#it's not like I forget he has depth I just. forget that the story GOES there

[falderaletcetera]

listen. I don't just love father brown because I first saw it while ill with the flu or because it's consistently kind to the outcast in a way that has reviewers calling it Too Woke, obviously a vote in its favour. or because the recurring thief character is very pretty to watch. though those are significant parts of it.

I love it because after eight seasons father brown sits down with the village drunk (a munitions expert in the war, has a soft spot for the parish secretary, name of harold or blind harry) to find out why he gave a murder suspect a false alibi and harry explains to him, calm as you like, that seeing the life leave someone's eyes changes a person, that it's what he reckons brought father brown to his faith, that it's what drove him to drink, and he didn't see that shadow in the guy the police are chasing this time. and father brown, rather than justifying or correcting or dodging or doubting him, says he knows how unjust the situation is. that he got something good out of the horrors of the war. that harry really didn't.

it is not a perfect show and yes I have problems with it but gosh, this is a character who's largely used for comedic beats, albeit kindly, and a scene like this isn't out of place at all but it still takes my breath away. we could've been left with this as subtext, y'know? I hadn't even put together that his alcoholism must have been trauma. but instead harry tells us this directly, tells us it's about guilt, that that's something he shares with father brown, who is competent and so often cheerful and I can't even imagine when he was younger, and it's a moment of such unexpected humanity and respect. and it's such a strange thing to see these characters side by side like that.

the scene ends with father brown calling harry a good man, and harry denying it ("they was only young lads" "so were we, harold. so were we.") and the two them sharing a drink as father brown gets a bit watery-eyed and I'm crying too over my nice cosy 'this is a concerning number of murders for a sleepy english village' show and just. hi. what. ow.

I also haven't recovered from the episode that turned into a heist halfway through but frankly I'm only mentioning that because I don't know how to wrap up a post like this. (it was good though. there were two separate honeypots, three if you count the impromptu replacement, one character terrible at grifting and one unexpectedly great at it, and, somehow, a con within a con. it was really very fun. get a show that can do both, I guess?)

[poetryvampire]

Imagine, if you will

Knight!Zevlor accompanying Royal!Reader on a journey (bonus angst points if Reader is being sent to their betrothed and the story ends with A Choice™ to be made)

How often do they have to huddle together for warmth on the cold road?

When their hands accidentally touch, do they embrace the affection or shyly pull away from each other?

Will Zevlor be a gentleman and offer one of his shirts for Reader to sleep in, despite the pang of longing it strikes in his heart to see them in his shirt, their eyes bleary and hair unmade from sleep?

And most importantly when they approach the destination, how desperate are the two to stay together? Is Reader resigned to their fate or are they plotting a way to ride off into the sunset with their beloved commander? More importantly, will Zevlor allow them to "throw away their future" (or something along those lines) for a "soldier well past his prime"?

(hi forgive me for barrelling into your asks with this, I just also have Hellrider Knight Brainrot)

OMG NO PLS if anything we need to spread this. I need more knight! Zevlor like I need air! I'm such a sucker for any medieval courtly love bullshit. Anything that feels like it could have one of those trashy (lovingly) painted covers

Okok but oh I love these. Such an A+ set up with so many great situations

I swoon so hard for romantic angst so let's say yes Zevlor's losing his mind taking his beloved royal Reader to meet their betrothed they're being forced to marry.

A cold night on the road? Just imagine how warm Zevlor would be. Especially to a non tiefling. Reader just wanted to get a little closer, until they find out he's a walking space heater and then they cling to him (the perfect excuse). The proud knight's never been so red, so flustered, has no idea what to do with his hands. Worst still he's so comfortable they fall asleep right on him!

Zevlor started to live for the simple intimacy of brushing hands, keeping warm, the basics of going through the day. As time goes on he starts to let his hands linger. Maybe even link with theirs for a moment. Perhaps leaning into the warmth cuddles too. Such little things but he like taking a second to relish in the closeness. To dream of Reader actually being his. It's torture but he just can't help it.

AND WEARING HIS SHIRT. woof omg. He does it of course but it cuts deeper than he thought. They've fallen asleep beside each other (again) and Zevlor wakes first. Seeing them peaceful wrapped in his clothes is too much to bare. In a perfect world he'd wake to that sight everyday. Reader even reaches out for him in their sleep, missing him instantly.

OHH THE DESPERATION the closer they get the worse it is. One of them is making a teary eyed confessing for sure. Either way I feel like Reader is begging to be carried off into the sunset, ready to give up a life of comfort for love. But Zevlor's still going to need A LOT of convincing. It's one thing for them to throw away their future but for an older man? And a tiefling at that? not only would he not be able to give them as good a life but surely theyd face prejudice for being with a hellspawn. The guilt is overwhelming. Zevlor does his best to convince Reader to at least meet their betrothed, despite the clear heartbreak on their face. He's sure that once they meet their lordy husband to be they'll forget all about him.

Of course that's not the case, but it does wonders for changing Zevlor prospective. Once they arrive, through all the pleasantries Reader keeps a smile but Zevlor can tell they're miserable. There's a shine in their eyes that seems to have gone out and Zevlor's left to realize that the depth of their feelings for him may actually be true.

But what if we turned up the angst a bit?

Imagine if Reader's betrothed is absolutely brute? Upon meeting he's rude and belittling to them, even has a bit of a threatening aura that's clearly making Reader uncomfortable. Now theyre scared as well as unhappy. And it breaks Zevlor's heart. The knight is Not having it. The plan is out the window in moments, he's not leaving their side for a second. He's fully determination to get them out of this, ridding into the sunset or not.

However it does carve a path for Zevlor to except Reader's love. All this time he's been so focused on everything he can't give them instead of what he can, such as making them feel loved, happy and safe.

Reader's crying in their room that night when there's a knocking at their window and -as if their wildest dreams have come ture- it's their knight in shining armor at the rescue. Zevlor gets down on one knee, and pledges a new oath to them and their future.

Ahhh I'm kicking my feet and giggling now just thinking about it omg 🥰✨️💜✨️

[crazy-ache]

Jane Eyre x Elucien Parallels (In-Depth Meta)

We've been told SJM loves the book Jane Eyre and we know that she has made some literary references to the novel in her own writing. For example, the most commonly known Elucien allusion is the one below:

Elain in ACOWAR:  “It felt… strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.”

Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre: “I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me.”

This parallel is a HUGE clue. Now, let me explain why the story of Jane Eyre is very well a map for what Elucien's central themes are likely going to explore in their book.

Could SJM be using Jane Eyre as a model for Elain's character and hero journey? Yes, I do. Here is why.

Let me describe Jane in a nutshell for you: she was someone who came from a difficult and isolated childhood and who used her meekness and reserved nature to fit into circumstances. However, we learn she is a smart, witty, innocent, stubborn, and feminine female protagonist. Despite all the societal and religious pressures to marry a husband, Jane was insistent she would only marry for true love.

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will.” ― Jane in Jane Eyre “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

....when I was reflecting on that, I was hit with a wow that is Elain Archeron if I have ever seen anything.

Jane Eyre is a story of Fate, Love, and Autonomy. Just like Elucien.

Without getting too wordy, let me summarize a few things for folks who never read the novel.

The connection described between Jane and Rochester is one of fate. Jane and Rochester fall in love from the start because he treats her as equal, but their marriage is thwarted because Rochester is still married to Bertha Mason (the madwoman in his attic).

Even though she loves him, she has complicated feelings about marriage. She is afraid of the restraints and expectations that will be placed on her if she were to marry.

She leaves him for some time and they endure a long period of separation. In that time she meets St John who will also propose to her, but is meant to represent dutiful marriage without true love and warmth. St John was described as a cold love, whereas Rochester was described as fire.

Eventually, she realizes she wants true love above all else, and returns to Rochester. He has lost his wife by then and it is only then that they are free to finally marry and live together as equals in love.

OKAY. That is definitely an oversimplification but I needed to lay it out for our road map. Let's compare now.

Elain and Lucien shared a fated connection created by the Mother with their mating bond. We also know that a long period of their relationship is defined by their separation where Lucien goes to find Vassa and maintains his distance from Elain out of respect of her feelings.

We know Elain likely has complicated feelings about the bond. She says to Feyre, "I don't want a mate. I don't want a male." She is resisting the bond with Lucien. While we don't have her POV yet, I imagine it has to do with resisting something that she doesn't understand, that is taking away her autonomy in love, and influencing her fate for her.

Elain is likely also going to have two marriage prospects, just as Jane did. We know of her engagement to Graysen, who was described as "kind enough" by Nesta and later rejected her horribly. This marriage would have been similar to St John - one more out of duty for status and safety and marked by coldness. Whereas we have Lucien, with fire in his blood, and a warm personality, which is what Jane described true love to be like.

What is keeping Elain and Lucien apart? Bertha Mason.

Bertha, Rochester's wife and mad woman in the attic, was a symbol of Jane's suppressed emotions and inner conflict in regards to Jane's marriage to Mr. Rochester. She represented what Jane feared the most of traditional marriage at that time--becoming trapped and isolated and mad by the female expectations of society and religion.

It was only once Bertha was gone that they could have their Happily Ever After. (It's important to note she perished in a fire.) Her absence was a physical representation of Jane losing her reservations about marriage and fully becoming sure of herself in confidence, status, and her DECISION to pick to true love.

Which tells me that Elain will return and love Lucien only after her own reservations of the mating bond are addressed. Maybe fire will even be involved/symbolic burning of their obstacles (which would be so fitting for our fireling). I think there is also an added layer that Elain wants more from life than what is expected of her by the Inner Circle, which is hinted at throughout ACOSF.

SJM told us herself in an interview:

“I’m not going to say if I am exploring it in future books or not, but it definitely offers a wealth of things to explore with this concept of freewill and what is true love. Is it something that’s destined? Or is it something that you make? Is it both?”

If she is truly influenced by Jane Eyre, we know the answer. When it comes to Elucien, it's both.

Other Symbols of Jane Eyre in Elucien

A few more interesting parallels I found:

Mr. Rochester gifts Jane a pearl necklace upon his first proposal. Jane refuses to wear it and even leaves it behind. "I left that; it was not mine: it was the visionary bride’s who had melted in air." Notice she rejected not because she doesn't like Rochester or the gift itself, but because what it symbolizes. A bride.

Lucien gave Elain pearl earrings for Solstice. She could barely thank him and we never know if she wears it. I am going to infer that Elain rejects the gift (with silence and indifference) because she is terrified of what it represents...of her accepting the bond between them. I found it so interesting SJM chose to use pearls and have them react very similarly.

Jane Eyre is filled with literary symbols of Fire vs Ice, with fire representing passion and true love, and ice representing duty and cold love.

Lucien could very well be a living symbol of fiery, passionate love ("Autumn Court males have fire in their blood—and they fuck like it, too" anyone??) Graysen and Azriel could also be symbols of that "icy, cold" love in comparison to Lucien.

We also cannot forget that Mr. Rochester waited and waited for Jane to return. Just as Lucien is waiting for Elain to be ready.

In Conclusion...

Let me leave you with one more piece of evidence to convince you. In Jane Eyre, Jane says this of Rochester once she has finally decided to be with him:

"All my heart is yours, sir; it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”

In ACOWAR, we have this moment between Elain and Graysen:

"I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.” Graysen’s face hardened. “I don’t want it.”

Elain will eventually realize her heart belongs to Lucien Vanserra. And he will give her the true love, peace, and happiness she has always wished for her entire life.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?" He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Lucien's heart already belongs to Elain. Likely since the moment their bond snapped, which is why she can hear his heart.

In their book, Elain will give her heart to Lucien, as it belongs to him. And has likely always belonged to him.

[gartenofbanny]

After I watched HezuNeutral's video and the more I think about it, yeah Hezu was right about Vivziepop lying in this tweet right here.

Notice how Vivziepop says that Hazbin "always" had a heavier emphasis on women-led stories saying as if it was always the case, but it hasn't. She's completely forgetting that she made two comics centered around the male main characters, Alastor and Angel Dust

An entire music video centered around Angel Dust

And she never attempted to expand on any other female characters with the only ones we know so much about being Charlie and Vaggie. Despite Niffty being part of the main cast, she doesn't have much going for her. Hell Cherri Bomb has more depth than Niffty does, but I believe that's only because she's around Angel Dust most of the time she's on-screen in both Addict and the Pilot.

Vivziepop is also forgetting the fact that Velvette exists. Velvette is part of the Three Vs who are the main antagonists of the show and is female. Despite this though she is barely even shown with her last animated appearance being from the pilot. There wasn't a teaser that shows her alongside Vox and Valentino, but there was just a teaser of Vox and Valentino both of those characters being male.

Who has made the most appearances out of the Three Vs? Valentino, who is a male character. Who has made the least appearances out of the Three Vs? Velvette, who is a female character.

Valentino even has his own fanmade music video that Vivziepop liked and who's included in said music video? Vox. Unfortunately, I've rewatched the music video a couple of times, and Velvette only made two appearances in the song. Her second appearance can be easily missed if you don't look closely.

Also, Velvette has the least amount of standalone merch out of the Three Vs. What I mean by "standalone" is that there isn't any merch consisting of that singular character. In Velvette's case, she only has three pieces of standalone merch.

A Tumblr user who goes by Demonic Dear brought up great questions about the recent merch sale mainly regarding Chaz. Why does he get all this merch and other characters like Moxxie's Mom who was introduced and died in the same episode don't? Why does Chaz have as much merch as one of the main female characters of HH already? Who I am referring to in the second question is Niffty.

Chaz has one suggestive mug, two playmats with one of them being suggestive, and a pin. Keep in mind all of this merch is for a dead character that's male. Niffty doesn't have that much merch despite her being part of the main cast of HH, but the new Spring Sale did show a new keychain of her....before her redesign. Come to think of it literally all of her merch consisted of her old design, what's going on with that? But, why is Vivziepop giving a dead character just as much merch as she is one of her main female characters for HH? Well Chaz is a horn-dog male character so that's most likely the reason why and you know this fandom really loves their sexy demons with no depth. All and all the more you think about Vivziepop's numerous tweets regarding criticism, it's noticeable that she just types this shit without thinking about what she's typing or contradicts herself either by her actions or words. But anyway, that's all I got for today. Thank you all for reading and I hope you all have a nice day!

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch10

chapter ten: departure

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors or pronouns are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 10, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-9, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

author's notes: Frederick is so cunty. He INVENTED cunt. This man stared down Abel Gideon and didn’t even flinch. He just said “see you in court.” 💅 This man left Hannibal a copy of the book he wrote *based on him*. That shit was crazy!! I don’t care what anyone says. Frederick is cunty.

Anyway. This chapter has been eluding me for a while. I wanted to live up to the intensity from the book, but I felt like that was impossible for me to accomplish. I also didn’t want this to be a straight replication of the book scene, so… I tried to make this deviate a bit more. So, here goes. It’s a bit shorter as far as chapters go, but whatever.

I also made small edits in the first installment of this series, changing the writing from Hannibal giving you his clothing to Hannibal just giving the reader clothing in their size. I realized it wasn’t inclusive to all body types so I wanted to change it. Plus, imo, it’s even more homoerotic to think that Hannibal specifically bought clothing for you and kept it at his house. That’s very gay. Anyways. Back to regularly scheduled programming!

Warnings: typical violence/blood; kidnapping, death, vomiting. Lots of gore for this one. To avoid spoilers, I’ll put more in-depth warnings in the endnotes.

Frederick Chilton wants to pick you apart. And he isn’t the only one—far from it. That’s the danger of being in a position like yours—a federal agent tasked with chasing after killers and criminals. The thrill of the chase… It forms a relationship between cat and mouse, predator and prey. Frederick may be a predator, but you are not his prey; you have a much larger carnivore on the prowl nearby, haunting your shadows and waiting for you to slip. Frederick may be intrigued by you, but Hannibal Lecter is utterly fascinated by you. There’s no denying the harsh shift in his behavior, from silent and nearly despondent in your absence to verbose and enigmatic upon your arrival. Frederick had tried to pull that energy out of him through their sessions, but he was entirely unsuccessful. Lecter was well aware of his research interest, and seemed perfectly content with keeping his lips firmly closed in the first years of his captivity. 

The thought interests and infuriates Frederick in equal measure. After all, having unrestricted access to an intelligent, self-aware sociopath is a very rare opportunity. The sheer strides Chilton could make in the field of abnormal psychology from even a single test score from Lecter… Frederick has to actively push himself away from those thoughts. They are nothing more than a deluded fantasy, for Hannibal Lecter completely defies quantitative reasoning. 

Frederick muses on the nature of Hannibal Lecter as he approaches the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The building is still a bit of an eyesore. Since his promotion to Head Administrator, he’s made efforts to both repair the space and modernize many of their practices. Whether those efforts have done much to improve the institution’s reputation is another story altogether. 

He’s looking forward to sitting down at his desk and getting through the mountain of paperwork waiting for him. The thought has been bearing heavily on his mind over the weekend, and Frederick is eager to do something with the restless energy that he can’t seem to suppress. 

He’s one step away from the stairs leading up to the entrance when a sudden harsh pain erupts in the back of his head. Frederick topples to the ground as his blurring vision slowly fades to black. The last sensation he can register before succumbing to unconsciousness is a vice grip on his ankle. 

A harsh ringing sound forces Frederick to acknowledge his hazy new reality. His head lolls forward and he blinks open his eyes, only to be met with an unrelenting darkness. It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s been blindfolded, and a few more to register the bindings around his wrists and ankles. He seems to be restrained in a chair. 

Frederick isn’t new to being kidnapped—not after Abel Gideon. But this particular situation feels different. Something deep in his chest—an inexplicable yet unwavering conviction—tells him he won’t survive this particular encounter. Because if his captor is who he suspects… he will show no mercy. 

He immediately starts fidgeting and struggling, but the effort is pointless. Frederick has been tightly and effectively restrained. Fear strikes at his heart as his senses work to interpret the space around him. Darkness camouflages the majority of the space, but Frederick can just barely make out some sort of projector screen in front of him. There’s a projector situated right next to him, tauntingly close and within reach. But what good would it serve?

The sound of footsteps sends Frederick’s heart roaring in his ears. He almost feels trapped in the foreign room, time moving like a slow sludge as another presence makes itself known. The person—evidently his captor—steps behind him, their breath practically hitting Frederick’s neck in their proximity. 

“Frederick Chilton.” His captor’s voice breaks through the stiff air and sends a shiver down Frederick’s spine. It sounds like he has some sort of speech impediment, as his S’s are drawn close together. Frederick has very little time to dedicate to that observation, as his blindfold is roughly yanked off. “Lay your eyes upon me. If you don’t wish to look, I will make you look.”

Frederick’s eyes water and he blinks a few times, only to find himself staring at a blindingly white projector screen. Before it stands a shadowed figure, towering over him in near darkness. The man takes a step forward and Frederick just barely stops himself from inhaling sharply at what he finds.

The man is wearing an elegantly patterned kimono; he has a cleft lip, his face slightly disfigured. His knuckles are cracked and bloodied. The man looks at him with gleaming eyes, almost appearing to salivate before him. Frederick’s heart drops to his throat as he remembers everything the FBI deduced about this killer and his personality. The Tooth Fairy stands before him entirely unmasked… and Frederick is assailed with the unshakable conviction that he is not going to live to escape this nightmare. 

“Do you understand?” His captor asks after a few minutes. 

Frederick doesn’t understand anything that’s happening. But he has the wherewithal to recognize the answer the man is looking for. “I understand,” he says through gritted teeth. His mouth is growing dry and his stomach is aching. Just how long has he been confined here? 

“Do you understand who I am?” The man insists. 

“I understand,” Frederick repeats. The only thing he is able to adequately understand is the pulsing fear running through his bones, cementing his fate to die a slow death behind these crumbling walls. Frederick can’t even begin to understand or comprehend the man before him. 

“I am no man,” his captor says, as if somehow sensing his thoughts. His voice echoes in Frederick’s ears, igniting goosebumps along his skin. “I am many things, but never a man. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Frederick is too terrified to say anything else. He can’t deviate from his agreement, for fear of losing his life to this behemoth standing before him. Indeed, his captor is inhumanly tall—looming over him with a far too intent gaze. Every rational part of Frederick’s mind is reminding him of the likelihood of his own impending death. 

“Do you see?” His captor demands.

“I see.” Frederick chokes out. The man quickly breaks the distance between them, his large hand crawling up Frederick’s neck and cradling his jaw. It takes an immense amount of effort from Frederick to remain pliant under the killer’s grip. His touch is deceptively light, almost gentle. Frederick’s breaths are shaky and shuddering. He is forced to be frozen in his bonds, as this man’s thumb carve paths along his face. 

“Once upon a time,” his captor murmurs, his voice almost a whisper. Frederick is terrified of this man—terrified of the juxtaposition between his purported cruelty and the delicacy with which he’s touching him now. Frederick nearly chokes on a breath when the man’s thumb glides over his Adam’s apple, before sliding up to his cheek once more. “I would’ve killed to be like you.” Frederick doesn’t need to think about that statement too much to understand the gist of what he’s saying. He can’t imagine the kind of cruelty and harsh treatment this man has been faced with on account of his facial disfigurement. And while that is no valid excuse for the crimes he’s committed, it contextualizes the desperation behind them. The desire to be seen. The need to be perceived. 

“But not anymore.” He continues. Frederick swallows past the acidic feeling in his throat. The man’s hand keeps rising higher, higher, higher. Now, his right hand stops at the edge of Frederick’s cheekbone, his thumb close enough to make Frederick’s eye flutter instinctively. “Bear witness to my Becoming.” 

It happens in a dizzying blur. His captor’s hand twists, his fingers locking into sharpened hooks. Frederick doesn’t even have the time to flinch before the man is digging his hand into his eye socket and yanking, dragging his eye out in a brutal move that rips a horrified scream from Frederick’s lips. He has never been in so much pain before. It feels as if his captor is digging deeper and deeper into his eye socket, ripping at anything and everything. Frederick’s vision goes dark on the left, deep red tears streaking down his face. In a harsh, disgusting snap, his eyeball is firmly ripped out. His severed optic nerve hangs out of the cavern that sits on the left side of his face. Someone has been screaming in a raspy, broken voice—and it takes Frederick several moments to realize the sound is coming from him.

The killer holds Frederick’s eyeball in his hand. Frederick feels nausea bubbling up his chest and into his throat with frightening speed, barely giving him a chance to prepare before he’s lurching forward in vain and promptly throwing up. Within seconds, he’s dry-heaving as saliva drips down his lips. He’s shaking and trembling, as the vision from his right eye almost pulsates in time with his heart. 

Frederick wants nothing more than to sink into unconsciousness. But the killer is shaking him roughly by the shoulders and hitting him every time his eye threatens to slip shut. At some point, Frederick’s exhaustion is temporarily at bay. “I want you to repeat after me, Frederick,” his captor demands, a camera in hand as he stares at him. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

Frederick can hardly respond. He manages a jerky nod and the man hums, starting his camera and giving him the words to say. Frederick is horribly delirious, the words falling to mush on his tongue. He’s slurring through the blood in his mouth and what he’s saying holds absolutely no meaning to him. 

His captor is cruel and merciful in the same breath, for once Frederick truly starts to lose the battle against unconsciousness, he is freed from his bonds and led to collapse on the floor. His cheek meets the scratchy carpet and he blinks tears from his uninjured eye, the man before him morphing and swirling in darkness. 

A wet wipe is rubbed harshly over his face, roving over his cheekbones and following the path the killer  had made with his fingers only moments ago. Frederick lets out a pained whimper and the pressure stops, replaced with an achingly tender swipe along his skin that still seems to hurt. His mind is buzzing, a dull hum that refuses to leave him in solitude. As much as he tries to stay awake and aware of his surroundings, the pain ripping through his face is enough to drag him into the shadows once more. 

He does not wake as he is bound to a wheelchair and thrown into the back of a van. Frederick does not wake, even during the horribly bumpy car ride that ensues. If he were able to pull himself from the unseeing void, he would recognize the fate that awaits him. But he is unknowing of the horrors that have not yet ended. 

Frederick is only broken from his slumber by the harsh screeching of the van arriving at its final destination. He blinks and the doors slide open, revealing his captor standing outside with a mask secured over his face and gloves covering his hands. Frederick can discern little of the environment around him, save for the inky black night devoid of stars. The man then steps into the back of the van and rolls Frederick out onto the pavement.  

“A mortal cannot witness the transformation of a god without dying,” he remarks, his hands gripping the handles of the wheelchair. Frederick desperately tries to escape, despite knowing it’s no use. His vision is still adjusting to the loss of his left eye; he’s exhausted; and the ropes binding his ankles and wrists are rather tight. The killer seems to know this, as a strange sort of smile rises on his lips. “This has always been your fate.”

It is only then that Frederick notices the red gasoline canister he’s holding. Even through his exhaustion, his mind rapidly connects the canister to the box of matches poking out of the killer’s pocket. The Tooth Fairy is going to burn him alive. Frederick begins to writhe and squirm as his adrenaline spikes, but his struggling is futile. There is nothing human in the monster’s face as he upturns the canister, coating Frederick in gasoline. Frederick is nearly hyperventilating now, as flashes of significant moments in his life come to mind. 

He stares up into the eyes of his captor, searching for a hint of humanity to appeal to. But there is only an unfeeling abyss. Terrified, Frederick watches in mute horror as the Tooth Fairy circles around him and stops behind him. He hears the telltale sound of a match being lit; a searing warmth greets the side of his face, before a match crawls down his shirt and his entire body is consumed with flames. At some point, Frederick is shoved forwards—sending the wheelchair careening down an incline with increasing speed. He screams until his voice dies in his chest. Fire paints his tunneled vision a remarkable orange-red, with the air around him flickering and waving with the sudden heat. His last breath ripped from his chest, Frederick Chilton slumps back in the wheelchair and surrenders to the relentless flames.

warnings: gore involving eyeballs/eye sockets & ensuing blindness; kidnapping and captivity.

next chapter

endnotes: Did I have to make that so homoerotic? No. Do I regret it? Also no.

Wow. I really made Frederick go through it. *Sigh.* I love hurting characters I like.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

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[unhinged-summer-fun]

the foolish heart's guide to not repeating history - chapter 1

Pairing: Dream of the Endless "Morpheus" x F!Reader

Summary:

Loving an Endless is a relentless struggle when the universe itself conspires to forget your existence. But when you lose your last chance with Dream, you refuse to surrender. You seek out the un-doomed version of him in the next universe over, vowing that if Dream would not go to change, change would come to him.

A/N: This is a story I posted on AO3 back in May of this year but I wanted to post it on my tumblr for Purposes. Hope you enjoy~

series masterlist

chapter 1: choosing a path

You’re amazed by how long it takes for him to find you.

Perhaps the other Destiny was better apprised of your shenanigans.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”

The man before you (behind you, a moment ago) looms. You’re not sure he has any other way of standing. In his hands is an open book, and he flips the pages rapidly without using his hands and without looking at their contents. Perhaps he doesn’t need eyes to see. Those eyes glow from the depths of his hood and the darkness of his skin. Brighter than eye-white, they shine with the snow-blue of the unseeing, yet he is very clearly reading.

“Walking,” you say.

He freezes to a degree just beyond that of statues. He tilts his head up, and suddenly, it’s you being read.

“What are you? Explain.”

“A… person?” you say, your voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty, as if you are not entirely sure of your own nature.

“She is one of us, Destiny of the Endless.” A voice—three voices—speaks from behind. You know them. They’re you, but you’re them.

“The Three cannot be Four,” the man—Destiny of the Endless—says, with an exasperation you’re sure is quite uncharacteristic of his usual moue.

“Long have men told us what we can be—and long have they failed to make it so.”

“It is not written.”

“As if that’s an answer,” you scoff, folding your arms. For the first time (Hundredth. Millionth. Hundred-millionth.), your voice rings with authority and surety that rattles the cobbles beneath your feet. As soon as it comes, it goes, but it’s enough to make everybody—the both of you, the five of you—pause.

“What is written in the Book must be. It is all of what has come to pass. Even the Three-in-One appears before it.” His frustration turns to confusion as you roll your eyes.

“You’re obviously not reading from the start, then. No sense in trying to understand the ending when you never even read what came before.”

“I have been reading the Word since the Beginning, since the dawn of time.”

You wince, remembering. Right. She doesn’t exist here.

“And you never finished it? Shame. I liked it plenty around this time. So I came back, and I’d like to do it all again! Don’t you ever reread your favorite parts of books?”

His thunderous silence told you in no uncertain terms, no.

“What is it that you want? You cannot disrupt my gardens so.”

“There’s just so much of it; I want to see it all.”

“The paths in the Garden—”

“Not just your shrubberies. I want to see the whole universe.”

Destiny of the Endless looks shocked. None had ever managed to interrupt him. His words were the Word. He speaks a little louder to dissuade you from attempting it again. “The paths in the Garden of Forking Ways are not meant to be retreaded. You must choose and remain on the path you choose.”

“Some paths will be different each time you walk them, are they not?”

The ground trembles some at your words. Destiny cannot see, but he glares at you.

“You are not of my realm. I ask again, what are you?”

“Well, you’ll have to keep reading to find out, won’t you?”

In all your time, there are some parts you wish you could experience again for the first time. Those parts are what make lives worth living, friends worth having, and mistakes worth making again and again. The feeling of growing up, of understanding, of changing for the better—all those things make it worth the pain of remembering to forget why you ever said I’m never doing that again.

But it’ll work out this time. This time.

Your sister-selves visit when you pass by a mirror on your way out the door.

“What are we up to, my butterfly?”

“No good, I’d expect.”

“She looks to be in love, or at least seeking it.”

You face yourselves and raise an eyebrow that’s echoed threefold. “You’re not helping.”

“We were never meant to help, only to decide.”

You hum, noncommittal. Your sisters haven’t seen you in several billion years, but they know you as they know all others in this or any other universe. “Suppose that’s why I never fit in with you lot. Could never quite make up my mind.”

“Making up things is something you always did well, my raincloud.”

“Now there’s a thought. Who might else do the same?”

“Surely not him.”

You cover the mirror with a black cloth and head out the door.

Upon moving somewhere new, the first place you visit tends to set the tone for the rest of your stay, first impressions and all. You suppose it’s a touch of irony that you end up at the Worlds’ End.

Nobody recognizes you because you’d never been here before, in the grandest, most cosmic sense of the word. It’s that fact that garners you a lot of attention. The truly old and powerful tend to sniff out the strange faster than anybody else, and you’re as new as it gets in this universe.

You may not have been here, to this Worlds’ End, but you’d been to it and the others like them in the universe you’d just come from. You found stability in their instability. The Four Free Houses were the Worlds’ End, the Toad-Stone, the Inn Between Worlds, and one (like you) that seemed to escape a name at all. They bore no loyalty to any reality or plane and had no location but the circumstances from which they were borne.

Because they’re the same as the ones from your previous universe, you assume a few other things are true: that countless other, smaller Houses fulfill even more specific circumstances than the Four; that the Moon Road, dangerous as it is, was as close to a path between the realms as it gets; and that the price for safe harbor was always the same: a tale for the Worlds’ End, a secret for the Toad-Stone, a promise for the Inn Between Worlds, and a heavy heart for the fourth nameless House.

You’d sat in the last one too many times to count.

“What’ll it be?”

“Red wine. Take your pick; even swill’ll do.”

You are new. Already, a few folks are creeping closer, curious, and about to ask questions you don’t want to answer. The cup of wine is put before you, and you pay your way in the usual form at the Worlds’ End, hoping that speaking of the devil will effect that same end here.

Twice and thrice more, there were and are universes.

The first time the universe happened—because they are as naturally occurring as sunrises—nobody quite knew the rules, let alone the Crafters. Even so, everybody tried their best, but as the eldest sibling in any family seems to know, the Crafters were more interested in making new things than cultivating what they had.

From that neglect, galaxies, worlds, and realities sprouted up like weeds, undisciplined and unruly. Already, the Crafters were planning how to improve things for the next universe while the one they had languished before them. There were no such things as stars or life or happiness in that first universe—

“How in the hell do you know this?”

“It’s a story, shut up.”

Ahem. Thank you.

—There were no stars, life, or happiness in that first universe. In full transparency, it was a shameful half-baked creation when I visited it. Even knowing the desolation I’d surely see, I was curious and needed to travel, so I did. I sometimes wonder what it’s like now that I’ve touched it, half because things I touch tend not to ripple outward and half because perhaps things would be different here from the universe I hail from. I can’t know for sure its fate. Maybe it’s gone, or at least tucked away on a shelf I can’t reach.

It’s fitting, considering its storied abandonment.

The second time the universe happened—because the Crafters were surely going to get things right this time—they elected to make some help. They formed several self-indulgent ideas, the most important of which were Night and Time. They created that which was from that which was not, and that which would be from that which could be.

If I have to explain, I won’t bother trying.

In the image of their creators, Night and Time created images of themselves, the first children in all of existence: eight of them, to be precise. You may have only heard of seven, but that, like the first universe, was both an accident and by design. The first of their children was underdesigned, even so.

She was once Dawn, the Dawn of Time. She was her mother’s opposite in each way and brought light to the dark garden her parents had cultivated until then. She crafted the stars from her smiles and spun comets from her kisses. She asked her parents for siblings, for others to play with and spin up worlds alongside.

So her parents, petty and cruel, created someone to plan those worlds for her, another to make their inhabitants, another to write their stories, and four more to further upend all of Dawn’s wishes—and it was then that Dawn understood her place was being usurped if she ever had a place to begin with. She could not outcompete her younger siblings, as she had been found to have faults long before they existed.

Dawn withered beneath her father’s prolonged neglect and dimmed beneath her mother’s disdain. She had not changed yet, but she would soon.

And in this second universe, Dusk, the Dark at the End of the Universe, happened.

All fell to the darkening: worlds, lives, stories, love, hope, and happiness. Even the Free Houses fell, unbound as they were to most laws set by the powers that be. Dusk stayed cloistered in the darkness with her mother as her handmaiden, made to sit in the tenebrous sanctuary among the cold twinkling of stars she’d once brought about, and waited and waited until what she knew would come.

Her parents, like the Crafters, grew bored.

The stars and the smiles they came from darkened one by one until all was as it had been before she’d come at all. In the sanctum of nothing, she started to end the universe. 

This one was sad to see. Yes, you may cry.

The third time the universe happened—and what a shock to the Crafters when they came back from work on the third universe to check on the second and found it had essentially ended itself—they found they had a particular fondness for Time and Night and even poor little Dusk. So they brought the three of them to the third and told them to do it again, but better. “Learn from your mistakes,” they said, “so it will be different this time.”

Time and Night did not need a doomed daughter to create the stars, though, so when they—

“How in the fuck did you end up here? And why?”

It feels like the Worlds’ End comes to a screeching halt. From where you hold court at the bar, among an audience of a half-dozen or a half-thousand, you don’t bother hiding your smile at the man who just walked in.

“Funny, I was just talking about you! The first you.”

The massive man cleaves the path before him and walks over, taking the seat beside you that had mysteriously and quickly become vacant. When you mention his previous incarnation, the erstwhile Destruction of the Endless laughs long and loud, shaking the firmament of the tavern, truly, for the first time. Worried looks pass over the regulars who can feel it.

Worlds are constantly being created and destroyed, and the nature of the Free Houses relies on the same principle. You remember when Destruction (the one beside you) had first created the Free Houses, and what a nightmare they’d been the first few thousand times they existed. His visits both defy and assert reality, and the unease of his entrance set the bar for every ‘random visit’ by a landlord ever since.

You wave the bartender over to get your friend a drink. “He’s on my tab.”

A half-dozen or a half-thousand beings wait with bated breath until he receives a massive stein of beer and sighs, turning back to you with a grateful smile and a question.

“Was it true that none of them grew past children?” His bright green eyes contrast with his distinctly rain-rumpled appearance. Everyone looks as though they’d trudged through some kind of storm to get here, literal or otherwise, but you supposed that was the point of the Free Houses: to be the port in every storm.

As you continue, you’re confident that the story you tell tonight is worth all the ale in every Free House that ever existed.

The third time the universe happened—because goodness, it needed to—they simply started with Destiny.

And that universe? It was sublime. That third time was indeed a charm in every way. Each of the seven (new) children of Time and Night was gorgeously powerful and did much of the work managing the universe.

Dusk remained, never to be Dawn again, and was therefore without use. Of course, she made little fancies of her own, but never anything that stayed.

If I may briefly interlude, after that rather depressing bit of history…

Night and Time of the second (and, technically, third) universe did not encourage their children to make any permanent decisions or lasting evidence of their existence. Some of them did anyway, like Dawn and her stars, and the others with worlds, life, stories, and the like. They were there to carry out functions—echoes and ripples in a pond that would forever exist in perpetuity, but never as the pond, the fish, the dirt or the water or the rock that made the ripple.

All that’s to say that this universe was not made by this one family of all-powerful beings, as it had been before. In a way, they didn’t even inherit it. They managed the wakes and the waves on the surface of a pond they hadn’t made, making and breaking them per their duties.

But even these seven children followed in the footsteps of those before them and crafted places of their own that they could rule. Some even had children. Some even got bored of their domains and left. The thing about kings is that they will never know exactly what kind of kingdom they rule unless they live among it. And very, very few of this family, in all its iterations, ever attempted to do so.

But this also meant there were things not under their purview—they were not the only gorgeously all-powerful beings in the pond. To repeatedly beat the horse I’ve long since killed, these beings set the rules for the wakes and waves the—the family lorded over.

What rules? Two simple ones.

They could not spill family blood. They could not love a mortal.

Don’t look so surprised. Adhering to these rules is more challenging than you’d think after ten billion years. Disaster struck many a time in this third universe because of them.

Now, the fourth time the���

“Pardon, but you didn’t finish that part.”

You raise an eyebrow at the woman who spoke. She has a bandage over her forehead and a worried man over her shoulder, but it seems she needs neither.

Destruction looks amused and waits for your response with a twinkle in his eye. “Tell her,” he urges after a long moment where you don’t. “Tell her why.”

Before speaking directly to her, you sigh and ask for another glass of wine—and perhaps a cheese board? Thank you so much... 

“I didn’t finish the story of that universe because it isn’t over yet, not like the other two before it. Twice and thrice more, there were and are universes.”

Skipping between worlds and galaxies isn’t too hard—especially after the first few times you’ve done it. Everyone has done it; how do you think you got to the Worlds’ End in the first place? Though… some of you will never do so again after the storm has passed and your world has ended. But it’s not hard to do again when you know what you’re doing.

It’s as simple as changing your mind. But that’s near-impossible to anyone for whom the rules outweigh all else.

That means many of those gorgeously all-powerful beings beholden to rules others have written cannot ‘skip town,’ so to speak, except in specific circumstances. They prefer their misery and their self-imposed lovelessness to the point of utter devastation of themselves and those around them. Everyone makes their own destruction in that third universe. It’s the same as it is here, or it will be. And I’m sure it will be the same in the next.

As I was saying.

The fourth time the universe was created—because some parents need a ‘safety child’ for when the first one’s depressing, the second one’s unsociable, and the third one’s done nothing wrong but still isn’t spectacular—the Crafters decided to spin up a few billion things before the usual. Yes, they created Night and Time again, and Night and Time created their seven perfect children again. Yes, they created beings more powerful than them so that they could be held in line by two simple rules, and yes, all the obstinate ones made even more rules for themselves just to keep things insufferably dull at times.

I can’t give away the ending for this one or the one before, and I can’t even tell you about the fifth time the universe will happen—because it’s still quite primordial every time I check in with it. You will have to discover the end of the universe on your own, and you’re in the right place to get practice for it. Worlds are ending all the time, after all.

When it’s clear you’ve more than paid your way in the tavern and don’t intend to say a word more, the half-dozen or half-thousand listeners wander off searching for more stories.

“You never answered my question, chuffling.”

You spit out your wine, laughing at the new name he made up for you. “That’s awful. You’re awful, waiting til I drink like that.”

“Fine, what would you prefer?”

What a loaded question. You take the time to look him over. The two of you are relics of the third universe, and though you had never stepped foot in this one, Destruction’s a regular enough wanderer that he doesn’t attract as much attention as you.

He does, technically, own the place.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve just discovered I’m not written in your brother’s book.”

He purses his lips and focuses on his beer. “Not my brother. Not here, anyway.”

“Come on, they wouldn’t have made everything the same all over again if you couldn’t call him your brother. Have you met yourself yet?”

“Do any of us?” he muses, and you roll your eyes.

“Your sister has, frequently. I haven’t, though. I’m likely not to if I was written out of this draft.”

“Then I shall simply call you friend.”

You smile at the man who was once Destruction of the Endless and nod in acceptance.

“Now, friend, you haven’t answered my question.”

How in the fuck did you end up here, and why?

“All mazes lead to Destiny’s garden. It was tricky to get back after my jaunts in Universes One and Two—they didn’t even have the concept of mazes in One until I got there, but I wandered and wandered and saw every inch of that mess until I got to the sequel. Right into your brother’s first garden where I was dreamed up but never borne. I met you again, then. You were much shorter. It was weird.”

“I’m sure it was. But very few are ever one height their entire lives. And fewer still seek to change their perspective.”

“For all your compassion, you seem to be a bit of a downer, friend,” you tease.

“Old habits. Answer the rest of the question.”

“Fair enough. And I don’t think I need to tell you—you know why I left. Why I left every time before.”

He fixes you with an agitated look. “You can’t be serious. Again?”

You stuff your face with cheese, which is an answer on its own.

“He is—I will not say different, here, but he seems to love making the same mistakes more than anything else, all for their familiarity. It’s all due to happen again very soon.” He runs a hand over his beard and huffs a sigh. “Darling, he does nothing but hurt you.”

“I hurt myself,” you counter sharply. “We were young, then. We all were.”

“And you’ve skipped to the middle of this story—why?”

“You just said why.”

“And when this time fails, you’ll just jump into Mark Five and hope there’s a Dream for you to love again in that one?” He’s made you. You’re cut from the same bolt. While you’re certainly not a creation of Destiny, you operated within his jurisdiction long enough to know Destruction well.

And he you.

“I won’t have to. This time will be different. I’ve seen every permutation, and this is the one that has to work.” It’s a bluff. You hope he sees it for what it’s worth and doesn’t blow on your house of cards. You aren’t sure if it’s your hands trembling or the floor beneath you.

But he is your friend. “What do you plan to do, exactly? You said you weren’t written into this universe’s Book. You want to—” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “you want to tangle with an Endless, and you’re not even part of this universe.”

It hurts to be scolded so. First from Destiny, and even with the backup of the Fates, he did not believe your intentions were good. Even the Fates questioned you. Now, with one of your oldest friends chastising you, warning you, you know you’re being foolish. You’re not even part of this universe. You’re technically not part of any universe, you want to say. You’d said as much a few times before, but instead you say—

“This time will be different.”

CHAPTER 2

[oxymorayuri]

❞𝐍𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬❝

Part nine

storys masterlist. ♡♡♡

✦ Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader ✦ Warnings: none ✦ Spoiler: none

wordcount: 3064 Less than usual, but I really wanted to post :x

A/N: The song I listened to over and over again: Arabella - Arctic Monkeys I dunno, but reader, aka revolver just gives me that Arabella vibe just like in the song. I imagine our revolver is a pretty exciting woman.

tagging: @lazyninjatheorist - @sassyyassi - @cottoncandyloverrrr - @littleleelee

! ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ !

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: young-street

"Would you explain to me how I'm supposed to become friends with croco guy, please?" He throws his hands up in the air a little frantically. You cross your arms in front of your chest and look boredly at him, while you wait for the elevator.

"My goodness relax sweetie. I already have a plan. Now we just need to change your style." There is a bright clang as the elevator arrives at your floor and the door opens.

"Change my style?!" He raises his eyebrows but you ignore him and get into the elevator, grinning slyly to yourself.

You stand casually next to each other, but Ace still looks at you skeptically. His scrutinizing gaze makes you snort.

"Yeah.. can you remember what I said? I told you; to find out what the bad guys do, you have to think like a bad guy." The depth in your voice makes Ace lean towards you, but you don't budge. In fact, you turn your chest towards him.

"Of course, but what does one have to do with the other?" You take a deep breath and take your eyes off him. Your eyes wander over his collarbone, now that you're standing so close to each other you realize how tall he actually is. You somehow always forget.

Whatever suddenly has gotten into you, maybe it's the sight of his muscular chest, but somehow you feel the need to let out your playful side, and you raise a hand.

You run it along his arm to his shoulder and run your delicate fingers over the collar of his button down shirt. His shirt was a little messy and you wanted to fix it, not just because you wanted to touch Ace but because you wanted to make a point.

"you know Ace…" Your gaze goes sharply upwards and as you had already guessed, Ace had his intense gaze on your eyes.

You ignore the glint in his eyes and the flutter in your stomach, and look at his collar again.

"Sir Crocodile likes people who are like him. Not just in behavior. This guy is as shallow as he is luxurious…" You smooth the fabric on his chest with both palms and 'push' him backwards with slow steps until his back is against the wall. Slowly but surely, it's no longer about smoothing out his shirt.

You also want to have the upper hand, and here in the elevator, he is trapped with you.

Fortunately, Ace also makes it pretty easy for you. He matches your moves and walks all by himself, without even taking his eyes off you.

You grab him by the collar, not caring that you've just straightened it a second ago, and pull him down to you.

You search his eyes. He's not surprised, not nervous. No. He's obviously in a daze. His look tells you straight away that he would bark for you if you wanted him to.

You've never been the dominant one, but you enjoy yourself and love the power. After all, he's just a man and just like all the other guys, you can wrap him around your fingers with your seductive ways.

You're a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Your faces are suddenly so close, he can feel your warm breath on his skin and smell your sweet fragrance. He's so lost in your alluring charm.

You don't care how shamelessly you look at him. You would love to press your lips to his, but the moment just before that, is what will drive him crazy.

The thought and the look on Ace's face make you smirk, because you realize that he has already fallen for you madly.

Ace has already forgotten what you were talking about. He's only interested in what you're going to do to him next. He opens his mouth slightly, he wants to say something, to respond to your brash manner, but he is too captivated by you.

"What do you want to do?" His words are barely a whisper against your lips. Does he mean your plan? You don't think so.

"I want to do so many things Ace..." You tiptoe a little and your lips almost meet. You press your body against his and close the distance, allowing yourself to be this close to him. It's okay to get a little burnt by fire, right?

"But first comes work, then the pleasure…" Your fingers run playfully over the skin on the side of his neck, while Ace soaks up everything you say.

His hands have already found their place on your hips, after all you've jumped right into his arms. You've clearly offered it to him and not taking it would be foolish. His face looks absent but his hands are completely occupied as he moves up and down your waist with massaging movements and pushes your hips into his body.

"You ever heard the saying 'clothes make the man'?" Your grip tightens a little as you maintain eye contact with Ace.

You can practically hear him holding his breath as your hand guides his head towards you. But you move past his lips and put your mouth to his ear. His shallow breath tickles the back of your neck and triggers an exciting feeling inside you.

"I've often wondered how handsome you would look wearing a suit…"

You've already figured out that Ace wouldn't be able to resist, he obviously can't keep it together either. He supports your back and while you whisper so delicately in his ears, he decides to adorn your neck with kisses.

You were a little surprised when you felt his hot kisses on your sensitive skin, but that only increased the fire in you. Your body reacts on its own, making it impossible to fight the rising sensation inside you...

The closeness between you feels so natural as well as familiar. He touches you in all the right places, with just the right amount of pressure, and his teasing bites cause pleased noises to leave your lips.

The way he brings you close, together with the warm and wet lips, feels like a lover from your past life is kissing you. The two of you touch each other, almost as if you've known one another for a lifetime.

Your fingers run through his smooth hair while you hold onto his shoulder with your other hand. You're so close to dropping your panties and returning his kisses.

With your eyes closed, you fight your inner devil and pray that you soon arrive at your floor, or else you'll let him take you right here in the elevator.

Ace obviously seems like he wouldn't mind, he'd probably grab you by the thighs and pull you up. Damn, your thoughts are making it difficult for you...

His hand runs gently over your stomach, up to your breast and massages it, drawing more joyful sounds from your throat.

Redemption arrives as the elevator makes the familiar noise and you pull away from Ace as the door opens. Ace audibly draws in his breath and still seems a little lightheaded.

He misses your warmth immediately on his skin.

You have already left the elevator and Ace is still struggling to collect himself. You giggle at the sight and he shakes his head, stopping the door that was about to close again.

After he stepped next to you, he cleared his throat into his fist.

"What were we talking about again?" - "We were talking about your makeover." You giggle into your hand and then cross your arms behind your back.

"What I was trying to imply earlier was, that you should adapt to Sir Crocodile and his people. You should pretend to have the same interests and dress like a businessman."

You realize that Ace is listening to you but still looks a little absently into the distance, as you walk down the corridor to your room. You watch his body language and your gaze wanders down his side.

Your breath catches for a moment and you have to suppress a smirk as you notice the bulge in his pants.

"Ah okay, sure…" he says, as if he's somewhere else with his thoughts. He's probably imagining the end of your little elevator makeout.

The rest of your evening is rather unspectacular. You were kind of hoping that Ace would make a move on you, but after dinner you just fell asleep while he spooned you. Maybe he's waiting for you to make the first move?

Like fire and flame, you quickly go through the clothing racks in a noble boutique and grab one piece of clothing after the other and throw it on Ace's arm.

He curiously goes through the shirts and pants. The fabric feels expensive and on the inside he is alarmed at how much money you want to spend here. This only tells him again that Whitebeard must have given you an enormous sum.

After you've checked out almost every corner of the store, you let him try on what felt like 10 different outfits. You can't decide, because he just looks good in everything. If guys like housemaid uniforms, then you definitely like guys in suits.

He straightens his collar as he looks in the mirror. Suits aren't so bad, he has to admit but your thoughts are already making plans again. Ace looks over at you through the mirror as you rack your pretty brains.

"What's got you thinking so hard?" With your hand on your chin, you look up at him.

"The bartender yesterday said that Sir Crocodile must have been invited to Doflamingo's party because Doflamingo is a VIP at the Moulin Rouge… which can only mean one thing; Sir Crocodile is the owner of the Moulin Rouge." - "Shouldn't you know that? After all, you're his wife." He grins at you arrogantly and sticks his tongue out at you. Almost offended, you turn your head to the side and don't give him a glance.

"Stop trying to make fun of me. That was just an act." - "I'm not making fun of you. I even believed you myself at one point." He said as he turned back to the mirror, looking at his very fine reflection.

Ace walked up to you and spread his arms out in front of you in a presenting motion.

"What do you say? How do I look?" You bite your lip. Damn fine. But don't tell him.

His signature grin goes surprisingly well with the outfit. How you'd love to shove him into the changing room and rip his clothes off his body. After all, you've been feeling a bit fired up since yesterday.

"Pretty good, but we don't have much time, so let's buy everything and get out of here." Even though you say it rather calmly, Ace didn't miss the look you gave him. A hungry look.

He can't help but smirk to himself. It's so obvious what you're thinking and the fact, that you're trying so hard to hide it, only makes you look even more cute in Ace's eyes. Fool yourself, you'll realize soon enough that you can no longer push your feelings aside. But don't worry, Ace is in no hurry, he'll give you plenty of time to figure it out.

On the promenade, along the harbor, you stroll around with lots of bags in your hands. It's a sunny day, the streets are full and there's something going on on every corner.

Your paths eventually led you past the Moulin Rouge, and an insignificant detail caught your eye.

There was a poster on the wall. You grab Ace by the arm and drag him to the building so you can take a closer look at the poster. While your eyes look at the sheet with a clear vision, Ace looks down at you with a questioning look.

“Don't tell me you want to apply for the job.” His voice carries some doubt but also a hint of 'I know what you're up to'.

The poster is a job opening for female waitresses.

“All right, then I won't tell you anything!” you say somewhat sassily and rip the poster off the wall. It would be better if you reduced the number of applicants, to increase your chances of getting the job and put the poster in your bag.

You ignore Ace's sigh as you straighten your hair and check your appearance in the reflection of the mirrored glass door.

“How do I look?” you ask with a charming smile. Ace is eyeing your body from head to toe before he leans in for a better angle.

He holds his fingers to his chin thoughtfully, examining your face for even the slightest flaw. You roll your eyes while he gets uncomfortably close to your face. Satisfied, the black haired man leans back again and grins broadly.

“Incredibly gorgeous as always!” he says with a happy expression, giving you the thumbs up.

You roll your eyes again, but this time with a little smile. His freckled face sometimes makes you want to jump on him, especially when he looks at you like that... but you don't allow your thoughts to show on the outside and remain calm.

“Wait over there.” You point to a public seating area at the harbor, with a view of the sea, before turning around and entering the Moulin Rouge.

Without Ace really being able to say anything, you have already disappeared and Ace sits down at the said place.

You didn't make any dismissive remarks about his compliment, but you can't call that progress, can you?

Ace wonders what exactly you are up to. He will probably have to wait a little longer until you tell him.

On several occasions, he has noticed that you are a typical lone wolf. Of course, you can make use of Ace, but you are the one who usually finds out everything or dictates how things are done.

You don't give him much say in how things are done, but he does as he is told. So far, everything has been going great and he has no doubt that this will change, but he thinks it's a shame that you do most of the work yourself.

With his arms stretched out on the back of the bench, a smile spreads across his lips. Who would have thought, that he yearns to be needed by you?

You truly are amazing, what guy wouldn't want to be at the side of such exciting woman? He is determined to be as useful to you as possible, even if that means making friends with Crocodile.

“I got the job right away!” Ace is pulled out of his thoughts when your hands suddenly grab his shoulders from behind.

You walk up to him beaming with joy. You are more than pleased that you had such an easy encounter with the hosts of the Moulin Rouge

As soon as you arrived back at the hotel room, there was a knock at the door.

Through the peephole, you can see the figure of the bartender from the other night. You take a deep breath and put on your mask. With a practiced fake smile, you open the door to the woman.

Her message was quite a relief and it seems that her friend, the new accessory of Sir Crocodile, isn't his companion for the event.

You close the door behind you and wait a moment until the woman is gone, then you jump up and down with joy.

Ace, who has just come out of the bathroom, seems a little confused as he rubs his hair dry, but he enjoys your high spirits and grins unknowingly. With your mind so focused on your plans, you don't even notice that Ace is standing in front of you in a towel.

After you have eaten the food, delivered by room service, you get back to work and take out your notebook. You have marked the days on your calendar when you are supposed to work at the Moulin Rouge.

Ace, who is still not finished with his hundreds of dishes, is, as always, immensely interested in your work and leans over so that he can see your pages.

“You're not working for another four days. What are we going to do until then?” It doesn't even bother you that a few crumbs of food fly across the pages while Ace is talking, instead you nonchalantly brush them away with your hand.

“Well… carry on with the other plan, what else?” you raise your hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

From Ace's eyes you can tell that he seems to have forgotten what your original plan was. Getting a job at the Moulin Rouge is a nice extra, but you're not exactly keen on facing Sir Crocodile.

You're quite happy that you have Ace. Ace seems to remember and mumbles an incomprehensible 'Ah, yes…'. He has no idea how to talk to Crocodile or what to talk about let alone how to act.

He just hopes it won't be a disaster. Ace is not usually a man who thinks things through in a systematic way… he just goes for it and so far it has always worked.

You close your book with a dull thud and stand up, stretching your back. You crawl tiredly into bed and snuggle under the covers.

With a satisfied moan, you close your eyes. The next few days will be very quiet for you and Ace will probably do most of the work.

Even though you will always be close to him, you secretly make plans to lounge in the sun by the hotel pool, sipping drinks and enjoying your free time, while Ace gets closer to Sir Crocodile at the casino.

With pleasant thoughts of a few days enjoying the hotel's wellness facilities, you fall asleep happily.

I love the part in the elevator and I hate myself a little that it came to an end… but it had to be :x

I hope you enjoyed it ♡

➽ Next chapter

[rangercorpstherapy]

There is a post about ableism in the sorcerer/siege of Macindaw books. I'm not going to reply directly to the poster because I don't necessarily think they're wrong, but there's a bigger problem I want to touch on without derailing their post.

The post by @bronze-oakleaf Sorry, but John Flannagan isn't an ableist for describing disabled people as disfigured, Will is. John, although in his usual hit-and-miss style, goes out of his way to show us that the people Will and others are afraid of are not monsters. It's been a while since I read these books, but I can remember there being a few backstories and instances in which it's made clear that Malcolm’s people are just very normal people who have fun, interests and hobbies and love each other deeply.

Will's apprehension of disabled people is very clearly presented as a character flaw. John is a children's author and cannot go into depth about how monstrosity isn't physical but something that manifests in the soul a la Victor Hugo's Hunchback of the Notre Dame. Still, I don't think any child (at least I didn't) finished reading Sorcerer and Siege thinking that disabled people were any less deserving of respect and love than others and Will kinda had a point there in the beginning.

I think the only example of bigotry where there is a high chance of it reflecting John's real-life views is the way he characterises Romani and Sinti in that horrible short story. Without going into depth the key difference here is that not a single person in the story thinks that Alyss and Will are doing or thinking anything wrong. Nuance, even if it wasn't much, visible in Sorcerer and Siege is missing.

Now I have that out of the way, this post is actually about character flaws. I'm not trying to be smug by pulling the historical accuracy card, but honestly, Will's views of disabled people are one of the few ways John established the world of Ranger's Apprentice as a Medieval society. I don't know how to say this without sounding kind of like an asshole, but if you want to critique Ranger's Apprentice flaws you also have to apply the same critique to the characters within Ranger's Apprentice. Separating art from the artists in this case doesn't really work because the art exists within the context the artist created. I don't think we have to be overly critical of characters because otherwise we're bad people and not woke, but viewing your favourite characters as flawed makes them inherently more interesting. I think viewing Will as an enforcer of feudal oppression (cop), extremely privileged (has an education and can bear arms) and classist with a very obvious disdain for those who are below him (this man should be nicer to farmers who can't read) is way more interesting than a perfect boy who fell victim his author's bigoted world view. Will, and all Rangers tbh, think they're better than other people. Rangers are smart they aren't like the uneducated masses who think wizards are real and the devil will claim your soul if you sleep lying down. But are they really?

Will is confronted with the fact he is like everyone else. He's also afraid of the “dreadful caricatures of normal people”, but why? The treatment of disabled people in Medieval society was very complex, and without getting into the nitty gritty, most of the cultural feelings towards them weren't because they were 'just ugly' but relied heavily on superstition. Will might be educated, but he still grew up in a society where disabled people were viewed as cursed, their ailment a deserving divine punishment. Him not being confronted with his hypocrisy in these books is the true moral failing of John to be honest.

Now to my final statement: pleasepleaselpleasepleaseplae let the Ranger's Apprentice characters be bad people. Because they ARE. I guess this post was a very elaborate way of saying Will isn't an UWU soft boy but a grown man with hairy balls. So are Halt, Gilan, Horace, Crowley (I didn't forget the time you enslaved a man king) and Duncan (Truly truly sick a twisted individual for sitting back and doing nothing as his daughter was sold into slavery because 'We need everyone here'. That wasn't a convenient plot point so Halt could save the day but misogyny). This doesn't mean Will isn't/can't be trans (because he is) or Cralt isn't canon (it is) for the sake of historical accuracy. I just want to say that these characters are all very privileged and classist individuals with many flaws thanks to the society they were raised in, which makes them more interesting. Remember be gay AND do crime.

[lakesbian]

ok Worm Bigotry Breakdown in more detail for @silverflyingpikachu

tl;dr: author is Cishet White Guy From Canada In 2011. he ostensibly thinks he is progressive. this does not change his proclivity for tossing his Cishet White Guy From Canada Biases into the books and then saying even more bigoted things in defense of those writing decisions on forums. wildbow is just some cunt on the forums with bad opinions on wildbow's writing. the book is 1.7 million words long but i believe in my ability 2 categorize this shit with decent accuracy. everyone who has ever said worm's CWs can't be categorized, including wildbow himself, is a lying ass bitch. this will include some vague spoilers, because i can't really go in-depth without a few examples, but i'll stay away from anything too plot-critical.

racism:

- worm is fundamentally a book abt systems of power and the ways in which they suck. some of the critiques worm issues--e.g, its depiction of how school systems enable bullying, inspired by wildbow's own experiences w/ the school systems as a deaf kid--are viscerally accurate and incredibly compelling. but wildbow fundamentally doesn't understand how certain systems of oppression work--e.g policing--and subsequently, his attempts at depicting them occasionally fall flat onto their face and land in racist territory. this gets particularly nasty when combined w/ the White Guy Author propensity for racist stereotypes--for example, his chosen face of police brutality is a black girl portrayed as predatory & animalistic.

- who is also one of the only black people in the book overall, alongside--for example--an addict portrayed as having less interiority & being less deserving of empathy than A Literal Fucking Nazi. also, the main characters have to team up with the nazis "for the greater good" (defeating the mean asian villains) at one point. it is a mercy to the readers when this part of the story ends. - there are two black characters in the main cast. for the first, wildbow just Straight Up Forgot to include the most compelling aspect of their background + characterization in the text (it was provided via WoG instead, which i provide to all wormreaders like a fuckin' DLC patch when they get to where it's relevant) & entirely forgets they exist towards where the end of their character arc should have been. the second is introduced w/ the most misogynoiristic description on the planet but blessedly has a largely compelling and well-written arc as the book goes on. - depiction of china is just like. fox news level sinophobic "it's all a brainwashed indistinguishable evil cult" shit. not relevant for very long relatively speaking but insufferable to read. asian characters are also like. we got Brutal Yet Honorable Asian Man. we got Fiery Asian Girl With Blue Eyes. it fucking blows it's not good

- oh yeah forgot this one someone mentioned in the tags. #it's an insignificant paragraph and nobody talks about it but the part where it goes #“yeah literally EVERY cape in South America is with a cartel and the heroes are barely distinguishable from the villains” #fuck you #not that the others aren't bad the fatphobia gets really gross but nobody mentions this and that one got me so yeah typical Insufferable Awful Imperial Core Author Understanding Of What Other Countries Are Like - i could make this section one million bulletpoints long but the gist is summarized i think--wildbow's varied racist biases leak fucking everywhere, into character design, into narrative assumptions about who's deserving of interiority/empathy or not, into attempts at Saying Anything About Society, into which characters he prioritizes, into who he offers validity via the narrative, etc etc etc.

homophobia: - theres a girl named amy dallon in it and she is the worst lesbophobic stereotype ever known to man. no other Problematic Lesbian™ you can think of has anything on this girl. the worst part is that she genuinely has a decently compelling character concept and arc, which her being awful is integral to, so you might accidentally find her interesting anyway and then she'll move into your brain - wildbow kept accidentally writing characters that scan as massive dykes and then got really mad about f/f ships for the book being popular in the fandom. he responded by making a deranged forum post involving the phrase "pandering is pandering" insisting everyone (but the bisexual "hedonist") is straight and writing a scene into the book where one of the characters literally turns to the camera and tells the readers "not to get the wrong idea" about her hugging her friend. - over the course of 1.7 million words he finds excuses to loudly inform you that all of the relevant female characters are straight and it's sooo shoehorned in you can always tell when he's doing it - basically worm is like if naruto was about homoerotic teenage girls who do violent terrible things, in terms of levels of unintentional homoeroticism, and the author responds to ppl going "lmao gay" about the unintentional homoeroticism with poorly restrained seething rage

fatphobia: - generic brand of fatphobia you'll see in p much all mainstream media where only side/bg characters are fat and it's obliquely used as a descriptor to indicate that someone has negative personality traits or should be viewed as sort of gross

anti-addict shit: - wildbow generally likes writing about how social circumstances--i.e neglect from society, oppression, failure on behalf of systems--causes crime. he generally likes demonstrating the ways in which the villainous main characters are traumatized teenagers failed by society fumbling to keep existing & holding each other up through The Horrors. unfortunately all of this intelligent writing flies out the nearest window when addicts are involved. there is a gang comprised entirely of addicts, all of whom are portrayed as disgusting, violent, dangerous, and of course often racially stereotyped. it is a mercy to the readers when they're no longer relevant to the story. - on a more subtle level, characters are every so often just like. a little more anti-drug than they would realistically be and you can tell it's wildbow's opinions leaking into their characterization. this is largely what the anti-addict writing is kept to after The Addict Villains leave the story iirc.

if youre wondering wellwhy does anyone read this book then. to that i would say that unfortunately despite it all it'sa fucking excellent book. so we all carry on reading the parts that suck and thinking about how they suck and then reading the parts that fuck and going "ouuugh my god" and rolling down 20 flights of stairs about how hard they fuck.

[sapphire-weapon]

So I'm still not out of the woods yet wrt this extremely dark depressive episode I've been in (thank u to everyone who sent me smth nice), but I got a question about this whole "Leon is morally gray" thing that's apparently been going through the fandom, and

No. That might be the dumbest argument I've seen yet.

This is an example of people jumping the logical shark and going too far outside of the bounds of the story itself.

Stories have their own internal moral compass that are, more often than not, divorced from the real world. Like, we have mafia movies where the main characters can be considered the "good guys" despite being in the mob and therefore objectively bad people by default, because when you engage with the story, you follow that story's own internal moral compass.

RE's moral compass is very simple. Bioterrorism is bad, and the people who fight against it are good. That's it. It goes literally no deeper than that. This is how you can have a character like Carlos be considered a hero despite working for Umbrella -- and how you can have a character like Dylan be considered a villain despite the fact that his goal was literally in line perfectly with the ideals of the socialist lefties who comprise most of fandom.

Leon fights against bioterrorism, so he is Good. It's not ambiguous. It's not gray.

"But he works for the government, and the government perpetuates bioterror, and Leon runs cover for them--"

Doesn't matter, because the moral compass of the story still holds up. We've seen Leon literally fight against high-ranking members of the US government in multiple titles. The main villain in Degeneration was a senator, Derek Simmons in RE6 was the National Security Advisor, the big bad in ID was like the AG or something (I forget his actual title). So wherever it pops up, that dichotomy of "bioterror bad, fighters against it good" holds up every single time with Leon on the side of Good. It's not a question.

This is why RE has been hesitant to paint the entire US federal government as bad and instead just puts bad actors in it (which Leon then fights and always wins against). There have been breadcrumbs left here and there of the US's involvement with bioterror being a more systemic problem, but none of that has ever been explored in any real depth, and if the US was meant to be seen as uniformly Bad, Leon's "cover-ups" would be more in line with him running protection for ongoing projects as opposed to him just burying a story after he's already blown everything up and stopped production of the Bad Thing by the Bad Guy.

Ada is seen as morally gray because she sometimes fights against bioterror, and other times she's part of doing the bioterror, and there's no clear indication either way where her allegiance actually lies.

You can't say literally anything remotely similar about Leon.

[dearwriting]

Dear fellow Writers, I have a few writing questions?

When it comes to dialogue, how do I write it in a way to show emotion, Drives the plot, or give information to the reader?

2.  Most of my stories, I prefer to write from a narrator's perspective, but I don’t know how to give characters depth or an inside look at how they feel or mentally and emotionally react to something.

here is an example I think show good narration:

Hunter adjusts his seatbelt, gripping the steering wheel, trying to navigate through airport traffic.

He looks over to Savannah who is leaning her head against the wall, listening to the music playing on the radio softly in the background, trying to forget that her world has changed completely. 

He opens his mouth to talk to her, and say anything that can help, but nothing comes out. So instead, he tries to focus on getting home and preparing himself to talk with the detectives.

3.How do I move my characters of give them actions without it sounding like I am just giving the directions?

For examples, I feel like I write like this.

Sally and Mark are standing outside in the rain. They are arguing about why he has not asked her to be his date to prom. She pushes him to get away and turns to run away, He follows behind her to continue the conversation and grabs a hold of her hand. She looks at him, he looks at her. 

EX2:

Amy walked downstairs to the kitchen to get something to eat for breakfast. She goes to the cabinet to get a bowl, then walks to the pantry to get cereal. She then goes to the fridge to get milk, but there is none. Turning around she notices, her brother sitting at the the table, with an empty carton of milk next to him and a full bowl of cereal in front of him

I feel like it sounds like character A moves here and then character B does this and moves this way and Character A then looks at B like this and then B looks at A like that. 

If you can answer at least one question that would be of great help.

[cielettosa]

Popularity does matter and helps measure a characters worth. If they are written well then they generally will be the most popular. Also you should care about popularity seeing how that keeps a conversation going and keeps that character relevant and keeps the fanarts and fandom works coming.

Levi is no longer popular and that just goes to show that he fell off as a character. He had potential to be something great but just left many disappointed. This is why he's no longer the face of aot or the most popular in his show. (Eren took that shit back!!!) This is why he's losing polls to characters like Gojo. He's just not relevant anymore. You're more likely to see Eren and other characters on anime fan creator pages than Levi now. Levi barely pulls in the interactions and likes on twitter whereas Eren and Mikasa are bringing in the numbers. You see Levi used to be the talk of the town and the anime IT boy. He used to be everywhere and if you spoke against him you'd be swarmed. Now that doesn't happen. People just don't care. If you have a character that was that popular and now they're barely talked about, you know something went wrong. You know they fell off and disappointed people because their writing was lacking. So yes I do actually think popularity measures the worth of a character.

Hey, angry warrior.

Here is the thing about throwing shade from the anonymity – it takes about as much courage as a moldy banana peel challenging a hurricane. If your opinions are so earth-shattering, why hide behind anon messages like a frightened internet ghost?

I find it hilarious that you are saying Levi is the one who "had potential to be something great but just left many disappointed" when in reality it is Gojo who has left many disappointed. (Not hate)

Let's talk popularity. You act like it's some holy grail of character worth, this infallible judge of quality.

Newsflash: popularity is fickle. It's a vapid internet windsock, blowing whichever way the latest meme dictates.

Sure, a well-written character with depth can grab attention, but sometimes pure entertainment value steals the show.

The goofy dumb hero with a tragic backstory might not win a Pulitzer, but they keep the popcorn tubs overflowing, right?

Trends shift faster than Kardashians change their hairstyles.

Characters dominating discussions today are yesterday's news tomorrow.

Guts is one of the most well written character of all times, but we rarely see him dominating popularity polls. Because popularity is a snapshot in time, not a mark of quality.

Are Kaneki and Light still relevant online? Maybe, but probably not the first name that pops into someone's head when they think "hottest anime character." Why? Because Tokyo Ghoul and Death Note are not the shiny new toy everyone's playing with anymore.

That doesn't make them bad characters now, does it? Just means Jujutsu Kaisen is the new kid on the block.

Popularity reflects the current hype, not some objective measure of quality.

Now, about that "Levi isn't popular anymore" claim.

Here's a little fact for you: Levi is declared the most popular anime character of all time. Still riding high on My Anime List at number 2, with Eren trailing behind at 13th and your precious Gojo at a respectable 16th.

Funny how you cherry-picked one popularity poll to fit your narrative (Anime Corner 2023), isn't it?

Bet that pinches a bit in your anonymous little corner.

I don't use Twitter (X) now, because that platform lowers the IQ of the entire internet by several notches. Who cares who's trending there? It's a chaotic mess of fleeting opinions and manufactured outrage.

Attack on Titan season four took a sharp turn, shoving Eren into the villain spotlight. His descent into darkness was undeniably intriguing, and I can see why it grabbed people's attention (and mine too). Let's not forget Eren is the protagonist. The entire story revolves around him. Of course his character development and tragic romance with Mikasa would be a focus!

But here's the thing – Levi's popularity doesn't magically disappear because Eren's on the rise. They're both compelling characters in their own right.

In fact "Bad Boy" manga that is going to be released is revolved around Levi.

So, instead of anonymously whining about a perceived decline, why not ditch the negativity and have a real conversation? What makes a character truly tick for you? Is it the emotional depth, the badassery, the hilarious quirks? Let's dissect what truly makes a character shine, instead of resorting to schoolyard taunts about a fictional character.

In the end, Levi's legacy in Attack on Titan is undeniable. He's a fan favorite, a symbol of unwavering strength, and a character who continues to inspire cosplay, fanart, and endless debates. Maybe the hype has shifted a bit, but his impact and popularity on the anime world remains. So, take your anonymous complaints and channel them into something constructive. The internet could use a little less negativity and a lot more genuine discussion about the characters we love, flaws and all.

[briebysabs]

I have to talk about Misha I’ve been holding this for so long. I am not defending him, everything he’s done is fucked up. I just want people to understand him better and idk how coherent this will be but HSVDVXHSBSJJDF

Bc if you hate him, totally justified. But I don’t want Misha to ever be simplified to the jealous crazy younger brother. Yes he is technically that but one thing about mochijun characters is that most of the time, you can always dig further into their psyche. And I feel like not enough people do that with Misha. I haven’t made an in-depth Misha discussion until now mostly bc I’m a potato. He isn’t 2-dimensional and he fits perfectly in the themes of vnc. Misha cannot be saved, he is a hopeless character, he bears Luna’s Mark while using the Book he is doomed. You can say he was doomed the second he entered the story. His brotherly love for Vanitas is twisted. He is the embodiment of tragic. Everything that led him to this point was not his fault. The only thing he chose was to follow Luna and join their clan bc he would’ve died otherwise. Luna and Vanitas are the only good things he ever had.

We all know his backstory. So of course losing both would make him snap. And on top of all this he’s being manipulated by Teacher. Who fucking knows the lies or orders Teacher has been feeding him. All this when he’s like 12....13 at most.

And let’s approach the vanoé situation. We know the depth of vanoé’s relationship and even though Misha might’ve observed from afar, he doesn’t have that context. To be fair he probably wouldn’t care but point is, he sees Noé as some random guy. And again, let’s withdraw ourselves a bit and see things from the outside. How much time has passed since chapter 1? How long has Vanitas and Noé actually known each other? We know that a couple weeks passed since the end of the Gevaudan arc. We know that a week passed after Vanoé got kicked outta Ruthven’s study. If there are any other mini time skips I’m forgetting pls lemme know. But let’s be honest, they’ve known each other for two months. If we wanna push it, three. Of course how long you know a person doesn’t solely decide how close you get to them. You can know someone for two weeks but depending wtf goes on in that time frame, they can become your ride or die. But let’s use Misha’s logic for a minute.

You’ve known Vanitas longer, both of you went through hell under Dr. Moreau. You have the same Mark, you’re gonna suffer the same fate. And from how you see it, he chose a man he met by chance a few months ago, over you. Someone who will never truly get it. He is putting his life in the hands of a stranger over yours. You finally meet again after all this time, and the brother who you believed puts you above everything, points a gun at you. Yeah, Misha fucked up. But that will hurt anybody.

Misha challenges their relationship. He questions how much it even makes sense. It’s not only “how can you chose Noé over me?” But also “How can you kill Father but not him?” Is he more important than us?? And that’s a valid question. Messed up but understandable to ask. Noé has protected Vanitas and has been pretty helpful. But Vanitas doesn’t need him to survive. Noé isn’t essential for this suicide mission he’s on either. Misha cannot understand what Noé brings to Vanitas’ life.

Misha was so dependent on Vanitas that he couldn’t fathom his brother not feeling the same. Vanitas loves Misha, no matter how strained or corrupted that bond has become. But he is not emotionally capable to stay with him. And he is allowed to feel that way. And Misha is allowed to scream and wail and be broken about it. In conclusion, Misha is an amazing addition to the narrative, I love him a lot. But I also love Vincent from ph so that explains quite a bit doesn’t it?

[idontusethissiteeither]

My thoughts on Gray and Gruvia

Hey everyone.

I’ve been a fan of Fairy Tail for a long time, and one character I’ve always liked is Gray. He’s consistently shown depth, integrity, and a strong sense of right and wrong. However, there’s one aspect of the series that’s been bothering me for a while now: Gray’s relationship with Juvia. Despite all the red flags, uncomfortable moments, and outright toxic behavior from Juvia, the narrative seems determined to force this relationship into something it’s clearly not.

What follows is a breakdown of why I believe this relationship is problematic, how it undermines Gray’s character, and why it’s not the romantic story that some fans, particularly “Gruvians,” seem to think it is. As well as talk about the 180 in Gray’s personality in the 100 Year Quest.

Let’s break down the ridiculousness of Gray and Juvia’s so-called “relationship” after the battle in the last arc.

First of all, after all the build-up, Gray still didn’t give Juvia an answer. Instead, he tried to use the Ice Shell spell—a move that would erase him from existence. It’s a clear indicator that Gray was ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good, but of course, Juvia had to make it about herself. She "sacrificed" herself for Gray during the battle, and this is where the narrative completely goes off the rails.

While Gruvians see this as some grand, romantic gesture, it’s painfully obvious that Juvia’s “sacrifice” wasn’t as selfless as it’s made out to be. Her body can turn into water, meaning the blade could have gone through her without causing fatal damage. But instead, it feels like she deliberately made herself vulnerable to force Gray into a corner, emotionally manipulating him into acknowledging her feelings. And unfortunately, it worked. Gray, being the good-hearted person he is, said he’d take her feelings into account now, which just feels like an obligation rather than genuine affection.

To make matters worse, the creators claimed that the transfusion Juvia gave Gray is the reason he starts falling for her. What? That’s not only ridiculous but also a flimsy excuse for Gray’s sudden change of heart. It undermines all the growth and depth Gray had as a character. He didn’t fall in love with her because he was emotionally or romantically invested in her—he fell in love because of a blood transfusion? That’s not love; that’s poor writing.

And even after all of that, Gray still doesn’t give her a straight answer. He promises to do so after the 100-year quest, which he doesn’t even bring her along for. Yet, fast forward to the sequel, and suddenly, Gray’s done a complete 180. He’s talking about being the best man for Juvia and, apparently, thinking of her when the topic of romance comes up. Really? After years of rejecting her, setting boundaries, and making it clear that he wasn’t interested, we’re supposed to believe that now, all of a sudden, he’s deeply in love with his stalker?

Gruvians take this as a huge victory, but the reality is that Gray isn’t acting out of love—he’s acting out of guilt and obligation. Let’s not forget that Gray has a tragic history of losing people who sacrificed themselves for him, starting with his mentor Ur and later Ultear, both of whom truly cared for him. When Juvia “sacrificed” herself for Gray and survived, it’s not hard to see why he might feel indebted to her. But that’s not the same as romantic love. It’s survivor’s guilt, plain and simple. Gray is putting Juvia’s happiness above his own, disregarding his own feelings because he feels like he owes her something for what she did.

And honestly, if Gray truly is in love with Juvia now, after everything he’s been through and after rejecting her repeatedly, then it’s nothing short of character assassination. The writers have completely twisted his personality to appease Gruvia shippers, ignoring all the red flags in their relationship and pretending like Gray’s long-standing discomfort with Juvia never existed. This new Gray feels like a hollow version of the character we once knew, crafted solely to pander to fans rather than stay true to who he is.

What’s even more frustrating is the lack of discussion around how bad this writing is. Why aren’t more people talking about how Gray’s character has been butchered in the sequel? It’s disheartening to see fans celebrate these new developments when they clearly ignore all the signs that this relationship is built on manipulation, guilt, and toxic behavior. Gray deserved better than to be paired with someone who stalked him for years and ignored his boundaries. Instead, the writers decided to force this unhealthy dynamic into something it never should have been.

[yuquinzel]

— this is what love is.

feat. itoshi rin. f!reader. 2k+ wc. fluff and angst. rin concludes what love is, thanks to you.

THE HEAD: love — if you were to ever ask itoshi rin what love is to him, he would give you a scornful look, of brows knitted together and parted lips. it is uncertainty in disguise of a petty scowl. an elegant grimace on pretty features. he will not explain love with the understanding of it, but by the lack thereof. such a question is not for someone like him. 

to rin, love is as simple as the acknowledgement of its existence.

it’s real — he has seen it enough times in enough depths to come to the conclusion that love is a little more than just a concept and a little less than a materialistic possession. many times in his life, his perception of love has changed. it was never a question of what it means to him, but more of whether he’s willing to let it mean something.

he ponder the countless i love you ’s he’s heard on midsummer nights in some cheap hotel. when limbs and tongues entangle and fingers run through disheveled hair, an ‘i love you’ is whispered like a scandalous secret. a small talk to fill in loud silences. like the off-brand soda cans he will find on the convenience store down the street: it’s a cheap rip-off of the real thing.

rin can never bring himself to say it back. he wonders if it would ever mean something if he did.

THE LUNGS: loneliness — at some point in his youth, rin came to the conclusion that love and loneliness are two sides of the same coin. they come hand in hand. if you are to long for love, loneliness will follow you like a hungry dog— like an uncanny companion stuck by your side.

rin likes to believe he understands loneliness much better than he could love. he thinks of it as often as one would think of breathing — which is to say never, unless he is actively reminded of it. it’s almost like an intricate part of his being, following him everywhere he goes like a second shadow.

he hasn’t been alone, no — that’s entirely different. he’s aware he’s not easy to be around — blunt, reserved, pretty boy with a sharp tongue — yet, people do it anyway. he’s grateful in ways, so by definition, he knows he’s not alone. 

he thinks this is the best he can get.

THE HEART: you — you are a welcome contradiction to his thoughts. rin knows you. he sees you, after years. he had not expected to see you. but you and sae had always been close, so he isn’t particularly surprised to find you invited to his brother’s wedding.

you are too, something he does not understand.

he remembers being seven and you six, the first time he met you. you are the beginning — where the story starts: girl meets boy, boy meets trouble.

trouble— that’s what you are. seven years old itoshi rin can tell by the way you hide behind your mother as your and his talked away like old friends do. he sees you shrinking further behind her when he flashes you a smile, he was a nice kid back then. you smile back, it wasn’t anything genuine. he knew it was trouble then, that he wondered what your real smile would look like.

trouble, trouble, trouble — he thinks as he finds himself competing for sae’s attention. sae is always much nicer, much gentler to you. rin begins to thinks of you more than he wants to. it’s trouble when you move away just when he was finally getting used to your presence, it’s even more trouble when you come to visit and spend most of your time with sae. in retrospect — he knows at some point, he had made you feel unwelcomed, whether it was intentional or not. 

when he sees you again now, rin holds his breath. he stutters twice. blinking thrice, he steals another glance. you, adorned in youth and elegance — you are beautiful, like a moment of conscious breathing. like seconds trapped in sunsets and sunrises alike. rin has to take a moment to let it settle in his mind and heart alike.

you are as beautiful as he remembers, and as much as his mother never lets him forget.

rin thinks of talking to you, he would be doing so after years. he does so before he can really convince him to do otherwise. why he makes such a baseless effort, he does not know. this was always the case with you. you made his heart and mind turn against one another. it was as terrifying as it was exciting. rin can not name the emotions he can trace on your features when you see him. he aches to know what you think of him. you don’t seem surprised, but your smile is a fond one.

you are still trouble, he reckons — with how easily you seem to coax words out of him, falling into a casual rhythm of conversation. it feels natural, he counts the number of heartbeats each of your smiles last for. he finds himself longing for something he knows he has lost, but never hoped to find again. 

he does not see you nearly as often as he may be hoping for. you are something like a blurred memory, a lingering aftertaste, an unspoken word at the tip of his tongue. 

lately, you have been on his mind. he surprises himself with his impulsivity of calling you whenever he remembers that he can do so, be it monday mornings or friday nights when both of your schedules overlap — rin calls you, just to stay on the line. even when you don’t say anything, he revels in the silence you share. it’s peaceful. the kind he can never find if he searches for it. he hears your hums and mumbles, adds his own, and he stays on line until you fall asleep.

“it was a boring day,” your voice is so, so gentle. he feels giddy. “but i had some ochazuke — i thought of you, i think you would’ve loved it.”

he hears you hum, and then feels his heart stall. he wonders of how often you think of him. not as much as he does, he believes. he aches to ask you, do you look for him in the mundane? and do you find him there? “make some for me next time.”

you are probably smiling, “i will.”

it is a little terrifying. how good you are at making him feel weak. but he thinks it couldn’t be half as threatening as he’s taking it to be if his teammates are telling him he’s been smiling more these days. he tells them to fuck off.

or maybe it is? for the exact same sentiment.

rin can not name this fondness he has for you. he is afraid to use the stronger word. but he wonders if fondness and resentment can be synonymous. he had thought he resented you, all those years back. he thinks maybe that resentment still lingers. he worries he may be secretly resenting you for always plaguing his mind.

he will let you have that sort of control over him, for now, at least. this resentment and fondness balance all the scales for now.

THE HANDS: time — time is a conscious being. it is as unassuming as love and as ever-present as loneliness. time is the ground love festers on like a disease, it is the sky loneliness spreads on beyond grasp. 

time is something rin understands. it has hands that weave tales together slowly but surely before you can even begin to understand it, until you’re helplessly entangled in its plays. rin had known this comfort, the familiarity — the fondness he had found in your presence, it would only grow with time. he had seen it coming from miles away. it was as clear as the sky on the day he met you again, the way his loneliness got quiet whenever you were around.

you approached him like a thunderstorm, with your gentle disposition and longing smiles. shaking all of him to the core, and unlike much things in his life, rin let it come. if you leave him breathless and scattered, he figures, then breathless he’ll stand and wait for you to find him again. he had always been enamored of thunderstorms. 

time is a funny thing. he had never quite gotten used to you in his youth no matter how long you were around. and once he did, time took you away. and then it took him all those years to realize that everything started had with you, that he had missed you in your absence and longed for you before he could realize it. and once he had gotten comfortable with this revelation, time brought him back to you, again. 

it is with time he grows to acknowledge all the parts of himself he only ever sees when you’re around. like his impulsivity of purposely taking the wrong bus and finding himself in an unnamed town far from the city — with you. you tell him you believe this can either turn out to be the best memory of your lives, or simply the worst one.

“rin,” he likes the sound of your voice, “we can just start a new life here, can’t we?” you don’t look at him when you speak, but rin feels seen. 

“i can work on the farms, i think i would be good at it.” he adds, you laugh. “and i could help you out. we could grow our crops and eat simple meals, lead simple lives.”

he thinks of this imagined life on the bus ride home, when your head falls to his shoulder and he finds himself unable to resist the desire to brush back the strands of hair over your ear. it is a treacherous thing to do. the simple act of brushing your hair over your ear. why? because he will soon find longing for more. to rest his palm on your cheeks and brush his thumb over your beauty mark. 

in time, he grows surer of his feelings. the fondness of his gaze when it meets your, the softer side of him that you bring out when you try to teach him how to bake brownies. it is these minute little existences of the mundane, that he adores the most. he thinks you might just have the power to ruin him. a starry-eyed tragedy in which he’s the protagonist. but then again, love and tragedy often fall under the same umbrella.

you are the beginning, rin concludes, and there’s no reach beyond you.

THE BONES: love, again — rin thinks of love now. it resembles a sickly illness. he thinks of himself as an unfortunate and resigned victim. it must be a plague haunting his mind with the thoughts of you — he finds himself utterly helpless.

love is a carnivorous being, it feeds on his heart. why? because the heart is a muscle. it pumps and it bleeds and it loves.

love festers like an ugly disease rotting his flesh to his bones, and all he can do is let it come. there is a sort of beauty in peaceful resignation. it eats away at his hands, rin loses track of time. everything leads him to you. time doesn’t exist with you. every second with you is too short and never enough. yet it feels like an eternity before he can see you again. his hands are always seeking yours. love is a sickness. it spreads to his lungs, cruelly burning away any of the loneliness he had grown so comfortable in. it is uncomfortable and terrifying, it smokes his skin with uncertainty. but he can not do much here, he is helpless.

love is selfish and all-consuming, it slowly infests his head. determined to make it’s presence known somehow. determined to be understood in some way. determined to be found in everything.

rin thinks he had already known this. of course he did. you never made it easy to ignore his palpitating heart, the sweating of his palms and the flutter of butterflies — as romantics like to call it. he has always, always known it by heart. you made it so. everything had been love. the thousands of stolen glances. the late night calls. the impromptu visits. the moments that never lasted more than a few seconds, but felt like they trapped all the beauty of this world. all the times just hesitation and doubt and fear caused him to stop just short of confessing. of letting you decide what to do of his love.

it had been love, in its simplest form.

rin regrets not finding the words to express it sooner.

the room encompasses a heavy, suffocating silence. it seems to creep right into his skin like a catastrophe — spreading so slowly, rotting away every living cell it touches. it strips the air from his lungs. but he does not try to suck it back in. he does not want to feel alive right now. his eyes lose focus every second here and there. rin thinks his limbs can’t support him for long.

rin remembers that the heart is just a muscle. it bleeds and it pumps and it breaks and it dies. he feels it. he never should’ve let love become a part of him. it is much too cruel for him.

the room — the hospital room — feels ice cold. it is late may and it should be hot. yet he feels like his blood his frozen. the silence is no more. he hears the cries of your mother. he can not make sense of her words. he does not hear her properly, it is just white noise. everything is too white in the room. rin clamps a shaking hand over his mouth. why is he even here? had you really considered him close enough to let him be a presence in this room along with your family. he does not want to be here, he concludes. he can’t be here.

“y/n.” he calls out. he does not know why he does so. in all his consciousness, he’s aware you can’t hear him. you will never answer.

your sickly pale complexion, the darkening under your eyes — which are closed — and your body, covered in bruises all over, as if the bleeding was hard to stop. it is all the answer he needs.

“y/n, hey —” he tries again. because didn’t you always reply when he called? he feels the need to touch your skin, to feel you still with him. he recoils just as quickly when he feels the cold touch of your body. he feels nauseous. like something inside him is twisting and trying to break free.

he leaves the room next. it made him feel strangely alive. he wanted to feel anything but.

it has registered all too quickly. he wishes there was a time for delusions. for baseless hope. for the luxury of panic. there is nothing. it feels like being sucked in an endless void. he feels like he’s fighting for his every next breath. he does not really want to.

you’ve left him just as spontaneously and cruelly as when you met him.

he’s outside the hospital premises, going wherever his feet take him. only when a bench by the side of the road catches his eyes, does he realise how weak his knees feel. he drops down on it, unable to bear his weight anymore.

he does not pay attention to the time nor the people around him. this morning he’d received a call from your parents. something about an accident followed by your name. everything sort of blurred after that. now the sun has all but disappeared in the wistful evening blues. when it catches his eyes, he feels a painful strike at his chest — somewhere deeper than his ribcage and his lungs. it is a beautiful sight. it’s even more beautiful when it’s blurred by the tears collecting in his eyes.

he feels it again, that loneliness which had gotten quiet in your presence. he feels it stronger than ever — it is growling like some monster, its finger wrapping around his throat. a painful grunt leaves his lips then.

then he realises that it is not loneliness — loneliness was never a monster. it was kind. he was at peace with it. it would cradle him gently when he needed it and has been by his side longer than most.

it is love. love has always been cruel. it is a gruesome monster resembling childhood nightmares. its long-pointed canines, and fingers dressed in wrinkled, old skin — it has already infested his everything.

in its hauntingly sweet voice, it whispers an old lullaby, one rin tearfully sings along to. he feels it being carved onto his bones.

love will never be his. not anymore.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

me when i can’t write confession scenes: fuck it, there will be no confession.

my deepest, most humblest apologies for this. then again, it was so fun writing. i love angst. i’m off to writing rin fluff for compensation now :> thank u !

[foxes-that-run]

But Daddy I Love Him

Daddy I love him is an Ariel quote, when Ariel gives up her voice for love. Taylor has given up love for her voice (career), but also not spoken up for what she wants most. But Daddy I Love Him is a continuation of a theme of how fame and fandoms have affected Taylor's personal life. What I love about this song is it sounds like an older Taylor Swift song, she embraces a country sound and speaks her mind.

While the parallels to the reaction to a relationship in May 2023 can be seen, this overlooks much of her experience with this behaviour. I don't mean to say it is not an element, but it is far from a complete story to say it is about ending a 3 week relationship with someone about whom she also said "And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive" on the same record.

In her NYU Graduation address in May 2022 Taylor had part of the concept in this already swirling in her mind, a full year before she dated Matty Healy:

Having journalists write in-depth, oftentimes critical, pieces about who they perceive me to be made me feel like I was living in some weird simulation, but it also made me look inward to learn about who I actually am. Having the world treat my love life like a spectator sport in which I lose every single game was not a great way to date in my teens and twenties, but it taught me to protect my private life fiercely. Being publicly humiliated over and over again at a young age was excruciatingly painful but it forced me to devalue the ridiculous notion of minute by minute, ever fluctuating social relevance and likability. 

What Taylor is referring to is the treatment by the media and fandoms throughout her career, but this was never more of an issue than 2012-2014. Nothing is a terrifying as a teenager on fledgeling social media. This TikTok creator describes it perfectly:

From tabloids, twitter, tumblr, even people who looked like Taylor were abused.

So yes, Harry has had and worn t-Shirt with the song title for years, and yes they have both dressed up as Ariel. But that is not all that makes this song about Taylor loosing her love over fan behaviour... it's because she did. She lost the love she wrote 1989 including "This love left a permanent mark / This love is glowing in the dark"  about. And it continues today, there are a lot of people who still call Harry's partners vile names and think it is OK to treat others poorly because they suggest he could care for someone. I think anyone who's read this far knows exactly what I mean, probably first hand.

This affected Taylor the point the Clean Speeches on the 1989 Tour were on this topic, every night she talked about bullying, self worth and holding onto love.

The 'Daddy' is not just the fans and media, but probably her team also. I think the varied shapes in the CDs are to show this comes in many forms and roles, not just one experience. As Taylor said to Rolling Stone in 2014 before 1989 was released:

Lyrics

[Verse 1] I forget how the West was won I forget if this was ever fun I just learned these people only raise you To cage you Sarahs and Hannahs in their Sunday best Clutching their pearls, sighing, “What a mess” I just learned these people try and save you ‘Cause they hate you

For the international fans like myself 'How the West was Won' is a 1960's film about American colonisation. I think the opening 2 lines do 2 things, place us in a country setting and also tell us Taylor cares more about speaking her mind than what may be higher bigger goals.

The second half of this verse goes on to set out that it is fans who are approaching her love lost as trauma porn, and I am here for it.

I also note the cage reference, Taylor (and Harry) have a long theme of being caged or trapped by fame, she has a literal cage in her Nashville apartment, he has a cage tattoo and they have used cage, glass boxes, fishbowls, snowglobe imagery. Here she points out the fans are not really there for her, they are seeking to control her.

[Pre-Chorus 1] Too high a horse for a simple girl To rise above it They slammed the door on my whole world The one thing I wanted

The pre-chorus furthers that the final straw has been broken, she's been cornered by fans to give up something she cares for.

Vigante Shit "Ladies always rise above / Ladies know what people want / Someone sweet and kind and fun /The lady simply had enough"

Is It Over Now? "I was hoping you’d be there and say the one thing I’ve been wanting, but no"

That is the only time Taylor has sung about ‘wanting one thing' before. This also reminds me of the Delicate Behind the Scenes, where she said she got a note from a lover and wants to be with him but realises 'it can never be him'

[Chorus] Now I’m running with my dress unbuttoned Scrеaming, “But, Daddy, I love him I’m having his baby” No, I’m not, but you should see your faces I’m telling him to floor it through thе fences No, I’m not coming to my senses I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want

In the chorus Taylor acts out a churlish child yelling at a father. The 'daddy' is many roles, her actual parents, fans, media and probably record company and PR people who told her she could be with the one she loved, throughout her life. She says the matching line to Harry's Kiwi, which has the same meaning.

Taylor 'floors it through the fences, fed up and unwilling to listen. This is great imagery, to break through fences, and also as metaphorical fences that have been placed around what considered acceptable for her. Cars are also a Haylor theme, including Run below and often used as a metaphor for their love escaping as it is here. (All I know is that you drove us off the road / Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds)

Is It Over Now?: Was it over when he unbuttoned my blouse?

Run: And my so-called friends, they don’t know I’d drive away before I let you go

In Kiwi Harry yells a tabloid line followed with it's none of your business. In his Harry's House ONO complete with pointing at the camera and crowd. Taylor also referenced these same tabloids headlines in the Reputation magazine.

Kiwi "I'm having your baby / It's none of your business"

[Verse 2] Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid Tendrils tucked into a woven braid Growing up precocious sometimes means Not growing up at all He was chaos, he was revelry Bedroom eyes like a remedy Soon enough, the elders had convened Down at the city hall

In the second verse Taylor establishes that she has gone everything asked of her:

Style - "I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt"

Style - "So it goes, he can’t keep his wild eyes on the road"

Yet is denied freedom and the elders decree the match is unsuitable. I think the elders are her team. She describes the muse as chaos and revelry. This is very reminiscent of the I Knew You Were Trouble introduction poem, but while in 2012 Taylor was contrite and said it was too much she now revels in the revelry:

"And the crazy thing is I don't know if I'm ever gonna feel that way again, but I don't know if I should. I knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright, but I just thought, how can the devil be pulling you toward someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you? Maybe he knew that when he saw me. I guess I just lost my balance. I think that the worst part of it all wasn't losing him it was losing me"

[Pre-Chorus 2] “Stay away from her” The saboteurs protested too much Lord knows the words we never heard Just screeching tires and true love

The 'daddy' has now forbidden the love, this is reminiscent of Love Story: "And my daddy said, “Stay away from Juliet”

[Chorus] And I’m running with my dress unbuttoned Screaming, “But, Daddy, I love him I’m having his baby” No, I’m not, but you should see your faces I’m telling him to floor it through the fences No, I’m not coming to my senses I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want

'Crazy' and Madness are a Haylor theme, particularly in the Blank Space music video, and these lyrics

Wonderland "And in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad"

Kiwi "She's driving me crazy, but I'm into it (Oh) and "It's getting crazy, I think I'm losing it, I think I'm losing it"

But many more songs:

[Post-Chorus 1] I’ll tell you something right now I’d rather burn my whole life down Than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning I’ll tell you something ’bout my good name It’s mine alone to disgrace I don’t cater to all these vipers dressed in empath’s clothing

I love the last line, vipers dressed in empaths clothing, that is exactly what they are.

[Bridge] God save the most judgmental creeps Who say they want what’s best for me Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I’ll never see Thinking it can change the beat Of my heart when he touches me And counteract the chemistry And undo the destiny You ain’t gotta pray for me Me and my wild boy and all of this wild joy If all you want is gray for me Then it’s just white noise, and it’s just my choice

The only time Taylor has described someone as wild in lyrics is in Style "So it goes, he can’t keep his wild eyes on the road"

Afterglow "Chemistry until it blows up"

I love the end of the bridge, elsewhere on the record Taylor describes her long term relationship as grey, staid and boring. For many years some fans have shoehorned this person into lyrics because they want to see themselves in her, as they settle down they want her too. From my point of view some rather loud warning signs in songs were overlooked, or seen as 'she's remembering the past/when they first got together' to avoid accepting she was unhappy and wanted out.

Out of the Woods "The rest of the world was black and white But we were in screaming color"

[Verse 3] There’s a lot of people in town that I Bestow upon my fakest smiles Scandal does funny things to pride, but brings lovers closer We came back when the heat died down Went to my parents and they came around All the wine moms are still holding out But fuck ’em, it’s over

This verse is where I think it becomes clear than the 2023 lens is at best reminding Taylor of a past love, because that relationship never came back. Matty has said they never dated in 2014, there was no controversy around her attending concerts then. They dated for a few weeks then stopped talking, and of story.

However Harry and Taylor did sing about a hidden relationship for years. In fact Taylor wasn't connected to anyone else in a serious way for three years. In particular

Wildest Dreams: I said, “No one has to know what we do”

This Love "This love came back to me, oh, oh, oh"

I know places : "Somethin' happens when everybody finds out / See the vultures circling, dark clouds" and "we're bulletproof I know places (Hide) and you know for me, it's always you"

…Ready For It?: "Island breeze and lights down low, no one has to know"

I Know Places TV's lyric video for got a very TTPD themed look.

[Final Chorus] Now I’m dancing in my dress in the sun and Even my daddy just loves him I’m his lady And, oh, my God, you should see your faces Time, doesn’t it give some perspective? And, no, you can’t come to the wedding I know it’s crazy, but he’s the one I want

Taylor is asking her fans, parents, media if they have grown up, from when they were teenagers playing with her real life, do they have perspective and willing to accept that she loves someone of her choosing?

And no, they can't come to the wedding, but I bet they have Eras Tour tickets.... and some showed up at Jacks.