#i don't claim to be particularly good at color theory

[correlance]

Remember that one fan theory I wrote about Alastor having a rivalry with Thomas Edison in the 1920s? Well, I decided to do a bit more research; it turns out that, not only was I right, but Edison really hated radio. He loathed it so much that he wrote not one, but several articles railing against the "radio fad" in 1926, to the point where an anonymous person wrote "letters to the editor" to argue with Edison.

Gee, I wonder who it could be doing that in the Hazbin-verse? /s

GIF and art originally by karumkin on Twitter/X (2019).

There was also a slew of increasingly aggressive telegrams sent back-and-forth between Edison and radio proponents, with Edison penning thinly-veiled insults that offended even mild critics of the "Wizard":

"The radio is a commercial failure, and its popularity with the public is waning. Radio is impractical commercially, and ethically distorted, and is is losing its grip rapidly in the market and in the home. There is not 10% of the interest in the radio that there was last year.

Radio is a highly-complicated machine in the hands of people who know nothing about it. No dealers have made any money out of it. It is not a commercial machine, because it is too complicated. Reports from 4,000 Edison dealers who have handled radio sets show that they are rapidly abandoning it; and, as for its music, it is awful.

I don't see how they can listen to it. Thousands of people have signed a petition asking that sopranos be kept off the air. Of course, most of them don't know that the soprano voice distorts the radio. The phonograph is coming into its own because people want good music. The fact is that the radio never had a high peak of popularity.

In towns where 25 or 30 dealers were handling radio sets, only one or two are now handling them. A farmer 5 miles from town buys a radio, perhaps on the installment plan. A wire becomes loose. The dealer has to arrange to fix it. This happens time and time again. The business becomes unprofitable for the dealer to engage in. He does not make any money out of it. None of them has. They are giving it up as fast as they can. It is not a commercially successful machine, because it is too complicated.

Static is awful, and the difficulties of tuning out--and now, they're stealing each other's wavelengths! It is too bad that the radio has to be too complicated. It was a big and interesting thing, and the people responded to it, but they want good music, and they found it is not to be had on the radio. That is why the phonograph is reclaiming its own."

Quote from "Edison and Radio", Radio News, December 1926, "in which the Editor takes issue with Mr. Edison's claim that radio is a failure; yet it is pointed out that the radio industry owes Edison a great debt; wherein facts are figures are given to show that radio is on a steady increase; granting that neither radio, nor the phonograph, is yet perfect; how the interest in radio is steadily increasing, and radio dealers are now making good money":

"Since the publication of the famous interview with Mr. Edison, the press, and particularly the radio press across the entire country, has been more or less agitated...I do believe that Mr. Edison has not been recently in-touch with radio sufficiently to appreciate fully the tremendous advances that have been made. Mr. Edison is a busy man, and a tremendously busy inventor. It would be well-nigh impossible for him to be in-touch with all of the various commercial phases of radio all over the country; and, like other executives, he obtains his reports from his subordinates, and such reports often as not may be highly colorful, and even wrong...[thus, the radio industry is unwilling to accord Mr. Edison anything]...as to Mr. Edison's remarks, the statements that follow are facts, which can be checked up by anyone who is unbiased."

Imagine Alastor and Vox with "Stayed Gone" in Episode 2, and Alastor and Lucifer with "Hell's Greatest Dad" in Episode 5, but happening entirely over letters and telegrams, because mass media and television didn't exist yet. The closest musical numbers would likely be "Farmer Refuted" and "Your Obedient Servant" from Hamilton.

Per the book The Wizard of Menlo Park: How Thomas Alva Edison Invented the Modern World by Randall E. Stross:

Page 276: "[Edison's] phonograph business faced a challenge in the 1920s unlike any that had come before: the advent of commercial radio stations, and the wide availability of free music broadcasts and other entertainment. By the end of 1921, an estimated 1 million listeners had access to radios, and listened to programs broadcast from the Eastern seaboard. A single station in Roselle, New Jersey, which offered the voices of operatic stars among its musical programs, had a broadcast range of a thousand miles, covering New England and the mid-Atlantic states, and reaching as far west as Missouri. A contemporary newspaper account explained to readers not yet acquainted with the phenomenon that those who owned radio sets could enjoy entertainment that was 'literally as free as the air'. Charles and Theodore Edison [proposed a combination phonograph-radio]...their father need not feel slighted because the vacuum tube, a key component of the radio set, was a modern descendant of Edison's experimental work on the incandescent lightbulb. Edison did feel slighted, however; such, at least, was the opinion of Thomas Cowan, a former Westinghouse employee...[who conducted experiments in radio broadcasts with the aid of a phonograph Edison was willing to loan him in 1921]. Cowan had several conversations about radio with Edison, who became upset and recalled the loaner when he heard the Westinghouse broadcasts...[Edison's sons were embarrassed, humiliated]."

"Edison calls radio a 'failure for music', thinks phonograph will regain its own": The New York Times, 23 September 1926. Underlining the usefulness of radio for purposes other than musical programs, Edison did tune in to a radio broadcast of the Dempsey-Tunney fight in 1926, which he was too deaf to hear. He had to rely on family members [usually his wife, Mina] to summarize what had transpired at the end of each round.

"Radio satisfactory on bout, Edison says": The New York Times, 24 September 1926. Defending the quality of musical broadcasts, the radio industry offered expert testimony to rebut Edison's claims [in the next week's newspaper]. See: "Broadcasters disagree with electrical wizard", The New York Times, 3 October 1926.

The "radio fad": A few months later, [after much outcry from the radio industry], Edison was willing to grant that radio might not disappear, but he had a new criticism: listeners' aesthetic sense would be damaged. "Undistorted music, in time, will sound strange to those brought up on radio music," he predicted, "and they will not like the real thing." See: "Thomas A. Edison sees a menace for music in the radio", Musician, January 1927.

"Edison's fears [about the Edison Company not succeeding in the radio business] were realized, though it had been Edison's intransigence (refusal to change one's views) that put the company at such a great disadvantage as a late entrant...on 9 October 1929, Charles Edison prepared a report for his father that showed a loss of $1.3 million due to start-up costs for the [Edison] radio...he could not know that, two weeks later, the stock sell-off would begin with Black Thursday, on 24 October, followed by Black Monday and Black Tuesday...a few days later, Thomas A. Edison, Inc., announced that it would cease producing [music] records [altogether], and refit the factory for the production of radios. The announcement was accompanied by a mention of regret, as the phonograph was 'one of Mr. Edison's favorite inventions'."

"An employee reported observing Harvey Firestone tearfully explaining to Edison that the collapse of business due to the stock market crash of 1929, and the Great Depression, meant that he could no longer continue to financially support Edison's laboratory. Edison was heard, sneering, 'He's a Goddamned lightweight.'" ("I saw your fiasco on the picture show, and I just couldn't resist. What a performance! Why, I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929, hahaha! ...so many orphans.")

Edison's death at the age of 84 on 18 October 1931 was also, ironically, commemorated through radio broadcasts: "[The next] night, two radio networks, the National Broadcasting Company (NBC) and the Columbia Broadcasting Company (CBC), jointly broadcast an 8-minute tribute that ended on the hour, when listeners were asked to turn out the lights. The White House did so, and much of the nation followed, more or less together, some a minute before the hour, others on the hour. On Broadway, 75% of the electrified signs were turned off briefly. Movie theaters went dark for a moment. Everything seemed connected to Edison: the indoor lights, the traffic lights, the electric advertising, everyone connected via radio, which Edison now received credit for helping to 'perfect'. In the simple narrative that provided inspiration for posterity, one man had done it all..."

Some numbers provided for how much radio was making:

1922: $46.5 million (~$860 million in 2024)

1923: $120 million (~$2.2 billion in 2024) (156% increase)

1924: $350 million (~$6.3 billion in 2024) (186% increase)

1925: $449 million (~$8 billion in 2024) (27% increase)

1926: $520 million (~$9.1 billion in 2024) (14% increase)

Overall, per another source:

1922: $60 million (a little more than the previous statistic)

1929: $842.6 million

From here, we can tell the biggest gain was in 1923-1924. Per another source: "Total cost was about $120.00 to buy a new radio in 1926; in today's money, that is about $1,500 to own a radio." That would mean that 7.6 million radios were sold by 1926; an impressive feat, considering that the United States only had a population of a little over 117 million people at the time.

Percentages of United States households with radios:

1925: 19% (5 million households)

1929: 35-40% (200% increase)

1930: 12 million households

1939: 28 million households

The number of licensed broadcast stations surged from just 5 in 1921 to 500 by 1924, per yet another source. In the early years, household radio ownership was highest in the Northeast and on the West Coast. In large sections of the South, Midwest and Great Plains, stations and radio sets were scarce. However, there were notable exceptions.

There were 732 radio stations total across the country by 1927, and the average radio was on 2 hours and 25 minutes per day. People who couldn't afford radios purchased them on installment loans, through which the full price of a new radio could be paid over time. Radios had even more advertisements for washers, dryers, and refrigerators, causing people to use even more merchant credit and installment loans to purchase these shiny, new technological devices.

However, radio sales also took a hit with the Great Depression, as average income levels fell from $3,270 per year in 1920 ($53,300 in 2024), to $2,300 per year by 1929 ($41,500 in 2024), then to $1,500 per year by 1932 ($35,500 in 2024). However, buying a radio also became cheaper, dropping from a costly $200 ($3,200 in 2024) in the early 1920s, to just $35 ($630 in 2024) by 1929-1930.

By the time Alastor died in 1933, 3.6 million radio sets were sold that year alone. By the mid-1930s, 67% of American households had radio sets, and by 1939, about 80% of Americans—over 100 million people—owned radios. Radios were in almost every house, and some Americans even had radios in their cars. The Golden Age of Radio lasted from the 1930s to the 1940s, before being eclipsed by television in the 1950s. Radio hosts went from being paid $10 per broadcast in 1921 ($180-200, 1-2 hours per night, 3-4 nights a week, for a weekly salary of $720-800; monthly salary, $2,900-$3,200; annual salary, $34,800-$38,400; modern-day annual salary range for a radio show host is $30,000-100,000, depending) to making triple-figure salaries in the later 1930s.

Another source lists the following salary ranges for radio hosts:

$2,500-2,700 a year to be an announcer in 1927* (~$45,000-$48,000 range in 2024)

$2,400 a year to be a dramatic director (~$43,000 in 2024)

$4,000 a year to be a program director (~$72,000 in 2024)

New Orleans' first radio broadcast was on 31 March 1922, with WWL. The station wasn't started as a commercial one; but rather, "more of an experiment, started as an interest in wireless communication picked up nationally". The station did not go commercial until 1929, meaning that Alastor also probably had at least one other side job.

Also see:

"Early Radio Announcers Invented Their Profession in the 1920s"

"The History of the Radio Industry in the United States to 1940"

"'A Godlike Presence': The Impact of Radio on the 1920s and 1930s" by Tom Lewis

American Babel: Rogue Radio Broadcasters of the Jazz Age by Clifford John Doerksen (see excerpt here)

Race and Radio: Pioneering Black Broadcasters in New Orleans by Bala James Baptiste (Note: The earliest Black broadcast in New Orleans was in 1945, meaning Alastor was white-passing.)

"Golden Age of Black Radio - Part 1: The Early Years" (Note: The first Black radio announcer, Jack L. Cooper, hosted in 1929.)

"How African Americans Entered Mainstream Radio" by Bala James Baptiste, the author of Race and Radio: Pioneering...

[iirenics]

𝑤𝑒𝑏 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠.

↳ pairing : (earth 1610) miles morales x female reader ↳ summary : When your best friend is New York's superhero, concerns and unspoken feelings cloud your heart. In a heart-to-heart on a city rooftop and a swing through the night sky, your bond with Miles takes an unexpected turn, steering your friendship into uncharted territory. ↳ authors note : i hope you guys enjoy !! i came up with this random scenario myself :) kissing sort of angst & fluff ???

Brooklyn Visions Academy was buzzing like a beehive. The latest rumor about Spider-Man's real identity being exposed was the hot topic among the students. You were sitting next to Miles in your shared History class, trying to maintain a casual demeanor as the speculation whirled around you.

Jake, a particularly boisterous student, stood up confidently, claiming to know Spider-Man's identity. Your heart raced and you exchanged a quick glance with Miles. His dark eyes met yours, a glint of worry reflecting your own. The entire class fell into hushed anticipation as Jake said a name – the wrong name. The class burst out laughing at Jake's absurd guess, and you and Miles shared a hidden sigh of relief.

Turning to look at Miles, a particular memory resurfaced in your mind, painting your shared past in vivid colors.

"Miles, is this… Are you… Spider-Man?" You recalled your disbelieving whisper, standing in the hidden corner of your shared childhood playground. It was a couple of months ago, not too long, but it felt like yesterday.

"Yes, (y/n). I trust you, more than anyone." His voice was soft, sincere.

In that moment, you became more than friends. You were allies, entrusted with a shared secret that felt as heavy as the city that Spider-Man vowed to protect.

Walking home together from school, a cool breeze picked up, rustling through the autumn leaves. The conversation was initially casual, filled with light banter about the crazy theories your classmates had about Spider-Man. The air was relaxed, the laughter genuine. However, a niggling worry gnawed at the back of your mind, which gradually began seeping into your voice.

"Miles," you began, your tone shifting, "we need to talk about last night."

He instantly stiffened, his laughter dying abruptly. "What about it?" He tried to keep his voice casual, but the slight tremor gave him away.

"The bank robbery, Miles," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "It was reckless. You could've gotten hurt…or worse."

He remained silent, his jaw clenched. His eyes were stormy, filled with conflict and a defiant spark that hadn't been there before.

"And what about your parents, Miles?" You pressed on, feeling a pang in your chest. "Have you ever thought about what losing you would do to them?"

Miles stopped in his tracks, a grimace spreading across his face. "That's not fair, (y/n)," he retorted sharply. "I'm trying to protect this city, to do something good."

"Good?" You echoed, your voice rising in disbelief. "What good is there in risking your life like that? How good will it be for your parents if they lose you?"

"You don't understand, (y/n)." His voice was hard, his words coming out in a rush. "This is who I am now."

"No, I don't understand, Miles," you shot back, anger flaring in your eyes. "I don't understand how you can be so… careless with your life."

His eyes flashed with irritation. "Well, maybe you're not meant to understand, (y/n). Maybe you're not cut out for this life."

Your heart throbbed painfully at his harsh words, and you took a step back, a mix of shock and hurt on your face. "Well, maybe I'm not, Miles," you retorted, your voice shaking. "And maybe you should think about who you're hurting in your quest to be a hero."

With those words, you turned on your heel and stormed off, leaving a stunned Miles behind. "Wait!" He called after you, but you didn't turn back. The shared laughter from minutes ago now felt like a distant memory, replaced by a cold silence that mirrored the tension between you and Miles.

Arriving home, your face was a storm of emotions. Tossing your bag onto the floor, you sighed heavily. Your parents, sitting in the living room, noticed your arrival and your mother looked up from her book, concern etching her features.

"Honey, what's wrong?" your mother asked, her voice full of worry.

"It's nothing," you muttered, attempting to brush it off. However, the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Your father, reading the daily newspaper, put it down and took off his glasses. "We just got off the phone with your principal," he began, his voice steady but stern. "He said your grades are slipping."

Heat rushed to your face and you clenched your fists. Of course, they would bring up your grades now. When your mind was a whirlwind of worry and frustration, they chose to talk about your falling grades.

"It's because of that boy, isn't it? That Miles," your mother added, a hint of disapproval in her tone. "You're spending too much time with him and neglecting your studies."

"No, mom, it's not Miles," you burst out, your temper flaring. "Why does everything have to be about him? Can't I have problems outside of him?"

Your words hung heavy in the room, silence following your outburst. Your parents exchanged a worried glance, while you stood there, seething and hurt.

"I'm going to my room," you finally said, your voice cold. With that, you picked up your bag and stormed up the stairs, slamming your door shut behind you. You were greeted with the silence of your room, a stark contrast to the tempest brewing inside you.

With the soft glow of your phone casting long shadows on your face, you lay on your bed, your mind heavy with thoughts. The argument with Miles had left you emotionally drained, the cruel echoes of their harsh words still bouncing off the walls of your mind. Your thumb hovered over the contact name 'Miles' on your phone, your heart aching with the bitter-sweet memories of your happier times.

Your room, a sanctuary of solitude and peace, now felt strangely quiet, the silence punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic outside your window. You could almost hear the ghost of Miles' laughter in your ears, his silly jokes that always managed to draw a giggle out of you, no matter how corny they were.

But tonight, the only company you had was your inner turmoil. You wanted to reach out to him, wanted to hear his voice, his reassurances that they would get past this, that he was alright. But your anger and worry kept you stubborn. You were mad at him, yes, but more than that, you were mad at yourself.

What were you supposed to do? How could you possibly explain to him that your worry was not some pointless nagging, but a fear that gnawed at your heart every time he swung out into the city, his life hanging by a thread?

A sigh escaped your lips, a little puff of frustration. You tossed your phone to the side, the screen lighting up momentarily before fading away. You felt a lump in your throat, your chest tight with emotions you didn't know how to deal with.

Alone in your room, your thoughts were your only company, each one echoing the same sentiment - you missed Miles. But until he understood why you were so worried, you didn't know how to bridge the gap that had formed between you. You just hoped that Miles was safe, wherever he was.

For now, you were left with the bitter remnants of their argument, the echoes of their words serving as a harsh reminder of the complexity of their relationship. After all, being best friends with Spider-Man was proving to be much harder than you had ever anticipated.

As the weeks went by, your academic performance continued to decline. You spent sleepless nights, staring blankly at your textbooks, but your mind was elsewhere. You were plagued by thoughts of Miles, his stubborn insistence on endangering his life as Spider-Man, and the argument you'd had. The memory stung, like a fresh wound refusing to heal.

Your teachers noticed your change in attitude and your falling grades. Mr. Lewis, your Chemistry teacher, confronted you after class one day, concern written all over his face. "Y/n," he began, his voice sincere. "I've noticed you've been struggling in class. Is everything okay at home?"

You looked away, trying to hide the turmoil in your eyes. "Yeah, everything's fine," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't a complete lie. Home was okay, but you weren't. You thanked Mr. Lewis and left the classroom, your shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.

At school, you found yourself distancing from your friends, including Miles. You buried yourself in your work, even though it did little to improve your grades. The sight of Miles in your shared classes was like a punch to your gut, a cruel reminder of your fallen friendship.

During lunch, you sat alone, your food untouched. You stared at the bustling cafeteria, the lively chatter around you feeling like a distant echo. Your eyes inadvertently drifted to Miles, who was sitting with your mutual friends, his laughter echoing across the room. Your heart ached at the sight.

Eventually, your declining academic performance and isolating behavior led to a meeting with the school guidance counselor, Ms. Gomez. "y/n, I'm worried about y/n," she started, her voice gentle. "Your grades have been falling, and your teachers tell me you've been isolating yourself."

You shrugged, avoiding Ms. Gomez's gaze. "I'm just going through a rough patch," you mumbled. "I'll get through it."

Ms. Gomez gave you a sympathetic look. "I understand. But remember, it's okay to ask for help. Whether it's academic assistance or just someone to talk to, we're here for you."

Despite Ms. Gomez's kind words, you couldn't help but feel alone. The problem wasn't something you could share with anyone. You were trapped in your worries and fears for Miles, and it felt as though there was no escape.

A week of silence between you and Miles had felt like a year. The vibrant corridors of Brooklyn Visions Academy seemed muted, the laughter and chatter of students felt like a hollow echo, and the shared looks between you and Miles were filled with aching silence.

It was late in the evening when a soft tapping on your window broke the quietness of your room. The silhouette of Spider-Man, recognizable even in the dim light, startled you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you swiftly moved to open the window.

"Miles!" you hissed, glancing anxiously back towards your door. "What are you doing here? What if my parents see you?"

He took off his mask, revealing his usual playful grin. "And here I thought superheroes were supposed to get a warmer welcome."

Your eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and annoyance flashing across your face. "I thought I told you not to come here, Morales."

He laughed softly, shrugging. "Well, technically, you told Spider-Man not to come here. I'm just Miles right now."

You rolled your eyes but a tiny smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "We need to talk," you said, a serious tone replacing the brief moment of levity. "But not here. Let's go to our spot."

As soon as the words left your lips, Miles was wrapping an arm securely around your waist. The city lights whizzed by as they swung through the concrete canyons of New York. Your heart pounded in your chest - not from fear, but an excitement laced with an undercurrent of tension.

Your bodies were pressed against each other, an intimacy that was difficult to ignore. His arm, strong and sure, was wrapped around your waist while your arms found their way around his neck. Miles was acutely aware of your head against his shoulder, your warm breath tickling his neck.

Once you arrived at your favorite spot, a rooftop that overlooked the glowing city, you let go of each other reluctantly. The city lights were a soft backdrop to your shared silence. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned to face Miles, your gaze serious.

"Miles," you began, your voice steady, "I'm not asking you to stop being Spider-Man. I can't and I won't. This city needs you." Your eyes softened as you continued, "But I worry about you. We all do. You're more than Spider-Man to us."

Miles looked at you, his dark eyes reflecting the city's glow. He was quiet for a long time before finally speaking. "You…I…I don't want you to worry. But it's hard for me to separate being Miles from being Spider-Man."

You nodded, understanding the struggle he was going through. "I know it's hard, Miles. And we're not asking you to choose between being Spider-Man and being Miles. We're asking you to be careful. To remember that there are people who care about you."

A silence settled between you, comfortable yet filled with unspoken words. Miles ran a hand through his hair, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that matched yours. He seemed on the verge of saying something, his gaze fixed on you, as if he was gathering his thoughts. But then, he blinked, his face flushing, and let out a small laugh.

"I… um… yeah," he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck, "Yeah, you're right."

You gave him a small smile but didn't press him. Instead, you sighed, breaking the silence that had settled between you. "I should head back home."

He nodded, glancing at the city beneath them before turning back to you. "Yeah, I'll take you back."

As you left the rooftop, swinging through the city once more, the tension between you had eased. Your conversation had cleared the air, and even though there was still much left unsaid, you both knew you would face it together.

Miles gingerly landed on your bedroom floor, his hands still securely around your waist from the swing. His eyes sparkled under the pale moonlight that filtered in through your window, the mischievous glint in them hinting at his playful nature.

"Hope I didn't make you feel too sick?" he asked, his voice layered with a teasing lilt.

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head lightly. "Nah, it was actually fun. Don't worry."

His fingers gently untangled from your waist as he took a step back, the space that once held warmth suddenly feeling a little colder. An ensuing silence stretched between you two, comfortable and intimate, until Miles broke it. "Well, I should probably get going. See you tomorrow at school."

"Yeah… see you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

As Miles turned towards the window, you caught the sight of his Spider-Man mask hanging loosely around his neck. He picked it up, his fingers tracing the familiar contours before pulling it over his face. But before he could completely disappear, you called out. "Wait, Miles."

He paused, turning back towards you, the silhouette of his masked face catching the moonlight. He came close to the window, now hanging upside down, his masked face inches away from yours. "Yeah, Y/N?"

"Thank you. I really enjoyed tonight. We should do it more often," you said, a hopeful lilt to your voice.

"Of course," he responded, the relief in his voice almost palpable.

Miles was just about to swing away when your voice halted him. "Wait, Miles!" His motion stopped abruptly, and he swung back towards your window. His eyes, even behind the mask, held an undeniable curiosity.

You reached up, your fingers gently tugging his mask up just past his nose, revealing his lips. The moonlight illuminated his features, casting soft shadows that highlighted the gentle curve of his lips and the light stubble on his chin. His eyes widened slightly at your touch, but he didn't pull away.

You swallowed nervously, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, could see the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You leaned in, your eyes fluttering closed as you pressed a soft, lingering kiss onto his lips.

The world seemed to stand still. His lips were soft and inviting against yours, a perfect fit that sent a rush of butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach. The cool night air around you contrasted with the heat that the kiss generated, creating a whirlwind of sensations that made your head spin.

Pulling away, you opened your eyes to find Miles momentarily dazed, his eyes reflecting surprise and something deeper, something warmer. And then, before you could fully register what was happening, his hand gently cupped the back of your head, pulling you back in.

This time, the kiss was deeper, more passionate. His lips moved in sync with yours, a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. His hand threaded through your hair, pulling you closer, while his other hand lightly rested on your waist. The taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of his body so close to yours, all of it made your head reel with a euphoria that tingled down to your toes.

When you both finally pulled away for air, his lips were slightly swollen, and his eyes held a warmth that made your cheeks flush. His smile, now more radiant than ever, was the kind of smile that held promises of many more stolen kisses in the future.

Miles was still caught in the euphoria of the kiss when he managed to stutter out, "Y/N, I just…I just wanted you to know, I-"

"I know, Miles. We'll talk about it tomorrow morning," you interrupted, your words carrying a promise of understanding, your soft smile soothing his anxious heart.

His smile broadened, an echo of the love-struck smile that hadn't quite left his face since the kiss. "Yeah… see you tomorrow, Y/N," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he swung away from your window, disappearing into the night sky.

You watched as his figure got smaller and smaller, until he was just a speck in the distance. Only then did you let out the squeal you'd been holding back, the sound echoing around your room, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

Quickly, you grabbed your phone from your bedside table, your fingers moving almost instinctively. You pulled up Miles' contact information, your heart still fluttering as you remembered the stolen kiss. With a wide grin on your face, you changed his contact name, replacing it with 'Miles ❤️'. The small red heart emoji next to his name was a sweet reminder of the affection that was blooming between you two, a promise of more heart-fluttering moments to come.

IIRENICS © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[sheryl-lee]

"gifs = art" could you please elaborate on that besides the skill that goes into it?

🫥 i have no idea why people are looking to me to explain something that has been repeated by many gifmakers and content creators for *years* and should be common sense anyways but...

beyond the skill that goes into gifmaking (the time it takes, the practice required, etc.) the different colorings, typography, blending and other proccesses that some gifmakers use in their creations absolutely can and should be considered an artform. look no further than the gorgeous gifsets some of my very talented mutuals have made:

@yenvengerberg becca's colorful sets are art as far as i'm concerned! like just look at this. she transforms the media she gifs and makes it look completely unreal in terms of sheer beauty and creativity.

@sith-maul one of the best creators on this site. nik is just so so talented. everything she creates is so stunning; you can't look at a set like this, for example, and tell me that it isn't art.

@hoe-biwan again, everything that flo posts is beyond incredible. i don't even watch star wars and i still silently nod my head and gape in awe when one of her sw sets is on my dash. just scroll through the comic book-inspired sets flo's made!!! that's art <3

@buffysummers ok alexandra is such a talented creator and a HUGE inspiration for me when i started giffing years ago. her eye for coloring and scene picking is out of this world! this is a recent set of hers that i particularly adore.

these are just a few examples, but if you scroll through my own blog or the various edit tags for fandoms, you would see more of what i'm talking about. there are so many talented gifmakers and editors on this site who take time out of their busy lives to create for us, and it breaks my heart when their work is discredited or disregarded or underappreciated. for their work to be invalidated and not considered art when it very much is? not only is it rude, it further demotivates creators from contributing to the site and makes them feel like nothing they create is good enough - believe me, i know that feeling all too well.

i've made extremely detailed and color-specific sets before like these, and it took me 3-4 WEEKS. EACH. i'm not exaggerating in the slightest. and since posting them, they've already been reposted here on tumblr and on other sites like pinterest, twitter, instagram, etc. if you even have like a shred of empathy you can understand why that would anger and upset me.

i don't know why people assume that gifmakers copy and paste the same 5 settings on their gifs, export them, and call it a day - it's not that simple at all. so much more goes into making gifs, and the majority of people on this site continue to laugh in our faces, steal the edits we spent so much time and energy on, belittle our work and claim that it isn't art (and friendly reminder! we do this free of charge and ask for nothing in return beyond clicking the reblog button, and so many of you can't even do that much). i shouldn't have to sit here and validate any of that - the creations should speak for themselves. you consider fanvids, fanart and graphics "art" - so why not gifs, which make up the majority of the edits on this site and, in theory, help foster/sustain discussion and fandom?

reposters all run up and down claiming that gifmaking "isn't that difficult" with zero experience... yet if they tried it themselves, they would know that's so far from the truth. and they DO know that deep down, or they wouldn't steal our gifs from us in the first place if gifs were that easy to make 💀

[sasquach-scratches]

Who the fuck picked this hideous color scheme for House Mornard’s armor and/or decided it was good enough to go with

[positively--speculative]

It's almost been a year and I'm past the point of caring if someone wants to call me a "Snyder-stan" or whatever (because if you criticize his work without making weird and downright mean-spirited theories about his personal character [such as that he hates his mother or caused his own daughter's s/uic/ide], you must be a mindless stan, am I right?).

I've ranted about this several times, but I just will never get over the fact that Justice League (2017) never had to be the disaster it was. What had happened, however, to make it so was this odd hatred for Snyder. An odd hatred that was so strong that WB chose Joss Whedon to do routine reshoots at a time when Snyder was grieving such a terrible loss.

I only have a basic understanding of how reshoots work (and any filmmakers reading this are free to correct me), but from my limited understanding, reshoots are done just to fine-tune things that are already finished. Reshoots are done to make sure everything is how the filmmaker wants it to be. As a writer, I see it as something similar to the process many of us go through: We write our story and then we put it away for a while. We then let a select few trusted peers take a look and make their suggestions before getting back to work on it and changing what we feel needs to be changed before a wider audience gets to see it. Whedon was only ever supposed to look at the completed work and fine tune what was done, and from my understanding, there was work Snyder had not completed that he was supposed to finish for him. Instead of doing that, Whedon cut a lot of what was planned, and removed a lot of things that the Snydercut was later praised for. He abused the cast, especially Ray Fisher, and would later defend himself for it by calling him a "bad actor." He threatened Gal Gadot's career and then claimed she didn't understand him due to a language barrier. And he did all of this for what? To take someone else's work and make it an Avengers (2012) knockoff?

Like all of this alone is enough to make even just a casual moviegoer with basic morals uncomfortable (at the very least), but I think what bothers me, personally, is how online critics (who tend to be the loudest critics and the ones WB seems to pay the most attention to) continue to handle the whole thing.

Let me be clear that I understand and even align with most rational criticisms of both Man of Steel and BvS. And I honestly didn't give much thought to who directed either of them until the harsh vitriol began to be thrown Snyder's way. To call me a "stan" is laughable. And I feel like there's an irony in the fact that some of the most popular online personalities gained more popularity in defending problematic media such as Twilight, but went all in on their hatred for these movies along with their fans. I'm not saying that the fandom for these movies is not without its weirdos. No fandom is. But it is funny that when the conversation of the fandom's behavior was brought up, fans of marginalized groups who enjoyed the movies were completely erased from the conversation while this narrative that only "straight white fanboys" were fans of the movies was pushed and thus became widely believed.

And again, this is not me saying that Snyder is perfect. I don't know him. He could be an asshole for all I know. All I know is what people who have worked with him, particularly people of color, have said in interviews. I understand that one Brown man and one Black man do not speak for all people of color, but it says a lot that both Jason Momoa and Ray Fisher have nothing but kind things to say about Snyder and their experiences working for him. And it speaks volumes that both Aquaman's and Cyborg's characters were given a lot more depth in his version of the film. On the flip side, both actors (especially Fisher) spoke out against Whedon, which was followed by several women he worked with in the past speaking out against his treatment of them as well. And while a good number of online personalities did write and create videos about this, I failed to see even a fraction of the same passion that was aimed towards the hatred of Snyder that went beyond just normal film criticism, and once again, fans of color were largely ignored when we pointed out the imbalance of it all.

But to top it all off, the reaction of many of these online personalities was to...just...double down on their hatred towards the franchise and the people who enjoy it. Many of them were blatantly dishonest suggesting and outright saying that the Snydercut was 'practically the same movie' as the 2017 version save for a few effects and added scenes. In what world is a two hour movie and a four hour movie 'practically the same'?

I would never ask anyone to force themselves to like a movie. That's just plain silly and a number of my mutuals here don't like Snyder's DCEU movies, and I can joke about it with them. Despite writing about this often, it's not that deep for me. And when a mutual posts about a movie I don't particularly enjoy, I mostly just scroll past and go about my business. What bothers me is the misplaced rage in this mess of a situation. Disliking or even hating a movie is fine, but said dislike and hatred should never have led to Snyder's character being attacked (and in a time when more people are speaking out every day about the abuse they endure from men in power, I think it's fair to point out that a number of people have spoken out against Whedon, but not one person [yet] has anything negative to say about working with Snyder). And it should never have led to this amount of bad faith and plain dishonesty within circles of criticism.

I could say a lot more, but I'm too tired to go any further for now.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒸𝓮 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝓮 𝒟𝒶𝓂𝓃𝓮𝒹 (𝓓𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷!𝒮𝒶𝓃) 𝓡𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐷𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛! 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛 (𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧)/ 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡, 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦/𝐷𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝐴𝑈

"𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒂 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆...

𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝑫𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍’𝒔 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒔.."

-𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆: 𝑷𝒐𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑯𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒐𝒓𝒆

𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━���══ ࿇

The young raven haired man strolled through the crowds of other guests, taking a glance or two whenever something seemed to catch his eyes. But those glances were only fleeting. There seemed to be nothing particularly interesting in any of them.

He took in the scene before him: long, glittering ball gowns spun around, either in tune to the orchestra playing or in a presumptuous effort to be shown off to others. The male specimen differed no greater than their female counterparts, often standing up straighter or running a hand down their expensive and delicately tailored suits, except they were willing to take it a step further and actually discuss how much they paid for it.

Foolish mortals

He scoffed as he studied each one of them. It was truly sickening to him how much humanity had reached its lowest point. More frequently than not, he noticed how humans more than ever were vain, prideful, arrogant, egotistic and disdainful of anything or anyone who wasn't them.

It wasn't entertaining anymore. He recalls a time many centuries ago when he would get a thrill out of corrupting the innocent, driving the wisest of beings into insanity, destroying picture perfect marriages and making the purest of souls fall into an abyss of sin and darkness.

What was the point of trying to do all that now when some of them are destined for destruction since the moment of their birth? It truly irritated him.

Sighing he picked up a glass of wine from one of the trays carried around by the many butlers, poor useless souls as he liked to refer to them. He sipped on the crimson liquid, it's alcoholic venom doing nothing to him even though it was probably his 13th one already.

13? Was it?

He lost count. He shrugged it off though. He could drink it as if it were pure water, his kind were immune to this substance unlike humanity.

He snorted when he'd look at certain people's masks. While most went all fancy and elegant, others decided to have fun and make sure their attire stood out, in the form of red or black masks, adorned with either fangs, horns and overall rather gruesome or grotesque visages. Clearly they were meant to represent none other than his fellow kindred. He scoffed at their personification of him.

"Damnable bastards. If only you knew we are some of the most beautiful creatures to walk next to you....."

Perhaps that's the main reason why they all, man or woman, no matter their age, education or social status, end up ensnared by them. They were irresistible.

He was about to walk out of the hall, bored out of his non-existent soul, when a small titter caught his ears. Turning his face towards the sound, his breath was caught at the sight of an ethereal looking woman. His eyes scanned her from head to toe. She was absolutely perfect: from her luscious (enter color) hair, to her satin smooth skin, all the way down the her tempting figure. Her scarlet colored dress was impeccably on her, the deep plunge in the chest decorated with sequins and rhinestones daring men to not gaze at her cleavage. The waistline was fitted and then fanned out to accentuate her captivating body. Anyone would think this lady was sin itself, she certainly looked the part.

But San knew better. He could see and feel the aura around her. She was wholly pure, absolutely nothing to signify that she'd been stained or deemed unclean. She was simply an overly sheltered girl who no doubt wanted to fit in, be regarded as a mundane person like the rest of them.

Absolutely perfect if you asked him.

He sauntered in her direction, his devilish smirk plastered on his face. Sensing a pair of eyes, she tilted her head and made contact with the demon, now unable to look away from his alluring gaze. Even through the mask covering half of his face, she knew he was the most handsome man she'd ever see, albeit she'd never seen a lot of men in her life anyway.

Inexperienced and naive as she was, she let him stand next to her and take her hand. Lifting it up to his lips, he introduced himself:

"Choi San. Pleased to make your acquaintance my fair lady."

Delicately, he placed a kiss to her fingers, before releasing them from his hold. His touch was cold, but it sent a burning sensation up her entire arm and she found herself longing for his touch again almost instantly.

"L/N Y/N..." She replied in a voice that was merely above a whisper.

"A truly befitting name for such an angelic lady."

He chuckled to himself at his use of the word. If he was successful, which he always was, by the end of the night, there'd be nothing angelic left about her.

He extended his arm out towards her.

"May I have the pleasure of requesting the next dance?"

He made it a point to flash his dimples, knowing they only added to his charm and rendered women unable to refuse him. She stood up and linked her arm in his. He felt a shiver when she touched him, a feeling he only felt when his kind were in the proximity of a pure soul. It was precisely what he'd been craving for who knows how long. Definitely more than a hundred years since the last time he felt such a presence.

He guided her to the dance floor, the other couples already in position. If there was anything San prided himself on, it was his dancing. He's had years of experience to learn almost every dance that had been created, not only because it added to his attractiveness, but because it truly was one of the few mundane things he thoroughly enjoyed.

He especially loved the waltz they were currently playing. Waltzes were so elegant, refined, polished and were perfect when seducing someone. Intense eye contact, hands intertwined and his arm pulling her close to him, he could see a glimpse of the light blush peeking out underneath her ebony mask. She was flustered, exactly how he wanted her. They were practically gliding across the dance floor, perfectly in tune with the music playing.

"Did you come alone?" San decided it was time to strike up a conversation before going for the kill.

Y/N simply nodded, looking down somewhat ashamed. Instantly he knew she was probably not supposed to be here in the first place.

Interesting detail.

"Tired of sitting at home all bored?" He raised an eyebrow at her, but already knowing the answer.

"Can you tell?" She asked, wondering if he could read her mind.

"Well..... I can tell a lot of things about you..."

Releasing his hold on her waist, he lifted his hand to spin her around before bringing her back into his embrace, now closer than before.

"Things like what?" She wanted him to elaborate.

He hummed along to the music, making her impatient for his answer.

"Like..... how you want something exciting to happen tonight. Your eyes are practically for something, anything, that contrasts the dull life you've lived so far..."

She widened her eyes when he spoke those words. Was she that easy to read? That a mere stranger could notice that about her?

"And your countenance only serves to confirm my theory." He finished.

She sighed softly and loosened her grip on him, wanting to walk away, but he only tightened his hold on her. He smirked at her and leaned in, whispering dangerously close to her lips:

"Why don't you let me open up a new world for you?"

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

The girl fluttered her eyes open, soft blissful pants escaping her lips. It had been a while since they left the mansion, where San took her to what she assumed was his place. Ruby red walls with matching velvet carpet, umber brown furniture, candles in every corner being the only illuminating feature in the dark room. The only exception was the bed. It was a pitch black color with white sheets and blanket.

Her dress had long been discarded in one of the chairs in the room, the only article clothing her at the moment being her cream colored garter belt with matching thigh high stockings. San thought they looked absolutely adorable on her. The visual only heightened his need to claim her, to corrupt her, to stain her forever with his unholy mark.

He was currently in between her legs, his mouth attached to her heat. Purple blotches were already decorating her inner thighs, courtesy of his teeth. He swirled his tongue around her clit before sucking down on it. He moaned and that action alone made her thighs tremble and close around his head. But he was having none of that. His hands pushed her thighs apart again, nails digging into her petal soft skin as he continued to ravish and feast on her succulent taste.

"S-San...wait...feels f-funny...." She stuttered out after a few minutes.

He knew exactly what she was referring to: she had about to have an orgasm. As much as he'd love to see her come undone on his tongue alone, he made an effort to pull himself back before the feeling got too intense. She let out a whine of frustration and looked at him with a puzzled look, unsure of what was happening.

San ran his thumb across her lip.

"Don't worry darling. I told you I'll open up a new world for you..

And I always keep my promises."

Unzipping his pants, he pushed them down his legs and threw them onto the floor. He smirked as he took in Y/N's astonishment as she gaped at his nude form, or more specifically, at his thick and long length. She seemed to hesitate for a minute, no doubt intimidated by his size, wondering how was that supposed to fit in her.

Climbing on top of her, he placed a reassuring kiss to her temple.

"I'll take good care of you darling...trust me."

His lips captured hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped inside and danced around her mouth, almost like the waltz from hours before. His hands went to the back of her thighs, lifting them up and wrapping them around his waist. He lifted his hips up slowly, the tip of his cock pressing against her folds. He began slipping inside her, going inch by inch so she could get adjusted to the feeling, not wanting to scare her.

Although it took a lot in him to not just pound into her as he wished to.

She wrapped her thighs tighter around his waist, the foreign and stinging feeling of his intrusion causing her to hiss and cry out a little. San peppered kisses across her jaw and neck in an effort to soothe the pain, while his hands drew circles around her thighs. He stayed still until he felt her relax under him. She looked back at him, her face asking what to do now.

"I'm going to start moving now ok? Just relax and let yourself go."

He pulled out of her in a speed that was torturous to him. Then he slowly pushed himself back in, watching as she took deep breaths and looked down at where their bodies connected. The more she looked at him pushing in and out, the more it helped to relax and put her at ease. San knew it too. Her at first raspy breathing turned to soft, melodious moaning.

His hips snapped up and began rolling at a faster pace, causing his cock to hit the perfect angle in her. Her breath hitched and she gasped when the overwhelming feeling in her stomach started to return, building up inside her, threatening to be released any second now.

The demon could feel it too. He's had years of experience to know what her body was doing. He watched as her face contorted, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Sa-San..." She called out, trying to warn him.

He smirked at her.

"I know, I can feel you clenching around me. You feel so good. I can't wait to feel you cum on my immense cock."

His dirty talking only served to have her whine underneath him. His hand reached down and began toying with her nipple.

"So come on babygirl, let me feel you burst. I know you can do it.....

Give it to me."

He commanded those last words to her and just like he knew would happen, she shuddered under his body, her first orgasm in her entire life taking over her, a soft pathetic whimper being the only noise she could muster. It wasn't anything too loud or over the top, as San pretty much expected. It was her first time.

Besides.....there was plenty of time to have her scream his name.

He kissed her nose and smiled.

"You did so well darling. I'm so proud of you."

She blushed at his compliments. San pulled out of her, a proud evil grin plastered on his face as he noticed the sticky trail that dripped out of her onto the sheets: a few droplets of blood signifying he had deflowered her.

Now to corrupt her even more.

He picked her body up and spun her around, making her get down on all fours as he gripped her hips once again.

"Now it's my turn to have a little fun."

She let out a loud moan when he entered her for the second time, her body still sensitive from her first orgasm. San didn't bother to go slow anymore, he knew she could take it. He thrusted in and out of her at an inhuman speed, low moans and hisses coming out of his mouth.

"Fuck! I can feel you getting close again beautiful, your pussy is so fucking tight, it's practically swallowing my cock."

He chuckled when he felt her clench even tighter around him.

"Oh you like that don't you? You like being told you're nothing but a cockslut?"

She hid her face in the pillow in front of her, trying to hide the groan that just past through her throat. San however grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face back up.

"Answer me you little whore."

She yelped when his hand landed a harsh smack to her ass.

"Y-yes San!"

He smacked her once again before pulling her even more roughly and pressing her back to his chest.

"Right now it's Master. Got it you filthy slut?" He growled into her ear.

"Yes Master!" She cried out.

"Good little whore." He praised her.

He continued his merciless pounding, one of his hands trailing down her abdomen to rub her now swollen and pink clit. Y/N now had a few tears rolling down her cheeks from the overstimulation and she hung her head low.

"Uh uh little slut. None of that."

His free hand wrapped around her neck, forcing her to look up. He tilted her slightly to the right so she could see their sinful reflection in the mirror by the wall.

"Look at you. You look so fucking desperate, wanting to cum again on my cock. Is that what you want? To cum on master's cock? Then beg for it."

Y/N let out a series of whimpers, collecting all the strength she could to cry out:

"Please master! I want to cum, let me cum on your cock!"

San was loving this. It had been so long since he had such an innocent thing begging for him.

"How bad do you want it darling? Does Master's cock make you feel that good?" He teased her.

"Please Master I want it so bad! It feels so good, please don't stop!" Her words were barely incoherent now from how overwhelmed with pleasure she was.

Having being satisfied by her answer, he squeezed her throat, causing her to gasp and writhe her body as her second orgasm took over, far more intense than the first. He never slowed down his pace therefore making her convulse even more violently and shriek out a chant of his name, further heightening his pride and ego.

Very soon after, he cursed loudly as he reached his own climax, his cock spurting out his cum inside her, filling her up with his sinful load. She collapsed on the bed, worn out by the physical intimacy that just took place. San chucked darkly when not even a minute later she was completely passed out. That always happened. Humans couldn't handle having intercourse with a demon, they were practically insatiable and always passed out after a night with them.

Pulling the blanket to cover her, San ran his fingers through her hair. He admired her features for a few minutes. She was really beautiful, an ethereal beauty that only came once every century. Even in her now corrupted and tainted state, she was still the most alluring person he'd ever seen, and he's seen even angels themselves.

Now he knew he wanted her all to himself, completely for him and for no one else to own. He wasn't going to allow anyone to take her from him. He didn't have to worry about celestial beings claiming her, they wouldn't want her now. But other demons might want her.....

Getting up he opened a drawer and took out something he'd never imagine using in any lifetime. But there was always a first time for everything. He held up the gold contraption in his hand before letting it set over one of the flames from the various candles in the room. Once he made sure it was hot enough, he approached Y/N quietly.

It's a good thing she wouldn't wake up for a couple hours....

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Y/N squinted, trying to let her eyes adjust to the lighting. She felt a dull aching in her lower abdomen and legs, reminding her of the events that took place last night. She looked around, seeing that she was still at San's place, but he was nowhere to be found. She sat up and rubbed her shoulder, feeling some sort of burning and stinging pain.

She paused when she looked at the mirror and noticed something on the back of her shoulder. Getting up and trying her hardest to walk with her limp, she went to the mirror and turned slightly to the left. She froze when there was a bright red mark on her upper back in the shape of a pentagram with the letter 'S' in the middle of it.

She started freaking out. Was this some kind of joke? Where was San?

"Well good morning my dear."

Speaking of the devil, he appeared right behind her, making her whip around and face him.

"Did you do this?" She asked, pointing to the mark.

"I did. I think it really suits you." He smiled proudly.

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"Why you ask? It's simple."

He took a few steps forward. Leaning in, he gripped her chin.

"Because you're mine now and I own you."

She scoffed at his words, repulsed that he could do this.

"You're insane." She spat out.

"I've been called worse." He sat up straight again.

Y/N marched over to the chair on the other side and began grabbing her clothes.

"And just where do you think you're doing?" San crossed his arms in front of him.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving."

He let out a hearty laugh at that.

"Leaving? Oh no sweetheart. You're not leaving. You can't leave me." He told her.

"Yeah? Watch me."

She pushed him out of her way and headed for the door, but before she could reach for the handle, San appeared right in front of her out of thin air, causing her to step back in fear.

"What the-" She exclaimed.

"Let me repeat myself darling..."

San began to take steps towards her as she began to slowly retreat from him.

"I own you. You can't leave because you're mine now. I marked you so no one else takes you from me, in other words..."

He slammed his hand against the wall behind her when they reached it. She watched in horror as his dark orbs shifted into a fiery red color that burned deep in her soul.

"You're bound to me for all eternity...... and now you're a part of my world....and there's no turning back..."

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

[skamofcolor]

I know you probably don't do discourse, but even after all the backlash with the whitewashing of sana and erasing mahdi, skam italia now had the even counterpart say the n-word in one of the clips 😬😬😬

Oh boooooooooooy lol. 

My response became extremely long so I’m gonna put it under a Read More:

Okay, so I when I first heard this happened after the SkamIt clip dropped, I was thinking about doing a post on this here, but ultimately decided against it. I did post a bit about how ludicrous the situation was on my personal blog, though, lol. But since we’ve gotten an ask on it, and it’s been a few days so I’ve had time to collect my personal thoughts more, here’s a long post about the entire situation.

Context, for anyone who doesn’t know yet: In one of SkamIt’s latest clips (the og equivalent would be that scene in S3 where Isak and Even hang out, listen to rap, make food, smoke weed, etc. and then Isak discovers Even has a girlfriend) Italian!Even - Niccolò - says the n-word. 

I actually did watch this scene to get a full idea of it, so here’s how the framing of it happens: Martino (Italian!Isak) and Niccolò are talking about music. Niccolò is like, “one of my fave artists is Earl Sweatshirt, let’s put some of his music on.” So he gets up to do that, and then goes back to the couch. They’re both holding these weird puppets that Niccolò owns, and Niccolò is like, “let’s play fight with the puppets.” As the opening line of the song comes on, he says something like, “let’s go, my n*gga.”

So this caused a bit of a fandom blow-up. Where on one side, there’s folks who aren’t horrible are rightfully mad that this show had a white boy said the n-word. And then… there are stans who have been using every excuse under the sun to defend it, including: this is Italian culture, this word has a different meaning everywhere except for English speaking countries, Americans have no right to be mad because this isn’t for them, and it’s only a word, who cares. The showrunner also put out a… charming… defense to the whole thing, which although it’s since been deleted off of Instagram, a kind Tumblr user has translated. 

So this all being put out there, here are my personal thoughts on the matter: to be honest, I’m annoyed that Niccolò said it but that’s not my big issue. My big issue is that I hate the framing and consequent defense of it. Here’s what I mean by that:

1) Yes, white Europeans, the n-word, in all it’s forms, is a racial slur. No, it doesn’t fucking matter if it “means something different” in your country. And no - you can’t fucking say it.  

First of all, I’m gonna have to call bullshit on it “meaning something different.” 

A lot of the defense I’ve seen has been people claiming that it’s “U.S.-centric” to be mad that Niccolò said the n-word. And my response to that is… And So???? Lol?????

Look. The word comes from a U.S.-context. So you cannot have it both ways. You can’t talk about this word and claim in “means something different” in your country and then not want to talk about the ROOTS of it. If this word doesn’t come from your culture, then why are you so quick to defend it as part of your culture? 

Furthermore, Italy is not free of systemic antiblackness. When Italy (as well as every other country in the world) has a derogatory term for Black people, has a history of colonization in African nations, and has seen an increase of violence and murder of Black people in this year alone? Y’all can’t pretend like just because this word is in English that it’s meaningless in a country full of racism, xenophobia, and antiblackness. 

And if you’re trying to claim that Italian teenagers are using it willy nilly because they don’t know what it means… I just… I literally can’t believe that. I just can’t believe in this day and age that folks, even outside of the U.S., do not know what the word means or where it comes from. But what I do believe is that folks do know what it means, and yet don’t care. They appropriate it for themselves because everyone loves Black culture while simultaneously hating Black people. And that’s facts. 

In a globalized world where specifically Black American culture is commodified and distributed like candy, you’d have to be living under a rock to not understand the violence behind this word. And if you are living under a rock… you never would’ve heard it in the first place. 

(In case you are one of those living-under-a-rock people, there are a thousand and one articles on why it’s okay for Black people to say the n-word and why non-Black people shouldn’t. Here’s just one of those videos in case you didn’t know. The fact of the matter is, it’s not just a word. It’s violence. And regardless of if Black people wanna use it or not, that’s NOT up to anyone who’s not Black to decide.) 

2) We have to remember that this is a FICTIONAL television show. And that every single thing that the characters do/say was CREATED by an actual human.

Okay, but fine.

Let’s go with the defense that white teenagers all over Italy are using a racial slur casually cause no one knows the violent context behind the n-word and it’s all in good fun (Sounds fake, but okay). 

So Niccolò says it because that makes it realistic, and SkamIt is going for realism. Okay. Then the big issue of this isn’t that he said it; it’s the framing of it that it’s a-okay that he’s said it that’s my issue.

Because this all has to do with the SHOWRUNNERS, who are grown ass people, knowing the context and meaning of the n-word. Because as adults creating media for young people, I damn sure will be holding them responsible for what their characters say and do. And honestly? If non-Black teenagers in Italy are really running around saying the n-word with nary a care in the world, then it’s your duty as the adult to show why that’s wrong.

 Including someone doing/saying racist things isn’t inherently bad, because I agree. It is realistic. But never showing a resolution to it or calling it out within the framing of your show just lets your audience know that A) you don’t care about People of Color and/or B) you don’t think the oppression we face is a big deal. And both, when you’re making a show for young people, is dangerous. 

Because it perpetuates the idea that racism is okay or it’s not as bad, particularly when it’s done in a casual, “not intending to cause harm” kind of way. Racism isn’t always direct intentional malice; it can include anything that perpetuates the normalization of systemic oppression. Which was the big issue with how Julie portrayed Vilde’s racism all throughout og Skam but that’s another rant.  

It would be one thing if Niccolò said it and Martino recoiled a bit or was like “bro, wtf?” But he doesn’t do any of that. Niccolò says it and then the two play with their puppets. And that’s the thing - I personally feel, that as a showrunner, if you’re going to depict the normalization of racial slurs (which you inherently do, when you have someone casually saying the n-word) then it’s your DUTY to frame it as bad. Because it is bad. Regardless of how “realistic” it is, it’s still racist as fuck. Again, especially because of the rise in xenophobia, racism, and specifically antiblackness in Italy. 

But that brings us to Ludovico’s ridiculous statement, because it’s obvious that he doesn’t agree that using the n-word was at most racist as shit and at the very least, in bad taste. And his statement, altogether, shows a very basic lack of critical thinking and comprehension as to why what happened was not okay. 

3) Ludovico’s reasoning for having Niccolò say the n-word, quite frankly, is bullshit and the most cringey white person thing I have ever read in my life, ever. 

And I think by breaking down his… non-apology… this addresses a lot of the bullshit defenses that SkamIt’s stans have been throwing at folks, too. 

“What is happening? Niccolò listens to American rap. He listens to Earl Sweatshirt. A black rapper. People who are criticising me, do they even know who this artist is? How does he look like? Do they know his father was a  South African activist and politician? Do they know his lyrics and his thoughts? Do they know that in those lyrics he always talks about the black community’s condition? And when he does that, he uses that word, that word you’re all worrying about. Niccolò, who loves Earl, is singing one of his songs, like anyone would do with a song they like.

Oh, my God.

First of all, it’s… ironic for him to pull up Earl Sweatshirt’s lineage and his music in order to defend this white boy saying the n-word. Because not only was his father a Black South African activist who was raised during apartheid and then was exiled to the U.S., his mother is a Black law professor who specializes in critical race theory! This man… is really trying to say that someone who had these parents would celebrate a white boy… using a racial slur… let’s use some critical thinking… 

Second of all, and I can’t believe I have to say this, a Black person reclaiming the n-word and using it conversationally or in their music is not the same as a non-Black person using it. If you’re not part of a marginalized group, you do not have a say in the conversation over using slurs within that group. 

Earl deciding to use the n-word, particularly in order to talk about “the Black community’s condition,” has meaning. It has power, it’s reclaiming a tool of oppression. A white Italian - who a lot of people are claiming don’t know anything about the origins of the word and thus the plight of Black Americans - using it is, at best meaningless and at worse intentionally racist. Ludivico wrote Niccolò as a character who just loves Earl Sweatshirt so much. But he wrote him as a character that loves him just on the surface - just enough to think it’s okay to use this racial slur and to “understand” the message of violence against Black people but not enough to not use a derogatory word that is actual violence against his favorite artist. Sure. 

Third of all, to me, it really didn’t seem like Niccolò was singing along to anything. He literally just says the line and then stops talking as him and Martino do their puppet fight. But that might be another argument, one that… is quite pointless. Because it would have cost him (Ludivico writing him) nothing to not say that line. To skip the n-word, to play a different song, to do literally anything else in that context. But it was, apparently, so central to Italian culture and so important for Niccolò to use this word that it had to be included. Alright.  

Are we really trying to attack Skam Italia for something like this? Do you really think we’re racist or insensitive? After all we’re doing? After all the work we do every day so we can bring values and themes that - for now, in Italy - have always been touched in such a superficial way?

“After all we’re doing”

Ludivico, what exactly are you doing for Black people and other People of Color? 

Like… he really fixed his wretched fingers and typed this out as if he literally had not made the choice to A) cast a white Non-Muslim woman to play literally one of the most iconic Muslim WoC in media history B) erase one of the few Black characters because “he didn’t have a large role,” instead of, you know, CREATING a larger role, as is his right, as a SHOWRUNNER WITH CREATIVE POWER, and casting a host of white boys instead C) has probably whitewashed their version of the Balloon Squad as well. Because yah - I’ve seen enough GIFsets of the “Martino watching a video of Niccolò playing piano” to see that there’s a bunch of white boys in the background laughing and joking with him. And it’s true; you can’t tell someone’s ethnicity by how they look. But the evidence so far is pretty damning. 

This is all to say that this a show… that has consistently refused to work with People of Color across the board. Not only in hiring actors, but it’s obviously not hiring non-white crew members and refusing to engage with fans of color. His constant excuses about why PoC cannot be involved make zero sense. He acts as though these characters are sentient beings that he has no control over instead of fictionalized people, wherein he and the other showrunners have the power to cast whoever they want, make them say whatever they want, and make them do whatever they want. 

And it’s obvious that him and his stans are the ones who are interacting with this entire situation is a superficial way. People who are calling it out, from what I’ve seen, are saying hey, this isn’t cool. Maybe we should have a nuanced dialogue for why this white Italian shouldn’t be saying the n-word. While he and his stans are crying white tears and saying this is our culture! Shut up if you don’t understand it!

In Salvini’s Italy, do you think that the main problem is a boy who loves American rap and sings a song with a word that people don’t like? Amazing.

This sarcastic deflection, I think, is exactly part of the problem. No one is saying that this is the end all and be all of racism in Italy. But using a word that is inextricably linked to physical, emotional, and spiritual violence is a part of the problem. It’s not “just a word”; it’s dehumanization. And that dehumanization of white people using it against Black people is exactly what has lead to issues in “Salvini’s Italy.”

The lyrics from American rap songs are full of inappropriate words. Shouldn’t we use them? The characters can sing them, but should they stop before that word? 

That’s… no one is saying not to use Black music lmao. But literally exactly what people are asking for is to not have non-Black people saying the n-word. If you’re not Black DON’T SAY IT. Why is that so hard.

These attacks don’t hurt black people, because they are smart enough to be able to appreciate the fact that we’re giving space to a rapper who’s really good and pretty capable of talking about their condition. 

The absolute condescension of this, honestly, makes me think that he has never interacted with a Black person in his life. Ever. And I’m not even trying to be funny. 

Look. I’m not claiming to speak for all Black people, especially in a globalized world. Our diaspora is huge and complex due to our histories of enslavement, colonization, imperialism, and violence. I’m sure there are Black people who literally don’t care about white people singing/saying the n-word. I’m sure that the decontextualization of it makes a lot of folks think it’s no big deal. And that’s fine. But again - that’s an intracommunity issue.

To have this white Italian proclaim to speak for Black people - not only here but also in proclaiming to know what Earl Sweatshirt is and isn’t okay with - is another form of dehumanization. Because it’s a catch-22. If we’re “smart enough” to not be mad at this racial slur being used, then what does it mean for those of us who are mad? That we’re unintelligent? That we’re not focused enough on the “right issues”? Once again, the lack of critical thinking is astounding. As if folks can’t understand that this is a big deal along with other forms of violence that are being enacted. 

But having this white boy say the n-word has nothing to do with “giving space” to Earl Sweatshirt or his art. It honestly just feels like a self-insert fantasy. It feels like a moment wherein these white people, once again, feel like they have claim to Black culture and language without having to reap any of the repercussions of that culture. And now once they’ve been called out, they want to be defensive. They don’t actually care about our communities or struggle. Idk how many ways I can say it but a marginalized person speaking truth to power and reclaiming a word is not the same as an oppressor using our language. 

They hurt me. You don’t know how much.

Ahhhhhh, the icing on top of this shit cake. 

Because this is the real root if it, isn’t it? Ludivico doesn’t like that he’s been called out. He doesn’t like that people are angry and that they have something to say about his racism. He doesn’t know how to just take the L and admit that he’s done something that’s messed up and has hurt people. Because in his mind, this is a personal attack. 

This is… this is Vilde dropping out of the bus because everyone “hates her” after her obnoxiously racist and Islamophobic “Muslim gangster world” monologue. But the funny sad thing is, this is a grown man. This isn’t a fictionalized teenager who doesn’t know how to confront her own prejudice. This is the root of why I’m so annoyed; because once again, we have a white person centering their own feelings over the heart of the issue. 

I’m sure I have more to say, lmao, but I am getting tired. 

TLDR; IMO, Niccolò saying the n-word with no repercussions was bad and Ludivico’s obnoxious “explanation” only made it worse. 

- mod Jennifer

[ganymedesclock]

Looking at the commanders that were ordered to summon Lotor, I'm starting to think that they will be the counterparts to the paladins, and particularly Throk is one to Lance, as appose to your theory of Lotor and Lance being counterparts. Throk is also tall and lanky, and his previous incarnations had him be very emotionally intelligent, and the writers implied there would be a struggle for power, probably because they don't respect Lotor, and I think Throk is our guy, just like Lance with Keith

Lotor was described as a hot shot prince, similar to Keith, and I'm starting to think that the commander next to Throk is Hunk's counterpart. He seems to be the token good teammate of them, and is soft spoken and seems amused by Lotor's size. Idk I think they'll keep the Lotor and Keith parallels and surprise us with the Throk and Lance parallels since Throk being a backstabber is counterpart to Lance's undying loyalty and dedication.

While this is an interesting read, I think it’s a pretty quick assumption, and I don’t know if it’s supported considering what little of Throk we have- I wouldn’t call it refuted, either, but it’s a noteworthy point.

So let’s just tally up all we’ve seen of these three individuals, for the sake of posterity (because there’s not much there for Lotor either, and if I’m subjecting you to scrutiny I better put my money where my mouth is)

Lotor

Lotor seems to be an unknown, addressed as “that little fellow” suggesting he’s small of stature. He gives kind of an underdog vibe compared to Zarkon.

That said, he’s very charismatic- another departure from Zarkon who we don’t really see giving speeches or even connecting to his subordinates at all, just relying on his godlike reputation and fear to keep people in line. Compared to that, it seems Lotor actually is trying to win people over... and doing rather well for himself. 

We see the commanders reacting strongly and favorably, seemingly to his speech. He also seems to be actively going for a kind of dramatic revelation with taking off his helmet, bit of a theatrical flair. He might well have thespian inclinations or a tendency to fake or exaggerate his reactions- noteworthy because prior incarnations of the character have often been calculating and cunning- but also very melodramatic and kind of a dork, so Lotor may play that up for personal gain.

He talks up the idea of new allies for the empire while promising to destroy its enemies. This is a pretty clear departure from how we’ve seen Zarkon acting and he’s already trying to sell the fleet on his agenda, seemingly by packaging it as close to Zarkon’s philosophy. He might, like Varkon, misunderstand Zarkon as a person (Zarkon and Lotor do not seem very close considering the implications Lotor was far away from central command) or he might be deliberately manipulating the fleet. Considering how much of the rest of his behavior feels like deliberate performance, I’d guess the latter.

Lotor strongly resembles Haggar, in build, ear structure, hair color and length, and overall appearance. This might suggest that while Haggar took a back seat to Zarkon increasingly towards the season 2 finale, with him shouting her down and overriding her orders to the druids, Lotor might be put in place by Haggar to put power back in her hands. So his agenda might not be his own as much as it might be Haggar’s- or he’s got his own ideas but is pretending to push hers. He has a lot of potential influences and we don’t know for sure how strong they are. 

The writers have talked him up as dangerous and serious, a threat to be taken seriously, but, as you say, not the only one.

Throk

According to the wiki, the prior incarnation of Throk is described as ambitious and a loyalist. This might put him at odds to Lotor if we assume that’s true to him now- if he’s a loyalist to Zarkon and skeptical of Lotor.

We haven’t seen much of Throk, but we’ve seen him in the background quite a bit, usually with his friend, the other commander (let’s call him “Claws” for now). This behavior is very similar to Thace, who floated in the background of Prorok’s scenes for some time before taking center stage.

Throk, Thace, and Claws are grouped together in the poster for season 1. Here we see a more jovial-seeming Throk who has his arm around Claws’ shoulders and talking loudly.

This suggests Throk is sociable and friendly, an unusual thing for the galra commanders. Further reinforced because again, we usually see him in a crowd or, in the season 1 finale, taking orders from Prorok. This might suggest Throk has some weight to throw around despite being a “mere” commander and possibly subordinate to Prorok (or whoever fills Prorok’s old position now that he, and Thace, are gone)- if Throk’s buddy-buddy nature has let him cozy up to and earn the good esteem of a bunch of different commanders. It could make him a force to be reckoned with because he’s not giving orders, oh no, he just had an idea and thought he’d mention it to his good friend.

Sure, maybe he’s just genuinely nice and has nothing to gain from it, but I’m suspicious, also from this picture. You can also look at Throk’s elbow in this picture, where it overlaps with Prorok’s right hand. This means that Throk’s amiable, gesturing hand is very nearly hitting Prorork right in the face- forcing him to lean back to avoid this.

Throk has worked under Prorok, seemingly without complaint. But Prorok is in trouble now, obviously- flanked by guards and with a gun pressed into his back. Since we now have the events of season 2 at our disposal, we know that this is likely alluding Prorok’s arrest and execution. Throk’s behavior here is practically dancing on Prorok’s grave, someone who he seems to have had no quarrel with. If he did have an issue with Prorok, he hid it well.

So Throk seems friendly... but also doesn’t seem to have qualms discarding people. He’s unconcerned with Prorok to a point of dismissal and would rather focus on his friend who he’s leaning very close to.

Claws

In that sense it’s hard to say for sure if Claws is just someone suckered by Throk’s amiable persona- or if he’s more of a willing conspirator.

He does seem to be enjoying Throk’s company, here, and elsewhere how they can be found closely together, and as commanders with separate fleets, that would suggest that they deliberately make time to be together. Considering how Morvok talks up central command, this would also suggest that Claws and Throk are both very good at what they do or have distinguished themselves somehow.

In the trailer, we see Claws and Throk discussing Lotor, specifically, their exchange goes:

Claws: Who’s this little fellow?

Throk: I’ve never seen him before.

As little as we can get from that, it’d seem Claws is concerned by his environment- like Throk he’s a watcher in most of the scenes we’ve seen him so far. But he also expects Throk to know, if he doesn’t recognize someone- further suggesting Throk’s generally someone in the know. Claws seems a bit skeptical, while Throk is sitting sort of intently.

Considering one of Claws’ distinguishing traits is his- well, glowing prosthetic claws, I’m willing to bet Claws is pretty formidable. He’s also sturdier-looking than the willowy Throk.

I might seem to be making mountains out of molehills, but, again- there’s something very like Thace about how these people have hovered in the background watching but not engaging too much- almost playing props- and yet they seem to be shifting into prominence. We know my earlier assessment is wrong- these people aren’t Blade spies working with Thace- but it’s still very interesting that they’re grouped together. It might suggest they’re similar as people with agendas.

...I wonder if Claws’ name is Hazar? Hazar, like Throk, is a figure taken from Vehicle Voltron/Dairugger. “Historically” Hazar was someone who is initially a standard enemy commander who begins to have a change of heart and seek peace with Voltron, but even if Claws is an “adapted” Hazar, that might not mean much, considering he’s from Vehicle Voltron and the writers have expressed they’re not really a fan of Vehicle Voltron much at all.

But it would be very interesting if it was true, considering another claim to fame of Hazar is his sister, Dorma- a galra with long dark hair who joined a rebel galra movement. As in, if they were going to give a “historical” name and character to Keith’s mother the currently unnamed Marmoran, Dorma would be a good bet. And since we don’t know how recruiting methods for the Blade happen, if they recruit from Zarkon’s forces or raise their own- very likely a mix of the two- it’s fairly possible that Blade members could have family that are in the main fleet.

(After all, part of the Trial of Marmora seems to demand the participant to resist influences from images of their family trying to talk them down from their goal, or at least, it took that shape for Keith)