect, and whoever is unlucky enough to be in the same room. We see it with Murderstuck, where Eridan goes on a Hope-crushing murder spree, and we see it when Dirk's trickster tirade utterly shatters Jake's self-confidence and self-worth.

But before that meltdown occurs, Princes suffer from an overburdening of their aspect - Eridan is a hipster (Hope and conviction), and burdened by several layers of political beliefs and societally-imposed duties. Dirk is solipsistic (Heart and the self), and is burdened by self-loathing, amplified by all his splinters and Hal staring back at him.

Kurloz's aspect is Rage, one of the most enigmatic, but I'll do my best here. Hope is, after all, fairly well-defined - a transformative force that imposes a new reality onto the old. Rage, its equal and opposite, is similarly a force that defines reality - but it does so by striking things from the record (something both Gamzee and Kurloz are noted to do, the former removing references to himself from recountings of his team's story, the latter creating intricate labyrinths within the bubbles to hide their clowny conspiracy with). Rage encompasses anger, but also the emotions of fear and shame - transformative energies that are the core of great acts of revolution, but also volatile, and prone to great destructiveness. Rage players "tear down false truths" - meaning, they define reality by closing possibilities, crafting meaning from the past by the power of interpretation. Hope is fanfiction, and Rage is literary criticism. Hope pens in something new, and Rage strikes out what it deems unacceptible.

Kurloz, before his turn, is characterized primarily through a single major incident - having a dream so terrifying that he screamed loud enough to deafen his matesprit, and feeling so ashamed of himself (shame being a Rage-associated emotion) that he sewed his own mouth shut in penitance. Given the way Princes are overtaxed by their aspect, it's likely that this isn't the only great shame he was bearing.

He and Damara appear to be on secretly decent terms - she is, after all, a Lord English believer, and who else would she have gotten that religious leaning from? Moreover, Kurloz and Mituna were close, if not actively dating, and Mituna was the one member of the team who seemed to give a shit that they were hurtling themselves towards oblivion.

This means that Kurloz, in all likelihood, was actually on Damara's side, and aware that his team was being shitheads - but he never said anything, later because of his vow of silence, but earlier, because it was himself he was most ashamed of. It's unclear what the inciting incident of his final meltdown was, but given the far-reaching consequences when a Prince does have their meltdown, this is likely the "disaster" that Mituna was attempting to stop - a situation that echoes how Feferi, Eridan's ex-moirail, turning on him to kill him was what finally pushed Eridan over the edge into full-blown murder. Kurloz is likely both the disaster Mituna was trying to avert and the source of Mituna's injury; subsequently, his team was dealing with a post-meltdown Prince and the destruction of Rage.

As I mentioned before, Rage is a revolutionary force, a force of upheaval and change. It's likely that the Mituna injury happened fairly late in the game, concurrent to or shortly following Damara's rampage, because the lack of Rage is starkly present in the six years following the Reckoning, where the dancestors did fuckall. But there's one other place where the dancestors' lack of Rage is present: ever notice how they don't have a single blackrom?

We'll get more into that when we talk about Meulin, but for now, I'll just say that this is directly Kurloz's fault. No blackroms, no conflicts, no change... Kurloz's meltdown was allowed to happen with no one the wiser. Rage, at its nadir, begins to resemble Hope - it gains a steadfast, religious conviction to the belief that nothing matters and everything must be torn down. We see this in Kurloz, whose spiritual belief is, functionally, that all that he and everyone else deserves is utter oblivion.

And so our Prince of Rage can no longer be swayed, a force of religious inertia, directing all beings headlong into oblivion.

Meulin Leijon: Healthy Relationship? IDK Her

Meulin Leijon's ships are all rancid. Unfortunately, they also all come true. This makes Meulin one of the most direct and overwhelming contributors to the dancestors' extant emotional problems, and why every single one of their established romances is a dumpster fire (and, conversely, why none of the healthy ships hinted at - pale Latula/Porrim, for example - are never established).

But to explain that, we have to back up and explain how Mages work. But I'm a bit tired of typing, so I'll just let Terezi and Sollux explain it instead:

TA: 2o yeah. TA: we wiill all diie but mo2t e2peciially me, end of 2tory. GC: BUT GC: DONT T4K3 TH1S TH3 WRONG W4Y BUT HOW C4N YOU B3 TOT4LLY SUR3 4BOUT 4LL TH4T? GC: HOW DO YOU KNOW SOM3 OF TH3 R34L V1S1ONS YOUR3 H4V1NG 4R3NT G3TT1NG K1ND OF T4NGL3D UP W1TH UHHH GC: SORT OF TH3 W4Y YOU 4R3 4BOUT YOURS3LF TA: what do you mean. GC: HOW YOU G3T MOP3Y 4ND YOUR3 4LW4YS TH3 V1CT1M OF SOM3TH1NG 4ND HOW SOM3T1M3S YOU TH1NK YOU SUCK WH3N YOU R34LLY DONT GC: M4YB3 TH4T 1S CLOUD1NG YOUR V1S1ON?

Mages are the active counterpart to Seers, as they're both classes concerned with glimpsing the future. Sollux is most obviously a prophet, gifted with vision twofold and Doom's natural prophetic insight, and at first this doesn't seem to suit Meulin... until you realize that matchmaking is commonly considered a form of divination, and "matchmaker" is Meulin's signature profession.

However, unlike a Seer, who's privy to all the myriad branching paths the future can take, Mages seem to know which of these futures will definitely happen for sure. This seems to be contradictory - how can multiple branching paths and set-in-stone futures coexist, when the comic - and Hussie - explicitly tend to frame even the Alpha Timeline as a result of player choices, and not predestination?

But it makes sense if you turn it around - it's not that Mages are privy to a set-in-stone future... it's that the Mage powerset allows the Mage to set a future in stone. They aren't PREDICTING the future, they're PREDETERMINING it.

This is an incredibly powerful ability, and to balance it out, Mages start out sad, and this sadness and pessimism colors their visions and causes the futures they pick out to be shitty. Terezi directly calls out Sollux's chosen future for being a reflection of his self-loathing and victimization, but wait, isn't Meulin super cheerful?

No. Actually, she's fucking miserable.

HORUSS: 8=D < She's taught me to get in touch with my anger. Through a moderately discernible series of enthusiastic mimes, she has made it clear that it is much healthier to crush all negative emotions beneath a stampede of positivity, and to always be cheerful and upbeat no matter what, even if projecting that facade is at times physically painful. #Such as #All times.

Vriska also later makes mention of how Meulin seems to have a "fascin8tingly dark history", further driving home the point that Meulin's hyperactive, friendly demeanor is a front for some really deep sadness on her part.

Heart is the aspect of the soul and the self. Its players are preoccupied with identity, and naturally talented at sussing out motivations, emotions, intentions, and desires. Nepeta's ships are usually wrong, but she clocks romantic interest correctly - she's able to pick up on Gamzee's palecrush toward Karkat, and Tavros's something-something towards Dave. Dirk, too, has an arc defined by romantic interest, feelings that ultimately don't pan out.

Moreover, Heart players are very vulnerable and sincere, and can't really help it. Divesting Dirk from Hal (whom I'm personally convinced is both his own separate entity and not even a Heart player), Dirk is incredibly straightforward. His idea of manipulating Jane is to directly tell her he's manipulating her. Nepeta's sincerity probably doesn't even need to be said.

But the flipside of this sensitivity towards the emotions of others is that Heart players are often doormats. They tend to prioritize the desires of others - Nepeta being bent to Equius's whims, and Dirk's neediness towards Jake manifesting as some embarrasing "forget how I feel, tell me what YOU want" texts. Their vulnerability also makes them easily hurt, and they tend to retreat into themselves out of fear of pain - Dirk outright states that his aloof demeanor hides the feelings his team has been trampling, while Nepeta expresses that she's afraid to engage too much with others because she's scared they'll mock her for being silly and stupid.

Thus, Meulin's situationship with Kurloz is cast into a much more uncomfortable light - and it was already pretty damn uncomfortable. Being deafened clearly hurt her emotionally, to the point she formally broke up with him, but he is still basically dating her, practically holding her hostage between her natural doormat tendencies and the actual mind control he's using on her. Her relationship with Horuss isn't much better, given the breathtakingly awful way he speaks about her:

HORUSS: 8=D < E%actly. Whoof would have thought? If you a%ed me before we all died whether I would consider romantically pairing with a r*d*culous midb100d, let alone Ms. Leijon of all people, I'd probably have died regardless, due to laughter-induced asphy%iation.

Yikes. Yikes all around. Welcome to yikes town.

Thus, Meulin is miserable, and has never been within ten miles of a healthy relationship - is it any surprise, then, that the ships she sets up for all her friends are similarly ill-fated? Let's not forget, the one ship she's actively seen making is Meenah and Karkat - an adult and an actual child.

MEULIN: (=^-ω-^=) < NOW, BEFORE I WORK MY MAGIC, WE SHOULD GET ONE THING CLEAR. IS YOUR YEARNING RED OR BLACK? MEULIN: (=ＴωＴ=) < I AM ONLY ASKING TO BE ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN, BUT METHINKS THERE IS BARELY ANY DOUBT ABOUT IT. SOMMMEONE IS WAXING SCARLET FOR A LOUD, YOUNGER KANKRI, HMMMMMMMMM?

And it's after this that Meenah develops an "increasingly manic obsession" with Karkat.

You got a CLAWSICKLE! You absolutely love this due to its nautical nature. Also, hoarding items such as this will nicely complement your increasingly manic obsession with Karkat.

This is the secret behind Meulin's abilities as a "miracle worker when it comes to match making". As a Mage of Heart, she's directly picking out futures in which certain characters develop feelings for others - and, as a result, every single existing romance within the dancestors is highly suspect.

But what's also suspect is the lack of certain romances, namely the blackroms. What's going on there? Well, as Meulin herself says:

MEULIN: ~(=^‥^)ノ < GENERALLY I STICK TO THE RED MATCHUPS WHILE HE ADVISES ON BLACK. HE'S 33RILY TALENTED AT PICKING BLACKROM PAIRS! PROBABLY EVEN BETTER THAN ME...

Like how he's exerting control over the state of their death by using Mituna as a puppet, Kurloz is exerting control over their relationships via Meulin, killing their rage - their ability to effect change and grow - at the source.

And so our Mage of Heart has had hers trampled over so many times that she's unable to conceive of a future where lovers are supportive and kind, not destructive and cruel.

Horuss Zahhak: Albatross with the Gravitational Pull of a Black Hole

Finally, we're getting to the biggest Mess of all: the Damara situation. Horuss is our starting point here, as he's the eye of the storm - while he's the least directly culpable for Damara's rampage, he's the inciting incident, as Pages often are.

Horuss's flaws are glaringly obvious - he's a virulent casteist, he's an affair partner, he feels no guilt for the harm he caused Damara, he's really only looking to satisfy his own sexual desires, and he's too bullheaded to listen when people tell him things he doesn't want to hear.

He actually spends quite a bit of time talking about his aspect, and the journey he took to "understand" it. That saves me some time.

HORUSS: 8=D < My path was similarly governed by my aspect. For the longest time, I felt as if I was a blank sheet of paper. Like I had to make myself out of nothing. HORUSS: 8=D < And so I began to listen closely to the void within myself and corral the various personal attributes I herd calling to me. [...] HORUSS: 8=D < And in following sweeps I would keep turning my mechanically augmented, acute equine ear back to the abyss within, and continue to discover more about myself. I would learn that I was more complicated than I ever imagined. [...] HORUSS: 8=D < The second is how if you are faced with any crisis of identity whatsoever, it's really important to do your best to manufacture esoteric features of your personality and believe in them very STRONGLY and tell people about those things as frequently as possible.

Again, we aren't going to get into the plurality of real life people, this isn't the essay for that. In the context of the comic, because the failure of the dancestors is a foregone conclusion, and because Horuss is especially vile and clearly not aspirational, what he is describing is, in fact, an abject failure of Void, and a failing of his character.

To get into it, let's break down what a Page of Void is, and what arc they're "supposed" to undertake.

Pages are defined by their limitless potential.

TT: Pages have a lot of untapped potential. TT: That's practically all there is to the class, actually. TT: But when they eventually find it, look out.

AA: y0u picked a t0ugh class tavr0s! AA: n0ne 0f the really useful c0mbat abilities c0me int0 play until y0u reach a very high level AA: but i supp0se it will be rewarding when y0u get there

They're magikarps - very strong at high levels, very weak at low ones. So weak, in fact, that they're defined by a lack of their aspect when they initially start the game. Tavros, the Page of Breath - Breath governing freedom and independence - is wheelchair-bound and under Vriska's thumb. Jake, the Page of Hope - Hope dealing in conviction and belief - is constantly called "wishy-washy," and has absolutely zero standards when it comes to his taste in media (contrast Eridan, who's functioning with too much Hope as per his Prince class, who's a hipster that castigates Kanaya for liking Troll Twilight).

And Void is simplicity - its two other heroes, much more representative of the aspect, embody this well. They are what they are, they like what they like. Roxy loves wizards and, as mom, loves her daughter; Equius loves horses and archery and being STRONG. Void is also associated with sexual pleasure, vice, and taboo, with Roxy's "sauciness" being something characters often comment on and her alcoholism being so foundational to her character, while you can't talk about Equius without talking about his BDSM fetish.

In fact, we can see this interplay between Void's simplicity against Light's penchant for complexity in the introduction of Rose's mother. Rose has concocted in her mind a grand, elaborate narrative where her and her mother are locked in a deady contest of one-upsmanship, that her mother's various gifts and wizards are part of some sort of ironic or passive-aggressive mind game. The truth is, Momlonde just loves wizards and dotes on her daughter. No mind games whatsoever.

So when Horuss talks about how "complicated" he's decided he is, this is a Page's penchant for regression, for aspect deficit. Horuss refuses to be honest with himself, to deal with his actual emotions of frustration, anger, and emptiness, and instead turns to complication to try to explain them. He complexifies everything he gets involved with - his affair with Rufioh is clearly a symptom of some fetish he has for dating down the hemospectrum, but he refuses to admit to it, instead claiming at first that it was simply a "fleeting dalliance" or "exploration," and then claiming it to be true love.

The one Void trait he does seem to have in excess, however, is its tendency to get so caught up in its own personal pleasures and desires that it becomes pushy to others, drowning them out, resembling Light's spotlight hogging. Equius did this to Nepeta, and Roxy would attempt it with Dirk sometimes, aggressively flirting with him despite his homosexuality. Horuss simply talks over Rufioh, not listening to a thing he says.

Also, another point to how interwoven everyone's issues are, Kankri shows up to enable Horuss and tell him to keep being complicated. Also, Kankri doesn't comment AT ALL on Horuss's constant use of slurs and casteist language. So thanks again Kankri. For nothing.

The problem with Pages is that their failures aren't contained to themselves - their weakness becomes like a black hole, an albatross about the party's neck, and they're often right at the center of major catastrophes - maybe not the direct cause, but often an inciting incident. Tavros was ultimately at the center of the Team Charge debacle, and the Jakestakes tore apart his entire team.

HORUSS: 8=D < It was only to be a very private, fleeting dalliance with a BUOY, but the whole thing became so quickly scandalized.  #A spur of the moment affair, really. HORUSS: 8=D < And soon others were whisked into it such as you and the vengeful rust b100d, and... well, imagine my embarrassment. Trust me, the last thing I wanted was for royalty such as yourself to know I was pursuing forbidden b100d. To be caught with my hoof in the chocolate jar, so to nicker.

And so our Page of Void, by dint of the complicated web he's woven about himself, has ensnared others in his orbit of total irrelevance and inability to move forward.

Rufioh Nitram: Desperately Escaping Responsibility

Let me speak for everyone when I say, "Rufioh, you cheating piece of shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Rufioh, too, has his failures on brazen display. He's weak-willed and spineless, has been trying and failing to break up with Horuss for eons, and cheated on his girlfriend, but has the nerve to ask her for romantic advice.

However, what I want to really focus down on is that the specific flavor of his spinelessness is a refusal to take responsibility. He constantly claims that he "doesn't know" why Damara got more and more upset at him:

RUFIOH: and for some reason... st1ll don't know why... damara just started go1ng a l1ttle more nuts every day... gett1ng more and more jealous when she knew we were hang1ng out...

But clearly this isn't true, because he tells her to get over it.

RUFIOH: d*mn... so cold, g1rl. why can't you let the past go?

He also constantly calls her "crazy" and "jealous," framing the story as though she's the one who went totally nuts, and washing his hands of his involvement.

Remember how I mentioned that Blood tends to be overly responsible? All the way up there, when I was talking about Kankri. Well, meet Blood's counterpart. Breath is, at its best, a force of freedom and liberation - look no further than the Summoner, Rufioh's Alternian counterpart. But at its worst, it tends to be callous and immature, youthful but irresponsible. Rufioh does everything he can to avoid having to take responsibility, whether that's wilting from breaking up with Horuss, avoiding culpability for hurting his feelings, or downplaying what he did to Damara.

This youthfulness is the source of their charm, and all three Breath players share it - John loves his dumb cheesy movies well into his teens, Tavros loves Pupa Pan and Fiduspawn, and Rufioh loves kiddie anime. It's not harmful in and of itself that they like childish things, but it often goes hand-in-hand with a refusal to grow up.

Ironically, they can become so avoidant of responsibility that they wind up trapped, like Tavros was with Vriska, or Rufioh is with Horuss. If you never acknowledge that there is a problem, you can never begin to fix it. But where does being a Rogue come in?

Well, Rogues are natural-born rebels. Nepeta is the only Alternian troll to outright say that the hemocaste is stupid and casteism shouldn't exist:

AC: :33 < and i dont know anything about classes or bases or blood color, it doesn't matter! AC: :33 < what does gr33n blood even mean! it doesnt mean anything to me and it shouldnt mean anything to anyone else!

And Roxy is the most motivated in her friend group to stick it to the Batterwitch. The problem is, while they have unrest and rebellion deep in their souls, they're often at a loss as to how to address it, make it more than just a thought. This leads to them rebelling for the sake of rebelling, breaking taboos and defying commands. Nepeta refusing to listen to Equius telling her to hide and stay put directly leads to her death, and even Roxy nearly blew Jane up with a fake SBURB application in a misguided attempt to defy the Condesce.

And Rufioh? Well, Rufioh cheated. Hard as he could. For a long, long time. Started before he entered the session. Spent the whole time gaslighting Damara and calling her crazy and jealous. After all, if he actually came out and said that he wasn't happy with her and wanted out of the relationship, she'd be upset with him, and he'd have to be responsible for that. Can't have that!

And so our Rogue of Breath has been trapped in bondage, having gone willingly in chains, because the alternative - freedom and responsibility - were too difficult for him.

Damara Megido: Babe I'm So Sorry, You Didn't Deserve That

So I'm going to address a pretty common fandom take, by first divulging some personal information. I'm Chinese diaspora; my parents were both immigrants. Obviously, I can't speak for every Chinese person, and especially not every Asian, but at least from my perspective, Damara isn't racist. She's just actual representation.

Yes, Damara plays into several stereotypes, most notably the oversexed Asian schoolgirl - but that's part of the greater point that the comic is trying to make. Hussie has a long habit of putting the reader in the shoes of the characters who are wrong in a situation - for example, having the reader mock Eridan together with Rose, Kanaya, Jade, and Gamzee, or indeed, having the reader sympathize with Meenah Peixes, and hear the story from the point of view of Meenahs' biggest enabler.

Damara's google-translate quirk makes her text difficult to understand, to the point a lot of people won't even bother figuring out what she's saying, and her design makes her seem like a flat stereotype, because this is how her team sees her. And as I have extensively covered in this essay thus far, Damara's team were unbelievable assholes for doing so.

Let's look at her situation objectively for a second, and you'll see what I mean. Damara grew up with the Lost Weeaboos - she was already there when Rufioh ran into her, after he joined up after his wings came in. Yeah, Damara was the original Lost Weeaboo, not him. She was an immigrant from East Beforus, and couldn't speak English, and was seemingly only included in the friend group so long as Rufioh was translating for her - something he doesn't do when he deems it would cause problems (for him).

RUFIOH: 1f people knew some of the sh*t you sa1d... how you say crazy sh*t l1ke you want to serve h1m... f***! RUFIOH: 1t wouldn't be cool... people would fl1p... RUFIOH: h*ll, d1dn't you hear meenah was try1ng to ra1se an army to k1ll h1m? RUFIOH: 1f she could hear some of the th1ngs you told me... sh*t... 1 can't ever let her f1nd out... RUFIOH: 1f she knew, you'd both start f1ght1ng aga1n...  #}:(

Not to mention, she's a burgundy, the bottom of the hemocaste, and implied to be pretty poor, too, given... she was living in the woods with the Lost Weeaboos.

Before the game even starts, Horuss starts visiting Rufioh in the woods, something that starts as an emotional affair, but quickly becomes more than that. Damara catches on pretty quickly, becoming more and more jealous and angry with him as the affair continues, but Rufioh gaslights her and lies to her about it until Meenah discovers the affair and blows it out into the open. Damara breaks up with Rufioh, but Meenah continues to use the affair to mock and degrade her.

ARANEA: The poor girl who took the 8runt of your 8ullying tactics was Damara Megido. You talked up her matesprit's 8etrayal making her feel even more dreadful, while pushing him further into the arms of her rival, until she simply snapped.

Can you even fucking imagine? Damara has nobody else to turn to. Not only are half the people on the team Meenah's friends, not only is Meenah the rich and powerful fuchsia-blooded heiress, while Damara's a poor, immigrant rustblood, but no one on the team besides her ex - who is running around slandering her for being "crazy" and "jealous" - can even be assed to learn her language. She can't defend herself, and even if she tried, nobody would listen. To them, Damara's just a flat stereotype - the meek and docile Asian waifu who speaks engrish and puts chopsticks in her hair.

This is like... actually just what a lot of poor immigrants, not even necessarily Asian ones, have to go through. Damara's struggles are incredibly relevant, and her reaction is very realistic, too. She snaps and decides that she hates everyone and outright wishes for their demise and double-demise. In this context, her hypersexual language is a form of reclaiming power - nobody cared about what she had to say, so now she doesn't care what they have to listen to. It's one of the only petty vengeances left to her, and notably, she doesn't do it towards people she doesn't have beef with - the human kids - and the fact that Rufioh can speak her language at all is why she's still willing to go so far as to call him a friend, even after all the horrible shit he did to her.

RUFIOH: um... you can keep a secret, r1ght? DAMARA: はい、もちろん。私はあなたの友達です。[Yes, of course. I am your friend.]

And death hasn't made anything let up for her. She tells Meenah to go double-fuck herself, and Meenah assumes that they're totally cool now, even though Meenah didn't even so much as say "sorry".

DAMARA: あなたのデュアルフォークを取る。二回自分自身をファック。 [Take your dual fork. Fuck yourself twice.] [...] DAMARA: 私は何も後悔はありません。[I do not regret anything.] MEENAH: apology accepted

Sorry for getting heated, but what happened to Damara - and the fact that the fandom often sides with her bullies in calling her a flat stereotype - is very near and dear to me. The Damara situation casts a pall across the entire rest of the dancestors. Despite how cruel the circumstances were, how objectively unjust they were, how obviously Meenah was the aggressor and Damara was a victim, how clearly delineated good and evil were in her situation, and how big of a problem this became, nobody intervened, nobody tried to stop it, nobody stood up for her. Every single member of the team is an irredeemable asshole by this simple fact alone, except maybe Mituna, and even then, that's a maybe and nothing more. All of them are complicit in abuse, complicit in oppression, and complicit in bullying - if not worse.

Witches are creatures of emotion. They grow up as "outsiders" to society, and as such, are very easy to sway - as they lack societal senses of right and wrong, good or evil, they tend to rely on their own emotions to navigate the world instead. This also means it's very easy to flatter the Witch into believing in something cruel. Feferi loves casteism because being a princess is awesome, and she loves feeling like she's better than other people. Jade constantly allows shitty boys to trample all over her, and the trolls consider her most culpable for Bec Noir's creation because she blindly follows the prophecies of her beloved future-telling clouds, taking direct action to doom them all.

Damara's still friends with Rufioh because he bothers to speak her language at all, even though he does nothing but gaslight her, badmouth her, and use her to his own convenience. She follows the teachings of Lord English because her feelings have been hurt to the point where oblivion sounds like a great idea.

Time is about persistence, goal-orientedness, details, and minutiae. However, its players can often become so tunnel-visioned, so frustrated, that they become destructive forces of anger and rage. In the worst case, this destructive frustration causes them to become overwhelmed with a sense of futility, something that superficially resembles Space's big-picture thinking, or its tendency for passivity. Time has ties to entropy and death, and unfortunately, Damara has come to embody that for her team.

But, most crucially, Witches cause change.

The dancestors' session is victim to a glitch that ultimately renders it unwinnable - they didn't perform their own ectobiology. Such glitches are described as the "calling cards" of Lord English, his way of reserving a universe to destroy. But, as discussed above, LE did not actually exist until the dancestors brought him into their session by scratching it.

It's stated that, after her initial rampage, Damara began performing acts of "timeline sa8otage" up and down their timeline. I believe that it's during this time that she wound up causing the ectobiology glitch - retroactively rendering their system unwinnable, forcing them into the Scratch. After all, Damara knew what would result from the Scratch - Kurloz had inducted her into his religion by that point, and she was heard muttering that the Scratch would deliver them all "what they deserve".

And so, our Witch of Time was tempted by the forces of evil, and ultimately led them down the path of destruction, closing down all options until they had no choice but to Scratch, and - of course - though the dancestors had one last chance to back out, choose the selfless option, and let no more harm come of their actions - they picked the selfish option, and passed their problems onto the next generation.

Meenah Peixes: Ultra-Bitch

Meenah is her team's leader, and she represents the worst aspects of her team - the casual cruelty, the lack of responsibility, the kid-kissing, the failure to grow up. In a way, there's no leader more fitting.

The greatest thing she contributed to her team was her ruthless bullying, which didn't do anything but make everyone feel worse about themselves. Of this bullying, Meenah's favorite target was Damara, but we already covered all that in Damara's section. I want to talk about some of Meenah's other failings here, because I think the comic did such a good job of unreliably narrating her escapades that even many in the fandom seem to think she's a much better person than she is.

In truth, Meenah is a toxic friend, a bad influence, and her "cool"ness serves as a smokescreen to cover the depravity and cruelty of her actions. She is consistently running away from responsibility, consistently taking advantage of weaker-willed individuals, consistently constructing a narrative around herself where her actions were justified and anyone who disagrees with her is just a lame loser. In reality, she's just a rich bitch mean girl. A bog-standard bully. Someone who thinks literal children are pursuable romantic targets. You can't lose sight of this.

MEENAH: i dont verbally torture my cray schemes like all the serket girls MEENAH: and that works ok for me MEENAH: guess i made some mistakes but who really gives a flip [...] MEENAH: i just MEENAH: did shit MEENAH: and the shit i did MEENAH: meant only the things the shit accomplished MEENAH: and if that shit accomplished a dumb thing that sucked MEENAH: then i guess thats what you call a mistake and oh fuckin well

Sure, Meenah. Your deliberate, constant, unrelenting bullying, the active choices you made over, and over, and over again, are completely excusable by just saying "they were some mistakes" and "oh well".

Meenah ran away from responsibility four times over the course of her story: the first time was running off to the moon because she didn't want to be heiress; the second was blowing up her home planet rather than dealing with succession; the third was cooping herself up in her moon palace until a bigger threat presented itself, and the fourth was encouraging Vriska to give up on struggling against Lord English and run away with her and the LE-killing treasure. Not only that, but she tries to convince Karkat to jump off the meteor with her to fight LE - something that's framed in that conversation as a literal act of suicide, as LE is still, as far as Karkat and Meenah know, invincible, immortal, and unbeatable.

Speaking of her conversation with Karkat, let's zoom out for a second and take it in objectively. I think many are tricked by Karkat's softness and vulnerability here into thinking that the conversation they have together is cute or wholesome, but that isn't the case. First of all, let's remember that Meulin has just implied that Meenah's got some romantic feelings for what is - again - an actual child (I think he's literally 14 here). So. Yeah. And then second, let's remember what Karkat's arc is.

Karkat is a mutant, and has lived his life alternately in fear that he'll be killed if anyone ever finds out, and filled with self-loathing, since he knows it means he'll never be accepted by society. Moreover, he's aware of the prophecy that he's supposed to be Troll Jesus's second coming, and he's deeply insecure about it.

MY BLOOD IS NOT FIT TO FLOW THROUGH A SEWER, AND MY SIGN IS A PICTOGRAPHIC SYMBOL THAT LOOSELY TRANSLATES AS "PLEASE HIKE THESE PANTS UP TO THIS GUY'S ARMPITS, CHAIN HIM TO A FLOGGING JUT, AND MAKE A FUCKING EXAMPLE OUT OF THIS SORRY SACK OF SHIT." WHEN I LOOK IN A MIRROR, MY REFLECTION SLOWLY SHAKES HIS HEAD WHILE I WET MYSELF IN SHAME.

The fact that he knows that his ancestor is the Signless puts his initial desire to join the Threshecutioners in a very sad light. As he tells Meenah, he harbored fantasies that he would fight so well that they'd let him join, in spite of his blood color, even knowing objectively that they'd probably just kill him on sight.

KARKAT: THEY WERE LIKE THE DEADLIEST SQUAD OF INTERSTELLAR FIGHTERS UNDER THE COMMAND OF THE EMPRESS. THEY HELPED CONQUER MORE PLANETS THAN ANY OTHER IMPERIAL FORCE. BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO MAKE THE CUT, BECAUSE OF MY BLOOD. SO I USED TO THINK OF ALL THESE ELABORATE SCENARIOS TO HIDE MY BLOOD COLOR. OR IN THE MORE RIDICULOUS FANTASIES, MAYBE I COULD EVEN PROVE MY WORTH AS A SOLDIER? LIKE JUST BE SO AWESOME WITH A SICKLE, THEY WOULD JUST HAVE TO MAKE AN EXCEPTION. MAYBE EVEN BE LIKE A FOLK HERO AND RISE THROUGH THE RANKS TO BECOME THE LEADER. HAHA.

He desires, so so so deeply, to be accepted. He hates himself - this is the first thing revealed to us in his introduction.

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS. As was previously mentioned, it is your WRIGGLING DAY, which is barely even worth mentioning. It is an anniversary, if anything, to lament the faults of your existence, of which there are assuredly plenty.

As a result, he's equated societal acceptance with self-worth - tricked himself into believing that if he can gain the approval of society, the approval of the Condesce, then he'll finally be able to feel less like a worthless, kill-on-sight miscreant.

This is the lens we must look through his conversations with Meenah through. These are not soft, tender exchanges where Meenah helps Karkat deal with his emotional issues. This is the young adult version of the Condesce trying to tempt a literal child into suicide, leveraging his desire to be accepted by her in order to stroke her own ego. When he says Alternia was great, that's a bad thing. Alternia sucked, and it sucked to him specifically, but he wants to be accepted by it so badly that he's willing to act like it was awesome. When he says he respects the Condesce, that's terrible. She's an evil monster who directly caused all his and his friend's problems, a monstrous, genocidal dictator who revels in bloodshed and misery. And when he says:

KARKAT: OH, BUT ON ONE CONDITION. AS THE NEW EMPRESS, YOU HAVE TO APPOINT ME AS GRAND THRESHECUTIONER OF YOUR ARMY. DO WE HAVE A DEAL? MEENAH: oh yes yes you got it yessss

This is sad, actually. This is just really sad. Karkat wants to be accepted so, so badly that he's willing to jump off the meteor on a suicide mission. He wants it so bad that he's willing to lie down and let the forces of fascism, oppression, cruelty, and evil win, just for a crumb of validation.

And, yeah, it's romantic to Meenah. Just to be clear with everyone.

MEENAH: i was standin around in shoutkats place when it all dream switched on me outta nowhere [...] MEENAH: and i think MEENAH: we might be goin on a date later?

Hey, remember how she's 19 and he's fourteen fucking years old?

So, yeah, later on, when she starts having little giggly fits with Vriska, rolling around in the fields with her? When she starts grooming Vriska to dress like her, get tattoos with her nautical themes? Yes, I'm going to use the word "grooming". That's what it is.

Vriska is a vulnerable child. She was raised by an abusive, demanding, narcissistic spider, and all her friends just abandoned her because of her resultant nasty personality. And remember how I pointed out that Meenah likes to run away from responsibility?

VRISKA: What if we just........ VRISKA: Gave up on the mission? MEENAH: gave up VRISKA: Yeah. VRISKA: What do you think. MEENAH: um MEENAH: sure VRISKA: Sure? VRISKA: You don't think that would 8e a wussy move? MEENAH: well yeah MEENAH: it would be MEENAH: if a couple of cowards did it MEENAH: but that aint us MEENAH: so we cool to do whatev VRISKA: That's a very good point. MEENAH: nofin wrong with stickin a fork in a shit idea that just makes you miserable MEENAH: hell the best choice i ever made involved givin up MEENAH: one day i said MEENAH: fuck da throne MEENAH: ran off to the moon MEENAH: thats how this whole crazy mess kicked off MEENAH: and if i didnt do that MEENAH: i wouldnt of met you 38) VRISKA: VRISKA: ::::)

I hope this conversation hits a little different.

[EDIT (March 02): I also wanted to add that, in order to make the above conversation even more obviously a case of an adult taking advantage of a vulnerable minor? Directly preceeding the snippet I included in the essay, Vriska outright admits that she no longer trusts her own judgement. So Meenah heard that, and decided to make a move.

Yikes. Yikes all around. Welcome to yikes town.]

Thieves are, as the name suggests, selfish and greedy - they harbor some deep emotional hole that they attempt to fill with "wealth". For Vriska, it was narrative importance, and for Meenah, it was forward motion, as that's what Life's all about. However, they do so at the expense of others, not realizing that harming their own group relations harms their own ability to self-actualize and attain true happiness. The one time something nice happened on Meenah's team, it was when Meenah wasn't taking, taking, taking, but when she baked a cake for everyone.

But Meenah wasn't content with that.

And so, our Thief of Life defeated her own agenda in an effort to move forward, her mistakes culminating in the doom of herself and all her friends, as her misguided grasping toward forward motion ultimately led to the ugly side of a tumor-bomb.

Final Thoughts

I know I've been really negative towards the dancestors for this entire essay. And I do think they deserve it. However, please don't confuse that with me saying I think they were "bad characters," or that I dislike their inclusion in the comic.

On the contrary, I think they're all very, very good characters. Their utilization in the narrative is excellent, and they perform their narrative function incredibly well. I think Hussie's a fantastic writer, and I find the dancestors fascinating - if you couldn't tell from the massive essay.

But they are shitty people - and that's the point. The role they serve to the kids is as evil mentors, bad influences, dark reflections. Maybe they were redeemable before they ruined everything, but they passed the point of no return. At every juncture, they chose the selfish option, the cruel option, the easy option, and in some ways subtle, some ways overt, they encourage their kids to do the same.

But - crucially - the ones to come after them can choose differently. And I believe in the version of Homestuck where they do.

Thanks for reading.

[thegreatimpersonator]

Heeey, if u dont wanna answer this that's fine! But just wondering what's Travis done? (Im not a fan or anything lol, legit curious). Now that i think about it, i think he's irl friends (like, outside of work) with that mahommes guy whose brother... well, trigerring topic but ye his brother's a piece of shit and that guy's wife im pretty sure defended the brother + is a trumpie💀. But i dont follow them/usamerican football so ive just heard about these things casually. I think there were also some weird tweets from years back? Guess i answered my own question lol. Wild the kcc also have that "women should stay home" at a uni graduation speech guy...

welcome to the materpost.

im making this so i can always have something to refer back to when people ask, and this isnt gonna include personal opinions as facts (like how i just find him very attention-seeking and annoying, that's just personal opinion) but it will cover all the main terrible things he's done as well as the bad stuff people he (and now taylor) voluntarily choose to associate with.

don't know where to begin so i'll just start from where i remember

people found his old tweets where he was ableist (making fun of autism and saying the r slur), fatphobic towards women, misogynistic and homophobic.

him along with the chiefs decided to visit trump at the white house in 2020, after many teams declined bc they didnt want to publicly associate with a fascist, but travis was down!

he then also got caught liking an instagram post about trump

he has said recently he would be going to visit trump again in the white house if they win the superbowl.

when asked about how he felt about Trump going to the Super Bowl and playing in front of him, he said it was “pretty cool” and “an honor”.

he also made a r*pe joke, (first part in the clip) he was asked what word turned him on and he said when women say 'no' and then laughed and he was "kidding".

in the second part of that same clip in the previous bullet point, he's also xenophobic! on a podcast he said "if you dont speak english, then what are you doing here (in america)" and then proceeded to laugh when the host says he tells them the wrong directions on purpose.

he also 'jokingly' (no one laughed) called women "breeders" when discussing what women he was interested in.

he, alongside the chiefs, stood in solidarity with Israel by doing a ‘moment of silence’ before a game. i know people are gonna try and find excuses for him by saying ‘he was just doing what his team did, what was he supposed to do, etc’ nonsense, but that implies he was forced and had no choice; which he did. he also could have spoken up about the genocide/palestine afterwards but he stood in solidarity with Israel and has silent ever since.

he has a history of violent temper tantrums, and no him being a football player isnt an excuse. men using violence to get through their emotions isnt something to be normalized. he has had multiple instances of extreme aggression, including a screaming match with his couch at last years Superbowl, screamed at a ref and threw his helmet, also punching his own teammate during practice, and punching opposing players during games.

he's best friends with machine gun kelly, they grew up together and have remained close to this day. MGK has been openly racist, misogynistic, has said he sees nothing wrong with sleeping with minors, etc.

he defended his teammate, harrison butker (who was the guy who gave the viral problematic commencement speech, saying "women should be most excited about their marriage and the children they will bring into this world" and "things like abortion, IVF, surrogacy, euthanasia, as well as a growing support for degenerate cultural values and media all stem from pervasiveness of disorder,” and called Pride Month “the deadly sin sort of pride,” and specifically criticized the LGBTQ community, which he claimed promotes “dangerous gender ideologies.").... anyway travis defended THAT guy, saying he cherishes him as a teammate and said "he is every bit of a great person and a great teammate." and said harrison treats everyone with "nothing but respect and kindness, we’re not always going to agree … but I understand the person that he is and he’s trying to do whatever he can to lead people in the right direction." Travis then said 'everyone has different opinions and that's what's great about this country'. he flat out said hating gay people and women are what make this country great.  

travis is also besties with known racist, morgan wallen (who got caught saying the n word, promised to donate money to charities fighting for racial justice and then just didnt), and joined him on stage last august. oh and travis was also wearing a harrison butker jersey during the concert... supporting him once again, just 3 months after his bigoted speech.

travis is also besties with the mahomes, now lets talk about him and taylors new besties they voluntarily love spending time with.

the main issue isnt really patrick mahomes (another player on the chiefs), it's brittany (his wife) and jackson (his brother)

jackson sexually assaulted a woman at a restaurant by grabbing her and forcibly kissing her. she reported the assault and he reportedly tried to bribe her into shutting up, but then she faced such harassment from his fans that the restaurant shut down and the case was dismissed despite video evidence of it happening.

brittany defended jackson and became a vocal assault apologist by saying "he is a human just trying to live his life and find his way and until you walk a day in his shoes (which no one ever will) you have no right to say shit about him".

last summer, brittany got called out for liking a post by trump where he outlined his plans for being president in 2025, including starting the largest deportation operation in history, zionist propaganda, and transphobic rhetoric about not wanting trans women in women's sports. she then defended it and doubled down vocalizing her supprt for trump.

brittany being transphobic about not wanting trans women in women's sports is deeply concerning due to the fact she is the co-owner of Kansas City Current, a team in the American professional top-division National Women's Soccer League.

[nineteenninety-six]

Abbot x daughter when he opens up about his prosthetic leg , quiet after a movie night? Please let me know if this is bothering you, I’m just scrambling my brain with what I would want with your talent

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death and serious injuries (Jack's leg). inaccurate army/military stuff etc.

Abbot x daughter when he opens up about his prosthetic leg , quiet after a movie night? Please let me know if this is bothering you, I’m just scrambling my brain with what I would want with your talent

When your mother died when you were twelve, your father had already been discharged from the army due to the incident that left him an amputee and things were awkward with him to say the least. You weren't very close to him having spent little amounts of time with him over the course of your life and so when he returned to live at home full time and your mother passed it took a long time and many hit and misses as you both tried to adjust to your new normal but it birthed a ritual that you looked forward to every single time.

Your pajama bottoms dragged on the floor as you shuffled into the living room where your dad sat waiting for you. You juggled the popcorn, potato chips, a can of soda and your dads beer bottle in your hands as you desperately tried not to drop or spill anything. Your father gratefully takes his beer and the popcorn from your hands as you reach him and you place the chips and your drink down on the coffee table before you relax back into the couch, pulling your blanket on top of you as you get comfortable.

"So, what's the film tonight?" You ask.

The two of you alternate on who chose the film and tonight it was his turn.

"1917." Your dad responds as he finds it on the streaming service."War movie."

"First world war?" You assume due to the title, "You want to watch a war film?"

"Yup." Your dad says as he flicks the movie on, "Now get the lights."

You huff, annoyed as you had just gotten comfortable but you do as he says knowing he wouldn't budge to turn off the lights himself. As you shuffle over to flick the lights off you can't help but ponder over your fathers choice of film. He wasn't a big war movie fan, mostly due to his own experience of serving so you were surprised when he suggested that film but perhaps since it was a first world war film, it was different.

You sniffled as the credits rolled, your tears finally stopping after they started when Lance Corporal Blake died before he was able to see his brother . You hadn't expected to be moved so much from this film and you looked over to your dad to discuss it but you found him spaced out, not paying attention to the film or anything else. Unseeing and empty.

You frown and shift so that you face him, "Dad?"

Your dad blinks, still staring emptily at the tv in front of you.

You grab his arm and give him a soft shake, "Dad? You okay?"

Your dad rapidly blinks and inhales sharply as he snaps his head over to you, "Yeah kid, I'm okay."

Your frown lingers still not convinced but you nod, "Okay…it's still early do you want to watch another movie?"

Your dad nods slowly, still lost in his head, "Sure."

You give him a pat on the arm as you stand up, "I'll choose this time, let me just get us some more drinks."

When you returned, your dad had finally come out of the stupor he was in but you knew that something was still weighing heavily on him.

"What's wrong?" You ask him, "Seriously. Was it the film?"

Your dad nods, "Just brought up some memories I guess."

You pause before you speak again, your voice gentle, "Of when you were serving?"

"Of my injury" Your dad's hands clenched around his beer bottle as he fought through the memories that were flashing through his mind.

"You don't really speak about it…at all."

Your dad shrugs, "It happened and then your mom died. Too much going on at the same time."

"Did you speak to anyone about it?" You ask mildly concerned at the prospect of him experiencing two massive life traumas simultaneously. 

"My therapist."

You were thankful that he had an actual licensed professional to help him.

"...Can you tell me about it?"

Your dad hesitated to answer, "I'm not sure kid."

You remain silent and don't push him for answers but eventually his shoulder relaxes and he begins to tell you the story.

"It was just a stand patrol of the area, a humvee ran over an IED, I was the closest medic and I ran to help…didn't realise there was a second one buried underneath the sand." Your dad's words are quiet  as he re-lived those memories, "I was helping a guy who was in the humvee, pulling him to safety when we stepped on the second one."

You stared at him with wide eyes, you always knew it was always going to be a traumatic story but you didn't realise how bad it was. 

"I don't remember much." Your dad continues, "I was thrown on my back, blood sprayed everywhere, then came the pain, so much pain that I passed out. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a field hospital and they're telling me they're sending me home."

"Oh dad" Your words are full of sympathy as you cuddle into his side, "I'm sorry."

"That was meant to be my last deployment anyway, I promised your mom I'd return home in one piece like I alway did." Your dad barks out a laugh, "You were still a kid, I had been away so long and you barely knew me and she hated that so it was my last tour. Despite everything, I like being at home with you and your mom, it was the start of our new life."

Your lips pulled into a frown, "Didn't last long."

"Not even two months." Your dad scoffed, "I was still in hospital, healing from god-knows how many surgeries and then suddenly I'm a widower and a single parent."

"Were you scared?"

"So scared" Your dad admits, "I had no clue on what to do with you or how to be a parent…almost sent you to live with your grandparents."

"I'm glad you didn't. You're a great dad."

Your dad raises a brow at you, doubting your words, "Yeah?"

"Yes." You insist, "The best. Not everyone would have survived what you went through— not just survived but you thrived. You learnt how to walk again, you raised me and you work at PTMC. You're amazing!"

Your dad smiles shyly as he fiddles with the label on his beer bottle, "Thanks kid."

You flash him a smile as you pull away and reach for the remote, "I was thinking either Pride and Prejudice or Notting Hill, what do you think?"

You dad snatches the remote out of your hand, "I was thinking neither. I don't want to watch romance."

You scoff and take back the remote, "Well I'm not watching any damn war movies again, plus it's my turn to choose now!"

"Watch your language," Your dad halfheartedly chastises you, "You can pick, just not a romance."

You roll your eyes but you click on a comedy film anyway, "Party pooper."

"Okay, film choice privileges have been removed for the next month." Your dad continues to speak over your protests, "Keep complaining and it'll be two months."

You snap your mouth shut, biting your lip when he throws you a smug grin but you know if you open your mouth again he'll increase it so you focus on the film and try your hardest to ignore his teasing and baiting looks and jabs but you can't help but mutter underneath your breath.

"Asshole."

…

"Six months!"

[yolothh]

Viktor really meant the "in all timelines, in all possibilities" line BECAUSE IT'S OUR TIMELINE TOO! THEY EXISTED!

Please take a moment and let me introduce you to: Giacomo Leopardi and Antonio Ranieri's partnership.

Leopardi was an italian poet, author, philosopher and philologist. He is an important figure in Romantic literature (albeit, he did criticize the Romantic worldviews).

All throughout his life he suffered from a debilitating chronic illness (juvanile ankylosing spondylitis) that had him suffer horrendously from a young age, until it eventually took his life in 1837, when he was 39 years old.

He dedicated most of his life to studies, translating old tomes, writing poems and treaties diverting on humanity's degeneration from our glorious past to our suffering present. He exhorted modern folks to take action against the unjust present, aiming to a revolution of our pitiful condition.

In 1827 Leopardi meets Antonio Ranieri a young man that is described (verbatim) as a "very young and handsome in person and spirit".

Ranieri had been exiled from his city during his youth, because of his excessively liberal views in regards to politics.

The two become very close friends, but it's in 1830 that their "partnership" (literally, not making this up, Ranieri himself wrote a book about it if you care to check it out "Seven years of partnership with Giacomo Leopardi") starts. They move together from Firenze to Naples and Ranieri attends to Leopardi's every wish (noted that this man was a fanatic for sweets) paying with money from his own pocket.

Now, friendship at the time was different than what it is now, and they might’ve been very close friends, yes. But I'll give you some words from their letters and what Ranieri wrote down in his book and leave it to your judgment.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ranieri, Naples, 1833:

"I- left my own bed- used to sleep in a room that was not mine (scandalous at the time) to sleep by his side"

Leopardi, Florence, 1832-33, from when they got separated because Ranieri needed to tend to some family issues:

"My Ranieri, you will never abandon my side, nor will your love for me grow colder. I don't wish for you to sacrifice yourself for me. In fact, before anything else, I strongly wish for you to take care of yourself first: whatever you choose to do, you will do it so because we live for one another, or I know that I do for you; my last and only hope. Farewell, my soul. I keep you close to my heart, which in both possible and impossible occurrences, will forever be yours"

Leopardi, Florence, 1832-33, on someone making a joke out of Ranieri for staying by Leopardi's side:

" [...] Oh, my Ranieri! When will I get you back? I won't stop trambling until I'll recover this immeasurable love, until I know it's true. Farewell, my soul, with all my spirit's strength. Don't get bored of loving me"

And more:

"Ranieri of mine, I need not say that in every way you wish, I will be there with you (...). My resolution has been so for a great time now: that I will never be parted from you. Farewell"

In 1833, Ranieri sends a letter where he says he intends to set off to get Leopardi and go live together in Naples, to which Leopardi answers:

"My Ranieri, will this [letter] reach you in Naples still? I must warn you, I cannot live without you no longer, I'm overtaken by a morbid impatience to see you again, and that I am sure that if you will be late, I will die from the malencholy of not having you still. Farewell, Farewell"

Ranieri, on the landlady that took them in in Naples:

"She revealed this: that I had introduced a consumptive in the house: that, loving him so much as to stay up at night by his side, there could be no reason I could not do that as well in mine own house"

--

So now, take it as you will- because maybe I am way too much of a nerd about this stuff- but I can't read ANYTHING Leopardi and Ranieri related without seeing Viktor and Jayce. I will gladely add more in the future.

--

Addition! If you want to watch/read on them (but mostly Leopardi, which is a catch) I STRONGLY advice you:

Leopardi. Il poeta dell'infinito - I don't personally love it but if you want more on them, thats the place

Il giovane favoloso - AMAZING movie

Canti - by Leopardi, it is a collection of poems he wrote and I think it is absolutely useful to understand his marvelous mind and character

Sette anni di Sodalizio con Giacomo Leopardi - the one I mentioned before, written by Ranieri on his time with Leopardi

[artdisease]

nerdjo (nerd gojo) hcs

reposting stuff from twt + google docs, i'm still here w/ this nerdy lovable fella

nerdjo studies in either physics, something science related along w/ combining math as his major (or maybe both physics and math, pretty much as a quantitative analyst in a way)

he'd be the one w/ both the brains and the looks (he may not know this), he'd be smug over what he knows and the more knowledge he has despite being a huge flustered mess over his crush (aka you, y/n.)

his room would be filled w/ his digimon collection, figurines, posters plastered up on the walls that contain his interests, whatever he's studying in, motivation type stuff, pretty much anything to make it cool and cozy for him.

nerdjo helps you out w/ studying that he becomes your tutor on the subject you desperately need help in (+ failing at the same time)

nerdjo would also be the type to give you a mini test on your knowledge, juuuuust to make sure you were paying attention to what he was saying (mind you, he knows a lot more about) so it'd be his own version of trivia night but it's the subject at hand, if you get it correct, he rewards you w/ something of his choosing. if you get it wrong, he'd get all cocky while poking fun at you in the most playful way imaginable.

he'd get flustered when he gets the chance to see you (almost all the time for the study sessions) that his glasses practically almost fall off however does manage to put them back on in the right place

!! especially when you try pretty much anything and i mean ANYTHING to get him to react like this such as giving him sweet kisses, wrapping your arms around him while he's trying to explain how to solve the problem at hand, cupping his face gently, etc., he tries to contain himself during these sessions to the point of becoming nervous/embarrassed from it that you find it adorable that you'd want to do that more often.

also on the topic of him trying to remain calm in front of you, he'd do the same thing over the possibility of doing something way more intimate w/ you than just holding hands, hugging, kissing, that sort of stuff. he'd also jolt from the touch of your fingers on his neck to the point of his whole body shivering.

he'd focus so much on what's he’s reading about, studying or rather what's in front of him while he's sitting (especially w/ having his legs crossed over or stretching out), having the pencil tucked between his ear or placing it in his mouth, even readjusting his glasses from time to time as well, however forgets and almost lets them fall off before picking them up.

nerdjo also gets eyebags due to the amount of studying, assignments, homework and projects and lack of sleep he has to the point that he ends up falling asleep at his desk w/ the book replacing a pillow instead.

he definitely has a sleeper build, he reveals it to you after walking through the rain w/ him to where you'd end up in his room filled w/ merchandise of his interests, it'd feel like you witnessed a sculpture come to life.

MORE NERDJO STUFF HOORAY!!

nerdjo as your boyfriend would be super sweet + caring towards you, still helping you w/ assignments and study for exams. he'd take you on dates to the aquarium, the arcade, any sweets shop for that matter, just to make the two of you happy and to have some relief from all the schoolwork.

(i'll include this last one unless if i edit it out but i'd like to introduce you to dark academia!gojo from june of 2024)

dark!academia gojo would have an entire library that have shelves filled w/ so much classic literature along w/ poetry and writing, for instance, if you asked him if he had this or that, he'd immediately have it while casually holding it in his hands while you're describing it to him like he knows, he sees and reads all...

[pirateprincessblog]

2 batteries away

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: if he can choose to spend time with someone else rather than you, daryl would do it. not because he hates you. he simply doesn't have any type of connection with you. and you are so young. but when rick demands that you join him on a scavenge hunt, he doesn't have much of a saying into it, and chooses to act unbothered. he also chooses to ignore the way you tease him the whole trip, your hips swaying just a bit more when walking than usual. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: daryl dixon x female reader 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: alexandria, pre-negan 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: big age gap, reader is half daryl's age 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, masturbation, breath-play, subtle ddlg, toys, subtle dacryphilia

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i am on season ten of twd (my first time watching) and it feels like this man's clothes keep getting tighter and tighter each episode and i am so here for it. also the way his arms magically always glisten in the sun as he subtly flexes when the camera is on him? give me a break I BEG

Also I miss Rick very much 🥺

*

"i have a special request. if i'm allowed to do that." a playful voice calls behind you.

you turn around, squinting. the sun is high up in the sky, and right in your eyes. you make out carol's short hair, and nod at her as a sign to keep speaking.

"i'm gonna need something i can make cookies or cakes with. hazelnut, chocolate, almonds,... you know. cake stuff." the woman smiles.

"i'm going out for ibuprofen and possibly viagra, not chocolate."

"viagra? for who?"

you chuckle under the cap rosita has given you, and try to subtly glance over at the man loading the car with weapons. he grunts, glaring at you and instantly shutting down the bullying party you wanted to start.

"i don't need no damn viagra." he slams the trunk door shut, and walks past you, intentionally pushing his shoulder into yours.

you fall a step back, holding in a laugh. carol has her hands on her hips, but her laugh isn't hidden. she knows daryl can't say anything to her.

"oh, come on. i know that you like to stay quiet and mysterious, but a little joking in hard times never hurt anybody." the woman defends you, scrunching her eyebrows at daryl.

"it's hurting me." he yells from the car, slamming the door shut.

"how am i supposed to survive this trip with him, ricky?" you complain, shoulders hanging with rising irritation with the situation.

"you survived a walker flooded prison with nothing but an axe before you found us on the other side, and you're telling me you can't survive a grumpy old man for a few hours?"

"thing is, i killed walkers. i cannot kill him. boo-hoo, the precious tracker. i also, when i see a footprint on the floor facing a certain way, know that someone is headed there. wild, right?"

rick pats your head, messing up the cap in the process just to tease you.

"bring me some shirts on the way back, i'm getting sick of these flannels. and get yourself something nice."

one would think that he gave you his credit card to buy him those shirts at the nearby mall. telling you to get yourself something nice, that idiot. the less fun truth is that you are headed towards a landfill two hours away from alexandria, in hopes of finding anything. glenn and morgan haven't had any luck for a few days now, so rick decided to change the route and the team. daryl and you, apparently, make a great one. that pain in the ass of a man.

"i'm leavin'. you stay and talk 'bout me all you wan'. i'm the one actually doin' something for this place."

"stuck up much? see," you open the car door, sitting inside annoyed, "with the viagra, you'd be a much more pleasant person to be around."

"enough with the damn viagra. fuck's the matter with you?"

"god, just start driving and drop me off somewhere in the middle of the road and i'll find my own shit from a different place. rick doesn't need to know."

"no," he simply responds, not sparing you a glance.

rick waves at you with a smile on his face, knowing damn well what he did putting the two of you together for such a long quest. he's so going to hear from you tonight. if you make it out alive while trying to kill daryl.

"so, what are you hoping to find? booze, peanut butter, new clothes? i'm starting to think you stapled those clothes to your body."

he says nothing, eyes focused on the road. you sigh. maybe you're the problem. you're poking him too much, knowing he has zero patience and doesn't very much like your company. you decide to keep quiet for the rest of the drive, only occasionally glancing over at him out of boredom.

you can't lie, he is an attractive man. you don't know why you're mean to him. he is gorgeous to you, your taste in older rugged men not failing you. you're surprised rick isn't the one you fell for. but next to daryl, he looks too... neat. daryl is just perfect. most of the time his deep raspy voice has you subconsciously rubbing and squeezing your thighs, led by a tingling sensation in your lower stomach. his clothes have recently gotten very tight on him, the buttons of his black shirt threatening to pop and give you a view of your lifetime. he has been working out a lot, you've seen him. fuck, not only have you seen him, you also stayed there, secretly snapping pictures with your polaroid your father had left you before disaster struck. you only had a few films left, yet no self control. something about seeing daryl all sweaty as he did push ups, grunting and almost moaning, thinking that nobody can see him, did things to you.

"wha'?" he asks, sensing your intense gaze.

you turn your head away, flushed. "nothin'."

"mmh."

he keeps it short and stern, and if your panties weren't drenched as your brain replayed the memory of his glistening arm muscles, you'd probably make a sassy remark. he raises an eyebrow, probably also wondering why you aren't being mean for so long now.

"shoes." he says after some time.

"what?" you ask, absent-mindedly staring into the tall trees and the walkers hidden among them.

"i'm hoping to find some shoes. it's gettin' hard to walk in these. i also hope i find sum more arrows."

you nod, surprised that he has actually graced you with an answer. you thought he'd say something like cigarettes or alcohol. you hated people who smoke. but daryl is an exception. he looks damn hot doing it.

"you?" he asks.

"well, new underwear would be nice. i ripped all my good panties, and let me tell you, these thongs are not apocalypse friendly."

"shit, girl, oversharing much?"

"what, you disgusted by female underwear?" you poke back, playfully.

"not female underwear. your underwear."

you're offended. you squint at him, and have to fight the urge to smack the back of his head.

"for your information, you don't look or smell all flowery and fresh yourself. i could use your hair to grease up carol's tray for her cakes. and your fingernails? they have their own ecosystem at this point."

and back to the bickering it is. he grunts again, furrowing his eyebrows. he secretly glances at his fingernails. indeed, they had a layer of dirt under them, but daryl thinks that he has bigger issues than some dirt that will get washed off anyway.

"oh, i also wish to find-"

"yeah, lost interest." the man interrupts. "also, for future conversations, you do not mention your... thongs... to people that are ol' enough to be your father."

ew.

ew.

ew.

he did not.

"what, is that how you see me? you could be my father?"

how utterly disappointing. there you were, sitting next to him, imagining him going feral between your legs, all while he is viewing you as his child. there goes your masturbating material for tonight.

"well the age fits the description."

"fuck you. seriously." you sigh, turning your body towards the window so you can fully ignore him.

arriving at the gates, you immediately notice a few things that you will be taking home. how foolish of you to not take a truck instead of the crusty old car.

"watch it." just as he says it, an arrow passes by your head, followed with a loud thud.

you don't have to look back to know that a walker had managed to sneak behind you, while you were foolish enough to stay swooning over his arms glistening in the sun with sweat.

"damn it, girl, i don' know what it is with you, but you gotta snap outta it. i can't keep saving ya ass."

"yes, dad." you reply, annoyed.

"hey." he calls, hand reaching to cup your jaw and turn your head towards him. "shut it before i make ya."

if it weren't for the feeling of his rough hand on your face and his raspy voice sending you a warning turning you on, you would've slapped him and told him not to touch you. but oh, you were going crazy inside. you found a new way to push his buttons, and you're going to have so much fun with it.

you walk behind him into the landfill, the smell of junk pinching your nose. daryl is also bothered by it, seeing his scrunched expression as he scanned the first piles of garbage.

"there." he points his crossbow a certain way.

you follow the invisible line, your eyes landing on what seemed to be several taped boxes. they could have three things inside: food, weapons, or traps. weird how nobody has discovered this place yet. or maybe they have, and they took all valuables already.

daryl doesn't wait for you. he makes his way towards the boxes, keeping his crossbow ready if something goes wrong. you, on the other hand, have tucked your knife safely and are walking around like there isn't walkers scratching at the fence, waiting to sink their teeth into your skull.

"dammit."

you hear rattling. you turn around, only to find the man kicking the boxes angrily. the can he has just thrown on the floor rolls up to your feet, and you crouch down to examine it. it is food, but expired. eating it would be like playing russian roulette.

"i mean, we can still... ya'know, take it with us. what happens happens."

"dixon, if i'm gonna die, i'm gonna die from a bullet or a bite. not from a rotten macaroni."

he raises an eyebrow at you, amused with your laid back attitude. he doesn't give you much attention, just silently walks next to you while scanning his side of the landfill.

"ah, sweet!" you cheer, running towards a pile.

"wha'?"

you almost trip over the broken wooden chairs, trying to get to a certain little box in the pile.

"the hell are ya doin'? we're losin' time!"

your eyes instinctively roll at his voice. you know he has nothing smart to say. finally reaching the box, you jump back on the floor, eagerly opening it. seeing that the item still has the foil sealed on it, you victoriously raise it in the air, cheering.

"you have made it a goal for yourself to die today, didn't ya?"

"nah, not anymore. i found something that will keep me occupied and will fuel my will to live a little longer."

you continue your way forward, leaving daryl to stare at the box you have discarded, trying to figure out what it is. but he has decided he has no time for your immaturity. he needs to ask rick to not ever put him with you on a hunt again. he's lost a lot of time already, and hasn't found a single thing to bring back.

"clothes." you point, the pile of fabric sitting on top of a garbage hill.

"you gonna go get 'em?"

"why would i go? you go."

"you wanted your... thongs... so, you go get that."

you scoff, setting the newly acquired item on the ground and slowly climbing up the hill.

"what is this, anyway?" his curiosity wins.

you sit on top of the pile, examining the clothes and discarding the ones with holes in them.your eyes dart to the man below you, and you chuckle when you see him crouch and take the item in his hand.

"it's a wand."

"wand?"

"yes."

"for?" he keeps pressing, his eyes never leaving the pink gadget.

"masturbating."

thud.

you look down, mortified. he better not break it.

"careful with that, what's the matter with you?!"

"you're fuckin' crazy, girl."

you silently mock him, sticking your tongue out at him and repeating his words with exaggerated face expressions. he really gets on your nerves. you gather the clothes you have found into a bed sheet, tying it up and putting it over your shoulder, then pick up the gadget from the floor. it seems alive, it didn't break. you only hope it works. you're young, inexperienced, surrounded by people that are either too young or too old for you. though, the old part never was a problem for you, it was for them.

feeling bored, you decide to keep poking him. he is just so grumpy, and silent. and inviting to irritate.

"so, dixon, you've never heard about one of these?" you wave the gadget in front of his face.

he spares you a glare, and continues walking.

"come on, we're talking. nobody's around. tell me, since all of this started, how many times have you even approached a girl? do you even mastu-"

"'m not in the mood to be picked on right now."

"i'm not picking on you. i promise. just trying to converse."

"you want to be useful? hold this. it's in my way." he throws his vest at you, now only wearing a tight black t-shirt.

you scowl at him, shoving his vest into your backpack.

"you're so fun to be around. i get why rick put us together."

he grunts, leaving you behind. rolling your eyes, you go down a different path, hoping to find something useful to all of alexandria and not just you. turning a few lefts, you find yourself standing in front of a little shed like structure. you bang on the door with your foot, and when hearing no growls, you bravely enter. it is dusty and dark, with a singular armchair and a few cupboards.

you open each one of them, happily shoving all the food you managed to find into your backpack, opening a protein bar along the way and chewing on the oats and dried fruits. you missed having those with yogurt for breakfast.

not only will carol be happy with the amount of nuts and flour you have found, rick will be proud of you. you might even ask for a reward when he sees the amount of canned tuna and jam you have found. you forgot what pancakes taste like.

after clearing the room, you peek out the window. daryl is in the distance, going through piles and kicking stuff out of his way, as if playing. you've collected way more than him, and the sun is at it's highest point. the shaded room seems like a perfect place to take a nap, or just rest your feet and ears from him.

you plop on the armchair like a star washed up on the shore. it feels so lonely lately. rick has michonne, carl has enid, rosita has her boytoys, even gabriel might be having more fun than you. as wrong as it was, you stay up listening to the noises coming across the street. they're loud, there's no way you could ignore them even if you wanted to. even rick had to step in and ask them to be quieter. but what is a problem to someone else is a solution for you. is it wrong to touch yourself while listening to someone else fucking? yes. but is it the only way that works for you? also yes.

you eye up the toy that peeks from the backpack, then glance out the window. daryl is busy with his crossbow, having found something that he could use on it.

fuck it.

you unbuckle your pants, not bothering to take off the panties. your fingers are quick to pop the batteries that come with the package in the gadget, and when the lid clicks, you admire it for a second. there it is, in all its glory. waiting to be abused every day by you, until you find a replacement. hopefully a softer and live one.

taking off the thin protective foil from the head, you position yourself on the armchair. you glance at the window again, carefully monitoring daryl. now, if you thought that eavesdropping and touching yourself was bad, what was this? watching daryl's fingers work on his crossbow, arms glistening in the sun, all while the pink toy softly vibrates on your pulsating clit.

you sigh at the newfound pleasure, rubbing the toy up and down your slit, while your eyes stay focused on the man unaware of your situation. he probably even forgot about you. or is thankful that you have left him alone. even better for you. you get to be a pervert without him ever knowing.

you arch your back, throwing your head on the backrest as you focus on chasing the release. it's been awhile, it won't take you long. your eyes open again, just enough to see if the man is still in his spot. your fingers change the vibration strength on the gadget, and instantly, you gasp. it is so intense, and so much, but you don't want it to stop. this thing is your new best friend, you better get used to it.

something else peeks out of the backpack, the leather catching your attention and giving you an idea. like an animal in heat, you grab the vest, burying your nose into it and spreading your legs further. daryl's scent takes over your senses, making you lose control and become a moaning mess. you are getting wetter by the second, the toy now slipping up and down your slit with ease and giving you maximum pleasure.

"fuck- daryl-" you can't help but gasp, enveloped in his manly scent and fabric.

your hips hopelessly rub against the toy, chasing and chasing after something that isn't quite getting closer, even though it feels like it.

"the hell?"

your eyes widen at the interruption. you drop the vest in your lap, hiding the crime scene from him. the man stands at the door, expression unreadable. yours is one of horrified mixed with desire, the way he stares down at you angrily sending arrows to your core.

"daryl- i- did you, uh, find anything?" you try to play it off, foolishly.

"yeah. i found an animal in heat it seems. couldn't wait for alexandria to do that shit?"

"I-"

"is that my vest?"

he slams the door shut, leaving you two in darkness. you gulp, moving the gadget from your core and letting your panties fall back in place.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry-" you stutter, failing to put a sentence together while he intensely glares at you.

"ya ain't sorry." he grunts. "ya know why i despise being around your ass? you're inappropriate."

"no, look," you try, but he points a finger at your face, making you close your mouth.

your eyes burn, tears announcing their arrival.

"it's not like that-"

"shut up, dammit! i'm talkin' now! do you have any idea in how many uncomfortable situations you've  put me? all those snarky dirty comments, all that flirting, now this? do you understand what that does to me?!"

he's yelling, frustrated and angry with you. but why are you getting wetter? why can't you think rationally? he is scolding you for being inappropriate, and you continue to be even more inappropriate by sexualising simple yelling. not your fault he looks damn hot while he does it, though.

"you're- you're half my age. i can't allow myself to play your games, no matter how tempting."

what?

"what will alexandria think? they already have no good opinion on me. engaging with someone half my age the way you want me to engage is- it is a horrible idea. i'll be out faster than i was in."

silence swallows the room. you still lay on the armchair, half naked with his vest covering you. he paces around the room, fingers running through his hair as he tries to gather his thoughts. you think whether it's time to finally say something, but you wait another moment. you need to gather your thoughts too.

tempting, he said. so he thought about it too. he saw past your jokes, and has been controlling himself so well. if only you knew what it would take to shatter that control, even for just a moment.

"since when do you care what other people think?" you start.

"since rick chose to trust me."

you hum, understanding.

"listen-"

"so you've been thinking about it." you're the one to interrupt now.

his head snaps up, looking at you with his eyebrow raised, as if asking you where you're going with that statement.

"there's nothing wrong with it. it's not like we're getting married or something."

"i'm older than you. way older than you."

"so?"

"i could be your father."

"if you say that word to me one more time i swear i will turn this landfill upside down to find another sex toy to shove up your asshole."

"why do you get so triggered by it?"

you roll your eyes, looking anywhere but at him. you press your thighs together, missing the warmth and buzzing from earlier. fun killer.

"because."

"why?"

"doesn't matter."

"tell me," he presses further.

you finally look at him, frustrated. "because i have fucking daddy issues and the thought of you being so much older than me turns me on. there."

you get up from the armchair, putting his vest on so that you can cover yourself. it almost reaches your knees, hiding your body from his gaze. he says nothing, and does nothing for a few moments. you have your back turned to him, hands resting on the counter of the half chipped kitchen cabinet. your head hangs low with embarrassment from the confession that just left your mouth.

tears stream down your cheeks, luckily hidden by your hair. but daryl doesn't miss the little sniff that comes your way. he sighs, then paces around the place a little more. when you don't hear him anymore, and finally face the fact that nothing will be the same with him anymore, you dare turn around. you almost gasp when you come face to face with him, his chest pressing against yours.

"wha- what are you-"

"shh..." he hushes you, eyes roaming your face.

you aren't sure what to do, or what he wants to do. if he tries to comfort you by giving you a hug, you will break down. and you will never face him again. you thought it was only sexual, but the way he looks at you and hushes you as you cry is awakening new emotions inside of you. ones that you will push down for now, because it is not the time.

"daryl, i'm sorry." you hiccup, genuinely feeling sorry for ruining whatever you had with him.

you feel his hands on the back of your thighs, and before you can react, he picks you up and places you on the counter. you instinctively spread your legs, letting him in closer.

"don't be. or else i might regret this."

you look at him doe eyed as he places his hand on your neck, gently holding you just beneath your jaw and softly pressing into the sides of it. he brings his head close to you, eyes half closed as he stares at your lips.

"daryl." you whisper, not sure of this anymore.

"just hush."

and with that, he presses his lips into yours, softly moving them with rhythm only known to the two of you. his other hand caresses your thigh, then creeps to your bottom and pulls you to the edge of the counter, enough to have your crotch press against his.

you can taste your tears while you kiss him, and he probably can too. he doesn't say anything, hell, you even feel him twitch between your legs. you grind on him, unable to control yourself. it is different than the wand. it's warm, and it responds back. it's better.

"hey," you call, slowly pulling away. "i don't want you to do this because you feel sorry for me or something like that. are you doing it because of that?"

"nah."

before you can continue bombarding him with questions and overthinking, he places his lips back on yours, this time a little rougher than before. you open your mouth, tongue eager to taste him properly. and fuck, he tastes good. you hated cigarettes and alcohol, but from his mouth, you adore it. you finally give in, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly close. finally.

it doesn't take long for him to have you whining and grinding on him, wanting more than just kissing and thigh grabbing and occasional choking. you beg into his mouth, quietly at first, but with each kiss he gives you, you become louder and more demanding.

"touch me, please, please, please," you're desperate.

he smiles, for the first time in a while, and snakes his hands under your top. you hurriedly take off the vest and the top, to make it easier for him, but he pulls his vest back on your body. you are now wearing nothing but panties and the leather vest, making daryl incredibly impatient.

"ya just needed some attention, didn't ya?" he kisses your neck, his hand cupping your breast and thumb playing with the hard nub. "some sense fucked into ya to shut that mouth."

for someone that almost never talks, he is quite the talker now. and you can't complain, when his words have you clenching around nothing down there.

"needed someone older to take care of ya."

you moan at his words, spreading your legs further and raising your hips into his crotch. his hand reaches down to your panties, landing a light slap on your clothed clit as a warning. there's growling outside of the shed, but not enough to make you care. you'll get what you want, and no amount of walkers will stop you, even if it'll be your last.

daryl moves your panties aside, pulling away from you to see you. he hums, thumb coming to contact with your clit and circling it a few times. you shake under his touch, throwing your head back. it isn't something you haven't done before, but the touch is foreign, and different. his fingers are rough and big, an opposite of the soft flesh of your clit. he rubs your slit up and down, enough to smear your arousal so he can touch you better.

"fuck..." you trail, grabbing the edges of the counter and digging your nails into the hard surface.

"didn't find a boy your age to open you up?"

you shake your head. he hums again, fingers now circling your tight entrance.

"that's a shame, then. i'm gonna have to take my time with you."

"what? why?" you ask, disappointed.

"i'd split you in half, little one."

every word in that sentence sent arrows to your core. fuck, just how big is he?

"then, what are we doing?"

he turns around, leaving you yearning for his touch while he grabs your discarded toy from the armchair.

"you share toys?"

"sometimes."

"good."

he pulls himself out from his pants, and you are left with your jaw dropped. it fuels his confidence, the way you're staring at him as he rubs himself up and down. he isn't big. he's huge.

"daryl, how will that fit in me?" you ask, actually concerned.

"it'll take a little time. i'll train ya, and you'll take it like a good girl, the way i teach ya. but ya have to start listening to me and stop pissing me off."

nodding eagerly, you push your hips towards his hands, searching for his touch again.

he turns the gadget on, pressing it against your clit. you moan out loud, grinding on the buzzing toy and sliding with ease. you hear him grunt, and even a quiet moan. your eyes drop to the situation between your legs, and when you see him pressing his cock to the gadget, you swear you could squirt all over him. he rocks his hips with yours, pushing you up against the wall and grunting in your mouth, just like you moan into his. he doesn't break eye contact with you, instead getting off on it.

"i'm gonna cum, daryl." you whine, hands reaching into his hair to pull.

"give me a second."

you'd give him two if he wanted. you try your hardest to focus on not yet cumming, but the way he sweats and grunts for you doesn't make it easy.

"daryl-" you warn, moans becoming high pitched and inviting the walkers around the shed.

he sticks two fingers in your mouth, keeping you silent and helping himself get closer. you only needed to swirl your tongue around him a few time and take him all the way to his knuckles to have him moaning and cumming all over your stomach, rubbing the toy up and down in a sloppy pace.

you follow, pleasure washing over your body along with a thin layer of sweat, the sight of his seed on you making it more intense. you are dehydrated, hot and filthy. and you love it, because he is the same. you'd be like that every day, if it meant getting him the way you just had him.

"you didn't have to..." you say as he helps you dress up, wiping his seed from you with his bandana and discarding it.

"i wanted to. before, today, too."

"you sure?"

"yes."

you nod. he sees that you are not convinced, and he sighs. he pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"i rarely regret my actions. trust me."

"yeah, well, i hope i'll get more of these actions you speak of."

he chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"you know, for someone who just came all over me, it's weird to see you so sentimental and comforting."

you don't even finish the sentence, he already playfully throws the bandana at you, rushing outside to hide his smile and to hide from your attempt at attacking.

"oh, you- you- you asshole!"

"right back at ya."

***

yippie! my first twd oneshot, idk how to feel about it lol. had this in the drafts for a while now. feel free to send feedback, doesn’t matter if it is good or bad 🩷

[woso-dreamzzz]

Kidnapped IV

Fridolina Rolfö x Teen!Reader

Summary: You visit your older sister, Frido

Frido grins as you step into arrivals.

You've gotten a bit taller in the months that she's not seen you, sprouting up like a weed until you're the long and lanky person that stands before her now.

"Hey, you," She says fondly, tugging on a stray lock of your hair.

"Hey, Frido," You say in response, tugging your suitcase behind you just as your sister sweeps you into a hug.

"How is school?" She asks," And the family? And what about your friends? Are they all good? Oh! And how is your handball going because-"

You laugh, knocking your shoulder against Frido's with a grin.

"I can't answer your questions if you keep asking them one after another."

Frido glances down at you.

You're barely sixteen but still nearly reaching her height, nothing like the tiny little baby she'd once held in her arms all those years ago. You're yet to fully grow into your lanky limbs but Frido can still see the faint outline of the small muscles underneath the baggy clothes you've worn for the plane journey.

She can't imagine that they'll remain that small for long, if what your parents have told her about your handball training has been true and your attempt to get onto the Swedish Olympic Youth Team is successful.

"What?" You ask," Why are you looking at me like that?"

Frido laughs, ruffling your hair fondly before grabbing your suitcase. "No reason," She says," I can't just look at my little sister?"

"You're being weird."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

Frido pokes you in the shoulder. "Is that anyway to talk to the person that's buying you dinner tonight?"

You grin, more of a half smirk than anything else. "It depends."

"On?"

"On if I'm choosing dinner or you're choosing."

"Be nice to me on the way home and I'll let you choose."

Your room is as you left it the last time you came to visit Frido with a stack of books up on the shelf, a blanket thrown over the little reading nook in the corner and one of your handball trophies on the bedside table.

"I changed the sheets and stuff," Frido tells you as she unpacks your clothes into the wardrobe," And I put some new snacks in your drawers. I know you like to snack in the middle of the night. Your old ones went out of date."

"Thanks. You didn't have to."

"But I wanted to."

Frido draws you closer to her. Almost six months ago, she could rest her chin on the top of your head but now it's more of an awkward angle because of your growth spurt.

"I'm just trying to make you comfortable," She teases," Because our parents sent me your gym routine. The life of a student athlete. You don't get a break even when you're on holiday."

You grin. "I'm just making sure I'm a better athlete than you."

"You can't compare football to handball. They're completely different sports."

You grin. "And yet I'm still outdoing you."

"For now," Frido says," We'll get to the gym and I'll show you that I've still got it."

"Yeah, right, old woman," You laugh," I can run rings around you."

"We'll see."

Frido, for her own peace of mind and so no one else sees, bans you from posting your triumph on the running machine on your social media later that day.

"You should have seen me in my prime," Frido says that evening as she eats dinner out of a box and pokes you in the leg with her toe.

You're on the other side of the sofa with your own box of food, grinning over at your sister as she pokes at you again.

"You wouldn't have been able to keep up," Frido continues," You'll see. Watch any of my highlight reels."

"I don't need to," You say with a grin," Why don't you watch some of mine?"

Frido flicks a piece of food at you and you smugly catch it in your mouth.

"Is it still the plan to quit?" She asks," When you're older?"

You groan, throwing your head back to look up at the light. "Did Mama and Papa put you up to this?"

"Don't deflect," Frido says," You can go far in handball, you know. You've got the talent."

"I don't know," You say after a long stretch of silence," I...I just don't want handball to be my everything, you know? I just...I don't know how feasible it is to have two jobs at once if I'm being an athlete."

"You're too smart for me," Frido says simply," So I don't know either but I know that if you're really set on it then you'll find a way to make it work."

"Really?"

Frido laughs. "Of course. You're smarter than people give you credit for. I mean, you managed to track down that guy that tried to steal Mapi and Ingrid's cats and you weren't even in the country for a week. You'll work it out."

"You think so."

Frido reaches forward to ruffle your hair. "I know so. Now, how about you grab that menu over there and we'll have a look about ordering dessert too?"