#another pointless essay from me

[averlym]

" just...come here. just sit here with me" (...that one scene from princess momonoke, click for better resolution)

[casuallyimagining]

Family. Duty. Self. || myg

Less of Them - One: Family. Duty. Self.

NSFW. minors dni Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, established relationship, star-crossed lovers, angst, smut, fluff Word Count: 9,968

Summary: As the daughter of one of the oldest families in the kingdom, when the king decides that it's you he wishes to marry, you're forced to make a decision and fulfill your duty, leaving behind everything you've ever known--and the only man you've ever loved.

Warnings: weaponry (swords), language; nsfw: awkward first-time, hand-job, fingering, unprotected sex

Notes: Thanks to @oddinary4bts for really coming in clutch and helping with the smut and to both her and @daechwitatamic for encouraging me to make it more sad.

The book mc is reading at the beginning is Wurthering Heights.

"I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them." - Lang Leav

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The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind.

The clank of metal against metal grates against your ears and jolts you out of your book. It’s a nice day, and you had some free time; you thought that maybe it would be nice to read outside for a change. But now, you aren’t sure that was the greatest idea you’d ever had.

…shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully-

The soft thump of a dulled blade hitting the softness of a body and an exasperated curse again draws you away.

“Again,” a gruff voice commands, and there’s the clink of metal clashing briefly.

Another voice groans. “This is pointless.”

“Your father told me to teach you how to fight,” the first voice says. “Again.”

You roll your eyes. They’d been at this for a week now. You were starting to believe that maybe it was pointless.

It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the “missis,” an individual whose existence I had never previously-

Metal against metal once again, and then the clatter of a sword falling into the dirt. A frustrated sigh.

I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me-

A soft thud, then, “Shit.”

I bowed and waited, thinking-

The shriek of metal on metal, then the clatter of a sword hitting the dirt. “Shit!”

I bowed and-

“Take a break,” the gruff voice says, and the second voice grumbles something in response. “Don’t go far. We have more work to do.”

You try to go back to your book, you really do. But then a body plops down under the tree beside you. Ever so gently, the book is taken from your hands. He keeps a finger in the pages to mark where you’d left off, but he turns the book to inspect the cover and the spine. He hums. It’s his book.

“You shouldn’t torture him like that,” you chide once he’s returned the book to your hands. “You know he isn’t suited for it.”

“Your father wants him trained.”

“You and I both know Namjoon has no business on a battlefield.”

At that, he laughs. “His form is really terrible.”

“Even I’m better than he is.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh come on, Yoon.” You roll your eyes and nudge him slightly. You both know you’re right. His father had trained you beside Yoongi, and while you hadn’t been as quick to the blade as the young knight, you could defend yourself well enough.

He stands, plucks the book from your hand once again, and leans in so that his face is mere centimeters from your own. “Come, then, my lady. Prove yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.” 

He closes the gap, lips connecting to yours ever so briefly. Even though the kiss is short, it sets your veins alight all the same.

“Fine,” you say when he pulls back. “To battle, then, Min Yoongi.”

He smirks, and you steal a kiss when he helps you stand. For a moment, he has the audacity to look offended, but you push him out of the way.

“Come on,” you say. “You wanted to spar. Let’s get it over with.”

“We’ll see how smug you are when you’ve been defeated.”

You shrug and follow him to the training yard. It’s only a few feet from the tree you had been reading under, but your back had been to it, and you’d been unable to see Namjoon before he left. Now, though, you can see that your younger brother had gone in a huff, his practice sword tossed carelessly to the side. You pick it up. It’s a bastard sword, longer than you’d like and a little on the heavy side, but it’ll do. You roll your wrist, testing the balance as you wait for Yoongi to ready himself.

As he turns to face you, you widen your stance. You know you look ridiculous, legs and arms wide, positioned better to climb a tree than for sword fighting. It has its intended effect, though, because Yoongi erupts into a fit of near-silent giggles, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkled at the corners.

“What are you doing?” he asks gleefully.

“Are we not fighting?” you question, deepening your voice to match Namjoon’s lower timbre. “Is this not how you do it?”

He almost drops his sword, he laughs so hard. “Okay, fine,” he says, body still shaking from giggles. “You can go back to your book.”

You smile. That hadn’t really been your goal, but you aren’t one to turn down an opportunity. You hand him the practice sword as you pass and open your mouth to leave him with one last quip about trying to be patient with Namjoon, but he catches your waist as soon as he can and pulls you flush against him. Immediately, your hands come up to rest on his chest, playing with the loose collar of his cream colored shirt.

“Can I help you, sir?” you ask coyly, tugging a little at the fabric over his collarbone.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, lips mere centimeters from your ear. “Can you?”

He kisses you then, properly this time, firm hands on the small of your back, holding you against his body. He’s warm and soft and solid, and you can smell a hint of the cologne you’d bought him for his last birthday. His kiss is slow, almost lazy, but there’s a greed in it, like he could keep at this forever if you’d let him.

You’re tempted to let him.

You slide your hand up his chest to tangle in the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You give a gentle tug, and he lets out a low whine.

“Don’t tease, my lady,” he mumbles darkly, pulling away just far enough to kiss up your jaw. “I’m afraid you’ll start something you aren’t prepared to finish.”

You never get the chance to respond. Namjoon calls your name, his voice floating down from the walkway that overlooks the courtyard. Immediately, Yoongi jumps away from you. Your relationship is no secret, but he’s always been shy, and you’ve long grown used to his fleeing any time anyone sneaks up on you.

Namjoon calls for you again, this time, his voice is closer, and when you turn, you can see he’s running down the stairs. He pauses momentarily, catching his breath for just a second before blurting out, “Father is looking for you. He’s received some official-looking letter and asked me to come fetch you.”

You hum and nod. “Alright. Tell him I’ll be along soon.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’d better come now.”

Your eyes drift to Yoongi, who stands now just off to the side. His cheeks and ears are tinged ever so slightly pink, and he busies himself with inspecting one of the practice blades. He must feel you looking at him, because his dark eyes connect with yours. You shoot him a look that you hope conveys an apology. He nods toward the keep silently before picking up the discarded sword and wandering off in the direction of the armory.

“Lead the way,” you tell your brother, gesturing in the direction he’d come from.

You follow him out of the yard, up the stairs onto the walkway and into the keep. Evening is starting to fall, and the attendants already have the sconces lit in the halls to stave off the darkness. You pass some of them as you go, and they nod respectfully–more to you than to Namjoon, but he’s younger and has never really cared about being deferred to in the way that you are. 

He leads you to your father’s study, and when you enter, you’re shocked at how full it is. You’ve always loved this room, filled to the brim with the finely crafted furniture made by the people of the forest town. Blackwood trees are known to have a delicate, earthy aroma long after they’ve been felled, so the study has always smelled as warm and inviting as it felt. Now, though, with the number of eyes that dart in your direction when the door opens, you’re uncomfortable.

The five of them sit at the heavy, ebony round table in the center of the room. Your father sits with his back to the window, his fingers steepled and his brow furrowed, papers strewn about in front of him. To his left sits your step-mother, a rare good day for her. She looks grim, but you get the sense that the pain she’s feeling may not be just her own. Namjoon takes a seat to her right. To your father’s left sits Jaesung, your father’s advisor and head of the armory for as long as you can remember. The look on his face is neutral, but you can see an anger behind his eyes. In nearly 30 years, you’ve never seen Jaesung angry. Beside him sits Seokjin, your elder step-brother, a fidgeting ball of nerves. 

“Come,” your father says gently, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

You can feel a chill as you pass them all. Your step-mother, paralyzed by an unknown pain. Jaesung, poised for a war you don’t yet understand. And Seokjin, who refuses to look at you, even as you sit down beside him. 

It all makes you nervous.

Your father stands, the chair pushing out behind him as he leans forward, passing you the papers in front of him. It’s a letter, the wax seal on the envelope indicating it was sent from the Ironhold.

A letter from the king, you muse. What could he possibly want?

It’s no secret that there’s little love between your family–the Lins of Castle Blackwood–and the Chois in the Crownlands. The Chois have sat on the throne of Cotaria for hundreds of years, and the seat of the Crownlands for hundreds of years before that, and their customs have been around for just as long. They don’t like how your father rules the Westerlands, but there isn’t much they can do about it. The Lin family is far older and has had far longer to build ties, and you contribute more to the Crown’s stores than the Chois would care to admit. 

Your gaze falls to the letter in your hands, reading but not comprehending what it says. You fixate on certain words. Duty. King. Auspicious. Marriage. But no matter how many times you read it, no matter how long you stare at the neatly printed words in front of you, they don’t make sense.

The room is quiet. Too quiet. You don’t like how long it’s been since someone’s said something, don’t like how they watch you. Your mouth is dry, and it feels like you’ve tried to swallow a rock.

“This is real?” you manage, swallowing hard. When did your hands start shaking?

“I’m afraid so,” your father responds. His voice is soft, measured.

“And?”

“We did not ask for this.”

“And yet here we are.”

He sighs. “And yet here we are.”

You close your fist around the paper, crumpling it. Beside you, Seokjin jumps, startled. For the briefest of moments, you close your eyes.

Marriage to the king. A man you’d met once three years ago at his father’s funeral. He’d been miserable then, a spoiled brat too accustomed to getting his own way. You’d dreaded the funeral, dreaded being forced to interact with the young king, dreaded having to be pleasant to him. But you’d plastered on a smile and endured the funeral and feast. And now he wanted to take you away from your home, your family.

Your Yoongi.

You shake your head, forcing your thoughts back to your father’s study. You can’t think of him right now. “This,” you lift your fist, the letter still clutched tightly within. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“There’s always a choice,” Namjoon blurts, immediately shrinking back into his chair. 

Your father hums. “You can decline. Your brother is right.”

“Jaesung?” The man’s eyes snap to yours, and you’re struck by how similar they are to his son’s–dark, cat-like, ever-observant. “If I say no…?”

He takes a moment, his head bobbing back and forth as he weighs the options. “Chances of retaliation are high, yes.”

“We would weather it,” your father says. “Our family has endured far worse.”

“And if they strip us of our titles? Take away our home?” You toss the letter into the center of the table. “Either way, we lose.”

“So just tell him to fuck off,” Namjoon says. Your step-mother frowns, and immediately, he wilts under her gaze. “Sorry, mother. But you understand what I mean. If both options are bad, pick the best worst choice.”

You glance up, above your father, above the window behind him. The family crest hangs there, centered on the wall. A sea of blue with green chevron, golden thistle in the foreground. The Lin family words are engraved into the bottom: Loyalty does not yield. 

Loyalty. It’s been ingrained in you since birth. To family, duty, self. All three in tandem. Now, though, they’re pitted against each other. Your family against your own desires. Your desires against your duty. An impossible choice.

You make eye contact with your father across the table. He nods almost imperceptibly and sighs.

“The steward arrives tomorrow?” you ask softly.

Jaesung nods. “Letter said they would arrive the day after it did.”

“Okay.”

There’s precious little to discuss after that. Jaesung is the first to go, the war in his eyes more fierce than when you’d entered. He doesn’t look at you as he goes. Your stepmother leaves shortly after, walking around the table to you. Her hands find your shoulders, skin cold against yours. She gives a gentle squeeze and kisses the top of your head.

When she’s gone and the door is closed behind her, Namjoon erupts. “You realize how ridiculous this is, right?” he asks. It’s directed toward your father. “They would never dream of doing this to any of the other old families.” 

Seokjin sighs. “They couldn’t.” His voice is soft, but holds all the authority of older brother.

Ever insightful, your step-brother is right. The Lin family is the only one of the old families that allows for a female heir, and even then, your father had only married Seokjin and Namjoon’s mother after his first wife–your mother–had died. You’d been here first. In your father’s mind, you were the clear heir. It helps that Seokjin, older than you by one year, has never shown much interest in leading, and between you and Namjoon, you have always been more eager to learn everything. But because all of the other heirs of the old families are male, they will never be put in this position.

You stand. Your head hurts, and so does your heart. You don’t look at your father as you leave the study, too afraid of what you might see.

You’d intended to go to your chambers, but when you get to the staircase, instead of going up, you go down. Yoongi’s chamber is at the end of this wing of the castle, closest to the outer wall and the library tower. Over the years, you’ve probably spent just as much time there as you have in your own chambers. But this is the first time you’ve felt nervous standing at his door.

You knock. You almost never knock, but it feels weird barging in right now, when you’re standing on the precipice of a future so far in the opposite direction of what you’d been imagining. The door opens, and there he is, leaning casually against the heavy, blackwood door. You must be some sort of sight, because almost immediately, he frowns, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“Jagi?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

It’s all it takes. You surge forward, hands coming up to cup his face gently. It’s easy to fall into him, easy to lose yourself in his kiss. He lets you push him back into his room, shutting and locking the door behind you in one easy motion. 

He laughs a little as you kiss up his jaw. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You don’t answer. Right now, you just want to lose yourself in him. The room is not large, and you’re able to push him toward the bed in only a few steps. He pauses when his legs hit the edge of the goose feather mattress. Gently, you push and he falls backward, his hands on your waist pulling you down with him.

You hover over him for a moment, just holding his gaze, losing yourself in the dark eyes you’ve come to love so much. You wonder if he’s able to read the distress in your eyes–maybe he is, because he pulls you down in a kiss that leaves your mind spinning, as his hands tighten on your waist ever so slightly.

His tongue hesitantly darts out to meet your lips, and surprised, you pull away to meet his gaze again. His cheeks are slightly flushed pink, and his lips glisten prettily in the light of the sconce on the wall. 

You survey his features carefully, feeling your own cheeks turning red as you realize that you don’t want to stop. Not tonight. You want to be able to feel him at least once before you have to go. You bend down again to capture his lips in a languid kiss, welcoming his tongue against your own the moment he does it again.

You gently move your hands up his frame, burying them in his soft hair as he wraps his arms around you to pull you flush against him. You have half a thought that you’ll crush him, but you can’t bring yourself to care as his tongue awkwardly swipes at yours again, earning a breathy sound from you that you’ve never made before.

It startles both you and him, and you pull away from the kiss once more, meeting his gaze.

“What was that?” he asks, the flush on his cheeks having deepened from the prolonged kiss.

You find you can’t look at his eyes anymore, your own gaze sliding away. You laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know.”

He kisses your jaw to gain your attention again, but your eyes stubbornly stay away. That is, until he says, “It was cute.”

Your gaze shoots back to his. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me again,” he asks, and there’s something new in his tone. A desire you’ve never really seen, or maybe it’s just manifesting differently this time around.

Maybe he can feel the sense of urgency in the moment. But he doesn’t question you, just welcomes your lips against his the moment you kiss him again, unable to resist the pull of his gravity.

His hands move down your back, and hesitantly, he grazes his fingers over the curve of your ass, barely even touching. You feel electrified, like lightning is coursing through your bloodstream, and you bite on his bottom lip.

He grunts. He grunts and you know that there is no way you’ll stop now. Not when you sit back on his lap, hands resting on his chest to hold you up. Even through his linen shirt, you feel his heart beating wildly, echoing your own. 

And right where you’re perched, you feel the hint of his arousal, matching the arousal that’s slowly warming up your core.

You’ve touched each other before. It was awkward, neither of you really knew what you were doing, and you’d stopped, too afraid to get caught, too afraid of the consequences. 

Tonight though? You want to feel his skin on yours, want his warm breath to mingle with your own while you lay with him. So you grab his tunic, pushing it up until it reveals a small sliver of pale skin on his lower stomach. You look at it, admire it as if it’s art, and then you meet Yoongi’s gaze again.

“Can you take this off?” you ask, fingers shaking even though your voice holds firm.

He nods, sitting up so that he can remove the shirt. It brings him close to your face, and you can’t resist but kiss him again, molding your lips to his like it was always meant to be.

But not anymore. 

You push the thought away, wanting to focus on Yoongi, on this moment with him. You want to commit it to memory, to remember every plane of his body as he finally, slowly takes his shirt off, revealing more of his sculpted frame.

Being a knight has its advantages. And they show in the powerful build of Yoongi’s body, even though he’s a little more on the lean side. You gently rest on your hands on his chest, before gently caressing down, reveling in the feel of his warm skin under your fingers and palms.

He watches you, lips slightly parted, until your fingers graze the hem of his pants. But then he stops you, grabbing your hands in his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs when your eyes meet his. “You really want to do this?”

You nod, breathing out a soft, “Yes.” You nod again, though your cheeks burn. “Yes, I want it. All of it.”

He gulps, eyes darting to your lips before going back to your gaze. “Can I take your corset off?”

The question sends your heart into overdrive, yet you agree, guiding his hands to the knot at the top of the corset. You notice his fingers shaking as he slowly starts untying it, much like your own fingers are trembling, and you let out a small chuckle.

It’s unexpected, and a little awkward, yet it feels right in this moment with him. He laughs lightly as he struggles, a sound that makes you feel like you could soar in the sky beside the ravens and falcons of the Blackwood. 

Maybe, if you could fly, you’d never have to go to the Ironhold.

Again, you push the thought away to focus on Yoongi’s fingers as they struggle with the laces. He curses under his breath, which makes you chuckle again.

“Let me help,” you tell him, and he begrudgingly lets you take the lead, the tip of his ears red.

You’re much more efficient, and soon enough, you’re able to undo the lacing and take off the stupid garmetn, leaving you in just your linen tunic. Yoongi runs his hands up your sides, dragging the fabric of your shirt up, and your breath hitches in your throat when he slides his hands under the fabric.

His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps on your skin, and he brings his hands up until he’s able to grab your breasts, squeezing lightly. He grunts softly again, and you feel something twitch under your lap.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out.

He doesn’t look at you, just keeps staring at the spot where his hands cover your breasts, hidden beneath your shirt. You take that as a cue to pull the fabric off, and you throw it to the side, to meet his own shirt where it fell to the floor.

Yoongi stares at your chest, eyes slightly widened, cheeks flushed, and his breathing is quicker than usual, as if he’s been sparring for a while. It makes you feel powerful to know that you’re the one with this effect on him, and you smile down at him when he finally meets your gaze again.

“You really are so beautiful,” he says again, as if in awe. 

You blush at the compliment, leaning down so that you can kiss him again. To your surprise, his hands leave your breasts to rest flat on your back, and you almost screech when he spins you around, until he’s lying on top of you. 

As he’s hovering over you, Yoongi stares down at you, chest moving fast from his quick inhales and exhales. 

“Sorry, my lady,” he apologizes at the look on your face.

You chuckle shyly. “Wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

He pecks your cheek, smiling against your skin. “I like taking you by surprise. Doesn’t happen often.”

You melt for him. Like the last snow under the spring sun, you melt for him. Your hand grip his biceps as he looks down at your perked nipples, and you feel like molten ore as he then traces his lips along your neck, down down down until he reaches the top of your breast.

He kisses there, once, before going lower, flicking your nipple with his tongue. When your hands wrap around his shoulders, he does it again, a little harder.

“Yoongi…”

His lips close around your nipple, and he sucks hard. You squirm at the foreign sensation, and Yoongi quickly meets your gaze, apologies written in his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you immediately reassure him. “It just feels… strange.”

He nods once, and then looks at your nipple, now shimmering with his saliva. “Do you want me to do it again?”

You grab his face, pulling him up to kiss you instead. He doesn’t resist, and he sighs against your mouth as you run your hands through his hair. 

Yoongi is gentle. He always has been, but tonight he’s even more so, taking his time to take off your pants once you part from the kiss. He realizes that you’re still wearing your boots when your pants are around your calves, and he curses under his breath as he unties them and slides them off, while you laugh awkwardly, hiding your face behind your hands.

When he finally manages to take all of your clothes off, you look at him from behind your fingers, admiring how his eyes darken as he looks down at your pussy. You instinctively want to hide, to close your thighs together, and he quickly says, “Don’t… it’s…” he clears his throat. “You’re so pretty.”

Your hands fall away from your face, and you hold his gaze longingly, hoping that tonight will never end. That somewhere along the line, you’ll be able to stop time, so that you can dwell in an eternity of lying here with him.

But fantasies like that are works of fiction, and you can’t alter time. So when he stands to take off his own clothes, you quickly sit on the edge of the bed, helping him with his belt even though your hands feel clumsier than they usually are. Maybe because of the nerves wracking through you–it’s hard to tell, and you frankly don’t care.

Because this is Yoongi. Your Yoongi. You want this to be with him, a memory to treasure forever once you’re gone.

A few seconds later, Yoongi is out of his clothes too, and you think your heart stops in your chest at the sight of him.

You’ve never seen him fully naked like this. You’ve touched him, hands sliding in his pants to wrap around his length while you kissed. But you’ve never seen him, standing proud and tall and leaking precum just inches from your face.

It’s sinful, and you look up to meet his gaze as you hesitantly wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping quickly.

He winces, grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Not so fast,” he tells you gently.

You slow down, biting your lower lip, and then your eyes fall down the pretty expanse of his body until you’re watching what you’re doing so that you can do it properly.

Or at least, what you assume is proper.

Yoongi grunts softly as you jerk him off, hips thrusting forward instinctively once in a while. Something wet is pooling between your legs, and all you can do is look at him, at the tip leaking with precum. He’s rock hard under your fingers, rigid veins and velvety soft skin, and it makes your heart race in your chest with every swift motion of your wrist.

“Stop,” Yoongi lets out, sounding out of breath. “Or I… I won’t be able to do more.”

You let go of him, hand sheepishly falling in your lap. Yoongi sits next to you, and he gently pulls you closer. This kiss is softer, slowly, born of the love between you and him.

He pushes you down until you’re lying on the bed again and climbs on top of you. You spread your legs for him, wrapping them around his waist, which leads to the head of his cock rubbing against your entrance.

You let out a soft moan that has him pull away. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

You laugh. “No, you’ve barely touched me yet.”

He seems conflicted for a while, brows furrowing. “Should I touch you first?”

“I don’t… know,” you admit.

You both exchange a look, and Yoongi quirks an eyebrow before finally deciding for the two of you, kneeling between your legs. His eyes drop to your pussy once more, and he hesitantly brings a hand to the apex of your thighs. You stiffen, waiting for his touch, and the moment one of his fingers slides between your folds, a volcano erupts inside of you.

He slowly pushes in, stopping at the first knuckle to gauge your reaction. When you don’t give any sign of discomfort, he finishes pushing in, until most of his finger is swallowed by you.

“It’s so tight,” he says, but there’s barely any lust behind it. Just curiosity, which makes you laugh. He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you. And then he starts moving his finger again. “How does it feel?”

“Strange,” you admit. “Good?”

Though you say it like a question, he nods. And he keeps at it for a while, slowly fingering you. The sensation is new but not unpleasant, the slow drag of his finger against your walls, the slight arch of it as he pushes in and out. It makes you want more, and you blindly grope for his cock, though your hand falls short and lands on his thigh instead.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“I think I want you.”

He stops moving his finger, before pulling it out to return to his previous position. Suddenly bold, Yoongi holds the base of his cock so that he can rub it on your pussy, and his lips parted as he looks down at you.

You moan softly, and he watches you for a moment, never pushing in. Once again, he asks, “You’re sure?”

You nod. “Please.”

It doesn’t take him more to push in, slowly. It hurts, and your face contorts in pain, which makes him stop between your legs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, about to pull out.

“No, it’s…” You wrap your legs so tight around him that he can’t move. “They say it’s supposed to hurt. At first.”

“Oh?”

You shrug. You’d heard the handmaids gossiping, and after a while, you’d just accepted it as fact.

He nods once, before gently caressing your thighs. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“I promise,” you whisper.

And though it really does hurt, you don’t stop him as he finishes pushing all the way in, stilling when he’s fully sheathed within you. There, he stops, leaning down so that he can kiss you again, his tongue dancing languidly with yours. You hold him close, bask in the feel of the weight of him on you as his hand finds your hip, his thumb caressing circles into your skin.

It takes a moment, but the pain slowly lessens until it turns into a numb sensation that you can almost entirely ignore. You nod. “I’m ready.”

He moves from your mouth to your neck, and he says against your skin, “I don’t know what to do.”

You hold him tighter. “Just move. I want to feel you.”

He nods, and then he pulls almost all the way out, before pushing in again. It still hurts, but when he does it again the pain is less, and by the tenth time you barely feel it anymore. 

You kiss his shoulder, and Yoongi sighs, his lips ghosting on the side of your neck before he decides to suck on it, and the sensation makes you moan again, your arms tightening around you.

“Jagi…”

“Yoongi,” you breathe out like an echo.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to last long,” he admits. “You feel… like silk.”

You nod. “It’s okay.” You kiss his shoulder again, before adding, “Do you think you can go faster?”

He stops moving for a time, meeting your gaze. His dark eyes are filled with intensity, with lust, passion and love for you. He kisses you gently, thumb brushing against your cheek, and then he increases his rhythm. 

Your words seem to unleash him, because the second you let out a small moan again, Yoongi starts going even faster, and the sound of skin against skin fills the room. Even though it feels strange, you let him do it, keep holding him close, and soon enough, pleasure starts to vibrate in you, ignited by every deep thrust.

It’s a little rough, a little clumsy, but Yoongi’s pace doesn’t falter. He grunts in your ear, and you instinctively dig your nails in the skin of his back.

That’s when he loses it. He stills deep inside of you, moaning softly, and you feel his cock twitch as he releases. You hold him through his high, gently caressing his back even though he’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat–you don’t care about it. It’s him, and you think you love all of him. 

You breathe in and out, slowly, as he’s still deep inside of you. When he turns his head towards you, you kiss him deeply, trying to pour all the love in your heart into the act, trying to let him know that forever and always, he’s the one that you’ll love.

Eventually, the kiss ends, the need for breath overcomes it, and Yoongi lies next to you. When he pulls out of you, you feel his warm seed dripping out, and you blush at the feeling, at the dirtiness of it, though you don’t think there’s anything purer than what just happened between you and him. So you put your head on his chest, molding yourself into his side, content just to lay with him.

It’s quiet, your mingled breathing and the sound of his heart under your ear the only noises in the room. You try to concentrate on everything, to commit it to memory. The warmth of his body, the gentleness of his touch, the stillness of everything. It’s electric, the way his fingers slowly ghost up and down your bare arm. He presses the gentlest of kisses to the crown of your head, and you have to force yourself to stay here, in this moment.

You aren’t sure what prompts it, but his arm tightens around you. “What’s wrong?” he hums, tilting his head so that he can better see your face. “Are you okay?”

Until this moment, you’d been doing well, keeping yourself together as your world shatters around you. But the concern in Yoongi’s voice, it breaks you. You don’t respond to him, merely bury your face in the bare skin of his shoulder and try to stitch yourself back together somehow.

For the two years you’d been together, when you pictured your future, it was this–it was him. You’d loved Yoongi for as long as you’d known what love was. Probably longer. He’d been your best friend, your staunchest rival, your biggest supporter. You’d spent more nights than you’d care to admit sitting on one of the castle balconies and complaining to him about your brothers, and you’d listened as he’d lamented the rigidity of his father. Losing him, being forced to walk away, it feels a little like you’re losing a part of yourself. The part that feels safe, the part that feels loved, the part that could take on anything so long as he’s there with you.

He holds you close as you fall apart, the only thing keeping you from entirely shattering. He’s basically silent, and you can’t help but think that he must be so confused, which only serves to crush you more.

“I’m sorry,” you manage finally, wiping your tears.

“What’s wrong, jagi?” Yoongi asks softly. “You’re worrying me.”

You sigh. “I have been given an impossible choice.”

He hums sympathetically. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.” 

His confidence almost spirals you back off the edge you’ve barely clawed yourself away from. But instead of breaking again, you reach up to cup his face. In the silence, you study him, trying to memorize all of him–soft, round cheeks; button nose; dark, feline eyes. He’s handsome in a gentle sort of way. Skilled in swordplay, with a mind to match.

“Not this time, I don’t think.” Where to start? Because you should start. You owe him that, at least, after appearing at his door, bedding him, and then dissolving into tears almost immediately after. “That letter father got earlier? It came from the Ironhold. As it happens, our darling king is looking to find himself a wife.”

He blanches, a frown immediately replacing the concern on his face. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

For the briefest of moments, he deflates, his head sinking deep into his silk and feather pillow. But then his arms snake firmly around you and he pulls you impossibly closer. He kisses the top of your head before nuzzling into your hair. You feel him breathe in deeply and hold it for a moment before he slowly exhales.

“I wish there was a way to get out of this,” you mumble into his chest. “But even your father said-”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I love you,” you say desperately. You know he knows, but you need to say it. 

“We’ll get through it,” he says again. “Somehow.”

You don’t sleep. You’re pretty sure that Yoongi doesn’t either. You can’t bring yourself to miss a minute, so you lay there, skin on skin, listening to his breathing and watching the moon out the window. The night is slow, but not nearly slow enough, and eventually, the sky begins to lighten.

“I should go pack,” you mumble softly, snuggling into him more.

His arm tightens around you as he hums. “Want help?”

“You don’t have to.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I’m not ready to let you go just yet. And if that means I have to help you pack, then I help you pack.”

You sigh, resting your chin on his chest so that you can look at him. “I don’t even know how much I’m allowed to bring.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He sounds so confident, but looking at him, you can tell it’s a front. His eyes have lost the sparkle they normally have, and the smile he’s wearing doesn’t go beyond his lips.

You stall for a few more moments, but force yourself to get up. He helps you find your clothes and you dress quickly before sneaking out into the hall. It’s still early, almost no one should be up yet, but you have to pass both Seokjin and Namjoon’s rooms to get to your own, and Namjoon is known for keeping strange hours.

Thankfully, this is not the first time you’ve made this journey, and you know just how to move to avoid making noise. You manage to unlatch the door to your chambers with only the slightest of sounds, and you and Yoongi sneak in. He helps you light the wall sconces and a few candles, and as your room lights up, you sigh.

You suppose you should pack on the lighter side. The king’s letter hadn’t said… anything, really, about what awaits you in the Ironhold, but you suspect that whatever you bring won’t be good enough. 

Yoongi helps you fill a trunk with clothes. Or rather, he handles everything, barely letting you do any of it. He folds each garment carefully, like it’s made of glass, choosing his favorite garments like a sommelier chooses wine. You can’t read his expression, can’t tell what he’s thinking, but there’s a cloud over his eyes, and you know he’s lost in thought. 

You leave him to it, figure that maybe this is something he needs to do, and busy yourself with gathering other things you want to take. A few books. A figurine of a duck your father had bought for you for your birthday as a child. Your favorite blanket. A drawing that one of the artists in town had done of your family–your father, your step-mother, Seokjin, Namjoon, and you. There’s one of you and Yoongi, too, that you tuck into one of your more boring books.

You aren’t quite sure when it happens, but you look up, and suddenly, it’s light out. A knock at your door pulls you out of the trance of going through your belongings. Yoongi’s closer, and he reaches out to open it before you can even say anything.

It’s Seokjin.

He stands there, looking a little sheepish, clutching a burlap bag. You aren’t sure if he’s nervous because Yoongi opened the door, or if he’s nervous just being there in general. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Do you–am I interrupting something?”

You exchange a quick look with Yoongi, and he shakes his head. “I’ll be back soon, yeah?” he says to you. And when you nod, he leaves you and Seokjin alone.

For a few brief moments, it’s quiet. Seokjin wanders silently and mindlessly around your room, looking at your desk, a shelf, your bedside table. But then he sighs, and a pained look crosses his face.

“What have we done to get here?” His voice is quiet, tentative, like he doesn’t want to talk too loudly.

You shrug helplessly. “I wish I knew.”

“There’s one good thing to come of it, I suppose.” He sighs once again, and this time, it’s dramatic. “Now you’ll finally have a reason to be a royal pain in the ass.”

In any other situation, you may have laughed. The two of you aren’t strangers by any means, but you’ve always been closer with Namjoon. Seokjin has always been far more interested in the artisans in the forest town than what goes on in the castle. You wouldn’t begrudge him anything, but you also annoy the everloving hell out of each other. 

True siblings, your father had once proudly declared. You hadn’t always been quite as confident as he was, but the fact that Seokjin is here now… well, maybe you’re closer than you’d thought.

“I uh…” he starts awkwardly, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes before rubbing his neck. “Got you something to take with you.” He lifts up the bag, gesturing with it slightly before handing it to you.

Confused, you take it. The handle of the bag is rough, the burlap tightly woven for strength even though the contents aren’t particularly heavy. Looking in the bag, you pull out a box that’s about the width and length of a book. It’s made of blackwood, the inky black surface polished into glass. There’s a seam that splits it in half, and two golden hinges on the left side. The front of the box is engraved, a gilded thistle stands resolute against the darkness. You slide open the latch on the side and open it. The box is empty, but there’s enough room to store things.

“It’s very pretty,” you tell him, closing the box gently and slipping the latch back into place.

Gently, Seokjin takes the box out of your hands, and with both thumbs, pushes the leaves on either side of the thistle stem. There’s a quiet sound of sliding wood, and when he opens the box again, a panel inside has been moved, and suddenly, there’s more room. He closes the lid, presses the flower of the thistle, and the sliding happens again.

He pushes the box back into your hands, his eyes not leaving yours. You have questions, but the intensity of his gaze says enough.

“How?” you ask finally. You doubt he just had this lying around.

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I asked Haejeon to put a rush on it.”

You nod. Haejeon is one of the artisans in the forest town outside the castle walls. He makes games and trinkets. Your father has hired him many times to carve and build small ornaments out of blackwood, and he’s old enough to be your uncle, but when you were kids, he’d given Seokjin a puzzle box to play with, and ever since, your step-brother has been practically stuck to the man’s hip. Over the years, as Seokjin has gotten more and more interested in the creators and builders and artists, Haejeon has taken him under his wing in a way, offering guidance and friendship outside of the castle. 

“Thank him for me. Tell him it’s beautiful.” You hope to God you won’t have reason to use the secret compartment.

A noise outside the door draws your attention, and for a brief moment, Seokjin stares at the dark wood. But then he nods. “Probably Yoongi,” he says lightly. But when he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll let you kids get back to it.”

But when he opens the door, it’s Namjoon that’s standing there. He’s still in his nightshirt, and a pair of warm, woolen pants hang a little crooked on his muscular legs.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be up,” he says from the doorway, looking completely past Seokjin. You motion for him to enter, but he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay long, I’m sure you still have plenty to do.”

“Namjoon,” you scold, barely any bite in your tone. Easily, he gives in, taking a few tentative steps into the room.

“I brought you this.” He holds out a book in your direction.

It’s bound in plain leather, and is neither particularly large nor particularly small. The pages are old and yellowed. The front cover is entirely non-descript, the only real identifying feature to the outside simply the word ‘Lin’ stamped on the spine.

You open it, and immediately you recognize it as one of the handful of tomes from Castle Blackwood’s library that details your family history. Its handwritten pages go back thousands of years, back to when Seinal Lin first settled the Westerlands.

“I thought that maybe you’d want it. To tell them about us.”

He doesn’t have to say who he means. If this turns out the way most royal weddings do, you aren’t sure when you’ll see your family again. These people who have been your life and your heart for over two decades will more than likely be strangers to any children you may have. This history that Namjoon has given you is more than just a book. It’s a reminder of who you are. It’s a lifeline.

Suddenly, you feel like you’re breaking apart again, but you fight it off, pulling Namjoon into a tight hug. He makes a noise of surprise but after a second, his arms tighten around you. You stand there for a moment, unwilling to pull away, and soon, you feel another body press against your side. Seokjin’s arms wrap around you both, and now you couldn’t pull away, even if you wanted to. 

As quick as it came, the moment passes.

“We should let you get back to it,” Namjoon says softly, a hand still on your arm.

They both nod solemnly, and then, just like that, you’re alone.

The silence is unbearable, the soft crackling of the wall sconces deafening as you’re left alone with your thoughts. Thanks to Yoongi’s earlier efforts, your things are packed, so there isn’t much left to do. You pull out your desk chair and sit, picking up your quill and twirling it between your thumb and forefinger. Thoughts swirl in your mind, and you pick up a piece of parchment.

Once you start writing, you can’t stop, and the words flow out of you as quick as you can write them down. You’re mid-word when there’s a knock at your door, and you hurry to finish and sand the ink.

“Come in,” you call, blowing across the page to get rid of the sand and excess ink.

You have the parchment folded by the time the door opens. Your suspicions are confirmed when a dark head of hair pokes in. Yoongi. He enters slowly, almost silently, and sits on the edge of your bed, watching curiously as you hold a dark green wax stick, melting it with the flame of a candle. You press your seal into the warm wax, removing it quickly before it can stick. The thistle stamp glistens in the candlelight, the wax still soft. You leave it to dry and turn your attention to Yoongi.

His gaze follows your every move, dark eyes soft with fondness. You pretend not to see the redness and puffiness that accompanies it. Silently, he reaches out, catching your hand in his own to tug you toward him. His arms hook around your legs, keeping you close.

“Father asked me to tell you they’re close,” he says softly, a pained look crossing his face briefly. “Word was sent from the first guard post.”

You hum and nod, running your hands through his hair. He’s changed his clothes, but his hair’s still a little tousled from your earlier romp. There’s still some time–the first guard post is at the bottom of the mountain, where the forest is still a thin stand of trees–but suddenly, your heart is in your throat. It hadn’t felt real, not really, but now… You push his hair back off his forehead once again and swallow thickly in an attempt to hold yourself together.

“I love you.” It just kind of bubbles to the surface, quiet but necessary. 

He squeezes the back of your thigh, a soft, “I love you more,” on his lips. After another moment, he releases you. “You should change,” he says quietly, standing.

He’s almost to the door when you stop him. “Stay.” You aren’t sure why you say it, but he freezes in place. “Please,” you add. And, after a brief moment of consideration, he nods.

You dress quickly, pulling on a pair of trousers and a new tunic, barely checking to make sure they match. Yoongi helps you with your corset, his deft fingers having no trouble with the laces this time round. When he’s done, you pull him close, wrap your arms around him tightly.

You are determined to not let go of him until you have to.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning back away from you ever so slightly. Your hands stay around his waist, but he brings his hands between you to tug at the ring on his littlest finger. Carefully, he pulls your hand away and places the ring in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

“What-?”

“Take this,” he says, squeezing your fist.

You inspect the ring. It’s funny, you’ve seen it before–you’ve played with his hands countless times, looked at it while it was on his finger–but it’s like this is the first time you’re actually seeing it. It’s silver, the flat face of it etched with a shield, a sword standing at attention in its center. On either side of the ring’s face, thistle flowers bloom along the band. 

“Yoongi,” you protest. You don’t want to take his signet ring. It’s the crest of the Min family, the ring serves as a seal to press into wax. He needs it.

He insists. “Keep it. Don’t wear it if you don’t want to, but I want you to have it. To remember.”

“As if I could forget.”

Yoongi smiles at that, a soft, somber smile that curves his lips but doesn’t meet his eyes. 

The quiet that settles is interrupted rather rudely by the door opening. A head of dark hair and Yoongi’s sharp eyes peer in at you. It’s Jaesung.

“Lord John asked me to fetch you both,” he says, and you can sense the anger barely concealed in his voice. “They’ll be here soon.”

Yoongi nods, but you can feel him let out a sigh. 

“Shall I grab your trunk?” Jaesung asks, gesturing to the now full case behind you. It’s probably heavy, but you nod anyway. You’ve seen him lift heavier before, and you trust him to know his limits. You pick up Seokjin’s box and press the leaves, slipping Yoongi’s ring into the compartment before shutting it back up and stashing the whole thing in your trunk.

Yoongi trails behind you, his fingers grasped loosely in your own as you slowly and begrudgingly make your way through the castle. The wall sconces have been extinguished and the shutters have been thrown open, bathing the stone hallways in morning light. Instead of taking the back stairs you did last night–the ones which go past Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s chambers down to Yoongi’s–you follow the plush carpet down the hall to the grand stairs. They curve around the main hall, criss-crossing from front to back.

You pause at the first landing, just above the grand entrance. Yoongi stops almost immediately, his head falling to one side in confusion.

“Take this,” you say softly, handing him the letter from earlier. 

“But-”

“Take it,” you insist, pressing it into his chest. “Don’t read it now. Give it a day or two. Please.”

Your eyes meet his, and silently, you plead with him. For a moment, he stands firm, his grip on your wrist tight. But then he relents, shoulders sagging, and nods. “Fine,” he says, taking the letter from your grasp and stuffing it into his pocket.

The heavy blackwood main doors of the castle are at least double your height, and they stand wide-open now. Your father and step-mother are in the courtyard, you can see them out by the centuries-old blackwood tree that stands sentinel in front of the castle. You’d spent many days of your childhood climbing its thick boughs, throwing seeds down to pelt Namjoon as he sat in the shade and read. Usually, the courtyard is bustling with people–from the castle, from the forest town, visitors–but now, aside from your father and step-mother, it’s completely empty.

“Stop pacing, love,” your step-mother says. She sits in a chair just to the left of the sentinel tree. She must not be feeling as well today. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I fear it’s too late for that, Sara, my dear” your father mumbles. And when he looks up, he sees you and Yoongi approaching. “Ah.” He outstretches an arm, beckoning you forward.

When you’re close enough, your step-mother grabs your free hand, enveloping it in her own. Her hands are cold, and there’s no real strength to her grip. Yoongi stands close behind you, his chest practically touching your back as you hold the gaze of your step-mother. 

“Brave girl,” she says softly. 

“The towers sent word ahead of time. The envoy is in a hurry to get back to the Ironhold,” your father tells you. He’s stopped his pacing and now stands beside your step-mother’s chair. “We wanted to have time to say goodbye.”

You frown. Already, the king is not making a good impression on you. Between the sudden letter and the incoming envoy that feels more like an abduction than a transport, you’re certain that this is the worst decision you’ve ever made in your life. And yet, as you look back and forth between your father and step-mother, as you hold Yoongi’s hand, you know it’s probably also–unfortunately–the right one. 

Your father comes forward, his big hands cupping your cheeks. “You are smart,” he tells you, voice low. “You are strong. You are kind. Give ‘em hell.” He kisses your forehead and lets you go, turning almost immediately and walking toward the castle entrance to watch the road. You don’t miss the glisten in his eyes.

Your step-mother pats your hand. “I don’t think he will ever let this go. The Ironhold may say they’re doing this for the good of our two families, but…” She sighs. “I fear they’ve made an enemy out of the west.” She meets your gaze again, honeyed dark eyes big and sad. “Don’t let them dull you.” 

Carefully, she reaches up and unpins a brooch from the front of her dress. It’s beautiful–you’ve admired it since you were a kid. A mother-of-pearl thistle blossom inset into an oval of ebony blackwood. She stands, a little unsteadily at first, and you reach out to help her gain her balance. Without looking up, she pins the brooch to your tunic, right over your heart.

You hear the hoofbeats before you see the envoy, the clattering of a carriage and several horses enough to draw anyone’s attention. Jaesung arrives just in time; he and Namjoon place your trunk just under the tree beside your step-mother’s chair. Like a spectre, Seokjin appears to your left. They all huddle closer when the first horse appears at the gates.

It’s not really that large of a traveling party–two men on horseback, a carriage with its driver, and a supply wagon–but the sight of it has your stomach churning all the same. You’re glad you didn’t take time for breakfast, or you might actually be sick. Yoongi presses closer, your entwined hands hidden behind your back.

One of the riders dismounts–you assume the steward–and approaches your father. They shake hands, and you can see the man’s gaze flick to you as they talk. Yoongi squeezes your hand. After a moment, they come closer. Your father’s face is grave, almost ashen, as he gestures for you.

The whole exchange is silent. You dare not look at Yoongi, too afraid that if you do, you’ll falter or worse. But as you step forward, he refuses to let go of your hand. Only until you’re physically too far away does he loosen his grip, and as soon as his fingers are out of your grasp, you miss him. 

Your trunk gets moved to the carriage. The steward shakes your father’s hand again. Namjoon hugs you. Seokjin kisses your forehead. You’re passed around your father and step-mother and Jaesung. You refuse to look at Yoongi. And then it’s over. And you have nothing left to do but get in the carriage.   

The inside of the carriage looks lavish, with soft velvet covering the bench and luxurious curtains covering the windows. But when you actually get in, the bench is hard, and the fabric over the windows leaves the carriage dark and confining. It’s impossible to see out, but you do your best, pulling the fabric away from the window and shoving your face against the wood of  the wall. 

They stand there, everyone you hold close, clumped together. The carriage jolts forward, and even though they can’t see you, you wave. Yoongi is the only one that lifts his hand, and you hold his gaze until the carriage enters the forest town and you can no longer see him. 

Your heart hurts, and somewhere, deep inside your soul, you feel something breaking.

prev. | masterlist | next

your support means a whole lot, especially now when I'm low on energy and time. grad school is hell, but I wanted to post this to give us both some joy. please let me know your thoughts. I hope to finish this sometime this century, so please look forward to the next two parts!

[hazbin-but-good]

another hazbin hotel rewrite/redesign?

yup! and i'm so serious about it that i made a whole blog for it. i'm a white queer ex-cath tran doing this as an art and writing exercise, so feedback from other creatives + jewish and/or racialized folks is especially welcome.

i'm putting this post and only this post in the main tags for visibility. also, not gonna link my main, but i do make my own original stuff, and i encourage fans and haters alike to do the same.

anyway, here's a mostly good-faith 1.7k-word essay on the original. i think it's pretty funny and brings up some less talked-about points. correct me on the facts, disagree with my opinions, and ask clarifying questions, but don't come at me with any piss-poor reading comprehension.

the hellaverse is garbage, and here's why

cw: strong language, stronger opinions, intersectional feminist critical discourse analysis

1. vivienne medrano, the person

medrano was born as a well-off white-passing latina (salvadoran-american) in bougieass frederick, maryland. while attending new york's top art school, she got popular on deviantart-tumblr-twitter by being a prolific multifandom fujoshi furry who's more into ornamental character design than storytelling. upon graduation, she leveraged her fanbase and industry connections to make the hazbin and helluva boss pilots, get helluva made for youtube, and get hazbin made for amazon prime.

like every woman online, she gets harassed for no good reason, and as a certified autist, i will defend her right to be dumb, weird, annoying, and bad with words. however, there are legit reasons to criticize her:

racism, misogyny, homophobia, fatphobia, some antisemitism, past transphobia, past ableism

shitty boss, bad friend

cowardly, vindictive, manipulative, thoughtless behavior

skeevy friends

sucks at taking criticism

in short, i think she desperately needs a PR person and someone to clean up her digital footprint.

2. medrano's art

incurious

inauthentic

noncommittal

creatively stagnant

overindulgent, and the indulgence isn't even fun

shallow and childish framed as complex and mature

bland and boring framed as shocking and subversive

to be clear, i'm at peace with the existence of suckass art like this; i just think the money, attention, and praise it gets are unearned and should go to more interesting works, of which there are infinite.

medrano's had the time, money, and social cache to grow as an artist, learn from the best, and take creative risks, but she hasn't. if she truly has nothing more to offer, she should let her collaborators take the wheel, but she doesn't do that either. instead, she keeps getting more and more resources to make the same baby bullshit, and that pisses me off. she could be the nicest person ever, and this fundamental arrogance would still make her art blow.

stop with the pointless guilt: liking medrano's work does not make you stupid or evil. however, if you stay in the kiddie pool of culture, if you refuse to engage with a diversity of art, if the hellaverse is your point of reference for anything media-related, you can't expect to have your opinions on art, media, or culture taken seriously. you have not earned a seat at the table. you gotta hit the books first.

i cannot emphasize enough how much incredible stuff is out there if you're willing to look further than what social media and streaming services put right in front of you. if you come away from this blog having learned about just one new artist or piece of art, i'll be a happy camper.

3. the hellaverse

a. empty and confused

hazbin and helluva's content and marketing has no clear target audience. the subjects are inappropiate for teens, but the execution is too childish for adults, and lemme tell you what i don't mean by that, first.

not inherently inappropriate for teens:

sex and sexuality

violence, including when it intersects with the above

politics and religion

not inherently childish:

animation (any style)

comedy

episodic writing and/or loose continuity

young characters

fun, happiness, optimism, the power of friendship, cuteness, tenderness, sincerity, etc.

what i mean is that these shows are literally about adult characters who fuck, smoke, drink, do drugs, go clubbing, work full-time, manage their own finances, and deal with stuff like bureaucracy, sexual violence, domestic abuse, marriage, divorce, late adoption, and family estrangement.

however, none of these "adult" things are given enough specificity to create drama or comedy. it's all too stock, vague, flat, weirdly sanitized, and thus utterly banal—pure aesthetics on top of bad saturday morning cartoons. it's exactly what i'd expect from a sheltered disney kid who needs to log off and get into their local gay scene ASAP so their only contact with things like poverty, policing, addiction, and sex work stops being facile movies and TV.

if the shows were aware of this and played with it, that could be amazing, but they're not. they give you the mickey mouse version of the world with a straight face and then play looney tunes sound effects to try to make you laugh and sad_violin.mp3 to try to make you cry. now that's funny.

b. old and tired

let's make like americans and pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist. even within the confines of the USA, home of the hays code, the red scare, and reaganite propaganda, this neopuritan fascist state ruled by 1000 megachurches in a trenchcoat, the indie/underground animation scene has been doing crazier shit for decades. anti-war films in the 60's, bakshi movies in the 70's, the simpsons shorts and r-rated movies in the 80's, adult swim and MTV in the 90's, flash/newgrounds/youtube in the 00's, streaming in the 2010's—so what are we doing in the 2020's with this wet white rice drowned in expired ketchup? i feel crazy making this point because it's obvious if you've watched these things, but if you haven't, you're gonna be like "well, there's gotta be something new here". no! there isn't! in the words of jimmy "the scot" jordan, nothing, nothing, NOTHING!

c. ideological purgatory

actually, there is one thing in these shows i've never seen before: the presbysterianism. shout out some interesting or at least intentional presbysterian art in the comments, because the way these ideas are presented here is not compelling. it just makes the rainbow neoliberalism even more confusing and contradictory.

i guess the big presbysterian things are protestanism, calvinism, and, uh, big church government? presbysterians, get your shit together. get your brand down. catholics have BDSM and vampires, evangelicals have TV and corporatism; what do you have? celtic crosses? no wonder medrano has such uninspired ideas on divinity.

d. queer deficiency

when i look at a piece of art, i ask myself: "what does this give me that i can't get from the hunchback of notre dame (1996)?" if the answer is as limp as "uhh, gay people, i guess", i can probably look for my gay shit elsewhere and rewatch the hunchback of notre dame (1996) in the meantime.

but let's say that you have no standards. you've been waiting for ages for a show about gays by the gays for the gays, and by god you're gonna get it. this is it! here we go! time for some

generic twink obliteration

male sexuality as aggression and dominance displays

WLW (sex and chemistry not included)

a couple straight femdoms

and the stalest sex jokes known to man

...yeah, it's not very queer. and by "queer", i mean "questioning or subverting gender norms (including sexual roles) within a given cultural context regardless of creator identity and intent". i'm not a queer studies scholar so LMK if there's a more specific term for this, but whatever you call it, it's not in the hellaverse much.

there's not even any transness, literal or metaphorical, just ancient drag jokes. i guess the writers thought we would've been too controversial. so much for an indie animation studio that prides itself in the diversity of its staff both above and below the line, bakshi-style. i wonder how medrano, a bisexual woman, would've felt if told that a lesbian main couple in hazbin would be "too controversial".

4. spindlehorse and the vivziepop brand

spindlehorse toons underpays its overworked staff and keeps outsourcing more and more labor to even more overworked freelancers overseas to cut costs. a rainbow sweatshop is still a sweatshop, and just because these practices may be "industry standard" doesn't make them any more ethical.

the studio has also been repeatedly accused by current and former employees and contractors of creating a hostile and abusive workplace. AFAIK, it still has no dedicated HR person, and victims are too afraid of retaliation like blacklisting and online harassment to speak out.

this is exactly the stuff that unions exist to prevent. as i'm writing this, the IATSE (the parent union of TAG, which is the parent union of all US animation unions) is negotiating with entertainment industry executives for better working conditions, and if the execs fuck around like last year, it's strike time again. so watch this space, voice your support, and don't cross any picket lines.

i hope spindlehorse unionizes, but until then and for these reasons, i don't think you should give money to the company.

first of all, all content on amazon-owned platforms is ok to pirate, and all youtube ads are ok to block. everyone involved in making the episodes has (or should have) been paid upfront, so you're not taking the bread out of anyone's mouth.

next, let's look at the succulent offerings of the official vivziepop merch shop:

$10 pins and keychains

$15 sticker packs

$20 mugs and acrylic cutouts

$25 shirts

$30 metal cards (not even tarot)

$40 lounge pants

$50 mini backpacks

random $80 skateboard deck

forgive my latin americanness, but this is all stuff you can get made by a local metalsmith, print/sublimation shop, or just crafty people in your life. it's cheaper, customizable, and better for the environment to skip all the shipping and packaging. also, not painting your own skateboard is poser shit.

the hazbin website also has $15 pins, one $20 keychain, and $6 trading card packs. people are weird about trading cards, so if for some reason you wanna gamble for a mass-produced bit of cardboard, plastic, and tinfoil, at least bulk-order for all the vivziepoppers in your area so it's less of a huge waste. better yet, trace the designs and make infinite bootlegs.

at the end of the day, buying merch is not activism. your bulk order of trading cards will not save any wage slaves from getting evicted from their overpriced studio apartments. however, the shop links you to all the credited artists/designers, and more of your bucks will actually reach them if you buy their designs directly, then turn them into body pillows or life-sized bronze statues or whatever the fuck.

go through the credits of any episode of helluva or hazbin, and you'll find even more creatives you might wanna support. get jinkx monsoon's albums on CD. subscribe to actually good artist, animator, and composer gooseworx. lots of voice actors now have patreon, cameo, or self-hosted pages where you can write better lines for their characters and have them read it. these things may not look as shiny as Official Merch™, but we all need less plastic shit and more culture anyway.

[panlight]

Of all the Cullens, for some reason it tickles me to imagine Jasper sitting down to write essays and do diorsmas for school. He's just seen too much, did too much compared to all of them to have an even somewhat reasonable masquerade as a teenager. You mean the man with the thousand yard stare is 16 years old? Okay. Out of all of them, his time playing pretend is the hardest to imagine. From breaking heads off to making a Styrofoam model of a animal nucleus. Hahah

Oh I agree. He's the one where I think about it for two seconds it's just so utterly absurd he's in school. And it's not even about his shaky self-control, it's that this guy is the oldest after Carlisle, is 19/20 years old physically, and spent 90 years in endless vampire war and now he's subjected to writing another essay on The Great Gatsby? How is that not hugely humiliating and completely pointless?

His dates vary between the books and the guide, but he is 19-20ish and Emmett is 20 and both are too old for high school. They're also 6'3" and 6'5". I mean on her very first day Bella sees them and says they look more like teachers than students, so the whole "blending in" excuse completely falls apart.

Is this supposed to be some kind of punishment or atonement for him? Edward calls high school purgatory, which is a place where you work off your sins and are purified before being allowed into heaven. But how does physically 20-years-old ex-vampire-warlord Jasper atone for anything by graphing parabolas?

Or is it really just like "well Alice looks the part and wants (?) to go to high school and I want to be where Alice is?"

Or did SM not think about this for two seconds? The story would not change AT ALL if Edward and Alice, as the two youngest-looking (I think Alice is technically older than Rosalie but her small stature makes her pass for younger) were the only ones in high school. Jasper's presence at school doesn't matter, neither do Emmett's or Rosalie's.

It's just such a bizarre thing to think about. What a strange use of his eternal life. What would Maria think to see him sitting in school?

[rosemirmir]

Time for that unhinged Geryon essay I promised:

I've posted about it before, but now with the finale out and with the final confrontation between Hotaro and Geryon, I'm just thinking again about the thematic aspects of Geryon once again. And how he and his obsession with turning the world into gold is meant to symbolize wanting things to stay the same.

While Hotaro and the others wish to move things forward and change the future.

And that is one of the main themes of this show: To push forwards, reach your dreams, and change the future. And how you can only do both of those things by moving forward.

Geryon talks about turning worthless things into gold "is the true goal of alchemy". While with Hotaro, Rinne, and others being an alchemist is about using alchemy to bring happiness into the world. Which is a vastly different goal than the original historic reason behind the origin of alchemy.

To Geryon, Hotaro's dream, and the concept of having dreams itself is a pointless endeavor. As well as a sign of weakness. What really matters to him is to create something with what he thinks has real "worth", by using what is one of the original purposes of alchemy and probably the most well known: turning base metals into gold.

Also gold is classified as a noble metal. Which is interesting to think about the name of that classification when you see Geryon seeing gold and turning the whole world into gold is something that actually has "worth", compared to bringing happiness into the world. Or to create a world where humans and chemies can coexist.

With that: it also can be read that Geryon is an alchemist purist too. Rejecting the notion the of idea Alchemy should be used to bring happiness to others, which is a much newer ideal compared to turning base metals into gold.

This is not "the true goal of alchemy" or "what alchemy is for" after all, two things he says throughout the course of the show.

Another theme in this show is the next generation being the hope to bring change for the future.

But Geryon being part of the adults of the cast fully rejects what Hotaro and the others are standing for. Compared to Minato, Kyoka, and Fuga who are behind guiding the next generation to help them bring the change they strive to achieve. The three of them say as much in various points of the show.

Which is just something I find really interesting to think about.

Lastly: this entire speech from Hotaro during the final battle also really stuck out to me when watching it the first time. And is a perfect display of the themes present in the show:

Gold is eternal, Geryon says as much in Episode 49. To create a world of gold is to keep things exactly the same as they were. Nothing can change, time is at a standstill.

But that is not what is needed for the betterment of the world. What is needed is to keep pushing onwards, and to try and grasp our dreams, and change the future.

His motivation and end goal is extremely simple, but it just works so well thematically for this show and the messages it wants to tell. He is a perfect foil to Hotaro and is an excellent villain to me because of how his motivation completely contrasts Hotaro's. It's a really good use of the original purpose of alchemy!

The best way I can describe Geryon as a villain is "simple but effective".

Sometimes you don't need a super complex motivation to have an effective antagonist for your story. It all depends on what you want to tell. And just from a thematic standpoint, Geryon just works as a villain for the story and messages of Gotchard.

[hestzhyen]

Complicated Platonic SoRiku Feels

Hi again internet void. Please allow me to vent into your uncaring ear. I've been struggling with understanding why platonic SoRiku would be a disappointment to me. Maybe you can help? Let me try to do this succinctly...

SoRiku has been coded in an overwhelmingly romantic way. It's gotten to the point where Nomura showed us only the Fairy Godmother was good enough to send Riku off to fulfill his literal dream of finding Sora. ALONE. SoRiku fans constantly lament that if either Sora or Riku was a girl, then the romance angle would be obvious to the point of overdone. And if the big moments in their relationship weren't enough, check out all those direct comparisons to Disney couples across multiple decades. At this point, platonic SoRiku will only make sense to me if Sora is aromantic. It's drifted too far from the credibly platonic bond we saw in KH1 to be anything but romantic now- especially from Riku's side.

So I guess that's why I don't jive with the general fandom sentiment of "any SoRiku ending is good". It's not and I'm tired of telling myself I should be grateful if it happens in any capacity. I'm not going to be okay with yet another case of writing a romance and refusing to acknowledge it as one. Saying "platonic SoRiku is good" without Sora being aro feels like hedging my bets against being baited again. KH has been built different ever since CoM's aitsu and shared promise shenanigans- don't try to wriggle out of that with "they're the most special guys with the most unique and incomparable bond ever".

Man. I've got even more thoughts about why setting Riku up to be rejected would be cruel and unfulfilling/pointless from a narrative perspective but no one wants to read an essay. I want to hear what other people have to say but asking for someone to read this is less realistic than canon SoRiku ha ha. So thanks for hearing me out, void.

[glisten-inthedark]

Biggest byler doubt you ever had and how was it solved?

Hi!

I guess it was when I decided to go through the mil*ven tag just to see their perspective. I still do it sometimes, to be honest, but my decision was to see if their points make sense, because I like to challenge myself and I wanted to understand why they don't think Byler will be a thing so I forced myself to be in a position of: maybe this might work like this, maybe it's this, you know?

As to how it was solved, as it usually is for me - with logic - lmao.

I started thinking about the grand scheme of things, connecting all of the facts together instead of approaching them individually. The point of "the whole is greater than the sum of its parts" is very applicable to the situation.

So I started thinking: Why Will falling in love with Mike was a choice they made, at all?

Because if we think about it, realistically, that decision meant that they'd have to sacrifice something. Whether it was Will's chance at happiness or Mike's relationship with El, something would have to give, eventually.

I feel like a parrot repeating myself at this point, but Will's happiness is deeply connected to being able to spend his life with Mike. He said this not once, but twice already. He also said he'd always NEED (not want, not love, not anything else) Mike.

The fact that Will is so in love with Mike that he is willing to sacrifice his own happiness for him was also a choice the writers made. They made sure to let us know that this isn't a crush, that this isn't fleeting or passing.

They also made a choice of having El and Mike arguing. That choice is also important because it shows us that they don't understand each other, they don't know each other enough to understand what the other is saying.

All of these were choices.

So when I stopped to think about it, I realized how pointless they were from a narrative standpoint, especially if they won't amount to anything. Because then what was the point of it in the first place?

What is the point of building this entire arc only for it to end right back where it started? Because then, not only Will's love for Mike didn't do anything and exists only to cause him pain, they spent hours and God knows how much in budget on something that didn't do anything to the overall story. Not only would that be stupid; it also means they sacrificed Mike's storyline with El (because let's be for real, they could find a way of having him with her at Nina if they wanted) for NOTHING.

It's one thing for them to create this storyline of Will being in love, it's another thing completely different for them to choose this over the opportunity of Mike learning more about El's powers and about who she is with her.

So that's how I go about it.

Me writing a whole essay for a straightforward question, more likely than you'd think

[autistic-katara]

ok i might get blocked by a couple ppl for saying this but the Jackson’s Diary fandom is seriously making me wanna become a proshipper out of spite (read the post before blocking me or whatever please)

like idk if u guys have checked the fandom tag on ao3 recently but theres been a bit of drama surrounding the fact that someone posted a smut-fic of Exer (an 18yo) and David (an almost 18yo, who was aged up A FEW MONTHS for the fic) and they were harassed into taking it down and making a fucking apology post ON AO3, THE PROBLEMATIC FANWORKS WEBSITE.

and this fic was tagged 100% correctly like it was very explicitly tagged as smut n stuff yet there were still a bunch of comments being like “uhm what did i just read 🤨” and when i made a comment defending the authors right to yk, not be harassed for making not even rlly problematic content someone who clearly would suffer withdrawal symptoms if they turned twitter off for too long started arguing with me abt how “erm ackhtually we should be allowed to comment harassment under ppls harmless and explicitly tagged fics cause theres no smut in this fandom and it shocked us” and u could just rlly tell they felt they were more righteous than God in their opinions and yeah so cut to tonight when i’m scrolling through the tag and i see a post titled “i’m so sorry” in which the author made a post basically being like “i’m so sorry for posting that ik it was disgusting it has been permanently deleted” which in the comments a few ppl were telling them that what happened sucked n stuff (myself included // judging by their reply they only did this to stop the harassment which yk, completely fair) and i went back to scrolling since i wanted an actual fic not fandom drama but like 2 posts down there was another post titled “please stop” or smthn like that where someone else made a post basically being like “guyssss can we please not write smut of these characters this fandom is so wholesome i dont wanna ruin it 🥺 anyways sorry this isnt a fic this just needed to be said lol” and like dude, my guy, WHAT THE FUCK?!

this is AO3, this is a fanwork archive that as far as i know was created (at least partially) due to the fact that ppl kept getting their “problematic” works taken down from other sites and the creators wanted to yk archive all fanworks. this is NOT a social media site where u can make callout posts abt how what someone else posted disturbed ur pure wholesome chaste scrolling by daring to uploaded something with *gasp* consensual sex between 2 consenting adults?! (or canonically 1 consenting adult and 1 consenting gonna-be-an-adult-in-a-few-months-but-isnt-much-younger-than-the-first-guy but u get the idea)

like guys, ao3 is not twitter. it is not tiktok, it is not tumblr, its not youtube, its not even wattpad. it is not a social media platform, it is a fanwork archive, specifically one that lets u post whatever kinda content u want (yes, even smthn depicting 2 consenting adult/almost adult participates that are in no way related having sex, ik its crazy what they allow online these days).

and look honestly the callout post wouldn’tve annoyed me this much if it was posted on yk an actual social media. like if it was posted on twitter or tiktok or on youtube as a video essay or even on here, like sure if i saw it id be annoyed that this fandom cant handle the tiniest bit of non-puritanicalism and fuck, maybe if it was on here id even drag myself into a pointless days-long argument that causes me suicidal levels of stress but on archive of our fucking own itself?! for the millionth time, IT IS NOT A SOCIAL MEDIA! u dont make posts like that that u want the rest of the fandom to read or whatever on there because its not that kinda website!

anyways yeah i hope i explained the situation ok, u might be able to check it out urself if u feel like it and yeah idk this whole thing just kinda felt like a wake-up call for me like yes i find incest and pedophilia disgusting OBVIOUSLY and i dont like ppl romanticising it in fiction but idk i’ve seen ppl talk abt toxic antis before and show screenshots of conversations where theyve acted super shitty but idk seeing this all unfold in person and having to argue with these hardcore antis just- i dont wanna be associated with these ppl, if these are what alotta antis r like i dont want anyone to assume i agree with them like at all, whether its other antis, proshippers, or ppl like me who have a super complicated opinion on it. like they harassed a person into taking down their smut and made call-out posts on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN abt how they dont want their wholesome pure fandom corrupted by gross dirty irredeemable sex. and just yeah hope no mutuals i seriously care abt unmoot or even block me over this since ik a few of u r antis but yeah srry for this i just kinda seriously hate this fandom right now :)

also incase anyone is typing out a “kill yourself pedo” reply/rb rn; i turn 15 on Friday, i am 2+ years younger than ur innocent bb minor boy David and his definitely not already a legal adult boyfriend Exer so yk

[fairlyabookie]

Letter

Author’s note: Ace got in trouble~

Content: one sided | riddle punishes ace

“Don’t say that; Riddle will just beat me by a point or two.”

Ace scoffs.

“You’re such a bookworm, [Reader]. Knowing you, you’re bound to ace this exam.”

“‘Ace’, Ace.”

[Reader] chuckles from the pun.

“I meant that.”

Ace pouts at a blank piece of paper, his upper lips lodging his magic pen in between his nose and lips, his motivation killed off as soon as he recalled that piece of memory. He had to write yet another essay as punishment, this time for lying to Riddle about his altercation with [Reader]. What was supposed to be a smooth lie crafted by Ace to appease Riddle turned out to be something coming from a B-class drama: Riddle finding out and giving Ace a real scolding and punishment.

Now, here he was supposedly writing an apology letter as an essay. Honestly, Ace didn’t want to do it - after all, the argument was pointless, a stupid conversation between the both of them that turned heated after Ace made a biting comment, and then they got mad at him. Apparently, an apology wasn’t sufficient enough.

Gosh, is a relationship supposed to be this complicated?

He ruffles his head, a headache blossoming in between his temples. His memories sift through flashes of smiles, frowns, and banters with [Reader], all of them filled with mirth as if he can hear their laughter and voice. With each passing memory, his heart lurches, something he kept note as he stares at the blank paper in front of him. The magic pen by his lips drops to his hand, where he catches it in between his fingers, deftly twirling it as his thoughts flow like water.

Such feelings for [Reader] were genuine, profound just like the red roses in the Heartslabyul dorm and Trey’s choice of ingredients for his pastries. The words were just there at the tip of his tongue, his hand itching closer to the paper to write. He huffs, beginning the letter with the first few words:

“Dear [Reader],”

The ginger bites on his lips, almost losing himself to the throes of his rose-tinged sentiments.

Is Riddle going to read this too?

Such a thought dampened his mood right away. He groans, melting down to his chair.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

A pathetic whine rolls from his lips.

“Do what, Ace?”

The first year straightens from his seat; he didn’t have to guess who the intruder was when he glimpsed a pair of red antennas shoot up comically.

“Is something wrong? Is writing a basic essay too much for you?”

The dorm leader perks an eyebrow to Ace. He places a stack of paper next to Ace, a thunderous plop resounding across the room. Ace fought back the dread rising in his gut.

“Feel free to write as much as you like, Ace. You may choose who to write to for your apology letter,”

Riddle smirks over to Ace after seeing the blank document.

“You have the end of the day to do it, Ace..”

With that, he leaves a grumbling Ace with a stack of paper, his blank piece of paper mocking him to write what would be a whole heartfelt letter of apology (and confession). Well, at least I can choose between the two.

And so, Ace begins to write a letter, one that he and its reader know.

[bhnsby]

Since you like jo, i need to hear more about your opinion about her

GOD I THOUGHT ID NEVER BE ASKED

Resident Jo guy here ready to talk about her too much

Funny enough I think Jo might be the character I’ve talked about the most on here? Not that anyone asked but I know I’ve done one on her and her dynamic with lightning, multiple jomarias, and whenever AS or roti comes up I always talk about her it’s like there’s some unknown force making me.

But for my jo take for today, I wanna talk about her/heather and the dynamic as well as the parallels between both.

Jo and heather are like one of the only mix gen dynamics, which is crazy. I can only think of like Scottney and like every other interaction between characters are so basic they have the essence of just “hello _____ character from other season!” “Hello _____ character from other season! We’ve now hit our interaction check box meaning this season wasn’t entirely pointless and definitely couldn’t just have been another roti season but everyone complained at the new characters” “huzzah!”

Sorry got sidetracked. Butt Jo and Heather do interact beyond that and I WISH we got more of them

To compare both, both are a “villain” in the series they compete in. And both are a take on a type of “bully”.

Heather is your classic mean girl but better. She’s the Regina George the Heather Chandler thats her trope. Yes there’s more depth to her but for this comparison I just want to talk about her in relation to Jo. Now to contrast Jo is more of the “jock bully” archetype. But once again, better.

Despite there clear differences they actually have more in common than I initially thought. Both take advantage of people they see as “less than them”. Heather with Beth and Lindsay, and Jo with Cameron and Lightning. Lightning and Lindsay clearly have some similarities in they’re both stupid and their manipulator uses this to their advantage, making them think they have an ally/friend but in actuality they are just being used. And Beth and Cameron are similar in the sense that their dynamic with their “bully” is also disguised as a friendship. Beth wants to be in the popular clique and Cameron wants to just survive this, meaning he’s willing to work with Jo despite her clearly being mean rude and horrible to him. Both Jo and Heather use these people to make it far, but ultimately their downfall is due to the people they used all season (jo being betrayed by cam and voted off by cam and lightning and heather having Lindsay being the reason she looses the challenge).

They also both have a very similar dynamic, heather with Gwen and Leshawna and Jo with Zoey and Anne Maria. Yes I know the Gwen/leshawna dynamic is very different to the Anne Maria/zoey dynamic, but when it comes to heather and Jo they’re actually kinda similar. Gwen is typically a little play thing for Heather to torment, with Leshawna always being at her neck standing up for other people and not being afraid to put heather in her place and fight back, and while Jo is rude to everyone Zoey will often not retaliate back, unlike Anne Maria who is, like Leshawna, always at her neck usually standing up for herself and other people (seen with how she defends the likes of cam guys wait till I drop the AM essay I have proof of this) and not being afraid to put Jo in her place and fight back against her rude/pushy/bossy/etc.

Their competitiveness and want to win is also something that both have. While it’s not as evident in heather (more in world tour than any other) they both have a desire to win individual and team challenges, as well as overall too.

Also just remembered in All stars they both make an alliance with an enemy of some kind only for them to immediately try to get them eliminated, both times backfiring with heather getting out instead and lightning being seen as useful later on (stfu no he wouldn’t have been)

The first clear difference between both is Jos internalised misogyny.

GOD I hate when people deny this it’s so obvious to me am I the only one that sees this but yeah anyway Jo makes an off handed comment about heathers “girly short shorts” or something idk I can’t remember I’m not rewatching I’m at college right now

Butt, I think some of Jos hate for Heather comes from some of her internalised misogyny. They would genuinely make for good friends if they weren’t both such haters. But alas Jo sees someone she’s compatible with and would get along with, but said person is a girly teen girl and doesn’t want to allow for a platonic female relationship. She doesn’t want to be friends with someone who is what she hates about herself. She’s not feminine and I don’t think that’s the reason for her internalised misogyny, I don’t think she needs to be “girly” or anything, and I don’t think she’s implied to be trans to me, I see it more as a societal thing where she feels like she “isn’t one of the girls” and better than people who are girly because to her she’s an exception and society tells her that guys are better than girls and her personality/attitude/interests/identity aligns more with the masculine gender (not trans just vibes ykwim) and so she denies all of her feminine traits to be better than everyone else. I think had jo and heather had more time, she could’ve overcome this and eventually formed a bit of a alliance/even friendship with heather, similarly to what started to/would’ve happened with jo and Anne Maria guys jomaria canon guys guys please

So yeah tl;dr Jo and heather are peak and would’ve been even more peak had they had more time

[francesminos-tt]

Did you see the leaks? What you think about the season in general? Did you like Gwayne? AND TESSERION? for me, the leaks were disappointing. rhaenyra begging for the war to end going to alicent and alicent wanting to hand over her children!? It's like the war makes no sense, is completely pointless and s3 seems disheartening and boring

To answer your first question, Gwayne is probably my favorite character in this season. He is exactly what I imagined him to be, a bit more playful perhaps, but overall, I like his character. He's like the voice of reason in the Green's side tbh. Freddie Fox's acting added to the characterization as well. I will touch more on Gwayne while talking about the Green's plot later. As for Tesserion, I didn't get a good look at it actually. I hope it is not too small. (Size of the dragons and people's obsession over it is another disappointing point in the show)

For the season itself, well, I am so glad you asked. I can write an essay about how the show killed almost all characters' arc with bad plot, unnecessary dialogue and forced conflict. Let me explain.

In my opinion, the biggest problem of S2 is that the show failed to recognize the dire situation of war. In fact, it seems to me that the show writers do not think there is a war at all. They seem to think the conflict between the Blacks and the Greens is just a family dispute, and it can be resolved by calling back to Rhaenyra and Alicent's bond. Do you realize how ridiculous this sounds? Why is Rhaenyra begging for the war to end going to Alicent and Alicent wanting to hand over her children? Because they see this so-called war not as a matter of life and death, but as a dispute between themselves that can be solved by begging the other. The show focuses too much on the emotional bond with Rhaenyra and Alicent that it killed both women's character development. They act like innocent maidens as they were in S1E1, while in fact, decades have passed and now they are both mothers and both has suffered child death. It is as if the death of Luke and Jaehaerys did not change them at all, which is absurd to me. I want to drop a bomb on someone who hurt my cat, so why does Rhaenyra still think the so called war can end peacefully when the other side killed her child?? Rhaenyra insisting to behead Aegon in the leaks seems strange to me as well. Rationally, I know Aegon is the enemy king and he should be symbol of the Green's usurpation, but in the previous episodes of this season, no one really sees him as king. Everyone, both allies and enemies, is talking about Aemond, Vaghar, Aemond, Vaghar, without even mentioning Aegon the Usurper. So I don't think publicly beheading Aegon can have the desired effect of ending the usurpation.

Another problem is that the show wants to put Rhaenyra and Alicent both in a very oppressed position so bad that they sacrificed a lot of character development and logic to achieve this. The show wants to paint both Rhaenyra and Alicent as victims of discrimination against women, which is fine by me, but being the victim is the not the solution. I, as an audience, want to see them fight the system. I think it is one of main takeaways from the Dance of the Dragons era. Disappointingly, all I see is them complaining and whiny about how the men don't listen to their commands, but I want to see them plotting, scheming, threatening, being diplomats, and most importantly, making a change. The show clearly wants to draw some parallels with Cersei, but at least Cersei does not sit in a room throwing a tantrum or go out to take a bath in the woods. Rhaenyra doing the red sowing seems like an attempt to make a change, but the way she did it (recruiting people from enemy territory is just beyond me) and the fact she doesn't seem to have a comprehensive plan of what to do next is just lame.

The show tries to force their out-of-place ideas and values upon the audience, namely feminism and the importance of people(smallfolk). Firstly, the show puts a lot of focus on female characters and in order to make these women shine, and it castrates all the men. I am not joking. Can you point out a single male character who doesn't go against the women? Not a single one. Gwayne is a possible candidate, but I think why he acts so logical and somewhat kind is to make Alicent even more devastated when he dies in the next season. Daemon, Jace, Corlys, Aegon, Aemond, Cole. They are all obstacles of Rhaenyra and Alicent, instead of their supporters. Putting men against women is not feminism. Secondly, I admit that smallfolks play an important role in killing the dragons in the F&B book, but the show makes it too far. This show is a medieval fantasy, not the French Revolution. Preconditions need to be met in order for the smallfolks to fight against the aristocracy. Productivity, social changes, urbanization, and movements like the Enlightenment are all contributors for the commoners to rise against their kings and queens. Ignoring all these factors and putting modern standards on smallfolks in the asoiaf world is just arrogant and disrespectful.

In terms of plot pace and development, S2 is also a failure. If you look at S1E1 and S1E10, things have become so different that you will probably feel sorry for the characters. But if you look at S2 premier and finale, they are practically the same. Even though supposedly a lot of people died and a lot of battles fought, the main characters still seem to be in the same place. They have no development whatsoever. They still immerse in their personal issues and fail to recognize the grand situation.

The final point I want to make, and this is completely personal, is that I hate them making Joffrey a clingy mommy's boy. He acts like an idiot who only knows how to say mommy. The scene with Rhaena, it pains me to watch it. They are not even having a intellectual conversation! They sizes down Tyraxes and just leaves Joffrey in the Vale like he's unwanted luggage.

Okay, thanks for giving me an opportunity to rant about the utter failure of S2. I have so much more to say(like how killed Jace and Daemon's character, how they made Aemond an anime villain, etc) but I think I will stop here. Let's just say I am not looking forward to S3. AT ALL.

[tommock]

I DNF'd Mistorn: Here's Why

Disclaimer: You asked for this. Let me start there. Don't get mad at me, Mistborn lover. If you clicked on this link, and that means you are taking the dagger into your own hand. The wound is self-inflicted!

I did not finish Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson. I know, I know, its actually called The Final Empire. The name Mistborn has stuck with so many readers for a reason, so I'll continue to use it as a shorthand. The book didn't work for me, but I think WHY it didn't work for me might be interesting to read about, especially for fellow authors.

If you have read and enjoyed the Mistborn books, or any work by Brandon Sanderson, I'm delighted. I want to applaud any work of fiction that brings people joy (so long as it or its author is not reprehensible in some way (he said, covering his ass)). I don't want you to think this is me taking shots at you or at Sanderson. I'm just talking about a work of fiction and what it did to my brain.

Believe me when I tell you I have no delusions about being some high-handed minister of good taste. You should see some of the anime I watch to destress at the end of a long day trying to be a self-published author, editor, and, well, just an ordinary semi-functioning human being.

I've read many, many books and loved them, only to come back to them later and find they were … less deserving of my matured tastes. Sometimes books meet us at the right time. If Mistborn was, or is, one such book for you, I would be a jerk and a fool if I tried to tell you that you were wrong for liking it. That isn't what this is. But, if you're at all curious why I didn't like it the way you did, here are my thoughts.

Instead of trying to construct some long elaborate essay, I've decided to present my reading notes as I was writing them. If you're at all familiar with my SPFBO9 opening reads thread, this is in a similar, though much protracted style. This is my travelogue of the first few chapters. If these notes are rough or feel stilted in places, I'm sorry. I DNF'd the book a few months ago, and I found in trying to clean up my notes that I was making up commentary to fill in gaps and I don't think that's fair. I've tried to provide some context where I could.

Pages referenced are from the first mass market edition, published August 2007 by Tor

My Notes:

Starts well enough. Interesting introduction to the fantastic elements of the environment (the ash fall) and the enslavement of the skaa. Some neat 2nd world titles “obligator,” etc.

Not great, not riveting, but competent introduction of world and one protagonist, Kelsier. He doesn't know what to do with Vin, though. Disconnect between the characters as we're told they are and their actions. Lacking coherent motivation.

(P.5)The slave that stands and stares defiantly sending a chill through the lord so-and-so is a bit melodramatic. Both actions struck me as over the top.

(writing note)…too many “of courses”

The writing is competent and descriptive. The Mist at night is another interesting setting detail.

(p.6) I immediately dislike Kelsier. “I’ll have to cure them of that (fear of the mist) some day.” This is has an unsympathetic arrogance about it. If this is also the man who stared defiantly at lord-so-and-so, hes blasé about endangering these people, and seems to look down on them, much like lord-so-and-so. I suspect this impression is not intentional. I suspect I’m supposed to think him strong and clever. We’ll see.

(7) rolling his eyes at these people. This seems intentional. But it’s also annoying.

(10) beatings beatings beatings. These “peasants” and their daily beatings. Did I mention the beatings? Their lives are harsh! There are beatings!

(‘) what is this talk about Tepper “leading” the skaa? Leading them how? They’re slaves! What decisions are they making? No, really. What is this forced little conflict? It’s pointless.

(‘) “How do you do that?” “What?” “Smile all the time” - there’s no reason for him to ask this. It’s unmotivated dialogue. How do you smile all the time? How? No. Why, sure. “You keep smiling. Is something about our home funny to you?”

(19-20, ch.1) I’m having trouble with Sandersons storytelling. This is coming across as heavy handed and simplistic. Here’s Vin. She was betrayed. There are betrayals. This boy who came to get her who’s nice enough will also betray her. But the ash is free…

I wonder if we’re going to slowly work through the alphabet section by section. Ash, then beatings and betrayal… who knows what could be next? Crime? I bet it’s crime.

Also - Reen’s sayings and betrayal. I think in general I find it a bit affected when we meet a character and they’re immediately thinking of their backstory … but that’s probably not fair of me. I think what comes across as affected is Sandersons execution. There’s a very light fiction - YA quality about Vin’s angsty introduction. I might have loved it if I read it at 14, but not now.

I’d like to think of an example of what would be more appealing to me - the introduction of a character with similar enough circumstances… Actually, Gideon the 9th might be a good example. We get to hear Gideon’s voice in the prose and the dialogue and get a strong sense of her character as well as the specific and very interesting world building details of how she got into the 9th house. Here, Reen’s betrayal is left completely unexplored, and so I wonder why bring it up at all except for that cheap YA punch in the gut of “my brother betrayed me and now I’m here.”

Maybe Sanderson felt some necessity to move faster here. He wanted to get to the city theiving … but it isn’t working for me, so obviously I think it was a mistake. Obviously he was hoping this would create a sense of anticipation that we would eventually find out HOW Vin’s brother betrayed her, but because he leads with it and then doesn’t explain it, it makes it seem like it doesn’t really matter HOW Vin was betrayed, what’s important is that she was betrayed and now she doesn’t trust anyone. It’s just a bit weak.

THE HEAVY HANDEDNESS (People being mean to Vin - her hard life) (21) the slap in the face (23) Theron looking Vin up and down - “eyes lingered on her … running down the length of her body. … She was hardly enticing (didn’t even look 16); some men preferred such women, however.” (24) “what do you know?” “Enough” - Vin hurts her, expositional dialogue about her brother’s debt and selling her to a whorehouse.

(25) fearing Vin would disappear in a scene she doesn’t have much to do during, we get these unnecessary interjections of her watching the interaction, followed by the explanation of Camon thinking Vin is his good luck charm. This should have been presented earlier, because it just interrupts the dialogue here. But also, it feels inaccurate after Vin made such a useful critique of Camon’s servants. She seems much more useful in other ways than a luck charm, and comfortable offering her criticism without the slightest hesitation.

This chapter ends rather abruptly and without much Go to it. Vin uses her Luck and gets our stuffy official to consider her boss’s mundane business proposal.

The notion that Camon brings Vin along because he thinks of her as his luck charm feels really thin, especially on a job like this where everyone has to look the part. Which raises an important question: what was Vin doing there? I mean literally. Why didn’t Camon have SOMETHING for her to do. Camon didn’t dress her up in any part, she didn’t have any kind of cover story as his daughter or nurse or anything. Just some kid in the room dressed … who knows how while important official business is discussed. She just floats somewhere, doing nothing, as far as anyone is concerned.

VIN’S MOTIVATION Where is it? What does she get out of making this work for Camon if he has no idea what she’s doing? Why is she avoiding him if this is such an important job? Why is she helping him at all?

The pieces are there, but Sanderson doesn’t put them together.

Camon should know about Vin’s ability to “smooth things over” in some capacity. This would give him a serious reason for her being there on this crucial job. Vin should be motivated to help him because if this lucrative job works out, it will go a long way towards paying off her brother’s debt. Now suddenly there is a sense of urgency for her instead of just having a bad time owned by a “crew leader” getting slapped around. The scam itself isn’t enough. Frankly, it’s kind of boring at this point. It’s a slow moving beurocratic swindle.

(32) Kelsier. Sanderson is doing a good job introducing some thieves’ cant here as Dockson and Kelsier are planning their job, talking about how they need a “Smoker.” Someone is a good Tineye. The loss of a man to the Steel Ministry underscores the mortal risk these men are taking. But … there’s something about all this crime play that feels a bit cute, like Sanderson had only a passing, generic understanding of (fictional) gangs/criminal organizations. He’s spent his world building energy on the fantasy aspects of the story - the dystopian Tolkien Lord Ruler and Steel Ministry, skaa, ashfalls, mist - but not on developing the criminal world of the characters, linguistically speaking. They’re all crews working on a job headed by a crew leader. This is the world we’re living in, most immediately, and yet it feels the most underdeveloped.

“Kelsier shook his head. ‘No. He’s a good Smoker, but he’s not a good enough man.’ Dockson smiled. ‘Not a good enough man to be on a THIEVING CREW … Kell, I have missed working with you.”

This stopped me dead. I laughed at the book and put my hand over my eyes. “Thieving crew” is just silly. It’s sixth grade D&D language, but even more ridiculous is the sentiment of Dockson’s statement: that character is somehow a moot point because they are criminals. It’s as if he’s saying: we’re breaking the law, so we’re the bad guys, and bad guys don’t work with “good men.”

Here we see Sanderson’s shallow understanding of the characters he’s portraying. They are stealing from slavers who exist in the service of a brutal, oppressive dictator. But put that aside, and consider we’ve just been told one of their ilk had been caught and beheaded by the Ministry. The risk these people are facing couldn’t be higher. Working with people they can trust, a stand up guy or a “good man,” would be one of the most important things to them. From their point of view a “good man” doesn’t mean a patron saint of the poor, but it means a hell of a lot. If a guy is a drunk who cheats on his wife, you can’t trust him not to turn on you. If he gambles too much, you can’t trust him not to gamble on your safety. He doesn’t keep his apartment clean, how can you trust him to be conscientious about keeping you alive. It all matters - even more so because he’s on a “thieving crew.”

Now, Sanderson probably didn’t give this line more than a moment's thought. He was writing fast and sailed right over it. But that’s exactly the problem. It gives the book a kind of childish, YA feeling.

(33) “Kelsier turned with curious eyes.” I’ve written lines like this, but I almost always revise them because I write about eyes too much. The point is his eyes aren’t curious, Kelsier is, and it shows on his face. I can’t picture curious eyes, and I’m sure you can’t either. And I would cut the next line of dialogue - going to chastise my brother … we already know he was going to do this because he said so, and the line just isn’t very good anyway. A look of curiosity from Kell, and the promise from Dockson “it’ll be worth your time,” gets us out of the section better. Sometimes the best repartee between characters is a look.

(33-34) the scenes with Vin remain heavy handed, and affected. This section adds almost nothing to the story accept for the disappointingly narrow view of a fantasy underworld that the women in it are only ever whores. This from a world crawling with Smokers and Tineyes? I think not. The clumsy presentation of Vin’s awful life is what makes these sections particularly affected. With her particular ability to use her Luck, I can’t help but wonder why she’s even still here. That seems to be the story to me. Not the abuse, but why she remains when she clearly has the power to get out. She can smooth over deals with reps from the SM, but she hasn’t thought to calm some member of the crew and then just … walk? Go literally anywhere in the city and use her Luck to get work where she won’t be whipped and slapped. It seems like the easiest thing in the world, so why hasn’t she done it? This is what the story here could have been, and it would have been so much more interesting.

Obviously she has to be there so Sanderson can have terrible things happen to her so she can be saved by Kelsier just like he saved the other raped scaa girl (let’s all take a moment to roll our eyes) and then her character can have a trajectory from passive victim to active hero - but that’s an excuse, and excuses don’t make good stories.

That said, as is, these two pages could be cut entirely and with very minor revision to the next session, nothing would be lost. It introduces a hideout we don’t need to know about, abuse that is redundant, over the top and unmotivated, and then Camon says “it’s time.” It’s just a prelude, in which nothing happens, before the actual scene. So just cut to the actual scene.

(36) we finally find out what the Camon job was supposed to be, I suspect because Sanderson finally decided what the details were. It would have been much more interesting to know this earlier, just like it would have been more interesting to understand about the particulars of Vin’s brothers betrayal earlier, so we could understand the context of the story being told.

But a LARGER ISSUE continues to emerge. First Camon tells Vin nothing about his plans. She says she is apparently the only crew member who didn’t know what was going on. Then, as they sit in the waiting room, in the vey belly of the obligator beast, he tells her everything. Why? Because Sanderson wants us to know even though he never decided who this character was.

He wants her to be a passive victim of inordinate abuses by a group of irredeemable villains, who only avoids constant sexual assault through the exhausting use of her secret magic so she can be saved and then learn how to be powerful later. But he also wants her to be a smart, capable member of Camon’s crew who is considered as such, because he knows passive protagonists aren’t interesting and because he wants us, the reader, to know what’s going on, and also think that Vin is cool. She can’t be both at the same time. She either needs to be less of an abject, pathetic victim, or she needs to be less involved in this big important scam - and that means she knows less about it and does less to make it work. As is, he’s done too little with either idea of her character and both Vin and Camon are an unmotivated mess.

(42) steel inquisitor. Cool, creepy, disgusting - something straight out of hellraiser.

(43) “Besides, I’m not about to let a possible Mistborn slip away from us” Ah!

Ch3 (45) after the meeting with the obligator (that was a trap), is the first time Vin ever expresses any interest in getting away. Much too late Sanderson gives us a much too thin reason why Vin hasn’t run away (considering the conflicting versions of her character as mentioned before). It’s little more than an afterthought.

(47) in no more than 2 pages Vin goes from never thinking she could make it on her own to leaving for good, telling herself she’d survived sleeping in alleyways before, she could do it again and - “Reen had taught her how to scavenge and beg. Both were difficult in the Final Empire … but she would find a way, if she had too.”

So far, this is all based on a bad feeling. More motivation conflict - Vin has no problem telling Camon directly how his plans won’t work and that he should change the way the servants are dressed, helps him succeed with her luck in both plans, but sees no reason to tell him “I have a bad feeling about this. That was too easy. Why did that obligator suddenly agree. Doesn’t this seem weird to you?”

Sanderson has many of the right pieces, but he hasn’t been able to put them together coherently.

(45)(And, just as an aside, I’m not sure why a girl who has spent to book so far reiterating to herself that EVERYONE WILL BETRAY ME is going out of her way to tell Ulef she has a bad feeling and to get him to come with her. Sanderson says “if he would go with her, then at least she wouldn’t be alone.” But he has also up until this point defined her character by a near constant desire to be alone - when she is introduced sitting in the window of the hideout thinking her brothers word “Vin wasn’t on duty; the watch-hole was simply one of the few places where she could find solitude. And Vin liked solitude. ‘When you’re alone, no one can betray you’- (37) at the “It’s just another betrayal, she thought sickly. Why does it still bother me so? Everyone betrays everyone else. That’s the way life is … She wanted to find a corner - someplace cramped and secluded - and hide. Alone.”

(47) "Bringing Ulef was a good idea. He had contacts in Luthadel." These after the fact explanations are no good. This isn't Vin thinking this, it's the author coming up with more justification for Vin's action, but in order for her character to seem active and motivated, this needed to be revised into the section where Vin decides to bring Ulef. Now it's just tacked on - oh, yeah, and, by the way, if you weren't sure it made sense for Vin to do this, Ulef probably knows people. So, there.

It doesn’t wash. Who is this girl? Can she not stand the idea of being alone, or is it the one and only thing she wants? Is she strong and resourceful in spite of her circumstances, or is she a passive victim? Does she believe everyone will betray her, or does she desperately want to believe otherwise because she can’t live in such an unkind world? Sanderson doesn’t seem to have been able to make up his mind. Maybe some of these details were added in revision on the suggestion of beta readers and the result is a checkerboard character. I’ve seen that before where you make a suggestion to a writer and they add your suggestion but they don’t make the necessary changes to the rest of the book so that the new material earns its place, they just throw it in and dust off their hands - job well done, gotta stay on schedule to publish! But now I’m just writing fan fiction about Sanderson’s process. I don’t know.

(55) Vin’s “weakness” - the contradictions/inexactitude of characters seems to be an ongoing issue for Sanderson, at least for Vin. Is she weak and has to pretend to be strong, or is she strong and often chooses to pretend to be weak (so far she has seemed to be weak and act weak, other than her Luck).

Well, that's as far as I got. Kel shows up just in time to be the wrath of justice for Vin. He's the superman who will make everything alright for this feckless girl. Our hero. Did Sanderson lay it on thick enough? Did you get that these people were all so irredeemably and stupidly bad? Aren't you so glad this strong man has shown up to be Vin's vengeance, just like had been telegraphed all along?

Sorry, I don't mean to be sarcastic. This part of the narrative really isn't so bad, its just been so heavy handedly and clumsily lead up to that there's no thrill in it for me. It isn't a bit satisfying. I'm just glad I don't have to read about any of these shallow side-characters anymore. Except, I have no intention to read on, so I don't have to read about any of them anymore.

Is this book bad? Yes and no. I don't want to read any more, and only read as far as I did as an examination of storytelling, so for me its bad. You only get so many eyerolls before I have to say that. The sentences are very clear and coherent. On their own, they are coherent. Together, they fail to paint of picture of coherent characters who drive the action of the story. If you don't have that, at least in my book, you've got nothing.

The images work. The setting, in its broad strokes, is eveocative. I'd love to set a DnD campaign in a world of ash and a dark lord and all that (I'm not the least mad about the cliché of the dark lord, by the way. Who doesn't love archetypical stories?) But, as near as I can tell, there are no human beings in this book. No one is real. The characters are just that, only characters in a book. They are paper cutouts. They fall flat when the hand of the author isn't pushing them around and making them do things.

Fans often hold Sanderson up as the gold standard of a fantasy author who produces work fast. And having read this far into Mistborn, I can say this about it: It reads like it was written fast.

Yes, Mistborn was an earlier book of his, so I can't judge him by it alone. But it is a work that is so often held up as a favorite by his readers. That's why I picked it up, to see what all the fuss was about. There were many things I enjoyed, but what I enjoyed wasn't the narrative. The story and the characters who moved it were the thing that I enjoyed least. The unique magic and broad setting details and description of places and creepy Inquisitors were what I liked best. The proper nouns were fun.

But proper nouns don't make a story for me. So I did not finish Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson.

If I were looking for a light fantasy read that I didn't have to take seriously and I could pick up and put down whenever I wanted because it was never that exciting or particularly witty or clever, but managed to string along one event after another and kept them going, more or less, whether it made much sense or not, until the end, I think Mistborn would be a fine book to dip into. Lots of people have read it. But then, that seems to me to be its major appeal. It’s a book you can talk about with other people.

It's not enough for me, though. There's lots of fun fantasy books out there that feel more coherent, and, well, INTERESTED in the story they're telling. Interested in violence and revolution and crime in an oppressively totalitarian, dystopian world. Interested in the plight of a young girl who only wants … well, what does she want? To be safe? But the only way she finds she can be safe is to go toward danger and realize how very strong she is? Maybe this story would like to be that, but it hasn't been for the first 60 or so pages.

Sanderson's novel felt more interested in the large and vague story shapes around the characters - a city, a dark lord, slavery, soot snow, bad mist, some kinds of magic, and (I cringe to say it) rape and thieving and beatings - but not in the world of their lives.

I've heard good things about The Way Of Kings from people who did not like Mistborn either, but its safe to say at this point that I have reservations about my reading tastes being a good match for Sanderson's work, at least at this point in time.

If I'm looking for fun I'd rather read another swanky, noir fantasy by Douglas Lumsden any day, or the next gothic gaslamp fantasy mystery by Morgan Stang, or discover my next favorite author, indie or otherwise.

I don't think Mistborn was terrible by any stretch of the imagination. Sanderson has delighted readers for over a decade now! He's prolific, hard working, and he delivers what his fans want, and he and they continue to be richly rewarded for his efforts. He is a Name in the genre, often listed alongside the greats. And why not? Isn't pleasing readers what this is all about? Taylor Swift has oceans of adoring fans, and she's no less deserving of her accolades. Brandon Sanderson is the Taylor Swift of fantasy, you could say. I just don't like her music either.

[daydream-cement]

"imagine a fic with college larissa and her goth/punk gf. they sneak off to an abandoned tunnel to smoke, play loud music and make-out.", like my beautiful em said.

Passing Trains

College!Larissa Weems x College!Reader

Authors Note: Larissa is imagined as Gwen from In Fabric. She is going through her emo phase :) Thank you so much @bri-sonat for all ya help <33333

Grasping Larissa's hand, you tugged her after you. The unmistakable ringing of her laughter fills the air around you both as you pull her further towards your usual spot.

You and the shapeshifter had been friends for nearly three months and you couldn't get enough of her. You had met during class in one of the big lecture halls. She had chosen to sit by you due to your matching aesthetic preferences, claiming it was a 'first day of class precautionary measure.'

Quickly you became inseparable. Eventually, the only times you weren't together is when you were in a different class or sleeping. Each Thursday after class, you would go down to an abandoned tunnel, share a few cigarettes, enjoy some music, and spend time with one another.

Slipping into the darkness of the tunnel, Larissa couldn't help her excited and jovial tone whenever she was around you. She was so smitten with you, "Did you finish the homework for 405? I think I may die if I have to write another paper for Dr. Morrison."

"I don't even want to think about it. We aren't even halfway through the semester and this is the fourth one, Riss." You take your usual spot against the stone wall, slipping to the floor and pulling the pack of cigs from the pocket of your leather jacket.

Larissa collapsed to your side, offering you up the metal lighter she kept in her pocket, "You're telling me. I swear he doesn't have a life besides reading those fucking essays."

You let out a laugh at her snarky comment, passing the cigarette back over to her. Larissa plucks it from your fingertips and leans her head on your shoulder before taking a long drag. You leaned your head against hers, enjoying the familiar smell of her perfume mixed with tobacco.

A few moments of silence passed between the two of you before Larissa spoke up again, "I saw Lena gave you her number after class…"

"Yeah…"

"Are you going to call her?" Larissa inquired further, passing the cig back to you. She was feeling a little jealous that someone would even try flirting with you, but she had to remind herself that you weren't actually dating.

You offer a light shrug, "Probably not."

"Oh…" You couldn't tell if Larissa sounded disappointed or if she was pleased from your response. Her deeper inquiry into your response was beginning to make you nervous, "Why not?"

It would be pointless to try and keep something from her. She was your best friend and you told her everything… Well, almost everything, "I already like someone…"

"Who…?"

You paused, taking a drag of the cigarette as you pondered your answer, knowing you should have made up a different reason for not wanting to date Lena. Now you were faced with the decision of either lying to Larissa or admitting the feelings you have always had for her. She was stunning with her black hair and dark makeup, not to mention those piercing blue eyes that shone brighter from the black eyeshadow and eyeliner.

Your silence caused Larissa to lift her head, her eyes gazing into yours. Opening your mouth, you hesitate for a second and finally let the words slip from your lips, "I like you."

"Like… you like like me?" Larissa asked for further clarification.

You nod, eyes wide, turning your gaze to the tunnel floor where you extinguished the cigarette against the tunnel floor,, "A lot…"

Much to your surprise, her shock gave way to joy, a large smile breaking out across her face. Without the pressure of you looking at her, Larissa leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, leaving a light red mark lipstick stain. "I like you a lot too. Like… a lot."

You turn your head back to face her, smiles now gracing both of your faces. Leaning in slowly, you decide to make the first move, pressing your lips to hers. Larissa’s hand shifted back into your hair, holding you close enough for her to deepen the kiss and humming in delight when you tugged at the fabric of her shirt to keep her close.

Before you knew it, Larissa was straddling your lap, her lipstick now smeared across your lips and hers. Your hands gripped her hips and her hands held your cheeks. Your tongues mingled and you took turns sucking and biting at one another’s bottom lip, all of the tension between you dissolving the longer your bodies were intertwined.

The sound of a train passing overhead, brought the two of you back to reality. Larissa pulled away first and her smeared lipstick made a quiet giggle rise up through your chest. You lean in close, hugging her to you as you revel in the proximity. Her hands wander up and down your arms, happy to touch you as liberally as she had been longing to.

Once the train passed, you spoke up, asking her a question that had been on your mind since you first spoke to Larissa, “Does this mean you will be my girlfriend?”

“Do you even have to ask? Of course I will."

Larissa and you stayed in the tunnel much longer than usual, kissing and whispering all the sweet compliments you had been thinking about one another the past three months. It was when the chill of the autumn evening air washed over the both of you that you decided it was time to head back to the dorms.

Your dorm, specifically, so you could continue the make-out session in a familiar setting, surrounded by you favorite band posters and accompanied by the delightful sound of the Ramones.

[alchemicaladarna]

Just to clarify, I am obviously talking about the characters and the QSMP as a story. I am simply an avid viewer that had too much coffee and time on their hands so I basically wrote an essay. What is it about? I have no idea. So, read it if you want, but beware that nothing at the end of this should make sense.

In my opinion, morally ambigious characters are interesting, but UNPREDICTABLE morally ambigious characters are even more fun to analyze because they take more risks and play more dangerous games. If a character was labeled as a "hero" and played on the "good" side they are guaranteed a safe spot within the group. Regardless of whether they kill or hurt others, they are on the good side because they are fighting against the corporation that is keeping them and their friends trapped in a place that is a nightmarish paradise. If they had done actions that worked against the islanders' favor, by, for example nearly getting everyone killed by explosives at a party they are justifiably labelled a villian. But what if a character played in the middle? What if they were neutral? What if they simply wanted to let things play out- sticking to the sidelines and only becoming involved when the situation benifits their entertainment?

So, pardon me for the long intro, but here's the gist folks: q!Foolish arrested q!Pac e q!Mike and unknowingly put them through loads of emotional trauma that I don't think they'll be recovering from any time soon, for fun. To a person with a normal moral compass, that's obviously fucked up.

"Friends don't send friends to prison."

In q!Foolish's perspective, he REALLY didn't think the consequences of his actions through, but he wouldn't have arrested q!Pac e q!Mike for no reason. Mr. Mustard is missing and the Federation told q!Foolish that q!Pac e q!Mike were responsible for his disappearance. At this point, I think enough time has passed that we the audience know q!Foolish is being manipulated by the Federation. Even Foolish himself knows he's being manipulated by them, yet he still partakes in this precarious game because it's simply more entertaining than just sitting on the good side and letting things play out.

Q!Foolish has never actively gone out of his way to hurt people on purpose. Does he lack some emotional maturity and the appropriate response to some situations? Yes he does; but he doesn't have malicious intentions. He's there to have fun. Where others see a dire situation- at the mercy of the inescapable claws of a malevolent corporate entity, q!Foolish sees fun and exciting opportunities. The others might not want to admit it, but aside from the tragedies and kidnappings that have occured on the island, this nightmarish paradise has provided the characters with more excitement and enjoyment, than what is worth.

But, not everyone understands q!Foolish's perspective, and that's good! That's ok! But what I'm perplexed about is their constant unjust treatment of him- the exclusion, threats, torture, many many pointless accusations disguised as interrogations, etc- simply because he did one task for the Federation. One task that affected the lives of two people, but in the end both parties communicated and forgave each other anyways. One task that required q!Foolish, and by extension, q!Jaiden to harmlessly investigate around q!Pac and q!Mike's base for a considerably long time before finding nothing that would incriminate the duo. Throughout q!Foolish's endeavour, working with the Federation cost him most of his friends' trust and gave him no benifits, but he still reluctantly chooses to carry out another task because it's entertaining. But like q!Foolish said to q!Cellbit the other day, he may be stupid, but he's certainly not an idiot, and he has limits. A lot of people, specifically q!Max don't seem to understand the concept of a neutral party. If you work for the Federation, you are a villain- and honestly, that's a fair assumption considering their reputation. But what about people like q!Jaiden? Q!Jaiden, one of the kindest people on the island, who is compassionate to everyone, even Cucurucho, who is always perceived as a malicious entity?

What exactly defines a villain in this story? In my opinion, everyone on the island has a skewed sense of morality. Everyone except Elquackity knew of his first assasination and simply watched as he lost his first life, then celebrated when he lost the other with no regards to the repurcussions of their actions or how Elq felt about all this. And while we can justify their actions because Elq hurt people before, and either brainwashed or replaced q!Quackity, how do we justify their treatment of q!Foolish even after he communicated honestly to q!Pac e q!Mike and done nothing to deserve their maltreatment of him. Maybe I'm a bit impatient, but at this point, q!Foolish's arrest, has had the same value and impact as q!Bad giving people the survey for the Federation; I'm even more willing to believe that q!Cellbit's accidental "employee of the month" investigations benifitted the Federation more than whatever measly and repititive tasks they're giving out to q!Foolish.

So, what warrants all this hate and injustice towards q!Foolish then if he's not harming anyone? Why is he the punching bag? Why is he the butt if the joke Every Single Time? What warranted all the cruel jokes and malicious beatings after the Nether event? Is it because they know he won't exact revenge upon them? Is it because, in their eyes, they only value him as a court jester and nothing more? Q!Foolish even said the Nether, an obsolete dimension of fire and brimstone, offered more compassion and comfort than a world where the sun shone and the air was less polluted because the inhabitants, his "friends" treated him with more malevolence than literal souless monsters from hell itself.

Think about q!Jaiden- a person whose compassion broke through Cucurucho's souless programming and gave it a home, a sense of safety, and relaxation. Jaiden works (and apparently worked???) with the Federation, yet she has more kindness within her than an entire group of people, on the "good" side, fighting against evil.

The truth is, there is no bad side among the islanders. The admins (meta) wrote the Federation (and codes?) as entities that the collective group should be against- a common enemy. But once you "ally" yourself with the Federation and do tasks for them does that make you the common enemy as well, or do you need to commit more heinious acts to be considered a villain?

And what about the islanders? At what point do the rest of the players begin to consider a character on the wrong side of things? At what point do they begin to abandon compassion in favor of searching for the truth? How far will they go in pursuit of the truth?

In my opinion, there are no villains in the story because everyone is capable of becoming an antagonist in one way or another. Basically, EVERYONE is morally ambiqious because they have all been antagonists to each other at some point in the tale, and as the story keeps unfolding, who knows what could happen? A character might say they are a good person, but as the story changes, so do their values, their morals, their limits. How thin can someone's patience be before it inevitably snaps?

[withacapitalp]

Dear You Pt 2

Part One Link to ao3

As per usual thank you to @hbyrde36 for betaing and @artbean for giving me the best idea everrrrr I love this chapter so much

Back in Black

Ride the Lightning

A few originals? Maybe the new one Jeff is writing?

Back in Black

Ride the Lightning  Run to the Hills

A few originals? Maybe the new one Jeff is writing?

Back in Black       Start with the originals

Ride the Lightning  Run to the Hills  Back in Black 

A few originals? Maybe the new one Jeff is writing? Crazy

Eddie growled in disgust, burying one hand in his hair and pulling as he savagely dragged his pen over the complete failure of a set list, hiding his frustrations under a thick layer of dark black ink. When that wasn’t enough to satisfy the angry beast in his chest, he ripped the page out of his notebook entirely, balling it up and throwing it across the clearing, leaving behind a jagged ripped up strip of paper that stuck out, awkward and grating on his nerves.

The second the paper hit the ground Eddie felt the anger begin to leak out of him, leaving behind a hollow place at the bottom of his stomach, and the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes. 

Wayne had once told him that his anger was like a summer squall- it started as just a few drops, picked up in intensity until it was everywhere, whirled around like a tornado for a few moments, and then disappeared just as quickly as it had come. 

His uncle had said it like a good thing, as if Eddie’s inability to hold onto anger said something about him. What it said, Eddie wasn’t exactly sure, all he knew was right now he kind of wished he could stay angry for just a little while longer. 

With a short quiet sigh, Eddie hauled himself up, walking to the other side of the clearing and grabbing the crumpled up paper, tossing it idly to himself as he walked back towards the picnic table, his mind fuzzy and distracted as he thought about everything that had happened today to cause this little meltdown. 

It wasn’t like today was the worst day he had ever gone through, but it was still pretty frickin bad. The transmission on his van was starting to go out for like the fiftieth time this month alone, stupid Mrs. Clickity-Clack had accused him of cheating just because he wrote a good essay, and the cafeteria had served up Tuna Surprise for lunch. All things that would sour his mood on their own, but the worst thing had happened just as the final bell rang. 

On the extremely short walk from their lockers to the parking lot, some freshman basketball idiots who weren’t aware of the rules decided to try and cause problems for Gareth. As a rule the jocks knew to stay all bark and no bite when it came to Hellfire, or they would have to drive all the way to Plainfield to buy their weed, but apparently Carver and his cronies hadn’t initiated these two dumbasses yet. Eddie had been forced to step in just as the principal walked by and of course Higgins took their side. 

Of course. 

After a lengthy and frankly ridiculous speech about Eddie needing to apply himself, Higgins had sighed and handed over a detention slip. All of that would have been just another Tuesday, but the underhanded comment he had made as Eddie stormed out of his office was the thing that had really twisted the knife. 

It’s pointless to try and get you to be a normal boy, Mr. Munson. No matter what I do, you’ll always be your father’s son.

“My father’s son,” Eddie scoffed, bitterness flooding his mouth and pouring from every pore, “Better Al Munson, than Charlie Higgins. As if I’d want to end up like that pompous, arrogant, small minded prick.” 

A vicious delight spread through his body and Eddie chuckled to himself, taking a big step to stand on top of one of the benches, straightening himself up and turning his nose high in the air. 

“Edward Munson, you simply must learn to apply yourself,” He said in an over the top British accent, staring down his nose at the invisible Eddie below, “I, Principal Charles Higgins, have told you time and time again that these… asinine hobbies of yours are only going to lead you astray. Be more normal! How else will you learn to be a perfect cog in the machine?” 

“But- but- but- Mr. Higgins!” Eddie stammered out, jumping down and falling to one knee, clasping his hands and staring up into the trees, “I just want to play a game with my friends and sing in a band? What’s so wrong with that?” 

Nothing. The answer was nothing. There was nothing wrong with who Eddie wanted to be, and that person sure as hell was not his father. 

“Fuck that,” Eddie ground out, taking a running leap to the top of the picnic table and staring out in the trees, “You think you’re the first person to try and change me?! HA! Fuck Normal!” 

The forest, as always, did not answer him back. Eddie was alone, nothing but the wind through the leaves and an aching longing to be understood gnawing away at his heart. 

Alone. 

Where the hell was Byers?!

Eddie was used to having to wait, because while he didn’t really care that everyone saw him stroll into the woods behind the football field every day to do deals, his clientele usually wanted a little more subtlety. But the longest it had ever taken someone to walk into the clearing was twenty minutes, and it had been at least a half hour. 

He turned to face the direction of the school watching and waiting as if he would magically hear the sound of footsteps crashing through the woods in his direction. 

Birds. Wind. Nothing to indicate a loner senior was slinking up to make a deal. 

“Maybe he got detention,” He said to himself, the excuses coming out frail and thin as he plopped down in his seat again, fiddling with the handle of his lunch box of goodies, “Or his siblings needed something and he had to take care of that, or he picked up an extra shift or he just forgot.”

Or maybe…

Or maybe Jonathan actually wasn’t coming at all. 

Eddie’s expression soured and his mouth thinned to a tight line as the thought began to take root and bloom into poisonous red flowers. 

That had to be it. Harrington had been jerking his chain, coming up with some big story to get Eddie sitting out here on his ass for no good reason. His numbskull friends were probably keying his van right now, slashing the tires up, having a real good laugh at the freak. 

And he really only had himself to blame. He knew that Harrington was no good, and he had let those kids make him think differently. Well, this is what happened. This is what he got for thinking people could change. 

“Stupid jackass with his stupid hair and his stupid kids,” Eddie muttered in disgust, slamming the lid of his lunchbox closed and locking it with an equally harsh movement, “Gonna key his Beemer, slash his stupid perfect tires and wipe that stupid smug look off his stupid-”

“Are you okay?” 

Eddie screamed. 

Not a manly shocked yell or a little shout. He full on girl-in-a-horror-movie-about-to-get-eaten-by-a-werewolf shrieked. Jonathan let out his own scream, taking a few steps back and putting his hands out in front of him, staring at Eddie with wide eyes. 

After a beat of silence Eddie broke out into giggles, leaning against the picnic table as he tried to pull himself back together. 

“Guess I scared you?” Jonathan asked, his shoulders relaxing as a tiny smile graced his lips. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Eddie said, still laughing. It was just too ridiculous. Him, Eddie Munson, getting scared by Byers of all people. 

“And I thought I was the one who was gonna be nervous,” Jonathan replied, jamming his hands into his pockets and hiking his shoulders up. A classic awkward Jonathan Byers move that settled out any last bad feelings Eddie was having. 

He didn’t know Jonathan, not beyond sharing a few classes and the occasional stint in detention, but Will and Jane had become some of his favorite people in a short time, and they had given Eddie enough descriptions that he had a pretty good idea of who Jonathan was. 

“No need to fret,” Eddie said, making a wide sweeping arc with one arm towards the picnic table, “Step into my office, taste my wares,” 

Jonathan crept closer, each step taking much longer than it should have. It was like watching a stray dog walk towards a treat- hungry, but still unsure if the hand was going to feed or hurt. 

“Thanks for this,” Jonathan said absentmindedly, looking around the clearing with his shoulders still tight around his ears. 

“No need to thank me, this is a business transaction,” Eddie shot back, opening his lunchbox back up and getting into Professional Drug Dealer Mode. 

Doing deals was part sales, part psychology. It was easier to get the job done if he made himself what the other person needed him to be. Some people wanted a buddy, someone to joke around with as they purchased their pills, others wanted not a word between them, the shame of needing an illegal substance to get through the day was too much to bear. 

Eddie would bet that Jonathan, like most first-timers, would be easiest to work with if Eddie gave him the basic rundown of how this worked. 

“Cash only, no receipts. You give me what I need, I give you what you need,” Eddie rattled off as Jonathan sat, pointing first at himself, and then at Byers and then smiling wide, “Everyone walks away happy.” 

“It’s thirty, right?” Jonathan asked, pulling out his wallet. 

“Fifteen,” Eddie corrected. Byers paused, raising a brow, and Eddie snorted, continuing to snicker as he explained. 

“I charge Harrington asshole tax which usually means it’s thirty for a half ounce, and it’s twenty for everyone else,” 

Eddie watched with a smirk as Jonathan mouthed the words ‘asshole tax’ to himself while shaking his head. He pulled a twenty out, handing it over and taking the five Eddie gave him in exchange. 

“So why are you charging me fifteen?” Jonathan asked, obviously suspicious. It was almost cute, how hesitant he was. Eddie was instantly reminded of how Will had acted the first time they met. Another stray, but this one a puppy. On guard, but somehow willing to hear him out. He must’ve learned that from his brother. 

“Cause you get the friends and family discount, Elder Byers. Besides, given how much weed Steve was buying from me I have a feeling you are going to become my number one customer soon,” Eddie said with jazz hands, holding out the baggie with a flourish. 

This was where they ended. Jonathan would take his bag and go, Eddie would pack up, and they would part ways. They would not make eye contact in the hallways, and that suited Eddie just fine. It wasn’t like drug dealing was his ultimate career goal or anything. He did it to keep the lights in the trailer on and keep his uncle from working himself to an early grave, and he didn’t need to act like he was some big wheeler dealer that ran Hawkins. 

Did he know pretty much everyone’s dirty secrets? Yeah, but that was just because Rick was back in prison and that meant Eddie was the only person in town you could get cocaine from. He didn’t have any power beyond charging some people more than others for their dickish tendencies. He played his part when he had to, and this was a moment where he had to. 

Only…Jonathan was not playing his predestined role. 

“What is that?” Jonathan asked, tilting his head ever so slightly as he stared at the full baggie with wide eyes. 

“MJ?” Eddie said slowly, wondering if it was a hypothetical. Rather than lighting up in recognition, Jonathan’s brow furrowed even further, turning his eyes from the bag to Eddie. 

“Mary Jane? Also known as grass, skunk, pot, dope, reefer, herb, and its Christian name of Cannabis Sativa.” Eddie continued, lowering his voice to a whisper and extending the baggie again, hoping that a little dramatic flair might get Byers to stop acting so damn weird. 

Jonathan only looked even more hopelessly lost, and now Eddie was starting to get uncomfortable. It made absolutely zero sense for Jonathan to be acting so weird, and Eddie was only just now starting to remember that Jonathan’s mom had been doing some weird will they/won't they with Hopper for the last few years. 

Was this some sort of ploy? Was Jonathan wearing a wire or some shit? Powell had tried to come around to put a stop to Eddie’s ‘business’. Eddie had sent him off with a laugh, seeing as half of Powell’s department were some of his top regulars, but the guy seemed desperate to prove that he could be just as good of a chief as Hop was. 

Maybe he had somehow gotten Harrington and Byers to work with him to get Eddie arrested? 

No. That made no sense. Eddie was being paranoid. Jonathan was just acting completely out of it for some normal reason that he couldn’t fathom. 

Yeah. Because that made more sense. 

Every instinct in Eddie was telling him to run, take his lunch box and book it and never even think about going near any of the Byers again. 

But…

But he knew Will and he knew Jane, and he couldn’t ever see the big brother they described pulling a move like this. Threatening Eddie to stay away from his little siblings, sure, but not a snake move like trying to get him thrown in jail. 

“It’s weed, Byers. Supposedly you’ve been smoking a shit ton of it since August.” Eddie said, taking the leap and hoping that he wasn’t about to get the silver bracelets slapped on his wrists. 

“Oh! Um, Steve just always gives me cigarettes,” Jonathan mumbled, blushing and looking down at the picnic table. 

Not a sting then. Just a delightfully naive Jonathan Byers. 

“Did you just call a joint a cigarette?” Eddie asked, biting the inside of his lip as the nerves washed away. The mirth that Eddie couldn’t completely hide in his tone only made Jonathan shrink even more, so Eddie forced himself to sober up. 

A guy like Jonathan would not take being laughed at well. Eddie was sure of that much.

“I don’t do pre-rolls, sorry. But for an extra fiver, I’ll give you rolling papers or a shitty bong I have in the back of my car,” Eddie offered, having to keep from laughing as he thought about Jonathan trying to figure out how to use a bong on his own. Given how clueless he seemed to be, there was a very likely chance that Jonathan would end up burning himself more than the weed. 

“Maybe we should just forget it then,” Jonathan murmured, already sliding his body back away from Eddie and the weed. 

Normally, Eddie wouldn’t care. Baggie back in the lunchbox, whatever, see you next tuesday. He wasn’t a charity, and this wasn’t a favor between friends. He was a businessman first and foremost. 

But Steve’s words were echoing in his mind, combining with Jonathan’s kicked puppy dog demeanor to form a deadly weapon against Eddie’s far too vulnerable emotions.  

“Curse my bleeding heart.” Eddie groaned, unsure of when he had become such a softie, “Fine, I’ll show you how to roll, but I’m taking that extra five for doing this for you,” 

Jonathan sighed in relief, immediately handing back Eddie’s five dollars and giving him a soft grateful smile that almost made the extra work worth the trouble. An unexpected stab shot through Eddie’s chest because of that little smile, and he pushed it down far where it couldn’t bother him, rooting around in his box for the things he needed and making himself look more busy than he was. 

“You better be watching closely, Byers, I’m not doing this for you next time,” Eddie warned, wagging a finger at Jonathan as he pulled out the supplies he would need. Luckily for the other boy, Eddie always carried rolling papers on him. 

Truthfully, Eddie didn’t mind rolling joints. He didn’t want to become a housewife to the idiots on the basketball team who couldn’t be bothered to do their own dirty work, but that wasn’t what was happening here. Besides, rolling a joint had a meditative joy to it in some ways. Like painting a mini-figure or designing a tattoo, there was a calm delight in the act of creating something small but special. 

“Am I allowed to thank you for this?” Jonathan asked with his normal amount of dry wit. 

“Well, flattery works on me so yeah, you can thank me,” Eddie replied, looking up briefly from the paper he was lying flat and wagging his eyebrows before getting back to the task at hand, “And you can answer my questions.” 

“I thought I was paying you an extra five dollars,” Jonathan countered, sitting back and crossing his arms. 

“Five dollars,” Eddie agreed, placing the filter and crumbling the dried flower between his thumb and forefinger oh so carefully, ensuring that the line of marijuana was perfectly equal all across the paper, “And answers. I get paid in knowledge first, dear Elder Byers.” 

“What exactly do you want to know?” Jonathan asked, his expression carefully blank. 

“When did Harrington introduce you to our dear Aunt Mary?” Eddie asked, holding up the bag just so he didn’t confuse Jonathan again. 

“Oh Steve didn’t- I mean I knew he knew you so I asked him to buy for me, but he’s not like my- we’re not-” Jonathan stammered, his ears turning red as he tried to flounder for an explanation. 

“Easy Byers. I didn’t think you turned our precious little King queer,” Eddie laughed, carefully tucking one side of the papers underneath the line. 

That was the way Rick had taught him many many years ago. Filter, flower, tuck it into bed, and then you roll. Apparently it was just like swaddling a baby. 

“You know you can just call me Jonathan, right?” Byers pointed out, still fiddling with his fingers. 

“Alright then, Jonathan,” Eddie agreed, slowly saying the other boy’s name, letting the word acquaint itself with his mouth and feeling it out. It felt good, at least it felt more right than his last name. “I guess I’m just a little confused as to why you and Harrington are suddenly best buddies. Last I heard that little girlfriend of yours skipped straight from his arms to yours.”

Wrong thing to mention. It was like Eddie could feel the misstep, almost able to hear the broken twig that had alerted his prey to his presence, and now they were both on alert.

“That was complicated,” Jonathan immediately snapped before blowing all of his breath out in one big gust, placing his palms flat on the picnic table and letting his eyes slip shut, “But Nancy and I broke up anyways so…”

Jonathan and Nancy had broken up a little less than a month ago. They had done their best to have a very low-key break up, not even telling their siblings at the start, all in an effort to make sure that it didn’t become gossip for everyone to chew on. 

So naturally the entire school knew by the end of that first week. 

“Oh wow I uh I didn’t-” Eddie tried, cutting his little charade off when Jonathan shot him a look and readjusting his approach.

“I knew. Like five different people told me,” Eddie admitted, licking the stripe of the glue and sealing the first joint, setting it aside before he realized Jonathan was still staring at him. “Sorry, by the way. I bet that wasn’t easy?” 

“It’s fine. We’re better off as friends,” Jonathan shrugged, acting far too casual for a guy who had just broken up with a girl that he had been dating for over a year. A girl that, by all accounts, he had very much loved. 

A girl he still spent all of his time with. 

“What happened?” 

“We just weren’t right for each other,” Jonathan answered, obviously toeing the party line. 

That was the reason Eddie had heard over and over from Will and Mike and Jane- that they just weren’t right for each other. There was a mountain of rumors that had cropped up from the Hawkins High Gossip Mongers, of course. People who thought she had left him to go back to Steve, some who assumed Nancy had cheated again with someone new, one person was convinced it was because the college she wanted to attend didn’t allow boyfriends, even a few wild loonies who thought that they had had ended it because of an unplanned pregnancy. 

But, rather than offer up any of those rumors as explanations, Eddie hummed and waited, watching Jonathan and wondering how long it would take him to break. 

Not very long it turned out. 

“She doesn’t have to worry about anything, you know?” Jonathan said after only half a minute of patient waiting. 

Bingo. 

Eddie hummed again, readying the next joint as Jonathan slid out of his seat to pace around the clearing and rant.

“Everything always works out exactly like she wants it to. Everything! She doesn’t have to think about the things I think about. She doesn’t have to worry about the bills, or her brother, or anything except for what she wants. And anytime I reminded her that I have to worry about more than myself, she acted like I wanted her to feel sorry for me, when that was never what I wanted. Ever.” 

Whatever Eddie had expected, it certainly wasn’t that. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard Jonathan talk so much in one sitting, but he wasn’t going to interrupt the other boy. It was obvious that Jonathan hadn’t really talked to anyone about this yet, and he definitely needed to get it off of his chest. 

Eddie was being given something precious here, and even though he didn’t really understand why, he wasn’t going to ruin it. 

“And when she finally ended it, it was just this huge…relief. Like I could finally stop pretending to be something I wasn’t.” Jonathan concluded, his shoulders loosening as he tipped his head back towards the treetops for a second before turning towards Eddie, a challenge in his eyes. 

“That’s a lot,” Eddie said, immediately wincing at how dumb that statement was, “I mean… maybe you could use some extra space from her?” 

“Extra space?” Jonathan asked, walking back towards the table. 

“Come sit with us at lunch instead of eating with her in the- um- newspaper dungeon,” Eddie blurted out, the offer escaping his mouth before he had even really thought about it. Once he had said it though, it didn’t sound like a bad idea, “I mean, your brother and his friends already do and-”

“No thanks,” Jonathan said, immediately cutting Eddie off as he sat back down. 

He wanted to pretend it didn’t, but it hurt. 

Eddie was very very used to rejection, but it always cut him down to the quick anyway. He knew how the world saw him. Trailer park trash, metal head, satanist, drug dealing, Eddie Munson. He wasn’t a person to them, not really. They didn’t care about trying to figure out who he was beyond what they expected. 

Eddie had stupidly assumed Jonathan to be different. After that entire speech, he had thought Jonathan could understand. 

“I just want to let Will have his own thing, you know?” Jonathan said, cutting Eddie’s thoughts right in half. 

Oh. 

This was about Will? 

“He’s- it’s hard for him. With everything that happened, everyone has this idea of who he is too, and it’s been good for him to have Hellfire,” Jonathan continued, completely unaware of the circles Eddie’s head was spinning in, “You’ve been good for him.” 

Eddie had been called a lot of things in his life, but the last person that had told him he was good was his mother. Even Wayne, for all the ways he built Eddie up, had never thought to call him good.

“And his friends are great- they’re amazing, actually- but it’s been really nice for him to have something…” Jonathan’s eyes darted around as he trailed off, looking for the right word. Then he stopped, laughing quietly and shaking his head.

“What?” Eddie asked, unable to keep himself from catching Jonathan’s smile. 

“Normal,” Jonathan said, still chuckling, “You guys give him something normal.”

Normal?! 

Eddie scoffed in disbelief, following Jonathan as they both laughed about the ridiculousness of Eddie being normal. 

“I’m sorry. I really couldn’t think of a better word,” Jonathan tried to say when he finally put himself back together, “I know you have a uh- thing- about that one.” 

Eddie’s cheeks immediately lit on fire as he took in the connotation of Jonathan’s words. 

“Before when I was…did you…” Eddie asked, unable to say the words and hoping he was wrong. Unfortunately for him, Jonathan was already nodding, having the decency to at least look slightly contrite as he watched Eddie die of embarrassment. 

“Yeah. The whole thing.” He admitted. Eddie let out a deranged sound, covering his face with his hands and tipping to the side, curling up on the bench and grumbling to himself in completely unintelligible words. 

How fucking humiliating. 

Eddie was the guy who gave huge speeches about conformity on the regular, jumping up on tables and making a spectacle of himself, but that was when he knew people were watching. He knew he was putting on a show, and that was fine. Having his own internal crisis shown off when he wasn’t expecting it was completely different, especially when it was to someone who didn’t know him all that well. 

“Hey I get it. I mean, Higgins can be a total asshole,” Jonathan offered, trying to pull Eddie out of his shame spiral.

“Preachin’ to the choir,” Eddie muttered, hauling himself back up to a sitting position and avoiding making eye contact. 

He would just finish rolling out this second joint and send Jonathan packing, regardless of the fact that he had barely used a quarter of the bag. The last thing he needed was someone mocking him for what he said when he thought he was alone. 

“You’re right, though,” Jonathan said out of the blue, startling Eddie into raising his head, “You shouldn’t change. You’re fine the way you are,” 

Huh.

“You think so?” Eddie asked softly, shocking himself with how genuine that question came out. He had never really considered himself a self conscious person, there was no way a boy like him would have survived in a place like Hawkins if he was, but the fleshy vulnerable parts of his heart had already been hurt today, and hearing someone else think he was just fine the way he was…

It was doing things Eddie hadn’t expected he would ever need. 

“Yeah, I mean you’re not the same as everyone else, but everyone else sucks.” Jonathan shrugged, waving a hand back towards where the school was, “I mean you took Will and the guys in. And El too- oh shit. Jane, I mean. She says you guys are really nice to her and explain stuff, which I really appreciate. She’s…”

Jonathan didn’t say it, but Eddie already knew well enough what he was referring to. 

“I know that our little mage is dealing with some hostility from her peers,” Eddie said, placing the second joint next to the first and grabbing another paper. 

Eddie had no idea where Jane had come from, but it was obvious from even a minute long conversation that she was different. Sweet, so so sweet, but different in a way that would make high school almost an impossible task to accomplish. The boys flanked her like a protective detail, and her best friend was a firecracker that even Eddie wouldn’t want to cross, but they could only do so much. 

“She’s been through worse,” Jonathan said vaguely, his brow furrowing as he thought about it, “I just wish it was easier for her, but she has Max and the rest of them so,”

“And Hellfire,” Eddie added. Jonathan looked up at him with a far too grateful smile. 

“And Hellfire,” Jonathan repeated. 

“So, I’m not the mean, scary, drug dealing, satanist you thought I’d be?” Eddie asked, wetting his lips before he sealed the third joint closed. The question had been mostly a joke, but Jonathan shook his head anyway. 

“Not even a little bit.” 

“That’s disappointing. I was kind of looking forward to scaring local creep, Jonathan Byers,” Eddie said, heaving a huge dramatic sigh, putting his elbows on the picnic table and plopping his face into his hands. Jonathan copied the motion, linking his fingers and resting his chin on top of them. 

“I’ve gotta tell ya it’s a little hard to be scared of the guy that slipped on spaghetti sauce and wiped out in the middle of his latest speech on conformity and The Man,” Jonathan said, leaning forward and whispering the words in a way that sent an unexpected shiver down Eddie’s spine. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Eddie laughed, leaning back and breaking the moment, a blush returning as he threw the baggie back in his lunchbox and shut it, holding out the twenty and the joints out to Jonathan, “Here, take your spoils and leave, weary traveler. My shop is closed.” 

“But-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie said, flapping one hand as he pressed the money and drugs into Jonathan’s hand, his heart humming in his chest in an unfamiliar way, “I only gave you three joints anyway, and you’ll be back on Friday anyway, right?” 

Jonathan looked between the money and Eddie with suspicion for a moment, before it faded, leaving behind only a slight smile and something in his eyes that Eddie couldn’t quite identify. 

“Friday it is,” Jonathan agreed, his voice going soft and warm as he held Eddie’s gaze for a moment longer before turning and getting up, disappearing just as silently as he had come, completely unaware of how he had just rocked Eddie’s world. 

Eddie packed up without another word, escaping the clearing the second he could and rushing back to his van. He managed to get all the way through turning it on and driving out of the parking lot of the school before he realized that the five in his lunchbox was his own money, and he had just broken the cardinal rule of drug dealing. 

[transformerswoc]

The TFP "Airachnid" Problem

Like I said, I'm gonna make essays and discussions regarding women in transformers <3. The first person is tfp Airachnid.

TFP Airachhid is honestly, the litmus test for how I feel that Transformers fans can handle “mean” evil, women. Because the hate train that she received and the hate she still receives is massive, and it rounding up to “she killed cliffjumper” or “she’s mean to arcee and starscream” “she killed breakdown” just shows that this fandom wouldn’t really be ready for a female villain that was worse than her, or that just did not give a fuck.

And honestly, that is soo unforutante because we see male characters, like Starscream and even like Megatron, who are basically like Airachnid, if not worse, getting love and support for their actions.

She’s not supposed to be nice…she is a villain a straight up, in your face, villain and that is interesting. Yes, other Airachnids/Black Arachnias get love, but a lot of them are morally grey or complex.

A lot of them either turn good or ambiguous in the end, or aren't who we think they are, giving them a very empathetic past to almost excuse their actions.

Yet, when we have villainous, no morals Airachnid, which I find made her character far more intriguing, it seems that people just hated her, and would hate her for the things they loved with the male villains. She was the perfect mixture of Starscream and Knockout, with Megatron’s brutality, and she was just…hated for it.

And it made me realize that in terms of female villains, we haven’t ever had one like her. One that says ‘fuck you’ to morality and shit, because I just do not think the fandom could handle her. And I’m talking about in the TV Shows.

There are female villains in the live action, but that is another topic for another time.

Lastly, to me as a Black Woman, I cannot help but feel a lot of hatred toward Airachnid is people not checking their own racism and antiblackness. I think it’s easy for people to, not even realize it, but hold black women to higher moral standards than others. The point is that, Airachnid is voiced by a Black Woman and fandoms tend to be very critical toward Black women whether they be live action, voicing characters, etc. black women are either too much, or not enough.

Funnily enough, we are seeing this with ROTB with tons of people who aren’t black women, bashing the representation of Black women in ROTB and saying they aren’t doing enough or they’re pointless.

And this brings me back to Airachnid and how fandoms tend to, unknowingly be very heavy and critical toward black characters, but especially, Black women characters as well who are mean, or who do not fit to their standards. That is just my perspective from a black woman.

I’m not going to sit here and say that everyone who dislikes Airachnid is racist, but I will say separately that I think a lot of reasons for disliking Airachid are rooted in misogyny.

There has been no good reason for disliking Airachnid that I haven’t seen laced in some form of misogyny, because every reason she is hated, you can trace back to a male villain doing the same thing, if not worse.

Given fandom’s negative reaction toward Airachid, I wonder if we’ll actually ever see such a cold, heartless female villain like we did her. I think that only thing that makes things ‘acceptable’ is if a female villain has complexity, or has depth or will eventually be a ‘good’ guy again, or at most, morally ambiguous. That is what makes a female villain acceptable and frankly, that’s not fair but unfortunately I just feel…that’s how it is.

Another thing I noticed, which I will make in another essay, is how TFP tends to shame any form of ‘feminity’ especially in its women but also, in queer outwardly femme charaters, like Starscream.

The ‘tom boy’ or ‘one of the boys’ perosna is something that we tend to see with Arcee and Miko. And forms of femininity such as motherhood, or being outwardly femme like Airachnid or Starscream are seen as ‘bad’ by the narrative.

What I mean by this is that, June is shamed for being motherly toward Jack, by Arcee and by Miko and it is something that she is made to feel bad for, for wanting to care for Jack. Arcee and Miko are portrayed as I said, as being ‘one of the boys’ Arcee herself made a negative comment toward the idea of being PINK…which is ridiclous.

Airachnid and Starscream are both heavily femme and queer coded, but they are shamed by the narrative and the fandom. Starscream is brutalized on the daily, and Airachnid, who is outwardly femme tends to be seen as irredeemable by the fandom and also inexplcitly evil by the narrative.

TFP’s issue with femininity  is something is something I certainly want to talk about later on, but given this essay is just about Airachnid, I will stop here.

The last thing I'm also going to say is that I don't think that the writers knew, or understand how to write a female villain for a notoriously misogynstic fanbase. There are reasons why the other female characters are 'acceptable' and it's because they are for the most part, written in a way that is okay for a male audience. That doesn't mean they don't face their fair share of misogyny...they do. Especially Miko.

But an outwardly evil femme fatale who doesn't give a fuck about it...the fandom is just not ready for such a character. And while I don't think the writers needed to pacify her, i do 100% believe that when operating in a misogynstic fandom, you should learn how to write a female character in a way that will not get her dragged the way Airachnid has been dragged.

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