#girl the nuance is coming from inside the house

[lordsovorn]

Strange how people keep saying that "Shuro hates in Laios the same traits he supposedly loves in Falin", which is...

Seriously, look at him and his dialogue - does he hate Laios for being a monster freak? For being nerdy and weird and loving nature? For eating bugs? No, that's not it.

Shuro hates* Laios for being so profoundly socially inept (from his perspective).

The key difference between Touden siblings isn't that Falin is a pretty girl - the key difference is that Falin is caring and accommodating to other people, and Laios is awkward and unobservant, seemingly egotistic at the surface level.

(others have already written wonderful essays on why and how they grew up like that)

It has to be noted that Shuro is a sheltered noble from a land where proper etiquette is paramount - he is used to people being incredibly subtle AND incredibly observant around him. He comes from a high-context culture where everyone assumes things based on lots of social cues and shared understanding of context. That's not even a matter of being neurotypical, that's his culture (in addition to his personality and brain chemistry)

He is also rather introverted as person and doesn't have many friends. Even his attachments and emotions in childhood are expressed subtly, in a restrained and proper way. He is polite and refined, perfectly fitting into his house's expectations - even if that means repressing his childhood interests and little weird joys.

In that particular way, the opposite of Laios.

Shuro hates* Laios for being the opposite of the image HE was grown into. This strange man is so utterly insensitive and so open about it - he has no sense of shame (like Shuro), no tact and ability to shut up (like Shuro), no restraint (like Shuro). Look at him talking non-stop about things he wants to talk about and having fun (unlike Shuro) while completely overestepping Shuro's obvious boundaries!

The boundaries, I must say, that not only never before needed to be spelled out, but in Shuro's upbringing and culture would be as ridiculous to spell out as "I want to pee, so I'll go to the bathroom and remove my pants and sit on the toilet and release the sphincter holding my pee in my pee bladder"

Falin is not only awesome in his eyes for being weird and in touch with nature, but for being very delicate, observant and caring AT THE SAME TIME. She is a gem in Shuro's eyes, a miracle of his dreams.

In Falin, he not only sees a nerd-freak - he sees a hope for an introverted, polite, restrained person like himself to reconnect with that love for nature and nerdiness and freakiness.

Laios isn't like that. Laios is unobservant for subtle cues - and so a lot more loud, persistent, enthusiastic and unwittingly annoying. Yes, Falin has all that inside her too - but she restrains herself in order not to be a burden. And so does Shuro, in order to fit expectations. There's similarity between them in that regard, between two introverted and restrained weirdos. And a hope for a kindred, more open soul, from the more restrained Shuro's perspective.

* - I don't think Shuro's feelings to Laios are properly described as hate. Yeah, in his darkest moment he says that, but honestly it felt more like an accumulated stress from a continuous cultural and personal misunderstanding, rather than a profound personal hate.

...

What was the post about?.. Oh, yeah, Shuro loving Falin and disliking Laios. That's not him being too horny to think, that's him loving in Falin the defining difference between the two - they aren't gender-swapped clones, after all. Give my boy some respect and nuance.

[spidergrysn]

Spider!Mark origins: Mark Lee x Reader part 2

cw: slight angst??? a bit of violence.. corny dialogue!! mark is such a cute little dork .. virgin! mark LOLLLLLL, loss of virginity, soft sex, praise, spider webs🤗

wc: 7.4k

ISSUE #1: MARK’S ORGINS 🕷️

ISSUE #2: THE MAKING OF A HERO 🕷️

For the next few weeks, y/n and Mark spent an increasing amount of time together. Every day after school, they would head straight to y/n's house, which had basically become Mark’s superhero 101 training grounds.

The routine was established quickly: they'd drop their bags at the door and head straight to the backyard, where y/n already had a training area set up. Because y/n had been trained in combat from the minute she exited the womb, she made a pretty damn good teacher. She would make Mark spar for hours, not stopping until he couldn’t move a muscle.

Mark, despite coming a long way from when they first started, still found himself on the losing end every time, but each loss only made him want to work harder and harder. He had to prove to y/n he was worthy enough.

Outside of the tedious training. y/n helped Mark research about the spider, scouring through scientific journals, news articles, and even sub-reddit conspiracy forums to gather every scrap of information they could possibly find.

At each training session, y/n made sure to mark down and careful observe Mark’s abilities. She noted every nuance, every change, every new detail. From there she was able to, to weigh his strengths and weaknesses, applying it to training making sure he can get out of every possible scenario.

Despite the intensity of their training, there were moments of rest. They would take breaks to snack on y/n's homemade cookies or binge stupid tiktok’s they found on each others fyps. In those moments, they could feel each other becoming more and more comfortable with one another.

•

•

As the week came to an end, y/n had happily invited Mark to join her and Haechan for a movie night. Mark, brimming with excitement, swiftly made his way out of his room, only to be intercepted by his aunt just before stepping out the door.

"Where exactly are you running off to again? You've been going out a lot lately," his aunt lightly scolded, a knowing glint in her eye.

Mark scratched his neck nervously, struggling to come up with a proper response. "Uh, I'm going to a friend's house... I mean, I've been going to a friend's house," he stumbled over his words.

His aunt eyed him curiously, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "Uh huh, and does this friend have a name?" she inquired looking him up and down.

"Y/n—her name is y/n. We go to school together," Mark replied quickly, hoping to evade further interrogation from his nosy auntie.

"A GIRL! Oh my god, my little Minhyung is growing up!" his aunt exclaimed, her excitement evident as she squeezed his cheeks affectionately. "Wait, why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend, Minhyung?" she added, playfully scolding him and insisting that he invite y/n over for dinner.

Mark sighed, patiently explaining to his aunt that y/n was just a friend who happened to be a girl, and that they weren't dating. His aunt chuckled knowingly, giving him a knowing look before shooing him out the door.

"Oh, and Honey, one more thing," his aunt called after him as he turned to leave.

Mark paused, turning back to face her. "Use protection!" she shouted, earning a groan from Mark as he dashed off, his aunt's laughter echoing behind him as she closed the door.

•

•

Texting back and forth, Mark impatiently waits outside, his fingers tapping anxiously on his phone screen as he texts y/n.

mark 🕷️: yo I'm right outside & it's cold,so please open the door.

y/n 🎧 : yo who is this????

mark 🕷️: ihy sm.

Finally, the door swings open, revealing y/n standing there with a warm smile. Mark, bundled up in a hoodie and baggy pants against the cold, returns her smile as he steps inside quickly trying to escape the cold air.

"Sup, Mark," Haechan greets, rising from the couch to dap Mark up before they settle on to the couch together. Y/n smiles at them both before heading to the kitchen to whip up some popcorn for their movie night. She pops the buttery goodness in her mouth as she rejoins them on the couch, sandwiching herself between Haechan and Mark.

As the movie begins to play, the trio immediately focus on the screen, their laughter and mid-movie talking filling the room. They transition from loud conversations to moments of silence, absorbed in the film's emotional rollercoaster. At one point, tears threaten to spill from Haechan and Mark’s eyes as y/n giggles at their dramatics.

Before the movie could even end, both Haechan and Mark leaned against each other softly snoring dead asleep. Chuckling softly at the sight, y/n reaches for her phone, thinking this is the perfect time for a funny candid picture to embarrass the boys with later. However, before she can even open the camera app, Mark stirs awake, disrupting her mischief with a sleepy smile.

"Uhh, y/n, what are you doing?" Mark questions, slightly startling the girl.

"Uhhh, shit, oh, nothing, I was just making sure you didn’t choke on my brother's drool the way you guys were sleeping," y/n retorts quickly, causing Mark to laugh embarrassedly and wipe his mouth just in case.

She laughs at his reaction before poking Mark on his cheek.

"Hey, Mark, I have a surprise for you," y/n says, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. Mark perks up at this, his curiosity piqued, as y/n grabs his arm and leads him to her backyard.

She urges him to close his eyes as she opens the back door, taking his hand and guiding him outside. When he uncovers his eyes, Mark finds a big paper bag covered in spider stickers and cute little spiderwebs. "TA-DA," y/n announces proudly as she signals for Mark to uncover his eyes.

Mark chuckles at the sight of the decorated paper bag. "Oh, dope, you got me a decorated paper bag. I've always wanted this," he jokes, but y/n urges him to open the bag.

Mark grabs the bag, raising an eyebrow at its weight. He carefully removes the tissue paper and discovers a red and blue skin-tight suit with a dark black spider emblem on it. He notices that the suit even has a hoodie attached, reminding him of the day he saved y/n in the alley while wearing a hoodie himself.

He then pulls out a matching mask and notices a rectangular box in the bag. Curious, he opens it and finds a cool technological device that looks like it should go on his wrists. "It’s for your webs. It’ll help you aim them better and make them stronger," y/n explains, smiling at her friend's reaction.

Before y/n can say another word, Mark embraces her tightly, expressing his gratitude. "Thank you so much, y/n. Seriously, this is so fucking awesome. When did you even have the time to do this? It's just... wow?!"

Y/n laughs with him, enjoying his excitement. "You wanna try it on and test these bad boys out?" she suggests, raising an eyebrow daringly.

"HELL YEAH," Mark responds enthusiastically, scrambling to the bathroom to try on his new gifts.

•

•

Mark can’t help but admire himself in the mirror. He also couldn’t help but laugh, at the fact that his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. This was easily the best gift he’s ever gotten. The fabric hugged his frame perfectly, and he can't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through him. He genuinely felt like a real deal superhero.

"OKAY, princess, quit checking yourself out in the bathroom and come out. We've got some brainstorming to do," y/n calls out, knocking on the door.

Mark fumbles with the door, a bit embarrassed at the fact that he had been staring at himself for so long. "Sorry, you were taking forever. I was almost gonna break the do--" y/n starts before her gaze trails over Mark's figure. "Whew, that fits nicely in all the right places... Turn around real quick, Mark."

Mark hesitantly complies, turning around as instructed. "Yeah, your butt looks great. Any villain would be intimidated by that," y/n jokes, causing Mark to giggle slightly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"So let’s get down to business... You have the skills, you have the suit, and all you need now is a superhero name," y/n declares, beaming at Mark.

"Now, I've compiled a list of super awesome amazing brilliant names I've come up with, or I've found in articles from your recent crime-fighting, and by articles I mean tweets. Now let’s pick one out," y/n continues, excitedly.

"Spider-boy," y/n suggests.

"I'm a grown-ass man. Why would I go by that?" Mark responds.

"Okay... What about Arachne Man?" y/n proposes.

"Hell no," Mark replies.

"Uhhh, Super Spider 3000?"

"What's with the 3,000, y/n?" Mark questions.

"I don't know, I thought it sounded kinda cool." y/n shrugs.

“The Weaver?”

"That makes me sound like an old lady in a knitting club," Mark protests, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Okay... How about Your Amazing Friendly Neighbor Spider-Man?" y/n suggests, sounding a bit exasperated.

Mark considers the name for a moment, running it over in his mind. "You know what, y/n, that's not half bad... Just a bit long, I will say."

"Jesus Christ, you motherfucking idiots, why not just Spider-Man?" Haechan interjects, finally chiming in from his spot on the couch.

"That's probably the smartest thing you've ever uttered," y/n teases her brother before turning back to Mark. "So, what do you think?"

"Spider-Man... I like it," Mark responds with a grin as y/n yelps out a big YES!

•

•

"Testing 123... 321... Amazing Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, can you hear me over?" y/n's voice crackles over the intercom built into Mark's hood.

"I heard you after the testing... Also, aren't we shortening the name?" Mark questions as he gracefully swings from building to building.

"Sorry, it's just so catchy! Just testing to make sure you can hear me all good over the intercom," y/n responds from her laptop in her room.

"Well, I can," Mark confirms.

"Okay, good. I'm gonna power up the camera feed on your suit so I can navigate you the right way," y/n explains.

"THERE'S A CAMERA ON HERE?!" Mark exclaims, amazed.

"Yup! There's one built into the spider on your suit, and then there are a couple on your mask, so whatever you see, I can see," y/n confirms.

"Jesus Christ, this is giving me motion sickness. Do you ever get sick swinging from those damn webs?" y/n asks, hearing mark chuckle in her intercom.

"No, I'll have to take you for a ride one day," Mark responds, almost confidently, before adding with a stammered, "if you want."

"I'll have to take you up for that one day, Spider-Boy... For now, let's focus on getting you out of this mission alive," y/n finishes.

"ALIVE?! I COULD DIE?!" Mark's voice rises in panic.

"Mhmm, there's like a 50% chance... But you'll be okay. NOW MARK, A SHARP LEFT!" y/n directs, a bit muffled.

"Are you eating chips right now?!" Mark questions, swinging to the left.

"Uhh—nooo," y/n denies, crunching on another chip before changing the subject.

"Okay, so here's the rundown: BABY'S FIRST DRUG BUST," y/n announces.

"You say this like you've done one before," Mark retorts, but y/n goes silent for a moment before giggling.

"ANYWAYS, back to the subject at hand. In exactly 10 minutes, you're gonna arrive in Hell's Kitchen," y/n explains.

"That sounds like fun," Mark says sarcastically before y/n shushes him.

"There's some big meeting happening in one of the buildings I'm navigating you to. Supposedly, it's some kind of drug trafficking scheme run by Wilson Fisk. I'm sure you know who that is, right...?" y/n prompts.

"Kingpin?" Mark responds.

"Yes, him! The meeting is gonna be all sorts of big drug lord mafia guy wannabes. Your job is to interfere with the truck shipments. I don't know exactly how yet, but you have to stop it from going anywhere," y/n instructs.

"Okay, got it... Hell's Kitchen, beat some bad guys, and stop drugs. Okay, makes enough sense," Mark acknowledges.

"AHT! This is supposed to be a stealth mission, Mark. Whatever you do, DO NOT interfere with the meeting. They don't need to know you're there. Just stop the truckloads. The only people you should be interfering with are the drivers," y/n emphasizes.

"Got it," Mark says hesitantly, listening.

“Okay, Mark, swing right, and there should be a big building leading down that alley," y/n directs.

Mark gives a sound of acknowledgment before landing on top of a large building. He carefully surveys the area, making sure he can't see anyone.

"Okay, Mark, this may be a bit risky, but see if you can get in through a vent and record audio of everything going down," y/n suggests.

"Okay," Mark whispers, finding a vent that he barely fits inside.

"Okay, so what you're gonna do is carefully press the spider that's on your chest," y/n instructs.

Mark follows her guidance, watching as a tiny spider emerges from the big spider print on his chest, crawling down the vent.

“What the hell?!” Mark exclaims in awe.

“Oh yes, that’s a mini spider camera mic thingy me and Haechan worked really hard to develop for you,” y/n says casually. “It should be able to record everything going on. When the meeting is over, press the spider on your chest again, and it’ll come back. For now, just sit tight until it’s over.”

Mark hums in agreement, half wondering about what’s going on in the meeting and half wondering about what other surprises lay in his suit.

Y/n pulls Mark out of his thoughts, her voice coming in sternly. “Okay, I’m loading everything recording onto my computer. Look to see if they’re moving yet.” Mark gives a quick yes and looks through the shielded vents, observing a bunch of suited men carefully. “I think they’re wrapping it up,” Mark says.

“Gotcha, I’m gonna give you some instructions on how to leave. You should end up on top of the building facing the loading truck,” y/n directs.

Mark begins to move before he sharply pauses when he hears the room below him suddenly go silent. An alarm sounds, and the men below start talking about a "rat."

“Uhhh, y/n... I think they might have heard me,” Mark reports.

“Aht, okay... Keep following the exit instructions. I’m gonna get you out of here. Return back here immediately,” y/n says sternly as she types some commands on the computer. “But the mission?” Mark protests before y/n cuts him off, insisting once again to come back immediately.

Mark safely exits the vent, standing on the building, watching the few trucks he sees as he observes some men loading them up. He takes a deep breath before muttering a sorry and diving down there.

“Mark, you fucking idiot,” y/n says, screaming over the intercom before it goes silent on both sides.

•

•

•

Y/n screams, shutting her laptop with a snap, and jumps off her bed. She quickly paces to Haechan’s room, whisking the door open.

“Woah, woah, I could’ve been naked or, better yet, jacking off. What happened to knocking?” Haechan yells.

“Shut up and grab your car keys. Something went wrong with the plan, and now Mark is going to get himself killed. We need to do something about it,” y/n says quickly as Haechan groans, heading to the garage to get his car out. Y/n rushes to the garage, typing a code into a safe before taking a briefcase out and hopping into Haechan’s sleek black sports car.

"Told you he wasn’t ready, and now you’re gonna get your only friend killed," Haechan says, whistling. "Shut the fuck up and drive," y/n says, clearly annoyed.

•

•

•

"Sup, guys! Did I crash the drug dealing party, or is there still room for one more?" Mark says, trying not to show how nervous he was to the group of crooks.

"Who the hell are you, tough guy?" some guy says, sizing Mark up before spitting on the ground next to him.

Mark slowly backs up before accidentally tripping over his own foot. "Fuck," he exclaims, falling down as he sees the men crowd around him, getting ready to attack. Mark quickly shoots a web, hitting one guy in the face before swiftly jumping up and punching someone to his left.

"Hey, guys, it’s not nice to jump people! Ten versus one, now that’s unfair," Mark says, swiftly spraying his webs, sticking two bad guys together as they hit the ground with a thump. Before Mark could take a break, he hears gunshots and quickly jumps up, sticking to a wall to avoid it before carefully shooting out his webs, taking the gun from one of the bad guys.

"COME ONNN! What happened to hand-to-hand combat? You guys are killing me here," Mark says, jumping down in front of another. He winds his fist back, getting ready to punch the guy in the face before he gets a tingling sensation and turns around to see a giant man towering over him.

"Hey, Big Guy, let’s take it easy now," Mark says as the man gruffly laughs at him.

"I knew there was some annoying insect ruining my plans," the man says in a deep voice, closing in on the boy.

"Ah, well, actually, spiders aren’t insects," Mark says matter-of-factly, getting ready to shoot his webs before he’s thrown roughly into a wall, groaning in pain at the impact. “I’ve heard about you," the man says, briskly leaning over him.

Mark coughs; he swears he can taste metal in his mouth before he’s cut off again, getting punched. "Some low little sorry excuse of a hero, stopping petty crime, tcht," Kingpin says, his voice laced with venom.

"Well, now is where you get crushed, spider-boy," Kingpin says, raising his fist again before Mark quickly musters his strength to get up, dodging the attack and landing a swift, hard punch in his opponent's face.

Fisk barely flies back but chuckles, wiping where Mark had hit him. "Not bad," he exclaims, getting ready to retaliate.

•

•

•

"TURN HERE!" y/n's urgent command pierced the air as Haechan slammed the brakes, the tires screeching in protest. "If I don’t come back in 15 minutes tops, I want you to know that one time I let Jaemin take your car to a party, and that's why the paint looks slightly different on one side. He made me promise not to tell you," y/n confessed in a rush, while Haechan muttered something along the lines of hoping she wouldn't return.

Swiftly, y/n snatched the case, darting into an alley to change into the sleek, black attire inside the case . A mask obscured everything but her eyes as she armed herself with two lengthy black electrical escrima sticks. Emerging from the alley with a determined stride, she set out to locate Mark.

Breathless, y/n stealthily approached Mark's location. Her heart caught in her throat as she witnessed most of Kingpin's henchmen strewn unconscious, only to find Mark, weakened and bleeding, slumped against the wall as Kingpin pummeled him relentlessly.

"Fucking dumbass" y/n muttered, taking a deep breath before springing into action with catlike agility. "Hope there's room for one more," she exclaimed, aiming to divert Kingpin's attention from his assault on Mark.

Kingpin's laughter echoed as he turned his attention to the smaller figure before him. "This is who came to save you, Spider-boy? Oh dear, you're both as good as dead," he taunted.

Launching himself at y/n, Kingpin found himself thwarted by her flawless agility. She retaliated swiftly, delivering a jolt of electricity with her weapon, causing Kingpin to recoil in agony. Annoyed, he lunged again, only to be met with another swift dodge, as y/n striked him somewhere solidifying the fact he probably wont be having any kids anytime soon. He crumbles in pain as y/n eyes quickly meets Mark’s body.

Rushing to Mark's side, y/n hoisted him up, supporting his weight as they fled, knowing Kingpin would soon recover. They dashed from the alley, Mark's pained groans echoing through the street. Pressing an intercom in her ear, y/n reached out to Haechan for assistance.

“Earth to Haechan, are you there?" she pleaded desperately.

"Dammit, you're alive," Haechan's voice crackled through the earpiece.

"Not the time for jokes; Mark is badly hurt. We need to get him back home ASAP. Can you track my location? He's weighing me down, and at this rate, I don't think we'll make it back in one piece," y/n stammers in a rush.

"I got you. I'll be there in 5 minutes tops," Haechan assured, the engine revving to life.

While supporting Mark, y/n raced as fast as she could, her senses on high alert to evade any pursuers. "Dammit, Mark," she muttered, observing his agonized state.

“Hurry, get in!" Haechan's urgent voice echoed as a group of men closed in on them. Swiftly, y/n ushered Mark into the back seat, taking her place beside Haechan, urging him to step on it.

Haechan navigated the streets with precision, maneuvering crazily to shake off their pursuers. Finally, they arrived home, the garage offering a brief break from the chaos outside.

Together they carried Mark to the living room, laying him gently on the floor, both sighing at his injuries.

“Go get the first aid kit," y/n commanded, her voice slightly hoarse, as she swiftly began to strip away Mark's bloodied clothing to assess his injuries. Haechan darts off, returning moments later with the first aid kit clutched tightly in his grasp.

Y/n sighs as she tended to Mark's wounds. His eyelids fluttered, struggling to remain open as waves of drowsiness washed over him.

"He's gonna have a giant headache when he wakes up," Haechan remarked, a note of concern lacing his words. Y/n shot him a wry look, her eyes brimming with exhaustion and tears as she finished up his bandages. "Just take him to one of the guest rooms so he can rest," she instructed, her tone firm yet full of concern for her friend.

Haechan nods in understanding, carefully lifting Mark's limp form into his arms. With a gentle touch, he cradled his friend, carrying him away to a guest room where he could recuperate in peace. As they disappeared from view, y/n exhaled a weary sigh, her mind racing with thoughts of the night's events, her hands cover her face as she can only think of what could have happened to Mark.

•

•

•

When Mark finally awoke, he was greeted by a pounding headache, his consciousness slowly emerging from the depths of hell. Groaning softly, he blinked, attempting to figure out where he was. The memories of the brutal encounter with Kingpin's henchmen flooded back, each blow replaying in his mind and it was like he could feel the pain all over again.

Struggling to push past the throbbing pain, Mark sat up abruptly, his gaze scanning the room in confusion. His eyes fell upon a note perched on the bedside table, it urging him to meet y/n into the backyard. He takes a deep breath, rising from the bed, as his legs unsteady beneath him make his way to the backyard.

As he stepped into the familiar place, he spotted y/n seated on a weathered bench, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. She turned her head, sensing his presence, and offered a gentle smile as he carefully approached, slightly limping in pain.

“Hey," he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleeping as he joined her on the bench. Before he could utter another word, y/n's hand collided with his cheek in a resounding slap, leaving a bright red mark on his left side. Mark winced, his gaze dropping as he slightly whines.

"I deserved that," he admitted, his tone apologetic.

y/n's expression softened, though traces of anger flickered in her eyes. "You're an idiot, you know that," she half-yelled , her voice carrying a mixture of frustration and concern. "If I say come back, you come back immediately. You could've died out there."

Mark's shoulders sagged, his gaze fixed on the ground. "I know... I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to prove that I could do it, that all of your training was paying off," he admitted, a sense of disappointment filled the air. y/n looks at the boy softly before shaking her head attempting to break the tension

“It is paying off. From what was left of Kingpin's men, you did pretty great, Spider-Man," she reassured, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Mark nodded, appreciative as his eyes met her gaze. They both sit in silence, a distant rumble of thunder echoed through the night sky, signaling the onset of rain. Y/n tilted her head back, gazing as the sky, a smile gracing her lips as droplets danced upon her skin.

Mark watched her, captivated by the ethereal beauty of the made y/n’s h/c hair stick to her forehead which somehow, framed her features beautifully in the cool rain. Mark leans in closer, his heart pounding in his chest. As he breaks the comfortable silence.

"Your eyes are pretty," he murmured softly, his breath mingling with hers in the cool night air.

“and your eye is very swollen.”

y/n's playful retort was met with a soft smile, her fingers brushing against his swollen eye and then equally swollen lip with a tender touch.

"Promise me you won't do something dumb like this again?" y/n demands, her voice slightly shaking.

Mark shook his head gently, a tender smile playing on his lips as he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on the girl's plush lips. "I can't promise I won't do anything dumb," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "but I promise I'll always bounce right back."

With that he embraced her in his warm arms as, they watched the gentle patter of raindrops.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It had been nearly a week since y/n last saw Mark. His absence from school and the silence of his phone left her restless, her mind couldn’t help but overthink everything that had gone down last week.

"What if my breath stank, and that's why he's avoiding me?" she exclaimed, as she vented to her brother, who was engrossed in a video game, only half-listening to her concerns.

"It probably did, like it does right now," Haechan quipped, a smirk playing on his lips as y/n rose to switch off his playstation , her irritation reaching its peak. "Why did you do that? I was about to level up!" Haechan protested, his pleas falling on deaf ears as y/n stood her ground.

"Because you were being mean," she retorted, hands firmly planted on her hips, her frustration bubbling over. "Why don't you have any friends to annoy with this mess?" Haechan grumbled, shooting his sister a disgruntled glare.

"Because people are meaner," y/n sighed, sinking onto the couch beside her brother. "What if he's dead or got kidnapped, and I'm just overreacting?" she mused aloud.

"Well, at least if he's dead, I don't have to hear you talk about this again," Haechan retorts, earning himself a punch from his sister before she stormed off to her room, frustration etched into every line of her face. Seated before her makeup desk, y/n resolved that if Mark was still alive, she'd knock some sense into him.

Adjusting her dress and pulling out an annoying wedgie, y/n stood before the doorway of a quaint, beautiful house, her heart pounding in her chest as she rang the doorbell.

The door swung open, revealing a middle-aged woman whose warm smile instantly eased y/n's nerves. "Hello, dear," the woman greeted, her eyes twinkling with kindness as she greeted the girl.

She smiles again before saying, "give me a sec." With a wink, as she vanished behind the door. From behind the closed door, y/n could hear the muffled voices very clearly, giggling at what was being said.

"Benji, you would not believe it! Mark has brought a girl home, and she's beautiful at that," the woman exclaimed.

When the door finally opened, the older lady reappeared, this time accompanied by a man whose almost warmer smile put her even more at ease. "And who might you be, young lady?" he asks, friendly as ever.

Returning the smile, the girl nodded before speaking, her voice cheerful than usual and very respectful. "Hi! I'm y/n. I've heard so many nice things about you, Mr. and Mrs. Park," she said, extending her hand for a handshake. To her surprise, Mrs. Park enveloped her in a warm hug, squeezing the girl tightly.

"You have to excuse Jennie; she's a hugger, and Mark doesn't have many friends over, let alone girls, so it's a big deal," the older man chuckled, breaking the moment with laughter before ushering her inside.

As she settled into a seat, Mrs. Park's went on and on not knowing in advance about y/n's visit, promising to bake a cake for her next time. y/n simply thanked her profusely, a genuine smile not leaving her face.

"Just sit tight, dear. Mark will be home soon. You know how he is, always ripping and running," Mrs. Park reassured her. As y/n nods in agreement.

y/n's anticipation peaked as she heard the door creak open, and Mark's aunt rushed to greet him. "Minhyung! You have a visitor here. Next time, give me a heads up before your girlfriend comes; I would've baked a cake," she scolded, her playful reprimand filling the room.

Caught off guard, Mark's eyes widened as they met y/n's, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. "Oh, Minhyung, hi!" y/n greeted him with an overly cheery tone, her demeanor sending a shiver down his spine for reasons he couldn't explain.

As Aunt Park suggested they retreat to Mark's room, he led y/n upstairs, his mind racing with questions. "How did you find my house?" he finally blurted out, his surprise evident.

"Why are you avoiding me, Minhyung?" y/n countered, her eyebrow arching as she studied him intently. Mark's gaze darted away, avoiding her intense eyes as he struggled to find an answer.

"I've been busy," he replied, his words sounding hollow even to his own ears as he stared at a poster behind her.

y/n sighed, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Busy? Doing what? You haven't been at school, you haven't texted me back since our fight, since we kissed—never mind," she trailed off, her voice tinged with disappointment.

Sensing her frustration, Mark joined her on the bed, his eyes fixed on the floor before meeting hers. "I just—" he began, only to be cut off by y/n's exasperated interruption.

You just what!," she snapped, her annoyance cutting through the air like a knife.

"I just... I don't want to disappoint you like I did last time. So I've been training hard and staying up all hours of the night so I can prove to you that I can take this whole superhero thing seriously, for real," he confessed feeling the most vulnerable he’s ever felt with anyone.

As y/n softened her gaze, she observes him more closely, noticing a few bruises peeking out from beneath his clothes, concealed with makeup to avoid his aunt's prying eyes.

y/n sighed, her hand reaching out to grasp his. "I'm not disappointed in you at all, Mark. I really do believe in you," she reassured him, her touch gentle as she moved to caress his face, locking eyes with him. He bit his lip, his gaze lingering on her before he leaned in, craving the softness of her lips against his. As their kiss deepened, he tasted the faint sweetness of her strawberry lip gloss, savoring it all despite the stickiness it left behind. In that moment, he felt like he could kiss her forever, losing himself in the warmth of her lips.

Breaking apart, they both gasped for breath, their eyes locked in an intense gaze, pupils dilated. Mark opened his mouth to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know, you were my first kiss," he confessed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "To be honest, y/n, you're my first real friend too," he admitted

"You're so funny, snarky, and beautiful, and I don't want to disappoint you or mess anything up," he continued, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

"For the first time since my parents died and i had to live with my aunt and uncle , since l've moved from place to place, for once, I feel like I belong, and I have someone who cares about me, and that's you," he confessed, his voice cracking with emotion. y/n reached out to comfort him, gently stroking his head as he let his tears fall.

They sat together in a comfortable silence, finding comfort in each other's embrace until Auntie Park's voice shattered the sentimental moment. "Y/N, Mark, dinner is ready!" she called out, barging into the room with a cheerful smile, only to pause as she caught sight of them holding each other.

"Auntie," Mark groaned, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he urged her for privacy. With a playful giggle, Auntie Park retreated, reminding them to be safe before disappearing, leaving Y/n and Mark to exchange amused glances.

With a shared chuckle, they eventually straightened themselves up, and made their way to downstairs for dinner.

•

•

•

"Thank you so much for dinner, Mrs. Park," y/n said, enveloping the older lady in a warm hug as she and Mark stood outside the doorway.

"Anytime, my dear. You're welcome anytime," Mrs. Park replied, her gaze shifting to her nephew. "Minhyung, make sure she gets home safe," she instructed, her concern evident in her tone. Mark nodded , offering a quick "Yes, ma'am" before hugging his aunt.

As they walked side by side to y/n’s house, they go back and forth catching each other up on their week. When they finally reached her door, y/n punched in the security code, only to find her brother not there.

"Hey, Mark, do you wanna maybe watch a movie? Haechan isn't here, so..." y/n trailed off, a mischievous glint in her eye as she heads towards her bedroom. Mark's smile widened at the invitation, and he followed her inside without hesitation.

The night started out innocently enough for y/n and Mark as they lounged on y/n’s bed. It was nothing out of the ordinary; they had done this dozens of times at this point, after every hangout or training session. But this time, it felt different.

As the movie played on, y/n couldn't help but sneak sidelong glances at her friend. She didn’t even know what they were; they had kissed twice but never taken it further than that. Lost in thought, she couldn’t help but gaze at Mark, eyeing his chiseled features and toned physique in his white tank top and unbuttoned polo. For some reason, it made her heart flutter, and her thoughts started drifting to things she knew would never happen.

But GOD she wanted Mark badly. She wanted to rip his clothes off and fuck the nerd out of him. Now, this wasn't the first time she had such thoughts.

A few fantasies had slipped into her mind here and there, especially after a sweaty training session or even after he kissed her that first time. All she could think about was him.

Now, y/n wasn't a virgin (thanks to Jeno at summer camp a few years back), but it had been quite some time, and even then, she still lacked experience. And then there was Mark. She knew for a fact that this man was a virgin, mostly because y/n just so happened to be his first kiss.

y/n sighed quietly , feeling as though the air had thickened with tension, but she waved it off as her hormones being crazy.

“ah what are you thinking about?”

y/n snaps back to reality hearing mark’s voice question her.

"Ah, nothing," y/n stammered, her face heating up. Mark looked her up and down before slightly laughing. For some reason, his laugh sounded extra beautiful today, pulling at y/n's heartstrings. "If it's nothing, why are your cheeks turning pink?" Mark questioned, tilting his head.

y/n sighed again, unable to resist any longer. She leaned in and captured his lips in a heat-searing kiss. It started off a bit slow, each of them carefully kissing one another, trying to find a steady pace.

But as soon as y/n heard a small whine from Mark, the kissing quickly deepened, hands began to roam over one another.

y/n squeezed Mark's arms, feeling his muscles, as Mark gently put his hand on y/n’s back, softly rubbing it. "Do you wanna take this off?" Mark asked between kisses, gesturing to y/n's shirt, to which she nodded, letting him take it off.

"Wow, you're so gorgeous," Mark exclaimed, looking at her toned body, kissing her body, causing shivers to go up her spine as she urged him to take his shirt off. Mark obliged, pulling it off swiftly in one motion, showing off his sculpted body. "Whew, I really got you right, huh?" the girl giggled, sliding into Mark's lap as he simply hummed, going back into kiss her before she broke apart, before he could protest.

She began to trail kisses down his neck and across his chiseled torso. Mark groaned with pure pleasure; he could feel his cock twitching in his pants as his body overheated with need. He'd never felt like this before, and he couldn't get enough of it. As if by instinct, his superhuman strength took over, and he flipped y/n swiftly, pinning her down on her soft mattress, causing a small yelp to leave her mouth.

y/n's eyes widened at the surprising gesture. Mark's eyes widened as well as he went to apologize for being too rough before y/n cut him off, saying she liked it, getting another well-earned moan out of Mark. He couldn't help but pause again to just look at her beauty and melt in it.

"You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he said, sighing as he watched her take off her bra.

She smiled, throwing her bra across the room before pulling his face down to meet hers.

"Quit talking and show me," she said, giggling, getting a "Yes, ma'am" from Mark as he began to trail kisses all over her body, eliciting so many beautiful noises he could get lost in.

He kissed carefully between her thighs before his fingers trailed her clothed pussy. He groaned at the wetness from her panties as she moaned at the light touch of his fingers.

"Can I take these off?" Mark asked, dazed.

"Mhmm," Y/N eagerly agreed as she watched Mark loop his fingers in her panties before taking them off.

"Fuckkkk. I need to taste you," Mark groaned as he gazed at her cunt, all sticky and wet, just waiting for him.

y/n let out a measly please before Mark opened her legs and his mouth latched onto her cunt. Mark's tongue moved fast and then slow, a bit confused on what to do but somehow still enjoying himself as he got lost in the taste.

y/n slightly giggled, looking down at him before bucking her hips, urging Mark to follow the same pace with his tongue.

And that's all Mark needed before y/n was rhythmically riding his tongue, both of their minds lost in pleasure, as y/n went down to fist Mark's hair.

"Aa-h, tastes sooo good," he moaned in between eating out her cunt. He looked up with the biggest puppy eyes, his chin wet before tilting his head and asking y/n if he's doing "good." Something about Mark being in between her legs, eyes all big and chin all wet, practically begging for praise only made y/n get wetter.

"Mhmm, doing so good, Markie, so good baby," y/n stammered as Mark moaned at the nickname, as he went a bit faster, soaking up all her juices on his tongue.

"M-Mark, slow down, l'm gonna-" y/n huffed out, trying to pull away from him as he held her down, going a bit faster.

He moaned against her cunt, making her head spin and legs shake from pleasure.

He pinned her thighs down, lapping her pussy up a few more times before he felt her thighs clench around him, her voice gets higher and he felt even more wetness on his face as he lapped up her cum. He moaned at the taste as y/n backed up, overstimulated from pleasure.

"Mark, ah, enough, uhh," y/n moaned as the boy quickly sat up, giving the girl a sorry as she giggled & trying to catch her breath.

She sat up on the bed, looking at him with such adoration. "You did such a good job, thank you," she said, smiling.

"Ah, you taste really good, I could do it for hours," Mark said shamelessly as y/n eyed his pants.

"Do you want me to help you too?" y/n asked, staring at Mark's hard cock in his pants.

Mark nodded before opening his mouth."I want to be in you... if that's okay," he said sheepishly, like he didn't just eat her pussy like he hasn't eaten in years. y/n giggled before laying on the bed, gesturing for Mark to take off his pants.

He groaned, pulling them down, and y/n almost passed out as his cock sprung from his underwear.

"What the fuck Mark, you're huge," y/n groaned, a bit shocked.

"Yeah, I think it had something to do with the spider bite," Mark playfully joked before hovering on top of Y/N.

"I don't have a condom," Mark said quickly, getting ready to get off the bed before Y/N stopped him.

"No worries, I'm on birth control," Y/N said, making Mark grin widely.

"Ah, okay-uh, one more thing," Mark quickly added, not wanting to ruin the moment anymore.

"Mhmm?"y/n asked, curious.

"I just really like you, and we spend so much time together, and we've kissed, and now we are doing this, but I just... please be my girlfriend," Mark said sincerely, looking into the girl's eyes.

y/n smiled, giggling before saying a yes.

"Okay, yes, but ask me again when your dick isn't out, Mr. Romantic," y/n said, making Mark warm up a bit at his sudden outburst.

"Now come here, Spider-boy, I need you," and with carnal speed, Mark was on top of y/n trailing kisses down her neck again, feverishly kissing and bitting her lips trying to get those sweet noises out he lips again.

"Can I please?" Mark moaned as y/n nodded, signaling him to put it in. Mark groaned one last time, getting a good look at the beautiful woman under him before slowly sliding the tip in her even wetter cunt, causing a moan from both of them.

"Fuckkkkkk, you feel so good and warm and fuckk, oh my god, I feel so wow," Mark blubbered in pleasure as he pushed in deeper.

"Oh my god, y/n, you're clenching so fucking tight around my cock, you're so fucking wet I can't," Mark said mindlessly as y/n groaned at the words coming out of his mouth. Mark started to go slowly, rhythmically, as they both moaned in unison at how good it felt.

"Fuck, baby, you're so pretty and tight," Mark threw his head back, speeding up his hips, not stopping anytime soon.

"Mm, Markie, so big... I'm so full," y/n stuttered as Mark went even faster at the praise.

"Mhmm, yeah, baby, it's good?" Mark moaned out softly, caressing y/n's face with his hand.

"So-so good,"y/n whimpered, eyes rolled back in pleasure.

Mark took one more good look at y/n before his hips stuttered, he came into y/n's warm cunt, his mouth spewing out loud "fucks" and "baby" as he slowly fell on top of y/n, lost in bliss.

y/n caught her breath before laughing a bit, holding the boy tight in her arms.

"You did so good, Markie, I'm proud of you," she said quietly into his ear as the boy gave her a quiet "thank you."

They both lay there for a while in each other's arms, comfortable.

"Hey, y/n?"

"Mm, yes, Markie?"

"Do you wanna be my girlfriend?" Mark asked again, giggling.

"Of course I do. Now let's go get cleaned up; you can stay the night if you want," y/n said, a smile hinting in her voice.

Mark got up, helping y/n off the bed as he carefully guided her to the bathroom, hand in hand with stupid smiles on both of their faces.

•

•

did u guys see mark’s new accc and his posts??????! SPIDER MARK IS ALIVE AND WELL AHHH😭😭😭😭😭😭🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️💔💔💔 also i turned 20 LOL

[bloodcossmos]

felt the need to compile some of my opinions and analyses on arcane s2 regarding caitvi and their development so far. I've either seen diehard vi fans calling cait a bitch or diehard caitlyn fans calling vi useless and that's just not it.

spoilers for season 2 under the cut ‼️

okay so first of all. we cannot keep ignoring the fact that cassandra's death was a determining factor for caitlyn's change of temper. she is RAGING. UNSURE. INCONSOLABLE. as any normal person would, caitlyn is deeply affected by this. it is simple, textbook grief. anyone can feel it in their lifetime, everyone is allowed to mourn. BUT‼️understanding grief does NOT mean you have to justify the coping mechanisms used to deal with it. the fact that caitlyn's first instinct after the memorial attack was to put every zaunite in a same basket and call them animals and COMPLETELY throw away all compassion and understanding she had for them in season one (even up to the first minutes of the first episode) is NOT justifiable under any means. it's the same thing in reverse; not justifying coping mechanisms used to deal with grief DOES NOT MEAN you're invalidating the grief itself.

with that out of the way, we can understand that caitlyn, one way or another, went through a MASSIVE change of character this season. we saw it all in act 1. she was no longer the "good cop trying to fight the system from the inside and show the privileged how truly privileged they are by standing for the lowest ones' rights." the only thing in her mind was REVENGE. GETTING JINX TO PAY FOR HER ACTIONS AT WHATEVER COST. releasing toxic gasses into zaun and risking hundreds of innocents at a time to possible death by exposure? we all know, by common sense, IT'S NOT A GOOD THING TO DO. OBVIOUSLY. but she cannot; she's blinded by grief, blinded by rage. and it's gonna be even more evident in episode 3, when her and vi's kiss and, shortly after, breakup, happen.

this blindness towards others' feelings and opinions and only caring about the end goal— killing jinx— is what causes their falling out. vi, despite being COMPLETELY alienated from her principles and her people for the sole purpose of helping out her girl (impulsed by jinx's violence towards the council, which was the final nail in powder's coffin), understands that there can be a risk of killing an innocent: isha. she stops her. she's not happy about that. bombs go off prematurely. they're stuck between rubble and the frustration bubbled up caitlyn's throat and it comes out TERRIBLY. not just verbally, by saying her blood is in your veins— as if IMMEDIATELY condemning her— but also physically in the worst way possible. a full circle moment, if you ask me; hit in the same place she was stabbed, by the same person that helped heal her. full blown drama. lesbians are really something.

by the start of act 2, caitlyn is not just a hurting and grieving woman in a position of power, where all the weight of house kiramman falls on her shoulders; she's also a commander. which is... twice as much power in her hands. but the difference is that she's not acting on her own now, to satiate her own bloodlust and revenge. she's now hanging by threads, like a puppet controlled by none other than ambessa medarda. a ruthless warmonger who wants nothing but full influence over a broken woman to achieve her own goals in piltover. we saw it at the end of act 1; she was the one who instigated the attack on the memorial, which could be considered as the last straw for caitlyn's sanity. she took advantage of that weakness to further consolidate her hatred and biases against the undercity and, in consequence, be able to provide some sort of solace for her aching heart. and what better than to have such an influential woman like caitlyn as her protege; her pupil, if you will.

but of course, the point of writing such nuanced characters like the ones in arcane is that... they're not just one-dimensional. or even two-dimensional; like a stationary cardboard figure that is either-or. no in between. no chance of reflection or redemption or regret.

caitlyn, in the time skip between end of act 1 and beginning of act 2, starts to worry about the excessive occupation of noxian forces in piltover and zaun and how they're handling things. she goes as far as to question ambessa as to "why is peace always the justification for violence?". this inherently shows FEELINGS. she's EXPRESSING DOUBT. like any other human being, caitlyn goes through it; questioning the excessive use of force in zaunite checkpoints and how the noxian warlord justifies it all because they've lost so many. as if zaun hasn't lost innocents and guilty alike. this, obviously, leads caitlyn to a middle path, which is the one we see her in until episode 3, where her allegiance changes completely in the span of... a couple hours?

why is that though? first, we gotta talk about vi.

inevitably.

she's been the most hurt character in this show, for sure. thrown around like a punching bag for everyone to use, she's been broken since day one. lost her parents at an early age, had to take care of her little sister even though she was taken in by vander and raised with two other boys; then proceeds to lose her found family, hits powder out of impulse (because HOW ELSE would you want a 15 year-old to react to something like that while the wound is still raw? "don't worry powder, you disobeyed me and caused an explosion that killed our family but it's okay, let's go home and eat something I'm starving" WHAT????) that ends up marking her for the rest of her life right before getting thrown into prison by a crooked cop and spending the next seven years in a cell; cold, bloody, hungry, counting the hours until she could get back to her sister.

yet after she gets released, she finds warmth for the first time in a long time: and it's in caitlyn. in a way, you can't blame her for building such an important bond with her. she was the first one to show her kindness and genuine care in a very long time and, naturally and humanly, that's gonna leave a mark on her. yet she is strong, determined, dead set on finding her sister and bringing her back; she doesn't fall easily into the comfort of love, because her heart is bleeding for the small child she slapped seven years ago and that she couldn't console or apologize to. YET, HUMANLY, she ends up lowering her defenses around her. finally, she finds someplace she feels safe with, someplace that makes her feel like anything is possible. but that place ends up being a person, and people change. inevitably.

after the attack on the council, vi tries her best to be of as much support to caitlyn as possible. she knows she's not generally welcome in topside, but nonetheless she's pushed by love to provide any comfort she can. what she wasn't expecting was to provide that comfort by turning into one of the things she despised the most: an enforcer (for those saying that it doesn't make sense for her character, you're wrong! she's put in a position where she's serving as support to caitlyn, and as support she must mold into what she needs her to be. even if it's not what aligns with her morals. yes, it wouldn't make sense if it would've been a personal decision, but in this context? absolutely). she slumps into mental darkness for a moment, wondering how inconsiderate she can be to ask her to be something so opposite to her nature when maddie comes to her and outright guilt-trips her into accepting caitlyn's proposal. personally, I have no idea if she was sent by cait beforehand to manipulate her into doing it, but seeing as we haven't been given an explanation for that I'll assume it was fully maddie's doing. and like that, vi accepts to the total alienation from her morals that entails becoming a cop for the sake of her lover.

things go awry. we all know how. vi feels beyond betrayed, beyond hurt, beyond alone. not just because caitlyn changed when she asked her not to (it was inevitable) but also because that safe space that she stood for is no longer there. that single hit of blunt force into her abdomen means so much more to her than just the stinging pain of the wound sevika left— the one caitlyn had healed. the moment she began to feel like she could trust her—, but more deep-rooted trauma from her years in prison. seven years getting beaten to a bloody pulp, no signs of warning, when she was at her lowest and her loneliest. do you think that, when she looked up at caitlyn, she saw her, or the faces of the enforcers that abused her?

it's a deep cut, for sure.

after that, she hits rock bottom. her self-preservation skills are null. or maybe they aren't, but she chooses not to use them. her entire life, she's been squished into the mold of the responsible one; the rock, the support, the leader, the protector. but without anyone to protect, or lead, or take care of... what's left of her? nothing but a husk of self-hatred and disappointment that she decides to fill in the most self-destructive ways. because why bother? she can't do anything right; not save her sister, nor protect her, nor hold on to anything good because everyone changed. everyone except her. maybe her heart of gold is more of a curse than a blessing.

she spirals into alcoholism, filling the void of loneliness by going to rowdy bars and getting shitfaced to distract herself from the perpetual state of pain she's in. yet caitlyn lingers in her mind. haunting her every minute of the day, making her feel miserable; yearning for that woman that was once so soft and bright. but it's not her anymore. she's dead, just like powder.

now, a lot of things happen between that moment and when she meets caitlyn again. but let's focus on their point of reunion, which a lot of people were deeming "weird" and "disrespectful" on caitlyn's end because she wasn't IMMEDIATELY tear stricken and pleading for forgiveness before giving us an hour-long makeout scene. be fucking for real.

up to that point, vi's had plenty of other things on her mind than just her ex. and believe it or not, the frustration shown during her pit fighter montage is also rage; at least, how I read it. yes, she's hallucinating images of caitlyn in her old enforcer uniform and yearning for her, but the current caitlyn? that's not her. seeing her again was not gonna cause immediate tears to well up in her eyes and consider, FOR A MOMENT, that vi's inner turmoil also contains resentment towards her. even if she did yearn for her past self. (it's funny to me how the same people that complain about vi not having any sense of autonomy because she's in love with caitlyn are often the same ones that talk about how they wanted a more emotional reunion, when the context did not call for it...)

on caitlyn's end, she doesn't break down YET... there's something in her eyes. more evident on her than on vi, I dare say. her eyes widen and soften in a way I haven't seen them in a while. that means something. and despite the apathetic remark about her hair you can tell there's hesitation. could this mean, possibly, that during all those months spent apart she's had time to reflect? regret her actions? seems to me like it does. because after all, when cupcake escapes from her lips she doesn't recoil, she doesn't frown or scoff. we see the old caitlyn again, even if just for a moment. she probably didn't know she needed to hear that from her again, but now that she did... she realizes she still cares for her.

even if this is just a personal reading of the situation, I think it's the most fitting if we're talking about normal, human interactions. the people acting like caitlyn is an unforgivable monster that has no feelings or is not capable of any self-reflection strips her entirely of her nuance. you want highly complex female characters yet you can't handle her.

another detail to add to the pile of reasons why I think caitvi is still viable is because, even though maddie had been trying to convince caitlyn time and time again to speak to ambessa to withdraw her forces, to finally take a stand... vi convinced her with just one look. in truth, she's her soft spot; she always has been. the fact that flared up emotions got a hold of her beyond rationality does not mean she can't feel regret for her actions later. it doesn't mean she's an irredeemable monster. hm, that sounds familiar. maybe... what happened after the factory explosion, seven years back?

that was just a thorough overview of what I consider is an objective opinion about both sides. caitlyn had evidently changed for the worse, and vi couldn't let go of her past self; the kinder cait, the sincere cait, the cait she fell in love with. vi has been, yet again, thrown into the chaotic claws of fate and has come out hurt once again. but does that mean the relationship is beyond salvageable? that's what act 3 is for.

do I believe that their relationship will be perfectly back to normal in just three episodes? not really. there's no time to fully heal the scars that were left to harden during act 2, but it doesn't mean there can't be redemption. do I believe a sex scene will compensate for all of that? ABSOLUTELY NOT. despite my very biased opinions on the ship and how I desperately want them to be together because my little lesbian heat can't handle otherwise, I understand from an objective perspective that things aren't easily solved through sex. I will not be considering any sexual or romantic advances valid or necessary if there isn't a long, thorough scene where they rough out their differences; hell, even express their more hidden emotions to each other. maybe shedding a tear or two.

it's the most rational and balanced way to approach their situation. I utterly despise people that cannot see both sides of an argument and that blatantly disregard any attempt of changing the script toward redemption or healing. it happened during season one with jinx, it's happening now with caitlyn. she's done objectively bad things, yet there is no need to classify her as the set villain for this season; especially if you don't understand the influence ambessa had over her. as well as there's no need to classify vi as a dog on a leash just because she exposes vulnerability towards the person she loves. it's a human emotion, a human experience. isn't that what we're looking for in media? to find true representations of reality and the complexities of human psychology to feel some sort of catharsis? to feel like we're not alone?

in any way it ends, I just hope for satisfaction.

[wsancho]

Updating my preconceptions about Cyan’s preconceptions

Because he’s been taking up space in my mind, plus January is Cyan month and he should get more love ❤️

My first impression was that he was an ultraconservative, square-minded, old-fashioned, knight of the round table (by ‘94 my knowledge of other cultures was limited to whatever I got from the Saturday morning cartoons, so it never crossed my mind that he was a samurai from Japan).

This character got filtered through Ted Woolsey’s best try at localizing “samurai mannerisms”, which can’t really be translated faithfully without some thorough explanations on the side. He was portrayed as a Shakespearean-mannered knight, which I still embrace as a fan, but it made me see him as a prude. After reading about samurais, I feel that there’s more nuance to his conservative behavior.

The world of FF6 relies heavily on steam-based technology, so if we place this story in the steam era (between late 1600s and late 1800s) it matches the Edo period in Japan, in which samurais became bureaucrats and were no longer warriors, so this class/job was decaying in a way.

Cyan is old-fashioned even in his own land (he’s the only Doman with that manner of speech). He’s the last dying breath of a culture that already ceased to exist, so he’s a traditionalist sticking to a code of honor that has very strict protocols.

The scene with the prostitute made me think sex was taboo for him, because Cyan’s reaction looks like hypocritical, preachy prudery. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to play out, because after Japan got westernized it acquired the same taboos as us. But Edo Japan Doma isn’t there yet. Prostitution was not deplorable, it was regulated.

Cyan may be scandalized because this girl is not adhering to his ways.

Whoring around is fine, just stay inside the whore-house and remain quiet and discreet until a client chooses you ���

I think my man has no issue with sex and sex-work, but with how the girl throws herself at him. In particular I wondered why the devs didn’t add any head-butting between him and Edgar, given that this girl was behaving like Edgar on a regular Tuesday. These boys barely interact, but when Edgar successfully used his man-whore superpowers, Cyan was not scandalized, but kinda proud.

Cyan's culture is chauvinistic, so there’s nothing to note if one of the boys is “exchanging pleasantries”. Cyan is also respectful of hierarchies, so he’ll never butt heads with Edgar (and I think he kinda does with Sabin only because at the time he wasn’t aware of Sabin’s lineage).

I think the chauvinism/machismo he’s accustomed to is what makes Cyan embarrassed when he’s caught being a softie.

The initiation for samurais included homosexual intercourse, because having sex with a woman can turn a man into a sissy, you see. Real macho-men have sex with other men, if you didn’t know 💪🏼🧐

Along those lines, I think being romantic with his wife would gain him a roast from the boys (not ridicule, just playful banter). So even thought romanticism comes natural to him, it wouldn’t exactly be celebrated by his peers, so he’s self-conscious about it 🙁💐

Finally, I think it’s heartbreaking that the way of the warrior is conflicting with his honest heart desires. His exchange of letters with Lola and his eclectic reading material 😏 tells me that this man is not done with life. He wants to love again and to find his footing in this new world. Which is unacceptable for a man who should live and die for his lord 🖤

The dreamscape quest serves as express therapy (there, we killed your demons, now move on!), but his inner conflict is quite deep and devastating, even if his story wasn’t already tragic. Yet this middle-aged, ultraconservative man is breaking through his conditioning (at an age when the brain has hardened to the point that it’s really difficult to learn or unlearn anything). His character evolution may be the most extreme and brutal, and he made it to the other side without bitterness, remaining kind and righteous. He's simply extraordinary 🥹👏🏼⚔💔🩸❤️‍🩹

[faithforgottens]

𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆.

from the writer’s desk: i’d tell you i started this a year ago after deciding i needed closure on post - crying on newport beach about how i’m incapable of being loved but that would mean me unloading all over the dash, and nobody needs that. i’m just a girl, out here projecting like tomorrow’s not coming, and thought i’d share. please know that i love carol, i just had to pick a character that i didn’t have strong emotional attachment to in order to play my villain. motivation to continue this would be much appreciated, thnx.  summary: you’ve been stuck in carol’s web for nearly four months now, and you need a distraction before you go postal and commit a capital crime or worse, tell her you love her. fortunately for you, natasha’s willing to offer her services. contains: college!natasha x female reader —— warnings include toxic relationship dynamics that involve infidelity, gaslighting and cheating, marijuana use, alcohol consumption, nsfw content [ fingering, dirty talk ]. →  inbox status: OPEN                                        don’t repost my works anywhere.

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     am i gonna see you tonight?

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     :(

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     hellllllooooooooooo??

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     I WANNA SEE U I MISS UR PRETTY FACE

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     pls come tonight. it would mean everything to me

You’ve never claimed to be smart.

In fact, you’re pretty sure you have to fall on the opposite end of that spectrum in order to bother showing your face tonight at the behest of Carol fuckin’ Danvers. Satan. It’s the work of the goddamn devil pulling you from the clutches of your apartment’s comfortable silence where you’d be much better off riding through the nuanced gut-punching waves of disappointing Carol guilt instead of the hell storm that is being played once again by Carol guilt. You even put on eyeliner for such an occasion, because if you’re going to get fucked over (either physically, emotionally, or both), you might as well look good doing it.

Her name’s still lighting up your phone as the Uber drops you off at the curb, boasting a flood of pictures on Snapchat that illuminate the awaiting scene inside of the frat house through blurry streaks of glass bottles and marijuana smoke and the pale expanse of her neck where a glint of her gold necklace flashes is promised to you to do as you wish, leaving behind bruises or lip prints. It’s an enticing picture painted for you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think maybe tonight will be the night she tells you she’s free from the clutches of Maria, her perfectly sane girlfriend that you’ve only ever known through Carol’s jilted lens, and that she’ll even let you climb her like a tree in front of her friends.

Lucky you.

Except you do know better. In the pit of your stomach, you know the reality is that you are in closer proximity than Maria, which therefore makes you the most convenient piece of ass at Carol’s disposal, that Carol believes — and is likely right about how — you’re still wound tight enough around her finger to make you drop to your knees like a good little girl, blinded by her golden halo of hair and the whiskey-soaked taste of her lips and ready to excuse her shit treatment of you. That even feeling like you have her for the beat of a butterfly’s wings is worth your sanity. And despite it all, it isn’t enough to keep you away. It’s not enough to exile the parts of a masochistic heart beating in your chest that somehow loves her, even if the only part of you she loves is your willingness to show up for her.

Carol’s fraternity is co-ed, which means that between all of the brothers, their social circle extends to the farthest corners of the university — they consume a fair bit of your own, considering you have at least two classes a semester with Bucky, sit with them at Wanda’s softball games (mostly so you can talk shit about your high school ex that made the team), and rent study rooms at least once a month with Thor, Bruce, and Val to spiral into late night insanity while you all contemplate the meaning of life and attempt to memorize vocabulary words. You slip in through the door, bass thudding into your molars and the heavy blanket of smoke and sweat covers your bare shoulders as you weave your way through the house.

“Look who finally showed up!” Behind the counter in the kitchen is Sam Wilson, running position as makeshift bartender. You detour long enough for a vodka and Diet Coke, stopping next to the barstool that Bucky’s perched on. He tucks you underneath his arm for a side hug, other hand tipping his own solo cup back as he tries to drain the last bit of liquor down his throat.

They’re good friends to you. It’s why you hate doing this dance with Satan — because at some point, you feel that there’s going to be a tectonic shift between the two of you that dredges up a rift in the concrete and you don’t know who will be left on your side. You don’t know who you’ll be able to look in the eye and lie to about Carol, who would pick you over her. You don’t even know if any of them would believe you or would write you off as crazy as you’ve been writing yourself off as of late.

You tell yourself that you’re trying, goddammit, to shove that piece of yourself back into a locked drawer and enjoy the company of your friends.

“Anybody seen Danvers?” you pitch as nonchalantly as you know how, planting your elbows down onto the granite of the counter while you watch Sam mix your drink. He goes heavy on the vodka, which you quietly appreciate.

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, we’ve seen her alright.”

“She’s in the dining room trying to rally everyone into a round of strip beer pong,” Sam explains. “Last we saw, she got her shirt stuck in the chandelier.”

“The face of class, this fraternity,” you tease as Sam hands you your drink. He can’t help but laugh, a jovial, guttural noise that makes you smile, even though your stomach is currently in your throat.

You bid them farewell and snake through the living room, trying to avoid the furniture or the bodies of other people and almost always fail in avoiding both at the same time as you carve out a path to the dining room. It’s densely packed, which forebodes the game of beer pong that the boys mentioned. You try not to cut your elbows into the bones and flesh of others to make your way through, but your adrenaline is humming at the thought of seeing Carol, the thought of her body glowing in the house lights and the cut of her physique out on display for anyone, including you, to openly ogle without abandon.

“Goddamn, Danvers!” someone yells mirthfully. “Keep it in your pants!”

Whistling down to one thought, one track, your mind lasers in and you’re positive that the sharp point of your elbow nails T’Challa directly in the ribs as you finally make it to the inner lip of the circle around the dining room table. It’s desperate. You know it’s desperate. You'll care about it later, you’re sure, but for now, all that’s on your mind is her.

“For the love of fuck, I—” Someone stumbles back into you, dark hair in frizzy waves and the bill of their baseball cap nearly jabbing straight into your nose. Wanda Maximoff spins around, her eyes lightening up at the sight of you as she grabs onto your wrist to stable herself. “Oh! Hey, babe,” she says with a smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Me either,” you tell her, trying not to be blatant as you scan for Carol. “Carol didn’t tell me until last minute.”

“Boo,” Wanda pouts, before turning to yell over her shoulder, “Danvers! Fuck you!”

“Get in line!” Carol calls back, and your head locks in on where her voice comes from. Your stomach plunges into free fall when you see her: as promised, she’s standing around in her sports bra and jeans, white teeth glinting and blonde hair curling around onto her tanned shoulders, biceps on display and her arms snaked around — her.

Maria Hill, in the flesh, pressed against Carol’s side and her chin balanced on Carol’s shoulder as Carol makes a shot one-handed that successfully lands in a cup on the opposite end of the table. Carol cheers victoriously, and Maria kisses her cheek, and you notice that Carol’s hand on Maria’s side drifts down towards her ass.

All of Carol’s messages swim inside your mind, the ones where she assures you that it’s all real, that she and Hill are done, that Hill’s holding her back, that she’s felt things for you since the moment she laid eyes on you and just knew; the ones where she paints a beautiful picture of a future with you, the same picture she’s just doused in cheap spirits and ruined for the dozenth time. Your drink suddenly tastes like arsenic, heavy and uneven in your stomach, the room shrinking and heat crawling up your neck in an uncomfortable panic. You are going to be sick.

Wanda’s voice comes through in the midst of the ringing in your ears. Fuck you, Danvers.

It takes you a moment to realize that Wanda’s voice isn’t just a reverberation inside your mind, but is right in your ear. “Hey!” She calls your name again, and you finally snap your attention back to her. She scans over your face for a moment, eyebrows folding in the center of her brow. “You alright? Where’d you just go?”

The shock is fresh on your face, salt water from the crashing wave that’s irritating your eyes — you refuse to let yourself cry, here in front of everyone, because all that’s going to do is open the door to a conversation you don’t want to have, incite a fight with Carol that you’ll surely lose, leave you feeling even lower than you do at the moment. You shake your head, trying to shake whatever emotions that aren’t nonchalant off of your face. “Noth—nowhere,” you stammer, voice an octave higher than usual. Wanda’s perplexity only deepens. “More crowded than I thought. Got beer-splashed.”

Wanda breaks into a smile, seemingly buying your excuse. “C’mon, what’d you expect?” she ribs. It’s a loaded question, and if Wanda wasn’t Wanda, you’re sure it’d be enough to light your rapidly shorting fuse. The thin strain in your falsified smile must give something away, because she softens the slightest bit and wraps her arm around yours. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll kick your ass sideways in pool.”

You appreciatively take Wanda’s out, allowing her to guide you away from the Carol show and the crowd of people you have steeled yourself in order to not cry in front of and head with her towards the basement, which the frat has renovated into a lounge space with a giant television, sectional that is infamous for its hosting of The Threesome, and the pool table. It hasn’t garnered quite the same audience that the beer pong game has, but less people means you feel slightly less suffocated. Carol’s still got her foot on your throat, but down here, it’s easier to maneuver and act as though you haven’t just had yourself made a fool in front of everyone without them knowing.

Relieved for the little things, like elbow room, you sit down on the arm of the sectional and take a long drink from your cup — if you’re going to survive the rest of the night without your tail tucking between your legs (and you’re determined to further your self-sabotage by going the extra mile to ensure Carol knows she fucked up, even though it’s likely she doesn’t care) you’ll have to be drunker than this. Wanda adjusts her hat on her head and picks up a pool cue, glancing back over her shoulder at you. “Want someone to show you how it’s done?” she teases.

You lift your cup in acknowledgment, smile shedding off of your lips. “Go for it.”

As Wanda weasels her way into the current game of pool, you do a quick intake of who all’s downstairs. There’s a few of the brothers, a few of the brother’s dates, people that are otherwise background characters designed to make campus seem at capacity but not so many people that no one would notice if you threw up in the corner or worse, started crying. You purse your lips around the rim of your solo cup, scanning the company around the pool table. Wanda sidles up next to another one of her brothers, poking her with the pool cue. “Nat!” Wanda whines. “Give me room.”

Natasha Romanoff shuffles out of the way with the roll of her eyes. “Poke me with the stick again and it’s gonna go somewhere less than ideal.”

Wanda flicks her middle finger upright before hunching around the shape of the pool cue. “You don’t scare me, Natty.”

“Your funeral.”

Your eyes follow Natasha out of the way, and she feels their weight because the next thing you know, you’re off the cliffs and deep somewhere inside the greenery of her eyes. They’re pretty eyes, you idly note, and you find yourself mulling over Natasha Romanoff, as a person, as a concept, as Natasha. She’s the oldest of the girls in the fraternity, a senior to your junior, and she’s been around for so long that it’s hard to remember a time when she wasn’t there. It’s hard to imagine a room without her in it, a constant fixture on the mantel that you don’t even bother acknowledging it anymore.  

She cocks an eyebrow at you after what’s sure to be a long moment of staring, and Wanda, who is unfortunately more observant than you’d like to believe, begins laughing. “Am I interrupting this little staring contest?”

Natasha smirks. “I could win a staring contest and kick your ass at the same time, Maximoff.”

“Show off,” Wanda grumbles as she passes the pool cue over to Natasha. She then looks at you, and whatever grumpiness dissipates, her shit-eating grin returning. “Now, you on the other hand,” she preludes with a gesture towards you. “There’s no way.”

You drain the rest of your drink and discard the cup off to the side. "You talk a lot, Wan,” you inform her as you walk up to the side of the pool table. Wanda just grins as you turn to Natasha, gesturing for the pool cue. “Let me have a go.”

Natasha acquiesces and passes you the pool cue, giving you the space you need coupled with a low nod of encouragement. There are a few clusters of balls around the table and you’re trying to eye up a shot that’ll give you not only a handful of points, but will get Wanda off your back — even if you are grateful for the timing of her diversions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough; you can still hear the laughter and music through the walls from upstairs, a raucous noise that scatters your train of thought. Is it Carol? What’s she doing? What’s she whispering into Hill’s ear? Does she know you’re even here? Does she care? 

Probably not.

You take the shot without thinking, balls ricocheting off the sides of the pool table. Wanda barks out a laugh. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Just getting warmed up,” you say stiffly, handing the pool cue off.

Wanda’s face is alight with amusement, nodding slowly as she moves around the pool table for her next shot. “Okay.”

You’re too far in your head, and you know it. You’re content to linger on the outskirts of the game while everyone else that Wanda goes about recruiting takes their turn. It’s a few minutes or an hour before the cue ends up back in your hand, like a rickety sort of clockwork that is unexpected but also entirely predictable. You assess the situation and find a decent enough angle now that the game has progressed, significantly so.

You bend over slightly, eyes fixed on a blue ten that’s not too far from the cue. Before you can make the shot, you hear someone behind you muttering. “Do it like this.”

When you glance over your shoulder, it’s Natasha, only a few inches from where you stand, hands hesitating before she reaches out. “Back up,” she guides, her hands stationing on your hips and forcing you to take a half-shuffle of a step backwards. “And lift your elbow like this.” You’re clay and she shapes you how she wishes, her touch feather light. “Okay. Now try.”

You do exactly as she says, pool cue shooting from your hand and colliding with the cue ball. The ten you’ve had your eyes on sails into the pocket without any interference. 

“Nice shot, sweetheart,” Natasha says, her voice ghosting along the back of your spine. As you straighten up, you glance behind you, noticing the faint grin along the curve of her lips.

“Well that wasn’t sexual at all,” Wanda comments with a low whistle as the pool cue returns to her grip. “Do losers get laid still? I wouldn’t know.” With a toothy flash of a grin, she draws the cue back and makes another shot — you’re not entirely focused on her efforts, thanks to the gravity of Natasha’s sights still pressing deep into your skin.  

Wanda talks a big enough game that she recruits nearly everyone standing around the pool shot to give it a go, which provides a window of opportunity for Natasha to brush a hand along your shoulder and steal you away. “Up for a smoke?” she asks, and you nod. You allow her to lead the way out through the basement’s French doors, slipping outside into the backyard where the sky is dotted with stars, the air smells only the slightest bit cleaner, and the music is nothing but a dull pulse from inside the house.

Natasha steers you away from the patio where other fraternity brothers and their guests are sitting around, enjoying their drinks and laughing amongst their idle, stoned conversations around the fire pit. You follow her into the grass, trailing around the side of the house until the two of you don’t have any other company aside from each other and Thor’s knockout rose bushes that he takes great pride in.

She leans up against the wall, hands fishing in the pocket of her jacket for her lighter. For someone who’s devoted the rest of their evening to shooting metaphorical (or even literal) middle fingers in Carol’s direction, you’re still too far on edge to be nonchalant about any of it. The quiet is all consuming, maddening inside of your buzzing mind. Natasha produces a joint, embers burning on the end as she lights it and brings it up to her lips. You’re left to watch as she takes a long, casual drag, a cloud of smoke billowing from her lips on the exhale. Her wrist then extends, offering the joint up; if there is such a thing as too eager, you’d be the poster child for it, the way you pluck it from her fingers and take a hit.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, her voice a low drag of gravel against the muted bass thud inside of the house. You open an eye and glance over at her, her green eyes burning holes through you as she watches. 

“Eh,” you mutter half-heartedly with a shrug. “Not worth it.”

You pass the joint back to her after you take one more drag, your eyes fixed on the steady stream of smoke that you forcibly control the exit from your mouth. It’s nice to have control over something, you think, even if it is, to some degree, just seeing how long you can hold your breath. 

“Seems like you could use a distraction,” Natasha comments, fingers idly rolling the joint between her fingers as smoke still curls from the tip. 

You laugh, a low and guttural noise that’s passive at best. “Yeah, probably.”

Natasha turns so her entire body is facing you, and it doesn’t register, the way that she’s looking at you, until you feel her brush your hair off of your face. Your eyes fully open, somewhat surprised by the action, watching her carefully. Natasha’s a lot of things, but gentle isn’t one you’d readily associate with her. It’s almost like she’s handling you like glass, waiting for the right moment to shatter you. It’s a hiccup in your chest, a strange feeling washing over your body.

“Let me distract you, then.” She says it simply, like it’s the most logical conclusion to arrive at.

“Nat, what...”

“C’mere.” One of her hands encircles your wrist, guiding you closer. You follow wordlessly in her guidance, unsure of what she’s doing or what’s to come. She takes another hit of the joint, her eyes glowing the same way the end of the joint does, a low burning fire that seems to grow hotter the longer your eyes are connected. 

The hand holding your wrist slides up your body until she’s cupping your jaw, her thumb darting across the expanse of your face to swipe across your lips in a prompt to open them. She lowers the joint, bringing her face inches away from your own as her mouth forms a perfect circle and releases smoke. You’ve shotgunned weed before, but never at such a close proximity. Natasha breathes out and you breathe in, eyes fluttering shut at the intimacy of the moment. 

“Gonna let me distract you some more?” she whispers, and you barely register yourself nodding before her lips capture your own. Her mouth is plush and soft but nothing about her is gentle anymore — this is where she forces a spiderwebbing crack across your surface, the deft way in which she manipulates your lips to do exactly as she’d like, her tongue skating across the skin and opening your mouth to allow her access. You can’t help but to sigh into the kiss. She is exactly what she claims she is: a distraction, a welcome reprieve, and the golden halo around Carol’s head seems fuzzy and jilted now.

Natasha kisses you like she’s trying to set you on fire; at some point she has absconded the joint and ground out its remnants into the mulch, both her hands cupping your face as she boxes you in with her legs and adjusts the two of you so your back is now flush against the wall. “How’s this?” she murmurs against your ear, lips starting a descent down your neck that is feather light and the gentle scrape of her teeth.

“Very... very distracting,” you stammer out, fingers curling into fiery red hair. 

“Good,” Natasha hums, her mouth vibrating over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone that causes your grip in her hair to tighten. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so far in your head.” 

You nod, thankful for the reward of her body pressing against yours. 

“What d’you say?” Her voice ghosts over your skin, and for a moment, you’re not sure what it is she’s asking. It takes a moment, the weed and the liquor clouding your mind, but the dig of Natasha’s blunt fingernails into your hips and the graze of her teeth along your skin serves as motivation. “Huh? What d’you say, princess?” 

“Thank you,” you gasp, the feeling of her mouth tightening around your skin wet and hot sending a glimmer of electricity down your spinal cord. Natasha chuckles, a dark and melodic noise that buzzes through your body. 

“You’re welcome,” she croons. “’S that all you needed? Or do you need more?”

More. It’s the knee jerk response you have, the way your world has narrowed down to just her and the scent of her heady perfume and each individual curve of muscle is now flush against you. Your eyes open only to see Natasha grinning like she’s the fuckin’ devil. 

Maybe you were misplaced somehow.

Natasha’s hands drag over your sides, up and down roughly as she kisses you and forces your legs farther apart so she’s able to snake one of her thighs in between them. She rucks your top up on the edges, fingers brushing over your skin in a delightful contrast to the cool evening air. Natasha is hot, her touch burning and singeing the skin wherever it moves. She’s painting you out of ashes and making you into something beautiful, something uniquely her own. Her hands slip underneath your shirt and you feel one hand trail upwards, fingers wrapping around your breast before squeezing. It elicits another tiny moan from you, which Natasha swallows down with a kiss. “Shh,” she hisses against your lips. “Be quiet.”

You arch into her touch as her fingers slip beneath the cup of your bra and pinch your nipple tight, another squeak of pleasure groaned into her mouth. It only encourages her further, the other hand of hers moving in the opposite direction. “Want me to touch you?” she whispers in your ear while you press your mouth into her shoulder, breath warm against your ear and her teeth just barely missing your earlobe. “Bet you’re not distracted now; only thing you and that pussy are thinking about is me, huh?”

“Fuck, Nat,” you mumble into her skin.

“Yeah you are,” she replies with a shit eating grin, your head tilting back until it roughly meets the back of the wall as her hand goes up your skirt. 

You’d been meticulous prior to coming over, thinking on whatever lone star trailing in the sky that you’d be seducing Carol tonight; you’d purposefully worn your skimpiest pair of underwear just to show her what she could have if she was with you. It’s only when you see the look on Natasha’s face, the way her pupils dilate and her jaw slackens the slightest bit as her fingers skim in between the folds of your thigh and vulva and feels lace that you feel something resembling satisfaction. “You came ready for a distraction, princess,” she grumbles, moving your underwear to the side and swiping her fingers through what is now sheer want dripping from you. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“N... Nat,” you whine, squirming around in the pursuit of pressure. “Touch me.”

She places the tip of her finger at your entrance, just barely teasing it in. “Ask nicely, honey.”

The words spill from your lips without thought. “Please, Nat, please touch me, fuck m—” She cuts you off as she slips her finger inside of you and you all but rocket up the side of the wall at the feeling. Her free hand, still underneath your shirt, wrestles out from beneath the fabric and is slapped over your mouth to muffle whatever noise you make.

“Thought I told you to be quiet,” she says between her gritted teeth. “Here.” She presses her index and middle fingers against your lips and you acquiesce, opening them wide enough to allow them to slip in. “Suck.”

You do as you’re told, happy to oblige as she begins to finger you. There’s nothing soft or sweet about the way she fucks you; she adds another finger and finds a steady rhythm, curling each time she’s knuckle deep inside of you just so she can be rewarded with you humming around the fingers in your mouth. It amuses her to some extent, the way her eyes have darkened and her mouth is slightly agape. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and considering how tight you are wound, you’re not going to last long.

"Clench around me, pretty girl,” she hisses amongst the other litany of dirty things she’s whispering in your ear. “Such a sweet pussy, does whatever I ask it to; what if I want this pussy all to myself? You gonna let me have it?”

You nod, Natasha withdrawing her fingers from your mouth before she hauls you in for the filthiest kiss of your life. “Fuck,” you whimper against her lips. “Yours, Nat, your pussy.”

“Yeah, I know. This is my pussy now, all tight and hot and wet and desperate just for me. This was what you needed, wasn’t it? Needed me to fuck you silly until you forget how to put one foot in front of the other.”

“Please, Nat, gonna...” 

“What?” she teases, her thumb flicking across your clit and you know that she’s doomed you, mind and body barreling down a track that there is no return from. “What, baby? Use your words.”

“Gonna come,” you manage to get out, and she fucking laughs.

“‘S right,” she agrees. “Gonna make this little pussy come all over my fingers, since I’m the only one who can. That right?” You nod; her fingers tighten in your hair and pull your head back so your neck is exposed for her. “C’mon, baby, wanna see you make a mess on my hand. Come for me like a good little slut. You know you want to.” You do, you do, and everything is bordering on the edge of too much the way Natasha is sucking your neck and rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Show me who’s pussy this is. Come.”

Another few thrusts and flicks of your clit and you are gone, Natasha bringing her mouth back to yours to swallow the keens and cries of you hitting your climax. The brick wall underneath you scratches at your shirt but it is a heavenly feeling, losing control underneath Natasha. She just smiles when she pulls away and you slump into her, perfectly sated. 

“That was hot,” she says with a wicked grin, pulling her fingers out of you. She doesn’t break eye contact as she brings them up to her lips, sucking your taste off of them. Her eyes alight with pleasure, a contented hum reverberating from her vocal cords. “Thanks, pretty girl.”

Beat that, Danvers.

[andromeda-grace]

Writeblr Introduction

Hi, I’m Andromeda (she/they). I am returning to Writeblr and decided to start a new blog for my WIPs and writing updates! I want to use this blog to shout out other Writeblrs, make posts about my current WIPs, and experiences in publishing. I mostly write original fiction but write fanfic when the inspiration strikes. I love Writeblr games and asks!

This blog is a safe space for all identities, gender & sexuality, neurodivergence, race, and religion. I do my best with content and trigger warnings.

My Writing: Genre and Representation

I love horror, sci-fi, and fairy tales 

I don’t enjoy romance (if it’s only the pursuit and drama), but I love writing nuanced love stories where people communicate well and put effort into building relationships

Lots of queerness and queer relationships

BIPOC main characters

Neurodivergence- shout out to the undiagnosed ADHD queens, the anxiety, and masking/coping behaviors

Trauma, out of context, is seen as personality

Smut- sex is a part of life and it’s fun to write. Get down, make mistakes, get messy. My sex scenes aren’t just conventionally attractive people putting on a show. I emphasize body diversity, complexities of gender identity, and emotional state

Tropes:

Found Family

Villains

Redemption- working to be a better person, even when it’s hard

Poly-Amory- we often have more than one close friendship, and have variety and nuance in those different relationships, so the same thing goes for romance

Morally gray/Feral girls- women have so much responsibility put on them for the emotional wellbeing of others, but what if they aren’t capable of that? (think Broad City/ Bottoms)

Finished works:

The Devil You Know- short story- Out now! Find your copy here

Genre: horror, vampires, fairytale

Vibe: The Green Knight x The Witch

Anya has built a quiet life for herself, trusted as the village healer as long as she keeps her magic hidden. All of that changes when a strange traveler arrives at her doorstep. The man looks human, but Anya senses an old and powerful magic within him. Intrigued, she allows Owen inside. He claims to have been an apprentice to a witch, and Anya, despite her suspicions, finds him to be a kindred spirit. They begin a romance, both finding comfort in one another.

Their peace is broken when a family comes to Anya in crisis. Their child has been cursed, and is transforming into a monster. Desperate to save the boy, Anya asks Owen for help. He can grant her the power to break the spell, but it requires blood and forbidden rites. Knowing that she can’t break the curse alone, Anya faces a choice with deadly consequences.

WIPs:

Bubblegum Capital

Genre: Queer Cyberpunk

Vibe: 1984 x Legally Blonde

Novaczek is on the brink of fame. They’re an amateur gamer about to break into the pro leagues. But their dreams are crushed when work denies them time off for the championship.

Novaczek decides to play on shift and is caught. Everything comes crashing down. They find themselves at rock bottom having lost their job, company housing, and girlfriend all at once.

In a world where your value is measured by your social ranking, Novaczek has to claw themselves back up, hustling for money and favors from friends. As they work their way back up the ranks they discover an underbelly where nothing and no-one are what they appear to be.

Love, Asunder

Genre: Gay Vampires, Family Saga

Vibe: 1917 x Hellboy

James Townsend was supposed to be starting his new life, an American abroad, with a Fellowship at Oxford University. All of that changes when Germany marches on Paris. James can’t remain in the classroom while teachers and students leave their desks for the battlefield. So James enlists as a volunteer ambulance driver on the Front. The days stretch long with violence and misery, but he finds purpose and friendships in the trenches. 

Then he meets a man, a smuggler providing supplies and information to the Allies. Etienne is so different from the soldiers, bright and charming. They begin a secret romance, disappearing together when they can, and writing letters in between. 

An opportunity comes to meet in Paris, and James is overwhelmed at the opportunity to spend time with Etienne in the City of Love. Free to spend their days together, James quickly discovers just how much Etienne has been hiding from him, and enters a world of magic, beauty, and death. 

Tropes and fun stuff:

Butch witches

Femme werewolves

Playing the vampire tropes straight

Magical Underground

Found Family

Bio-Family responsibilities

Many, Many different kinds of love

I'll be sharing moodboards and snippets along the way! Looking forward to learning more about the other talented Writeblrs out here!

tagging: @hillnerd-art @suffrajett @starknstarwars @em-dashes @blind-the-winds @leave-her-a-tome @athenswrites

[diamondperfumes]

The assertions that Dany will "succumb" to her family's allegedly "evil legacy" or the "taint" in her blood require pathologizing her for being an abuse victim borne of rape and incest, buying into bioessentialist "genetics is destiny" argument, and decontextualizing most of the passages from her book arc. This post, with a song juxtaposed with out-of-context quotes from Dany's chapters, is an excellent example.

"Every child knows the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness." The only "mad" Targaryens were Rhaegel, Aerion, Aerys II, and Viserys III. If you want to stretch it, you can include Baelor, though he was more pious and fanatic than mad. Maegor was cruel but lucid. Rhaegar was not mad, despite being Aerys II's son. And the narrative has distanced Dany from Aerys II several times, because one of ASOIAF's central theses is not "you are your father's child," but "you can overcome your father."

"She could not look behind her, must not look behind her" is not Dany "refusing to look at her family's history." This is taken from her fever dreams in AGOT Dany IX, and what she can't look back at is an icy breath that would cause her a "death worse than death, howling forever alone in the darkness." It's the first time Dany sees the Others in her dreams, and she is the only other character in AGOT to dream of them, the other character being Bran.

"I made a horror just as great, but surely they deserved it. Harsh justice is still justice." This is Dany feeling guilty for crucifying 163 slavers. How is that a sign of madness or refusal to confront her family legacy? It's actually a sign that Dany has empathy even for the worst of humanity, even for her enemies. Also, crucifying slavers isn't evil. It's odd that the same fandom that calls Dany a slaver, slave trader, slave profiteer, and slavery enabler, also calls her a tyrant or mad for crucifying slavers. What is she supposed to do with slavers? What is the "proper" way to handle them?

The mother of monsters passage is more proof that Dany is introspective and self-critical. In children's media, shounen anime, and Marvel movies, a villain may unironically call themselves a monster, but in more complicated, nuanced, adult literature, characters who call themselves monsters usually aren't bad people. They're the self-deprecating, humble, and thoughtful characters who are reflecting on their flaws and mistakes. Again, if Dany is someone who refuses to think about the dark side of her family, she would not agonize over the consequences of using her power. Monstrosity is associated with being stigmatized, ostracized, and alienated by hegemonic forces in society, and those characters who identify with monstrosity often have something to reveal about the violence of the status quo and the normalization of oppression.

George is deconstructing the coin quote, not reinforcing it. Madness/greatness, ice/fire, east/west, north/south, sun/moon, pain/pleasure, love/hate, are all dichotomies in the novel that George sets out to show can unite in some way. As I said, most Targaryens were not "mad," and I find it odd that for a fandom as progressive as it frames itself to be, the ableist stereotyping of "foreign otherized race from the East is genetically predisposed toward madness" isn't something fans problematize more.

Dany longing for the house with the red door and wanting to rest, laugh, plant trees and see them grow, are also seen as signs of madness because of her statelessness and homelessness. If a teenage girl has been raped and abused, and is herself a product of rape and abuse, and comes from an exotic Eastern family, then apparently her longing for home is actually a bomb waiting to detonate inside her, because she's unfit to belong anywhere. It's shocking that this mentality is seen as media literate or subversive.

"Dragons plant no trees" has already been disproven by Dany's arc itself. Dany reclaims fire and blood by the end of ADWD because she realizes the peace in Meereen is false (which it is). Jon Snow goes from wanting to hire glassblowing apprentices to plant crops in greenhouses to grow food, to abandoning his vows and declaring war to save his sister, and then dies. Why is that not seen as a sign of "succumbing to madness?" The acts are narratively paralleled. Perhaps––and this may be crazy, but stay with me––the thesis of FeastDance is that you cannot grow, build, and heal a nation in soil watered with blood. No such rebuilding or regrowing is possible unless and until real change occurs, and for real change to happen, the corrupt old guard cannot stay alive.

Certainly TWOW will be a darker book for every viewpoint character, but it's interesting to see how a combination of pathologizing Dany for her gender, ethnicity, genes/biology, trauma, and stateless/rootless/homeless status as an exile/diaspora, with decontextualizing her chapters, quotes, and passages, and an overall misunderstanding of the themes of ASOIAF, to single Dany out as a "dark" character who won't be able to "outrun" her "negative family history."

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

𝚄𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛

Pairing: AU!Criminal Malakai Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: +18, adult language, angst, fluff, implied smut, nuances of potential toxic relationship

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @adamjf , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore

A/N: Tomorrow (August 19th) is the birthday of my beloved babe! I’d like to wish the happiest birthday to one of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet: Crystal aka @theworldofotps . This is a small birthday gift to one of my best friends, thank you for being a part of my life! I love you 🌹😘

Annoyance seemed to be your constant mood for the last couple of weeks. You absolutely hate when he does this shit! Goes “missing”, and doesn’t reply to your texts nor answer your calls, FaceTime seemed to be unknown to him, and at this point, even a handwritten letter would be enough to settle your aching heart. But no, not to Mr. “I Decide Whenever You Get To Talk To Me” who’s too good to let you know he’s still alive. If he wants to play this game, you’ll make sure he has to deal with the consequences.

“Oh no no no no, c’mon! You gotta be fucking kidding me!” You whined in the deserted street while your eyes spotted the front door to your house slightly open. This was the cherry on top of your already shitty and stressful week, a goddamn robbery! This had to be some sort of bad-taste joke from someone in the skies above. Who could’ve known a couple of unfinished Hail Marys would come back to bite you this hard in the ass.

Grabbing a piece of log from the backyard you steadied and mentally prepared yourself for the possibility of having to hit someone in their head as you entered the living room. The strong and fresh scent of coffee hit your nostrils like a punch, and when the log fell from your grip with a loud thud on the living room’s floor, you for once wished it was a burglar inside your home so at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the petulant figure before you.

“Hello, sugarplum. Long time no see” Malakai smiled widely. His face was shaved smooth and there were still remnants of his black makeup underneath his pale white orb.

Anger was the first feeling you acknowledged, followed by relief that soon enough was replaced with hatred.

Malakai sat in the hot pink armchair, dressed in black, and with an ankle resting on top of his knee. His tattoo sleeves were on display, and his inked hands played with the Alice In Wonderland teacup in his hand.

The next nine words were the only ones your lips seemed to know how to mutter “That cup is meant for tea, not for coffee”. But upon hearing the playful chuckle coming from him, your numb state of mind was quickly replaced by an annoyed one, “And get the fuck out of my house!”

The playful smirk didn’t leave Malakai’s lips, not even after hearing your angry outburst. He simply took another sip of the steamy black liquid and moaned “Why does coffee always taste better at your place?”

You were not going to back down from this, not this time. With a determined gaze, you pointed to your front door and only spat one word at him “Leave!”, before placing your bag on one of the wooden wall hooks and taking your way straight toward the kitchen.

The loud thumping of heavy boots followed you to the kitchen and the once numbed anger began to rise to the surface.

You turned around to face the man who was responsible for your constant sorrow. “Are you fucking deaf? I told you to get the fuck out!”

Without breaking his gaze away from you, Malakai filled his cup with the freshly brewed coffee before simply answering “No”.

Your fingers closed around one of the black handles in the acrylic knife holder, instantly pulling the blade and pointing at him “Get out or I’ll make you get out!”

Malakai’s deep laugh only served to annoy you even more, he leaned on top of the kitchen island, wetting his lips with his tongue and momentarily making you forget why you hated him so much right now.

“I always loved that fire in you. You’re so…saucy” He chuckled. “So different from all the other women I’ve been with. There’s something about you that is so addicting”.

You knew what he was doing, it was with the very same smooth talk that Malakai convinced you of forgiving him the other couple of times he pulled out the same disappearing stunt, only this time you were not having it.

“Out! I’m not going to repeat mysel- What the hell are you doing?!” You screamed soon after Malakai got on top of the kitchen island on his hands and knees. He slowly crawled toward you, instantly reminding you of those predator documentaries you used to watch on Animal Planet during one of your many sleepless nights.

When he finally reached you, Malakai sat on the cool granite stone, his legs hanging from the island countertop now serving as a shield that keeps you within his reach.

“Don’t you love me, sugarplum? Didn’t you miss me? Not even a little bit?” His sugar-coated voice covered your needy heart like a warm blanket.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you asked him to leave once more, but Malakai ignored your request and continued:

“Is this because I didn’t call you? Is that why you’re so mad at me? Because I didn’t send you a goodnight text” He smirked, “I thought we surpassed that”. Malakai’s hands cupped your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his, he let his thin lips bump into yours. The feeling of his smooth skin against your chin brought a feeling of unfamiliarity deep inside you.

“I already told you that I work with some dangerous stuff, and I don’t want you to be a part of that. It’s not a safe place for a beautiful woman like you”

“Julia knows everything though. She’s a beautiful woman and still, she knows everything you’re up to! You answer her calls, texts, emails…hell, I bet you’d even answer her telegram if she sent you one”

“Julia’s different-”

“Why? Because she’s adorable and blonde?”

*What is wrong with me?!* You mentally asked yourself the minute the words left your lips. You don’t have a problem with Julia, as a matter of fact, you’ve never had one. You love her like a younger sister and know that Malakai feels the same, *So what is my problem? Why am I suddenly attacking her as if she was my enemy?* You asked yourself once again until Malakai’s voice pulled you back to the present.

“Because she works for me. Nothing more, nothing less, and you know that” His hand traveled down your face, closing his grip around the sides of your neck, Malakai growls “Stop being so fucking paranoid! And stop accusing me of cheating on you, otherwise I’ll do it just so you can have a real reason to bitch about it”.

“What a fucking asshole you are!” You abruptly pulled his hand away from your neck “How fucking dare you?! You know what? I’m so fucking done with you! Get the fuck out of my house, get the fuck out of my life, I never want to see you again!”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Malakai tried to hold back his amused smirk but it was in vain. “Are you jealous, sugarplum?” He asks, and once he sees how flustered you were, his teasing smirk turns into a toothy grin. “Come here” He tries to pull you closer to him by your neon green tank top but you successfully manage to escape him.

“Fuck off, jerk!” You slapped his hand away “Stop, Malakai. I’m serious! I’m mad at you and I don’t want you here anymore”

“Malakai?” He chuckled “What happened with ‘baby’, ‘handsome’, and ‘my love’?”

“Dissapeared once you started acting like a fucking prick!”

“I love when you get all feisty like this. It’s the perfect combination of cute and sexy. It makes me want to do bad things with you” Malakai kissed the corner of your mouth, instantly making you whine “Stop it!” in return.

The low chuckle rumbling in his chest, and the mischief playing in his eyes were making it hard for you to stay mad at him for ghosting you again.

“But you don’t want me to stop” He murmured against your lips “Because you love me”, a sinister smirk danced across his lips.

You mumbled a quick “Shut up” before he smiled, “Am I lying though?” He asked with sincerity.

“I don’t enjoy you rubbing in my face the fact that I’m a dumb bitch for loving you”

“C’mon, you know that’s not what I meant” Sarcasm dripped from every word as he closed his arms around your waist.

“Why do you enjoy making fun of me so much? Just because I’m not a heartless piece of shit like you doesn’t mean that my feelings or my heart deserves to be used as your jester”

“Heartless piece of shit? Ouch, that one hurt” Malakai cackled, his hands now rested on top of your ass, and his fingers began to knead the meaty flesh of your backside. “And who says I don’t love you?” His sharp teeth tugged on your bottom lip, pulling it down until the soft skin escaped from his grip “I do love you, sugarplum…in my own way”.

“I fucking hate your way of loving”

Malakai’s lips captured yours in a famished kiss, enabling you from speaking anything else. His hands traveled through your curves, squeezing, kneading, and scratching every part of your body. He pulled back and allowed you to catch some breath before he repeated the same previous steps.

“You don’t say that when I make you scream all night long though” He murmured teasingly against your wet, swollen lips.

“I’m not playing, Malakai!”

With an annoyed sigh, Malakai held your face in his hand. “Fine! What the fuck do you want then? Do you want me to tell you all about my work life so you and your family can be targeted by my enemies, is that what you want?”

“I just want you to stop ghosting me every time you have to leave for a job, damn it! Is that too much to ask for, asshole?!”

“If I do that I’ll automatically put you in danger, you dumb bitch!”

Before you could process everything, your hand connected to his face, the harsh slapping sound was soon replaced by another one when Malakai’s fingers landed on your cheek. Time seemed to stop as you both stared in disbelief at each other, the surprise gave place to a much more primal feeling that caused Malakai to harshly kiss you again.

“I just want to know that you’re still alive” You murmured against his lips when he broke the kiss.

“I’m not gonna die, sugarplum”

“Yeah, so say everyone, until they get shot in the face!” You stomp your feet against the hardwood floor, making Malakai chuckle:

“Alright, woman! Goddamn it, I cannot believe you’re making me say this” He murmured to himself before he nodded, “Okay, from now on I’ll let you know that I’m alive when I’m on a job, but” He added emphasis on the ‘but’ to prevent your winning grin from becoming to wide, “It’ll be on my terms! We’ll both get a burner phone and I’ll occasionally let you know I’m fine, but we're not gonna be all lovey-dovey and shit with it! Don’t call me, I’ll call you. If you try to contact me I’ll not answer you, I’ll get rid of the goddamn phone, and we’ll never do this again, do you understand me?”

“Yes” Your smile was wide and victorious, making Malakai mumble “I already regret agreeing to this”.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to meet you halfway for a kiss “Thank you, baby” You whispered against his coffee-flavored lips.

“So now we’re back to ‘baby’, huh?” He pinched your ass with a teasing smirk.

You let your fingers trace the tattoo on the side of his head as you smiled pridefully “Just because you decided to stop being a jerk”

“Let’s see if you’ll still think I’m a jerk after I put you in your place” Malakai’s grunt was playful as he squeezed the sides of your neck.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of his warm hand around your neck. You leaned forward, breathing against his parted lips “I’d like to see you try, pretty thing”.

And that was enough for him to push all the contents on top of the kitchen island down on the floor before roughly pushing you face down against the cold granite.

[myths-tournaments]

Awful Characters Round 1 Part 4 (1/8)

Propaganda under the cut!

BELOS

So, he is a horrible person, I will not deny it, he willing went into a realm of demons, ignored any possible chance that his upbringing as a witch hunter could be wrong (different from his brother Caleb), and had a years-long plan to commit genocide to every witch, palisman and living being in the Boiling Isles. I'm not going to say he's a "misunderstood poor babygirl". But the fandom just completely HATES anyone who ever sees Belos as anything other than an irredeemable monster! I personally really like his character, he's a really compelling villain, who (despite the haters saying otherwise) has a nuanced underdeveloped backstory of how he was raised on the witch-hunt era, and the betrayal he felt when he saw his brother abandoning everything they stood for as witch-hunters for Evelyn, the witch Caleb fell in love with. He clearly regrets killing Caleb since he makes MULTIPLE grimwalkers of him to try to keep Caleb with him, he's haunted by Caleb's ghost, the moment he saw Hunter (his most recent grimwalker) with Willow, his first reaction is screaming Caleb's name, he is way more than just "evil incarnate" (which is one of the problems I see in the finale of the series, but that's another story). Does this means I think he should be redeemed? No, of course not. But I don't blame the people who do, it could be an interesting plotline outside of canon, and I have seen some good ideas for how this could work! BUT HERE COMES THE FANDOM… I don't know specifically about Twitter users (deleted my account years ago, Goddess bless), but people hate Belos so passionately on Tumblr and Reddit and in YouTube videos that I would be surprised if Twitter of all places was more open to people loving Belos. I decided to search and check some places and I found people on the anti belos tag here on Tumblr that were calling people who wanted a Belos redemption or made Belos Redemption AUs literally ABUSE APOLOGISTS, I wish I was kidding! There's posts of people just liking Belos in general filled to the brim with hate in the notes. Again, I get people not liking Belos, he is a genocidal tyrant (not fascist because not every totalitarian character is fascist), but nothing excuse this amount of hate because of a FICTIONAL WITCH-HUNTER!

he is the worst guy one could ever imagine honestly like he’s literally a fascist so uh he really doesn’t have any redeeming qualities as a person. but as a character? oh boy. he’s soooooo interesting like. he makes you wonder what’s going on inside his head AFTER the episode where you see what’s going on inside his head. and the caleb ghost scene. oh my GOD the caleb ghost scene

NANAMI

Literally killed a kitten and yet is so iconic you can’t not love her

[hattafan2593]

Helluva Boss: The Circus - Alternate Ending

So I noticed that a lot of people really don't like the way Stella is characterized in Season 2. I personally have no problem with her characterization - sometimes people are just assholes. No tragic backstory. No motive. And honestly, she's just so cartoonishly evil that I can't help but love to hate her. That said, I do see where people are coming from, and it does kind of downplay some of Stolas' flaws and portrays him more sympathetically than he actually is. While I do believe Stolas is sympathetic, and I want him to improve and grow as a person, it doesn't change the fact that his relationship with Blitzo is still mega toxic, that Stolas is a member of a privileged class with little knowledge or empathy for those below him, or that he spent the entire first season doing as he pleased with little to no regard for how his actions affected those around him, including his own family.

So, without further ado, here's my attempt at a more nuanced look at Stella and Stolas' relationship, via an alternate ending to Season 2, Episode 1 - The Circus. Enjoy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

STELLA: The fuck are you doing?

STOLAS: Reflecting.

STELLA: Well, keep it down. Via's in her room, and I suspect she's trying to sleep. (Turns to walk back inside)

STOLAS: ...Why are you still here?

STELLA: (Stops, irritated) What?

STOLAS: Why are you still here? You leave with Via on weekends but then stay around the house despite everything.

STELLA: I live here, too, Stolas, last I checked. And unlike some people, I don't run away from my responsibilities.

STOLAS: Oh yes, I can see just how busy you've been. Between the shopping trips and gossiping with your girlfriends. Truly, how do you find the time to even breathe?

(Stella stomps over to Stolas, shoving a finger in his face)

STELLA: You have some fucking gall, speaking to me like that! After what you did-

STOLAS: I KNOW WHAT I DID!

(Stella steps back, stunned. Stolas runs a hand over his face.)

STOLAS: I would feel bad if I had hurt you, but we both know I didn't do that!

STELLA: You dare-

STOLAS: Oh, come on, Stella! There was never any love between us! You and I were arranged for one reason - to birth a precautionary heir to the Goetia family, nothing more!

STELLA: Yes, Stolas. I am perfectly aware of my status as a brood mare, thank you for reminding me.

STOLAS: (sighs) I tried, Stella. I know I was and am far from perfect but I did try, for so many years. To make things comfortable for us, to have this family, but it was never enough.

(Stella rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Stolas continues.)

STOLAS: The only reason I have endured your constant insults and cruelty is so that girl can have a normal life!

(Stella starts cackling)

STOLAS: What is so funny?

STELLA: Cruelty? You think what I've done is cruelty?

(Stolas puffs up in indignation, but starts backing away as Stella stomps up to him, getting in his face.)

STELLA: You spoiled, overgrown child! You don't know what cruelty is! And what's this tripe about "a normal life?" Normal? By Satan, have you always been this delusional?!

(Stella steps back, throws out her arms for emphasis.)

STELLA: Newsflash, husband! Octavia is a Goetia! She is never going to have a normal life! No matter how she acts or how she dresses, she will always have royal blood in her veins! Nothing you or I do will ever change that, and the denizens of Hell are certainly not going to let her forget it! Especially not after this latest spectacle of yours!

(Stolas' face becomes horrified - his eyes turn to pinpricks)

STOLAS: ...what?

STELLA: (exasperated) You were seen publicly, Stolas! In a goddamned sex club, with an imp! Did you really think word wouldn't spread?! (puts her hands on her hips) And who do you think has had to deal with the fallout of your little dalliances? Who do you think has to deal with the gossip, the rumors, the contempt? Here's a hint - it's not you!

(Stolas flinches back slightly.)

STELLA: (shaking her head, bitterly) Men like you and my brother are all the same. You do as you please with no thought or care to how your actions affect others. And meanwhile, women like me have to deal with fake sympathy and speculation from the masses over how we are such failures as wives that our husband find the company of peasants more appealing.

(Stolas is stunned silent. Stella turns away from him, her arms folded.)

STELLA: I don't expect you to love me, Stolas. Or even like me. But whether you like it or not, we are married. And at the bare minimum, I expect some modicum of respect as your wife.

(Stolas turns aways, gripping his arm. His face is full of guilt. But then he turns back, his face becoming blank.)

STOLAS: Respect goes both ways, Stella. And you'll have to forgive me if I can't respect someone who publically shames my performance in bed, or tries to have me assassinated, right in front of our child.

STELLA: Oh please, she had her headphones on. And it's not like it even worked. You're still here aren't you?

STOLAS: (bitterly) Sorry to disappoint you.

(Bitter silence.)

STOLAS: (sigh) ...Look, this...this isn't working. I cannot do this anymore.

STELLA: Meaning what?

STOLAS: I want a divorce. I do not want to be married to you anymore. I want out.

STELLA: (laughs bitterly) Of course. You realize that the Goetia family will not take this lying down? Andrealphus especially-

STOLAS: I don't care what your arrogant brother thinks.

STELLA: That much is obvious.

STOLAS: And as far as the Goetia are concerned, the only thing they care about is already 17.

STELLA: ...So that's it. We're done.

STOLAS: Yes. We're done.

STELLA: (deep breath) Fine. It's late. I will sleep in the guest room, and then we will both explain things to Octavia in the morning.

STOLAS: (nodding) That's fair.

(Stella turns to leave)

STOLAS: Stella...for what it's worth-

STELLA: Save it. The words of a traitorous embarrassment are worth nothing. You've fallen from what little grace you had. And I know you'll pay for it. You and that little plaything of yours.

STOLAS: Leave him out of this!

(Stella keeps walking.)

STOLAS: Stella! I mean it! Hate me if you must, but I will not let you threaten-

STELLA: It's not a threat, it's a fact. (turns around) You have made him part of this little game of yours. You have dragged him into the spotlight, Stolas. And sooner or later, he will be eaten alive.

(Stolas staggers back, his face a mask of rage and shock.)

STELLA: (suddenly very tired) I don't pretend to understand your feelings for that imp, but if you truly care for him at all...you will let him go.

(As Stella goes inside, Stolas' fist shake with rage and become sheathed in his magic. He turns, roaring, and slams his magic covered fist down on the balcony railing, causing it to crack and crumble slightly. Stolas then collapses on the ground, weeping.)

(Cut to Stella walking down a hallway. Her eyes are in shadow as her mouth contorts, a single tear forming and threatening to fall. Stella furiously scrubs it away, then straightens, her face a mask of cold regality. She continues down the hall.)

(End.)

[fool-for-luv]

for the ao3 wrapped thing! 17, 18, and 29!

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

It’s a hard tie between two! Mantis has brought me a lot of joy to write this year (her POV is always so much fun to dive into), and Frenchie has also been a favorite. I just love easily dismissed characters with hidden nuance and both Mantis and Frenchie have that in spades! 

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? 

Weirdly enough, Nebula’s POV has been giving me a huge block this year. I love my girl so much but I keep trying to start stuff from her POV and she just has such a specific internal voice that’s hard to nail. I love writing her from an outsider POV though! (This is probably why “a trivial pursuit” is still not finished lol)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? 

Man, I wrote a truly ridiculous amount this year so please forgive me for listing more than one lol these are a few I’m especially proud of! 

From there is love in your body but you can’t get it out-

“In the years of her life, Mantis has lived inside the bodies of two different Celestials. 

Granted, only one of those Celestials had been alive. Ego’s planet was as much his body as his body that looked like a body was, maybe more so, but it didn’t always feel like a body. The Celestial skull that houses the odd conglomerate of drifting people who make up the population of Knowhere feels very much like a body, just a dead one. Maybe it should be unsettling. She thinks, sometimes, that Drax finds it unsettling. He doesn’t say it, but sometimes his eyes shift around like he’s regained awareness that he’s living in bones that are not his own.”

From in the myre of who we were-

“The moment feels tender in more than one way. Tender as in soft, kind; and tender as in sore, like a bruise.” 

“There are very few people in Izzy’s life that he cares for. There are fewer who he has chosen to care for. Most of the aforementioned people come with Ed, who Izzy did not choose. Ed happened to him, the same way a hurricane happens to a coastal town, sweeping down with lethal intent, leaving nothing in its wake the same. And yes, Izzy cares for Ed. He’s fought for Ed and he’d die for Ed, and for Izzy that means he cares. But he doesn’t do it on purpose. It was never a choice with Ed.

But Frenchie? Izzy could care for Frenchie, if he chose to let himself. All that matters is the choosing. And there’s something terrifying in that. There’s something bone-chillingly haunting about choosing someone, choosing to care for them on purpose- and risking the fact that they may not choose you in return. “

I also love the knife fight/Kitson scene from started from zero, got nothing to lose with all my heart, it makes me giggle every time I think about it! 

Thank you for the ask!! 

[prettylonelys]

If you don’t mind share the takes! I have all the time in the world

okay well uh we talked about it for hours so there’s no way i’ll remember it all 😭

but generally ->

we both think sobbe is the best evak and we think a lot of that comes down two factors

1. most of the evaks despite being teen relationships are taken quite seriously, which is totally fine and a great take and obviously we’re dealing with quite serious subject matter like internalised homophobia and mental health so that makes sense. however we both feel that’s what’s missing from a lot of the evaks that sense of like teenage first love giddiness especially for characters like the isaks who (cris excepted) are experiencing their first relationship that actually aligns with their sexuality. i think all the evaks definitely have moments of like sweet teenage romance but i think sobbe are the only pairing that really emphasise that and get it right consistently

- a lot of the credit for this goes to willem h who perfectly and consistently portrays a sense of like giddy happy wonder about sander from the very first moment they meet he seems so believably shy and awed and just GIDDY im gonna use that word 800 times because it’s true! you see it in the supermarket scene, at the pool, when he apologised to sander at the bike racks and ESPECIALLY during the cuddle clip and any scene where sander texts him it’s so clear how young and happy and in love he is that he can barely keep it inside which i really think is what a first love first crush should feel like.

- additionally i think they perfectly capture it in scenes together, first with the cuddle clip where they genuinely just feel like teenagers who are young and in love who can’t get enough of each other, and then again in the 21:21 scene which in most remakes is quite intense and it is with them too but idk something about the “stomme schoenen” and them being dumb and happy and falling off the bed feels so much more real and authentic than any more carefully shot love scene ever could. i also think the fact that they’re extremely touchy and down bad for each other once again feels extremely realistic for a teenage relationship. if i had to explain it i’d say sobbe get to be so immature (in the best way) and mature in equal measure and that balance is very unique to them (though not saying the other evaks don’t have that or aren’t these things just not to the degree that robbe and sander are)

and

2. the second reason we think they work so effectively is because they already feel like boyfriends. with a lot of the evaks even though they’re technically together during their seasons they don’t feel like a settled couple until the final episode of their season and then in s4 but with sobbe they feel like a solid couple from the second they get together and maybe it’s because we got so many scenes of them just hanging out at robbes, going to meet each other, texting each other etc etc

we both also really love robbe and despite the lack of religious trauma plot, we find him to be one of the most nuanced and interesting isaks

we both really love the way he’s played like he is arguably the least or one of the least “bitchy” isak characters (once again i love my bitchy isaks that is not an insult theyre icons) but robbe is played so different hes so interesting because he generally seems to care a lot about others feelings and is very very sweet when he’s being himself. moments that showcase this:

- him (as i interpret it) almost coming out to jana at the end of season one and having him apparently tell jens that jana kissed someone else in a moment of drunk regret that he feels openly bad about rather than as a calculated move like isak did and not blaming it on him being in love with jana

- him sitting down at the cafe with the girls in season 2

- him complimenting noor in the bathroom instead of insulting her like some of the other isaks do

- him not leaving the weed behind at the house for other people to deal with (i know this is more because plotwise yasmina wasn’t at the party but i think it adds to his character)

- him texting amber that they were going to the supermarket even though sander told him not to worry about it

- him sitting down and properly breaking up with noor

- all of this culminating with the reason him and sander staying apart after his manic episode having more to do with him wanting to do the right thing for sander and not wanting to hurt him (as everyone was telling robbe the best thing for sander was for sander to stay with britt and for robbe to stay away) rather than just because he was scared and unsure. which really makes sense with the way they had robbe and his mother have this really beautiful close relationship which you can feel the warmth of even though she’s never on screen which again thinks adds to his characterisation and what makes him such a good partner for sander because he’s really at his core gentle and patient and good (as we see in the ohn scene which in my opinion is one of the best remakes of that scene specifically because they go for something different)

also i think they did a really good job setting up his internalised homophobia like s1 and s2 make it so clear why robbes mindset is the way it is at the start of season three with having the boysquad be much harsher and more awful to robbe through out s1 and the girl squad laughing and gossiping about his potential queerness in s2 culminating with milan trying to out him in front of all his friends it’s so clear why robbe acts the way he does in season three though it doesn’t justify it. but having and isak deal with such an openly homophobic environment that extends even to his closest friends was a really different and in some ways more realistic choice

[thediktatortot]

Little Steve ficlet i wanted to just write out. I understand that you can't dive into the emotions of all the characters in one show, but I really wish there was just a little more visual nuance when writing characters after tragety happens.

Warning for suicidal thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanism.

------

It's over, Eleven says, her tone and expression so matter of fact that Steve can't feel any atom in his body doubt what she says.

It's all finally over and Steve Harrington can finally breath, he can finally go home and begin to put his life back together and start thinking about the future and what he wants to do with it because no more monsters are coming around to try and sometimes excede at killing the people around him.

Except, when Steve does finally get home, takes the shoes off his sore feet that have been carrying him all night on legs that burn with overuse connected to a torso that's seen better days attached to a pair of arms that can't lift up passed his waist and a head so full of the sounds of monsters screeching, children screaming for their lives and the flashes of oily muck and dark red blood, that it takes everything in Steve's body just to keep him standing.

Forget breathing, Steve thinks to himself as he makes a puddle out of himself in the front entrance of his house, the echoed sound of his own chopped and harsh breathing the only thing greeting him as he lays on the cold tile floor.

They like the cold, Steve remembers, a viceral feeling of fear washing over him from head to toe is enough to get him to push himself up off the tile and onto his hands and knees.

It's over, he thinks to himself, it's over and all Steve has left to do is to pick himself back up and move on with his life.

But there's a joke in there right? Steve Harrington gets to move on, gets to keep on trucking while the list of names on Hawkins Post Memorial section grows with every passing day. Steve Harrington gets to live and die knowing that there was nothing he could do to save anyone who died, knowing none of those people had easy deaths and were confused and alone while Steve Harrington gets to come home and sleep in his own bed and live to see another day.

It's taking everything in Steve's power to just breath right now, dark spots in his blurred vision while he fights against the vice grip against his lungs in his ribcage. It hurts. It hurts so bad and there's nothing he can do to change anything that's happened.

He can't get them back. He can't tell them it will be okay and that it wasn't their fault or that they should appreciate every day because today might actually be their last.

He can't go back to tell Barb just to stay inside, or that maybe he could walk her to her car to make sure she got home safe, or tell Nancy she should take her friend home.

He can't go back and tell Billy that things would get better once he got out on his own, that maybe they can be friends instead of posturing to one another in some weird dick measuring contest that Steve is pretty sure was Billy compensating for something he was lacking in his own life. Maybe he could have saved Billy from the tragic end he had endured if only he had let his own pride go and just talked to him.

He can't go back and save Eddie, tell him Chrissy's death wasn't his fault and that he should stick around because Dustin looked at him like he was the coolest thing since sliced bread and how if he gives up now the world wont get to experience his guitar skills and wicked humor. Maybe if he would have stayed with Dustin and sent Eddie with the girls he might still be alive and Dustin might not be more silent then he's ever seen him.

He can't save anyone and he can't save the lost opportunities and moments he might have had if he would have just made better choices and he'll have to live the rest of his life knowing the truth.

Life is brutal. It does not hold it's punches.

-----

Steve had awoken on the entrance floor of his home after he passed out from his panic attack, the panic and fear that he had felt when he had first gotten home completely absent in the face of pure numbness that overtook him the moment the morning sun met his tired eyes.

It comes in waves, the emotions, rising with the suns settings and welling up so loud that only the blaring of the TV playing movies can drown out.

Sleeping means being alone with your thoughts so he just doesn't, waiting for his body to take it from him instead. The sleep deprivation doesn't last long, can't keep it up and still function in any meaningful way seeing as Robin pulled him into helping out volenteer.

He hates it, being around people so full of hope and ignorance, putting a smile on his face when all he wants to do is cry. It's like sandpaper on his patience, with every 'It only gets better from here' and 'God has a plan for us all', Steve wants to throw everything he's doing on the ground and curse every single one of them.

How can they be so happy? Why does HE have to be the one to know what happened, to know what really happened? Why does everyone else get to move on and forget the people who died when he has to live with their faces in his mind for the rest of his life?

He stops volenteering. He can't do it anymore, a whole month of well wishes and promises for a better future and he just can't stand it anymore.

His parents are home again at least, their business trip before spring break having gotten lengthened due to the earthquakes and the town lockdown, but their home. Steve wants to tell them, to open up about what happened but he knows he can't, makes up watered down events to at least let them know he...experienced things. He can't fake the pauses he takes, the harsh breaths he has when a memory overtakes him or the tears that well up in his eyes as he thinks about all the people who should still be here.

They care in their own ways which helps just a little, Steve's father reaching out to him through sports numbers and requests to help him clear out his office. He hasn't asked yet why he's clearing his office, but he thinks they might be thinking about moving, especially with everything that's happened in Hawkins over the last few years.

Steve's mother takes him with her everywhere, the grocery, to the post office, to pick up supplies from the hardwear store, to talk with the neighbors a street down. He has to take a walk when one of those neighbors ends up being the Cunningham's neighbors, unable to hear the coverup version of events through a mouth who'd only known what happened after it was on the news.

It takes everything in him to leave the house, to get out of bed or off the couch and get out into the sun of early summer in Hawkins. If Steve's mother is irritated by it, she never lets it show, giving Steve a rare show of patience for his moods.

His wounds still bother him, somehow never having gotten infected like he had expected them too, but he assumed it must have been the near compulsive need to clean himself off and clean his wounds that helped prevent it during those first few days. The wounds itched, a constant nagging at his stomach, shoulders and back like itches he just couldn't scratch, adding to his already bright and sunny mood.

Steve was lonely.

After summer set in to its fullest, Steve noticed just how little anyone came to see him, their own lives busy with picking up the pieces and figuring out how to make a new puzzle that still made sense even with pieces missing. Robin called him almost every day which helped just a little, knowing he wasn't forgotten keeping him getting out of bed in the morning like he had something to look forward too still.

But still...it wasn't enough.

Steve was lonely in a way that his parents being around, midnight phonecalls and hugs from tweens couldn't fix, a deep sinking need of intimacy and closeness that had eluded him all his life and that gaping void was only made wider by all the digging the Upside Down did on his life's priorities.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to save himself or ask to be saved and the energy it would take to explain all the little details that clawed into his mind at night and kept his mind spiraling and his breath halting just didn't feel worth it. Everyone has problems, especially everyone in Hawkins and Steve was not a man to burden others if he knew there was nothing they could do to fix it.

Maybe things would get better some day, he would tell himself, willing his mind to think of better and happier things like he was trying to coax a dog out from hiding with a bone. Sometimes the neediest of dogs still stay at a distance, pain and terror etching itself into their minds to the point of no return.

Maybe he would die tomorrow, drown in his own tears or pass out from hyperventilation but maybe his body wouldn't keep breathing like it usually does when he passes out. Maybe he'd get hit by a car as he drives his mother to the grocery store, hoping they hit his side instead of hers. Maybe his mom would finally leave his father if Steve was the only one left holding her back. Maybe his father would go find a woman who met his desires and keep her for once.

Maybe he'd trip and fall down the stairs, or step into the road at the wrong time, or choke on something, or maybe he'd just do it himself and take himself out of his own misery so the thoughts can finally stop.

Movie nights with Robin are bandaids.

Dinners with the Hendersons are little slices of too sweet hours stippled through his weeks that leave a fake sugary feeling in his mouth that comes with whipped sugar donuts, never as creamy or satisfying as cream donuts.

It's hard to shower.

Showers make him think of Billy, showers make him think of water and lakes and sometimes it's just so hard to take his clothes off and put them back on again that he skips the full routine and washes his face before going to bed instead. He used to be good at brushing his teeth, but now he usually doesn't remember until he's disgusted with himself and furiously destroying his gums at two in the morning because if he doesn't brush his teeth right then and there, they'd fall out and he'd finally look like the slob he feels like.

It's hard to eat.

It's a chore to make food, anything that doesn't come pre-prepared or easy to make in a few minutes is out of his skills right now. Coffee is easier. It tastes good, it's constant, it helps him keep awake and if he drinks enough of it, he barely notices the hunger until later in the afternoon. The shakes and nausea are horrible though, sometimes horrible enough to get him to sit on the kitchen floor in front of his fridge picking at anything in grabbing distance he can stick right into his mouth.

It's hard to look at his friends or his family.

He can see they see him, he knows what they see, can feel the thoughts of pity and wishes to make him feel better when they can't and it kills him inside. He hates knowing how he looks because he should just be able to do the things he needs to do and if no amount of external judgement can help, then what will?

It's hard to be sober now.

At first the alcohol helped him fall asleep, kept him just tipsy enough to make pushing the darker thoughts to the side easy enough to function, but soon it stopped working. He drank more, but the hangovers and the shakes he started to get were enough to push him to other things, having to drive all the way to a town over to get weed since...since Hawkins dealer was out of the picture now.

That helped for a while, the haze taking away the fear and thoughts long enough for him to fall asleep at night and get real rest, but it never lasted long. His tollerence was too high now, a single joint not enough to get him dazed anymore and it was eating through his savings every week.

It's hard now to exist.

The drugs aren't working and there's nothing he can do to put the breaks on his life and make it stop for just one fucking second so he can breath, and it's just so hard to breath. It hurts to breath, it hurts to wake up, it hurts to talk it hurts it hurts everything hurts.

He wears socks in the house now, both because he's always cold and he figures if he slips on the hardwood stairs at least it would be an accident. He eats without a care, knowing aspiration is by far the least good looking way to die but it's unforgiving at least. He drives a little too close to the center line, hoping someone with a little too much confidence or too little experience just happens to cross into his lane and takes him out of his misery.

[zalrb]

Regarding the post you made a while back about the non-white characters in House of the Dragon. I’m pretty sure they’re written that way on purpose because the white feminist writers don’t want them to be liked. I think it’s a form of sabotage and to me comes off that they’re irritated they have to write for characters that aren’t white. It definitely comes off as jealousy as well because it’s heavily towards the mixed races girls playing Daemon and Laena’s daughters. The most overlooked point to me is that Daemon is never directly nice to Laena, even when they have to write him flirting with her it’s a backhanded compliment that she’s almost as pretty as her brother. Then with his daughters it’s blatantly obvious they want them in the background to be seen in a negative light. The brutality of adding two girls to be hit by a boy to me is just crazy, and it’s followed by none of the adults in the room even acknowledging they were hurt. It actually comes off as Y/N fanfiction written by a white feminist and the white female characters are her self inserts having knights coming to save them (and their children) and make them feel better while the characters played by non-white girls are treated the exact opposite. But to me the biggest point is no matter how they are portrayed on screen the fandom on both teams will always treat them worse.

Interesting perspective. The thing with how I view HOTD is that I think none of the characters, like none of the characters are fleshed out or nuanced or well-written and I don't think any of the characters are actually framed in a positive or negative light but maybe that's just because I don't see anyone in a positive and/or negative light because I don't think there's really anything there narratively and I think that 99% of the takes I read about these characters are coming from the books rather than what the show provides or are viewers' projections rather than actual things presented in the show because to reiterate, I find the narrative weak and the characters weaker and more than that I find everything lazy so when people were complaining about Laena dying and how we were just introduced to her and she had no screentime, I was like well even the characters who do have screentime have no depth, like anons had to come into my inbox after every single episode to explain why all of the characters were important, why a relationship with a dragon was significant, why this battle meant that, why that egg meant this, like there's just SO much nothing. Like you say that Daemon was never nice to Laena but I'm also like, kay every time I would watch an inside the episode clip about how Daemon loves Viserys more than anything I'm like but I haven't really seen anything to suggest that except for a comment to someone else about showing his brother respect so since I think they did such a bad job with the white characters, when it comes to the Black characters I see it more as tokenism and virtue signalling rather than an actual attempt at representation which creates narrative issues because there was no care given as opposed to something like The Handmaid's Tale where white characters are given all this space and depth and nuance and time given to their characters and full relationships with each other and then I can (and have) literally tracked the very deliberate ways in which Black and people of colour are used in the show

[little-miss-deviant-s-diaries]

I was sitting at my desk, trying to concentrate on my work, when suddenly I heard a knock. I looked around, trying to see where the source was coming from, and there it was, in my balcony, a charming little squirrel, holding a piece of paper in its paws. Inside that paper was a question that demanded an answer. Each day after that, from time to time, the squirrel would pay me a visit with another question to ponder. Today's query is, 'What is your idea of perfect happiness?' This makes me think of something my therapist once asked me. In one of our sessions, she handed me a pretend magic wand and said to imagine it had real magic powers. She told me to say "abracadabra" and share where I saw myself in 10 years. I responded by saying that having a job, a place to live, financial stability, and the chance to travel with my best friend occasionally would bring me enough happiness and fulfillment in life. however, i feel i can demand more... What is my perfect idea of happiness? Such a seemingly simple question that demands a complex and nuanced answer. I believe it's best to provide multiple answers. My idea of perfect happiness is simply spending time with my best friend or anyone else I love, just us talking, uninterrupted conversation. Whenever I hang out with my friend, I dread the moment I have to drop her home. We often end up talking for extra hours in front of her door, losing track of time.I wish to have uninterrupted time with her; I never tire of our conversations. My idea of perfect happiness is to have a spot where I can read, a secret spot where only I know. A place where I can read and just forget how much I exist. My idea of perfect happiness is to travel and experience life, to walk the same halls as the people I admire, to stand in front of buildings and paintings that I love, to look at them to the point it moves me and I tear up. To be so happy that I had made it and got so close to see something that I had so much admired and read about. That for me is one of the zeniths of happiness. I remember crying the first time seeing one of my beloved monuments as a child. My perfect idea of happiness, which is just a dream, is like any other girl's wish - to find someone who can relate to her, who understands her, and who at least accepts her for the emotional person she is. It would be happiness to find someone you can be yourself with, no matter how chaotic, weird, or emotional you may be. My perfect idea of happiness is dancing in the rain with no care in the world or fear of getting sick. My perfect idea of happiness is being with the people I love, having fun, being weird, and feeling accepted. My perfect idea of happiness is seeing the people that I love cared for, happy, and healthy. My perfect idea of happiness is having a house where I can welcome my friends, but also a place where I can have infinite shelves for books and the things I want to collect. My perfect idea of happiness is getting to hug the people I love, feeling their heart beating against mine, their bodies embracing mine, and experiencing the endorphins that make us feel. To experience comfort and warmth. To feel safe in each other's embrace. My perfect idea of happiness is serving and taking care of the people I love. My perfect idea of happiness is having a great conversation with people. My perfect idea of happiness is getting to freely be myself with no judgment or shame.

[ilikereadingactually]

A Sweet Sting of Salt

A Sweet Sting of Salt by Rose Sutherland

i have to get this out of the way first: i can't stand this cover. it doesn't match the book at all imo. this cover says "sexy YA romance," and doesn't say "queer historical fantasy" to me at all, and folks looking for sexy YA romance will be disappointed, and folks looking for queer historical fantasy will have a hard time finding it. but my feelings about cover design aside, i did in fact look closer at this book, and decided to read it, and loved the hell out of it! a very charming pearl inside an oyster. which is actually not a great metaphor, because i like the way oysters look aesthetically, and i do not like the way this cover looks aesthetically. i'll stop going on about it, i've typed enough words that the image has gone mostly above the fold.

so! this was a lovely book! it's set in the early 1800s in Nova Scotia, which i know nothing about, but that didn't actually matter to my enjoyment. it's not really about the history of the time, aside from the way of life and social mores of this little town by the ocean. which is a plus for me personally because i'm bad at/not terribly interested in historical Events, i'm always more compelled by the characters and their relationships. so i was very compelled here by Jean, unmarried twentysomething lesbian midwife; Jean's mentor/surrogate mother Anneke and her friend/surrogate brother/fellow queer Laurie; especially compelled by Muirin, the "mysterious" Scottish wife of Jean's neighbor.

i say "mysterious" in quotes only because it takes Jean quite a while to figure out what's going on with Muirin, on several levels--which is not a problem! Sutherland does an excellent job of keeping Jean's gradual understanding believable, while also giving the genre-savvy reader everything we need to see the story under the story. the dramatic irony is delightful. the slow building love story is delightful. the dips into historical queerness was delightful, well-balanced and given with nuance. the climactic tension was tense as hell, the resolution made me weepy, and best of all...selkies!! surprise, this is a selkie story, which is one of my favorite things. it's a struggle for me not to be one of those white girls who is uncomfortably woo-woo about what she thinks is the witchy pagan spirituality of her Celtic ancestors because one of her great grandfathers came over from Ireland. selkies bring it out in me though T^T

the deets

how i read it: an e-galley from NetGalley, which i read in one sitting after work yesterday, cuddled in bed. what bliss.

try this if you: saw The Secret of Roan Inish at a formative age and/or just are into selkies, love seeing historical queers find ways to be together, dig kidfic, or long for the ocean.

some bits i really liked: Muirin and Jean being relatable

Jean caught a glimpse of Muirin's back past his shoulder; she sat on the bed in the far room, gazing out the window at the sea. Jean couldn't have said why she was sure Muirin was looking over the woodlot to the bay, and not at the trees or the empty field behind the house, but she was certain of it, somehow. Muirin had grown up on an island, and she could be twenty miles inland and still have seagulls in her eyes., was the sort who'd pine if she were kept from the shore for long. Jean knew sea-longing too well not to have seen it in Muirin. Some people had salt water in their blood.

---

No, what Jean minded about going to church was the people. She was already beginning to chafe at beginning so closed-in with neighbors and didn't want to be in town long enough to have to come again next Sunday. She wasn't used to having to see and talk with a dozen different people and more each day anymore. Maybe in a bigger place it would be different? Where you'd see people but not know them all by name, and have them know you, too, and want to stop you to tell you all about their children, and their business, and their neighbor's business, too. Where you wouldn't have to wonder what they were all thinking about you, or guard yourself as close.

pub date: April 9, 2024!!