#more like keep drawing despite the downward spiral

[apradonite]

every since i made her there's nothing i love drawing more in the world rn than kane's little mascot form

some deeper details about her under the cut v

Originally a humble and modest rotary phone saleslady with a squeaky clean criminal record in North Jersey, Alexis June Kane's silver tongue, boisterous-yet-charming public image, and overly-competitive spirit made her almost a seamless fit in the cutthroat business environment of Rapture. Noticing a fresh and underutilized slate in the television market, she immediately jumped on the opportunity in order to become one of the biggest faces on Rapture's televised programming.

The gameshow Kane runs is called All or Nothing: A high-stakes trivia game where 5 people answer questions correctly for money, but for each question you get right, you get the option to either leave with your current winnings or gamble to either keep playing for the big prize or lose it all and go home with nothing but the clothes on your back.

Like most companies in Rapture, it's completely bullshit: Kane is no stranger to bought-out wins, exorbitant fees to pocket winners' money, prizes that are shittier in quality than promised, etc. Hell, it even starts becoming another propaganda tool once Ryan starts getting stricter. But who cares? So long as Rapture's economy keeps going at a downward spiral, there will always be some desperate sob willing to risk their paycheck when the grand prize is a free warm meal! It even lets her in on her favorite hobby: punching down!

Outside of the show, she's a socialite who loves to go out to parties, has the alcohol tolerance of an elephant, and is currently banned from all casinos in Fort Frolic. Despite that though, she can't really say she has many friends (or any at all), but who needs people who will just drag her down anyway? All she needs is the show and the fat stacks it rakes in! More time to sit in her room waiting for the phone to ring again. And beg for forgiveness when she picks it up.

[herohimbowhore]

The Eruption of Mount Vesuvius: An Allegory for Ferrari

Scuderia Ferrari holds the title as the oldest and most successful Formula 1 team, having competed in every season since 1950. Where others fell away, Ferrari has remained.

If you were to ask someone to say something about Ferrari, then there’s a few way it can go.

First, is perhaps the most common. Enzo Ferrari’s famous quote that was probably true for most of us. “Ask a child to draw a car, and certainly he will draw it red.” And Enzo Ferrari was correct. The first thought when asked about a red car or more specifically, a red sports car, is Ferrari. (And Lightning McQueen)

Then, maybe another well-known quote will come to mind. “Everybody is a Ferrari fan. Even if they say they’re not, they are Ferrari fans. Even if you go to the Mercedes guys and they say ‘Mercedes is the best brand in the world,’ they are Ferrari fan.” Sebastian Vettel said this in 2016 during one of Mercedes’ most contentious internal championship battles.

During the Monaco Grand Prix in 2022, Lewis Hamilton (the face of Mercedes in F1 himself) proved Sebastian’s statement true. During an interview with an Italian newspaper, Lewis said, “I would say one thing: if I could sit down with the fans on the bleachers over there, I would support Charles. I am a Ferrari fan.”

And if you’ve been watching Formula 1 for the past few years, then you’ll think of how the once great Scuderia has become a clown show. Questionable strategies, awfully hilarious pit stops, and great drivers with their potential wasted. All of it is a common occurrence within the Scuderia that we have grown to expect as fans and are shocked when their plans actually work out.

Contextualizing Ferrari with the song Pompeii by Bastille and the eruption of Mount Vesuvius seemed like the most coherent way to understand this downward spiral from a once great and lauded team to its current form.

Pompeii is one of the most well-known sites of a major volcanic eruption and a disastrous end to a once great city. Perhaps it is the perfect allegory for Scuderia Ferrari as we know it today.

Eh, eheu, eheu

Eh, eheu, eheu

Eh, eheu, eheu

“Eh, eheu, eheu,” at first may just sound like a vocally beautiful start to a song about a tragedy forever remembered and memorialized in ash. But it is a Latin phrase, roughly translating to, “eh, alas, alas.” The phrase is an exclamation of pain, grief, and fear. It is an exclamation that many fans of the Scuderia can relate to. With every race weekend, there is fear of what may go wrong this time and grief at how badly it does go.

I was left to my own devices

Many days fell away with nothing to show

The city of Pompeii, before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, was a wealthy city. The residents, or at least some of them, lived luxurious lives with little responsibilities.

Ferrari, on a similar note, has rested on its storied history and has enjoyed luxuries that the other teams in Formula 1 do not get.

Ferrari has competed in every season of Formula 1 since the 1950 World Championships. Due to this, they have over 1000 race entries and status as a long-standing team.

One privilege given to Ferrari is the "historic bonus" from prize money. Despite not winning the constructors' championship, Ferrari tends to get more prize money at the end of the season than the winners. Since the 2021 regulation changes, Ferrari has received $35 million. Before 2021, the LST payment was $70 million, half of which was deducted from the prize money pool.

Another privilege enjoyed by Ferrari is the power to veto rule changes that won't benefit Ferrari or the sport as a whole. Thus, giving Ferrari more power than any other team in Formula 1.

Ferrari obtained the power to veto regulation back in 1980 as a means to keep them in Formula 1. During the renegotiations of the Concorde Agreement in 2019, Ferrari was able to retain the veto power. However, a key thing to note is that the veto power is used sparingly by Ferrari. It was last used in 2015 when Ferrari vetoed the FIA's plans to introduce a €12 million engine price cap. The proposal at the time had gotten a majority vote by the teams before the veto was utilized by the Scuderia.

So, Ferrari has gotten these unique luxuries and privileges for being an integral part to Formula 1 and the history it has within the sport. But despite all of this, there is "nothing to show for it" these past few years. Since the days of Michael Schumacher at the team came to an end, the Scuderia has been on a downward spiral.

You could argue that 2007 was a good year, they won both championships, didn't they? But, were it not for McLaren's Spygate scandal and then McLaren drivers, Lewis Hamilton and Fernando Alonso, more focused on beating one another, it's highly unlikely that the championships would have gone to Ferrari.

And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love

Grey clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above

Before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD, there were signs signaling that the volcano's period of dormancy was coming to an end. Most notably, in 62 AD, 17 years before the eruption, there was a major earthquake that devasted Pompeii and the surrounding region. The earthquake caused damage to buildings, with some of them collapsing, and a disruption to the water supply in the city. Now, we know that it was the first indication of Vesuvius awakening. Seventeen years later, when Vesuvius erupted, Pompeii was still rebuilding from the earthquake in 62 AD and the ongoing tremors that it had endured since then.

Regardless of how much time residents of Pompeii spent rebuilding after 62 AD, they never really were able to because ongoing tremors and quakes kept the walls tumbling down.

These days, as fans and spectators of the sport, we expect to see some sort of Ferrari blunder when it comes to pit stops or strategies. Monaco 2022's double-stack pit stop that cost Charles Leclerc a win at his home race comes into mind, or maybe Austin 2023 when Charles Leclerc was put on a one-stop strategy that took him from pole position to sixth place before disqualification due to the plank, or any number of impeding penalties that Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz have gotten due to their team not relaying the information to them.

But just like the 62 AD earthquake in Pompeii and subsequent tremors, signs of Ferrari's downward spiral could be seen soon after the end of the Schumacher era.

We could think back to the Japanese Grand Prix in 2007 as Ferrari driver, Kimi Raikkonen, was in a championship fight with the McLaren drivers, Lewis Hamilton and Fernando Alonso. The wet weather conditions of the Grand Prix required that extreme wet weather tyres be used. However, both Kimi Raikkonen and Felipe Massa were forced to pit so the tyres could be changed after the race had started under the safety car. While Kimi was able to finish 3rd, it did put him 17 points behind in the championship.

Another major blunder shortly after the Schumacher era that comes to mind, is the 2008 Singapore Grand Prix. A highly contentious race for many different reasons. You may recall Singapore 2008 for Nelson Piquet Jr. crashing, Fernando Alonso taking the win, and the entirety of the Crashgate saga with Renault. But as Crashgate was occurring, Ferrari was doing as Ferrari does.

In 2008, it was once more a McLaren driver and a Ferrari driver battling for the championship with Lewis Hamilton and Felipe Massa, respectively. When Nelson Piquet Jr. crashed and a safety car was brought out, many drivers chose to pit as there is less time lost during the pit stop. Felipe Massa, three seconds ahead of his championship rival, Lewis Hamilton, chose to pit. But unlike Lewis Hamilton and other drivers who had decent pit stops, Ferrari released Felipe too early with the fuel hose still attached to his car. A Ferrari mechanic was dragged along with the fuel hose and Felipe had to stop at the pit lane exit to release the hose. Thankfully, the mechanic was okay, but Felipe's race was compromised and the race ended with Lewis in the championship lead.

We were caught up and lost in all of our vices

In your pose as the dust settled around us

When Mount Vesuvius erupted, material from the volcano covered the residents of Pompeii who had not been able to escape the city. A common image that comes to mind when thinking of this is the stone bodies covered in lava that cooled and retained the shape. However, as the lava cooled around the dead, the bodies decomposed until there was a void left in those shapes. Since the 1860s, archaeologists and scientists have used the negative space in the rocks to recreate replicas of bodies with plaster.

The dead of Pompeii were left in this void and stasis. As are so many of the drivers who came to Ferrari with hopes of winning with the Scuderia, wanting to bring back glory to Maranello, and do as Michael Schumacher once did.

Felipe Massa, Fernando Alonso, Sebastian Vettel.

They all joined Ferrari with hopes of winning the championship with the red team and all of them left with their dreams unfulfilled. An empty void of their potential was decaying from the inside as Ferrari continued to make endless blunders and not deliver cars that could win the championship.

But regardless of it all, nothing ever changes in the Scuderia. They're still caught up in the historic past as the dust settles and drivers with great potential leave.

Oh, where do we begin?

The rubble or our sins?

Oh, oh, where do we begin?

The rubble or our sins

The eruption of Mount Vesuvius was devasting for the city of Pompeii and the neighboring city of Herculaneum, but there were some survivors who were able to escape and relocate. Archaeologists have traced some survivors and figured out that they relocated to other cities with social and economic opportunities.

After disaster strikes, there is a question of what do we do first? Do we focus on the the physical things we can see like the rubble? Or the root causes of the disaster that we can't easily see?

Ferrari constantly treads this line of deciding what to focus on. Should they focus on the obvious with the pit stops, strategy, and car. Or the power struggles within the team and personnel.

The inner struggles within the team are endless.

Possible tensions between teammates Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz (which have been denied by both drivers, but instances during race weekends kind of make it seem like there is some tension - especially when it comes to qualifying orders)

The Sainz camp beefing with Charles Leclerc: Carlos' mother liking tweets about Charles not having honor, Carlos' father declaring "war" on Charles by saying that it's always Carlos that has to follow team orders and team orders are non-existent when Charles is behind.

The Lapo Elkann tweet about Santander, the Spanish bank that joined as a sponsor after Carlos Sainz joined the team

Departures of staff and Team Principal Fred Vassuer saying that Ferrari is "miles away" from a perfect structure

Ferrari has internal and external problems that they have to deal with before they can have a successful season. It's very obvious that the car isn't fast, the pit stops tend to be awful, and the strategy is rarely good, but there are also so many internal problems with fights for power in the Scuderia.

But if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

And if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like you've been here before?

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

If you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

In the four days leading to the eruption, the city of Pompeii experienced small earthquakes that continued to increase in frequency. However, as stated above, small earthquakes and tremors were commonplace in the Campania region where Pompeii was. So, for the thousands of residents, it wasn't a sign of death and destruction and life continued on as it normally did. Until Vesuvius erupted and there was nothing to be optimistic about, giving into the grief and pain.

At this point, after nearly twenty years of watching as Ferrari fumbles and destroys the hopes of its drivers and fans, it has come to be commonplace to expect the least from Ferrari. Pole positions are things of dread, double-stack pit stops are nightmare fuel, and openly fans think that drivers should leave the team if they want any chances of winning.

But yet, there is hope.

A look back to Monza 2023, when the Tifosi surrounded Charles Leclerc. The crowd sang "Leclerc bring us the Championship," having complete faith in the driver who went through the ranks from the Ferrari Driver Academy and made his way to Ferrari after just one year in Formula 1.

And it's not just the Tifosi that have faith and resilience in the face of what should be a demoralizing downward spiral from the heights of greatness with Michael Schumacher. Charles Leclerc continues to push and put the car where it shouldn't be with 4 pole positions this season. Making it the second most pole positions for a driver this season, only behind Max Verstappen's 11 pole positions. Always striving for more and not settling for being in the midfield.

The eruption of Mount Vesuvius and Scuderia Ferrari are two Italian tragedies nearly 2,000 years apart. Echoes of one another despite only having an Italian background in common.

[madara-fate]

It warms my heart to see Kishi say that he’s happy to see Sakura being so loved. Sakura being hated must’ve really affected him to some degree, it’s so obvious that Kishi is somewhat attached to Sakura one way or another. But I think what made him sad is because he felt like a bad writer because he planned on making Sakura lovable and it ended up in a downward spiral somehow and he must’ve keep questioning where he went wrong in his portrayal. I want him to know he’s a great writer and he did nothing wrong on how he portrayed her character.

It warms my heart to see Kishi say that he’s happy to see Sakura being so loved. Sakura being hated must’ve really affected him to some degree, it’s so obvious that Kishi is somewhat attached to Sakura one way or another.

Yeah I mean, I doubt any author would enjoy seeing one of their main characters experience the levels of hate that Sakura did. However, the hate is always gonna be louder and more noticeable than the support due to the manner in which they are expressed, so I doubt he was aware of just how large Sakura's fanbase actually is.

But I think what made him sad is because he felt like a bad writer because he planned on making Sakura lovable and it ended up in a downward spiral somehow and he must’ve keep questioning where he went wrong in his portrayal. I want him to know he’s a great writer and he did nothing wrong on how he portrayed her character.

Well, I can name a few things that he certainly could have done differently which definitely would have bolstered Sakura's popularity, but they have nothing to do with her actual character because that was fine. Such improvements include...

Giving her more 1 on 1 fights, because unfortunately, in a mainstream battle shounen like this, that's generally what the fans want to see her do, and her lack of fights (very stupidly) contributed to those asinine "useless" accusations, because the juvenile mindset of a large portion of this fandom dictates that if she isn't blowing things up in a fight, she's useless. They constantly overlook how crucial she has been as a medic, because healing people is boring. Even a fight like her vs Shin (who she didn't even beat) in Gaiden's anime adaptation - That tiny scrap was universally praised, simply because fans were ecstatic that they could finally see Sakura throw some hands.

Not having her make the fake confession, because it was simply a very bad idea. She was always going to receive huge backlash from the fans because of this, and Kishi should have anticipated that. I understand her reasons, and a lot of the hate she gets from this derives from fans not fully understanding why she did it, and instead just choosing to believe she was manipulating Naruto, playing with his feelings and all that other bullshit. However, Kishi should never have put Sakura in that situation in the first place. By this point, he was aware of the hate that she was getting, so why on earth he thought this scene would do anything positive for her or counteract that hate, is beyond me.

Not believing that drawing her more beautifully would make any form of difference to her fan perception, because seriously, who gives a fuck? When I read how that was one of the tactics he used to try and boost her popularity, I honestly just face palmed.

Now, having said all that, Kishi is a great writer. Naruto has a special place in the hearts of millions of people worldwide, and it's because of his ability to tell a captivating story. And the fact that Sakura still has one of the biggest fanbases in the series, despite the corrections I mentioned, says a lot regarding everything he did right with her.

[berryliciousjam]

Life Update 2: Chaotic Boogaloo

Yeah so—the drawing speaks for itself, which is why I had to renew my Artist ID after being inactive for more than 2 weeks 💀.

In all seriousness, I am really thankful that all of you for still interacting with my posts despite my indefinite hiatus. I really wanna give back to you guys but since it is inevitable that I will fall into the downward spiral of art block and writer's block.

Importantly, Me and my boyfriend have been making our own Transformers AU/Continuity which takes place in the Philippines and we even created our OCs(both Transformers and humans) for this particular passion project. The thing is—I am unsure if I am ready to show it to the world, especially since there is so much work to do—and it's not even final. Sure, I can softly launch it through goofy or omnious artworks and writings, or maybe I'm just worried of what people think(It's not even that serious—I think???). I guess you all can just stay tuned for it as I plan on what or when to post. All I can say is that—the Decepticons took care of a human/cybertronian hybrid and chaos ensues.💗

The million dollar question—When will I start posting again? Honestly...whenever I feel like or when I have the free time. As mentioned, I just started college and the university is notorious for the heavy workload so my neurodivergent ass gotta keep up(hopefully). I hope all of you understand and not only that, I have to slowly get back to drawing so it will take time :'3

I know it's a long post but I know some of you guys are worried about me, so it is neccessary to tell what happened throughout the weeks. It is truly chaotic and upsetting because I missed the opportunities because of a damn viral infection—It is what it is.

Thank you so much again everyone! 🫶💗✨

[controlaltdelete-my-existence]

I was scrolling through the hunter x hunter tag and came across your post about Gon's morality and character. I really enjoyed it! It definitely gave me a new perspective to consider as I embark on the journey of watching 99.

Aw, thank you for letting me know! It feels like I wrote that ages ago. If I’m thinking of the right post, I gave it a reread bc of you and I think it holds up pretty well! To be honest I haven’t rewatched hxh in awhile so I can’t speak to a more current opinion on that essay, but I do think the way people interact with fiction and morality is constantly evolving, especially in fandom discourse. Hxh is one of the greats because it’s one of those works you can keep coming back to and getting something new out of it every time!

When a character like Gon is introduced as the moral paragon of the work - again, like Naruto, and Goku (though Goku’s case is very interesting because he actually does fuck up in his own narrative and to this day gets hate for it despite that moment significantly humanizing him; ironically similar to what happened to Gon) - it usually functions as an indicator that this is who the audience is supposed to root for. So when eventually we realize that Gon is no longer that person we met at the start of the story - is in fact almost unrecognizable - there’s a natural sense of betrayal. Sort of like, “Hey, did I ever really know you at all?” And when that feeling of audience betrayal stems from the protagonist, well, there’s probably going to be strong reactions. I think that sudden sense of disconnect and moral discomfort is what causes many to suddenly decide that Gon was a horrible person all along - e.g. he’s a user, he never thinks about Killua, etc - instead of taking a step back to see the ways in which he was changed by the narrative and setting itself. Gon’s character is probably uncomfortably familiar to many of us: we start out young and kind and idealistic, until, at some point in our lives, that sort of optimism fades and eventually we make a choice - any choice, just one we regret - that makes us realize we’re a different person than we thought we were.

Gon is super fascinating as a protagonist, so I think it’s a bit silly when people try to categorize him (and other characters in hxh) as purely good guys or bad guys when Togashi clearly put so much work into humanizing them. Almost everyone in hxh has an ever-changing set of values and goals, and Gon is no exception. It’s just rare that we see a character arc go in such a negative direction, especially one as slow (and then later explosive) as Gon’s downward spiral. Started from the top, now we’re here.

On another note, if you haven’t seen Dragon Ball, I’d encourage you to check it out! The ways in which HxH draws from and subverts DB (especially the first tournament of DB as well as Goku’s character itself) is super fascinating. Whenever I catch something it’s always sort of an ‘ah-ha!’ moment, and heightens my enjoyment of both shows :)

Okay, this reply is probably way too long. Anyway, thank you for getting me to talk about hxh again! Please enjoy the wonderful adaptation that is 1999 😊

[arsen1cs4ng0]

ughhhhhhhhhh a lot has been on my mind recently, im sorry im bringing up chip stuff that people just wanna forget, but. idk. i just need to talk. i really doubt anyone will actually see this but hey, its my blog, i'll ramble on about what i want lol

tw for suicidal thoughts in the "keep reading" bit below

back in february i made a post "calling out" gremlin + her friends as well as a little goodbye note to the fandom. recently ive been thinking about stuff more, wondering if maybe i should make a return and try to get my love for vosim back, but remembered just how much damage the fandom (more specifically, gremlin + her friends) did to me, my friends, yknow. everytime i thought about returning i'd remind myself i'd never go back. you gotta think: for months and months i was out there spending most of my time and energy defending my friends, trying to show people just how bad those people were, and after realising that nobody would ever believe me, i gave up. all of the chip shit i was dealing with really didnt help the fact i was battling depression + suicidal thoughts alongside all of that.

but, i dont know. recently ive just been craving the good times back despite it all, i want to relive the times where i'd stim seeing my friends' posts (especially the vosim art...,,,) and songs (one of the songs that made me stim like mad literally got me into sodikken months later lmao my hyperfixes are weird like that), i want to relive seeing the chip accounts interacting with eachother, in fact i was here wishing i joined the fandom properly a lot earlier because i really didnt want the good times to end.....

the fandom was my safespace for me. as much as certain people think im some "popular highschool bully who never grew up" (yes gremlin, i saw what you said about us, im not fucking dumb), i was being bullied really badly in secondary school, i was dealing with a really nasty breakup, my mental health was spiralling downwards really fast, i was dealing with people who i thought were my friends... you get the picture. with the fandom i was able to escape from all of that. and i'd escape by drawing vosim, usually creepy, pissed off or numb. it was stress relieving, it brought me so much happiness doing that!! then june 2022 came and it all went to shit since then. ha.

it hurts a lot. it really does. ive just been really empty since everything. i really don't know what to do or how i can move on from this once and for all. this was shit i was meant to move on from months ago, but it seems i cant even do that.

to my chip friends whove been here since the start: ive said this a thousand times + i will say it again: thank you. thank you so much for sticking around despite me struggling and moaning about all of this shit for months on end. in fact thank you for everything. words cant describe how grateful i am to have met y'all and i genuinely dont know where i'd be without y'all ;___;

ramble over i think.

[headstrongblake]

@thewholecrew: grant, octavia & nick. | all american universe.

annoyance and hurt twisted together in the pit of her stomach as nick addressed her, but she offered no look of annoyance for his disdain toward her, just remained concerned at how this has spiraled out of nick's control. but a tightness spread throughout her as nick so casually mentions how he'd been after garrett's torture. as if that time wasn't engulfed in complete darkness. even with the waves of tragic heartache, alcohol, devastation and fury that she drowned in for weeks in the beginning, octavia remembered days here well. how snappish he'd been. how withdrawn and dazed. how exhausted and worn her best friend was taking care of them all. it keeps her quiet and gaze away from both of them.

it takes much longer than normal for grant's understanding and apology back in the bathroom to sink in past nick's daze. the rollercoaster of his poor choices heading on the downward slope that comes with his crash. but he latches onto them despite his minor friction with his sister, his brow furrowing as the three of them walk through his home to the backyard so he could smoke. and when his brother gave a gentle warning with his name, he stopped abruptly. "what?" he challenged, scoffing as he pulled on the sliding door, hard gaze flickering to grant. "don't patronize me, i don't need your sorry." he concluded before stepping outside, quickly pulling a lighter from his pocket to spark his smoke.

silently, he power puffed on his smoke briefly, thankful for the rush that went straight to his head. somehow, it makes him feel steadier. more clear and ready for whatever bullshit conversation these two wanna have about how he's chosen to heal. last he checked, he didn't have shit to say about how either of them decided to handle their crap, so why did they get a say in his? grant breaks the silence first as dark hues narrow once he began. though they softened when he mentioned how scared octavia was finding him. how terrified the state of him left grant too. brows draw together in shame, he hadn't meant for that. his hand rose, extending to octavia to pull her closer where he'd paced in the grass. "you know that i don't ever mean to scare you..." he apologized in his own way, offering her his smoke as she came closer before addressing grant, "i hear you."

giving nick a small smile, octavia nodded, tucking under his arm briefly as she looked up at him, "yeah i know, of course i know," she told him confidently, taking a slow breath in before, "but do you see this as problem nick...you can't keep going like this. what if you had been dea—...what if you OD?" octavia asked fearfully, a sad frown forming on her lips as she stepped out of his reach.

when octavia refused his smoke and stepped back off to the side of him, he lifted it back to his lips, puffing on it before simply letting it dangle there. "enough, don't be dramatic o," he grumbled. nick got what they were saying in some way. but he'd know if he had a real problem, an unfixable one that he needed their help with. they're concerned, he understands it, but with a shake of his head, nick pushed back. "i dunno that it is guys, look, 'kay i'll admit whatever you think you saw looks fucked up and sure, i probably overdid it today but you need to understand how bad it hurts." nick turned his gaze to grant, fingers pulling the smoke from his mouth, "you're gonna tell me it never took you time to heal after all that? maybe you never got a knife through your nerves in your hands with him but, c'mon man," nick tsked as he brutally asked, knowing from garrett's that he had subjected grant to the same, if not worse torture at times. at that, octavia's questioning gaze turned to grant instead of nick for the first time since stepping outside.

@headstrongblake: grant, octavia & nick. / verse: all american.

"you're right," grant agreed again gently, honey eyes rolling like stormy golden clouds as nick spoke to him, hoping his response would encourage nick to continue, to explain, to get all he needed off his chest, "i don't know what that's like." he watched as nick's hands then trembled as he continued and grant's expression grew grim, nodding slowly. "i can't imagine how difficult that must have been for you nick, i'm sorry," he apologized again because whether nick or octavia would ever openly admit it, what happened to nick was grant's fault. garrett may have been the one to harm nick but it was grant's foolishness, his selfishness, his weakness that caused the domino effect leading to this.

grant's hand dropped from nick as he pushed himself from the wall, stepping to the side as his brother passed him, heading out the bathroom door. he followed a pace behind nick, his outburst still in the forefront of his mind and as octavia questioned nick, his muscles tensed, pausing beside octavia as nick headed deeper into his bedroom. lips quirked in a brief and tense small smile at octavia's quip before they all left the bathroom and he watched the two interact with one another. tension rose through him again as nick first refused before snapping a smoke for octavia to see.

forcing back the mild discomfort cigerettes brought him, grant obliged with nick's request to follow him. lips pressed together firmly at his brothers tone as he directed his words to octavia, dark eyes narrowing as his jaw clenched. "nick.." he began in a gentle warning but let nick continue as he filled grant in on what he had missed. when he had left them all to pick up the pieces after nicks torture. he swallowed thickly as guilt twisted like a blade through his heart, almost unable to meet nicks gaze because of it. grant glanced behind him towards octavia with a softer, apologetic look. no amount of apologies could fix this, could undo what was done.

exiting onto the back patio with nick, grant tucked his hands in his pockets as he sucked in a quiet breath before nick lit his cigarette. he didn't know what else he could say, afraid he would say the wrong thing and set his brother off again. but after a long moment of silence he spoke, hoping to appeal to the love nick has for his sister rather than this disdain that seemed to fester. "even if---even though you two aren't the same," he began, only agreeing with nick if to not anger him before grant could continue speaking, "she loves you nick, and she was terrified when she found you... we both were. no one here is blaming you for this... we just want to help because you deserve it, brother."

[drjezdzanyart]

Keeping myself sane by drawing Geralt of Rvia (again)

[yanderart]

Another installment in my yandere pov series, and inspired by a few anon requests I got to paint dabi. 

Below the cut, as customary, is a one-shot I wrote for the backstory behind the portrait (Dabi x reader, 3k, dark themes). Hope y’all enjoy 🖤

Tws: nsfw, noncon, hinted kidnapping, inner turmoil. Overall nastiness.

   Staring at the marred back of the man lying beside you, eyes following the billowing pattern of his scars, it was easy to pretend you two were just another couple sleeping side by side. Pretend that you weren’t in a ratty motel room hidden away from the world, on a mattress that creaked with any slight shift of movement, and with the bitter taste of fear resting below your tongue.

   Pretend that he loved you, just like you loved him. Fantasize that it wasn’t the type of complicated infatuation corroded by trauma filled pasts, by bitterness and the phantom of brokered trusts.

  But then Dabi turned, the hitch in his breath warning you of his now alert state, and when his cobalt eyes held your stare all illusions were promptly shattered. Wishful words died on your lips before they even had the chance of being born, the frown on his face deepening as his arms circled around you, drawing you close.

   You tried to leave your mind blank then as he pressed your face into his chest, wishing it was easier to tune him out while he muttered lazy words against the shell of your ear. 

   “What happened, Princess?”, Dabi’s sluggish smile dragged the corner of his mouth upwards, making you feel the unmistakably texture of his metallic staples digging into the side of your face, “Are you lonely?”, He was mocking you, of course, and yet it was hard to not identify the hopefulness that hid behind his jest. 

   A hopefulness that went hand to hand with his need, with the sharp line of his body enveloping you and a rapidly hardening length heating up your lower abdomen. 

   A tremble shook you, prompting you to curse beneath your breath as a low chuckle was drawn from the man holding you. 

   “Or were you cold?”, and he was still teasing you, elated in your humiliation. 

   Because you were naked in his grasp, without even a blanket to aid you or any other heating present in the musty motel room. He had refused you any covers from day one, taking away what little you owned in terms of clothing and citing the fact that you needed not hide away from his glare. But you knew the truth behind his meager explanations, the reasons why he so rejoiced in seeing you exposed and trembling.

   In the death of winter, with the cold biting at your skin and the air feeling suffocating in its humidity, he was your only source of warmth.

   It became impossible not to let out a reluctant sound of relief as he dragged his palm through your sides, heating up your skin with languid movements. Although you were luckily way past the point of feeling any embarrassment at your own willingness to stop the cold, past the point of blaming your body for reacting in the way your captor had conditioned it to do so. 

   “Want me to warm you up, then”, Dabi muttered now at the base of your neck, his breath hot and almost painful as it grazed your nearly frozen skin, “Princess was so cold she couldn't even wait for me to wake up on my own, is that it?” 

   He wasn’t even expecting an answer at that point, just talking for his own sake as your shaking became even more pronounced, getting off on forcing you to hear whatever sadistic taunts his mind provided. Unwittingly pressing yourself against him as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp (dumb girl, should’ve known better than to think you would ever get away), by the time you felt the twitching of his bulge against your stomach it was too late to try and pull back. 

   His hands were pressing you down from the small of your back before you had a chance to think of voicing any discomfort, his sarcastic laughter turned into a low rumble as he proceeded to roll his own hips into you, angling you with ease so that he was pushing against a much more sensible spot lower down.  

   With your face away from him, it was too late for you to trick yourself into zoning things out. All you could see was the dirty mattress you were forced to lay on as he continued to mutter against your pulse, the rough texture of nails diving into your flesh as he coaxed you into following his movements, setting a cadence for you both as he continued to rut into you through the thin fabric of his boxers.

   All you could feel was the disgust climbing from your gut, the burning sensation of tears you hadn’t been able to shed since your very first few weeks with Dabi. 

   “I’ll warm you up, baby”, he was whispering as one of his hands crept up your stomach, tickling your ribs with its blazing touch and making you wonder if you were about to get marked again. He sounded so utterly pleased with himself, so absolutely content, that your mind was quick to conjure up images of blue flames licking at your flesh, of the barely fading scars that littered your entire body. 

   He took one of your breasts into his grasp then and snapped you away from your lingering memories, kneading it slowly, almost carefully, before his fingers made contact with the sensible bud of your nipple. Again, it would’ve been so easy to get lost in that sensation, in that revering touch, if your circumstances didn’t make it anything short of horrifying.

   (But you were warming up already, weren’t you? Your cunt reacting despite the disgust and horror you proclaimed, slick gathering as it greedily prepared for the impending intrusion. What a liar you were, Princess.)

   He continued his lethargic rhythm as his fingers toyed with your chest, teasing himself (teasing you both), before taking his other hand away from your lower back. You were trained enough not to try getting away from Dabi by that point, knowing better than to fight the inevitable, but it was still hard not to feel shame bubbling back up as you found your own hips stuttering down to meet his out of reflex.  

   In his hands, your own body became the deadliest weapon he could wield against you.

  (Yet you’re enjoying this, you like this. Therefore, you must like him too, right?)

   His now vacant arm slid up until he was roughly grasping your jaw. He angled your face down to stare into his gaze, into his scarred face and parted lips that morphed into a perfect picture of lust riddled reverence. And seeing the longing in those orbs was far crueler than all of his jests, all of the degradation and threats. Far scarier, too. 

   “Kiss me, Princess”, he commanded then, his stern voice almost succeeding at hiding away an eagerness you knew lurked beneath. 

    And you did, because you knew the consequences you’d otherwise face. You dived down to capture his lips in a mechanical way, moving dispassionately (or that’s what you tried telling yourself, as in denial as you were) until he took over. Much in the same way he had coached your hips earlier, the hand in your jaw instructed you with light movements until a pleased sound left the back of his throat. 

   “So willing for me”, he praised in a hushed tone as he briefly broke away, voice grave and dripping with desire. 

    And just like before, it wasn’t long before he decided you were well enough accustomed to the action, and then the grip holding your jaw was once more moving downwards, his scorching touch now merely tickling you as a palm pressed against your stomach, massaging your flesh as it continued its path to the same place his thrusts were directed at. 

   Your breath caught in your throat then, eyes closing as you tried to preemptively contain your emotions. 

   Dabi did not appreciate that. 

   “Look at me”, he uttered with a dark edge, a heavy order to loom over your quivering shoulders. 

   But you kept your eyes tightly shut, feeling fingers snaking between your legs and tracing the outside of your cunt as they quickly became dampened by the wetness gathering there. The squelching sound of his digits dipping inside your folds only made you cringe further, so focused as you were into keeping immobile and quiet. 

   You wanted to disappear. (You wanted to open your eyes and moan).

   Confronted with your tenacious refusals to comply, one of his fingers made its way to your hidden nub as a response, proceeding to mercilessly rub against it before he gave you any time to become accustomed. The spiralling stimulation made it difficult not to visibly shake. There was nothing teasing or slow about his movements, unrefined and harsh, yet you thought you could feel Dabi’s frustration at your stubbornness through that touch alone. 

   “Look at me before I decide that just humping your needy cunt won’t do”, he threatened, his own words breathless and hoarse.

   Which did give you a moment of trepidation as you tried and failed at ignoring his assault on your body. Your hands were now clenched into fists against his chest, nails digging into your own flesh while his fingers delved deeper inside you. They stretched you in a way which felt uncomfortably pleasant, quickly finding your tender spots in a practiced manner. 

   “C'mon, you don't have to make it harder. You've been so good for me lately, so sweet", and despite the terrible nature of his words, the slight softening of his tone had a terrible effect on you. 

   His words scared you, terrified you, and yet the backhanded compliment only made you more lightheaded, helping the unwilling pressure steadily building up due to his quick and nimble fingers. 

   You didn't notice his face getting closer, his breaths coming in hot puffs against the skin of your tender neck, but you did feel his lips as they closed against the crook of it, his teeth as they scrapped carelessly before claiming that same spot in a painful show of dominance. 

   You were trembling now despite a part of you still commanding your eyes shut. Inside you, his digits felt warm, so filling already, and you couldn’t help clasping around them despite your attempts at ignoring any unwanted excitement. 

  (Were you seriously going to cum on the fingers of your captor? Of the man whose face now plagued your nightmares, whose voice never left your conscious mind? My, my, what a hypocrite of a whore you were.)

   “Mine”, you thought you heard Dabi whisper as his love bites continued littering your skin “My princess.”

   And wasn't it fitting, how his awful nickname for you was the last thing you heard before his fingers achieved their goal. Two of them were slamming in and out of you, filling the room with horrible wet noises that you had unsuccessfully been trying to tune out, and a third one still insistently toyed with your clit. 

   It was fast, it was relentless, and your eyes were shooting open without your permission as a choked moan finally escaped your tightly shut mouth. You shook while you came, opening your fists against your assailant's chest and trying to ignore the pungent taste of shame as you found purchase on his shoulders instead. 

   From the back of your conscience, still overwhelmed by the shots of pleasure shaking your core (by his fingers that hadn't stopped for a second, insisting on accompanying you through your orgasm), you thought you heard a satisfied hum coming from the man holding you. 

   And as the pleasure numbed slowly, as the sensations turned painful while he refused to leave your oversensitive sex, Dabi was finally exiting the cover of your neck and his cerulean eyes were finding yours again. 

   There was a satisfied smirk in his lips, his expression almost soft if it weren’t for the hidden glimmer you had learned to tell apart.

   “Now, now”, he cooed at you as he continued to force your body into overstimulation, sobs fighting to exit your throat now instead of the unsolicited moan from earlier, “I knew you’d be good. You always listen to me now after all, don't you, Princess", his other hand had started kneading your other breast, left neglected until now, and your body was so unbearably hot by that point that you would have gladly welcomed back the terrible winter cold, “You'd do whatever I ask of you, wouldn’t you?”

   It was hard to think, hard to respond as the last vestiges of your pride still leaked out of you and facilitated his relentless attack on your flesh. Your nipple was being pinched roughly, only adding to the pain of being overstimulated.

   (But you were feeling It again, right? The tell-tales of your arousal awakening for a second time. So eager to please him, to be obedient despite whatever objections you claimed to harbor). 

   Another tug at your chest, this time nails lightly digging in, and you were slapped out of your dazed state into answering with rushed words. 

   “I'll do whatever you ask, Dabi”, your voice felt foreign to you, so small, so docile, “but make it stop. Don’t...”, a sound resembling a cry fought its way out through your sentence, one which neither of you knew if it was from discomfort or a pleasure quickly gearing its head back up, “make it stop, please.”

   He was so fucking satisfied to hear your meek little pleads again then, relishing on them like a man starved after so long of your stubborn refusals to speak. To his ears, it sounded like the chorus of heavenly angels descending from the heavens to reach him. He, who if there even was such a thing as Heaven, would be better fit for the scorching flames down below. 

   And that's when you felt it again, the threat of his now bare cock coming to rest against your pussy. It was a tentative probe, almost clumsy without hands to aid him in his search, and his fingers did not ease their assaults for even a second as you tried not to feel betrayed.

   (But did you really believe he would keep his word? That he'd just hump you like an eager virgin when he knew the alluring slickness waiting to hug him, to welcome him back? You were even dumber than you looked.)

    “I know I promised", he admitted while you felt his warm erection pressing slightly, teasingly, against your slit, your own body starting to reach its second cusp without the time to even completely get down from the first, “but you took too long this time, Princess. You were being such a brat…”

   And it was almost poetically ironic, how your second orgasm hit as his fingers relented and his cock finally entered you in their place. It stretched you in a way which was no longer painful but filling (it didn’t make you cry, having you fruitlessly trying to find anything to ground yourself to as it tore you apart. Not anymore anyways). You sighed and moaned while being stuffed full, finally giving in despite any apprehension, and your pussy took him in and hugged him tight as a response. It distracted you from the shame, the guilt, the remorse, and before long your keening was filling the room with its eagerness. 

   “Maybe next time”, he kept groaning against your ear, now both hands going down to grab at the supple globes of your ass, persuading your pliant body into follow the rhythm he was easily setting, “if you're better then, if you…”, even for him it was becoming harder to talk, entranced as he was by the welcoming hold of your inner walls, “if you don't wake me up, if you aren’t so needy. Maybe then, fuck.”

   You were still cumming as his halfhearted promises mingled with his excuses, as he became lost in his own pleasure, in using you as he saw fit. And, lost as you were in the sensations, you were foolish enough to think them true for a moment.

   Maybe next time, you repeated to yourself as his thrust become frantic. His grip on your ass turned painful as he lost sight of the force he was using, his palms heating inadvertently and your skin sizzling below them. You'd have more marks once all was said and done, more patterns to add to your growing collection. 

   Maybe next time he woke up he'd let you go. Maybe he'd finally understand love was not a prison nor a leash. Maybe next time he would ask for your forgiveness, understanding all the trauma and horror he was forcing you to endure. 

  (Or maybe you'd be the one asking for penance, kneeling in front of him and finally seeing him in the way he so desired. Maybe you would start understanding the dimension of his efforts then, of his love for you that he knew not how to show otherwise. A love that scared him as much as it damaged you.)

   As his hoarse moans mingled with your own, you were too drunk on your own fantasies to even attempt to squirm away before he was filling you up with his seed, your walls still convulsing around him as your body stayed attentive, pliant and tender. His lips were kissing you, licking you in poor attempt at providing comfort, and yet you felt a hopeful smile turning the corners of your lips ever so slightly. 

   So many things could happen next time. And anything would be better than this, right? Feeling his cum coating your insides as a litany of nonsense left Dabi's mouth, his softening cock refusing to leave and allow any drop to leak out. Anything had to be better than being owned, being conquered. 

   (So naïve you were, the only person you had gotten good at convincing was your damn self.)

   “Love you, princess", his head was buried in your neck again, his favorite place in your body to hide in while he slowly rocked you both, “so fucking much.”

   And in his own twisted way, as much as you wanted to fight and argue, you didn't doubt his words. Such a twisted love it was, but unquestionable in his burning desire. 

   Even as it charred you to a crisp, leaving nothing but ashes behind and deadlier than anything his quirk might subject you to. 

   Dabi loved you, his sweet little princess, and maybe if you weren't so stubborn you could start loving him back. 

****

Probably the longest one-shot I've posted alongside a portrait so far, since I'm still getting comfortable with the length of my writings (still cant believe people read and enjoy these lol). And special thanks to my pals @reinawritesbnha, @coyambition and @snappysnapo for lending me a pair of eyes before posting 🖤 love y'all !

🥀 Requests/Suggestions OPEN 🥀

[babysbreath]

red robin

➶ oikawa tooru x reader

➶ fluff, one creepy guy (not oikawa)

➶ heist au

You scan the crowd discreetly. It’s always the same, oblivious upper class folks who host a ball and keep their prized possessions on display. The one that catches your eye tonight is a diamond tiara, glittering under the chandelier lights that spiral down from the ceiling.

The room buzzes with low chatter, easy conversation flowing like the champagne being served. Nobility, businessmen, socialites and a small handful of commoners make up the crowd, you observe. There were rumours of thieves who might target this Christmas gala but the hosting family refused to get security, citing that it would make the guests uncomfortable.

Despite the towering Christmas tree and the tinsel adorning every surface, you keep a sharp eye on the tiara.

Picking up one of the many drinks, you make your way through the sea of people, smiling and bowing at regular intervals. You had taken a glass just to look preoccupied, since drinking on the job is not the best idea. You’ve gone to enough of these galas to know the etiquette, the way to attract the least attention, which comes in handy especially while slipping away with a priceless item.

You allow yourself to engage in some polite conversation with an old lady beside you when an affluent-looking man comes up to you with an offer to dance. The old lady, who you’ve learnt is an heiress called Akane Mori, waves him away and he slips back into the crowd.

“He’s a little too old for you,” she mutters, turning a heavy ruby ring that sits on her finger.

She tells you that her husband was a decade older than her, and the age gap caused them too many problems. You nod passively, glancing over at the area where the tiara sits in a glass box.

The tiara is not even the biggest attraction of the night. Apparently, there’s a painting with a value that runs into a few billion yen, but you’re not here for that. You’re well aware that stealing the most expensive artifact here would draw too much attention.

You don’t realize that she’s called over her grandson, a handsome boy dressed in a bespoke suit. With a glint in her eye, she introduces you to him. He’s around your age and it suddenly dawns on you that she’s trying to set him up. With you. A girl who’s planning to run off with the tiara that’s situated a few feet from them.

She pats him lightly on his sleeve. “Show this pretty lady around. The courtyard is lovely at this time of the year.”

It would be far too suspicious if you turned him down. You slip your arm through the crook of his elbow and let him lead you outside, taking one last look at the glittering headpiece you plan on coming back for.

He walks in step with you, pointing out various parts of the mansion before you reach the courtyard garden. You treat him to a coy smile, hoping that the tour doesn't take too long. A robin flies from its spot on the ground, seemingly disturbed by the two of you, and perches on a tree branch.

After strolling once around the garden, the boy stops at a quiet corner under the canopy of trees, shielded from the light snow that’s starting to fall. Moonlight peeps through, casting a hazy glow on your figures.

He leans towards you. You catch the scent of sparkling wine that glistens on his lips.

“You looked really beautiful back there. I’m sorry about my grandmother, but I’m glad that she picked you.”

It’s been about nine minutes since you’d left the ballroom. You grip the pleats of your dress, desperate to get back to your original plan. He looks down at the movement, and you let out a nervous laugh.

“Thank you,” you say, sounding high strung. “You don’t have to apologise for her. We had a pleasant conversation.”

He smiles, eyes flicking downwards for a split second. You don’t miss that, years of observing people’s expressions and actions coming into play. The cold air seems to get more frigid.

“We should probably head back.”

His hands trace the side of your waist. He doesn’t seem to hear you.

You try again. “It’s too cold out here and-”

“Hey, there you are,” someone exclaims, and you practically jump. The arms holding you suddenly drop as well.

A figure steps into the dim light. The voice belongs to another boy (by now, you’re quite tired of having to deal with one boy after another). He’s wearing a bulky coat, evidently ready to leave the ball. He smiles brightly at you, arms outstretched like he’s greeting an old friend.

“Sorry, she always runs off like this,” he explains to the boy beside you, before turning to you. “Come, your father wants you to come back early. Of course he sends me, Oikawa, to do all these minor duties.”

Oikawa. He’s letting you know his name.

“Oh, I’m sorry about this,” you bow slightly to the old lady’s grandson. He eyes Oikawa with disdain but doesn’t make any sign of protest.

“Let’s go, Oikawa-san.” You take Oikawa’s gloved hand. He clasps it reassuringly and the action warms the tips of your ice cold fingers.

You quickly follow him back into the house, leaving the other boy in the courtyard, before you turn to Oikawa.

“Thank you. I must return to the ballroom now.”

His gentle laughter echoes in the empty entrance, bouncing off the high ceiling and imposing pillars.

“Be careful then. You should keep your eye on things other than a pretty crown.”

You stop in your tracks. “A pretty crown? What do you mean?”

A smirk plays about his lips. “That diamond one. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it. You stared at it for the entire evening.”

Your heartbeat quickens. You can’t give up your act all because of some observant boy.

“So were you staring at me for the entire evening?” you retort, enjoying the momentary look of surprise on his face.

It quickly transforms into a snarl. He pulls you into the nearest closet room, locks the door and then keeps a small distance, remembering the previous situation he found you in.

“Is this a game to you? Would your band of thieves like to know that you don’t take this seriously?” His voice is low, like a secret whispered in a confession box.

The realization slowly sets in. He’s part of a group of thieves.

You respond. “First of all, it’s a tiara, not a crown.”

“Don’t act smart-”

“Secondly, I do this on my own. I’m not part of any gang like you.” You say it with as much disgust that you can muster.

He sighs, resting on the wall behind him. It gives you time to study his features and you notice that he’s got a striking beauty to him. Tousled brown hair frames his sharp face, and his eyes… are staring right back at you. Oh, you’d better get out of here before you embarrass yourself any further.

You reach for the doorknob when he decides to speak up.

“My men are stealing everything in there. You met one of them earlier. I made him go up to you and ask you to dance.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief. “Stealing everything? And why would you send him to me?”

“I had my doubts about you, so I wanted to question you myself.”

You scoff at that. At least one of you had been successful in their plan tonight, now that you’re answering him in this stuffy room.

“I hoped that he would dance with you and lead you to me. Obviously, I didn’t expect the heiress, Mori-sama, to interfere.”

You can hear a small commotion outside. He glances at you before turning the knob carefully. Putting a finger to his lips, he exits discreetly. You can’t tell why but you follow him.

The entrance is still empty but the voices from the ballroom seem to get louder. You match his movements in the darkness, slipping past an unending row of shrubs to reach the outer wall of the complex. You can make out a few figures in the dark who suddenly go still on noticing your presence. Oikawa raises a hand and makes a quick gesture. They go about their business after that, slipping away into the night. Must be the men, or rather his fellow thieves, that he was talking about.

He helps you scale the wall but you fumble the landing, causing you to teeter into him. A garbled laugh escapes both your mouths, and he deftly helps you regain your balance.

“You can make your escape now, I presume?”

Eyes widening, you mutter, “I can’t go back to get the tiara? Did your friends really take everything?”

His voice remains hushed. “Why do you want that? You do realize that it’s not the most valuable item that was there?”

“It’s pretty.”

“What?”

“I said that it’s pretty. I’ve done my research obviously but that’s the one I like the most.”

He looks at you, incredulously. The snow’s started piling up and you hear one of his men urging him to hurry.

“Research? You just waltzed in there with no plan and no backup.”

“I usually don’t need any of those. Do you want to know why?”

“Please enlighten me.” He sounds impatient.

“I steal only when I know that a group like yours is planning a heist. I pick an item that isn’t too valuable, otherwise it’ll raise too much suspicion. When the rich family loses billions of yen worth of possessions, there’s only reports about men like you. I can’t get caught when I wasn’t really involved, can I?"

Oikawa gives you the satisfaction of an impressed look. He looks in the direction of where you assume his getaway vehicle is. You understand that this is where you will both part ways.

He, instead, reaches into his coat. He pulls out the jewelled tiara and you involuntarily let out a gasp. You reach for it and he makes a tsk sound, holding it out of your reach. When you finally drop your hands, he leans forward and places it atop your head.

An indiscernible expression crosses his face.

“You’re right. It is really pretty,” he says, sounding slightly breathless.

You almost roll your eyes, about to say something about how thieves must think alike when you notice that his gaze is set on you. Not on the tiara.

Taking a few steps backwards, he makes a bow. “Merry Christmas, by the way. Think of that as your present this year.”

You can’t help but notice how rosy his cheeks look, all of a sudden.

It’s difficult to find the right words. You touch the headpiece delicately, the feeling of Oikawa’s hands brushing past your hair still lingering.

His figure retreats until it fades into the canvas of snowfall.

You’re left to wonder if Oikawa ended up stealing something far more valuable tonight. Your heart, perhaps.

[roguesscribbles]

A drawing of my WoL, Ari Remko! She’s a miqo’te black mage!

I recently finally caught up with FFXIV after playing it on and off for over a year, so I wanted to finally draw my beloved WoL. Expect to see more of her!

Some information about her character under the cut!

Very kind and caring, wanting to help anyone she can whether she knows them or not. This goes as far as being considered a bleeding heart, though she doesn’t share her kindness out of ignorance or naivety. Tries to find the good in everyone, always full of hope. Fiercely protective of those she cares about, and will do anything for them and their safety.

Very food oriented, has a big appetite. Very fond of meat-based dishes. Could be related to how much she (over)works.

Can be quite shy and anxious, despite the confident front she puts up due to her status. She’s quiet when she’s with people she’s just met or doesn’t know and only talks when she’s spoken to or if she needs to. However, if you become her friend and become close with her, then her personality comes out in full bloom, and she can and will chat your ear off. Reaching that point is a sign she trusts you.

Her blooming personality is very cheerful, enthusiastic and jokey, she likes to crack jokes and bounce friendly sass off her friends. She can also be very chatty, going into rambles regarding just about anything if you give her the time.

Tying into her want to help people, she’s very much considered a workaholic. She’s always trying to find ways to help people, especially during times of crisis. When theres no work to be done, or people refuse to give her any work, she will train or do research into magic. She won’t stop working unless the people around her force her to. She doesn’t like not being busy as her mind will wander into dark places and she’ll go into a downwards spiral. Because of her status, she keeps her negative feelings bottled up (there’s a lot of them), and she will very rarely let others see her break down. If she does, she either doesn’t have a choice or really trusts you.

She wouldn’t tell anyone this, but she finds a huge thrill in fighting a strong enemy, like the primals, and the only person she has ever admitted it to has been Zenos, who left that secret at the edge of the universe. However, the trials of the last couple big events has taken it’s toll on her, and it hasn’t been at all fun when the world and the people she cares about are at stake.

She’s not nearly as book smart and academic as most of her fellow scions, and she tries not to feel too self-conscious about it. Her strength lies in combat and her in-depth knowledge of black magic, as well as her world knowledge and connections from her many travels all over The Source and beyond.

She has a huge crush on Estinien.

[n7punk]

I love Horde Queen Catra but yes the actual season 4 design I think works better thematically. Catra losing her messy nature and becoming more sleek makes a bit more sense for her downward spiral. For messy Catra is true cats

yeah that was a fanart mickey did just playing around with concepts. they've done a lot of really cool concepts that don't always play within the bounds of the show but look badass XD like most fanartists do, but they happen to be drawing for a show they also worked on professionally (and god, wouldn't that be so cool, to have your job be on a project you love so much you act like a part of the fandom? my creator's heart is jealous). that one especially never would have worked with the show since it changes her mask a lot from the original show (the designs are extremely similar in SPOP and the original, so i would guess that they wanted to keep the design largely in tact).

also yes, i love that observation. Catra being perfectly controlled and sleek is absolutely ideal for her downward spiral. it's projecting the exact opposite of what she is, trying to manifest it into reality until the cracks begin to show and it's so much more jarring to see behind the sleek facade. it's the wild rebellion of youth stripped away as she is forced to "grow up" and leave behind her childhood and everything she wanted in it (adora) behind to win the war. Catra's sleek look, despite being unique to her, represents conformity when it is seen in contrast to her wild look of before, untamed. season four catra is such an amazing look for more than just aesthetic reasons

[lunatriense]

Tell us about Kass!

Oh boy, that's a big topic. Um, I don't want to crush you with a wall of text that could be seen from space, so I'mma give you the teaser version of her prologue but feel free to ask me more about her if you'd like! ❤️

Okay, so Kass — that's Kassandra Nikos — is Pyrrha's little sister. I know, I know… just go with it; it's not like that and she needed a very personal connection for the story to work. Anyway, she's a couple years younger, putting her at about Ruby's age, and her whole life she's lived in Pyrrha's shadow but been utterly unable to measure up. If you've read my takes on Pyrrha's mother, you can probably imagine that a second daughter who's decidedly mediocre at best would be treated… less than stellar, and you'd be right. Pyrrha being who she is, of course, was always kind and caring, which led Kass to absolutely idolise her and essentially try to be her despite being terribly suited for her, which Pyrrha tried to help her with such as she could because, well… Pyrrha. Of course being another Nikos, coming into Sanctum she was expected to be a prodigy and when she just wasn't (and was, in fact, barely even making it) everyone there shunned her too.

Alright, so that's the background for where her story starts. She's this girl who idolises Pyrrha probably more than anyone else ever could, who sees her more or less as the source of Good and Right in the world, whose only real friend (family or otherwise) is her big sister who, at this point, went away to Beacon a year ago. And then Kass starts getting nightmares, and they all end with Pyrrha dying during Vytal. She keeps calling and telling Pyrrha, but Pyrrha insists she'll be careful. The nightmares get worse, more detailed as the tournament draws closer, but always with the same ending. Eventually Kass is begging Pyrrha not to be there, to be anywhere but there, but her mother takes her scroll away and tells her to stop distracting Pyrrha.

By then, Kass' nightmares are vivid, she's watching her sister die as though she were there, and she's determined to stop it, so that night she steals some money, runs off, and buys an express ticket to Beacon. She gets there too late. Even after stealing an Atlas soldier's motorcycle at a rail blockade (to keep it from getting too close to the battle that's begun, and yes, you may see the beginnings of a pattern here), wrecking it, and getting herself banged up getting through the battle that Beacon has become, she makes it to the courtyard just in time to see the bright flash of Pyrrha being killed. And then, too stunned and grief-stricken to move, she's nearly killed by Grimm (and by the now-unhacked paladin's missile that destroys them).

She wakes up in hospital some time later, but with no way to prove who she is since she'd had to travel with a false name (being a minor and all) and having had her scroll damaged in the battle, she's stuck in Vale for a bit. She eventually manages to send a video message to her mother, sobbingly telling her what happened that that she tried to save Pyrrha but couldn't, and asking her to send a ticket home. Her mother's reply? That it was Kass' fault Pyrrha died, that she distracted her with all that talk about her nightmares — her mother could see it in that last match — and she should've been the one to die instead. That she's always been useless, always held Pyrrha back, and now she got her killed. That she shouldn't bother coming back, she has no home to return to.

Kass is devastated; already having been in a very fragile place, being blamed for causing Pyrrha's death absolutely breaks her and she spirals terribly downward. She eventually manages to convince a cargo pilot heading to Mistral to let her tag along, but when they have to fly over a terrible lightning storm along the way, she just… steps out. She's lost the will to live, feels like there's nothing worth living for, and this way she can be reunited in death with her sister. But as she falls through the storm, she's struck by another vision, for that's what her nightmares were from the beginning, only this one isn't warning her of a terrible calamity but rather showing her that Pyrrha can be brought back. It's maddeningly vague, like her earliest nightmares were, but it's there just the same — she can get her sister back, and no one else in the world knows it, no one else would believe her or even try�� it has to be her. With a renewed purpose, Kass rapidly unloads every gravity shell in her gun and activates her aura (which she nevertheless loses on impact but is enough to keep her alive, if injured), and thus begins her journey down a winding and rather dark road.

[alittlebitmaybe]

comme un écho

AKA whoops i talked to @yoursummerfrost about orpheus and eurydice and then tripped and fell on this very weird ficlet that is only sort of what i meant it to be. uh oh. (title lifted from “it’s never over (oh orpheus)” by arcade fire because i’m incredibly literal sometimes)

warnings: off-screen major character death

*

The mage had told him to perform the ritual in a field of wildflowers.

“Plenty of life,” she said.

Jaskier had asked, “For what?”

“To feed it,” she said, and did not elaborate.

And as he follows her instructions, surrounded by blooming weeds and swaying grasses, he sees that she was right. As the herbs and other unmentionables in the bowl burn, scorching the wooden sides, the green around him darkens to black. He feels the magic tugging at his energy and resists it. The ruin spreads from his epicenter, cursing the very dirt on which he kneels. A slow but inexorable exchange, and Jaskier thinks it fair. Geralt had watered the earth with his blood and now the earth must give back.

“You’re out of your depth, bard,” the mage had said as he turned to leave, her lips pursed. Was she amused or disapproving? Jaskier didn’t care, nor, he suspected, did she. Her pockets were full, and his own empty.

He hefted the lute higher on his back, clutched at the strap across his chest.

“And yet,” he said.

“He will not come easily,” she said.

“He never did,” Jaskier replied.

The flame in the bowl burns out with a flare of noxious smoke that stings Jaskier’s eyes, makes him cough. The world hums. It’s a tune of his own, as of yet unsung, plucked from his consciousness. It reaches out to him and burrows under his skin. Pulling. He follows it.

Between two gnarled, ancient trees, in the arch of their overlapping branches (Which belongs to which? Where does one stop and the other begin? If one was broken, would the other suffer for it?) the air shimmers.

The tune fades and in its place is a whisper saying, Come.

*

The stairs spiral downward for hours, days. Jaskier’s legs do not ache and he does not hunger, but it is ever so quiet. He takes the lute from his back and plays every song he’s ever composed in Geralt’s honor. Maybe Geralt can hear them. Maybe he will know Jaskier is on his way.

“Get ready, Witcher,” Jaskier says to the darkness. “Gather your underworldly things. You won’t be coming back any time soon. I can promise you that.”

And he says, “I’m sorry that you were alone. I’m sorry that I was too late.”

And he says, when the darkness presses upon him, when it seems the stairs will never end, “I don’t know when I began to love you, but it has been long enough that I don’t know how not to.”

And he says, “I’ve done this for you. You deserve to have a better life. You deserve to live.”

And he takes one more step and trips, for there is no stair where he expected there to be one. He taps the toe of his boot against the ground. It’s solid. He lifts his hand in front of his own face and it is invisible. There is no breeze, no sound, no smells, no light. There’s nothing down here.

In the face of such vastness, Jaskier is insignificant. He is nothing. You are nothing. You are less than a flea clinging to the fur of a great beast. You will be mine. You will become a part of me. You will cease. You will be forgotten.

“Hold on now,” Jaskier says, head whipping around. “Who’s there?”

I am everything that has been. I await everything that is. I anticipate what will be. I am.

“You’re Death,” Jaskier realizes, perhaps belatedly.

There is no such thing. I have no name. I have no need of it.

“That’s okay,” Jaskier says. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who or what you are.” His heart thumps arrhythmically, and sweat drips from his brow. He swipes it off on his sleeve. He is far under water. His lungs fill. He ignores it, swallows. Throws back his shoulders. “I’m here for Geralt of Rivia.”

There is no Geralt of Rivia.

“Bullshit.”

You are insolent.

“I’ve been told.”

You will be mine.

“Perhaps.” Jaskier licks his lips, an unbreakable habit. “But I will live on.”

You will not.

He laughs a little, despite himself, a nervous little giggle that he stifles as quickly as he can, clearing his throat. “On the contrary, I am an artist. I shan’t die as long as my art lives. And art does not die.”

Art? Art is not living. I have no use of it.

“Exactly,” he says. “Yes, precisely. It does not live or die. It simply is. Whatever you—whatever you are, being of, ah, all-ness…or what have you—whatever you are, whatever comprises you, you have none of art. You have no music, no stories, none at all. You will always lack it.”

There is a thoughtful pause.

I desire it.

“I can give it to you. Did you hear? I played my whole way down.”

I heard.

“Did you enjoy it? Three words or less.”

It was pleasing.

Jaskier exhales. “That’s actually a decent review, as these things go. I’m glad. I mean, would you like more? I could write you a song. Got a decent hand at improv, me. Won’t take a moment.”

A song. For me?

“Yes,” Jaskier promises, feeling the weight of it as it passes over his tongue, “a song, only for you. I shall never play it again. Well, um, on one condition.”

You want Geralt of Rivia.

“Oh, you were paying attention. Smart one, you are, Your…um, Majesty.”

I can retrieve him. If I am careful. He is me. I am him.

“Truly, I understand. His loss, for me, was…” Jaskier struggles for adequate words. “Irreconcilable. But you will always have the memory of your song to take his place.”

You sang of him.

“I do. Rather habitually. Every day of my life, in fact.”

Hmm.

“You sound like him already. So, whaddaya say?”

Play for me.

*

He plays, and every note that vibrates out from his lute, every note that leaves his mouth disappears from his mind. It is absorbed from him upon conception. He doesn’t know what the last measure was, nor what the next will be. He does not know what key or time signature his song is in, but he knows it’s a song. And that is all he promised.

It ends, and Jaskier does not notice. Possibly his jaw hangs open stupidly for minutes after it is over. He closes it.

“Was, um, was that…”

Yes. I will give you your reward.

“You will?” Jaskier asks, surprised despite himself.

I will release Geralt of Rivia, for you have given me something in return. And I will regain him, as I will gain you. We will meet again, bard.

“I—How do—”

You will walk forward. You will ascend, and he will follow. Until he emerges above, he is still a part of me. You may not look upon him, as you may not look upon me. You must not look back.

“How will I know he is there?”

He will follow.

“How will I know it is him?”

You must have faith.

“How—” Jaskier chokes now, tears welling up. He is glad no one can see. “Will he be—himself?”

Entirely. Once he emerges.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers.

It is time. Walk forward. In three paces, you shall begin to ascend. Be well, bard.

*

Jaskier climbs. The stairs remember his tread, the shape of his feet. It’s easy.

There are footsteps behind him. Are they Geralt’s? Do they match the way he shifts his weight, the deliberate heel-toe steps that Jaskier has been hearing for decades? He’s not sure.

Jaskier is afraid. More afraid than ever before. There could be anything back there. Anything at all. He must not look.

But he is not forbidden to talk.

“Geralt?” he says, tentatively. “Geralt, is that you?”

A grunt. “It’s me, Jaskier.”

And it is, thank the gods, it is. “Sounds like you,” he says, voice carefully measured, lest he sob in relief.

Silence. Four, five more stairs. They will not end. When will they end?

“How’ve you been, Witcher? It’s good to hear you again, my friend.”

“Where are we?”

“Well, who’s to say,” Jaskier says lightly. “Tell me, what do you last remember?”

“Bleeding out in a forest. I couldn’t get up. I waited to die. I…died. I died, didn’t I, Jaskier?”

Jaskier chooses to take that as rhetorical, and does not answer.

“Anything else?”

“Not until now. Is this a dream?”

“To my knowledge, no, Geralt, it is not. I pray that this is not a dream.”

“Then where—?”

Jaskier picks up his foot, sets it down. One stair at a time. There have been hundreds, there will be more. Is that light above? No, a trick of his eyes. He is still blind.

“Not to worry. We’ll soon be outside. It’s a beautiful day, you know. Big blue sky. Everything in bloom. Your favorite time of the year. We’ll have to do some foraging, stock up for potions. I have your things, of course, but I don’t know the shelf life of your concoctions.”

“A quarter year.”

“Ah, might have to make fresh, then.”

But no, it is growing brighter. Jaskier can see the faint silhouettes of his hands, the edges of the stairs to come. If he were to turn back he might be able to see the gleam of Geralt’s eyes, but he mustn’t.

Why mustn’t he? Oh, yes, the warning. He—can’t look back. He must not—

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again. “I’m dead.”

“You are, Geralt, yes, is that what you would like to hear?” Jaskier says, a little hysterically. “But you won’t be for much longer, if we just keep going.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where? Where?” His pitch climbs with the staircase. Around and around. Dizzying. So many circles. “Above, Geralt. Back home, of course.”

“Why?”

Jaskier has to stop himself from whirling around. “Good gods, you ask me why? I follow you for decades, I immortalize you in song, and the witcher asks me why.” He draws in a great lungful of air, releases it. “I love you, you great idiot. I have loved you.”

The response comes, so softly, a mere rumble, “I know. That’s why I asked.”

The stairs are made of warped stone. He can see that now. They are well worn, dipping in the centers. It can’t be far. “Please, Geralt, we’re almost there.”

“You haven’t answered me. Why you would do this.”

“I was supposed to let you rot, huh? I was meant to live on as if it was fine? As if nothing was missing?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to come back.”

“Of course you did. Of course you do.”

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

Jaskier stops, and behind him the second set of footsteps also halts.

“It was peaceful. It was my time.”

“It wasn’t,” Jaskier whispers. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

There is a touch to the small of his back, a gust of air across the nape of his neck. So familiar. He aches.

“Jaskier.” A strong hand closes around his wrist. He doesn’t look down at it, not even a glance. “The world doesn’t need me anymore.”

“What about the monsters? The wars?”

“There is Yennefer, and Ciri, and Eskel and the rest. There will always be someone.”

With dread creeping through his limbs, Jaskier says, “You’re telling me you don’t want to come back. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He can almost hear the creaking of the intertwined, ancient trees above. It is just a few more steps.

“You can’t tell me that, not when I—”

Arms come around him, and he shuts his eyes. “Jaskier, I would rather have done what I have done and no more, than continue on and overstay my welcome. I would rather have my peace.”

“What if I need you?” Jaskier breathes.

“I am with you.”

“You weren’t.”

Geralt’s hand comes to rest over his heart. It is not cold nor hot through Jaskier’s doublet. It simply isn’t much of anything at all. There, but insubstantial. It trails its way up his jaw, traces over his bottom lip. “You forget,” Geralt says, “that I am in your words. That I will live on. Isn’t that what you said? Art does not die.”

“You heard.”

“I must have.”

“That’s not fair.” Jaskier sniffles, knowing full well he sounds like a child. “I came all this way. I have always followed you. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Whatever you wish.”

“I will sing of you until I can’t any longer, to anyone who will listen, and to many who will not.”

A smile, pressed to his ear. “I can think of no better way to be loved.”

Something nags at Jaskier, and he can’t say what. He is surrounded by a body he knows as well as his own, yet it’s not right. Why?

The body releases him. It says, “Look at me, Jaskier. That’s all you have to do.”

“You’re not Geralt, are you,” he says with trepidation, eyes still squeezed tight. “Are you? Don’t lie.”

“Jaskier.”

He breathes in. Opens his eyes. Grips the lute strap in both hands. Turns.

Silvered hair, sad golden eyes, a sharp nose, wispy around the edges.

“Geralt,” he whispers, reaching out even as the form dissipates. Called back to the bottom of the stairwell.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” it says, and then it is gone.

[spaceorphan18]

Dawson's Diatribe

It's hard to know where to even start with this. But, those of you who've been around forever, know that I'm incapable of not expressing my feelings on whatever media I've so recently consumed.

And it's been an interesting endeavor going back to a show that was must see TV when I was the same age as the characters. I did remember a lot about myself and how I felt as a kid. And how those feelings change as an adult. I recognized myself very much in those characters, which is probably why the show resonated with me so much then, for better or for worse.

But more than that is understanding better how story telling works. And being able to understand why a thing probably happened - even if it was frustrating. Anyway...

Season 1:

Has a different tone than any of the other seasons. It's simpler, and feels far older than its setting of the late 90s. It almost has an earlier 90s feel to it - perhaps probably because creator Kevin Williamson was drawing on his own time as a teen.

I understand Dawson a lot - in that I was a kid who loved to live in a little fantasy land, especially when dealing with real people and their flaws. However -- I've never noticed just how terrible Dawson is at the beginning. His pushing to 'possess' Jen as this perfect love object is really kind of grossed and has aged really badly.

I related to Joey a LOT as a kid - as a girl who didn't fit in to what was acceptable for being a girl at the time. Plus, I think that kind of unrequited love Joey feels (or thinks she feels) is very universal.

However - Joey has a LOT of anger that she never really deals with.

Jen is a character whom I didn't understand at ALL as a kid. But now I feel bad for her. She's a really sweet person who has been through a lot of crap, and the show is going to consistently villainize her for it.

It's unfortunate that so much space is spent with Joey and Jen competing over Dawson. He's really not worth it, despite the show repeatedly trying to tell us that he is, and both girls could really use some good friends.

Then there's Pacey... who spends the first half of the season in a very bad story line that has to do with an affair with a teacher. It was hard to watch then, it's even cringier now -- especially when you see that they're trying to make this a love story you want to root for.

Joey and Pacey have some great witty banter in Season 1, and you can tell that the actors have a ton of chemistry - more so than Joey ever has with Dawson.

Season 2:

Was much better than I expected it to be - though, and I feel this with all of the remaining seasons, there are times when the 22 episode model feels too long and that they're biding their time to get to where they want to go.

Here's where I go off about Joey and Dawson, and how their love story does not work for me. The two of them are wrapped up in these idealized and romanticized versions of each other, and they can never really accept each other for the flawed people that they are. It's understandable in high school - and the show seems to get that, but the problem is that the show keeps trying to tell us this relationship is the epitome of all relationships when in fact the both of them are stunted -- never able to move forward because of this "soul mate bond" that they share. It's incredibly dysfunctional, and while it's more or less fine in Season 2, it becomes more and more tedious as the years go by.

Meanwhile, Jen goes on a huge downward spiral -- as you'd expect the 'bad girl' would. It does go on a bit too long - and Abby Morgan grates on my ever last nerve, but I do feel much sadder for Jen then I used to. While I'm glad she comes out better - it's unfortunate that the character keeps getting penalized for not being a pure girl like Joey.

Pacey becomes the romantic, lovable loser Pacey that we all learn to love. When I was younger - I really loved Pacey and Andie's relationship. I don't necessarily have any problems with it here - but I just have a hard time with Andie in general. And more so that the actress (I guess in an attempt to seem much younger than she is?) is incredibly irritating.

I'm a little conflicted about Andie's (and her mom's) mental health story. It's nice that they tried to present the story of mental health issues, but I think more research should have been done. It's ill-defined, and after this season, they either make jokes about it or kind of ignore anyone's mental health all together.

And then there's Jack... who was a huge deal at the time. I can't even explain how big of a deal it was to have a gay teen come out the way he did. I wish, though, and I kinda feel this way about Jack in general, that there had been better writing all around it. Granted - I'm sure they were limited by what they could do. But Jack being gay feels out of nowhere, and his coming out to his dad is so incredibly melodramatic.

There's also a lot of time spent on Jack and Joey - both as a couple, then Jack as Joey's friend and it... ultimately goes nowhere. Jack and Joey end up spending nearly zero time together in future seasons, and more so, Jack ends up feeling like a completely different character.

Season 3

IS STILL THE BEST SEASON

Creator Kevin Williamson left the show after Season 2, and it does show - the writing isn't as sharp or as verbose as it once was. but that's not necessarily the worst thing. One thing this season has for it that pretty much all the other ones lack -- is the fact that most of the characters are in a good place a majority of the time. There's still teen angst about everywhere, but there's a hopeful optimism in it that doesn't really show up anywhere else in the show.

That doesn't mean there aren't some not great things here. I mean - what the fuck was Eve? We'll never know, and it's okay.

Oh, and they completely throw Andie under the bus to break up the Andie/Pacey story line. It's a bit harsh, and despite me not being a huge fan of the character, feels like a bit much to prop up another story (even if I like that other story.)

Jen has a season long fling with a freshman named Henry. He's kinda creepy, and you can tell he was cast because he sorta looks like Leo Dicaprio's drugged out little brother. It's not great - but also not the worst thing the show does, or puts Jen through.

Jack meets another gay dude - and has the first m/m kiss on prime time tv. Go Jack.

However, all of Jack's romantic life stories are always so awkward and somewhat clumsily handled.

But the pillar of this season (and the show) is the slow burn enemies to love story that is Pacey and Joey. It's a thing of beauty. It's a lot of emotion and love and the most any two people on this show (outside of maybe Jen and her grandmother) actually care for each other. It will always be my favorite thing on the show and, in some ways, the only thing that's truly watchable because it's the only thing that feels (to me) fully satisfying to watch.

Dawson is the actual villain in the story - which is kind of weird. But the last fourth of the season is the love triangle stuff ramped up, and man, Dawson is played as the villain. Crazy crying memes aside - I think one of the problems going forward is that they never really come back from that.

Season 4

I think 2/3rds of this season is pretty solid work, and then it just takes a nosedive at the end.

The Pacey/Joey love story is great until its not. I kind of hate everything about how they handle Joey having sex for the first time (though it's better than the original plan of them breaking up because she was saving herself for Dawson - gross). It's clear that they were always pushing for a Dawson/Joey endgame, but it really underminded the fact that Pacey and Joey grew together in a very organic way, that they really loved and supported each other, and looked like they enjoyed each other in big and subtle ways.

The show spends so much time telling us that Dawson and Joey have this epic 'thing' of a relationship. But you don't see it that much, and I feel like you don't really buy it after Season 2 was pretty clear that they don't work with each other. So the fact that the season ends with them making out again is just... bleh.

Meanwhile... Dawson has a crisis of faith about filmmaking, and it's not that bad of a story. Nor is the story about him meeting an old filmmaker or dating Pacey's sister (whom we never see after this season again). In fact - this might be the most tolerable he is throughout the whole show.

Jen goes on a mini spiral after Andie leaves the show, but then gets therapy, and it's nice.

Jack... dives into gay culture and gets a boyfriend.

I noticed two things around this time. 1. there's always some asshole douchebag that we have to endure every season. 2. no one's relationship is allowed to last longer than a year. I mean, I get its a teen drama - but still, it's like everyone on the show is incapable of having a functioning relationship. Even the adults! Oy.

Season 5

Back in Season 3, the very ending had Pacey and Joey sailing off to the sunset. Up until that time, everyone lived in the present. After that, as much as they tried to move on and forward in Season 4, the rest of the series is plagued with living in the past. Season 5 (and 6) are tedious. Because the show has no direction. They aren't sure what to do with the characters, and when they're not trapsing off in some terrible individual stories, they're forced to relive the same arguments they've been having since the early seasons. Which makes it feel incredibly stale.

The beginning of the season isn't /that/ bad, but it is pretty boring. But the second half descends into mindless dribble as the writing seems to struggle with moving the characters in any kind of interesting direction. The other issue is that you can tell that there's probably network involvement in places, that the writers just don't know what to do, and that the actors seem apathetic to everything they're doing. There's no real emotion in anything that happens in season 5, and the show is spinning its wheels at its best.

This is where the show seems to be stuck on Dawson and Joey but never wants to do anything about it. Like Ross and Rachel from Friends - they're trotted out at the beginning and the ends of seasons, and for a few episodes during sweeps week to ramble on the same lines they've said before to each other, but nothing ever progresses cause the show doesn't want them to progress. Because if it did... ?? I don't know why they were afraid to actually go there but they refused to actual let Dawson and Joey fully grow as people by letting go of their idealized versions of each other.

They kind of forget that Pacey and Joey were a thing at one time (which I can go on a for a long time about) but at least the two of them aren't subjected to be the tortured star cross lovers that Dawson and Joey are meant to be. And at least when Pacey and Joey have a rare scene together - there's a comfortableness there that's just lacking in any other of Joey's pairings.

Jen and Dawson try again for around two - which... I don't think is a bad thing? Dawson finally loses his virginity (which is not made a big deal at all) but it's like the show doesn't really care all that much about the couple, and there's no emotion for when they end things. It's so weird.

Oh - and Dawson's dad dies at the beginning of the season. Which is played out a bit, but you can feel how the full purpose of killing of a major character on the show is done so that Dawson can have a reason to be back from LA. It just feels awkward, and starts the season off with a dark cloud over it.

Chad Michael Murray is around for the entire season - which almost feels like a network mandate because he's a terrible person and yet he still ends up dating both Joey and Jen. I can see why this dude is going to star in his own teen show some day. But eesh, he's the worst.

Joey gets a roommate named Audrey. I used to hate Audrey. I don't hate her as much - Busy Phillips is fine. Audrey dates Pacey, which is fine, but not nearly as satisfying as either Joey or Andie.

Oh, and speaking of Pacey - he spends the entire season working as a chef and living on a boat. And this is the better of his post-high school storylines.

Oh, and Jack joins a frat and is the most annoyingly douchebag guy on the show. I hate it.

Oh, oh, and Joey tries to date her teacher for a hot second. Because apparently they just had to do that story line again...

Season 6

Season 6 is a step up from Season 5, but not by much. It helps that the second half, when they know they're coming to an end, they're able to wrap up in a decent way. But... one of the issues I have with these last two seasons is that not only do we waste a lot of time on story lines that ultimately don't let the characters grow nothing feels satisfying. The characters don't act like emotional beings. Things happen to them and then... nothing. No one really reacts and the characters stay put in the same spot.

Joey and Dawson finally sleep together! (Aacckk - If I start talking about women and sex on this show my ranting will not stop) And then nothing happens and it's terrible. :P

Dawson spends most of his time away from the main cast shooting a movie. The director he's working for is kind of hilarious. But his relationship with one of the actresses is kind of bland and boring.

Joey spends a majority of the season trying to date Luke Perry wannabe Eddie and babysitting her teacher's daughter (which is at least better than Joey almost hooking up with her prof so...) But Eddie. god. I just can't with the dude.

We get the return of Joey and Pacey for a hot second! It's a shame they want the girl picks herself ending for it to last, but they at least get some nice moments.

I'm not against Joey picking herself, and most of the time I appreciate the narrative, but my god after everything that's happened on the show it almost feels disingenuous to the fans not to have her end up with someone (which is why the finale happened the way it did)

Jen gets to date the dude from supernatural, while Jack tries to date a teacher. My god why? Why are they trying this again?? Thank god it doesn't last, and Jack gets a bf for a little while? At least he's not as much of a douche this season.

Jack and Pacey move in with a British woman named Emma. There's a spark of entertainment with that.

And Pacey becomes a stock broker -- in a story line that's ripped right out of Wolf of Wall Street. And another time where I'm just like... why? Why is this happening on my screen. Oy.

Series Finale:

The last few episodes of Season 6 kind of function as a wrap up of Season 6 and the college years -- and it's kind of a nice homage the beginning of the show, and the most the show has been interesting in ages.

The series finale jumps ahead five years, and while I really do like it -- I almost wish we had more time to really wrap up these characters, because the jump kind of makes it a clean slate. Ah well.

The finale does two nice things that I think feels missing from the previous two seasons -- the fact that the show takes place in Capeside, and lets the characters all interact with each other.

Spoiler alert - Jen dies. Now, okay, it is frustrating on a level that the 'bad girl' always gets punished. And I hear that, and agree. But at the same time - this was Michelle Williams's request. And I think, despite the reason for her death is a little silly, they did really well with the actual execution of it - especially her last moments when Gran sees her pass.

I would have liked to see Jen as a mother, though. I think it would have fit her character really nicely, though.

Jen is very soft and sweet here at the end, and it's unfortunate that the show never really lets her be happy, because she is a good character. It always feels like wasted potential when it comes to Jen.

Jack, meanwhile, is now teaching back in Capeside - which is great! And in a relationship with Pacey's brother Doug - which is... okay. It's fine. But I feel like you can tell the two actors feel awkward about having to play this gay romance and it somewhat shows.

Joey's an editor in NYC and Pacey's a chef in Capeside, and the two of them end up together -- which... just makes more sense. It does. Whatever.

And Dawson is working on the TV show of his life. There are a few clunky moments -- where people tell him just because he's a writer he gets to rewrite his life his own way (eesh) and a weird dream sequence where he and Joey get married (it's so weird) but ultimately - I'm happy the trio end up happy and at peace with each other. And finally able to move forward with their lives.

And... that's it. I have a lot more thoughts, but I think I'm tapped out for tonight. It's been an interesting experience, but I doubt I'll be angling for a rewatch any time soon.

Season 3, however, will forever remain one of my favorite love stories of all time.

[sukunahz]

i.  been away .

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: what would you do? / a03

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your old friend, eren yeager had been gone for almost an entire year and you and your friends have all but moved on with life. in fact you have barely given him a second thought -- but when he returns, he's not the same passionate frat-boy you once knew; he's a stranger now.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.6k words

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, oral, fingering, eren is kinda’ mean, mentions of alcohol, intoxication and drugs. based on the absolute banger been away by brent faiyaz. i posted this on a03 two months ago and i swear every week my writing changes and when i look back i’m ashamed. i swear the chapters get better 😩

You were barely paying attention to the conversation around you, you were idly fiddling with your completely empty cup since Sasha and Connie had been arguing about the same thing for the past 20 minutes. You knew it was because they had both been tiptoeing around something; they were keeping something from you. What did you expect from the two people closest to you, but you weren't a sensitive, little baby bird? In fact, you had forced yourself to not shed tears over a night that was so insignificant that there was no point for these two to continue on with this desperate charade. “He’s back. Isn’t he?” You stated bluntly, your words were viciously slicing at their conversation. They both remained silent; their clear discomfort was painted vividly onto their expressions as they exchanged worried glances between each other. Eren had been gone for so long that he had faded from you and your friends’ lives completely, he was so easily displaced from your thoughts in such a short amount of time and you had felt the least bit of guilt for it. Time marches on, not even Eren would be able to bend time to his will. Your friends had adjusted to life without their friend, but you could sense the discomfort in celebrating Connie’s birthday in his absence.

“Apparently.” Sasha replied, her gaze darted towards the door as if his return was some impending doom, like a devastating natural disaster that would upset the balance of everything. You wanted to be confused as to why they were hiding this from you, but you knew full well that with the way he disappeared – you would be counting down the days till he returned. Sasha and Connie knew that you were now a minefield and one misstep by anyone would illicit a violently ruinous reaction from you.

“He’s not the same.” Connie added, interrupting your train of thought. “You know how he left… he's -- he's not the same guy.” There was a silence after that, you had lost the energy to keep fighting them about Eren. You could see the disillusion drain into Connie’s face, you weren’t the only one who Eren left, in fact – it was everyone in this room that he had left behind. Those two were inseparable a year ago and now it seemed like Connie could barely string together a sincere sentence about Eren. You couldn’t keep recounting your history with them, a history that was so minuscule that you had no right to expect anything from him -- right? You forced the two to return to their idle conversations, doing anything to drag the conversation away from someone that you had tried so hard to put behind you. There was load music droning through the common area accompanied by smoke from Jean’s vape that was dancing wistfully near the window.

You heard a pause in the atmosphere in the room, there was a break in the cluttered chatter of the house. There he was, speak of the devil -- Eren had finally returned after an entire year, surrounded by a group of people who carried the same troubled and unsettling demeanour as him. You had to force every muscle in your body not to respond to him, since all he did was glance languidly your way before he joined a group of people in the other corner of the room. You felt nimble fingers press a comforting touch upon your thighs as she was still engrossed in her conversation with Connie. “Don’t.” Sasha whispered to you; her gaze was still straight ahead. You scoffed at her warning; she knew you all too well, just how easily you were able to get tangled into Eren’s web.

“I won’t.”

You weren’t over Eren because there was nothing to get over, you had no feelings for him, and not a single thing would change just how much of a brazen jackass he was. The timing of your pep-talk with yourself couldn’t have been better since Eren and his friends found themselves occupying the vacant furniture around Connie, Sasha and yourself. It had been a while since you had even been able to soak in his presence, but you could tell there was a different air to him, he seemed indifferent now, his lids drooping low and he barely paid any attention to the conversations around him. You could hear Armin’s attempts to draw Eren out from his shell, his repeated calls to invite him to participate in the conversations but all Eren could do is brush him off or reply with a simple mumble. How did he manage to be so magnetic; he was surrounded by friends and yet he was completely withdrawn and isolated?

“Hey—” Zeke called out to you, his words were already slurring, and the smell of beer was swimming around the air around him. He was just as rugged as his younger brother and you could tell that he was a part of Eren’s recent downward spiral. Despite bearing the same haunted resemblance as his younger brother, Zeke’s blonde hair is tidy and taken care of in contrast to his unruly facial hair. You could tell that Zeke bears no regard for taming his beard or his alcohol intake, you could also tell that just like Eren, he probably didn't care about much at this point. Lost in your observations, you realised you must have been staring too long as Zeke’s gaze met your own. “You know he almost used up his one phone call at the station on you!” He wrapped his arm drunkenly around Eren’s shoulder. Station? You thought to yourself, did that idiot get himself arrested? You glanced quickly towards Eren and you could see the shame and irritation across his demeanour. He had barely even said a word since he arrived, yet he already looked drained and exhausted.  

“Why would he waste a call on me?” You muttered with a roll of your eyes. Your short temper was also about to blow. Why does everyone connect you two together, you were friends before he left and nothing more? No amount of history between you two would change anything, not even one alcohol-fuelled mistake. Eren didn’t owe you anything and he didn’t fail to hammer that notion into you when he left.  

“Eren, you might wanna’ take care of your wasted brother before he embarrasses you anymore.” Sasha jested with a tilt of her head, a futile attempt to diffuse the situation. With that, you decide that it would actually be you who embarrassed themselves if you stayed any longer.

“I’m gunna’ get a drink.” You whispered to Sasha before forcing a reassuring smile across your features in order to ensure that she doesn’t follow you. You weren’t in the mood to talk about Eren or whatever the fuck he’s been up to in his long absence. A better person would be concerned for him but all you could do was feel irritation, you heeded Sasha’s warning, you’ve been living your life – dealing with your own baggage and Eren doesn’t get to just return out of nowhere and take the reins of your life again. You pushed yourself onto your feet towards a familiar friend in the hallway.

“Not joining the welcome wagon?” You teased; a conceited sneer etched upon your features as you can see the displeased expression on your friend. You were provoking the obvious bad blood between the two, it was rather petty of you to seek him out for the sole reason of loathing Eren together, but who better to understand than Jean

“My bad, I better hop in the line and give that asshole a proper welcome!” Jean quipped back, his tone was overly dramatic and topped off with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “I’m actually getting out of here; Connie’s got some weird black pepper flavoured vape that I’ve been dared to try – wanna’ come?”

“Yeah – I’ll join you in a sec’, let my grab my jumper first.” You replied, accepting any invitation that would lead you as far away from the impending disaster that lurks outside the hallways. As Jean made his way downstairs, you entered your room before the comfortable silence was interrupted by an all too familiar voice. The voice was deep and steady, but you noticed it lost its notable flare, the usual effervescence had lifted from him, all that remained was something dark and troubled. You couldn’t recognise who the man standing before you was. He had stray, brunette locks falling on his forehead while the rest of his hair was hastily tied into a bun. His broad physique was framed by an almost entirely black wardrobe with the exception of his large gold key necklace that sat perfectly upon his chest.

“What’s wrong with you?” He dimly asked, he crossed his arms as he pressed his weight against the wall. He had an air of disappointment surrounding him, as if he couldn’t believe that you wouldn’t want to be in his presence, he couldn't believe that you didn't press further on the comment that Zeke made earlier.

“What’s wrong with me?” You challenged him, was he so self-entitled that he thought he could guilt you from walking away from a conversation that you did not want to be a part of. You didn’t want to know what changed Eren and you didn’t care what it was that pulled him away.

“Wanna’ tell me why you’re so pissed?” His expression, or lack of expression didn't change. As your temper rose, Eren’s voice and demeanour stayed the same. Despite his words showing a genuine interest, his voice and mannerisms displayed nothing but a disregard for absolutely anything going on around him. This wasn’t the Eren that you knew, the man that you had known had life and zest spilling from his expressive eyes, he cared about the smallest things around him despite being just as haunted as you were. In fact, it was Eren who was able to keep you from falling into a dangerous spiral, but it looks like he wasn’t able to save himself.  

“Fuck off, Eren. Maybe if you could take a hint, you’d realise that you’re the one pissing me off.” The words came carelessly fumbling out from your mouth -- at this point you knew you were overreacting; you could tell he had gone through something, but he owed you much more than he was giving you and you relished the thought of humbling him.

Eren didn't respond to your rant, instead, he drew in a long, sharp breath of air before he stepped towards you. Your chest rose and fell, almost out of breath from your last sentence as you stumbled backwards from his advances, your back crashing against the wall behind you. His arm extended to reach out for the wall behind you as his face creeps in closer towards you. “You and your short temper.” He mumbled to you while you soak in his scent. At least there was something familiar about him, this same scent that you were once tangled in. It’s embarrassing just how easily he’s able to bend you to his will. Just like that you were under his spell again, itching to give him a proper welcome back even though you know he doesn't deserve it. But he was so close and tempting, covered with a new and mysterious aura, maybe it was your distaste and resentment for him that fuelled your next move.

Your hands tugged at the ends of his shirt to pull him closer to you as you connected your lips with his. It was a long and messy kiss when he slipped his tongue inside yours. Eren's movements were hungry, as if he had been starving for days and this was his first taste of food. You could see his features were radiating with passion, the colour from his eyes seeping back in. His movements were so robust compared with the apathetic display he had put on earlier. Just for a second, you could see the person you once knew before. Your arms travelled from the bottom of his shirt to wrap around his neck and Eren slips his arms around your upper thighs, inviting you to wrap your legs around his waist. He didn't break his lips away from you but instead he sends a wet trail of reckless kisses along your neck before he lowers you onto the desk nearby, your legs still wrapped around his body. You were ashamed that you wanted more, didn’t you promise yourself that you wouldn’t let him come back and take over your life again, you put him in the past the second he chose to walk away.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You mumbled; Sasha’s prior warning seemed to have fallen upon deaf ears. There was a room outside full of your friends and one stray noise could end it all for the both of you. Despite your weak attempts to convince yourself that you could walk away from this encounter, your body seemed to have a mind of its own and was telling him the exact opposite. Eren’s lips trailed lower and lower from your neck, to your chest and falling all the way to your thighs. Almost every inch of your skin was covered in his wet trails. Your neck and back arched as soft moans spilled from your unruly lips.

“Tell me to stop then.” He breathes, you peered down on him as his hands rest on your thighs while he was on his knees. You remained silent; however, your hands travel to his hair as an invitation for him to continue on. Eren inches closer and closer towards your centre, his fingers pushing the thin fabric guarding your core to the side. His tongue draws intricate and wet lines across your slit as you emit a loud moan at the sudden sensation. You could feel a forceful wave of euphoria rush through your spine while he keeps a tight hold on your thighs to stop you from squirming. He was assiduous with his ministrations and he didn't remove his tongue when he introduced his fingers to your wet centre, teasing your entrance to get a reaction out of you. You inhaled sharply at the newly added sensation, his tongue and fingers massaging your clit effortlessly.

“Ere—”

“Just shut up…” Eren interrupted, as he pushed two of his fingers into you, dangerously close to being knuckle deep inside you. As if your calls of his name were distracting him from his intricate work. His familiar cockiness has returned, the jovial frat-boy that you once knew was zealously tasting you. His ministrations contained a heightened bravado now and you were finally starting to recognise who the man before you was.

“You’re tighter than I remember.” He observed, his fingers were frozen inside you as his piercing eyes were connected to yours, you knew that he was about to have you wrapped around his finger again.

“Maybe I’m just not as turned on as you think I am?” You challenged, forcing yourself not to bite down on your lip in front of him. With your remark, he quickly pulled his index and middle finger out of your pussy. The movement was so abrupt, and it left you craving all the more from him, just when he was pushing you to arrive to your peak, you came crumbling back down. A punishment for your quip at his sexual prowess.

“Oh really? Why don’t I show you just how wet you are then?” The devilish smirk spread across his lips was almost maniacal, a gesture of his sudden surge of confidence. He wrapped his already wet fingers around your own and lead them towards your now notably, wet pussy. Your fingers lingered there, unsure of what to do as you refused to make eye contact with Eren.

“See for yourself, since I apparently am not up to the task.” You still stalled for a moment, heat racing towards your cheeks, despite you baring your entire body to him, were you so shameless that you would pleasure yourself right in front of him?

“Go on — touch yourself.” This time, Eren’s tone was posed as a dominant command than it was a request. Just when you had thought you had the upper hand; it took just one minute for him to have you at his beck and call again. You hesitantly began to rub around your slit, shame soaked into your thoughts as you realised that you are just as wet as Eren stated.

Quiet moans fell from your lips as Eren smugly watched you have a taste of your own medicine, it was bittersweet since despite the pleasure you were giving to yourself, all you were doing was proving Eren right. Once your high started increasing, he softly wrapped his fingers around yours to stop you from what you were doing before he rammed two fingers inside you abruptly, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from you. His other hand was still wrapped around yours, pinning your arm to the desk to stop you from squirming. “Jealous, are we?” You provoked him; your eyebrow raised to match your goading sentiment.

His pace begun slow as he pulled in and out of you in long and detailed movements, he knew exactly how to build you back up as you responded to his movements with moans and your back arched up against the wall, your arms still pinned down by his free hand. “God, stop playing around.” You called out in frustration, he was playing with you and you knew that he was keeping you just below your boiling point.

“I thought you weren’t turned on?” He questioned; his fingers were moving just slow enough within you. You sat there silent, breaking your eye contact with him and refusing to fuel his ego anymore. However, Eren can see the way your body responds to him. “You want it that badly? Then beg for it.” He removed his fingers from you hastily as he rose from his kneeling position, so his face and body were hovering over you. He was just high enough that the tip of the key hanging off his change was resting comfortably on your chest. Your fingers reached out for the collars on his shirt as you carelessly pulled him even closer to you, your lips angled towards his ear.

“I’m begging you… Don’t you want a taste of me?” You successfully coaxed Eren into returning to your core, however, it was not his fingers that revisited you but his tongue. Your game of cat and mouse continued on as his tongue explored every single crevice of your pussy, his hands were keeping your thighs spread apart and pinned to the desk. Your back arched higher and higher as you quickly approached your climax, your fingers were tangling themselves into Eren’s hair and your chest rising and falling as you were getting ready to cum. Eren’s tongue was hitting all the right spots, it was as if he could read your body like the back of his hand, someone with barely any experience with your body could still bend and twist it to his will. Your body finally released the cluster of sexual tension that Eren had so diligently built up with within you. As you fell back against the desk, Eren rose from his position again, standing up this time as the pad of his thumb narcissistically grazed the bottom of his lip, cleaning up the excess remains of your orgasm.

“You’re right, I did want a taste.” He buttoned the bottom of his shirt back up and ran his hand smoothly through his hair, a futile attempt at cleaning himself up. You knew he was about to walk out, and you should have known better than to try to stop him, you loathed him at that moment and yet your body and perhaps even your heart was yearning for him.

“Eren.” You sat up quickly and reached out for his arm. He stopped in his tracks, not a word left his lips just his wide, emerald gaze staring at yours. “I think you should fuck me—” Before you’re able to provide any explanation his lips had crashed onto yours, yet he remained standing, his arms were cupping your upper neck as you are pulled up to meet his height. You responded instantly; your arms wrapped around his torso as your tongue eagerly crashed against his own.

His lips met your neck, and you knew he was about to plant a blue and purple reminder of this very moment. Despite Eren’s greedy reaction to your kiss, you could sense his hesitation in his movements, and you’ve experienced this before, he’s going to walk away – again. “I can’t…” He whispered into the crook of your neck, halting for a moment before he pressed one final kiss above your now growing bruise before he straightened himself up and walked out of the door. He didn’t even give you one final glance before leaving you alone on your desk and once again you could see all the colour drain from him as he exits. He was about to return to the same brooding and apathetic person he had become. It was embarrassing that you thought one hate-infused tryst in your room would change that, you were never able to change Eren.

You had barely adjusted to the change in pace, one second ago he was tasting every inch of you and the next he was leaving you dazed and confused on your desk. How quickly the loneliness crept into you, why did you need him around you so badly? Hadn’t you just sworn to yourself that you would resist him, you wouldn’t make the same mistakes that you did before? You forced yourself not to delve into the dark mystery that was Eren’s year away, but you know he wasn’t relaxing and getting back in touch with his brother, he had lost himself, getting himself arrested and God knows what else – but for some reason he’s back now?