#like. i simply think that if you think good writing is good writing by virtue of its surface level character struggles

[rohirric-hunter]

I don't know if I agree that escalation is important. Another series that did this well is the Redwall series by Brian Jacques. The first book written in the series had a protagonist, Matthias. A later book focused on his son, Mattimeo. The stakes in Mattimeo's book are, if we're quite honest, noticeably lower than in Matthias'. There are still stakes -- one of the villains kidnaps Mattimeo and a bunch of other children and another one threatens their home while they are away from it, but neither villain is as threatening as the main villain of Matthias' story, and both of their evil plots are fairly localized. If they both got away with it then far fewer people would be negatively affected than in the first book.

In fact, both villains are villains that Matthias, as the hero of the first book, would easily have been able to deal with if he had just happened to be in the right place at the right time, but he's not. Matthias' failing as a parent isn't that he is bad at it. It's that his greatest strengths are also his greatest weaknesses. He's a very kind character, and this results in him letting Mattimeo get away with far more than he should, and one instance of him choosing to be kind rather than cautious kicks off the plot and all the ensuing conflicts. (Note that this is not presented as the wrong choice, per se, just an example of how unfortunately bad people can often use people's good qualities against them.)

Matthias then spends the entire book being restrained from being involved directly in either plot (which, again, he would have sorted in about ten minutes most likely) by time, distance, or cave-ins. Getting thrown into a bottomless pit. That sort of thing. There's almost a third plot where Matthias struggles against himself, TBH. His actions only indirectly and distantly affect the downfall of either villain. (This is thematically appropriate for the character, something something themes and motifs, but only tangentially related to this discussion.)

Some of the things that make this sequel succeed where others fail are these:

Matthias is present and active in the story. He is not put on a bus or killed early on; lesser writers use this tactic when they fear the new characters won't hold their own against the old ones. He is present and active; the story is simply not about him. He also passively influences the story through his past actions from the first book (kind of) and who he is as a person.

Matthias is a good parent, albeit not a perfect one. This works to the story's advantage, as Mattimeo ends up sharing many of his good traits that endeared readers to him in the first place by virtue of having been raised by him. Now they endear readers to the new protagonist as well.

Matthias has his own proper role in the story and a satisfying character arc. Matthias enjoyers still have something to be excited about in the story even though he is not the protagonist: here the writer neatly sidestepped the pitfall of alienating readers who are primarily reading the sequel in the hopes of new stuff about their faves.

Stakes really have little to do with it -- if anything the story is helped by the fact that the stakes are all deeply personal to the protagonists and not an Even Bigger Threat that will Destroy the World Even Harder than the first time.

In the case of Tolkien also doing this well, I think the most important takeaway is this: The parent figure must in some clear and important way influence and direct the child figure's story. You cannot write a sequel about a beloved character's kid where things just happen just because. There must be a clear line of narrative that makes sense between the parent and child's story.

But it takes a really talented writer to pull that off (especially if they weren't planning the sequel when writing the first book) and well a lot of people aren't really talented writers.

Generational spin-off media is like “okay, what would be the most in-character way for the previous show’s protagonist to comprehensively fail as a parent?”

[normal-thoughts-official]

i get and agree with all the criticism on how fictional characters have been sanitized to never have any real flaws but if you think that flaws like selfishness are inherently more interesting and better written than flaws like low self esteem you're simply not as media literate as the sense of superiority you've developed to cope makes you think you are

[hsslilly-blog]

source

[lis-likes-fics]

Delicious

Pairings: demon!Natasha x Reader Word Count: 5.5k words Prompt: Demon AU Warnings: NSFW, corruption kink, fingering, oral (f! receiving), multiple orgasms, strap-on, swearing... A/N: This is late and it's not very good. This would have been so much better but I have ADHD brain and I had to rush this a bit. Sorry, guys. But I hope you still like it! Thank you!

Natasha had never been in this shop before.

Drawn to a strange feeling coming from within, she wanders inside the little cafe and stares at its warm tones, letting her eyes wander the wall of books, the tables and booths, the counter where a beautiful waitress talks to a customer. She lays eyes on you and can feel the mischief twisting in her gut.

You are perfect.

The light that surrounds you is a beacon of…purity. Your tan apron wraps securely around your body, your hair is out of your face, your smile is brighter than the sun and snow outside. She can taste the innocence oozing off your skin like honey from a honey dipper.

You are radiant, and he can’t wait to hold you in her hands and see how dark she can make you.

A dark and charming grin spreads over her red lips as she walks up to the counter, waiting for you to give your warm goodbye to the last customer and offer a warm hello to the next. She steps forward and swears she could get drunk off your virtue.

You give her a bright smile, and she can see it shining in your eyes too. “Hi! What can I get ya?”

Natasha lets her green eyes wander the menu for only a moment, turning her gaze back to you as she speaks slowly, deeply, letting her rasp wash over you like a siren to a sailor. “I’ll have a mocha.”

You nod, picking up your notepad and a permanent marker to write her order as you take in the sight of her face. She’s beautiful. “And what size would you like that in?”

“Grande.”

You pick up the cup, nodding as you do. “Anything else?”

She looks you up and down, drinking you in some more before gauging what it does to you. You seem almost fidgety, flustered. She grins. “What do you recommend?”

“Well,” you chuckle lightly, “I am a sucker for our Christmas special—the gingersnaps. I shape them like little Christmas trees.” You illustrate your words as you pull your hands up to form a triangle, the closest you can get to the tree.

She raises her brows. “Oh, so you make them?”

You nod proudly, smiling widely as you set your hands on the counter. “I do!”

She hums. You’re adorable. “I’ll take it.”

“Alright-y! Will that be all for you?”

“It will,” she nods simply.

You grab her cup size and clutch the permanent marker. “And what’s the name on that order?”

“Natasha,” she purrs, watching you closely and letting her gaze openly drink you in to see how you’ll react. You’re so flustered already, practically melting at the sultry nature of her voice. “But I think Nat will do just fine.”

You start writing the name, “Nat” in pretty script. “Alright, Natasha. A grande mocha and gingersnaps coming right up!” You say her name like warm icing on cinnamon rolls, letting it drip over your skin like melted caramel. You look at her and smile fondly, shyly, your head tilted slightly down but your eyes glancing up at her nervously. “You have…a beautiful name, by the way.”

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head gently. You're hypnotized. “I can't tell if you're flirting or if you're just that nice.”

“O-Oh!” you say, your eyes widening slightly as she catches you by surprise. “Oh, I'm a really bad flirt.” You meet her eyes again and she sees you panic for a moment as you raise your hands. “W-Well, not to say you're not worth flirting with! I think you're very pretty—gorgeous, even. You're very—You're really–!”

She cuts you off with a hearty laugh, reaching a hand out to gently grab your own as she offers you an almost sly grin. “Relax, sweetness,” she bids. “I think you're absolutely delicious, too.”

“O-Oh,” you sigh, smiling as she eases your nerves. Then you realize, “Delicious?”

“Did I say delicious?” She shakes her head gently as if to say “silly me”. She pats your hand lightly before removing her soft fingers from you. She never looks away from your face. “I meant delightful.”

You nod before you speak. Natasha can't help but think how adorable you are, like the purest angel—but how they are in the movies, not the ones stuck up her ass all the time, calling her pest and rodent and vermin.

No. You would never say something so harsh. She can see it in you, the purest diamond. She wants to break you.

“Okay,” you speak softly—and you're so naïve, she thinks for a moment that you heard her thoughts and were offering yourself up to such exploitations.

She licks her bottom lip subtly. She can almost taste your honey. “What was my total?”

You seem to snap out of whatever thoughts run through your mind. “Well…” you clear your throat, “since you're so nice and I own this place… I'll give you the cookies on the house and bring your total down some.” You lean in, and she thinks you'll wink. “Our secret.”

She doesn't know if she thinks you're capable of holding secrets. But she's been around humankind so much, she knows there's always a secret lurking around the corner. You all just can't help yourselves…

“Nonsense,” she shakes her head. “I'd hate to do that to you.”

You smile gently. “Come on. Let me do this. You've been so nice.”

She scoffs gently, not offendedly. “Nice isn't a word people usually associate with me.”

You tilt your head, genuinely curious as to how someone so sweet could never be called “nice”. “What do they usually use?”

With a dark glint in her pretty green eyes, she smiles. “Sinful.”

“Sinful?” you mutter.

She shrugs a shoulder. “I've got a bit of a…mischievous streak.”

You smile sweetly. “And I like giving pretty girls free cookies.”

Natasha sighs, looking you up and down for the sole reason of flustering you again. “Well,” she says, “at least accept this big tip.”

“Tip?” you tilt your head.

“For a beautiful girl like you.”

She's done it. You clear your throat and nod. “O-Oh. Okay,” you say, watching her pull out her wallet. When she pulls out a hefty $50 bill, your eyes widen and you look like you'll have a heart attack. “Oh, this is too much! I can't accept this!”

She makes a pouty face, gazing at you with those pretty green eyes. She leans forward, and you feel yourself crumbling at the sight of her. “Oh, but you would break my heart if you didn't.” She slides the bill over and smiles, still presenting her puppy dog eyes as she lowers her voice. “You don't want to break my heart…do you?”

No. Never. How could you ever break the heart of someone so…her?

“I…” your teeth graze your bottom lip as you think to yourself before ultimately giving in. “Okay.” You slowly reach your hand out and hesitantly grab the bill, clearing your throat and feeling a little clammy for accepting the money as you put it in the pocket of your apron.

She smiles, but it's more like a smirk, a devilish curl of the lips that you don't quite label as dangerous, like you should.

“Good girl,” she purrs.

You don't know why that has such an effect on you. You feel yourself go limp but you stay standing as your eyes flutter and you feel the need to clear your throat again.

“While I'm in the charitable spirit,” Natasha says, satisfied with your obedience, “why don't you go out with me sometime? Got any Christmas plans?”

Your face is warm, the tips of your ears burn with the idea of going out with such a beautiful creature. As you think of your holiday plans, you shake your head. “Uhm, n-no.” Why can't you seem to speak today?

“No?” she says, her face drenched in surprise. “No dinner with family, an outing with friends?” She finds it hard to believe that a sweet girl like you has nothing to do for the biggest holiday season of the year.

But it's hard to have friends when you're all the way in New York and your family is all the way in California and all your friends are visiting their families or have their own friends to be with.

So, no… no plans for you.

“No,” you smile, almost sadly. “Nothing for me this year.”

Natasha almost thinks she's taking pity on you when she asks this, rather than forming her own plan to taint your white ledger.

“Well, I've got no plans. You've got no plans.” She smiles and reaches her hand out to brush your fingers. “Let's fix that.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

She nods, pleased with you. “I'll meet you here, then. Seven o'clock, Christmas day. Dress to impress.”

You smile sweetly. “Always do.”

“I can see that,” she says, looking you up and down with an appreciative glance.

You smile widely, a grand smile that puts the sun to shame. “I'll have your order right out.” You pick up your pen and dot the notepad you have her order written on.

Natasha nods before turning and walking toward a tiny table by the window, the morning light still pouring in, even as the morning slowly dwindles into noon. She watches you as you work, her eyes glued to your body as she follows you everywhere.

You really are just so…pure. She was thinking it may have been a façade to make the customers feel welcome, but one look at you, one sniff of your perfume, one word from your sweet lips and she knew you were sweet as sugar. Pure.

She hasn't met someone this pure in a very long time, if ever.

And you would taste divine.

“Nat.”

Her name said by such honey-tainted lips pulls her from her thoughts. She rises from her seat and makes her way to you once more.

Your smile is already ready, and just so sweet. “I hope you enjoy. Thank you for coming and…” you smile, biting your lip briefly, “I'll see you soon.”

“Thank you…” Her gaze darts down to your nametag, reading the letters one-by-one to savor the taste of it. She says your name like she's making love to it. You shudder. “Beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” you speak, your voice so soft and gracious she could have mistaken it for a whimper.

Natasha grabs the cup and the box of cookies, her fingers intentionally brushing yours as she speaks. “Christmas day. Seven. Don't forget.”

You shake your head. “I won't.”

She smiles. “Goodbye, angel.”

You nod quickly, too excited to see her again. “Bye, Nat.”

She walks out of the little cafe, her treats in hand. She lets the door close behind her, lets the bell ring about her head. Once she's out of the coffee shop but still in your view, she takes a sip of her scorching hot coffee like it's nothing and sighs. Even the coffee is as pure as you, perhaps because it was made by such hands.

She turns her head to see you watching her through the window and just nods. She watches your fluster, nodding proudly back to her before trying to look busy.

She can't wait to devour you.

~

You don't know how you got here, with your back pressed to your bedroom wall, with Natasha's hands smoothing underneath your shirt to touch the bare skin of your waist, with your lips molding perfectly with her own like they were made to fit together.

You'd gotten to the cafe an hour early, pretending—even to yourself—to tidy the place since you were closed for the holiday. Natasha showed up five minutes late, but fashionably so. She was beautiful; a pretty blouse red as blood, dark slacks tight around her waist and loose the rest of the way down, a black coat draped down past her knees.

The air was knocked from your lungs. She was beautiful.

Her eyes examined you, and she was impressed. You wore a short, long-sleeved, cream-colored dress and skin-colored tights to fight the cold. An angel.

She’d taken your hand and kissed the back of it, telling you how beautiful you were—though you swear you heard her say “delicious” again.

Then she took you to dinner. It was a nice restaurant, somewhere cozy with really good food. She paid for your food and for dessert, and you told her she didn't have to, but she insisted.

Then she took you ice skating. She held your hand the whole time and paid for you, and you told her she didn't have to, but she insisted.

Then she took you on a late night walk through the park. She held your hand and kept you close and told you that the moon looked beautiful on your skin. You told her she didn't have to, but she insisted.

Then when she walked you home, telling you how beautiful you were at the doorstep and taking your hands and pulling you in for a gentle kiss, you smiled and kissed her back. Then she kept kissing you, and you kept kissing back.

And it turned into you opening your door and letting her inside, kissing her some more and offering her coffee, only to have her tell you that she had everything she needed right here.

Hands wandered, then lips wandered, then she pressed you into the wall, and now she's got you laid out on your bed, still fully dressed and so, so hot.

She leans over you, inhaling the scent of your perfume with a sigh as she keeps kissing you. You hold her, your arms wrapped securely around her neck to keep her close.

Her teeth graze your lip, struggling to refrain from biting so hard, she draws the sweet syrup of your blood. You lean into her touch, keening against her and longing to savor the flavor of her name on your lips as you whisper, “Natasha.”

She wraps her hand around your throat as her mouth trails down to your neck, to your collarbone, feeling your pulse beating rapidly under the skin. Her teeth sink into your flesh, and she chuckles deeply when your breath hitches.

She could just as easily crush your windpipe if she wanted to. She could snap her fingers, and you'd be reduced to nothing but a pile of ash and bone.

But where was the fun in that?

No, she would savor you. She would lick your skin and taste the sweet ambrosia you'd create all for her. She would carve her name into your flesh with the bite of her claws. She would sink her sharp teeth to the bone. She would make you scream until the only word you knew were the letters of her name.

Her hand dips low under your dress, gripping your thigh as she slowly moves it up, up, up, her fingers digging into your skin as she does. Your eyes flutter shut, resorting to just feeling her as she touches you any way she likes. She hums deep in her throat as she pulls back to look at you, riding your dress up and pulling your leggings down so she can see the pretty panties you wore for her.

“Mm,” she sighs. “You look delicious, darling.”

Your tiny chuckle comes out as a breathy moan. “Don’t you mean,” you whimper slightly as her sharp nails dig into your skin as they make their way down your leg, the stinging sensations exciting you more than she initially thought. Corrupting you will be easy. “Don’t you mean ‘delightful’?”

Her hand around your throat tightens just a slight, not enough to constrict any airflow, but just enough for you to feel the warmth of her palm against your skin. “No,” she rasps. “I mean delicious.”

She manages to get your tights off, humming appreciatively at your lacey panties before ripping those off your body instead. You gasp lightly but say nothing else, allowing her to do as she wishes as you sit back and enjoy it.

Your hips jerk when her thumb teases the skin of your mound, dipping between your thighs just enough to press it lightly to your clit. Your breath hitches, your chest rising and falling in quick succession as she presses her thumb so lightly, you wonder if she’s actually touching you. She teases you like this for a moment, feather-light touches that make you so desperate for her.

“Tasha,” you whimper. “Please, I need you.”

Her eyes glint at the way you plead for her. Already, you’ve begun to beg. You’re so responsive, so sensitive to her touch. One would think you were untouched, but no… She would be able to smell that off you, and she smells that this is not the first time someone has been between your legs.

How precious you are. Tainted but still so unspoiled.

The pad of her middle finger grazes your slit, teasing you further as your body keens for her touch. “Say it one more time for me, baby,” she whispers in your ear. “Say it. ‘Please, I need you.’ Lemme hear it.”

You whine gently, letting one hand travel to her hair to let your fingers card through the softness of her red locks. You let your bottom lip pass between your teeth before you gladly obey her. “Please,” you whisper, lifting your hips to meet her. “I need you.”

Proud of herself, and of you, she slips her finger inside of you, sheathing it in the warmth and wetness of your body. You hum, closing your eyes. “How is that, angel?” she smiles, watching your eyes dart behind your closed lids.

You nod, parting your lips as a breath passes through them. “Yes.”

She grins devilishly. “Good girl.” She rewards you with another finger in the tightness of your slickening pussy. You reward her with another little whimper. She pumps them slowly, in and out of you, pushing them deep to feel every little part of you before allowing herself to pull out and do it again.

She curls her fingers inside of you, a come hither motion making your lips round into a ‘o’ shape. You whisper her name again, gently begging her for more. More closeness, more pleasure, more her.

She pumps them slowly, massaging your spongy walls as you begin to move your hips to the rhythm. “More?” you whimper, still so polite as you beg her for a request. And how could she say no when you’re as sweet as you are?

“You want more of me, angel?” she smiles. “I’ll give you some more.”

She dips down to kiss your collarbone again before she pulls her fingers out of you and laughs at the way you whimper, a pathetic little sound at the loss of her touch. Before you can begin to protest, you hear her snap and feel the zipper at your back begin to zip down your body. But you have no time to question her, as her lips attack yours between the time it takes to pull the dress over your head and off your body.

You don’t seem shy when you are laid bare to her. You keep holding her and kissing her, forgetting your confusion and shock before in favor of tasting the spice of her lips. She pushes you back onto the bed, abruptly separating you, even as your hands stay attached to her arms just to feel her soft skin.

She leans down over your body and lets her kisses ghost over your flesh, a phantom of herself teasing you. You feel her warm breath at the juncture of your thighs and want nothing more than to feel her tongue next. And it seems your prayers are answered when the hot muscle of her tongue flattens against your wet pussy and licks the arousal she’s pulled from you.

She’s happy to listen to the way you whisper her name under your breath when her lips wrap around you, allowing her tongue to plunge between your folds and fill you with pleasure. You moan and grind your hips against her face. She has to hold you down, chuckling darkly as she continues to lap at your needy core.

She sucks around your clit and swirls around your folds, tasting the sweetness you bear with a deep hum. “You taste just as delicious as you smell,” she rasps, kissing you messily. “This body is so…divine.” You melt under her praise, your hands tangling in her hair as your chest heaves.

Her fingers join her tongue once more, stroking and spreading and slipping in and out of you with the sole goal of tasting more of your sweet, sweet honey. “Natasha,” you moan. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? That’s a new one. Out of all the words in the Urban dictionary that can be used to describe Natasha Romanoff, sweetheart is not among them. Still, it’s sweet, and she thinks you’re adorable for thinking that way.

Natasha devours you, feeding off your moans like they are the essence of her being. Her hands grip your flesh and her tongue delves inside of you. She replaces her tongue with her fingers once more, pumping them in and out of you, curling against that sweet spot hidden deep within you. Your back arches and your moans get sucked up into the walls of your bedroom, pitchy and full of breath and desperation. You need her like you need air.

You moan her name again and she knows you’re close by the way your pussy tightens around her fingers, the way your clit pulses between her lips, by the way your fingers begin to tug at the locks of red hair you have tangled between them. She works harder, so eager to taste your nectar.

You hurdle over the edge with a loud, gasping moan. She holds you securely atop the counter, fingering and licking at your pussy as you gush around her, easing you through your orgasm. You chant her name under your breath, riding out your high against her face as she keeps building you up and prolonging your release just so she can continue to suck on your offerings, like the sap from a maple tree.

The last sparks of pleasure shoot through your limbs, in your belly. Your hips jerk when her fingers curve inside of you just a slight. She pulls them out and pulls away and licks her lips like she’s gotten sugar smeared all over them. “Oh, my angel,” she rasps. “Like heaven on earth.”

And you think she’s done as you will yourself to sit up, offering a sweet smile as you pull her in to kiss again, fully intending on seeing if she tastes just as “delicious” as she keeps telling you that you are.

But she breaks her kiss and stands off the bed and to her feet. You sit back, watching her pull her blouse over her head as her eyes stay glued to your beautiful body. She slips her lacey, only-for-decoration bra from her body to leave herself in nothing but her slacks.

You gaze at her, taking in the perfect hour-glass of her body and gawking when she steps out of her slacks and presents you with the strap-on she’s been hiding all this time. She watches the way you stare at it, smirking to herself as she stalks back over to you, leaning on the bed with her knee. “You like?” she says.

You bring your gaze up to her face, swallowing thickly and feeling embarrassment warming in your face for staring. You just nod. She chuckles, cupping your chin with her hand and shaking her head. She thinks you’re adorable.

She slides the hand around to your neck, cupping you there and pulling you in for a kiss. You moan, leaning into her. “But what about you?” you whisper, pressing your hand to her side and stroking your fingers over the skin.

She shrugs, “Don’t worry.” You miss the small wave of her hand behind her back as she lets her magic wash over her, connecting her own pleasure to that of her strap as she’s done a million times before. But you don’t need to know that. You don’t need to know the extent of her inhumanity. It isn’t important to the pleasure she derives from getting to taint something as pure as you. “It’s double-sided,” she lies.

You don’t get to protest because her lips are already on yours again. She slides her fingers through your folds again, swallowing your moans as she lays you down on your back and spreads you wide open for her.

As you're distracted by her kiss, she thrusts inside of you with a deep moan. You break the kiss, laying your head back and letting out a whimper of your own as she fills you, stretches you open for her as your tight pussy adjusts. You whisper her name like a prayer, and she moans yours like a sin.

She gives you only a moment to adjust to her size before she's moving her hips, a slow and steady in and out as she gets herself used to the feel of you, and oh… You definitely do not disappoint as you squeeze her cock like a vice.

“Fuck, my angel,” she laughs to herself. “You're fucking perfect.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders and savor the strokes of their cock inside you. “Please, Tasha,” you mutter.

She likes the way Tasha sounds. She's never been called Tasha before, her nickname has always been Nat. But the way it sounds falling from your lips, like a spell seeping into her skin and pulling her under your enchantment.

And it's hard to deny you when you look as precious as you do.

Her cock slides in and out of you in long, slow strokes as she fills you to the brim. You bite down on your bottom lip, your eyes closing as you breathe long, heavy sighs at the feelings she thrusts into you.

The desire for you, the desire to tear you apart invaded every little crevice of her being as she lost herself to more and more of her urge to fuck you desperate. She wants to hear your angelic voice beg a demon to fuck her nice and deep. She wants to see you fall apart, become a sinner all for her.

She grips your hips tightly, her rough thrusts no longer forgiving as she decides to take you how she wanted. You moan and whimper as your legs climb her waist until they're wrapped around her. She holds your thigh and just keeps thrusting.

You stutter her name, your capacity to remember anything else already slipping. She thrusts into you with all the passion in the world.

And then she pulls out at the pique of your wanton moans. You mewl and uselessly grab at her arms and waist. She separates from you with a sigh and ignores your attempts at bringing her back in, turning you on your stomach instead.

She thrusts inside without another word, filling you up from behind as you let your head hang. “There you go,” she husks. “That's better. Now I can fuck you like a whore.”

You moan, gripping the sheets and letting her do as she pleases. She keeps fucking you, relishing in the building sound of her hips smacking against your slick skin, the sound of you practically crying at the feeling of her fucking you so roughly making it harder to hold back.

“P-Please,” you stutter, clenching harder at the feeling. “Please don't stop. You're…amazing.”

Your gentle praise spurs her on more than she'd intended. She presses her finger to your clit and begins to rub fast, tight circles over it. She wants to feel you come undone. The more you cum on her cock, the more tainted you become with her darkness.

Her cock spears into you, pulling the dirtiest sounds from you as they echoed in the room—skin on skin, wet against wet. Your mouth falls open and you let out breathless cries accompanied with their own pleasured tears as they slip down your cheeks.

It feels so good, and you're going to cum.

You feel your body getting ready for it, building up higher and higher until you can do nothing but moan Natasha's name and shake upon your crashing release.

“Tasha,” you whine, dragging the last syllable out and breaking off into a pathetic moan. She keeps fucking you, groaning roughly as you clench so tightly around her. You gush and moan and she can't help but to fuck you just a little harder.

And when the orgasm melds to a little tremble, she keeps going. One of her hands wraps around your throat, tightening just a bit. She likes to feel her veins thumping under her palm, she likes to feel your life in her hand.

And apparently, so do you as you wrap your hand around hers and hold it securely there. Her eyes close as your pussy tightens, her thrusts become rougher as your moans become louder. She is going to make you cum again, she's set on it.

Your legs are a trembling mess, your arms are slowly dwindling in the strength they need to hold you up. “Please,” you mewl again. “Please don't stop, Tasha. I need you so…fucking bad.”

She feels successful. That's the first time she's heard you curse, and she's so excited to have spoiled your tongue with such a word. She rubs your clit again, wanting to reward you.

“I want you to cum for me again, angel,” she rasps. “All over me. Come on.”

Her thrusts are becoming sloppy, so absorbed in her oncoming release as she readies herself for your own. She pulls you back to meet her thrusts, rough and fast and deep as she continues to build you up.

You moan loudly as the pleasure builds and builds until it snaps. You throw your head back, crying out as you cum with the tight squeeze of your cunt. The warmth and the wetness of your pussy is too much as Natasha follows after you. She moans deeply in her throat as she grinds roughly inside of you, burying her cock in your pussy as if she was cumming in you to give you a deeper taint of your purity.

You allow your arms to give out as you fall forward onto the bed and muffle your moans into the sheets. She keeps gripping your hips tight, still riding out her high as she moans your name and lets out a string of curses.

Your whole body is shuddering by the time both your pleasure is reduced to tiny spasms through your limbs. She thrusts her hips a couple more times before pulling out of you with a long sigh.

You roll onto your side, lazily lying there as you glance up at Natasha with heavy eyelids. She runs a hand through her hair and gathers herself, looking down at you as the pride shimmers in her eyes and her chest.

She watches you, smiling, though she can't help a prickle of confusion when she takes in the sight of you. You lay there, half-asleep and completely spent, bare and vulnerable and exploited by her darkness.

And, yet, you look every bit like an angel as when she first met you. You look just as sweet, smell just as sweet, smile at her just as sweetly.

“Thank you,” you whisper sweetly. She watches you, watches as you pat the spot next to you and cast your innocent eyes on her.

And she's curious, so she lays down where you offer her a spot. Then you cup her cheek with the palm of your hand and kiss her, a long and slow and gentle kiss that Natasha becomes conflicted with as she leans into it.

Then you wrap your arms around her body and pull her in tight so she can't escape—or, she could… but she won't. All that time spent trying to corrupt you, and you're still the virtuous little angel she met at the coffee shop, cradling her in your arms and kissing her forehead and thanking her for the night of passionate fucking she'd just given you.

There is a warmth in your arms that Natasha hasn't felt in a long time. She's not quite sure if she's ever felt a warmth like this. She leans into it, she feels herself succumbing to your purities, despite her best efforts.

Curious, she lets you hold her, even longer after you had fallen asleep as she could safely slip away into the night, never to see you again.

But, no… You intrigue her. She couldn't leave now, especially if there was still so much virtue left in you. She will have to stick around. Yes… she will have to keep you a while longer.

You are a rare delicacy. She couldn't let you go to waste.

True Believer taglist: @activebliss @xxromanoffxx @thelastpyle @likefirenrain @babypink224221 @autisticbrie @alexxavicry @evabalexeeva @dumb-fawkin-bitch @hatterripper31 @kmc1989 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @notzammm @evansstan-akya Red Ledger taglist: @ripleysupremacy180286 @luminous-faerie @nowthisisliving27 @lorsstar1st @poptartpoppyy @blackwidow-3 Red-Head taglist: @red1culous @wannabe-fic-reader @imnotsaddude @lovelyy-moonlight @tessarqctt @fanreader @smromanoff Tag yourself here...

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

What did you just say?

Aegon x Fem reader (y/n)

«The news of your marriage and pregnancy woke the dragon inside him.»

Sorry I just watched this gif and I couldn't avoid thinking about a moment like this. Also I want to utilize this short writing to let you know that I also like Game of thrones, House of the dragon, star wars, teen wolf, etc. so, occasionally I will start to post about those characters too.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Part 2 is finally here.

A soft knock on the door echoed in the room, Aegon was sitting, drinking his morning cup of wine.

- Come in.

- My king.

A servant appeared in the meeting room, Aegon was waiting for him anxiously. Since he became king he only wanted one thing. You.

Both were betrothed before Alicent decided to cancel it and marry Aegon with his sister, Helaena.

He really needed you at his side, he wanted you, his mother made a mistake, he always said that, it was unfair not only for him but for Helaena too, so, now he was king, he wanted a new wife, he wanted what a long time ago belonged to him.

Unfortunately, the poor servant's face was not the kind of face that brings good news.

- Speak now, where's she? Where's my betrothed?

- My king... I... The information I obtained, it's maybe just rumours, I do not intend to defile Lady (y/n)'s reputation or her virtue, But...

Before the servant could end, Alicent appeared at the door, the look in her eyes could say there was guilt and fear.

- Get out, I want to talk with my son.

The servant nodded and started to walk out when Aegon stopped him, he wouldn't let him go without knowing the news or rumors about his beloved.

- Stay, you haven't finished yet, What do you know about her?

- Aegon...

- Silence, you Continue.

- Lady y/n got married a few moons ago with the lord of the north, as I said these are maybe just rumors, but it's probably she's pregnant, a wolf is growing inside her, My king.

Aegon stood up and walked around the room, the servant hadn't moved, Alicent closed her eyes, she was standing there like a statue just waiting for Aegon's reaction. Suddenly, Aegon walked directly to the servant, his face was almost purple of Anger, his eyes could burn, certainly, the news of your marriage and pregnancy woke the dragon inside him.

His hot breaths with the smell of the wine he drank before, were now filling the servant's nose and lungs.

The goblet In his hand flew to the other side of the room, tension filled the room, silence was uncomfortable, then, Aegon simply asked.

- What did you just say?!

[heliads]

Ok so I saw how you said you wanted to write for narnia in your request guidelines so, imagine if you will:

Reader and Caspian with a sort of rivals to friends to lovers. Charting the transition from "My prince" (Sarcastic) to "My prince" (playfull, joking) to eventually "MY prince" (loving). Hope this makes sense, lots of love <3

when people check the request guidelines <333 also this request was so good that i had the people vote upon it. soldier reader for the win

masterlist

You’re not sure what makes you more angry, the fact that you broke your sword or that the prince was there to see it. If it were not enough of a ruination to your day to have your blade break in half like a child’s wooden toy, if it were not enough to have to retreat through the storms of other fights and clashing metal and skulk to the background to get another, you were witnessed by the one person you detest most of all.

You should not be hating Prince Caspian. He just makes it rather easy to do so. He is the physical embodiment of this world, the crown on high, the savior of your every waking hour, all because he happened to be born into the right family at the right time. It is not his fault that he is one of the most powerful men in all of Narnia, but it is not the result of his labor, either. He is simply the prince, and there is nothing more to say on the matter.

That is quite different from you, then. You had to claw your way up through the ranks, sacrificing skin and sweat so you could eke out a win time and time again. Your trials served you well, gilding your brow with the title of captain of the guard, but it wasn’t like anything was handed to you. No, not at all. Yet, by virtue of his predestined position, Caspian technically has control over every soldier in Narnia. He outranks all of your efforts by the crown put on his head when he was just an infant.

This is the way of the world, and the way that it has always been. It makes no sense for you to hate him so fervently over something he cannot control. Caspian is an easy scapegoat, though, a figurehead for you to heap your regrets upon like laurels. It is not his fault that he was made prince. It is not his fault that you despise him for being one.

You’ve had time to grow accustomed to your life of blood and sweat, however, and today should have been no different. This morning was an amalgamation of at least a dozen different mistakes, though, and that ruined your day before it hardly even started. You woke up a little too late, you snapped at your friends then regretted it half a second later, and now you’ve gone and broken your blade, too.

It wasn’t your best weapon, at least that counts for something. Your finest sword is your most prized possession, and lies in careful hiding back in your quarters. This was merely your practice weapon, one designed to be battered and beaten all in the means of furthering the skills of you and your men.

Still, it stings to see it lying on the dusty ground of the training yard, shiny metal fragments already beginning to cloud over with grime. You sigh, signaling to your partner that you’ll have to abandon the match for now, and carefully pick up the pieces. When you stand, cradling the shards of your sword like a child, you look up and see Caspian of all people staring at you from across the training yard. Evidently he’s arrived just to see your sword fail.

Wonderful timing as always from him. You have to marvel at how he does it. You half think Caspian carefully plans his excursions into the swordsman's arenas when he believes you to be least ready to see him. You meet his gaze for a moment longer, then turn, heading back towards the rows of equipment on the far side of the yard.

You murmur at least half a dozen curses as you go, running them over your tongue like a prayer. The broken pieces of your sword can be turned into the armorer in the hopes that something will become of them, but you highly doubt that. In the meantime, you’ll have to dig up the coin to buy yourself a new sword, and risk damaging your primary weapon in the meantime. How splendid.

A voice sounds from behind you, one that makes you grit your teeth despite the soothing intonations. “You know, if you’re stabbing our own men so hard your weapon shatters, I’m afraid to see what you’ll do to our enemies.”

You grimace to yourself, then turn around to face Caspian, expression resolute. “Fear not, my prince, your men will be spared from me today. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to break swords when a battle arises.”

Caspian arches a brow, perhaps at the tone you direct towards his title. “If you speak with that much thrill over the thought of war, I’m beginning to fear that you may not be my best advisor regarding the maintenance of peace.” 

As if he’d ever listen to you long enough to consider you an advisor. The two of you snap at each other’s throats every time you get within shouting range. “Perhaps I just like a chance to fight.”

“I think I’ve noticed that,” Caspian murmurs, bemused.

It takes great strength to keep from glaring at him, strength that fails you by the second. “You’ll have to excuse me, I must go to the blacksmith for repairs.”

His face falls. “You won’t be continuing in the ring today? I had hoped to best you yet again.”

His lips quirk up as he says it, making the insult lose some of its barb, but it still makes your temper flare. “I’m afraid not. Blades are not as easily bought by soldiers as princes, I must see if I can salvage this one before going to the trouble of a purchase.”

Caspian seems half a second of self control from rolling his eyes. “There are more swords in the yard, L/N. Simply select another and we can go for a round or two.”

He gestures towards the training yard expectantly, and you feel the weight of your difference in stations come crashing down around you. Caspian will not stop asking until you fight him, that is his birthright. He does not know what it means to be disobeyed. And, as the captain of his guard, you cannot argue. This you know to be true, even if Caspian is unaware of just how he’s wielding his influence. There is nothing you can do to circumvent him.

You force your expression to go icily cold, devoid of any and all emotion. Even the anger, which was sparking through you so readily before, vanishes from your disposition. Caspian blinks in surprise at the sudden change, more so when you abruptly drop the pieces of your broken blade to the ground, where they send up a small storm of dust.

“Of course,” you say, even-syllabled, “how could I ever think to do anything else? Your word is my command, my prince.”

You pack as much loathing as possible into those syllables. Caspian flinches as if you’ve hit him, and then his confidence is gone, his eyes downcast. “If you don’t want to–” He begins in a whisper, but you’re already moving briskly towards the rows of extra blades.

“I most certainly want to,” you answer him, the borrowed blade seeming to cut into your hand despite the smooth leather grip, “you have asked, and that is all the motivation I should ever need.”

Caspian swallows hard, opens his mouth to say something, but you swing your blade at his head before he can manage it. This is utterly wrong behavior for a soldier towards a prince, but Caspian has never seemed to have a problem with your actions before, no matter how challenging. It’s as if both of your prides are so strong that they could overcome any class barrier set in your way.

Caspian barely parries your sword before it cuts into his head. Grunting with effort, he twists his weapon, forcing you to step back as he disengages, striking towards you in return. Seizing the opportunity, Caspian presses his advantage, taking a few quick steps and maneuvering the two of you further into the training yard and into the designated spaces for fighting.

Words are clearly still clinging to his tongue, begging to be spoken aloud, but this is no longer a place for conversation. It takes everything in you to counter his attacks, to spot when he’s off balance and lunge with piercing precision towards every gap in Caspian’s defense. You may hate the dark-haired prince with every fiber of your being, but you cannot deny that he is skilled. He might be the only one here capable of providing a challenge to you. You might hate him even more for that, or worse, not at all.

Caspian feints to his left, then his right. You ignore both distractions and plunge your weapon straight towards his heart. Expecting your belligerence in regards to his ploys, Caspian parries the strike and returns it with one of his own. You move to take a quick sidestep, but the ground is slick beneath your feet with mud from yesterday’s rain and you stumble. It’s the slightest of missteps, but for someone at Caspian’s level, it is enough.

He lunges forward, and you feel the shadow of the stone wall on your back before he pushes you into it. The rock is cold against your back, driving the air from your lungs. You try to force your way towards the center of the yard again, but Caspian has his sword at your throat, and any movement would lead to you cutting your own neck.

Unwilling to yield quite yet, you stay silent. You and Caspian breathe in and out, the deep gasps for air first discordant and then slowly, steadily, joining in a shared rhythm.

Caspian speaks first, you know he’s been waiting for it. “You hate me.”

You scoff. “You hate me. This is not an exclusive feeling.”

He exhales harshly, exasperated. “Stop deflecting everything onto me. We could have been friends.”

You laugh, tilting your head back to give him a better chance to slit your throat. “You are a prince. I would never have been anything but nothing to you.”

Caspian’s eyes widen. He moves away from you unsteadily, first closer than he’s ever been, then gone, halfway across the yard in what feels like just a second. You let your eyes shudder closed, exhausted from the intensity of the fight but perhaps something more as well. When you open your lids, he is gone. He had just arrived, but he is nowhere to be seen now. That could be no one’s fault but yours. He is not your friend. But. He could be so, so much more. 

Three days later, a gift arrives in your quarters. You unwrap the cloth bindings to reveal a sword nestled within the folds. You can tell at once that it has been perfectly selected for you– the heft is just right for your level of strength, the grip matches your hands exactly, and the edges are razor sharp, ideal for those slashes towards the forearms you’ve been so fond of as of late.

It comes swathed in a rich purple cloth, the sort of color you’ve only ever seen decorating Caspian’s frame as he walks with his troops or speaks to his nobles. An angrier, more bitter part of you wants to reject the gift entirely, to toss it from your room like refuse or return it back to him at once. Still, it is a fine blade, and you know that were you to just pick it up, it would feel exactly right, an extension of your arm into shining metal.

So, the sword joins the rest of your collections, and the purple linen ends up tucked away in your desk, carefully folded into a neat square of color and creases. You cannot explain why you do either, not even to yourself. 

The next time you’re called out with your regiment to guard the prince and some foreign powers on a diplomatic mission, the sword is on your belt, your hand resting on its hilt. Caspian sees and something changes in his expression; a deepening of a smile, a pleased spark in his eyes. For some reason, you cannot hate him for being proud. Not today.

He finds you later, once the crowds have dispersed and he doesn’t have to be a prince, just a man. “What a fine sword that is,” he remarks pleasantly.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t. Don’t even.”

Caspian spreads his hands, the picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about.”

“You had better not,” you grumble.

He nods solemnly. “Of course. Just a random thought, however, it really is a nice blade. It must have been picked out by an exceedingly good swordsman. Perhaps even the best in the castle.”

You should be irritated with him for being so bothersome again. Instead, you find yourself fighting a smile. “It’s a shame, then, that the only swordsman here worth his salt is me.”

Caspian’s mouth drops comically. “That cannot be true.”

“It is,” you reply as casually as you can, “I come to you with only the best information, my prince. Only the best.”

He starts to respond, but something stops him, something that makes him smile quietly. Your stomach flips with the unsettling feeling of having missed out on a joke, but for once, you don’t entirely mind it. Instead, the two of you walk all the way back to the castle, and only when the diplomats arrive again must you be parted. It is not the worst use of your time.

Caspian finds you again two nights later. You’re on a shift guarding a section of the castle walls, which gives you an excellent view of the foreign powers riding away into the darkness. They’ve been here for days now, testing Caspian’s patience like no one else, not even you.

He joins you soon enough, exhaustedly leaning his arms up against the stone battlements. “I think I hate politics,” he murmurs into the night air.

You chuckle, the quiet sound abnormally loud in the darkness. It should make you self conscious, and it does, but not as much as it would for anyone else. The hot prick of awareness in your stomach is both doubly strong and doubly weak because you are next to Caspian; why, you cannot explain, but it is true.

“You are a prince,” you point out, “politics was always something you would have to do.”

Caspian groans. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. That’s why I always envied you, you know. You got to carry the banner and fight the battles without any political conniving.”

You stare at him in shock. “That cannot be true. No future king could ever want to be a mere soldier.”

He laughs derisively. “As if you’ve ever been a mere soldier. Not to me,” he adds on afterthought, and you’re not sure that it was even meant for your ears, “no, not to me.”

You shake your head slowly. “But I thought you hated me. All this time, you’ve merely wanted to join me in fighting without a care?”

Caspian’s brow furrows. “Hate you? No, no. I never hated you. I never could hate you.”

He straightens up, slowly walking over to you. There is no one else on the castle wall to see you, no one below. Even still, your eyes feel like more than enough of an audience to find some reason to stop this before the pounding in your heart blocks out your ability to breathe properly.

“My prince,” you say, a warning. It doesn’t make him flinch like it used to, a blow grown familiar, worn down to the weight of a feather instead of that of a blade.

Caspian sighs, the listless air leaving him and vanishing just as quickly on the wind. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted this. That you’ve never thought about it.”

“I couldn’t,” you whisper, and something in you cracks in half when his face falls, “but you could.”

Caspian’s eyes dart cautiously up to you again. “Are you sure?”

Neither of you have to specify what he means for you to know. “Yes,” you breathe.

You did not anticipate this night to end with you kissing the crown prince of Narnia. That being said, you would not want to have it any other way. There may be foreign dignitaries out there plotting the end of his reign, or political turmoils present to claim most of his time, but tonight, Caspian is yours and yours alone. It makes you smile into him. It makes everything that much better.

narnia tag list: empty for now!

[theemissuniverse]

I love your writing! I saw that your requests were open do to mind doing Johnny Cage x reader? (Gender is your choice) like reader is a god/goddess and somehow falls in love with an earthrealmer?

“TOO CLOSE TO THE HEART” JOHNNY CAGE X GODDESS!READER

A/N : surprisingly this is my first Johnny fic lmao. Also a little bit of info the goddess is of nature and virtue

WARNINGS ; none

MASTERLIST

Johnny was a ladies man. Usually he turned on the charm for every woman. But then he met you and his sole attention was on you.

You’ve told him time and time again that you did not mingle with mortals but he didn’t give up.

Johnny often flirted with you but not like how he usually flirted with women. He still kept it respectful because at the end of the day- you were a goddess.

Usually you were able to not fall for his advances but this time you couldn’t resist.

You were in your garden and helped your pretty flowers blossom. You looked over to your left and saw Johnny looking upset with a flower pot. He was sitting at a picnic table.

The flower pot held a flower that was barley alive.

You were quite concerned for Johnny. He was usually full of light but he looked really upset.

You walked over to him and sat down next to him. “What’s the matter? Someone make fun of one of your films?” You chose to joke.

Johnny sighed. The joke didn’t hit with him. You now were extremely worried. He scratched the back of his neck and he passed you the dying flower. “I know how much you like flowers so I was trying to grow one myself for you but…taking care of a flower is a lot harder than I thought.”

Something about this notion was incredibly thoughtful. You were the Goddess of Nature. Flowers were your everything. So, for Johnny trying to bloom one for you melted your heart. It meant he did care about the things you cared about.

You took the pot. “Lucky for you, I am Goddess of all things nature so…” You used your power and the flower started to regenerate into a healthy golden tone. “It’s all healed.”

Johnny smiled at what you did. “That’s pretty cool that you can do that.”

“Oh really? Because what I heard from Kung Lao, you thought it was pretty lame.”

“Well-that was before I got to know you and now I think it’s kick ass.” Johnny stated. You chuckled a little.

You then thought of something. “Why did you do this or try to do this for me any way?”

Johnny gave you a look like it was obvious. “Come on, doll. Don’t be naive. You know I like you.” He sighed a little. “But you don’t got a thing for mortals so I probably should just leave it be.”

You watched as Johnny was about to stand up from the table. You grabbed his arm and made him sit back down. “You are sweet…when you want to be Johnny and it’s not that I don’t want to but it’s unrealistic to be with you. I am immortal. One day, you’ll die.”

“Hey, I’d be one lucky old man to have you on my death bed and you’ll still look that good.”

You shook your head slightly. “I have a lot of responsibilities. We can’t be together twenty four seven.”

“And I’m a hot shot director now. Same here.” Johnny could see that you were starting to get convinced so he took your hands in his. “Come on! One shot. That’s all I’m asking, babe.”

You thought about it. Johnny had been showing relentless interest in you. And after the flower thing, you couldn’t help but say yes. “Alright. We’ll give it a shot.” Johnny fist pumped the air and you rolled your eyes playfully.

Your eyes glowed a bright green. (Because of your Goddess nature.) Johnny tilted his head as he stared into them. “Say, how do you walk out in public with your eyes like that?”

“I don’t.” You stated simply and your eyes changed to your human eye color. Johnny blinked his eyes in shock as he saw them. “Wow. You should wear your eyes like that more often.”

You return your eyes back to their God like nature. “You don’t like my eyes, Johnny?”

“Nah. You look hot either way, babe.” Johnny leaned in to give you a kiss but you placed a finger on his lips.

“In time I will see if you are worthy of that.”

“You know I like a challenge.”

[gravityrises]

The Virtues of Stanford Pines

Summary: I've seen people accuse Ford of doing horrible things on one side, and people defending his actions on the other side. But how about we turn the tables and talk about all of the good Ford has done. (At least, that was the plan.)

Word Count: 2813.

Spoilers: Gravity Falls series, Journal 3, The Book of Bill, Lost Legends, thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com

1. He's incredibly hard-working:

Just because someone is smart doesn't mean they don't put a lot of effort into studying and Ford definitely did. It's mentioned twice just in "A Tale of Two Stans," when he tries to convince the college board to give him another chance and when he describes his years at Backupsmore.

And it doesn't stop at intellectual pursuits. In Journal 3 Ford says he exercises daily, despite having always hated physical activity.

Anyway, I don't think anyone is going to argue this point, so let's leave it at that.

2. He's supportive of his friend:

There are going to be a few controversial takes, but I truly believe that Ford was trying to be a good friend to Fiddleford. Now, there were fights between them, and Ford did say quite a few insensitive things both to his face and in the Journal. But overall, I don't think he ever intended to hurt Fiddleford, and he definitely appreciated his friend's company.

When Ford invited Fiddleford to work on the portal, he wrote in the journal: "He (Fiddleford) has sacrificed so much to come to my aid. He has temporarily left his bride and their young son... he has abandoned his own professional aspirations... I must do my best to make him feel at home.... I am off to the store for some banjo strings and microchips!" (quote shortened, because I'm lazy) Clearly, Ford cared about his friend and wanted to make him feel welcome.

He also compliments Fiddleford's "brilliant mind," "amusing quirks" and scrupulous work ethic, by saying "I double-check my equations. He quintuple-checks!"

And I hear you, didn't he claim the complete opposite in the series? According to him, Fiddleford "was wasting his talent trying to make personal computers", right? Well, if we ignore the fact that the creators weren't 100% consistent in their writing, here's how I would reconcile those two statements. Ford thought (erroneously) that his friend's research wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, but it was important to Fiddleford personally. And can you really blame Ford? He was about to demostrate the existence of other dimensions and create a gateway that would allow us to visit them. If something like that happened irl, it would've been a groundbreaking discovery, altering our very understanding of the natural world and how it works. Meanwhile, laptops, at least in Ford's opinion, were just "heavy, slow journals." Still, he knew this work was important to Fiddleford, and he wanted to accommodate that. Hence, his trip to buy microchips (and banjo strings.)

Ford tried (and unfortunately, failed) to help Fiddleford deal with his anxiety. In Journal 3, he mentions teaching Fiddleford some meditation techniques and going to the Carnival, so that Fiddleford would enjoy "a day of relaxation." In the Book of Bill, Ford feels guilty about not getting his friend a gift and decides to throw a surprise Christmas party instead. This was also an attempt to cheer Fiddleford up after his fight with his wife.

"But Ford didn't take Fiddleford's anxiety seriously, and it ruined his life." Okay, let's say you're right. Remember, Ford was raised in the 60s. A time when mental illness or just mental distress were looked down on. What was he supposed to do? Suggest Fiddleford goes to the therapist? I mean, they were studying paranormal creatures, if Fiddleford told those stories to a therapist who didn't believe in these things, there would've been a really high chance of misdiagnosis. Should Ford have simply fired Fiddleford? Well, that wouldn't have been very nice. Also, there is no need to infantilize Fiddleford in the first place, he's a grown-up person capable of makind his own decisions. If the job is too stressful, if the relationship doesn't work out, he has every right to leave, because his life and mental well-being are his responsibility. Instead, he ignored Ford's warnings and decided to use the Memory Gun and start a cult. It was, by the end of the day, Fiddleford's decision. And it's tragic. It really is. No one deserves to lose their family, their mind and their sense of self. It's something Ford feels guilty about, because whether it was intentional or not, he did indirectly contribute to Fiddleford's downfall. That's why, when they finally reunited after 30 years, Ford apologized to Fiddleford. And according to Journal 3, Fiddleford dissmised his apology, leading Ford to say that "Not only is this man's mind superior to mine, but he has one of the biggest hearts I've ever seen."

3. He has no reservations about helping others out:

There's a reason why Ford's the first person people turn to, when there's a problem. He has both the desire and the skills to help people out. Using Dipper's idea, he stops agents from investigating his family. He goes above and beyond just to change a lightbulb in the kitchen. Though morally questionable, he did give the kids a mind control tie with the intent of helping Stan win the elections. In the comics, Stan turns to Ford when Mabel's face is stolen and when Stan himself is cursed by an old chest.

And that's how things were in the past too. In "The Pines Boys in: The Jersey Devil's in the Details", Ford defends his brother, twice. First, when Filbrick accuses Stan of stealing the gold chain from his pawn shop. And then, when the Sibling Brothers offered Ford to let him keep the monster and become famous in exchange for photos that would prove Stan's guilt. And just to add an incentive, they threatened to frame both twins, if Ford didn't comply. Obviously, it didn't work.

According to thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com, that's also how he became friends with Fiddleford: on the very first day, he spent nine hours helping his new friend prove his theory. And in the Book of Bill, when Ford learns that Bill's home dimension was destroyed by a monster, his immediate reaction is to offer help with hunting it down.

Whenever someone's in distress, Ford really wants to help them out, and I don't know about you, but to me that doesn't sound like someone lacking empathy.

4. He's got no qualms questioning the status quo:

In Journal 3, Ford mentions traveling to Northwest Manor to confront Old Man Northwest with evidence of his family's deceit. Instead, he was met by young Preston, who wasn't impressed with his speech and forcibly escorted Ford from the premises.

Also in Journal 3, Ford wanted to debate politics with Reagan. Make of that what you will.

Now this one is more of a conjecture, but in the Book of Bill, this is how Bill compliments him: "Guys as smart as you come along once every century, and they scare the pants off of authority figures!" This lie wouldn't have worked, if it wasn't what Ford actually wanted.

And of course, learning that his former "muse" is one of the most feared beings in the entire multiverse, didn't stop Ford from going on a quest to defeat Bill. Even after witnessing other creatures shriek and cover their ears at the mere mention of Bill's name. Which leads me to my next point.

5. Calling him determined would be a massive understatement:

Forget his sleepless nights at college, forget his extensive research in Gravity Falls, Ford has spent 30 years, let me repeat that again, 30 years traveling across dimensions and looking for a way to destroy Bill Cipher. I haven't even been alive for that long! From the little we know about those years, they were anything but easy. In fact, Ford describes them as "frightening, exciting, cruel, and strange." (And of course, the guy actually does use the Oxford comma in his writing. Who would've thought?) Let me stress that Ford was under no obligation to continue his quest, maybe he could've found a quiet dimension to settle down and live peacefully, in fact, that's something he contemplates while visiting A Better World in Journal 3. But he decides against it. Not because he didn't want to, he literally says that he wanted to revel in his parallel self's success. Not because defeating Bill would get him recognition. It wouldn't, at least not in his home dimension, where no one is even aware of the danger. No, he didn't stay, because his own conscience wouldn't allow it. Ford just couldn't break his vow from 30 years ago, it's as simple as that.

And what does he do, when his plans fall apart? Does he even consider giving up? Of course not! In fact, he ends his tale of interdimensional travel with the following sentence: "My resolve to defeat Bill has never been stronger." It's almost comical, watching him throw anything he can think of at Bill and see what might stick. His battle in the Nightmare Realm was interrupted? He jumps through the portal to stop Bill's forces from entering his dimension. The portal created an interdimensional rift? He tries to contain it. Bill threatens to get his hands on the rift? This time Ford has two ideas: he tries to encrypt Dipper's thoughts and creates a mystical barrier around the house. The worst happens and the world is about to end? Well, get in loser, we're going to shoot Bill with Quantum Destabilizer. Ford misses and is captured? Not to worry, there's a Zodiac prophecy, we can give that a try. It doesn't work, because two grown men can't put aside their grievances for just a few seconds, gosh that scene is so frustrating to watch. Well, here is another idea: one can erase Bill with a memory gun as long as he's in someone's mind. I don't know what else to say, Ford really did his homework, when he set out to destroy Bill.

6. He has the patience of a saint:

Wow, now here's a controversial take. Remember Stan's "Beep boop. I am a nerd robot. That's you. That's what you sound like," which Ford just laughs off. Yes, that's what siblings do all the time. And yes, this teasing does come from a place of hurt. Stan was feeling like "the stupid twin," "a dumb idiot who screws everything up," so Ford felt like he just had to put up with this. But it's still hurtful to be mocked for your interests. It really feels like their relationship was already a little strained even before the Science Fair Project Incident.

What about the fact that he was the first to stop the fight in "Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons" and suggesting Stan might actually have fun, if he joined their game?

Or all the snide comments Stan made, when they reunited during Weirdmageddon, including "Well, he's lost his mind" and "You really think some caveman graffiti is gonna stop that monster?" All of which Ford simply ignored. Yes, he did correct Stan's grammar under the worst of circumstances, I agree, but you know, everyone has their pet peeves.

What people often forget is just how difficult it is to be a kind person, when you're stressed. It is much easier to treat people with respect and understanding, when you yourself are doing fine. So is it that big of a surprise, that someone who's under pressure, sleep-deprived and/or in pain might be more prone to outbursts? And we know how traumatic Ford's experience of being bullied as a kid was, how much suffering Bill put him through, how difficult his years on the other side of the portal were and how much pressure he was under, trying to prevent a literal end of the world. It's ironic that the people who blame Ford for his lack of empathy, really don't show him any empathy themselves.

7. Even under torture, he didn't reveal the equation that would've allowed Bill to take over the world:

Do I really have to spell it out? Look, as someone who was on the verge of mental breakdown from a simple toothache, I have nothing else to say other than: This is admirable. And he did it to protect the world that, need I remind you, wasn't particularly kind to him. On the same note, he just never joined Bill in the first place: not in the 80s, and not during Weirdmageddon.

"Oh, but he's the one who started the Apocalypse, so he kind of deserved it." Seriously? No, I mean it, are you being serious? Is that something you would say to a person suffering from diabetes type 2, that it's their fault for eating too many sweets; or to someone with liver cirrhosis that they deserve to suffer because of their alcohol addiction? Because this is neither appropriate, nor helpful. Talk about kicking someone when they're down...

8. He's fiercely loyal to his family:

I think the way Ford compliments his grandniece in "The Last Mabelcorn" is very revealing: "You've protected your family. You're a good person, Mabel." His very definition of a "good person" is "someone who supports and protects their family." Which is... interesting to say the least, considering that Ford has spent a very long time away from his family and completely alone. But it does sound like something he aspires to. That's why he goes out of his way to help his family out, whenever they're in trouble. (See point 3 for more on this.)

When Bill threatens the kids, Ford is willing to risk the entire universe for a slim chance that they might be spared. It's a cruel Trolley Problem, which once again proves just how much he values his family. Still, this is some Fate/Zero level angst and I don't want to talk about it more than I absolutely have to. Let's finish this up with something more lighthearted.

9. He's never lost curiosity and childlike wonder:

This! This is what made me fall in love with the man and why I'm wasting my time writing this nonsense in the first place. This allconsuming excitement, when he finds a new anomaly to study; this seemingly endless energy, when he explores new places; this pure joy, when he gets to play DD&MD with Dipper! I don't know how to talk about it without gushing.

Ford obviously loves games, and not just DD&MD. He plays chess with Bill. He mentions being great at charades in the comics. And what cracks me up the most: during Weirdmageddon, when Pacifica compared the Zodiac to a game of hopscotch, not only did not Ford get offended, but he replied: "It would be a pretty fun game of hopscotch." Ford, darling, the world is about to end, is this really the best time to contemplate a hypothetical game of hopscotch? Also, you've just been through something traumatic... Forget it, you've been through 3 decades of traumatic experiences, can you at least have the decency to become a tad more cynical as you age, like the rest of us. I guess, mirth really is the mail of anguish. (It's from Emily Dickinson's poem and the quote means that some people act cheerful to hide their suffering.)

Also, something Ford doesn't get enough credit for, mostly because people usually focus on his academic achievements, but he is quite creative. He draws incredibly detailed sketches not only depicting various anomalies he encounters, but also whatever happens in his life. (Probably off-topic, but I find the implications of that karaoke page so funny. Think about it: the guy sobered up, looked at the incomprehensible nonsense he had written the previous night and thought: "You know what? This could really use an illustration.") Also don't forget that he canonically plays piano. Yeah, if I were Stan, I'd be jealous too.

And of course, that's why he's so passionate about science. Sure, part of him wants the fame and recognition that would come, if he makes a big discovery, but you can't deny that he genuinely enjoys learning new things. And that he enjoys sharing them with whoever is willing to listen.

In conclusion, I'm not trying to say that Ford is perfect in every way and has never done a single wrong thing in his life. To be honest, that would've made him a really boring character. So, yes, he is flawed, and misguided, and sometimes insensitive. He's made a lot of missteps because of his upbringing, personality and, as many have speculated, neurodivergence. But I really take issue with people saying Ford's a bad person, when he clearly isn't. Ford is and always was a good person, and by the end of all the trials he became a better person. One who understands that the only way to success is cooperation, not being a lone vigilante. That it's not a weakness to ask for help or to need help in the first place. And that a sea otter shared is a sea otter halved.

That's strange... why did I write that?

[cheekinpermission]

now, I know you don't ship your oc with anyone, buut- if you did, who'd it be????

I spent way too long on this question LMAO

Like anon pointed out, I don’t really ship Erin with anyone in particular mostly because I didn’t really write her to be with a canon character. She’s just trying not to die, honestly. But I’d be lying if I said I never imagined hypotheticals with her and some of the boys, so here’s the answer I settled on: tier list edition!

I’ll explain it a bit more in detail under the cut but there’s the short answer for anyone who wants to skip my rambling.

Ace x Erin

There is no universe in which Ace is not in love with Yuu, no matter what form they take.

Friends to lovers is a CLASSIC trope that I love dearly. Besides Grim (who is more like family anyways), Ace was Erin’s first friend! Ace and Deuce dropped their vacation plans to come and rescue them from Scarabia. He literally never shuts up about Erin and Grim when they’re separated. Ace has made two very suspicious requests to share a bed with Erin. Dude is down bad. And I love it <3

The reason he is so high up on the list and Deuce isn’t is simply because Ace and Erin have a lot more in common than Deuce and Erin. In fact, I’ve said once that she’s a female version of Ace in a lot of aspects and I still think that’s true. I could definitely see them as having a very fun and playful relationship, but still willing to drop everything to help the other if necessary. 

Realism: 2/10 

Sorry, Ace. You may like Erin, but Erin doesn’t like you. Not like that, anyway. Not now. Cough.

Azul x Erin

IT'S FOR THE MEMES!!!

I love Erin and Azul in much the same way as I love Jamil and Azul. The octopus boy pathetically pining after someone who wants nothing to do with him is so beautiful. Erin and Jamil would eat Azul for breakfast and he’d say THANK YOU. 

This is me rn:

Putting aside the rivals to lovers storyline that everyone loves, I do think they could make an absolute power couple. What does a scheming octopus need? An equally scheming wife at his side, of course! 

Realism: 0/10

Bro Erin hates him-

Kalim x Erin

This couple just makes my heart happy <3 

I’m obsessed with couples that are compliments of one another. They’re different, but different in a way that the other needs. Kalim’s ultimate downfall is his naivete and I think Erin offers a more grounded and rational approach to things. She’s more observant and cunning. Opposite to that, Erin would really benefit from someone as generous and kind hearted as Kalim is. Someone who is forgiving and willing to see the best in people, even when he’s been wronged. 

They’d be a good, healthy couple, and I love that for Erin. She deserves someone to make her happy and would want someone to make happy in return. 

Realism: 6/10

Erin appreciates Kalim’s positivity, especially since she’s surrounded by people who look down on her for not having magic and whatever else the cast rags on Yuu for. I’d certainly consider them friends in canon but not romantic. 

Vil x Erin

Fun fact: Erin canonically has a small crush on Vil. BUT ONLY BECAUSE HE SMOOCHED HER CHEEK IN BOOK 6! Erin is so affection starved that the simple act of a “thank you” kiss on the cheek was enough to make her develop a bit of a crush on him. It was never big enough to motivate her to want to date him or anything like that, but an attraction was there. 

Erin and Vil both have a similar appreciation for beauty. They both emphasize the value of hard work and self-improvement. They’re also both pretty strict on themselves to constantly be better than they were yesterday. Likewise, Erin isn’t too concerned with gender norms so Vil criticizing Epel for considering ballet “girly” won him a lot of points in her book. 

Just by virtue of Erin and Vil having a lot in common, I think they would make a cute couple. She’ll 100% sit down and be pampered and then turn around and do the same for him. Erin is naturally pretty charming and charismatic, so I could see her integrating well into celebrity culture. Erin also values her independence in a relationship and I don’t really see Vil as someone who would mind that too much. They’re both busy people with their own lives who can come together at the end of the day and that’s nice. 

Make room, Rook and Cater. Erin’s joining the Vil fan club. 

Realism: 7/10

They would be the most likely couple to work out, but I have no plans to make anything official.

I could see it 

This category includes characters that I think would either pair well with Erin or make for a fun ship. 

Ruggie and Floyd both give “partners in crime energy” that I think could be fun to play with. 

Malleus and Erin are interesting. Malleyuu is one of my favorite pairings, but for Erin specifically I wanted to deviate. I think it’d be more interesting if Malleus only liked Erin as much as he did simply because she was the first person to really give him the time of day as “Malleus” and not “future king of the briar valley and one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland”. If I were to write them a love story, I’d actually have Erin reject Malleus in Night Raven College. A few years later, they’d reunite after maturing and growing and fall in love as adults post-graduation. I think it’d be neat. 

(That being said, I wrote them as platonic friends LOL) 

Erin and Silver are appealing in the same way that Erin and Kalim are appealing, just to a lesser extent because I don’t see the same chemistry 

Maybe??

Erin and Deuce just give me sibling energy so it’s hard for me to want them to be together, but he’s not the worst option

Trey and Cater have the advantage of being Heartslabyul residents and I just envision Erin as being closer with them than most dorms because of Ace and Deuce

I think Rook could totally win Erin over with passionate displays of love if he was sincere about it. If he takes her hand and they dance in the square Rapunzel style and she’ll be falling fr 

Never really thought about it

Kinda self-explanatory. I never really explored their relationships with Erin in depth so I don’t really have an opinion of where I’d place them? 

Jack and Jamil seem too serious for Erin

Jade is just kinda there and freaks her out tbh

Epel and Erin would have to fight over his narrow view of gender norms

Erin and Idia are just TOO different in terms of extrovert to introvert. Ik some people really like those pairings but I don’t. I think pairings can be different, just not TOO different. (I’m also projecting because I’m an introvert and extroverts exhaust me LOL) 

Sebek is… Sebek

BLEGH 

Ortho is just a baby 

I don’t ever see it happening so i can’t say i ship them but i love him so we’ll call it wish fulfillment <3

It’s no secret that Riddle is my favorite character, so of course a part of me wants to like Erin and Riddle as a couple because then I could have him around more. 

They just don’t work in my head LOL 

I don’t think Erin would mind the rules so much, unless he started trying to make HER follow them. He can be as rule-abiding as he wants, but if he tries to tell her that she can’t put honey in her lemonade after 8 p.m… there’s gonna be a fight. 

On the OTHER hand, I think Riddle having a partner that can help him to enjoy life without the stress of following rules or the guilt of breaking on is super cute. Someone who could ease him into letting go of his need for rules, and who can reassure him when he inevitably slips up. Someone who can encourage him to stand on his own and to be confident in his own decisions outside of what a rule book dictates for him. Or, y’know, his mother. 

Riddle being the more reserved, caretaking one and Erin being the more spontaneous, fun-loving one...

Okay, wait, I might have to revisit them. (My bias may be showing.)

Illegal :)

Erin is 17. Leona is 20 and Lilia is, like, 700. Nope.

[ghuleh-recs]

@st-danger is your favorite ghoul writer's favorite ghoul writer and it was their birthday yesterday! I've compiled a list of some of my favorite Saint fics to celebrate. Beyond being an incredible writer, Saint is such a wonderfully supportive member of the fandom here. They always leave a kind word (or sexy addition lbr) in the tags. You know that meme that's like 'I sure hope this doesn't awaken something in me?' That's how I experience most of their fics. So thank you Saint for sharing your writing with us. I don't know that the fandom needed more reasons to be horny but here we are. Go leave Saint some comments and hit up their ko-fi for some birthday appreciation!

recs under the super cute divider from @forlorn-crows

Terrors of the Night - dewdrop/dewdrop - E, 13.5k

“Hi,” he says, to himself. Dew is not by nature a timid or shy thing. He has always been a healthy mix of piss and vinegar. Acerbic wit and energy, and thoughtful tenderness in the right circumstances. A sharp tongue but a gentle touch. Fearful or nervous are not descriptors to be used, nothing he’s ever been accused of…and yet, Dew goes cold and his hand tightens around the fistful of blanket as he pulls it closer to himself. An uncharacteristic movement performed by a hand not under his control. Dewdrop smiles at him, with light eyes and lighter hair, looking exactly how he used to. Or, The past comes back to haunt.

Copia, seeing the ghouls' faces - Copia & Everyone - G, <1k

He once heard Terzo describe looking at Omega's true face as "confusing". He never asked any follow up questions to clarify that statement, but he's always wondered if confusing meant strange to look at, or strange to look at because his human brain couldn't figure out exactly what it was looking at, in an Eldritch horror kind of way. If hellspawn are naturally just beyond what mortal minds can know. "Are you sure?" Copia asks, though his hands are already reaching towards Aether's face. "You want me to see you?" "We want you to know us," Aether replies simply, and carefully, so carefully, Copia slides off Aether's mask, like the metal might turn out to be sugar and splinter and break if he isn't gentle.

Steadfast Love, Not Sacrifice - Aether/Copia/Dewdrop - E, 11k

It’s a bit like a shark smelling blood, he thinks as they follow close behind. It's natural they were going to want to taste it, too. “Well,” Copia says, “some of us need our beauty sleep.” He hesitates, and then proceeds to look nervously between the two of them and continue, “I meant me, of course. You two are already very, erm. I should go to bed.” It’s such a flimsy excuse. The elevator reaches the third floor before any of them speak again. Aether clears his throat. “You don’t want to though.” Copia looks very called out, but can’t do much more than stare, before realizing the two ghouls beside him are waiting for an actual answer of some kind. The elevator beeps as it passes the fourth floor. “No,” Copia says slowly, and Aether’s stomach does a little swoop. “I don’t.” Or, Sometimes the reward is worth the risk.

[REC] - Dewdrop/Swiss - E, 1.8k

“Have you thought about Aether watching you like this before?” “Not before you mentioned taking photos.” Swiss stands and Dew watches through narrowed eyes as he spreads Dew’s legs to stand between them, and reaches down to unclip the garter from his left leg. He strokes along the top of the lace teasingly and then begins to work it down Dew’s thigh, pushing his leg up to roll it down and off his calf, his toes. “Let me blindfold you,” he says by way of explanation. (don't miss the sequel 1080P !)

Self Control Takes The City - Terzo/Omega - E, 5.6k

Omega can be endlessly patient. He has existed, in some form, for an unfathomable length of time. Above Ground, years upon years. In the Pit- well, there’s no way to say. No way to measure. But he has been for a very, very long time. He knows good things come to those who wait. Alas, patience is a virtue. Hellspawn such as himself surely couldn’t be found to be practicing that very often. There is, of course, a workaround; practicing said virtue during unvirtuous situations. For unvirtuous reasons. As the saying goes, the devil’s in the details. Or, Omega gives until it hurts.

Hybrid Slinky - Dewdrop/Swiss - E, 2.8k

“It got deep,” Rain says, voice quiet and a little husky, and he brings Dew’s hand higher, closer to his mouth. “Let me clean you up?” Dew’s mind goes blank for a moment, before catching up to what Rain’s suggesting, and he feels a frisson of excitement zig-zag its way down his spine. “Yeah,” he grins. “Go ahead and make Papa proud.” _ Dewdrop cuts his finger, Rain and Aether kiss it better, as you do.

Worship, Bow Down - Dewdrop/Sister Imperator - E, 3.4k

“All work and no play’s turned you cruel,” Dew laments, and rises. Places his palms on the heavy desk and leans in, shower-damp hair in a curtain over his shoulders. “Could sweeten you back up. If you wanted.” Imperator takes a quick breath in. “Office hours are over,” she says. “Lock the door.” “Did that on the way in.” He has the cheek to wink. He trails his fingers over the wood as he walks around to her, loving the way her eyes follow him, up until he stands behind her, rests those elegant hands on her shoulders and gives them a little squeeze. “Feeling tingly yet?” Or, the road is fun, but coming home is, too.

Quintessence Control - Aether/Aeon/Dewdrop - E, 1.1k

"Didn't you say you wanted to show me a little something?" Aeon wiggles his fingers and Dew goes still. Against his neck, Aether places a wet, sucking kiss. "Okay?" he whispers against Dew's skin, fingertips stroking over his temple, down the side of his face. "Cool if we play?" Dew chokes out a yes, and Aether takes a slow, deep breath and bleeds magick into him, tangling himself between every neuron in his brain. (You should also read this one actually)

Stoned Edging - Aeon/Swiss - E, 1.4k

"Unholy shit," Aeon breathes, sounding delighted and fucked-out, trying to steady the rise and fall of his chest. "How many are we at now?" Swiss doesn't know. Too many times, and they're both far too high to remember the count. Their little game of how bad they can make it for each other relies on two things: one, the shared love of an exquisite, particular sort of misery, and two, how much of Mountain's greenhouse stash they can get away with pilfering. It's something the others don't have the patience for. Not the way they do, at least. They're over the top with it. Unnecessary. It's delicious.

Run Rabbit Run - Rain/Swiss - E, 17.5k

“I want you to show me just how important he is,” Swiss says and Rain doesn’t understand, dazed with the slow slide and massage of lips against his while he speaks. His brain is fogged up, useless. “Will you do that for me, sweetheart?” “How?” The hands on his face remain, though Swiss once again leans away in order to look at him properly, wearing that serene smile that says he knows more than Rain ever will. Or, The hunter strikes it rich.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

[genericpuff]

I feel mean criticizing an author's old work that they've deliberately buried, but sheesh the dialogue in Rachel's old stuff is really stilted. As awkward as LO's writing is, it honestly does show some improvement, so like...good for Rachel I guess?

I mean, it hasn't really improved though? Normally no, I wouldn't criticize someone's older work because by the virtue of something being old, it will naturally be improved upon and shouldn't be judged against what's created in the present (trust me, as someone with work from 10 years ago that hasn't aged well, I get it LOL).

But what's in the present... has all the same issues. I think it's easy to convince ourselves LO's writing is "better" because it relies on Greek myth to piece itself together, but when you aren't filling in the blanks for her based on assumptions made from the source material (which you shouldn't have to do) her writing in LO still doesn't have much to offer. Like, can we really call this an improvement?

If anything the writing in LO got even worse over time because it started to feel like ChatGPT was writing the dialogue and the narrative was crumbling under the weight of Rachel's lack of foresight / planning ahead.

I mean, just to get my point across, let me ask you one simple question: What is the actual theme of LO? What is the conclusion it comes to by its end to contribute to that theme?

This isn't me trying to minimize whatever improvements she may have made between the past and present, I just don't see those improvements, and there's a lot more to suggest that she was a lot more prolific 20 years ago as an artist than she is today. All of that stuff about Persephone / herself being a "workaholic" is based on stuff she went through 20 years ago that she doesn't even put on display now because it's all buried in deactivated Tumblrs and LiveJournals. But that's besides the point.

I think at best the "improvement" simply boils down to "at least she finished this one". But that's not necessarily a good thing because it's clear LO went on longer than it ever should have and that the only reason she even made it this far was because she was bound to a contract through WT. I guarantee you if it weren't for the success that WT's gave her through constantly advertising LO everywhere (and the fact that LO fit a very specific niche that was popular at the time) she would have ended LO ages ago, because just about every series she's done up until this point have been passing fancies that she's bounced between while still retaining a lot of the same tropes and crutches she always has.

LO is about a naive valley girl with mommy issues who goes to school to better herself. This is also the plot of The Doctor Foxglove Show. And while comics like Castle Castle, Woman King, and The Maiden don't involve school settings, they do still center around "girlboss" characters who hate their parents. LO isn't really an "improvement" among these tropes, just another rehashing that's hidden way better because 1.) she put it behind the veil of Greek myth and 2.) she's done everything in her power to hide the fact that she's been writing about the same pink-haired girls with mommy issues and trauma from evil men "except for that one guy who's perfect in every way" for 20+ years now.

And that issue of stilted dialogue goes way beyond even the comics. Read transcripts of her interviews or the Q&A from the end of the series that she did in her Discord and you'll see she has a really hard time finishing the thought she started on. I'm sure a lot of this can be chalked up to her ADHD / dyslexia, which is totally valid, but it just goes to show she hasn't done any work to actually improve her work in spite of her hindrances. She doesn't know how to separate Internet trolls from valid criticism and she seems to absorb any and all criticism as "proof" that she's better than everyone else, actually, and it's not her fault that other people are stupid and don't get her "vision". And I'm not pulling this assertion out of thin air, she's displayed this exact behavior before both within the LO fandom as well as her pre-existing fandoms around her other series.

Like, I can totally get the sentiment that "hate mail is a sign of success" and turning a negative into a positive, but there's a difference between deflecting hate mail from trolls and deflecting genuine criticism that's meant to identify your weaknesses and help you grow. That's what makes it all the more telling that she's built an audience around protecting and enabling her weaknesses rather than celebrating her strengths and empowering her to do better. She can't fall back on Webtoons as the only excuse for why the writing in LO is bad, her writing has always been like this and I feel like that's half the reason she's trying to hide it.

[fellshish]

re: neil I’m a little concerned that most good omens blogs have completely checked out of the conversation and have gone back to business as usual. I feel like you’re one of the only that I see still discussing it.

On the other hand, the blog that did the big podcast write up is still receiving hate messages over the posts, so I get it. They just posted one with someone telling her to k*ll herself.

I guess I just wish there were more blogs not ignoring it so we can drown out the people acting in bad faith. Maybe if everyone who is on the same page as us, that we believe the victims and condemn neil but still engage with his works, was more open to the discussion we wouldn’t have so much vitriol. Or maybe people will just always be shitty idk

I feel like you are making yourself very unhappy worrying about what other people are doing or feeling.

Many fans aren’t posting about the allegations. That might be for a variety of reasons, including being afraid to say the wrong thing, being afraid of getting horrible asks, but also being unsure what to think or how to act, or being shy, not even having heard about the podcast, etc etc

Tumblr is a fan website and there’s nothing wrong with engaging with fan content. I assure you even those with different opinions than you? If you met them in real life you’d probably simply get along. Hang out. Grab a drink together.

I do not wish for it all to become a witch hunt trying to track down who has the “right” opinions and fighting with those who don’t. Nor do i wish for it to become a fest of virtue signaling. I wish for tumblr to stay a largely positive place.

I probably won’t keep blogging about it unless maybe new things happen, actually. And i hope not to get hate for that. Thx

[ao3cassandraic]

I’m wondering about your thoughts on something I’ve been musing on after S2. How good is Aziraphale’s reading comprehension? How much does he understand subtext and metaphor? Because his behavior this season struck me with the impression that he didn’t really understand the books he collects. He’s clever at puzzle solving, and contains vast knowledge; but he always seems to take things at face value (when he’s not willfully misunderstanding), and refuses to give up black-and-white thinking, which would make it very difficult to analyze texts.

Angels, demons, language, and culture: part 1

You sure ask the difficult ones. (Which is great, I'm totally jazzed about it!)

I delayed answering this ask because it sent me off in a lot of directions:

What is an angel's starting knowledge base?

In contrast, how and what do we humans learn about our world and one another?

Which of these learning methods is not really available to an angel?

What do humans learn from books, fiction especially?

What kinds of information get left implicit in books because authors are humans writing for other humans?

How would an angel fill in those blanks? How would those blanks distort an angel's notion of How Humans and Human Things Work?

What would angels generally and either Aziraphale or Muriel (because yeah, it's hard to have this discussion without thinking about Muriel too) specifically read human-authored fiction for?

I don't have all the answers to the above questions. Not even CLOSE. I happily invite my fellow meta-ists to weigh in on any or all of them!

But let's see what I can tease out. We'll start with factory settings, so to speak.

Angelic vs. human factory settings

(questions 1 through 3)

Angels have (one) language. They have music -- or, at least, they can sing Her praises (likely by rote). At least some, like our Starmaker, have the knowledge to do specific jobs. Note that Aziraphale not only doesn't know how to make stars and nebulas, he's not even clear on what a nebula is. We can safely assume from that that angels don't all possess the same set of knowledge and skills purely by virtue (heh) of being angels.

We don't see, however, how much of what they know is simply an angel's birthright versus how much of it is somehow educated into them. We also don't know how She divvies up necessary knowledge, though I'd think it safe (given most takes on angelology) to guess that angelic rank and intended function are part of Her calculus, perhaps even the whole of it.

What strikes me hardest is that angels seem to be created either as adults or children (which is what I believe the scareable "cherubs" are), and they may well never change that state. The Starmaker is childlike in some ways, but not a child. Likely never was a child! Aziraphale, Before the Beginning, isn't childlike at all; his personality seems pretty close to fully-formed.

And children learn so very, very much. Babies learn so much as babies, while their neuroplasticity is super super plastic! Especially they learn about relating to other beings! (Which the Starmaker is conspicuously Not Real Great at, honestly -- absorbed in the work of creation, the Starmaker does not pick up the feelings Aziraphale is laying down at all.)

Children also learn one OR MORE languages, and that "more" is rather important, because language shapes how we think to some extent (the extent of that extent, and its nature, are objects of fierce debate among linguists and neuroscientists), and different languages shape us differently. Just as Crowley (as plenty of theologians argue) did humanity a favor with the whole knowledge-of-good-and-evil thing, the Tower of Babel (assuming that was a thing that happened in the GOverse; no reason it wouldn't have, I suppose) added a whole lot of nuance and complexity and competing understandings to humanity's sense of itself and its universe.

Exactly how angels and demons manage to speak all human languages (which Crowley indicates they can) isn't clear. If we accept that the Tower of Babel happened, both Heaven and Hell must have had to figure out a way to deal with it.

We do see, however, that angels and demons can be fluent in human languages without being fluent in human thought or human cultures. Gabriel and Sandalphon speak perfect English yet barely know which end of a book is up. Hastur and Ligur can't disentangle ciao/chow. And, I mean, actual food? Fuhgeddaboudit. So I see their linguistic facility as a sort of Douglas Adams Babel fish: it can translate an angel's or demon's thought into the target language, but it can't help an angel or demon think like an actual speaker of that language.

As an example, Gabriel can tell Job and Sitis about their new children, perfectly fluently. His purely-linguistic fluency does not help him understand that they loved their old children, much less why.

This may explain why Aziraphale studied French under M. Rossignol. He perhaps didn't feel he understood how French speakers think, and was interested enough in that to learn the language (as other meta-ists have noted, the language of love!) the human way.

So yeah, if I have a conclusion here it's that angels and demons can seem as off-center as they often do from a human perspective because they wholly missed out on a key period of human brain development.

What they have in its place appears to be... rules. Which is, I think, where I'll take this next.

[intogenshin]

time to talk about kaveh hate

Everyone's allowed to dislike characters and criticize the writing around them, but we also should ideally remember genshin impact is a game that takes a lot of its inspiration from real life cultures and we have to be careful not to accidentally direct those negative feelings towards the cultural elements portrayed by these characters.

We share the same fandom spaces with the people whose cultures are used, none of us would feel comfortable if a part of our personal or collective identity were to be belittled simply because we disapprove of a character. More importantly, by virtue of these elements belonging to a culture, they are subject to take a political tone (everything in life is political at the end of the day) and we might unknowingly participate in certain discourses if we're not careful.

Kaveh is a character inspired by Iranian culture, it is apparent by his design. I think everyone understands that if one were to belittle or make fun of these aesthetic elements it can be misunderstood as belittling and making fun of the real life culture that inspired them.

Nobody does that, because the connection is very obvious, but then there's more subtle elements that deserve equal respect. Such as: his characterization, which you might like or dislike, it's up to you, but criticism should avoid condescending shit like this

Kaveh's conception of good and evil and how he approaches them with his actions might have been easily inspired by the philosophy of Zoroastrian beliefs. The very concept of this duality influenced the abrahamic religions that we tend to be more familiar with (Jewish, Christian, Muslim) but unlike those, in Zoroastrianism the point is to be able to choose.

Zoroastrianism teaches a life based on (1) the avoidance of evil, through rigorous discrimination between good and evil, and (2) the service of wisdom through the cherishing of seven ideals. These latter are personified as seven immortal, beneficent spirits: Ahura Mazdāhimself, conceived as the creative ‘holy’ spirit; Sublime Truth; Virtuous Power; Good Purpose/Mind; Beneficent Piety; Wholeness/Health and, finally, Immortality. Evil originates neither from God nor from his creatures, but from a wholly other source, personified as Angra Mainyu, the ‘Hostile Spirit’, whose existence is ritually and doctrinally rejected as being pretended and parasitic. Real existence is solely the domain of Ahura Mazdāand his creation; Angra Mainyu and his demons are actually states of negativity, denial or, as the religion puts it, ‘the Lie’.

The motto of the religion, "good thoughts, good words, good deeds", and is placed at the center of the faith.

The core beliefs of Zoroastrianism lie in the choice that humans must make in the dualistic struggle between good and evil. This is because human beings have free will and must choose who they will follow: Ahura Mazda, or his nemesis, the evil spirit Angra Mainyu (also known as Ahriman).

We can observe how this concept plays into Kaveh's character in the way he always chooses to do right by others (even when it's detrimental for himself) which is the core of Zoroastrian philosophy. Kaveh deliberately chooses to put good in the world with good thoughts, good words and good deeds.

This is a respectful and admirable trait to exercise in Zoroastrianism. Belittling it as being a "blind judgment" based on what "a small mind can conceive" might be your opinion in isolation, but in the context of this game which is heavily inspired by actual cultures and portrays this inspiration through its characters can redirect that negativity towards the culture itself.

And things like misunderstanding the choice Kaveh makes in Parade of Providence to spare the world of the suffering that Sachin's research would eventually cause again, even if it meant he had to resign the inheritance he rightfully had earned, for censorship that you consider disturbing might as well prevent you from truly understanding the narrative of story itself.

If you disagree with this kind of philosophy, it can easily be expressed in respectful manners, nobody's forcing anyone to agree with the worldview represented by Kaveh and other characters offer their own arguments against it. Just don't be a dick about it.

More context on Zoroastrianism:

Before Iran suffered through a process of forced acculturation, its own religion was Zoroastrianism. It remains today an element of cultural pride, national identity and a form of political resistance, given how people who still practice it continue to be persecuted for it.

Hoyo might not have meant to make a politically charged statement when they involved Zoroastrian elements into the world building of their game, but the religion is so important in terms of national identity that just by being portrayed it becomes meaningful, especially for Iranian players who value its incorporation.

How do you think it looks when you belittle aspects of Kaveh's character that can be associated with this very religion?

[lisaiese]

lyrics in EPIC: the musical that changed my life trajectory

I don't know if it is the fact that I spent five years of high school studying Latin and Greek classics that makes me do this, but here I am writing a long ass tumblr post about some lyrics from the songs of a musical based on The Odyssey, the Homeric epic poem.

Enough chit chat, let's start from the lyrics in the first very song of the musical, 'The Horse and The Infant' from The Troy Saga:

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose All you can choose is whose

UGH so good already! Here we have Zeus speaking at the end of the song, basically telling Odysseus that killing in war is his duty as a man and a hero. This obviously kind of sounds like bullshit for us, but we have to understand the ancient culture behind it: in ancient Greece going to war was a symbol of honor. Think of the scene where Hector and Andromache met again, Hector really embodied the "I know that I probably won't come back to you and to our son (opsie), but I have to go"

Andromache said: “Dearest, your own great strength will be your death, and you have no pity on your little son, nor on me, ill-starred, who soon must be your widow…Please take pity upon me then, stay here on the rampart, that you may not leave your child an orphan, your wife a widow.” Hector responded: “All these things are in my mind also, lady; yet I would feel deep shame before the Trojans, and the Trojan women with trailing garments, if like a coward I were to shrink aside from the fighting.”

A key word is shame: many times my professor told us students about the 'shame culture' in ancient Greece, which Hector clearly refers to here. Therefore, it's either honor or shame: for the Greek dying in war was better than living like a coward. Through these lyrics - and also the next song of the album ('Just a Man') - we can notice how the characterization of Odysseus is different from that of heroes like Hector and Achilles: he seems more human. After all, it is no coincidence that he is characterized not only by physical strength but above all by intelligence: he is a 'Warrior of the Mind' (quoting one of the most iconic songs of the musical). In the first verse of The Odyssey, Homer calls Odysseus πολύτροπος, a term that literally means "of many turns" and can be translated as multifaceted, versatile, cunning.

Next lyrics are from 'Remember Them' from The Cyclops Saga:

What good would killing do? When mercy is a skill More of this world could learn to use

I chose these lyrics for two reason:

they are so well connected with the first ones and show how Odysseus still has his morality here (you have a long way my friend)

it is such a good phrase honestly, let's appreciate it

Actually, something to reflect on could be the theme of mercy, but I don't really remember a lot of information about it and I don't want to write about things I'm not so sure about. In fact, what I rememeber pretty well is mercy related to the Roman/Latin culture, in particular to the figure of Ceasar: Cicero attributes to Caesar the virtue of clementia, which is the term used in Latin to represent mercy. Apparently he is the only one who, among all the military leaders, stood out for his goodness of soul, so noble that it is not enough to simply compare him to great men, but he must be judged similar to a god («haec qui faciat, non ego eum cum summis viris comparo, sed simillimum deo iudico»). That's basically everything I can give you about the topic. I would dive into it more by talking about the musical itself, analysing how this is connected to Odysseus' relationship with his morality, but then I would really be writing an essay here and now, which would ruin the order and logic of this very long text.

Let's move on to the next lyrics from 'Ruthlessness', from The Ocean Saga, which made me gasp so hard the first I heard them:

You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great A Greek who reeks of false righteousness, that's what I have 'Cause you fight to save lives, but won't kill and don't get the job done

Speechless. Mind-blowing. The earth shook. You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great Hello??? Sorry Ulysses, but Poseidon ate. 'Cause you fight to save lives, but won't kill and don't get the job done Like, where do I even start to talk about this. Poseidon is actually throwing the naked truth in Odysseus' face! Everything so far has a logic:

Zeus tells Odysseus that he has to kill Hector's son Astynax (which he does in the end, for the sake of going home)

Odysseus spares Polyphemus (maybe because of guilt? He is just a man, afterall...)

That mercy results in a literal god (Poseidon) wanting to have vengeance: if Odysseus had been ruthless, he would have put mercy upon himself (yeah that's a direct reference to the lyrics Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves)

Now we finally arrive at my favorite saga (aaaaa): The Circe saga. Starting from some very simple lyrics, but so impactful, from the 'Puppeteer':

But this was a hell of a twist, cause we are weak to a power like this What was it? A woman

Hell yeah, a woman! Clearly, you are just a man (another reference, got you!). Ok, return to serious talk. I think most of us know that women were often portrayed as bewitchers, source of evil and misfortune, in ancient times, especially in the Greek culture. Let's think about the story of Pandora's box: it is a myth narrated by Hesiod in the poem Works and Days. According to it, the first woman on earth, named Pandora, was gifted a jar by the gods. However, led by curiosity, she opened it and, by doing so, she released sickness, death and many other unspecified evils. She then closed the jar and only one thing was left behind: Hope. This story (one of many and one of the most famous) perfeclty exemplifies how women were considered dangerous and, at the same time, powerful, as bringers of evil.

Next, from the same saga, let me present to you the best lyrics from the song 'There Are Other Ways':

There are many ways of persuasion There are many modes of control Maybe showing one act of kindness Leads to kinder sould down the road

AAAAAAA. Circe you are such *incomprehensible adjectives of praise* woman. Here Circe basically gives Odysseus' morality hope, let me explain: until now we saw how Odysseus' kind soul and his mercy led him to antagonize a god, on the other hand (in theory) killing a child opened the doors for him to return home. From these observations the only "lesson" that can be deduced is that behaving like a "monster" is better than just "being a man" (yeah I love referencing). BUT Circe kind of destroys this reasoning, proving that a good soul can take him so far... aaaand of course it's a woman who does this

Moving on: The Underworld Saga, lyrics sung by our favorite prophet Tiresias:

I see you wife with a man who is haunting A man with a trail of bodies (who?)

This song? Chills. Literal Chills. The song in itself is a forshadowing, an oracle. I chose these lyrics specifically because they forshadow Odysseus' darkest moments in the journey, by specifically pointing out what he becomes: [...] a man who is haunting A man with a trail of bodies Who? Odysseus you ask. It's you. It's you in the future, and you know why it's "no longer you" (yeah, another quoting)? Because you will have lost your morality by then. Honestly? We kind of all expected that, sorry not sorry Odysseus.

And directly connected to that we have the lyrics from 'Scylla', from The Tunder Saga (it's orange because there is no yellow):

We are the same, you and I, I

Just this one final verse, so powerful. Odysseus encountered mermaids and was merciless with them, after that he went to the lair of Scylla. They are actually the same: monsters. Or at least, Odysseus has become like her.

And now, in The Wisdom Saga, we welcome back the badass of the arena: Athena! Let's hear what she wisely says in 'Little Wolf':

One young wolf has a larger heart than all these men combined

It's always the women guys. Athena's appearance to help Telemachus fighting the suitors is so crucial: her words and herself gift us that ray of hope and goodness that was lacking ever since The Underworld Saga. Here she refers to Telemachus, Odysseus' son, who is called a young wolf. While at the beginning of the song the suitors were using the term "little wolf" to basically mock him, Athena changes the connotation: he is not a little wolf, he is a just a young wolf, with a good soul and heart. Even a wolf (an animal) is more good-hearted than a man, but here who actually is the animal and who is the man? Athena, a godess, knows best.

Finally, The Vengeance Saga, from which the best song (almost cried listening to it) is, of course, 'Six Hundred Strike':

After everything you've done... ...how will you sleep at night? Next to my wife...

OMG. Literally OMG. Here, at the final showdown between Odysseus and Poseidon, our hero prevails. Poseidon asks: "After everyhting you've done... how will you sleep at night?". I don't know if my interpretation is right, but this is what I think Poseidon meant with his words:

after everything you've done (and been through) to get here... how will you sleep at night? -> will the trauma spare you?

after everything you've done as you became a monster... how will you sleep at night? -> will the guilt spare you?

And Odysseus just answers with a "Next to my wife", because that's what he wanted from the very beginning, to come home, and he will achieve his goal. His story is the story of a journey: obviously, a journey back home, but most importantly, a journey of someone who is 'Just a Man' (got you again with the reference). Odysseus is just a man, a human being who has encountered countless obstacles, who has had his ups and downs, who has thrown his morality into the sea to return home. And what is this, if not life?

[cerastes]

Are you going to give Arknights: endfield a go when it releases?

Yep, but I've been honest on stream about my current impression on it: It doesn't look too good. We talked about it, and basically, Liduke wasn't the best option for art director to be honest. She's really good at what she does but what she does, is lacking in scope: The colors don't look good, too muted, too sterile, designs aren't super good, no design has wowed me the way pre-release Arknights designs wowed me (Specter, Hoshiguma and Skullshatterer made me very hype, to name a few). It's like I'm looking at a slab of dirt. Just... Where's the color? In the maps and the designs of the characters. The moment Angelina showed up in her Bloodline of Combat fit, it was so funny to me, because her bright red jacket instantly became the single most colorful thing in the entire game.

Liduke works very well with pale blacks, whites, reds, yellows, and complimentary winter palettes. Look at Hellagur, Schwarz, (her) W, (her) Ines, etc, they look really good. But that's because we have an overarching cast and world of color to contrast them to. When everything is like that, it doesn't look good. I'm a bit disappointed by Endfield's presentation, to be honest.

The gameplay, or what we've seen of it... Doesn't really look fun. It's plain and simple as that.

It's rather difficult for me to write this because I strongly believe in not doomposting and looking at the virtues of things, but at least from what we've seen, it's just being very difficult to find these virtues in Endfield. The best thing I can say is that I still have faith in it simply because Arknights has really delivered to hell and back in terms of being a game and in terms of sheer raw style. The way it keeps evolving Tower Defense (and Tower Offense, to be honest!) is impressive, so I have no doubt brilliant and passionate minds are working behind Endfield, but it feels bad framing it this way because I'm saying "I like their other work" without being able to find a lot to say about Endfield by itself.

I'll give it a try, because I love Arknights and Hypergryph has been phenomenal in my opinion, but if this was a stand alone game not associated with HG or AK, I really don't think I'd look at it twice, and it saddens me to say. I'm hoping to be proven wrong.