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vicocaaisha · 6 months

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The Arrangement

Baek Harin x Reader Fic.

Sypnosis: Because of your father's social status, you were forced to marry the one and only Baek Harin. What happens if Harin caught you meeting up in secret with her archenemy?

Warnings: SMUT, mature scenes, stalking, choking. If you're a minor, stay away!

Your father laughed at Harin’s offer while you scoffed at her antics. What a ridiculous offer you thought to yourself.

“I’ll give you my blessing to marry my only daughter, heiress of all my running business” You stared at your father with a look of disbelief on your eyes.

“What?!” was all the word that you could say that time as you process this crazy mess you’re ending up with.

Baek Harin, the princess of your class. You didn’t like her because of the game she created during your first year. Although you are in grade A, you still didn’t like the fact that your other classmates were being bullied because of their status in the class. But what can you do? You didn’t have the guts to protest that her game is crazy. Especially since your father is good friends and in partnership with her family.

“I was looking for you, why aren’t you eating?” Doah snapped you out of your thoughts. Doah is your bestfriend out of the fake friend group you have with Harin and Dayeon. You’re only in a friend group with them because of your dad being close friends with their parents also. You didn’t want to disappoint your dad; who’s always out of town or in abroad attending some business meeting.

“I’m just finishing reading this.” You answered in a quiet manner even though she knows that you’re just avoiding the bullying commotion during lunch.

“You know, you won’t ever beat me in a quiz bee so stop studying and eat with me.” Doah tried to joke, which made you laugh because her being a nonchalant and posed person sucked at delivering jokes.

“Nice hearing you making a joke, Doah. But I don’t have an appetite to eat.” You replied.

“I brought you an onigiri; I made it. Please eat it, you haven’t eaten today.” Doah gave you the onigiri and a chocolate drink before leaving the library room.

You were seated in silence as you opened the wrapped onigiri. You looked at your watch. 40 more minutes. You really hate that your classmates are getting bullied, and you just watch or sit in silence while they are suffering. You hated being a bystander.

“Y/N.” a voice came out of nowhere that shocked you. As you look towards the door, you see Harin standing wearing her designer cardigan or whatever, but she looks pretty– no– wait. Why are you thinking this way, even though she looks good her attitude is something else.

“What?” Honestly, you had a crush on her when you first met her through your dad attending some party of his friends. She was there, she was the one who offered you to transfer school so that you two can get closer but things have changed. You despise her for this hierarchy game.

“Come to my penthouse tonight. I’m hosting a dinner party tonight since Mr. Seo wanted us to gather..” Harin said in her usual monotone voice.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You rolled your eyes and just continued reading.

It was a mistake coming here.

Your father is such a social climber. You didn’t even want to partake in any of their conversation because as usual, Baek Harin is the star of night. They are always asking her how’s our friendship or whatever.

“If only I had a son, I would definitely ask him to marry you, but sadly all of us only have daughters.” Your father said with a disappointment evident in his voice. You’re aware that your father didn’t like you at all, that's why he’s always leaving you on your own. It’s because of you being open about not wanting to inherit all of the business he has all over the world.

“Y/N is pretty and kind. I like her and I think there’s nothing wrong with me marrying a girl, right dad?” Harin said, looking directly at her dad as if she’s staring right through his soul, which her dad only nodded to and you noticed his discomfort.

“Y/N and I are already close. Plus, this will benefit our company if I marry Y/N.” Harin said with a glint of mischief in her voice. You just scoffed, disliking the topic. You can’t do much anyway, you’re the only child of your father.

Your father laughed at Harin’s offer while you scoffed at her antics. What a ridiculous offer you thought to yourself.

“I’ll give you my blessing to marry my only daughter, heiress of all my running business” You stared at your father with a look of disbelief on your eyes.

“What?!” was all the word that you could say that time as you process this crazy mess you’re ending up with.

“That’s a good arrangement then. We’ll further discuss this when both of you finish high school.” Your father said happily and while you can’t even comprehend what’s happening. You can’t oppose your father's wishes because he might disown you; Harin knows that, and she’s pushing you to your limits.

It has been a week since that dinner happened. You haven’t talked to your father since, and you’ve been avoiding all three of your so-called friends. During that week, there was a transfer student in your class who also has been bothering you to help her since she’s in grade F. She must have sensed your guilt about all this crappy game.

Lately, you have been meeting her too. Outside of the school and during night time. You learned from Suji that she wants to take down the game and you liked that, but the thought of Harin learning that you’re backstabbing her, especially now that you’re “engaged” with her might cost you your father’s trust and his business.

Little did you know all of those secret meetings, someone has been eyeing you.

You had just finished talking to Suji about her plan on taking down the game. You were now walking towards your house, listening to music. You're living on your own because your father was out of town again. Since you’re hidden from the media that you are a famous business man’s daughter, your house doesn’t have a security guard at all.

“Y/N” someone called you from afar as you were unlocking the door of your house.

Your heart dropped when you saw Harin walking towards you. What is she doing here? Does she know what you have been doing behind her back? Is she stalking you? So many questions flooded your mind and all you could do was stare at her.

“What have you been doing these past few nights, my fiancee?” She asked, still walking towards you and taking a puff from her cigar.

You tried to gain your composure and crossed your arms, “Are you stalking me?” you asked bravely.

“Do you think I’m playing some dumb games with you, Y/N?” she laughed maniacally and she is now in front of you.

“Whatever you're saying, Harin. Go home and leave me alone.” You said before trying to get into your house but suddenly you got yanked out by Harin.

“Have you been cheating on me? With that school trash?” Her gripped on you tighten. Here’s the problem, Harin never treated you this way. Even if she’s getting Dayeon get beat up on purpose by her dad or Doah getting eliminated from her competitions because they are getting on her nerves. Harin has always tolerated your angsty behaviour towards her, but tonight she’s different.

She got you pinned against the wall, “Harin– No! It’s not what it looks like.” you said as you struggled against her hold.

You felt Harin blow a breath on your neck, which tickled you but aroused you the most.

“Y/N, do you think I’m some dumb mouse you can use for your father’s gain?” She whispered through your ears.

“H-harin, I’m sorry. Please let me go, I swear I’m g-going to stop meeting with Suji.” You said as you were trembling.

“Will your father be happy once he learned what you were doing behind my back, my dear fiancee?” God, you are now regretting everything you’ve done. You should have stayed quiet, maybe, just maybe, your father’s hard work isn’t on the line.

“No– I swear, Harin! I’ll do everything, please!” You pleaded.

“Everything?” Harin was now eyeing you up and down, but you didn’t notice as your eyes were shut because of fear.

“Yes! Please, H-harin, forgive me.” That was all it took for Harin to kiss you. You can’t process what’s happening and all you could do was to moan, a loud one, when she kneed your core.

All of the pleasure you were feeling from riding her thigh were soon to be gone when she let go of you. You were out of breath, head feeling dizzy from what’s happening. You hated her guts and yet you’re here yearning for her touch? What has gone into your mind, you wondered.

“Your room. Now.” A demanding tone was all you heard that made you run into your room.

Anticipation and the ache at your core were all you felt while she was undressing you on your bed. You can’t contain your whimpers anymore every time she kissed a part of your skin, you were very sensitive.

“H-harin, I haven’t done this before…” You confessed with a sheepish smile as if she could see you in your room having the moonlight as your source of light.

“Even better.” was all she said before diving right to your buzzing core. Soft whimpers were coming right out of you, you’re trying to suppress your moans because of not being sure whether your maids are sleeping in or not.

She was marking you all over your neck, she might have felt the sense of owning you when you’re all marked up. She was thinking when you’re coming to class and Suji sees you with all of the hickeys she has given you, her jealousy is long gone now. She is your first and she wanted it to be your last.

Suddenly, without a warning Harin inserts a knuckle deep inside you. You gasp in pain, it definitely is your first time, and it doesn’t help that she has long fingers. All of this sensation is new to you because, hell, you didn’t even touch yourself before. You just ignored the feeling of arousal whenever you felt it.

“Feeling good?” You heard her say, but you only wince as she added another digit into your pussy. You can’t contain your moans anymore, which you tried to block by putting your left hand over your mouth.

She noticed it, she removed your hand and pinned both of your hands swiftly, “Let me hear it, baby.” was all you heard before moaning her name loud. The pain subsided and all you feel is pleasure.

“You’re so tight, love.” Harin is now staring at your fucked up face.

“A-hh! Mommy! R–ooh, right there!” You didn’t even notice that you let that word out of your mouth, either way, Harin liked it.

She held your waist tightly as she added another finger on your pussy. She is now getting rougher with you, with lust and jealousy she felt when she saw you secretly meeting up with that Suji girl.

“Were you asking Suji to fuck you like this? Do you think she can fuck you like this?” God, you didn’t even see Suji that way, you were just busy taking revenge on your so-called fiancee. You were so busy losing your mind with pleasure that you forgot to answer her question, and instead, she squeezed your throat and with that you were gasping for air.

“Answer me, Y/N-ah,” She was now fingering you faster and you felt like you’re going to pee or something.

“No! I only want you, m-mommy!” Satisfied with your answer, she rubbed your pussy as she felt you clenching on her fingers. She knew, you’re near from finishing.

“A–ah! Stop, please! I feel like I’m going to pee! Oooh!” But she didn’t stop and whispered, “That’s okay, love. Just let it go.”

Harin hits a spot that makes you climax. You held onto her clothes tight as you were cumming on her fingers. You can’t control the sounds you’re making anymore and you just sound incoherent. Harin hushes you and kisses you as she removes her fingers after your body relaxes.

Harin opened the night lamp beside your bed. You were almost knocked out. Your face being puffy and red, your messy hair, and hickeys all around your neck, Harin felt like she owns you now.

“I love you, Y/N. You’re mine and mine only.”

Hope you guys liked it!! First time writing a smut, lol. Please request! I'd like to practice my writing for school. I'll also do other characters from pyramid game!

#jang daah #baek harin #pyramid game #sung suji #pyramid game x reader #baek harin x reader #jang daah x reader #seo doah

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .1

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR-

A Joel infidelity AU

Content Warnings: Discussions of alcoholism and parent death.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hi, everyone. Welcome to the new story.

Disclaimer to begin with. Joel is married in this, but it is, and always has been, a marriage of convenience. There has never been any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between him and his wife apart from when Sarah was conceived.

Like always, I promise there will be a happy ending, and that there will be lots of other fun :) stuff to make up for the occasional tears.

I appreciate you all so much. Happy (lol I guess) reading. xx

Art is The pain that keeps on giving, Noelia Towers, (2018-2019). Title of the story comes from this film.

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

The first time you’d fucked, it was like you’d never been touched by a man before. The first time he’d looked at you, like you’d never been seen, in the entirety of your existence, prior to that moment. Every other time after that, every touch, every look, was the same – a rebirth of sorts. And a devastation. Something not to be understood or conceptualized, only experienced.

Taking that into account, it’s no surprise that things unfolded as they did – ended as they did.

“Please, please, come with us,” Gerri drags the vowels out and hits you with the puppy dog eyes. You shake your head at her, smiling, packing up your supplies from tonight’s lesson. “It’s going to be so fun, I promise. Tommy’s sister-in-law hates my guts, I know, what-fucking-ever, but my sister and her girlfriend will be there, and my best friend’s planning on coming too. And there’s an extra bedroom, it’ll be perfect, I swear.”

“Yeah, I remember the sister-in-law from Easter.” Of course you remember her from that day. Gerri had invited you to their family barbecue, and the woman had pitched a fit that Tommy’s girlfriend, somehow posed as an insult, had dared invite someone without asking her permission first. It was also the first time you’d met him. And he was, by far and large, the reason you’d stayed away and evaded all subsequent invitations since then. Even if his wife had unapologetically said to your face that she found it crazy that people still party crashed, no matter that that hadn’t been what you’d meant to do, hadn’t known you were party crashing. She’d also thrown away the bunny cake you’d stayed up the entire night before making. No gluten in the house or something, even though the hamburger and hot dog buns had all been regular.

“Oh my fucking God, Easter. Don’t even remind me. I know, I know.” She gives you a pointed look and you huff a laugh at her. “But that was months ago. Her and Joel were on the outs then, or… had just gotten back together… I can’t ever keep up. And well… they’re still on the outs now–” She scrunches up her face into the cutest little frown. You love Gerri so much. From the first moment she’d shown up for your Tuesday night ceramics class at the community college, she’d immediately decided that not only were you going to propel her into the upper echelons of the great sculptors of the world, the greater Austin area – her words, not yours, but she’d also immediately decided that you were going to be friends, and no, you did not have a choice in the matter.

“But they’re always on the outs. And things haven’t been as bad recently – according to Tommy. But honestly the fuck does he know about all that anyways. My poor baby is so clueless – but still, please, please please,” she begs, pouts your name over and over again. “Please, come with us?” She brings her clasped hands up under her chin in a pleading gesture, hits you with the puppy dog eyes again.

You were so grateful for her. Despite your recalcitrance, it’d always been hard for you to make friends. A byproduct of who your mother was, being an only child, a largely solitary upbringing, et cetera, et cetera. You’d needed Gerri’s tenacious spark and kindness to pull you out of your shell. She wanted you to join her, her boyfriend Tommy, and their friends and family at a house they’d rented on Lake Austin for the weekend as a sort of end of summer farewell. And you did – you wanted to go, bunny cake murdering sister-in-law and all, but there was the issue of him.

You were… there was not a single phrase for what it was your mind turned into when that man and his name and his face invaded your psyche. So you’d done your best to avoid him in your mind and in real life, at all costs. He was – he was not something you were capable of considering.

“I’m not sure if I can, Ger–” you say slowly, wracking your brain for an excuse. “There was– one of the other teachers at the elementary school–” Your day job, when you weren’t teaching night class ceramics, was as an elementary school art teacher, “Asked if I’d cover for them on Friday – summer school.” Stupid excuse, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“Oh, shut up. The summer camp classes end early – you told me that last time! You could drive up after.” She sidles up to you now, rests her curly haired head on your shoulder. “Please, you’ve said no to everything I’ve invited you to since Easter. You aren’t avoiding me because of the shitshow that was, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Yes, yes you were. Just not for the reason she thought. “I would just hate to impose–”

“You wouldn’t! I swear you wouldn’t be!”

“You all already have your plan, and I–”

“No! No. My sister’s the one renting the house, and she said I could invite whoever I wanted. So, no one can say anything,” she sticks her tongue out, rolling her eyes. “And Joel said I should invite you too. I’m pretty sure he still feels badly about last time also.” Fucking hell, you did not want him feeling bad for you. At all. Ever. You did not want him ever thinking about you ever, ever, ever.

You stand over the kitchen trash bin, staring at your destroyed cake. Your grandmother used to make it every Easter. Four separate cake loaves all cut into the shapes for a face, two big pointy ears, and a cute little bow tie, with a pineapple filling, and all covered in little flakes of coconut and your homemade vanilla frosting. You used jelly beans to make the eyes and nose and dark frosting out of a piping bag for the whiskers and mouth. It was your favorite cake, one of your favorite memories, one of the only good ones.

“Fucking Christ, she did not throw it away. Please, don’t tell me that’s the cake you brought.” Large hand gently placed between the wings of your shoulder blades to peer around you, not touching, but still there, still very close, and yes, that’s it, you’ve gotta get the fuck out of there now, away from this man.

“Oh, no. It’s okay – I– I mean– I should’ve asked before. I didn’t know you all were gluten free. I should’ve asked…”

“What? Glu–” he frowns. You knew his wife, Eva, had made that up. You step away from him, from his large warm palm that feels like it’s burning through your clothes and skin. He was really, really and truly the most unfairly gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He fucking terrified you. “Oh, yeah. The gluten.” He went along with the lie, passing the offending palm over his mouth, the wiry scruff of his beard rasping softly against what you imagined to be work roughened skin. He’d said he was a contractor.

Gerri had invited you to her boyfriend's brother’s house for the Easter holiday. It was the first invitation to something you’d gotten since you’d moved to Austin six months ago, and you’d been so, so happy that she’d asked, had felt so sad you’d not have anyone to share your cake with. You’d planned to take it to work with you to leave in the teacher’s lounge for everyone to share. The thought had made the back of your eyes pinch, for some reason.

“It’s alright. I actually need to head out. Could you let Gerri know? I– I’m–” you couldn’t think of a lie, and he was staring at you like he knew you had no real excuse – like he knew you were uncomfortable and out of place and were just looking for an excuse to leave. Embarrassment burned in your cheeks.

“Don’t go, please. Stay for a while longer. I’m – fuck– I apologize about the cake–”

“No, no– really it’s–” you held out a staying hand, but he’d cut off your false appeasement.

“Please, stay.” He’d taken a step forward, closer to your retreating form, and you’d felt almost faint, dizzy at the image of him stepping closer to you. He was so tall, huge really, broad chest, thick arms, dark, lush curls and a scruffy jaw, a peek of chest hair covering the tantalizing golden skin at the opened button of his shirt. Sexy, deep Southern twang. The loveliest, warmest eyes you think you’d ever probably seen. You were going to try and mix the exact color of them when you got home, even though you knew you shouldn’t. You hadn’t been interested in a man in months, maybe longer, couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a crush, an anything on anyone, and now this man. Suddenly, blindingly, out of fucking nowhere – so damn attractive. Your eyes had fluttered shut for a second and you’d swallowed, trying to regain your balance – you’d known him for all of two hours and he already made you feel unbalanced. You needed to leave.

“Really, Joel,” his name on your tongue almost had a taste, “It’s okay.”

“He– He did?” you stutter. “He shouldn’t feel bad – he has nothing to feel bad about, it was nothing.” Lie – lie, lie, lie. Meeting him that day had been – it had been everything. You’d thought about it, him, for months afterwards. The sight of him with his three year old daughter, Sarah, the sweetest little thing you’d ever seen. Helping her hunt for the Easter eggs he’d hidden around their backyard, letting her crack the bright confetti filled shells over his head. His excitement for her when she’d finally found the basket he’d made up for her. He was a good father.

“Yeah, and Tommy said he’d like to see you again too. And I told my sister about you, and she thinks all my pottery’s fucking amazing, by the way, and she wants to meet you too, and she’s even thinking of enrolling in the class next semester so really, really you’re obligated to come.” Fucking menace – she smiles sweetly.

“Oh, fine. Fine, fine. I’ll come.” You’re putting away the last of your tools. “I’ll drive up Friday afternoon when I’m done at the school.”

Immediate hopping squeals, and this is why you love her. She’s so happy, so open and silly, friendly and funny. All the things opposite to your restrained quiet, shy to the point of aggravation, sometimes. You didn’t want your constant refusals to alienate her. You could see him again, it would be fine. You’d met him once for Christ’s sake. It meant nothing. It had probably been nothing that day, heat exhaustion or a stomach ache or something. Nothing to fawn and stress over. You’d just be polite, cordial, keep your distance – especially from his wife. You did not, did not want to provoke her greater dislike. You’d keep your unwanted baking to yourself this time. It would all be fine. You wanted these people to like you, if you were being honest. A little desperately. Gerri and Tommy, her sister you hadn’t yet met – you wanted to be part of their group, one of their friends. They were all so kind, welcoming and fun, you couldn’t ruin this for yourself.

Gerri had spilled the beans on the marriage over one afternoon of too many Mexican martini’s, an Austin specialty, and chips and salsa. They’d gotten married three years ago after Eva had gotten unexpectedly pregnant. Joel was traditional, he’d asked and eventually she’d agreed. They were both older than you, he’d just turned forty recently, and you guessed it’d made sense for them, at the time, but she’d left them soon after Sarah had been born. The marriage, the baby, hadn’t been in her plans, too much for her, Gerri said. They’d been separated for about a year and a half until she’d come back. They seemed to be trying to work it out now. Gerri claimed they were both miserable. You’d only met them the once – well, you’d seen Joel a few weeks ago, from a distance, when Tommy’d come to drop something off for Gerri before class, sitting in their truck. You don’t think he’d seen you – but you thought that their misery was very obviously apparent in that way that was easily recognizable to someone who, at one point, had existed in a house made only of misery. It breaks your heart for them all, in different ways, to recognize that singular brand of dissatisfaction that comes with living in a home where no happiness resided with you.

But the reality of his marriage made you all the more terrified of him. To ever see him again. You wanted no part of that. Didn’t even want to exist in the same vicinity as someone who was experiencing something of that nature. You’d had enough of unhappy marriages and painful households in your own childhood. You never wanted to deal with that again.

You’d read once that infidelity was a hereditary trait. Studies had shown that if you’d had a parent or even a sibling, someone in your household during your development, who’d been unfaithful, you were then more likely to also be unfaithful yourself. Something about that sort of childhood trauma inciting a propensity in the offspring to find it difficult to later on trust romantic partners, to incite trust themselves. Trust issues, emotional unavailability, baggage, blah, blah. Sometimes nature versus nurture was a real bitch, in your opinion.

But as much as you wanted to call bullshit, the thought, the possibility of that being true, filled you with such an intense fear — debilitating, paralyzing, life altering. You found yourself with an immense inability to trust yourself, more than anything. Your greatest fear, the thing that scared you the most in all the world, was that you would be the perpetrator, that you would be the one to commit that sin. That you’d lose control, self awareness, morality, yourself. It wasn’t something your mind could even come to terms with, the possibility of hurting another person that way, betraying them in that manner. It seemed like the worst possible thing in the entire world that you could ever do to someone. After all, you’d watched your mother do it to your father, over and over again, your entire life, up until the point that she’d up and left the both of you. For many years, after her fateful abandoning, you’d watched him drink himself into a stupor and then into a grave. Years of waiting for her to come back, in love with a ghost or a figment of his imagination, for the woman he’d made her out to be, within the ever forgiving and naive confines of his love, had never existed. Something you could see, even through the lenses of your child eyes.

She was an eternally flawed woman. Selfish, vain, manipulative, deceitful, but there was good in her too. She was eccentric and beautiful, and she could be kind, so funny, and immensely intelligent, her mind and wit, always sharp as a whip. It was, you thought, what made her so talented at deceiving others, at getting her way. She outsmarted everyone she came into contact with. But she was also weak and self serving, had never met anyone, in all her life, who she loved more than she loved herself. Not even you. Sometimes, you thought, especially not you. For you were the living reminder of all she’d lost and been forced to give up. It was a difficult, complicated, painful relationship you had with her, even now, all these years later.

After she’d left, she’d kept in contact with you sparingly. The occasional call or birthday card. It had taken her three years to feel like seeing you again after she’d left when you were ten. The pains and awkwardness of puberty long started, endured on your own, before she’d even had the foresight to remember she had a daughter who might need her. It was an exceedingly painful and lonely time for a young girl to survive on her own, but you bore it, as you did the entirety of the fallout that came with her leaving.

Your father was another story entirely. He’d fallen to pieces, completely, the day she’d left and had never had the strength of will to ever pull himself together again. It was a strange sort of existence the two of you had lived in those years, keeping each other company. Physically, he was there, but he was never present, never sentient. He drowned, for years and years, in a sea of pain and liquor, and he never resurfaced. You watched him sink, a young girl incapable of comprehending or acting in a way that could’ve helped him, as much as you wanted to or even tried, all of it was futile. Eventually he hit the bottom of the ocean and died there, and you were left more alone than ever.

You remember there’d only been four people, in total, at his funeral. You and two men from the shithole bar he liked to lose himself at every week and the priest. It was a terribly painful thing to live through on your own. Humiliating in a very specific and acute way, for some reason. To know that this sad, pathetic specimen of a human being had had a hand in creating you, to know that he was your father and that you loved him, despite his weakness, his vices, his lack of care for you, you loved him. And you felt interminably sorry for the creature he’d been turned into at the hands of an uncaring and poisonous love. You hadn’t been able to tell her for ten months, after he’d been dead in the ground, that he’d passed. She’d not called, didn’t like giving you her number, said she was too busy to have to worry about you calling her at all hours of the day, as if you’d asked her for a single thing in the decade since she’d left.

And you loved your mother, even after it all, you did, but it was a poignantly devastating moment, the day you realized she was not just your mother, but her own person, as well. The day that childlike naivety, unconscious self centeredness, was cast away to realize that she was savagely flawed and human, and that she did bad things that hurt good people. And still, and still she was your mother and you loved her. Your greatest influence, the hand that shaped you, and you loved her despite everything. It was only that, after the rose tinted glasses had been ripped away, and she was only then herself, nothing more – pedestal forsaken – she was just a flawed woman who sometimes made mistakes, made the wrong choices, hurt you and your father and fractured your family. That was a hard thing to come to terms with as a young girl.

You realized now, with the lifetime of experience she’d inherited to you, that motherhood built a pedestal and a grave, all at once, over and over again. A woman could vacillate between being the Madonna and the whore, and the cycle was inescapable and destructive and enticing, all at the same time. It was something that one could try to avoid or run away from, but many times, it caught up to most, hooked its claws in you and dragged you away from the things you would’ve wanted or done otherwise. You realized this was what had happened to her. She’d never been built for motherhood, for the responsibility of raising a child, so she’d desecrated the altar of it, taken a sledgehammer to it and freed herself in the only way she saw she could, collateral damage be damned.

And so you’d isolated yourself, for the thought of doing the same thing to someone that you might have loved or someone that loved you, was soul destroying. And that was the saddest part of this whole overly cliché tragedy – that you were sure that, at a certain point in her life, she’d loved your father, as well. Perhaps not enough, not enough to change who she was, what she really wanted, but she had loved him in her own way, nevertheless.

Parallel to the tragedy was the ironic reality that in some very safely guarded part of you, you longed so, so desperately for your own chance at a happy family, love, children. How could you not? When you’d never experienced it for yourself during your own childhood. Always having to make your own meals, get yourself ready for school, alone at ten years old, walking to the bus unaccompanied, no one ever waiting for you, expecting you, watching over you. Alone, alone, always alone. How could you not want to build your own normal, loving, happy family for yourself? You wanted it very badly.

But there was also no part of you that felt, in the most vital ways, capable of showing your underbelly in such a vulnerable way. You had always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers, and the second thing you were most terrified of, after turning into your own mother, was being left again, abandoned to another derelict and lonely childhood. So your aloneness suited you, for now. At least, in terms of your romantic life. Your isolation kept you safe, guarded from those that would savage the sensitive and salted battleground that was your heart.

That, however, did not mean that you were immune to wanting, to the disease of yearning, of desire, and so you found it most unfortunate, cosmically laughable and cruel, that it would be this man, this married, beautiful, entirely unattainable man, that would have reminded you of that desire again, after it had lain dormant for so long: Joel.

Joel tried to think of you only in the moments when he was feeling particularly strong. It was a challenge he’d set for himself from that day, all those months ago, when you’d appeared at his house on Easter. Like a fucking angel or a creature out of a fairy book. Soft and luminous and so fucking pretty. No, Joel tried very, very hard not to think of you.

He failed often, though. He’d not forgotten you since that day. Had tried to fish, as subtly as possible, through Tommy, for information. See if he’d heard anything about you from Gerri. Any new details or gossip about the pretty little art teacher. Tommy was a terrible goddamn gossip, like a clucking hen. And Joel knew, he knew empirically, that thinking of you was wrong. That he had a wife that he needed to be respectful of, even if she was never respectful of him, fucking her coworker – or had been… still was — he couldn’t keep track anymore – didn’t really care, if he was being honest. But you, you were the one small, private thing he kept for himself. The thought of you, the image of you in his mind, you were only for his moments of great necessity. You’d been so sweet that afternoon, walking into his home with your bunny cake. That fucking cake haunted him – the look in your eyes as he watched you stand over the trashcan staring at it. He’d been so scared you’d start crying, that he’d have to comfort you, that he’d be able to take you into his arms. He’d been terrified of what would become of him if he’d gotten the opportunity to feel you like that. But no, you’d left. Made up some weak excuse he knew you could see he didn’t buy, and had quietly left, not even saying goodbye to the others. He’d had a terrible one-sided argument with Eva that night. Told her she’d been unnecessarily rude and cruel, doing that to a complete stranger who was just trying to be nice. She hadn’t batted a single eyelash, all his frustration going in one ear and out the other.

He could, to a certain degree, understand where her behavior came from. He knew she was unhappy, he knew she hated their life together. That it was nothing like what she’d ever envisioned for herself, and so she acted out sometimes. At his age, he found now, that you couldn’t ever really fault a person for not being what they’d never been meant to be. He understood this, had accepted that his marriage would never be of the happy or intimate sort. That Eva had never wanted to be a mother, but had felt trapped by circumstance. He dealt with it. Or ignored it. Avoided looking directly at the ugly reality of it, more like. He had Sarah and work and Tommy, and now that his brother was with Gerri things had gotten a little better, happier for the family. She was a good addition – kind and spunky. She was good for his brother, and he was happy for them.

But the day he’d met you – it had made a savage claw of want gouge through his entrails. He’d not remembered the last time he’d wanted something the way he did when he watched you walk out into the backyard long hair shimmering in the sun, and a nervous flush sweeping over the apples of your cheeks. And even if he’d been unattached, free to pursue you like he liked to dream about sometimes, you were so young – much too young and pretty for an old, washed up, has-been like him. But he could imagine it, like he’d said, only when he was feeling particularly strong. Or maybe particularly weak. He couldn’t keep track of which was safer anymore. When the years and work and responsibilities and grief and loneliness surged up too high and overwhelming for him to bear, he liked to think of you in that little yellow sundress. Wonder what it’d be like to be a younger man, to have met you first. A bad, selfish, terrible thought to have. But just in the quiet privacy of his mind, when he needed a small something to make him feel just a little better – he liked to think of you.

The only other time he’d seen you, once when Tommy’d had to drop something for Gerri at the college, he’d insisted on tagging along. Hoping he’d maybe be lucky enough to get a glimpse of you, and oh, he’d been so, so rewarded. You’d been carrying a stack of supplies from your car into the building, one of those spiky things women wore twisted in your hair to keep it up, wisps of your long, heavy locks escaping the knot, and a little, red, spaghetti strapped top. The thin of it on your shoulder had slipped off the delicate wing of your clavicle as you balanced everything you’d carried in your arms and tried to kick your car door closed at the same time. It’d taken everything in him, all the self control he possessed, not to sprint over to you and offer to help you, to fall to his knees at your feet. You’d blown a strand of your hair out of your face, the cutest expression of frustration scrunching your brow. His gut had twisted almost painfully with yearning. He hadn’t even known he was capable of fucking yearning, but he sure as hell did now. He felt it sharply, piercingly, like a knife to the gut. He’d met you once for Christ’s sake, seen you in person only twice, but you plagued him, you plagued him.

He knew it was probably partially a symptom of how alone he was. Lonely to his very core. His marriage had never been a real one, no closeness, no intimacy. A byproduct born of one drunken night, and Joel’s need to do the right thing, give his child a stable home with two parents and all the love he could give her. And Sarah, Sarah was the greatest gift that he’d ever been given. This perfect little person that he still, three years later, could not believe had come from a piece of him.

He’d told Eva that he’d do whatever she wanted, would accept whatever she’d chosen when she’d first realized she was pregnant. She’d refused the alternative route vehemently, and so he’d never suggested it again. If he was being honest, he’d been happy when he’d found out, in some small way. The situation wasn’t ideal, of course, they’d been veritable strangers at that point, but he’d been thirty seven, at the time, and he liked the idea of children. Eva was attractive and intelligent. He’d proposed immediately, gone out and gotten a ring and gotten down on one knee. He’d naively thought that perhaps, eventually, with time, they might grow closer. That idea was squashed quickly. She’d made it clear that she’d never wanted to marry him, but she also didn’t want to go at it alone, knew he was responsible and reliable, and so she’d accepted. And perhaps, he should have tried harder to win her over afterwards, but if he was being as honest as he could be, he wasn’t very interested either, didn’t really mind the lack of intimacy with her. They just weren’t a good match.

She’d left a few months after she’d given birth. Ran off with some guy she’d met – only a note left saying she couldn’t do it anymore. He hadn’t tried to go after her, hadn’t tried to bring her back or look for her. A better man probably would have, would have fought for his wife, for the mother of his child. But he’d never loved her, not even close, and so he’d taken care of his baby girl, had tried to be everything she needed and worked as hard as he could so that she’d never want for anything. Eva had come back after about a year and a half – her affair had run its course, and she’d said she wanted to try again with Sarah, that she’d made a mistake, wanted to be part of her daughter’s life. Of course he’d let her come back. He wanted Sarah to have a mother that was present, to have everything a child should have. And afterall, it was no hardship for him personally. She didn’t want a relationship with him, only Sarah. And so they’d settled into this strange agreement of co-parents slash roommates who just happened to be married. Eva liked to keep pretenses up, so they did the occasional family thing together. Especially now that Tommy was with Gerri, she liked to pretend at the double date thing, occasionally. Even though Eva couldn’t stand the poor girl. It was a pieced together sort of life, but it was better than what some had, and Sarah had her mother. He couldn’t complain.

But he did like to imagine a sort of alternative sometimes – something different, less lonely. He could tell she was going to leave again soon, more unsatisfied and frustrated and restless than ever. He couldn’t even find it in himself to resent her for it, it only hurt him for Sarah’s sake, for he didn’t think she’d be coming back this time.

It hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all, you think, as you lounge on the dock by the lake. The sun is strong but not burning – warm and soothing. It feels like there are ghost fingers stroking all along the bare skin of your arms and legs. Gerri had made a pitcher of sangria and you were slightly tipsy off it now. A light weight, through and through.

The house they’d rented was gorgeous. All exposed wood and big glass windows right on the lakefront. Gerri’s sister was a doctor – a spine surgeon or something really fancy. She’d rented the house and invited all of you – no chance for Joel’s wife to be pissed off that you’d tagged along.

There were large boxes of the loveliest white hydrangeas along one side of the dock. The sweet scent of them drifting around you as you lounged on the chair you’d planted yourself in with your sangria. Yes, this was a good idea. You’d managed to evade Joel and his wife in the hours you’d been here. Gerri and Tommy were great as always and her sister and her partner were so nice. You’d talked about the pottery class, she wanted to pick up a new hobby, trying out the whole work-life-balance thing, and she’d thought pottery’d be a good fit for her. She was planning on signing up for the next semester.

You’re slightly dozing now. The warm sun and sweet alcohol making you languorous and drowsy and all fizzy on the inside. You think you might be able to hear the breeze sliding through each individual blade of grass on the bank, whistling over the surface of the water, and you can’t stop picturing his arms in your mind, but you’re pretending to ignore that, or pretending the bulging, mouth-watering muscles, prominent veins running under the surface of his tan skin, dusted with a light coating of golden brown hair belonged to someone who was not him. He has the largest hands you’ve ever seen, and you wonder what one of them wrapped around your throat would feel like. Bad, inappropriate thoughts.

You have one arm slung above your head, resting at the crown of your scalp to partially shield the sensitive skin there from the strong sun when you feel a sudden piercing pain, right to the center of your palm. You shriek, jolting violently, glass of sangria falling and shattering on the deck and stumbling up out of your chair, sending it flying back topside. A wasp buzzes menacingly around you, and you shriek again, cracked and painful. The thing had stung you right in the center of your tender palm. You hear the quick paced steps of someone approaching, too distracted trying to evade the horrible thing when you hear Joel’s voice. “Stay still, it’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Your hand really, really hurts. You stop your swatting and feel the back of your eyes pinch, hot tears pooling in the corners. Not only is the sting incredibly painful, but you really hate bees, wasps, all the ugly mean things that buzz and sting. You can feel the slight tremble of your frame begin to take over as you try to patiently wait for him to get rid of it.

He comes closer, “It’s okay, he’s gone. Did it get you? C’mere, lemme see.”

You clutch the injured hand to your chest, try and scoot away from him shaking your head, but you get too near to the edge, and his hand shoots out to cup your elbow, other hand coming to circle your waist and turn you so you’re standing in the center, and he’s closer to the edge.

“No, no, it’s okay. It got you, lemme see it–” he gently circles his big rough palm on the thin of your wrist, and now you’re really shaking.

“It’s o–okay,” you hitch, you feel a tear slide down your cheek. Fucking embarrassing. “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing.” You try and pull your limb out of his grasp, but he pulls you closer. He says your name then, not necessarily sharply, but in the way of a rubber band snapping against your skin, a slightly jarring crack followed by a tingle, something that reverberates through your entire body.

Then gentle: “Just come here,” and coaxing. How could anyone ever say no to a voice like that. So deep, so patient. “Lemme see, it’s okay. No, don’t be scared. Lemme see, open your hand for me, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle, it’s okay,” his soothing voice over and over. Coaxing you into capitulation, into following his orders. He smooths his rough thumb gently, gently over the sides of your palm, coaxing your fingers to uncurl and let him see the hurt. “Oh, it’s alright. None of that trembling, sweet girl.” And then he brings your hand up to his hot, wet mouth and presses his lips to the wound, gently sucking. You can feel the wet of his tongue pass over it once, slowly sucking the venom out of your palm. You feel everything below your belly button go hot and liquid at the feel of his tongue on your skin. Oh, God, you want to feel that mouth everywhere, between your legs.

You think you let a jagged whimper claw its way out your throat, for his eyes flit to yours, a flash of heat igniting them. He pulls his mouth away, turns to spit, thumb gently brushing over the tender inside of your wrist. He says your name so softly. “That’s better. You’re okay. No tears.”

His large hands completely engulf yours. His fingers are thick and long, his nails clipped short and neat. Beautiful, masculine hands. Working hands. He doesn’t wear a ring. “We can get a clove of garlic on this,” he’s still cradling your limb, “Heard that’s good for stings.”

This is bad, bad, bad, bad. Not part of your plan to stay away from him at all. He’s staring at your cradled hand, his gaze trained on the way his own palm dwarfs yours. You feel his touch tighten for just a second, he brings his eyes back to yours, and you watch as a swallow passes through the strong column of his throat.

He called you sweetheart.

There are so many reasons why you know he’s dangerous to you, why you should stay away from him: his kindness, how competent he is — the way it seems like, no matter what in life could ever present itself to him, he’d be able to take it in, take care of it, fix it. He could handle anything. How fucking gorgeous he is, his hands, his face, his body, the dark curls, the slightest hint of silver threads beginning to appear through them, the deep dark eyes, but most of all, more than any other reason, the way he says your name — like the worst thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and also the loveliest. So soft and deep and soothing. A voice that could get a person to do anything, capitulate to anything, commit any crime.

And what was it about wanting something you should not want, could never have, that made you want it all the more? Rebellion of the highest order calls your name.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. He still has you clutched in his grasp, is staring at you almost in shock. You try to pull away and his grip tightens for one second, like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go, and then releases you, lets you pull your injured hand back into your chest.

“Alright?”

And you’re so disoriented by him, by his touch that you instinctively reply: “Yes. Are you?”

He looks confused for a second, shakes his head a little and then laughs, “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart.” He shouldn’t be calling you that, but it sounds so lovely coming out of his mouth. You’ll tell him to stop next time. It’s okay. Next time he says it you’ll tell him not to call you that anymore. Embarrassment burns your cheeks.

You shake your head, “Sorry, I–”

“It’s alright. No need to apologize. Let’s get you inside. Get somethin’ on that hand.”

You take a step back from him, and he matches it with one step of his own forward, like he isn’t planning on letting you run away. It makes the speed of your heart kick up a notch, a hummingbird fluttering within the confines of your chest. “No, really, it’s okay. I’ll ice it or something. I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for– for your help.” You feel like you’re blinking a hundred times a minute, the sun suddenly scorching, when just a moment ago it had been soft and warm.

You need to get away from him.

“Rubbin’ a garlic clove on it’s good for stings. There’s some in the kitchen, I’ll get it for you.” He reaches a hand out as if to take hold of you again, and you take two more steps away. This time he does not follow, you see the muscle of his jaw flutter.

“Really, Joel. It’s okay.” You feel like you’ve said these words to him before, like all your short acquaintanceship has consisted of, is you apologizing and running away, bowing out before it gets too scary or complicated or threatening. He probably thinks you’re an idiot. “Th– thank you for your help. I’m just gonna –” you hitch your thumb back towards the house, “I’m just going to go back inside. Sorry.”

He only nods, frozen on the dock as you walk away from him.

Chapter .2

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#someone's fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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incorrect-spideytorch · 5 months

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So, I’ve been thinking a lot about spideytorch lately (as I am one to do) and a question popped into my head:

What is the most important spideytorch comic panel?

There’s a ton of great options in my opinion, but I think there also is an answer (at least for me) so now I am going to subject all of you to my thought process. Get ready for a way to long post breaking this down.

The most obvious starting point has to be this classic

Johnny Storm is going full house husband for Peter Parker, I mean c’mon! add in the fact that he’s in his undies and the way that he’s leaning over peter… yeah this is a classic. This might be the most famous spideytorch panel out there, but I don’t think it’s the most important one.

Another classic (but more antagonistic?) one takes place, of course, at the usual place.

To me this is peak identity shenanigans and the stuff that fanfics are made of. The betrayal, the heartbreak, the complications that go into the conflicting way these two view identity, oh boy I could talk about that shit for hours, but as an individual moment, it doesn’t really crack most important for me, it needs a bit more affection (they’re very bad at affection sometimes).

Another panel that came to mind very quickly for me is this set.

Johnny literally only had to say his name and Peter knew exactly what he meant and what he needed. This is top tier levels of communication, both between them and from the creators to us. I think this is another one that I could talk about for hours. That being said, it doesn’t feel important enough to me.

A friend in the spideytorch discord server posed this panel as the most important spideytorch moment in the comics.

I’m just gonna put their quote in cause it’s great. “I think this is one of my favorite panels cause Johnny was just speaking generally and Peter was like ‘oh my god! Actual wise words form johnny’ but also, I love that this was a more important moment for Peter than Johnny.” I must say, this entry is extremely important to spideytorch and gave my choice a run for its money. I don’t have a huge reason for not making this one the most important, other than personal taste. For their relationship, this is a key moment and sets them on the path to actually being friends (at least on Peter’s end), but idk it just wasn’t doing it for me.

Another panel I was reminded of thanks to this submission was this moment.

It’s not quite as impactful as the past one by a long shot but I do think it’s important. After being rivals for so long, to see Johnny give a genuine heartfelt compliment to Peter is fantastic (haha). This feels like the other half of the previous set of panels. There we had Johnny encouraging a stranger and here he’s encouraging his friend.

Some other friends in the discord server suggested the moment that Johnny invites Peter over to watch his sex tape (yes this is canon).

(Not pictured, Peter swinging away and saying he needs to take a cold shower). Now I’m not saying that the most important spideytorch moment needs to be serious, but I think this moment might be too unserious to claim that title. This moment was huge for the fanbase because holy shit did, he actually say that, but for their relationship, I just don’t think it was as important as it was to us.

Now I do want to knock out a few honorable mentions that I would hate to miss.

First, this look given to Spidey by Johnny, I mean yeah, he’s in love.

And to balance the lovesick flirty scales I must expose Peter as well.

Next, this heartbreaking moment that basically admits to the audience that Peter’s world becomes chaos when he loses Johnny. That shit hits.

Of course, the moment that gave us the ship name.

A panel that lives in my head rent-free because honestly marvel what were you attempting to convey here other than the fact that Peter really wants to have hate sex with Johnny Storm?

To take us outside of our duo, this quote from Ben Grimm (EDIT: it’s was Peter’s clone Ben Reilly, which honestly only adds more drama), because honestly same.

And of course, I have to include the panel which showed us the first time (on page) that Peter told Johnny he loved him AND gave us canon proof that these two have “date night,” many a fic writer was fed well.

And how could we forget! THE USUAL PLACE! Literally any panel mentioning this is top tier because its so good, like the core of the fandom honestly.

Lastly, before moving on to my own more serious contenders I have to share this parallel that @sciderman shared because I love it.

Now to my serious contenders for the title of most important spideytorch panel (please remember this is all my opinion and I mean no shade). This will be a top 5, but just know some of these rankings are pretty flexible (even flexible with some panels from the beginning), and this question should not be taken as seriously as I am taking it, I am fully aware of that.

Number 5!

So, I know that I discounted the sex tape scene earlier because I didn’t think it was serious enough and it didn’t do enough for their actual relationship, but I had to include this one I’m sorry. A lot of this is personal taste but the implications here are *chefs kiss* The first time I saw this panel was actually on Pinterest with the caption “wait a second, did spider-man and the human torch have sex?” which says it all for me.

Beyond that, this moment also shows how they reach out to each other when they have problems. Strange children show up in Peter’s life and the first person he calls about it is Johnny. Again, this is not the most serious, but I love it. This moment shows the banter of their relationship, how they care about and rely on each other, and also potentially reveals that they’ve had sex. There’s a lot to take in.

Number 4!

I will be honest with you all, this moment is here almost entirely because Ben’s quote lives in my head rent-free. Everyone around them sees how they feel about each other besides them. When they were rivals others could tell they actually liked each other and when they became friends others could tell that it was deeper than that. I think I especially love this panel because it conforms that we’re not crazy for thinking there’s something there but also because Ben specifically cites the way Johnny looks at peter. That is very specific and says a lot. I can’t imagine Ben would say this if the looks Johnny gave Peter were purely platonic, and just ahhhh, there’s so much said here just in one line from Ben. There was of course the Ben moment earlier, which I also love, but something about this one, the more specific phrasing of it I think just shoots it up my rankings a lot.

Number 3!

If you’ve been following me for a while I don’t think this is a surprise at all, I have already done a very in depth post about this panel so I’ll keep my thoughts brief. Red Skull knows that hurting Johnny will hurt Peter, Peter’s Spidey senses go off FOR JOHNNY, and we are given so much angst potential, I love it.

Number 2!

This one is probably a more popular choice than my number one, and I totally get it. The excitement and joy bursting out of Peter when he finally realizes that Johnny is here, he’s real, and he’s alive really gets me. Plus, the added context to the uniform comment being that Johnny literally left Peter his family and his spot on the team in his will. The amount of pure love in this moment and its larger context is abundant, platonic or romantic, it’s there. I feel like everything I could say about this panel has probably been said before, but it is definitely worthy of being the most important spideytorch moment, even if I have one that beats it for me.

Number 1!

For those of you who don’t know, this panel comes from Peter visiting Gwen’s grave and talking to her. That fact alone breaks me in half but then the things he says to her shatter me. Every spider-man fan knows how much Gwen’s death broke Peter, it destroyed him to lose her. Just the fact that Peter admits Johnny brings part of him back is amazing (haha) because that is a hug feat. But then he shatters me even more with his final sentences. After Gwen’s death, we often get a peter who spends too much time as Spidey in order to avoid having to cope with Gwen’s death as Peter, but also as a way to cope with the loss (he’s a complicate man). Spideypool also gets a lot from that arc because of Wade’s reaction to Spider-Man not holding back as much and becoming less of a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and that’s true. The fact that Peter feels like he’s becoming who Spidey is supposed to be again when he’s around johnny is huge! But then! He corrects himself. He’s not Spidey again, he’s Peter. The real person, the man behind the mask, comes back. And then you get the final correction. He’s not just peter again, he’s *Gwen’s* peter again. He is the him that existed with Gwen when he’s with Johnny. That speaks volumes and breaks whatever parts of me are left. How am I expected to read this and not think that Johnny and Peter are soulmates?

Now, I will acknowledge that this is much more of a peter moment than a joint spideytorch moment, much like the moment suggested by discord friend earlier. If that disqualifies it for you as the most important spideytorch panel, I get it. However, for me that doesn’t matter mainly for one key reason. So many classic spideytorch moments show a lot of Johnny having feelings for Peter or making a move on Peter. There have been a lot of times when I’m trying to get a friend into spideytorch, and I feel like I have to clarify that its not as one sided as it seems. Johnny is much more out there with who he is and doesn’t hide his feelings very well (except maybe from himself). So, when we get any spideytorch moment that hones in on peter’s feelings and love for Johnny, that feels so huge to me. This moment alone proves that it isn’t one sided, Peter has deep feelings for Johnny, even if he’s not sure what they are yet, he knows that what they have is special, he wouldn’t be telling Gwen about it otherwise. While it may not be as famous of a spideytorch moment, its an important one, and for me it’s probably the most important one.

Anyway, this has been a way too long post about this topic but if you made it to the end thank you so much! I would love to hear other people’s thoughts on this topic so feel free to share those. Also, just a reminder that these are my opinions, and I am not in charge at all so don’t take it too seriously (unless you want to).

If you’re interested in hearing me, go more in depth on any of these panels (or any other spideytorch panels) shoot me an ask because I could honestly talk in depth for a while about most of these panels and I would love to do so. Thank you again for reading this way to long post and good night spideytorch nation.

#spideytorch #alt descriptions coming soon!#peter parker #johnny storm #peter x johnny #peter parker x johnny storm #mine :)#fantastic four #spider-man #marvel #comics #spideytorch meta #marvel meta #enjoy my chaos

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hazshit-hotel-hater · 5 months

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Hazbin Hotel residents and staff lineup! (+ Cherri Bomb)

They are all done!!

I am so happy with all of them and am incredibly excited to continue adding to this lineup! I’ve already got 2/4 extras finished so we’ll see how things go! I hope I’ll be able to finish them but after 19 hours of drawing for 5 days I think I may explode eventually.

In order from shortest to tallest we have: Niffty (4’6”), Van/Vaggie (5’11”), Charlie (6’6”), Husker (6’7”), Cherri Bomb (6’8”), Alastor (7’0”), Sir Pentious (7’5”), Angel Dust (8’4”).

Very tall people!! Wow!

It’s really nice to see them all together like this and not all of them entirely red and pink. I like red but my god use it in moderation, christ.

For anyone wondering or wanting to do something with these, here are my colour palettes for each of them.

Some of the colours in Angel’s are from other artworks so don’t mind that. Keep in mind my designs aren’t really TV friendly in my style, but I’m sure theres a way to simplify them to fit the criteria. Some of their proportions are also a bit questionable but honestly I like it. I know some people hate how Vivzie gives angel those weird feet but I’m unreasonably attached to them and I love his fucked up legs.

I really love when lineups feel alive, I think I pulled it off well enough! I want to kiss all of them on the head except Alastor because I hate him, but also half of these people are infinitely taller than me. I believe their personalities are much more clear through my poses than whatever the current ones have going on

(I didn’t create or format this colour palette lineup but if you know who did please tell me!!)

All of the characters are so goddamn pink and red it hurts my eyes

Ive said it like a billion times but I should be able to tell whats happening in a scene from a quick glance or at least where people are placed. Maybe it’s just my shit eyes but like seriously man.

I’m probably gonna add more to this post soon but I have 3 more redesigns finished and I really really want to show them off because they alone took 8 hours to finish. Im very impatient and I need to show off my horrible creatures immediately.📺🧵💡

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ozarkthedog · 11 months

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summary: while having a private moment with your boss, the ceo unexpectedly drops by… or so you think.

pairings: Boss!Layla El-Faouly x afab intern!reader x CEO!Marc Spector.

warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. Alt Universe. slight dubcon but reader is willing. power imbalance. free use. f/f -> f/m. established relationship (layla x reader). oral sex (fem receiving). fingering. sex in a private office. dirty talk. praise kink. cum feeding. cream pie.

word count: 3.8k 😅

author’s note: if a fic could come to life, i'd choose this one. thank you to @ghotifishreads for beta'ing and the mental support. i haven't written a fic this long in a while. hope you enjoy. 💙

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

“I have the paperwork all ready for you to sign, Ms. El-Faouly.”

Your boss, Layla, peers up at you with her deep brown eyes from behind her monitor. “Hey, one second. I’ve got to finish this email real quick.” She sends you a soft smile in return before nodding to the right towards a big stack of papers sitting messily on her desk.

Layla had one of the corner offices and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t your favorite spot in the entire building. It floods with sunlight all day long and it’s got a great view of the city. Layla was also another reason why it was your favorite.

“How was your day?” She asks, typing as you place the paperwork on top of the stack.

She’s wearing that dark gray, silk blouse and skirt combo you helped her pick out last week during a night out on the town. You told her it made her look powerful and inviting as you got down on your knees for her later that same evening.

“It’s going alright.” You sigh, drawing imaginary patterns on the corner of her desk.

Layla clicks send on the email and turns her attention to you. She leans her elbows on the edge of her desk with a pensive brow. You can see her brain working on ways to fix your problems before you even tell her. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Nothing is wrong, I swear.” You raise your hands, shaking your head while the gorgeous woman looks you over quizzically.

Stretching your arms over her desk, you grasp her hands, giving them a squeeze. “Honestly, I’m fine. I just..”

“What is it?” she asks, tucking a few strands of her wild curls behind her ear. She leads you around her desk by your clenched hands and pins your chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Tell me.”

Your eyes dance around the room, landing everywhere but on her. She gives your chin a slight shake and forces your eyes back to hers.

You take a deep breath. “Am I doing a good job?”

Layla’s heart sinks. “Of course you are. Why on earth-”

“It’s just, it’s so much work.” You cut her off, spilling your worries now that the dam has been broken. “I hate not being able to get everything to you on time. Not to mention there’s so much paperwork. No one ever says thank you but they’ll definitely yell when you’ve done something wrong. I don’t know if I’m doing things right-”

“C’mere, baby.” She ceases your ramble and pulls you down into her lap and into a searing kiss that makes your head swirl.

Tender, yet fierce lips encompass your own, stealing your gasps with fond affection as she winds her arms around your waist and maneuvers you into the position she wants.

You settle into the pose, kneeling over her lap with your legs on the outsides of her thighs, the cushion of her expensive chair a grateful soft bedding as she forms you to her body.

“Should we really be doing this?” You ask between broken, breathless kisses. It was after 5pm, so it was less likely anyone would walk in on you and her. Still, hesitation nestled in your belly.

“Everyone is gone for the night.” She confirms before lewdly dragging her tongue along the seam of your lips. “There’s no need to worry about them.”

Layla presses her forehead against yours sensing your apprehension. She searches your timid eyes for a moment trying to find the right words to express her gratitude.

“You’re doing a wonderful job. I’ve gotten no complaints from anyone. So if they have an issue, they haven’t told anyone,” she says, holding your gaze. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you more about how lucky I am to have you. My life has been so much better since you started working here.”

She holds your face, rubbing her thumb along the apple of your cheek. “In more ways than one.” She winks, playfully.

“Layla!” You gasp, lightly swatting her on the chest.

She sends you a look you know all too well. The raised eyebrow and slightly parted lips mean trouble is coming. In a good way.

“Oh, baby, you don’t know what you started.” Her hands tickle your ribs in a flash making your eyes bug as you try to keep your giggles at bay. You squirm incessantly in her lap, wishing you could break free but she had a strong hold around your waist.

Your skirt slid up your thighs in the process of all your wriggling, no longer hiding your want for her as your panties are noticeably soaked through.

“Oh, baby, you really are desperate for me.” She coos, eyes growing soft as she feigns a pout. “Poor baby.”

She skillfully undoes the pearly buttons on your white, flower-patterned blouse, sliding the thin material off your shoulders and onto the floor. Soft, warm hands palm your breasts, feeling your heartbeat beneath your skin before she makes you gasp by wickedly pinching your sensitive nipples.

She teases her fingers down further then and along the soaked cloth of your panties, drawing light circles over your throbbing, hidden clit. You whimper into her chocolate curls, a soft pathetic mewl, begging her for more as you perch wearily in her lap.

“What do you say?” she asks with a sharp tongue and pointed stare.

She weaves her arm around your hips, smoothing a palm over the curve of your ass and dragging your panties down in the process before seeking out your aching warmth once more. A well-manicured finger teases down the slick, puffy seam of you from behind, teasing and torturing you until she’s satisfied. She loves breaking you into little pieces and putting you back together.

“Please-” You gasp as your hips buck on their own accord, chasing her fingers for relief. “Please, Layla.”

The older woman’s painted lips tug into a sly smile, “That’s my good girl.”

Your world is consumed. Her brunette curls smell of lavender and spice. They tickle your cheek and senses as she plays your body like a well tuned piano. Her hold on you is immense. There’s never any doubt that she doesn’t adore you.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” Layla coos, grasping the back of your neck with her free hand as her other cups your searing mound. You jolt from the touch but do as she says, meeting her soft yet stoic expression with watery eyes.

She pins you with a firm stare as she slowly presses two fingers into your soaked core. You know better than to turn your gaze from her but your eyes flutter as she finally grants you the sweet relief you’ve been begging for.

“That’s my good girl,” Layla praises as she fills you to the hilt, knuckles grazing your puckered hole and claiming every inch of your cunt.

Deft fingers glide with prowess as a steady, toe curling rhythm is set. Your body trembles as a foggy bliss rolls into your mind. Your knees shake, desperately meeting her thrusts, wanting nothing more than to come around her fingers.

“You take what I give you, sweet girl.” Layla coos, nudging her nose against your cheek. She doesn’t like it when you get greedy. “You know that.”

One of your hands clutches the back of her chair while the other has her blouse in a death grip. A scolding is in your future but you could care less as you rock back onto her fingers chasing the pleasure she’s finally allowing.

Something heavy in your gut twists. The knot Layla began tying when she first got you onto her lap starts tightening. Your muscles ache, ready to collapse under the pressure when she gives you the word.

Just then, a quick succession of knocks rap on her door.

Your head whips up as Layla’s fingers go still. Ice courses through your veins freezing the searing wildfire that burns in your abdomen. You knew it was stupid to try anything at work. Besides the occasionally secretive kiss, you both kept things to a dull roar. No one knew about your relationship and you wanted it to stay that way.

“Shh. Be still.” Layla whispers, unfazed, as she cups her free hand along your jaw. “You trust me. Right?”

You nod in her tender hold, hips pressing just a bit harder into her palm. “Good girl.”

“Who is it?” Layla calls out. Your body jolts as her fingers begin moving again and you send her a bewildered look.

“Marc,” a gruff voice sounds from the other side of the door.

Shit — it was the CEO.

Marc Spector built this company from the ground up. He and Layla had been working together since almost the beginning. They explicitly trusted and respected one another even when they didn’t meet eye to eye.

You’d met Marc only once. It was a brief interaction as one of your coworkers showed you around on your first day. He was personable and made you feel welcome even though you were a lowly intern.

You thought he was handsome and could kill someone with his smile. His jet black quiff would curl on humid days when he forgot to gel it. It made you admire him even more for some reason.

“Come in.” She answers while holding your worried gaze with her own unwavering one.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “Layla, what’re doin-” you hiss, squirming to get free from her arms again.

“Remember your safe word.” she says, quickly just before Marc walks in.

“Layla, I was wonderin-” Marc starts as he steps into the office and instantly cuts himself off at the lewd display.

You can’t breathe. Shame and embarrassment flood your system. If the floor could open up, you’d gladly jump in.

Marc stands in awe. You couldn’t turn to face him but you spy his reflection in the darkened window and that’s more than enough. You don't know how you could ever look him in the eye after this.

“What’s this now?” He ponders, intrigue shaping his words as he steps closer, tapping his knuckles on Layla’s oversized desk.

“I was just rewarding her for doing such a good job,” Layla responds like she doesn’t have you propped in her lap with her fingers buried deep inside your cunt.

You see Marc nod in the reflection and take another step closer. Your body burns like red hot coals as you feel his eyes on your body mainly where Layla’s fingers slowly thrust into your shiny, slick opening.

“That right?” Marc questions with a curious tone as he rubs a hand along his rough five o’clock shadow.

“She’s so attentive and such a hard worker.” Layla praises, finally looking in your direction. “I had to show how much I appreciate her.”

Marc chuckles. It’s a deep huff of laughter that rumbles from his chest and it makes your insides melt. “Is she any good at helping relieve some stress?” he asks pensively while looking at your holes like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“She most certainly is,” Layla smirks, raising a sculpted brow before sliding a finger under your chin, tipping your face in toward her. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

You’d been with Layla since the first day you started working, shared any and all free time together along with the inner workings of your bedroom. Explored each other’s bodies freely and with such passion. Falling to Layla’s feet came naturally to you and she made you feel complete; loved even.

You trusted her to push your limits whenever the time came but you didn’t think you’d ever be in this situation.

“Why don’t you show him how much you love being employed here, baby.” She dubiously insists, slowly nodding her head for you to comply.

You finally gather the courage to look over your shoulder.

Butterflies flutter wildly in your belly as you take in the devilishly handsome man. His hair is mused, like he’d been running a hand through it all day and his button up shirt is loose at the collar, exposing a column of tan skin with two buttons undone and sleeves rolled up exposing his muscular forearms. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

A nervous chortle bubbles up your throat at the nickname. Your insides turn to jelly; and your brain to mush. Your core can’t help but clench as the older man takes you in with a ravenous gaze.

“Oh, she likes that.” Layla quips upon feeling your pussy clamp down on her fingers.

“Does she now?” Marc croons, stepping up right behind you. He smooths his hands along the shape of you. His warmth feels good against your skin and you can’t help but moan when Layla curls her fingers along that spongy spot that makes you feel lightheaded.

“Damn, that’s a pretty pussy.” He drawls, crouching down behind your bent form. With your ass in the air, you already felt so exposed and now the owner of the company was getting a front row view of the most private parts of you.

Sticky, wet noises fill the room as Layla splays her fingers deep inside your velvet channel. You bite your lip to keep your moans at bay. So overstimulated and heated, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“Want a taste?’ Layla asks, jogging you from your stupor.

Marc grunts in response. You look back in time to watch Layla feeding him her shiny, cream coated fingers. The debauched noise he makes while he licks and sucks her fingers clean has your heart falling into your lower half.

You meet his lust filled gaze as he stands. Layla’s fingers leave his lips with a pop, and he palms his hard length through his dark slacks. “You gonna show me how good you are at serving your superiors?”

A nervous whimper escapes from your throat at his question.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, lapping at some of your fallen cream as he pulls his cock out and gives it a languid tug. You watch dumbstruck as he pumps his length, from the obscenely thick base that’s littered with dark wiry hairs to a bulbous, desert blush tip that weeps in his hand after every twist.

“Is that a yes, sweetheart?” he questions.

A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth at your stupefied gaze. Marc raises a hand and grasps the back of your neck, moving your head in a crude up-down motion. “This is how you say, yes.”

Another deep chuckle burrows into your brain and makes you go even more dumb.

Fire ignites in your belly and races up your body, making your face burn. Your mouth bobs open and closed like a fish, wanting to answer him but you can’t even form the simplest word.

“She tends to go a bit brain dead when she gets overwhelmed.” Layla thankfully answers for you.

She thumbs your cheek. “But that pretty pussy of hers makes up for it.”

“You don’t say…” Marc quips before tapping his tip on your soaked folds. Your slick drips down your inner thighs showing that you would indeed make up for your lack of communication.

He notches the thick head past your dripping opening before slowly sinking into your cunt. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out, pressing his full length all the way and grinding the cut of his hips against your ass.

“God damn.” Marc grits, hissing through his teeth at the way you squeeze him.

You whimper from the immense stretch. It feels like his cock is burrowing a new space inside your body. “Layla. Too much–” You gasp, having never felt so full before. “So. Big.”

She cups her hands around your face, hushing your cries. “I know, baby. I know.”

Marc’s hips never falter. He plunges into your heat with an unyielding, merciless pace, pushing slick and cream from between your folds, making your belly twist in pleasurable pain.

His strong hands knead your fleshy hips, pulling you back on every brute shove, forcing you to take every inch he gives. “Such a good girl. Doin’ just what we say.”

Your core clenches that much tighter knowing you’re making them happy. “You love it don’t you, pretty girl?” His heavy balls slap against your exposed clit making you mewl and writhe in the combined hold they had on you.

Sticky, sweet bliss drowns your senses. You’re a wanton mess. A plaything between two beautiful gods as they have their fun..

You whine when Marc slows his rhythm, canting his hips so his cock stays buried deep. “I thought you were one of the best.” Marc sighs with a shake of his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. “But it seems you’re not as attentive as I thought.”

Your brow furrows as you look at him over your shoulder.

“I think it’s time to show your Boss how much you appreciate her.”

Marc moves quickly, dragging you out of Layla’s arms and down onto your knees in front of her spread legs. Layla quirks a brow at him.

“What? I wanted to see how attentive she really was.” Marc says, talking about you like you weren’t speared open on his heavy cock.

Layla pulls her dress up over her legs and spreads her thighs. Her panties looked much like your own, wet, sticky, and just begging to be removed.

“Go on. Show her how much you love being on your knees for her.” Marc commands. With a snap of his hips, he jolts your bones and forces your head between Layla’s thighs. “Eat your boss’s cunt.”

Heat flames your face at his words when a familiar hand curves around your jaw. Layla pulls her panties to the side and leads you gently, well as gently as she can while you’re being plowed from behind, to her slick folds.

She sighs as your tongue licks a long stripe from her weeping opening to her clit. You flick the tiny nub, drawing tight circles for a brief moment before sliding down her folds. You lap hungrily at her slit, freely licking into her tight hole and sliding your tongue in and out from her heat.

“There you go.” Layla coos down at you with a smile. She scratches her nails along your scalp making you purr against her clit. She grinds her cunt against your mouth, chasing her pleasure. Nothing made you happier than making Layla feel good. Your core throbs when she gasps and fucks her mound onto your tongue.

A rough, grating moan crawls from Marc’s chest as your cunt quivers and milks his length. “Such a good girl letting us use you like this.” He grits, slamming his hips harder into your ass and knocking your face steadily into Layla’s cunt. “Like you were made for it.”

Your core spasms at his words. You did love being on your knees for them. At their beck and call, wanting to be of service however they needed.

Marc lays his body along your spine, pressing his clothed chest against your bare back, and nuzzles his curved nose along your cheek. A large hand slinks around your hip and notches nimble fingers against your clit, swirling tight circles around the throbbing nub. “Wanna know all the pretty noises you make when you come.”

“Oh, they’re just the sweetest.” Layla moans, breathlessly as your lips lock around her clit. You suckle the tiny nub until

she’s digging her fingers into your hair, writhing and gasping.

Marc groans at the sight of his business partner unfurling with pleasure. His breath is hot in your ear and he crowds you even more, leaving no chance of escape.

“Come on, girl. Be good and come for us.” Marc commands, shifting his hips until his throbbing tip grazes that hidden spot behind your clit.

With Layla humping your face and Marc sheathing his cock further inside you with every shove, you’re pushed to the edge before you can even think. Your cream coated lips fall open with a feverish wail as your body locks tight.

Your muscles shake uncontrollably as you careen off the edge. Your soaked core clenches like a fist, forcing Marc’s pace to stutter and drag him along with you. He lets loose a dark roar when his balls draw up and he fucks your trembling core to the brim with his thick seed.

His cock twitches between your folds, pumping you full with every last drop. “God damn, you weren’t kidding. She more than made up for going all dumb eariler.” He slowly eases from your core with a hiss and tucks his half hard length back into his slacks.

Your head is still reeling from the powerful orgasm and Marc’s compliment makes you just that much more lightheaded. Thank goodness you were already on the ground.

“Oh you’re making such a mess.” Layla gasps when she sees the thick river of white that runs down your thighs. Your knees ache from being on the hard carpet for so long but the pain is forgotten as the pair crowds over you.

You whine as Layla and Marc drag their fingers through the hot stickiness and press them into your mouth.

You gag heavily around the two sets of fingers, tears pricking your eyes as they cover your tongue in the combined spend. “Good girl. Clean up the mess you made.” Marc nods slowly, heavy lidded with a deep moan of satisfaction as you choke and sputter while Layla proudly smiles down at you. “Did so well for me; for us.”

She shares a curious look with Marc before turning her gaze back to you and thumbs the last bit of white into your mouth.

“Might need to borrow her again sometime soon.” Marc comments as they help you onto your feet. “You know how stressed I can get.”

Your legs are shaky, like a newborn doe, as Layla brushes down your crumpled skirt while Marc helps you back into your blouse, securely buttoning you up.

“We’ll see about that.” Layla responds as she gathers you into her arms and sits back down on her chair, tucking your sleepy head under her chin.

“I’ll see you ‘round the office, sweetheart.” He raises a hand and tenderly grazes your dewy temple with his knuckles.

As he sees himself out, he winks at Layla and she smirks before he shuts the door leaving the two of you in peaceful silence.

As you relax in Layla’s arms, burrowing yourself into her safe warmth, you notice through sleepy eyes that her monitor is still on. The email she was typing when you dropped off the paperwork lights up the screen.

𝚃𝙾: 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 (𝙺𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚌)

𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝: 𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 - 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚏

𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚂𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝙻𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚊 𝙴𝚕-𝙵𝚊𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚢

𝙲𝙵𝙾 𝙺𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚌

*evil laughter* they were in cahoots the entire time!

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

#layla el faouly #marc spector #Layla el faouly x reader #layla el faouly x reader x marc spector #marc spector x reader #oscar isaac #may calamawy

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miss-eli-starfleet · 4 months

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My critique of CW’S The Flash

The Flash is one of my absolute favourite shows, and I think it deserves one of these. Yes my favourite shows deserve critiques because there are changes I would’ve liked to see instead. This is all just my opinion on the show, not exactly hating it. Plus.. I saw someone else doing something similar to here goes.

Imma be clear at the start. I don’t hate WestAllen, just really really disappointed with how they were written in the latter seasons sometimes.

Props to every actor in the Flash who put all their effort into the show whether the script was cringe or not.

Season 1-2 was FIRE. No complaints. Loved the WestAllen.

Season 3 was good,

but I think they could’ve done Savitar better. Still liked him as the big bad being depressed/emo!Barry. I’ll say that I got really attached to Harry in S2 which made me wonder why they have HR there at all? The dude grew on me, and he added humour to the team, but honestly between him and Harry, it could’ve easily been Harry. Though it means he would die at the end.. so I’m glad Season 3 had HR Wells instead sorry not sorry.

The relationship between Julian Albert and Barry was so fun to watch. Which reminds me, LOVED Eobard’s appearance as Matt Letscher in 3x01. I have no idea why they continue to use Wells’ face like bruh. Your pretending as Wells is over so like why. GIMME MORE MATT!EOBARD.

I loved Frost???

Season 4 was also great.

I’d say more quality than season 3 because it was their first time against a big bad that WASN’T a speedster yet posed a more than adequate challenge to the team. The plot was nice and unique (I really loved Hazard!). I’ll say that DEVOE was kinda showing some red flags before becoming the Thinker in his relationship with Marlize, like he seemed kinda overly possessive of her. Glad that she switched to helping Team Flash after seeing what her husband had become. Loved her “Thinker’s first victim” line.

I felt like they started focusing on Cecile too much? Her role was vital to the plot at the end with helping Barry hop into Devoe’s mind to retrieve Ralph. And speaking of Ralph, I was neutral towards the character at first, but he grew on me. Also why fire him for sometning he did like 10yrs ago. That made no sense. I’d rather Ralph than more Cecile or Allegra.

LOVED ALL THE BANTER BETWEEN HARRY AND CISCO. And FROST FROST FROST!!! I liked her S4 outfit. I also think Barry’s supersuit was the best in this season.

One of my favourite episodes was “Flashtime”. Awesome awesome filler episode.

Season 5 was also great.

Barry’s supersuit was trash tho imo. He just looks like a weird deformed strawberry.

Above average but not quite as good as S4. LOVED NORA WORKING WITH THAWNE then Barry finding out and tossing her into the pipeline cell lol. Just the betrayal, and then dumping her in the middle of a random street in the future. Loved all the father-daughter moments she had with Barry. Cool to see the writers creativity in “meta-tech”.

However Iris.. bro in 5x19 she has some issues bringing up the fact Barry NEEDED to go into the Speedforce TWICE. And then her telling Barry to his face that she didn’t care that Nora was working with Thawne. Like bro, he murdered your husband’s mother and caused sm problems. And you don’t care about that?? Good to see that Barry called her out in the end.

Imma complain about freaking Sherloque again. Why not Harry? Even after what happened to him in S4, I think he could’ve figured out that Nora is secretly working with Thawne. Like dude’s still smart af.

Nora getting erased from existence at the very end.. sad :( I miss S5 Nora

Season 6.

I feel like this is when everything started going downhill. I didn’t care for Mirror Monarch. The mirror!Iris storyline was interesting to see. Idk what happened the rest of the season. That’s how much I didn’t care for this season lol. I think the other half was about Ramsey and how he wanted to make everyone zombies. Man I HATED Sue Dearborn or however you spell her name. She just took up too much screentime. This is when it started feeling like “Iris & Friends” instead of “The Flash”.

Liked to see how Barry dealt with slowly losing his speed bc he was killing the speedforce lol. Liked how the Caitlin/Frost duo became separate people. It was cool. At least we got that lol.

I think this is when Allegra comes in. I honestly can’t stand her. Like the whole her and her sister trope? Why.

The one thing I did like was Barry’s artificial speedforce gave him speed thinking. Awesome episode to watch. EXCEPT NASH. WHY. His sacrifice is useless in the end because of the whole “Iris is Barry’s lightning rod” thing. Have nothing about a speedster’s lightning rods in the comics, just didn’t like how that was written into the show. It eventually got really annoying.

Season 7.

Where do I even begin. This is when Barry’s “children” became a thing, and then suddenly speedforce!Nora wanting to kill all of them? Like what??? Where did that come from? Dion’s storyline was interesting. The rest were just.. Meh. And the CGI was so cringe.

I loved Abra Kadabra??? Why they gotta kill him off in one episode.

Does Chillblaine start coming in this season? I dislike him in general.

Season 8.

THIS IS WHEN BARRY’S ACTUAL CHILDREN COME BACK.

Now with Nora getting erased in S5, I really would’ve preferred if they gave us Tornado Twins instead. Like you can even use the same actors, but I honestly don’t really like the new Nora. I did like seeing her interaction between her and her family.

Also. Bart. I. Have. Major. Problems. I LOVE Bart but he is supposed to be Barry’s GRANDSON. Give us Don Allen instead. I did like the episode where they messed up the timeline, went back to 2013 and then accidentally reset Jay into the timeline. Also loved the episode with the whole Barry and the gamma radiation making him age hella fast. Bro was basically a zombie at the end and still overloaded the machine with the speedforce.

The. Stupid. Power Rangers godspeed arc was shit and them being Bart’s Thawne-like arch nemesis. Like boy, don’t compare Thawne with your godspeed problems. Don’t even start. Also what is with the “Negative Forces” and “Positive Forces” Power Rangers thing and then Iris’ time sickness? At this point, The Flash just started to feel like a soap opera.

I liked Chester even though he was a “replacement” for Cisco. He was unique. But the whole Allegra/Chester budding relationship where did that come from?? It just seemed very cringe and didn’t do much for the plot besides drama I guess. Khione was meh. Like just give us Caitlin with Frost in some way. I don’t care about Khione and her arc. Pls give us more Barry and not so much Cecile and Allegra.

Season 9

The show should just be renamed “Power Rangers: Iris & Friends” at this point. They made an entire episode without Barry?? Like if I pick up a Flash comic book, I expect it to be about THE FLASH. Not his random friends. Like yes, his friends can make appearances but don’t give me a whole dang episode without Barry THE MAIN CHARACTER. Also how the hell did Cecile become that OP, where is the character development.

Idk where Chillblaine comes in but I just don’t like him, not to mention that I don’t like the relationship between him and Frost. Like what.

Eddie’s Cobalt Blue arc and Red Death arc could’ve been done WAY better. I didn’t see any plot relevance in any way. It was written so poorly. Red Death was just like evil speedster!Batman or something. Please don’t bring our beloved Eddie back if you gonna write him all just jealous of Barry and him somehow becoming the new avatar of the Negative Speedforce. And what does Batwoman have anything to do with this (I believe she appears in the finale villains arc)l

There is legit only one episode I like in S9. The one that comes “full circle”. The one where Barry gets stuck in 2000, gets to chill with his parents for one day, and then comes full circle with Matt!Eobard killing Nora. SEASON 1 QUALITY. They even use the same bg music which awwww. And the “If I can spend one more day with my parents, then what would I say to them?” Line? Chef’s kiss.

Did not like the finale. His final run speech was okay about sharing his gift. Definitely would’ve preferred if Barry became the lightning bolt that struck him in S1 like in the comics.

Idk which episodes: Loved all the Amunet & Frost storyline, and then Goldface time to time appearances. Especially “Officer Chemist” lol.

#this was long af #dc #dc comics #Barry Allen #the flash #Iris west #WestAllen #cisco ramon #caitlin snow #Harrison wells #Eobard Thawne #reverse flash #eli speaks

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 10 months

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Hey Raven! Hope you're doing well, and I hope you had a great holiday, if you celebrate, that is.

I hate to clutter your ask box with something like this, and you don’t have to answer, you can just read this with an open mind, but I feel you're the only one I could go to with this without being straight-up attacked. It's also why I'm asking anonymously.

But, what's your stance on the whole war between the JP and EN versions of the game? I'm not asking you to pick a side or anything, I just wanna know your thoughts.

Obviously, I'm an EN player, and idk if you seen, but there's some hateful things out there about us, and honestly, it's hurtful and disheartening to every time I get up here. And it's always on this we as players can't control. Mainly the dialog translations and it's changes.

I've seen people calling us dumb and weak, saying we water down everything because we can't take it, etc. I've seen people saying we don't know how to really correctly and analyze characters and that we're not even playing the same game. They say we've ruined the game, the fandom, and that they wished it was never localized. I've also seen quite horrible things, but I don’t wanna repeat the things said, but yeah.

And the kicker is, it's only the JP side I've seen post this stuff. I've seen more hate come from that side more than anything, and of course not all, like you. You're my fave btw.

So yeah, thoughts?

Hello, hello! ^^ I’m not really a super big celebration person but I’m hunkering down for a cozy hibernation this winter ❄️ I hope everyone had/will have a good 2023 holiday season~

Before I provide my response to the question posed in this ask, I want to make sure we're all on the same page for this discussion first:

Please be advised that my perspective is coming from that of someone who started off playing JP in March 2020 and then picked up EN when it came out in January 2022. I have played on both servers since their initial launches.

When I refer to TWST JP and EN fans in this post, I am only referring to the English speaking fans (as in, English speaking fans who play JP and English speaking fans who play EN).

For the sake of simplicity, I will be disregarding “hybrid” fans (English speaking fans who play both JP and EN) as a separate category and will lump them in with “JP” fans (English speaking fans who play JP). This is because I assume most mixed fans started off with JP and then adopted EN later on.

I am not talking about ALL English-speaking JP and/or EN fans here; I am only talking about the ones Anon described in their ask.

As the Anon said, I ask that you go into this post with an open mind; do not assume that I will bash JP and/or EN, take sides, defend or condone toxic attitudes, or that this post exists just to “stir the pot”. That is not the purpose of my response. The purpose is to have a meaningful and constructive discussion about TWST’s fandom culture, particularly as it pertains to English-speaking fans. I hope that in talking about this, we can better understand “the other side” (however you may personally define that) and work toward making the fandom space more welcoming for all.

Please read the entire post and think about your own choice of words before commenting and/or sending in an ask about this topic, should you choose to.

To the Anon that submitted this ask and to anyone else that plays EN and may have had similar thoughts: I’m sorry to hear about the negative experiences you’ve had in the TWST fandom. I hope that this post brings you some peace of mind, if not at least some catharsis for what you may be feeling.

Firstly, it’s important to understand the mindset of both JP and EN fans. As such, I will delve into the background and the development of each side. It is NOT meant to justify either side, but rather to inform you on how each perspective originated and grew to what it is today.

The animosity and opposition to an official English version of TWST has been present for a while. An English version of TWST has always been contentious, even long before the localization was announced. Some wanted it to happen for accessibility reasons (as some people find it tedious to hunt for translations) or were supportive of the idea because it means a larger fanbase and thus more potential to make friends or to discuss the game. Others were more apprehensive of the quality of a localization (as much tends to be cut or censored to make the content more palatable) and/or claimed that expanding the fanbase in such a way would bring in more “bad apples”.

When EN first came out, it did, in fact, expand the fanbase. However, many were quick to notice the many (and I do mean many) errors and short sightings present in it: frequent spelling and grammar mistakes in the game and on official social media posts, inconsistent phrasing, incorrect translations, game-breaking glitches, frequent censorship, half-hearted promotions, etc. EN also became infamous for its absolutely brutal pacing of content in the early days, particularly related to the limited story event schedules (including back-to-back Halloween events). This, in combination with EN’s constant pushing of paid gems (which occurs far more frequently than in the JP server) has left a bad taste in JP fans’ mouths. To them, TWST EN did not make a good first impression and continued to misstep again and again. This is especially true of the many dialogue changes to make the TWST localization more “culturally appropriate” (which is the definition of what a localization is; there is a reason why TWST is not called a translation, which would be a more accurate/“faithful” or direct translation of the dialogue).

The claim that “EN fans are weak/can’t handle the real story” likely arises from how EN has removed or altered details which may offend western audiences. This includes things like the term “master”, the mention of Azul’s weight, Kalim’s “30-40” siblings, etc. These are conscious decisions made on the part of the game localizers to make TWST more broadly appealing and appropriate for a western audience, where such topics are contentious or considered taboo. This is adapting TWST to a new culture so that it can (in a dry business sense) perform well. However, I also want to mention that some cultural changes EN made do significantly alter the story/characters (such as Jamil no longer stating his family will be on the streets if they defy the Asims; in EN he only says his parents will be mad at him), particularly if you are viewing through an EN-only lens. Unfortunately 😔 as much as I can point the nuances of localization out, there will always be fans who still oppose any sort of censorship. This is also true of the anime and manga community in general, and this post isn’t large enough in scope to tackle those issues. I only mention this here to help you, the reader, better understand the changes from Disney/Aniplex.

A lot of the original negative feelings that were there before EN was announced were then confirmed by the official release, and this strengthened the dislike of EN on the part of JP fans. These JP fans may then become hostile toward EN fans who defend the localization (whether or not they have the context of TWST JP) because, in the eyes of the JP fans, the localization is not as good as it could be. Ultimately, it seems like their intense feelings stem from passion for what they love and not wishing to see it “desecrated” rather than an actual hatred of fellow fans. JP fans are upset because they fear EN fans are not getting the full scope of the characters and a story they enjoy, and they want others to appreciate those aspects of TWST as well.

Of course 💦 the fact is that EN fans are not responsible for the localization. But EN is there and that is what is the easiest and the most time efficient for English-speaking audiences, so most people will go with that rather than alternatives (ie hunting down fan translations). The issue is that some JP fans conflate simply consuming the localization as being bad or the “wrong” thing to do, and thus, by proxy, extend this frustration to EN fans themselves (especially those those are EN only and have zero prior knowledge of JP) and not just the product. Again, this is because they tend to see JP as the “full” version, without the changes or censorship present in EN. This inevitably leads to discrepancies in understanding between JP and EN, whether due to staggered release of new content or how the characters are presented differently between the two servers. To those who say “the versions are basically the same except for minor changes”, I disagree. There are several dialogue changes that appear small in isolation, but because TWST’s narrative is told primarily via dialogue, those “small” changes are actually very large and can drastically modify how one perceives a character or situation without explicit knowledge of JP to balance it out. When Jamil is made an “employee” rather than a “servant” and worries about his parents being mad at him instead of his entire family literally being on the streets for defying the Asims, it takes away the bite from his motivations. When Cater inserts a #WOW that wasn’t there in JP while Riddle is breaking down sobbing, or makes him come off as far more insensitive than emotionally aware. These are just a few examples, but they are very prominent ones that can change how an EN only fan sees things. The idea that “we aren’t even playing the same game” can ring true to some JP players because of this.

It cannot be helped that EN fans would interpret the characters and stories differently when the localization is their only or primary source of TWST content. Not everyone has the time or the desire to look for more accurate fan translations (not all fan translations are the same quality), as some JP fans have suggested. If EN fans want to, that’s great! It’s nice to expand one’s knowledge and to be cognizant of the changes between the versions. There are many blogs out there dedicated to educating people on these matters, and many EN and JP fans alike flocking there to be informed. But that level of engagement shouldn’t be demanded of anyone. To deem those that don’t engage in “further research” as “lazy”, “dumb”, or a “fake fan” is not acceptable, not in the name of love or otherwise. The expectation to “do homework” only puts pressure on EN fans to be a certain way or else be rejected by the fandom, and that only breeds more hatred and negativity. It makes EN fans feel “not worthy” of being a fan unless they study up, when the truth of the matter is that no matter how much we like TWST, it’s… media at the end of the day. People are free to consume their choice of media however they like, and that includes casually or at their own pace. It’s not fun to be in a fandom where others are breathing down your neck and policing everything you do, especially since these spaces are meant to be a temporary escape from reality. If JP fans meant to gatekeep in an effort to make others recognize the “real” greatness of TWST, then it’s failing because this kind of attitude only serves to drive new fans away.

Among EN fans, there is this idea that “JP fans are stuck-up”. I can understand where this thinking comes from, as I have witnessed hatred for EN myself which comes unprompted and has killed many conversations. Admittedly, some points are geared toward the company themselves (and those are valid), such as rushed and/or inaccurate translations or the pushing of paid gems, but I’ve also seen my fair share of nastier, invalid comments directed at EN fans. There are JP fans who actively hope that EN will shut down or who outright dismiss EN fans because of the version they play, thinking of their thoughts and opinions as “lesser” or doubting their media literacy skills. It’s true that this behavior is out there in the fandom, and that is unfortunately a sad reality.

That being said, JP on EN hate is not the only form I see, and nor is it the majority. It goes both ways (and I would say about equally for all, although this is just based on anecdotes and not objective data). There is plenty of JP on JP hate (particularly when someone spreads mistranslations around as though it were the truth) and EN on EN hate (arguments over what is and is not appropriate to ship, differences in headcanons, harassing fans that fall outside an “acceptable” age range, etc). There is also EN on JP hate which feeds into a dangerous back-and-forth with JP on EN hate. I briefly mentioned before that EN fans tend to believe JP fans are elitist, and this leads to assumptions being made about anyone that critiques EN and sometimes lashing out about it. I myself have previously been accused of “hating” EN because I often make posts commenting on the changes made between EN and JP (which ones I think work and which I think don’t). This preemptively defensive behavior drives another wedge between JP and EN fans, making JP fans reluctant to engage with EN fans, which then fuels the belief that JP fans think they’re “better” than EN fans (when really, some JP fans may be intentionally distancing themselves for their own wellbeing). Additionally, a lot of behavior deemed more acceptable in western oriented fandom spaces (such as moral justifications, taking pictures without crediting, callouts of other fans, and incorrect use of fandom tags) are not so for JP spaces (or those familiar with JP spaces). There have also been times when EN fans harass the actual Japanese-speaking side of the fandom (be it Japanese fans or the devs themselves) and demand (not ask, but demand) content that caters to them or free translations of fan comics they make. When EN fans fail to observe such “basic fandom etiquette”, it leads to JP fans thinking them rude or entitled, which makes JP fans reluctant to interact with EN fans and, again, feeds into confirmation bias. It’s a viscous system.

What is “ruining” the fandom is not just one side. There has always been turmoil present in fandom spaces. It just appears more visible now that TWST’s popularity has grown to this scale. Right now, both sides (JP and EN) are antagonizing each other because of a loud minority that’s attacking the other side. That minority then gets extrapolated and assumed to be behavior of the entirety of the other side, and that is what keeps the hate going.

If I’m being entirely honest 😔 I don’t think these tensions will realistically ever die out; the fandom is too large to “stomp out” what has already been established in its culture. When both sides are fueled by something so strong—a passion for TWST—it’s hard to seek out and/or to consider alternative perspectives. We become fixated on their own negative experiences and fail to think about where the “others” maybe be coming from, and then close ourselves off from discussion. That promotes isolation and contempt rather than friendliness and cooperation.

If we want change, then it starts at an individual level and in smaller TWST communities. We shouldn’t assume the worst of “JP” or “EN” fans; we are all TWST fans. Let’s keep open-minded and welcome other fans and their diverse schools of thought. And if you don’t feel comfortable with that, that’s also fine! You’re allow to keep a distance and curate your online space as you like; just please don’t go out of your way to disparage others, you have your own lane and others have theirs. Don’t encroach on other lanes.

Maybe we don’t necessarily agree with each other or we think may hold different opinions—but that’s good, isn’t it? The freedom of thought and the open exchange of ideas promotes flexible thinking and can lead you to see things from a new angle, or perhaps develop a new idea of your own. If we all thought the same way, then life becomes boring or it can cultivate an “us versus them” narrative that sparks online wars.

Let me put it this way to close off the post: isn’t this the message that Twisted Wonderland itself is trying to teach us? The true value of attending Night Raven College isn’t just about receiving a good education. Countless times it has been stressed to us (and often by Lilia, the oldest and wisest of the core cast, someone who used to be resistant to opening up to outsiders) that it is vital to understand other people in spite of how different we may be. Let’s take a page out of the students’ book and try to live up to that ^^

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst en #twisted wonderland en #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #question #advice #Azul Ashengrotto #Riddle Rosehearts #Cater Diamond #Scarabia #Kalim Al-Asim #Jamil Viper #Lilia Vanrouge

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orange-demons-deactivated2024 · 5 months

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we all love avatar/bosch, but i offer you avatar/ed as a concept, because i'm deep in the ship trenches

Ohh! Avatar/Ed is such an interesting ship. and srry for the wait! I didn't forget about you I swear! I honestly thought he would have more fics on tumblr because of how popular he is. And here I thought Bosch was the underappreciated one. Dude barely has 5 fics to his name. Also I didn’t know if this was a statement or a request, so I present you with some headcanons. Enjoy!

Ed doesn't want civilians getting caught in his fight to free people from Shadaloo's experiments. So he tells you that if you stay with him you may regret it.

He’s quite distant and cocky when he talks to people, so expect some push back when you try to get close to him.

That’s kind of expected when he tells you to get lost after you reached your full mastery with him.

He doesn't care about who you used to be or if you have regrets about the past, he only cares about the version of you in front of him. The You now.

His friends are important to him, they're like his family, so he would want you to be on good terms with them before he continues the relationship.

He hides most of his feelings behind a wall, but when he finds people he cares about Ed will develop a soft spot for them.

He's one of those people who can take a punch better than he can take a hug.

But that doesn't mean he'll push you away if you decide to be affectionate with him. He'll tense up at first, then he'll relax once he realizes you aren’t a threat.

Ed would want you to meet Balrog someday, and meet the man that shaped him to be who he is. Well...he'll bring you to him whenever Ed decides to reach out to him.

Every person who wields Psycho Power uses it in a way to enhance their own individual skill. So he'll work with you to help you find your unique style to the best of his ability.

As your master and potentially your future bf, he wants to make sure you're not using Psycho Power all willy-nilly. It's dangerous and he doesn't want you to get seriously hurt, despite you telling him you can handle yourself.

His observation skills are sharp so he can pick up small things about you that you probably haven't noticed about yourself. Like habits or certain mannerisms.

So he can tell when you really want something when your eyes linger on it for a split second longer. Which he ends up getting for you because he likes to see you smile.

Ed can also see when you want to be affectionate with him in public. He saw you catching glances at his hands when walking beside him. But you tucked your hands in your pockets after a while of contemplating. He reluctantly offered his hand to you, because as much as he hates PDA he likes you more.

He still has nightmares every so often that makes him wake up in a cold sweat, so please hug him and tell him everything's fine.

In SF6 there are hints of corruption in his KO win pose where he laughs manically. He snaps out of it fairly quickly when you point it out and gets ashamed for letting his emotions get the best of him.

As much as a hard ass he is, he appreciates it if you check up on him just like he does with you.

Like that fortune teller said, Ed is scared of losing himself and turning into something else. Would you even recognize him?

He does get concerned if he hasn’t heard from you in a while, which prompts him to go on a full-blown search. Even if you don’t think it isn’t a big deal, he does. So he wants to make sure you’re okay.

If you’re not feeling well mentally, he’ll lend his ear to you. He has his fair share of rough days, but if there’s anything he can do to relieve some of your stress he’ll do it.

On the flip side, he doesn’t want to pick fights with you but it sometimes happens when he gets frustrated. Ed has a lot of burden on his shoulders and it doesn’t help if you’re always sticking your nose in dangerous situations all the time.

He cares, he really does. It’s just that he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

Falke would knock some sense into him if he ever goes too far and forces him to apologize to you. Makes him get on his knees and everything.

Balrog was his unofficial official father figure so Ed picked up on some of his habits later on in life. Good and bad. And his inability to show his emotions without it turning into frustration is one of them.

He’ll try to tone it down for you in the future, but it is something he’s going to have a hard time with, especially since he’s already having an internal conflict with himself on a daily basis.

There are 2 types of kisses I can see him giving: short and abrupt or long and passionate. It depends on his mood and if he’s in public. He would hate to be seen as that couple who can’t stop locking lips at the train station. He’ll get embarrassed.

He would also want to spar against you and help you fix your form when you’re off balance. As mean as it sounds, he’ll make you fall on your ass and tell you to do it again. In his head, he’s teaching you how to be a better fighter. But if it gets too much, tell him. And he’ll adjust his demeanor towards you.

Like those cheesy romcoms. Ed would give you his oversized jacket when it got too cold outside. But don’t tease him too much about it because he’ll threaten to take it back. He won’t.

Ed roams freely at night, so most of your dates will consist of street food and fighting. He also likes to go to the movies with you and watch those shitty horror movies whenever he has downtime.

But ultimately, he’s never in one place for too long. And if you want to keep in contact with him, you better like long-distance relationships.

Because of the distance, he’ll call you at least once a day no matter where he is, because he wants to hear your voice. How’s it been? Are you doing okay? Any assholes giving you shit? Etc.

But similar to his father, if things get too dangerous on his end, he’ll contemplate cutting you off from his life.

He's the type of lover who genuinely wants the best for you, with or without him.

#street fighter x reader #ed x reader #ed x avatar #sf6 x reader #sf x reader #street fighter 6 x reader #street fighter ed #ed headcannons #street fighter #street fighter 6

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cheezbites · 1 year

Text

How COD Characters Would Text

✎: I’m such a slow writer/procrastinator so sorry for the slow posts. But I upload lots of skits and I know y’all love those !!😋

♡Summary: Headcanons of how COD characters would text.

Ghost

• He rarely replies to you or sees your messages, as for how you never see him texting you in the first place. (Or even using his phone for that matter). Every once in a blue moon, you would finally see a highlighted double check mark next to your messages.

• Has a black screen set as his profile picture.

• Leaves you on read and you took it personally, but he addresses your texts in real life since he finds the keyboard too confusing, and he doesn't have time to figure it out.

“I saw your text on the... Uh, ‘What App’, the meeting’s going to be at 2:30pm.”

Valeria

• Strictly sends voice notes; she also finds the keyboard too complicated. If she’s in an environment where she can’t send voice messages then she texts you back painstakingly slow, or she doesn’t bother trying.

• She adored calling you to hear your voice and have genuine conversations instead of staring at a screen and repeatedly tapping away. She also loved hearing about your day and what you were up to.

• Texts you at any time but mostly at night.

König

• Would only text you if you texted him; he has his notifications on for vital and crucial things but most importantly when you send him messages. Also a very messy typer, it would be impossible to not find a single typo.

• Has a cute stray cat he saw on a walk as his profile pic.

• König would frequently discover emojis; although you knew them all like the back of your hands you acted oblivious for him.

“🤪🤪 Did u kno this emoji existed?!”

“miawwww🙀!!! This emoji is very silly, we should use it more often.”

“🙈🙊🙈jajaja ich bin ein schüchterner Affe..”

Price

• Sends you corny facebook memes to start your day. You act as if you hated them and they're obnoxious but deep down you love when he sends them. You know it’s an ‘off day’ for him when you don’t receive one.

• He’s a massive punctuation enthusiast, and he doesn't type slow but not too fast despite his age.

“Good morning, how are you doing today?”

“Please ensure to drink lots of water, it’s going to be very hot later on.”

“Please don’t touch Simon’s sandwich in the fridge. He’s feeling very stubborn today.👍”

• Would make a group chat so the group can bond but half of you guys left over petty arguments and the other half are inactive.

• Him fishing on some boat as his profile picture.

Soap

• Has one of the default options as his profile picture. Or him posing with a rifle.

• Sends you memes you actually laugh at, they’re usually short videos. But then on the other hand, he sends you corny puns that you still find yourself laughing at:

Soap: “Y can’t scientist trust atoms?”

Y/N: “???? why”

Soap: “Cause they make up everything!”

Y/N: “hahahah soo funny dude😐”

And behind the screen you have the biggest shit-eating grin.

• Always double texts you, even if you say you’re busy and can’t take messages. Not even that, he’d triple text you because he can and nothing is stopping him.

• He’s on Do Not Disturb most of the time from all the spam emails he receives, mostly because he carelessly gave out his information to dodgy websites.

Gaz

• Over shares information so casually and then changes the subject, it honestly baffles you at times. To him, there's no such thing as TMI.

“Nearly got run over heading to the shops, but how are you?”

“There was a stabbing at the local chippy shop. What’s for dinner?”

“Just saw a homeless person buy drugs with money someone accidentally dropped. Fun day.”

• Texts you all the time, the moment you send him a message he opens it no matter what time it is or where he’s at.

• Has a selfie as his profile picture.

Alejandro

• Would try-hard being cool so he uses a shit ton of emojis in nearly every text, you can't help but laugh at his failed efforts. And expect lots of typos from him, too.

“Yo😁 any plans todsy🤔🤔??”

“Jow do I turn dowm the brightness.😎☀️”

• He only messages you in the afternoon, in the morning he's too occupied and at night he’s getting that beauty sleep.

• You’re like his tech assistant, always helping him with the simplest of things. This one time, he set his keyboard to another language and was only messaging in Arabic until you could help him set it back to English.

Rudy

• Spams you like it’s super urgent, only to say: “never mind, it’s not important” knowing damn well he had nothing to say in the first place.

“hello?!??!”

“pick up y/n, very important. asap!!!!!”

“are you dead? where are you.”

And once you do get back to him…

“nvm the issue was resolved.”

• Turned off auto capitalisation, but he’s still punctual every now and then. Never sends emojis.

• On that note, whenever you say “ur” he does that know-it-all thing which we all know and hate where he says “You’re*”.

Horangi

• A mix of voice notes and texts, he generally does not text whatsoever even if it’s urgent. If you wanted to reach him you had to do so face-to-face.

• He would leave you on read with no shame and forget what you even sent ten seconds later.

• Is committed to that default image as his profile picture, he knows how to change it but he can't be bothered and he doesn’t even know what to change it to.

Keegan

• When he sends voice notes he acts confused as to why you’d bookmark them. (Fully aware girls simp for his voice - it’s a massive ego boost at times).

• Calls you early in the morning, (really early). As he knows you inevitably snooze your alarm and stay in bed for ‘a few more minutes’ but you stay glued there until the afternoon. It’s a really efficient way of waking you up so you’re not complaining.

Masterlist

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feyspeaker · 7 months

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Hi! I made an account just so I could follow your work. Your art is brilliant and honestly and inspiration to where I want to be. I’m an older artist who has all the anxiety when it comes to improving my process. I’m trying to get into digital portraits and I have so many ideas in my head, but it’s frustrating because I’m not where I want to be to make this happen. What are some tricks that help you/software do you use? Of course, you don’t have to share anything that makes you uncomfortable. I currently have procreate and an iPad, but I feel a little lost. Wondering if I need a different writing tablet and photoshop. Not sure. I just eventually want to find that 3D, but also artistic look you are able to achieve.

hey there! thank you so much!!

ultimately, I will sound like a broken record but I always recommend you sign up for local figure drawing or painting classes. have people pose for you at home and sketch with charcoal and paper. go to the zoo and sit down in front on an exhibit for an hour and try to draw the animals in front of you as fast as you can and fill a couple of pages, move on to a new exhibit and do it again!

nothing is more powerful of a tool to learn than whatever writing utensil you have in your purse and the back of a napkin when you see something you'd like to capture. I've spent quite frankly my entire rememberable life doing this. I used to spend every single day in middle school/high school/my brief failed stint in community college with a pack of cheap sharpies and a beat up binder full of old worksheets and homework to draw on the backs of.

drawing/painting from life will teach you better than anything.

I use a very outdated version of Photoshop, and only got a "nice" tablet in the past 7 months.

Also, a huge tip to you and anyone else reading this: do NOT get too focused on a "style" that you want. Obsessing over that just ruined me for years and years. I wanted so, so, so badly to be the next Matsuri Hino when I was a kid. I copied her work religiously and it NEVER looked right. Frustrated me to no end. And you know why my stuff never looked like hers? Because I'm not her! You can't force your art to come out any way that isn't natural, and the sooner you can accept the art your hand wants to create, the happier you'll be and the easier art will get for you.

The past couple of years before I started diving into this more realism based work, I was just shoving myself through trying to make what art I envied of others. Very stylized/textured watercolor comic book style stuff. And I just was NOT getting any better at it. I have always been more inclined toward realism work, but I've hated it and yearned for stylized work. Yoshitaka Amano? God, I just drooled over that artstyle and beat myself up for never being able to capture it in studies or otherwise.

I finally essentially restructured my entire career around making the art that makes me happy instead of what I "wanted" it to look like. I was extremely depressed, my life was falling apart, and I still needed to make art to survive but I couldn't "art" if I was depressed and hated doing it, so I just had to step back and stop worrying so much about what I thought I wanted to make, and started making what felt most natural.

there's no easy way, and art can be a soul destroying path at times, truly. your software and hardware should come very last place compared to practicing from life (it doesn't matter if you want to paint cartoony stuff of realistic stuff, always start from life). naturally you will find what makes your heart sing the most.

I get a lot of messages from people telling me similar stuff "oh your art is EXACTLY what I want to do!" but I promise you that kind of thought process is chasing a dragon that is likely to harm or drag your creative process down. art style is such a deeply personal thing, so of COURSE it's important to find inspiration, but the second looking at someone else's artwork stops inspiring you and starts frustrating you, put it away.

There are some artists who I love, that I do not check up on often because their artwork ignites, like, serious bitter jealousy in me. It's the truth. I get so mad at myself for not being more like them, and it's such a poison. I think more artists should be transparent about this feeling because I KNOW the art community has a lot of jealousy and ugliness in it.

A fact of being an artist is that you will never be completely happy with a piece you make. You are always going to see the flaws, and that doesn't change whether you'd been drawing for 2 months or 20 years. Occasionally, you will get one piece that you are like "how did I make that???" and then get frustrated that you can't recreate it lol! It's a tough beast.

It's just really important to step back and work on yourself and where you are at, because at the end of the day, the way your soul wants to express artwork might be WILDLY different from what your brain wants, and it can be really detrimental to let those two go to war.

I hope this helps. I'm very passionate about this, and when I started out I ALWAYS ignored the artists who gave the same exact tips as above. I thought they were so annoying and unhelpful, but now I /get it/.

#ask

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 7 months

Text

you are expendable

Summary: adjusting to a life away from the red room is tough, and letting go of the mentality they drilled into you is even tougher. As much as Yelena tries to protect you, you'll always believe that you are expendable, and she is not.

Word Count: 3783 Pairing: Yelena Belova & Reader Warnings: self-sacrificial R, near-death injuries, poor self worth/mental health issues Requests (combined): "Yelena x best!friend reader who struggles with self worth, gets hurt protecting Yelena?" "Hi! Can you do a story where Yelena has taken reader in as a sibling figure, and reader is constantly trying to “payback” yelena like through small things and more bigger things like being reckless on mission so yelena doesn’t get hurt; and Yelena gets really worried one time and finds out why R is doing it, and assures reader that they don’t need to do that and more fluff at end if ok?"

A/N: italics are flashbacks, Russian is google translated. Honestly this was a fun one to write so I hope you enjoy!

»»————-　★　————-««

2016

Yelena holds the door open, allowing you to shuffle in behind her, before she motions towards the sofa. You immediately move to follow the unspoken command, perching yourself at the very edge and pressing your body into the armrest as if you could become part of it. The blonde, meanwhile, takes a central seat on the opposite chair. She rests her elbows on her knees and leans forward, with her chin resting on intertwined fingers. Her brows are minutely knitted and her gaze pounces on any movement you make – you realise she’s analysing you.

Well, two can play at that game.

In an instant, you come away from the armrest and relax your back, spreading yourself into a wider stance… everything you can do to level your authority, even in the older Widow’s own apartment.

“Y/N, don’t do that,” she scoffs before changing her position again; she’s leaning back now with her arms crossed over her chest, though her attention to you remains as analytical as ever.

“I’m just sitting.”

“Widow’s don’t just sit.”

“Then what do you want me to not do?”

“Don’t be a Widow.”

“I am a Widow.”

“I know. Don’t be.”

You huff, now unintentionally copying her pose once again when you cross your arms and sulkily lean back into the cushions. “You are very confusing, Yelena, how should I not be what I was raised to be? What you trained me to be.”

Yelena winces a little at the reminder. Ten years older than you, the woman now sitting across from you had been your assigned trainer for eleven years in the Red Room, from your arrival at age six and right up until last month, when she’d broken free of the chemical control and escaped into the real world. Everything you knew about espionage and violence, everything you hated to be, came from her teachings, and you’d been just about ready to pass it on to your own mentees when she came and freed you from the Red Room’s control.

What they forced her to do to you would always be a sore spot for Yelena, but, regardless, she schools her expression back to neutral, then smiles. You eye her suspiciously.

“Why are you smiling?”

“You ask how not to be a Widow? You are already doing it; do you think Dreykov would approve of that stance?”

Yelena laughs as you quickly scramble back to the perfect pose she’d once drilled into you. “Dreykov is not going to punish you, he is dead. At least, I think he is dead,” she frowns, “though he has escaped being blown up once before, so you can never really know. Either way, he must be very badly injured and probably also dead, so you can relax.”

When you don’t shift, Yelena stands up and takes a seat beside you. “You’re free, Y/N. They can’t control us anymore. Our lives are our own and, from now on, they always will be.”

She finally closes the gap between you two when she sees tears forming in your eyes, pulling you close but leaving a loose arm on your shoulder – giving you the opportunity to escape her grasp should you want. You don’t. Instead, you press yourself further into her side and let the tears flow.

“Stay here with me?”

With the careful way she suggests it, you can tell it’s something she’s been dwelling on for a while, rather than an impulsive response to your show of emotions. “We’re both new to the world, we can work it out together, if you’d like that? I’ll keep you safe, I promise. You can just be 17.”

You don’t respond instantly, already growing quite comfortable with being tucked in Yelena’s arms, but when you do nod, Yelena notices; she smiles and pulls you a little closer.

»»————-　★　————-««

2005

“Yelena?”

“Да” (Yes)

“Это ваше. Поддерживайте его в живых.” (This one is yours. Keep it alive.)

You’re shoved harshly in the direction of the young blonde. The guard who pushed you laughs as you stumble, but Yelena catches you and keeps you on your feet. You try to pull yourself closer to her side, latching on to the first show of kindness you’ve had in weeks, but the teen prises you off of her and positions you behind her back – she doesn’t look at you, only staring down the guards until they leave, before she grabs your arm and leads you into a small adjoining room. She slams the door and you startle, your vision clouding with tears as you realise things aren’t going to go back to normal, that this woman won’t be your saviour.

“Вы говорите по-русски?” (Do you speak Russian?) she asks; it’s not harsh, but it’s not as soft as your mother’s tone either. The tears begin to flow.

“English?” she tries again, this time you nod.

“I spoke only English at your age,” the girl says, “you must learn Russian though; I will help, but the trainers will perfect it.”

You don’t reply and eventually the older girl sighs; she takes a step forward, but still lingers awkwardly across the room from you, not wanting to get too close. “I am Yelena. What is your name?”

“Y/N.”

“I’m going to be your mentor, Y/N; do you want to learn new things?”

You’re not sure what to make of Yelena, but, at 6, there’s a lot of things you want to know, so you nod shyly, then ask your first question, “what is going to happen to me?”

Yelena notices the shake in your voice, and she’s been an assassin long enough to infer what you must have seen, what instances brought you to her. She comes a step closer again and purposefully softens her voice, “you’re going to stay here; you and I, we are going to be a team from now, okay? We’ll do some training and that will keep you safe. I’m going to try to keep you safe.”

“Do you pinky promise?”

The older girl hesitates, staring down at your extended finger as if it were a gun pointed in her direction – but at least she’d know how to handle that. The longer your hand hovers, extended, the more Yelena worries, knowing this isn’t a promise she can make in full confidence, but she can’t disappoint you either.

She wraps her own pinky around yours and shakes on it, “I promise,” she says at last, “I’m going to keep you safe. I just need you to listen to everything I say.”

»»————-　★　————-««

The adjustment period is hard – certainly harder than either you or Yelena expected. Contrary to your original expectations, Yelena doesn’t give up the assassin lifestyle, and she doesn’t force you to either; it’s all the two of you have known, and you’re too ingrained in it to manage a completely clean break.

For one, neither of you have birth certificates or any form of ID at all, and you find out very quickly how necessary those are. Yelena puts her contacts to good use and obtains birth certificates and American passports for the both of you; the legalities are dubious, but she’s now officially your older sister, which gives her guardianship status over you – because apparently a 17 year old needs that in the real world, as if you don’t have several lifetimes of maturity and experience under your belt already.

You’re grateful for all the steps Yelena has taken to look after you: from signing you up to a boxing club for the familiarity of training, to telling Valentina that the two of you could only be employed as a pair, ensuring she’d be there to protect you even on missions. You want to repay her for everything she’s done for you, but you’re still learning the limits of the real world – your resources were practically limitless in the Red Room if it completed the mission, but that is certainly not the case anymore. So, instead, you’re forced to turn to the internet for adequate methods of thanking your lifelong friend.

You start small: flowers, household chores, cooking… anything you can find, but most end up in chaos. Flowers gave you hay fever, it turns out; your meals have to be scraped out of the pans and taste worse that the Red Room canteen; and, much to your annoyance, Yelena refuses to let you do all the chores, immediately stopping you and taking over for ‘her turn’ if you'd done it the night before, which only gave you more to thank her for.

Eventually, you conclude that if you want to thank Yelena properly then you should stick to what you know: murder, maiming, and incredible violence… though she tries to discourage that now, so you shift to simply risking yourself, doing everything you can on missions to keep Yelena safe.

It works the first few times, you get a few bruises and scrapes, but that's nothing unexpected in your line of work and, more importantly, Yelena comes out unscathed. She seems ignorant to the actions you're taking, which is how you aim to keep it; you know she wouldn't approve of you putting yourself at risk just to keep her safe, but that's how the Red Room taught you to perform and, after everything she's done for you, it's what you're willing to do to thank her.

»»————-　★　————-««

2013

“You ready, Y/N?” Yelena smiles. The two of you are in matching bodysuits, sitting in the back of a jet destined for Manchester, England. You nod and double check the various weaponry attached to you.

Yelena reaches behind her, pulling out a map which you’ve memorised by now, and lays it on the table between you. “There’s two floors to this facility,” she recaps, “they’re developing weapons and we’ve been assigned to retrieve blueprints for all of them. Where do we find them?”

You point quickly to the corridor of offices. “Locked filing cabinet in office 2, if intelligence is to be trusted.”

“And which route will we take?”

“From the bus stop, into the woods within the perimeter. The back entrance will have only one guard between 0130 and 0200, giving us a window to enter. This corridor here,” you point, “has a guard, so we must pass while their back is turned. Stairs are unguarded. Two rights and we’ll be at the offices. There’s a ladder to the roof and an escape route from there, which is how we’ll get out.”

“Good. You have learnt it well. The Red Room demands perfection, but you are going to make them proud.”

Hours later, you aren’t so sure. You sit by her hospital bed, knee bouncing with worry as the medics operate on her; the steady beeping of her vitals acts as your only comfort, but you know first-hand that it could switch at any second.

Behind you, a door opens and closes, causing a noticeable shift in the atmosphere of the room. The medics stand taller, the guards lower their gaze, and you immediately stop your movements, knowing exactly who has walked in. You stand to attention and turn to face the tall, boney woman in front of you, though you bow your head in respect just as the guards did.

“A word, Y/N, outside,” Madame B instructs. She doesn’t wait for a response – she knows you wouldn’t dare give her one – she simply turns on her heel and has you follow her back out of the door like a puppy on a leash.

“Explain exactly what happened. And I don’t want excuses.”

“We were fighting the guards for some time, there were far more than Yelena and I had expected–”

“I said no excuses.”

“Sorry Madame. We left one of them for too long and he was able to take a shot while my back was turned – it would have hit my head, but Yelena noticed and stepped in between, receiving the bullet just to the left of her heart, puncturing her lung. I brought her to medics quickly-”

“I don’t need to hear the rest,” the woman cuts in. “Yelena is one of our best Widows, whereas you… you are expendable, Y/N, and I expect you to know it. Until you train yourself to be better than Yelena, then it is your responsibility to put your body on the line to keep her safe, no matter the cost to you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“You will go to the training room immediately. If you think your life is worth more than Yelena’s, then we will put that to the test – incapacitate the five Widows in there without taking a hit, and you will be excused from punishment this time.”

The task is impossible, you know that, you may defeat the others, but not without one of them landing a blow, and once they do that, you will be beaten to within an inch of your life for failing the task. Regardless, you nod towards Madame B and march to the training room with your head held high; you deserve the punishment, you know that too. You are expendable, Yelena is not.

All five girls jump at you. This is what you deserve.

»»————-　★　————-««

2017

You were always aware that something would eventually go wrong, each mission where you threw yourself recklessly into danger was only testing your luck. You accepted the risk, but when it actually happens, well… you hadn't prepared for the consequences.

After four months of obtaining only minor injuries, you and Yelena are on another mission in Upstate New York, dressed to the nines at some CEO’s mansion. You don't care to remember his name since, if all goes to plan, he'll be dead at the end of the night anyway.

The party is already buzzing when the two of you walk in and, after a quick scout of the area together, the two of you separate and mingle with the guests, establishing your presence in the main hall until there's an opportunity to corner the host away from spectators.

It's going well, you think, until angry yells sound out from the other side of the room, loud enough to drown out the music. Guests look up curiously, just as you do, until you see Yelena thrown onto the stage. A handful of bodyguards emerge from the crowd to surround her, all readying their weapons in her direction.

You don't think, you just barrel through the gawking crowds to tackle your mentor out of the firing line. Yelena is back on her feet in an instant and you try to do the same, but a sharp pain keeps you down. The crowds are screaming now, and hopefully fleeing as you're overwhelmed by a chorus of gunshots.

You counted 7 guards before. They are no problem for Yelena to take down alone, but you don't allow for that. Ignoring the excruciating pain as you move and pretending you don't notice that your shirt is soaked in blood, you roll yourself onto your back, reaching for your holster and taking out the last three guards in rapid succession. Their attention was focused on Yelena, making it easy for you to do.

In a now empty hall, Yelena finally releases the breath she's been holding and looks around to congratulate you, until she sees you right where she left you, lying flat on the stage.

“Y/N!”

Her face interrupts your view of the ceiling and you yelp when you feel her hand clamp over your ribs. “I know, I know,” she whispers, face filled with worry as her dialtone begins.

“Natasha?” she says when the person answers at last, “I need you, please, we need medics at my location. I don’t know, the best the Avengers have got. You have good ones, right?”

The world seems to fade at the edges and you relax into your tired state. But then Yelena is snapping her fingers in front of you and her tear-stained face comes back into focus.

“Stay awake for me please, Y/N.”

“Natasha, hurry,” she sobs once again.

You can't help it; everything fades to black.

»»————-　★　————-««

The view when you next wake up is a complete shift to the dark but extravagant mansion you'd fallen asleep in. Everything is blinding white and purely functional; you're not unfamiliar with the set-up, but the location is new, you think. After visiting so many, the hospitals begin to blend together.

“Y/N,” someone beside you gasps, and you mentally scold yourself for not checking you were alone before you opened your eyes. Madame B will punish you for that.

No, Madame B is gone. It is only Yelena now, and she doesn't punish you anymore.

You shrink away all the same when Yelena comes into view, knowing you are the cause of her red-rimmed eyes and the dark bags underneath.

“You almost died, Y/N!” she shouts, and tears prick at your own eyes. You didn't want to disappoint her, just protect her. “I've noticed it for months but I didn't bring it up because I thought you knew better than to risk yourself like this! Missions are not the place to be reckless, what were you-”

She stalls suddenly. Your eyelids, which were previously squeezed shut, open slowly, cautiously and carefully checking for Yelena's reaction. Her face softens when you catch her eye and suddenly she's rushing forward and trapping you in a hug.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't yell, I'm sorry. I just want to protect you, always, and seeing you like this… it's…”

She sighs, and you interrupt.

“No, I'm sorry, Yelena. This wasn't meant to stress you out or have you worrying about me. I wanted to keep you safe, you know, like you always used to do for me. And after you freed me from the serum and then everything you did to look after me afterwards, I had to find a way to thank you. And I tried all the things Google said like cooking and gifts and everything! but they didn't work, so I thought that maybe keeping you safe would be enough to express my gratitude and make us equal, even if I got hurt in the process.”

“Oh, Y/N,” the older Widow sighs again, a teary smile overtaking her face. “I know it's hard, but we're not in the Red Room anymore; not every interaction is transactional, and not every mission has to have an expendable agent. In fact, none of our missions will have an expendable agent – it's you and me as equals, alright? Both of us are surviving them and I won't have any other outcomes.”

You nod and she continues.

“You're my best friend, Y/N, and my little sister in every way but blood; I'd have done – and I still would – anything to protect you in the Red Room, but that's not how it has to work anymore. And as for looking after you goes, it's my pleasure to do it; it's not something you need to pay me back for because just getting to spend time with you and have you around is all I could ask for. Just get through this, Y/N, get out of this ward and come home, and that will be the only thing you ever need to do for me.”

»»————-　★　————-««

You're still weak, so Yelena has her arms around you and your body is pressed into her side, but you're walking, forward and forward until you cross the threshold.

You're home.

A few weeks longer and you're back on your feet without assistance, standing next to Yelena in the kitchen as she teaches you to cook – starting easy with some basic pancakes after you said you had a craving for them in the hospital.

“Keep an eye on the pan,” Yelena instructs as her phone starts to ring in the other room, “flip it in 30 seconds if I'm still gone.”

She walks out. You set down your knife and the strawberries you had skillfully been cutting to stare directly at the pan, mentally counting down exactly from 30.

“I don't want a mission, Valentina,” you hear Yelena say from the living room. You don't let it distract you.

“Y/N is grounded from missions until they're back at full health, and I'm not going without them. I told you before, we work as a pair. That's non negotiable.”

You're flipping the pancake when Yelena walks back in, using the spatula instead of risking a pan flip. The older woman scoffs and gently nudges you out of the way so that she can take the pan back.

“Spatulas are for wimps,” she claims confidently, “let me show you some real skill.”

Both of you take a step back: you towards the door, and her towards the centre of the room, before she flicks the pan with her wrist. The pancake goes flying high into the sky, hits the ceiling, then falls unceremoniously back down to splat on the floor.

You both stare at it in silence.

“This is why I used a spatula,” you say at last.

“Maybe we should get a dog.”

“Where did that come from?”

“Well then it could eat the floor pancake.”

“Or we could just pick it up.”

“Yes, go on then,” she grins, moving forward to put the pan back on the heat and pouring more batter into it.

“Oh I would but, you know, I'm injured,” you say with false disappointment, “from when I saved your life, remember? So I probably shouldn't bend to pick it up.”

“You are a nuisance, child,” Yelena grumbles under her breath when she goes to pick the pancake up. You just grin… until the floor pancake is thrown directly at your face. You yelp and quickly dodge it; it smacks against the fridge this time so you catch it and finally put it with the food waste.

Eventually, a stack of successfully flipped pancakes fill the plate, enough for you and Yelena to enjoy your fill. Throughout the meal, you forget all about your squabble in the kitchen, and you believe Yelena had too, so when she smiles and turns to you, saying “you wanted to pay me back for the hospitality, right?” you nod earnestly.

“Then I think you can do the dishes for us both!” she continues, handing her empty plate to you before relaxing further into the couch. With a flick of her wrist, but a beaming smile on her face, she shoos you away.

“Because a gunshot and bleeding out for you isn’t enough,” you huff with a roll of your eyes, playfully kicking Yelena’s leg as you stand. “Some people are never satisfied.”

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

#yelena belova #yelena belova imagine #platonic yelena belova #yelena belova & reader #yelena belova & you #yelena belova & y/n #yelena belova fluff #yelena belova hurt/comfort #ikan writes #marvel #mcu

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