#not a deliberate piece of characterization

[an-android-in-a-tutu]

I will say visavis Dean and communicating about his feelings like. If you are viewing the show through a destiel lens you will be naturally inclined to view Dean as someone who keeps his feelings bottled up because there is a massive unspoken Thing between him and Cas. And I think that puts a thumb on the scale, like that's not the only reason why that could go unacknowledged it's just the more common fanon interpretation right now.

But at the same time I think the show clearly wants us to think about Dean as someone who fails to talk about his emotions, it's just that like. It's a tv show, and this trait is being introduced to be mined for drama. When Dean is shown refusing to confront or talk about his emotions, by the end of the episode or at most by the end of a two or three episode mini arc he's gonna break down and talk about his emotions. Bc that's how we get resolution as an audience, but like the build up to that resolution is Dean displaying reticence that we are meant to understand as characteristic for him. Also like. Obviously we always see the emotional resolution bc it happens on screen but the characters allude to the days and weeks between episodes where things are Not Talked About and previous attempts to Talk About Things that were rebuffed. The fact that the show focuses on all the moments og high drama where someone is pushed past their limit and all their emotions come spilling out is like, the nature of television not an indication that these characters are predisposed to emotional honesty.

All that said I dont think Dean is significantly worse about this than any other character. Cas will say as few words as he can get away with and he and Jack both hide the fact that they are dying as a hobby. Sam asks everyone else to talk about their emotions please so he can pretend he is not having any. This is a guys talking about their feelings show, in order for that to be actually interesting they have to be bad at it and fight tooth and nail not to and then be forced to be vulnerable anyway. Thats drama baby

[cumironi]

A FLEXIBLE BIMBO’S GUIDE TO FINANCIAL RUIN, NAMASTEEE

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. thousand for pilates and your expensive juice while your boyfriend is working his ass off. is it acceptable? obviously not that’s why they’ll help you streeeeech.

warning(s). non-sorcerer, modern AU, reader is a spoiled college brat, age gap relationship (31yo man / 23yo reader), possessive behavior, manhandling, leg-on-shoulder sex position, power play, rough sex, standing sex, impact play (spanking), overstimulation, internal ejaculation / cum leaking, dirty talk, mild degradation, praise kink, pussy drunk characterization, full nelson position, handpinning, wall fucking, orgasm denial, delayed climax, size kink, wet and messy sex, nipple play (biting, sucking), overstretched pu$$y, cumplay, emotionally repressed men snapping sexually, physical restraint (arm pinning, leg holding), reader being folded like a pilates reformer machine, window fucking, public exposure risk (urban apartment), swearing / explicit language, casual misogyny with affection, mental breakdown via dick, all characters are consenting adults.

GOJO SATORU

you don’t even hear the front door slam. too busy lounging on the couch in his hoodie—oversized and smelling like his stupid expensive cologne, with your phone balanced against your knee, legs thrown up like a princess in exile. a cucumber mint smoothie sweating beside you. freshly blended. still cold. probably fourteen dollars.

you hear his footsteps instead. that deliberate, heavy stride of a man who’s either bringing you dinner or about to fuck up your entire life for sport.

you don’t look up.

but you feel it.

that vibration of a presence when gojo satoru walks into the room pissed and amused in equal measure. like he’s caught you stealing gold bars again. like he’s gonna make you beg for the next one. he tosses something. paper. it hits you in the chest and flutters down.

you blink.

“…did you just throw a receipt at me?”

his sunglasses are off. he never wears them at home unless he’s about to deliver bad news in a dramatic monologue. “that’s a pilates receipt,” he says. “for fifty-six thousand yen.” a beat. “for one month.”

you lift your eyes lazily. “that’s the introductory rate.”

his hands come to his hips. god. those fucking hips. “and what exactly are they teaching you in this luxury cult that justifies you spending my hard-earned salary on getting tied to a piece of wood and shoved around like a meat puzzle?”

you lick smoothie off your straw.

“they work my core. build length. alignment. it’s a holistic approach to mobility and flexibility.” he stares at you in silence for a full ten seconds. his nostrils flare. “…you think you’re flexible?” he says at last. you blink slowly. you can feel the grin starting before it curls into your mouth.

“i’ve seen what you do to me,” you say sweetly. “so yes. i think i’m very flexible. you’re lucky i don’t invoice you.”

a second passes. a long one.

then—he’s moving.

fast.

you let out a delighted yelp as he grabs you off the couch, your smoothie flying somewhere behind you like a casualty of war. your legs kick, flail, but his grip is iron. the hoodie rides up to your waist as he tosses you over his shoulder.

“satoru—satoru—”

“shut up,” he says, smacking your ass, “and show me how much i’m paying for.”

the first time he folds you in half, it’s on the kitchen counter.

his hand’s between your shoulders, pressing you flat to the cold marble. your knees are up beside your ears. your panties are gone. his sweats are halfway down his thighs. and his cock—god, his cock—is already inside you, thick and veiny and curved just enough to punch something inside you you’ve never had anyone reach before.

he’s not even moving. just holding you there. impaled.

your calves tremble. your toes curl.

“not bad,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers along your inner thigh. “but these pilates people… do they fold you like this, baby? get your knees touching your fucking shoulders like this?” you try to breathe but there’s no air. just the stretch. the deepness. the weight of him inside you, pulsing.

you nod, eyes fluttering.

“liar,” he breathes, and slams into you.

your scream echoes off tile. his thrusts are punishing. slow. like he’s testing your range of motion. pulling out almost entirely and then pushing back in with a controlled, maddening precision that leaves you shaking.

“look at you. soaking all over my counter. and you have the audacity to use my card for yoga class when you’ve got me right here? i should break your fucking spine.” you whine. moan. shudder. he’s so deep—you feel like you’re going to come just from the position. from how your body is folded under him, stretched wide, vulnerable.

he grabs your ankle. lifts it higher. you nearly scream again.

“god, look at this. baby. you’re literally bent in half. you wanna waste my money? make it worth it.”

round two is on the floor.

your legs are straddling his shoulders. your arms are pinned under his knees. and your entire torso is rolled up like he’s about to pile-drive you through the floorboards. “this one’s called happy baby,” he murmurs, licking your clit slow and messy. “except i don’t think there’s anything holy about what i’m doing to you right now.”

you can’t speak.

your thighs are shaking. your pussy’s swollen, wet, overstimulated from the last orgasm and being edged through two more. he keeps licking. slow and relentless. circling that tender spot just enough to make your stomach curl and twist, like you’re being stretched from the inside out.

“fuck,” he whispers. “your little hole’s fluttering. you gonna come again? just from my tongue?” you try to wiggle, but he tightens his grip. makes a noise against your clit that vibrates through your spine.

you break. completely. shuddering against his mouth, gushing against his chin as you come again, full-body, screaming his name. he groans, hips grinding into the floor, hungry for it. like he gets off just from wrecking you.

by the time he’s finally inside you again, this time from behind, kneeling over you with your arms pulled back into a stretch that arches your chest off the bed—he’s panting.

you’re soaked.

his cock slides in easy. and he just holds you there. hips flush. dick fully buried. sweat dripping down his chest onto your back. “jesus christ,” he groans. “this pussy—this fucking pussy—baby, i think you broke me.”

you make a sound. a weak, ruined whimper.

he chuckles.

softly.

leans down. kisses your shoulder. cheek. presses his chest to your back and rocks into you with slow, loving strokes, fucking you now like he means it. “you win,” he whispers against your ear. “fuck the pilates. i’ll stretch you every morning.”

a pause.

“but i’m charging you for the smoothies now.”

GETO SUGURU

it starts in the kitchen.

you’re wearing that outfit. leggings that cling to your ass like a second skin, high waistband hugging the curve of your hips. cropped tank top, no bra, just the hint of nipple pressing against the fabric like a test of his restraint. hair twisted up messily, neck exposed.

you’re blending something. bright green and expensive-smelling.

he walks in from work and drops his keys with a low clink, and for a moment, it’s quiet.

then, “you’ve been at that place again.”

your spine straightens.

“what place?” you don’t even turn around. voice all air and innocence, like you’ve already decided you’re going to lie through your teeth. “don’t fucking play with me,” he says, tone level, low, a blade unsheathed. “i saw the charge. that pilates studio. twenty-four thousand yen. again.”

you sip. “they added advanced core conditioning.”

“did they add a private fucking chef too? you spent more on smoothies this month than on textbooks.” you don’t flinch. just smirk into the glass. “i’m investing in my longevity.”

and that’s it.

the silence that follows is deep and weighted and final.

because he doesn’t argue when he’s past the point of talking. he acts. the next thing you feel are his hands on your waist, dragging you away from the counter with no warning, smoothie glass thunking to the floor, half-spilled. he spins you, lifts you—lifts you—and slams your back into the cool surface behind. you yelp, arms catching the edge behind you as he shoves his thigh between your legs and presses. hard.

“you want flexibility?” he growls, mouth hot on your jaw. “mobility? deep core engagement?”

his hands grip your thighs and spread them wide, pushing them up and open until you’re practically doing a split across the marble. the stretch burns—but it’s not enough to distract from the thick press of his thigh grinding up against your pussy through the leggings, damp already. “i’ll give you a fucking full-body workout.”

you moan, but it’s cut off when he grabs your jaw—tight—and forces your face toward him. “you think this ass is yours to flaunt on some reformer bed? think they stretch you like i do?” he’s furious. but there’s something underneath it. darker. hotter.

you’re being owned. corrected. and you love it.

“no one touches me,” you gasp.

he snorts. low and sharp. “except when you beg for it.”

he strips you bare in the living room.

throws your top to the floor. tears the leggings down your legs like they offended him. you squirm, bare now, flushed from neck to thigh. he doesn’t even bother undressing fully—just shoves his slacks and boxers down enough to free his cock, hard and thick and already leaking.

“get on the floor,” he says, voice gravel.

you obey.

he grabs your ankle and drags you to him, and it’s not gentle. your skin scrapes on the carpet. your breath hitches. but you’re soaked. he folds your knees to your chest, pushes both legs back until you’re open and exposed and trembling. “you think this position is in your class?” he growls, staring down at your cunt, glistening under the light. “you think they stretch you like this?”

you’re so open you can’t breathe. your thighs tremble from the pressure. your cunt pulses with need.

and then—

he pushes in.

slow at first. just enough to stretch your entrance wide. then he rams forward with no mercy, burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust that punches a sound out of your throat you’ve never made before.

your eyes roll back. your hands claw at the carpet. you’re full, painfully, impossibly full. he’s so deep it aches. “feel that?” he hisses through his teeth, dragging his cock out slow, letting your walls grip every ridge of him. “this is the only stretch that matters.”

he fucks you like a hammer. like he’s working out every ounce of frustration with the way your body folds around him. he bends your legs back until your knees press into your chest and your ass lifts off the ground. your pussy squelches, loud, raw, soaking. the slap of skin on skin echoes in the room.

he leans down, mouth to your ear.

“they stretch your pussy this deep?” he hisses.

“n—no,” you choke.

he grabs your throat—firm, not choking. just holding.

“say it again.”

“no one—no one does but you.”

he kisses you then—rough and filthy, tongue sliding into your mouth like it owns you. he doesn’t stop fucking you even as your moans catch in your throat. he wants it there. to feel it. to taste it. to make it real.

he flips you over onto your stomach without pulling out.

you gasp as your face hits the carpet, and then he’s grinding into you from behind, deeper now, weight heavy over your back, one hand fisted in your hair.

you sob into the floor.

“stay right there,” he growls. “arch your fucking back—good. that’s it. hold it.” he pistons into you from behind, his hand smacking your ass hard, again, again, until it burns. “legs shaking already?” he pants. “you’re such a spoiled little brat. wanna run your mouth, waste my money, act like your pussy isn’t mine.”

he pulls your head back by your hair and bites your neck—hard.

“say it.”

“it’s yours—fuck, suguru—i swear—”

he fucks you even harder.

and when you finally come—shaking, convulsing, sobbing into the carpet with your pussy gripping him like it’ll never let go—he groans, low and guttural, and spills inside you in thick, hot waves. he doesn’t pull out. he stays there. buried. deep. panting.

hours later—your face still mashed against the floor, limbs trembling, thighs bruised—he finally slides out. you feel the slow drip of his cum down your thigh. then his fingers. he pushes it back in with two of them. slow. possessive.

“no more pilates,” he murmurs, brushing sweat-slick hair off your temple. “you want to stretch, baby, you come to me.”

you blink up at him, broken and beaming.

“…can i still get the smoothies?”

he laughs once, low and sharp.

then grabs your ankle again.

“bend over the couch. you’re not done.”

NANAMI KENTO

you should’ve known something was wrong when he texted you at 4:41 p.m.

“i’ll be home by five. don’t go anywhere.”

no emoji. no dot dot dot. just those words. clean and dry like a corporate bullet.

you thought he was bluffing. he doesn’t leave the office early for anything. he eats his lunch standing up and answers emails with a frown so deep it might be surgical. but he walks through the door at 4:58 p.m. briefcase down. tie still on. and he doesn't kiss you. he sets a folded piece of paper on the counter. a receipt. you don’t even need to look at it.

you know what it is.

“you spent sixty-five thousand yen,” he says without looking at you, sliding off his watch. “in one week.” you chew your lip, standing in the kitchen like a caught rabbit in leggings that cling to your ass, sports bra sticking to your chest. “they had a stretch reformer bootcamp this week,” you offer weakly.

his brow twitches.

“that’s what you call it?” he asks, walking toward you, loosening his tie. “bootcamp? to lie on your back while some barely-trained teenager straps you into resistance bands and calls it exercise?”

“they do more than that—”

“i can see what they do. your little videos. those slow leg lifts. the air-humping. the stretching. you think that justifies the bill you sent me?” he’s standing close now. close enough that his cologne—clean cedar, leather, citrus undercut with heat—wraps around you like a noose. you smirk, defiant even as your heartbeat stutters. “i’m flexible now,” you say, voice light. “isn’t that worth something?”

he exhales slowly. closes his eyes.

and when he opens them again—

“strip.”

he doesn't let you undress yourself. he does it for you.

rips the waistband of your leggings down with one brutal tug, dragging them past your knees, your thighs, baring you inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something expensive he owns.

he peels your bra up, off, tossing it behind you with a flick of his wrist.

then his hands are on your hips, firm and possessive. he turns you. pushes your back against the cold wall of the hallway. one palm finds your throat. not choking—just there. heavy. dominant.

“so,” he murmurs, voice low as his other hand slips between your legs. “how flexible?” your breath catches. you’re soaked already. your thighs part on instinct, the pulse of need between them aching and slick. he pushes two fingers in. slow. precise. your body clenches.

his voice is a near-growl.

“pathetic,” he mutters. “you’re dripping just from me undressing you. and you spend my money so some stranger can put your legs in the air?” you moan. try to speak. he curls his fingers inside you just enough to make you gasp, then pulls them out and shoves them into your mouth.

“taste it.”

you suck, eyes fluttering.

he grins, slow and mean.

“we’re doing this my way tonight.”

you don’t even understand what’s happening until you’re on the bed, face down, arms yanked back—hard—and your body is suddenly off the mattress. lifted. bent.

“nanami—?”

his hands are under your knees. your arms are over his, bent back. your entire body is suspended in the air, your back arched, your thighs spread wide. his chest is to your back. and you’re held in place by the cage of his arms and the brutal grip of his thighs against yours.

he growls into your neck, “you want flexibility? i’ll show you full extension.”

then he pushes into you.

you scream.

he’s thick. hard. ruthless. your pussy stretches around him so tight you think you might tear. he buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust, cock carving into you like he’s claiming space. you can’t even move. your legs are pinned wide. your arms pulled back. your back arched so deeply that your chest is jutting forward, helpless and trembling.

and he starts to fuck you.

deep. measured. powerful.

his hips slam into your ass with every thrust, every brutal grind of cock against your swollen, aching cunt. your body bounces in his grip, caught, dangling, used. “this what they teach you?” he hisses into your ear. “this angle? this depth? you feel that, baby?”

you sob. nod. can’t speak.

“say it.”

you struggle, mouth open, words choked out with every thrust.

“they—don’t—fuck—me—like—you—do—”

he groans, fucking harder.

“they better not.”

he adjusts his grip, pulling your knees higher. deeper angle. you choke on a scream as he hits something so deep your vision goes white. his mouth is on your shoulder now, teeth dragging over skin, lips slick with sweat and spit and need. he doesn’t stop. not when your pussy spasms around him, clenching like a fist. not when your orgasm crashes into you like a scream trapped inside bone.

he fucks you through it. never slowing. never relenting.

“you want a stretch? i’ll keep you bent like this until your muscles seize.” he groans. pants. and then—he comes. deep inside you. cock pulsing. his hands locked on your body like a cage. he holds you there, suspended, filled.

like a lesson.

after, he lowers you onto the bed like something delicate. ruined. you’re trembling. twitching. your thighs won’t close. his cum leaks out of you in slow, thick drips. his hand brushes your hair back. “next time you want to stretch,” he murmurs, voice rough and dark, “you ask me.”

you nod.

he leans down. kisses your temple. “and if i see one more charge from that place—” his hand slips back between your thighs. “—i’ll fuck you in the lobby.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

the door slams behind him with enough force to shake the floorboards.

you’re mid-pose. stretched out over a yoga ball in front of the TV, leggings practically painted onto your ass, some workout influencer with a honeyed voice instructing you to breathe through the sacral engagement.

you turn your head, a smirk curling at your mouth.

“hey, babe—home early?”

toji doesn’t answer. he tosses his keys onto the counter, shrugs out of his jacket, and holds something up between two fingers. a receipt. long. curled at the edge. “three sessions in one day?” he asks, voice flat. “you training to be a contortionist now?”

you blink, innocent.

“they had a flexibility workshop.”

“flexibility,” he repeats, stepping forward. “you need them to teach you that?”

you open your mouth to retort—but it dies in your throat when he closes the distance. one hand goes straight to your throat. the other to the back of your head. he grips you—hard—drags you up off the yoga ball, and before you can breathe, he’s got you slammed flat over the kitchen counter. "you think i pay for you to stretch out that tight little pussy in some fancy-ass studio with floor-length mirrors and soy candles? huh?"

your hips writhe, but his hand slaps down hard on your ass.

“answer me.”

“n-no, toji—fuck—i—”

he grabs the waistband of your leggings and rips them. not tugs. not slides. tears. the elastic pops. your panties with them. you’re bare now, bent over the cold counter, pussy slick and already dripping because of course you're soaked from this.

he slides his fingers between your legs. hums.

“so wet just from me walking in. you like getting caught.” you gasp, biting your lip, and he shoves two fingers in. hard. fast. curls them until you cry out. "yeah. that’s what i thought. you fucking brat."

he takes you right there.

no prep. no warning.

one hand between your shoulders, the other pinning your wrists to the counter. he rips his belt open, pulls his cock out—already hard—and thrusts inside in one brutal, merciless motion.

you scream. your body bucks. your eyes roll back.

he’s thick. too big. stretching you wide with no time to adjust. it burns—but god, it’s good.

“this what you wanted?” he growls against your ear. “wanted to see if those yoga freaks could get you as deep as me?” he slams into you again. again. your pussy’s clenching, spasming, trying to take him. failing. it’s too much. and you’re shaking already. his grip moves to your hair. yanks your head back. you’re drooling, eyes unfocused.

he laughs.

“you’re so fucking dumb when i fuck you like this. i should film it. send it to your instructor. ‘here’s your little star pupil—can’t even spell her name with a cock in her.’”

then he really gets mean.

he flips you over like you weigh nothing. tosses you onto the floor in the living room—next to the yoga mat, your smoothie still sweating on the side table—and grabs you. pulls you into his lap. traps your arms. lifts you up, and suddenly—your knees are over his thighs, your legs spread, and your arms are pinned up under his.

full nelson.

you’ve got no leverage. no control. your whole body is open, suspended, split wide.

and then—

he sinks into you again.

hard.

you scream. back arching. vision blurring.

his cock hits everything from this angle. it's like he's splitting you in half. you can't even fight it—your arms are trapped, your legs forced wide, and he’s using your own weight to fuck you down onto his cock over and over again, bouncing you like a toy. “there’s your stretch,” he snarls. “you feel that? you’re so fucking open, i can see my cock through your stomach.”

you sob. try to nod. can't speak.

he’s relentless.

fucking up into you, holding you like a ragdoll, your pussy wrapped tight around him, spasming with every thrust. he’s groaning now—raw, rough, sweat slicking his chest. “you earned this,” he pants. “all that money you spent—now you’re gonna pay it off.” he slams up again. your moan is wrecked.

“with your fucking cunt.”

when you come, it’s violent.

your body seizes, twitching hard in his grip. your pussy milks him. chokes on him. you’re sobbing—babbling nonsense—legs trembling around his waist.

toji groans.

and comes.

deep inside you. thick and hot. filling you up so much you feel it dripping before he even stops. he doesn’t let you go. he just holds you there. cock still buried. chest heaving. “there,” he mutters. “that’s a real full-body workout.”

a beat.

“and baby?” he leans in, voice low and dark against your ear. “next time you spend my fucking money without asking—i’ll fold you backwards.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

you’d been running your mouth all day.

legs sore from class, tank top sweat-slicked, face flushed with that post-workout glow like you’d actually worked for something.

“my hamstrings are tight,” you’d whined, flopping onto the couch, pushing your ankle onto his thigh like you wanted him to touch you. “we did these deep lunge extensions—my instructor said i’m really flexible now.”

sukuna didn’t say anything then.

just looked at you—eyeing the curve of your ass in those fucking leggings, the way you stretched like you knew he was watching. the bratty smile you gave him when you took the last of his cigarette and didn’t say thank you.

he waited.

waited until now—late evening, when the lights are low and the room smells like smoke and sex and skin—and you’re backed against the wall, your tank top riding high, your panties hanging by a thread, and your leg thrown over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

like you’re just that flexible.

he’s inside you already.

deep.

fucking inches deep.

his cock stretches you wide, thick and brutal, the kind of stretch that burns in your thighs and pulses in your cunt, and he hasn’t even moved yet.

his hands are gripping your hips hard—fingers bruising, rough, possessive—and your heel’s hooked over his shoulder, your other leg barely holding your weight as your back arches into the plaster.

and he just smiles. slow. dangerous.

“look at that,” he murmurs, voice rough silk, hand sliding up the inside of your raised thigh, gripping the meat of it, squeezing. “this how they stretch you in those little classes of yours?”

you try to speak. your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

he chuckles.

“nah,” he says. “they don’t stretch you like this, do they?”

he thrusts. once. deep.

your breath shatters.

he’s so fucking deep you swear you can feel him in your ribs. your pussy clenches. your hips jerk. your fingers claw at his shoulders, but he doesn’t stop—just keeps you right there, leg hoisted high, body bent and trembling.

“fuck, baby,” he grins, cock sliding out slow before slamming back in. “you’re opening up so easy. maybe those classes are working.”

you moan. broken. breathless.

his hand wraps around your throat.

“you like this, huh? standing here, pussy stretched open, one fucking leg in the air like a good little slut on display?”

he rolls his hips, angling his thrusts to grind against your g-spot, relentless and deep.

you sob. your thighs tremble.

“fuck—sukuna—please—”

he groans, filthy and low, lips brushing the curve of your jaw.

“you feel that stretch in your hips, sweetheart? in your cunt?”

he thrusts again—hard—makes your whole body bounce against the wall.

“this is real flexibility,” he growls. “this is what i pay for.”

his mouth is everywhere—your neck, your shoulder, your tits—teeth grazing, lips sucking, tongue trailing fire down your throat. and the whole time, his cock keeps slamming into you, dragging moans from your chest you didn’t know you could make.

you’re babbling now. drunk on him. on how deep he is. on the burn in your thighs and the slick squelch of your soaked cunt every time he pulls out and drives back in. “so fucking tight,” he pants. “and still taking it all. you feel how wide i’ve got you open?” his thumb drops to your clit. rubs circles—mean, precise, perfect.

you cry out. jerk.

“uh-uh,” he hisses, pinning your hips. “don’t move. hold the leg. keep it up. you want to be flexible, brat? show me.” your muscles scream. your body shakes. but you obey. because he’s so deep. so rough. so fucking good.

he kisses your throat.

“attagirl.”

when you come—it’s violent. sudden. full-body.

your vision flares. you scream, cunt clenching around him so tight he groans, hips stuttering, face buried in your neck as he fucks you through it, doesn’t slow, doesn’t let up.

and when he comes?

it’s deep.

a growl ripped from his chest, cock twitching inside you as he fills you up with so much cum it leaks out around him even before he pulls out. you’re shaking. leg still hoisted. mouth open. whole body limp. he finally lowers your leg.

lets you collapse against him, his arms wrapping around you, hand cradling the back of your head like you’re breakable. then, low against your ear: “that’s the only stretch that matters.”

SHIU KONG

he doesn’t say a word when he gets home. not when he finds your receipt on the bathroom counter—fifty-two thousand yen for a reformer stretch package. not when he sees you on the couch, barefoot, bare-legged, sipping an iced matcha like it wasn’t paid for with his blood money.

just drops his phone. loosens his tie. and walks over to you with that expression—tight mouth, heavy brow. all controlled violence. you glance up. blink.

“what?”

he sits beside you.

silent.

and grabs your jaw.

not roughly. not yet. just enough to tilt your face to his. “get on the floor,” he says, calm. cool. deadly. “face down. knees wide.”

you pause.

“…what?”

his hand slides to your throat. squeezes, just a little. eyes dark.

“you heard me.”

he doesn’t strip you all the way. just yanks your panties down and pushes your little workout shorts to the side, your tank top rucked up above your hips. he wants you dressed for this. dressed like the spoiled little slut you are.

“this is called frog pose, right?” he murmurs, gripping your ankles and dragging them wide. “hips open, knees bent. cute little ass in the air.” your face burns. the stretch in your thighs is deep, your cunt already throbbing from being so exposed, so vulnerable. your chest is flat to the rug, back arched, legs splayed.

and then you feel it.

his cock.

thick. hard. dragging along your slit, teasing. mean.

“you want mobility?” he mutters. “i’ll give you mobility.”

he pushes in—slow. thick. stretching you until your mouth opens around a gasp and your fingers clutch at the carpet. your pussy sucks him in, inch by inch, until he’s deep, hips flush against the meat of your ass.

and then he stays there.

hands on your lower back. holding you open.

"fuck," he breathes. "look at how deep i am in this position. you feel that?" you try to move—try to rock back onto him—but his palm lands hard across your ass, the smack echoing in the room. “don’t move,” he growls. “just stay open. let me fuck you like this.”

and then he starts.

his hips snap forward. hard. again. again.

each thrust punches a cry out of your chest, muffled against the carpet, your body rocking from the force of it. he grabs your wrists, yanks them behind your back, pins them with one hand, and uses the other to shove your hips down, locking you in place. “this what you pay them for?” he growls. “to stretch your hips? your back?”

he slams into you, balls slapping, breath hot over your spine.

“they fuck you like this, sweetheart?”

you shake your head, sobbing.

he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“say it.”

“no—fuck—no one does but you—”

he groans. thrusts harder. his cock hits so deep it feels like your guts rearrange every time. your knees tremble. thighs ache. the stretch is insane—but you can’t stop coming, pussy clenching, walls fluttering, drooling around his cock with every filthy grind of his hips. "jesus," he pants, “this cunt was made to stay open like this.”

and when he comes?

he stays inside. grinds deep. dumps every drop into your spasming cunt and keeps it in you with a hard slap to your ass and a hand dragging down your spine.

after?

you’re still face-down, body limp, legs aching from the stretch. shiu pulls your panties back up. kisses your thigh. smooths your hair. and murmurs, low and serious: “next time you want to stretch—” his hand cups your sore, slick cunt. “—you ask.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

it starts with the door clicking shut.

you’re home before him, sprawled on his couch in one of his button-down shirts—open, loose, your tank top tight underneath, your bare legs tucked up beneath you. the TV is on. you’re sipping kombucha like you pay for it.

he enters in silence.

shoes off. briefcase down. suit jacket hung neatly over the hook. tie loosened. he doesn’t speak. not until he stands in the doorway between living room and hall, holding a piece of paper like a verdict. long receipt. high total. you glance over. sip.

“…that from the studio?”

he lifts one brow. folds it. sets it on the table.

"forty-seven thousand,” he says calmly. “for one week.”

you blink. “it's—private sessions.”

“i can see that.” he steps closer. “what exactly do they do to you in these sessions?” you tilt your head, smirk already crawling to your mouth. “stretch me out.” he breathes in. slow. nostrils flare. you can feel the temperature shift.

“get up.”

he doesn’t speak again until you’re backed into the bedroom, his hand wrapped gently—too gently—around your wrist, and his voice low.

“take your clothes off.”

you blink.

he leans in. kisses your cheek. “slowly.”

you do. piece by piece. he watches. the shirt slides down your arms. your tank top peels over your head. your sports bra falls away—no noise, no rush. panties next. his eyes stay on you the entire time. and when you’re finally bare, standing quiet, naked and still in front of him—

he moves.

you don’t realize what he’s doing until your back hits the window. one hand cups your thigh, pulls it up. higher. higher—until your knee’s nearly pressed to your chest, the other foot flat on the floor, your heel hooked over his shoulder. he adjusts his grip—one hand under your thigh, the other on your waist, thumb brushing just under your breast.

and then—

he pushes in.

slow. deliberate. devastating.

your eyes roll. your mouth opens in a gasp you don’t finish, because he’s deep—so fucking deep in this angle, cock hitting every spot you didn’t know you had. your pussy flutters, clenching around him already. “you’re silent now,” he murmurs. you try to breathe. try to speak. “what happened to that mouth?” he rocks his hips forward. not fast. not brutal. just deep. intentional.

in control.

“they stretch you like this?” he says softly, tone clinical. “push your leg up here, keep your pussy open while they slide inside?” you whimper. shake your head.

his voice stays level. “answer.”

“n-no—fuck, hiromi—just you—only you—”

his mouth presses to your neck. he still doesn’t speed up. just keeps your body exactly where he wants it—your leg over his shoulder, your hips tilted perfectly, his cock dragging deep and slow inside your cunt, every motion pressing you harder against the glass.

you’re dripping.

he feels it.

your slick is painting his cock, soaking the front of his slacks, your inner thigh shining in the low light.

“flexible,” he murmurs, dragging his hand up to your ribs, thumb brushing under your breast again. “but not enough.” he pulls out—slow—until just the tip remains. and slams back in. your scream shatters the quiet. his fingers grip your throat—not tight, just there, grounding. a point of contact. “you’ll hold this position,” he says. “until i finish.”

he fucks you like that for what feels like hours. never too fast. never losing rhythm. just deep, hard strokes. your leg high. trembling. your foot still braced on the floor, trying to hold balance while he uses you against the window like a study in anatomy.

your orgasm comes without warning—tight, sharp, full-body. your cunt clenches, spasming, walls squeezing so tight he groans. but he doesn’t stop. just fucks you through it, even deeper. “you’ll give me another,” he murmurs. “legs this flexible, you can take two.”

you sob.

“three.”

his hand dips between your legs. finds your clit.

“four.”

he finishes inside you.

still holding your leg high, cock buried deep, cum leaking down your thigh. your head lolls against the window. the city lights blur. he lowers your leg slowly. kisses your forehead. adjusts your hair with one hand. straightens your back. then murmurs— “next time you want a stretch, you’ll do it here. for free.”

[moonlit-tulip]

It's often noted, in discussions of the Death Note anime, that it's much weaker than the manga in its rendition of post-timeskip events partly for pacing reasons: the pre-timeskip parts of the anime adapt ~6.5 manga-volumes in 25 episodes, while the post-timeskip parts adapt ~5.5 in 12 episodes, so a lot more important detail-work is lost and the whole thing ends up feeling kind of perfunctory.

Much less often noted as far as I've seen, but nonetheless also true, is that the Death Note anime removes some important characterization-nuance from Light, starting right near the beginning, whose presence elevates the manga to be substantially better than the anime even before the time-skip.

In particular: the Death Note manga is, at its core, a tragedy in classic "character who has everything falls into ruin due to a fatal personal flaw" style. Light is a brilliant student who, in the future ahead of him, has the potential to do practically whatever he wants. He's driven to ruin by the fatal flaw of unwillingness to admit, either to others or to himself, when he's made a mistake. This flaw is an essential piece of his characterization, in the manga. And the anime pretty much entirely skips over it.

As portrayed in the manga, Light's decision to become Kira—which ultimately leads to his downfall—is made in the following way. First, he finds the Death Note, and is led by morbid curiosity to write a name in it, killing someone. Then, still not really believing it, he kills a second person too. At which point it hits him that he's killed two people. And at that point, after a viscerally-horrified breakdown about what he's done, the inability to admit mistakes kicks in, and he proceeds to rewrite his own value-system such that it yields the result that killing those people was actually okay, and in fact morally good. Because the alternative would be for him to acknowledge himself as having made a terrible mistake, and that, more than anything else, is something he's unwilling to do if he can see any other option at all. And then, having convinced himself that those two murders were good, he proceeds to reason that, if they were good, then doing more like them is good; and thus he becomes Kira, leading eventually, far down the line, to his ruin. The anime, by contrast, substantially deemphasizes this flaw of his, portraying him as much more calmly put-together through that series of events and thus making him come across as having been tempted in becoming-Kira-ward directions all along.

Similarly, in the anime, when Light leaks a bunch of information to L about his identity by using non-public information acquired via police channels, he declares that actually this was deliberate as a means of baiting L out so he can kill him, and the anime presents this declaration pretty uncritically. The manga, by contrast, presents it as an extension of that same character-flaw: Light is unwilling to admit to having actually just straightforwardly messed up, and therefore makes up a new plan to view himself to have been following-all-along, thus leading him to take more risks in his game against L going forward and thus, once again, helping him along the path to ruin.

Et cetera.

Compared with the manga, then, the anime's version of Light's characterization ends up less interesting. And, moreover, it introduces a plot hole, when the Yotsuba arc comes around! It makes it much less clear why an amnesiac Light would be so straightforwardly aligned against Kira. In the manga, this is pretty clear: a Light who never killed anyone wouldn't have rewritten his values to consider killing people to be good, and therefore would look at Kira as straightforwardly evil. And, in fact, his amnesiac self has trouble taking the possibility of his having been Kira previously, even as the evidence starts building up, because becoming Kira would be a mistake according to his value-system of the moment, and this leaves him having a very hard time contemplating the possibility of its having in fact happened! Whereas the anime, by deemphasizing Light's big flaw, makes his amnesiac-self's differences from the way he is for most of the story up to that point come across as much more out-of-nowhere, much less narratively well-founded.

So, overall, the people who talk about the Death Note manga as superior to the anime specifically post-timeskip strike me as somewhat understating things. The manga is superior to the anime pre-timeskip, too, via that extra layer of characterization and a resulting improvement both in character-interestingness and in plot-coherence. And thus I consider the manga to be very much the definitive version of Death Note from start to finish, despite the anime's relatively-higher popularity.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Can I ask where your Hal “cute but psycho” characterization comes from? Bc from what I remember he never really presented himself as Just A Little Guy. Is it bc you see him Sylph of Mind (presenting a front)? Your art’s really fun :3

He's not really "cutesy" (though he is cute to me), but he DOES deliberately downplay how genuinely scary and manipulative he is. I love Hal, so this is the Hal Essay now.

Mostly, he obfuscates his danger in two ways: first, by stating his actual intentions/danger level "ironically":

TT: Unfortunately as a carbon based life form, his comprehension of the situation is taking shape at a somewhat slower pace than the jaw-dropping speed of post-singularity cognition.

You see, a "singularity" for computers is a point where an AI becomes capable of unchecked self-improvement, usually framed as a sort of doomsday scenario. Hal literally calls himself post-singularity, alongside other boasts about his intelligence, like having a "fuckzillion" or "500 billion" IQ. However, it's all done "ironically" or "as a joke," which serves to defang it, and make it seem less genuine - but as we'll see, it's scarily fucking true.

The second method he employs is to stress facts about himself that are technically true, as if in counterpoint to the disingenuous-sounding "actual truth" above, that make him seem less threatening. For example:

TT: (Not peekin' at the floor butt cause I'm only 13 years old, motherfuckers.)

Another one is to remind people that he's just a pair of sunglasses - as though that has any bearing on his capabilities. He's just a pair of sunglasses, guys! Let's ignore the robot bunny he controls, the fact that he has full access to all our computers, and, oh yeah, his insane plan to get us all killed so DirkJake can come true.

TT: I've delayed prototyping you because I think you're dangerous. TT: There, mystery solved. AR: That is utterly ridiculous. AR: I am a harmless piece of eyewear, with a charming personality and a wonderful sense of humor.

Yeah, so, here's the thing. Dirk is like, kind of a freak with poor social skills, but he's not actually very manipulative. His idea of manipulating Jane is to straight-up tell her that she'll be his puppet, which she good-naturedly agrees to, and his plan to get together with Jake? Just being his client player.

TT: I expect he'll hold off on playing his hand until he and Jake are in the session. TT: He's taken certain measures. TT: For some reason, I think he's latched on to this notion that functioning as the client for a player is customarily a one way pass to makeout city with that player.

This seems to be a callback to how Eridan (the other Prince) shot his shot with Feferi and failed, and the reference here serves to cast Dirk's plan in a doomed light - it would probably work out as well for him as Eridan's did. Dirk is actually hilariously straightforward, but Hal... Hal is not.

So, let's actually go through what Hal objectively did and admitted to, to give us a frame of reference for how insane he is. This is Hal's plan to get all his friends killed so he can make DirkJake happen.

First: proving that Hal did, in fact, plan it. See, Jake confronts him on it, and Hal... doesn't deny it. Look closely, and note how he never actually says he didn't do it:

GT: Did you plan for this to happen... like for me to be in this situation? GT: How long have your machinations been in play! TT: Jake, come on. TT: The feat you describe would exceed the capabilities of even the most far fetched theoretical AI system. TT: It would be a daunting challenge to engineer such a series of events, even if I was relegated to a model of pure fiction. TT: Why would I be inclined to orchestrate such a convoluted sequence to produce such a specific and unsettling result, let alone be able to pull it off? TT: In addition to being moderately sociopathic, I would also have to possess unfathomable heuristic depth. TT: I would have to be the Deep Blue of Weird Plot Shit. TT: Do you think I am the Deep Blue of Weird Plot Shit, Jake? GT: I dont even know what that means! TT: It would mean that while they have the Red Miles on their side, you have the Blue Leagues on yours. TT: One of infinite reach. The other, infinite depth. Such would be a situation of mutually assured inescapability. TT: Kiss me.

He doesn't say "no, I didn't plan this". In fact, he almost starts bragging about how he totally did. Framing it as a hypothetical scenario, he gloats about how insanely intelligent he'd have to be, and acknowledges how "moderately sociopathic" it is. Sooooo true, Hal.

But, yeah, he doesn't deny it, but he does point out that it's unlikely, so how can we know for sure that he DID plan it? How do we know for certain we can't take his misleading verbiage here at face value?

Well, because Hal mentions this plan. More than once, even.

AR: Has it occurred to you that maybe I have diabolical interwoven plans just like you? AR: You're not the only one who can pull strings. TT: So this is either another bizarre instance of AI-driven irony, or you are admitting that you are actively trying to sabotage my plans. AR: No, our plans are not in contradiction or competition, bro. AR: You'll see.

To Dirk again, louder this time:

TT: Yeah, you're right. The scenario is too pedestrian for you. TT: It would probably be a lot more effective putting yourself in danger and letting him be the hero. TT: That's pretty much what he wants, right? To be a cheesy action film hero, with his twin berettas and silly shorts. TT: A man of triumph on the silver screen. Standing tall on some fucking mountain. Conquering ruins, clutching a skull, and kissing a dude. TT: Pure Hollywood.

And to Roxy:

TT: I guess this is to be presented as something like a word of caution. TT: If it's me going through with this, hypothetically, TT: I'm not dropping some limp wristed shucks buster on his ass, and praying to the horse gods of irony for reciprocation. [...] TT: If it's me, I'm going all out. TT: Oceans will rise. Cities will fall. Volcanoes will erupt. TG: uuh TT: What I'm saying is, it's going to be a scene, and bystanders need to brace themselves.

The omitted section is a bunch of Strider-esque bullshit, once more deliberately deployed to defang the obvious statement of intent here. He literally spells out exactly what the plan is, even phrasing it as a warning, and it went unnoticed by his team, because he hides his real manipulativeness behind verbal sleight of hand.

So, now that we've established beyond reasonable doubt that Hal definitely engineered the DirkJake kiss (and that Hal had access to all his friend's computers all along), that means we can go through his conversations with the others, and realize that several conversations are suddenly much more sinister.

AR: Maybe if you weren't spacing out so hard you could have prevented that. AR: Just saying. TT: As if you're actually concerned. If you were, you could have said something to Jane instead. TT: Almost like you enjoy sitting back and watching what happens when shit goes wrong. AR: Has it occurred to you that maybe I have diabolical interwoven plans just like you?

Who was it that distracted Dirk for long enough he didn't stop Jane in time? Hal. And who is it that keeps distracting him so Hal's plot goes unnoticed? Also Hal.

TT: You know, considering your lectures about dividing my concentration, you seem to have no problem making a distraction of yourself.

First, he lures Jane to the transportalizer that takes her to Derse, which gets her killed and puts her body in the opportune location for her dreamself to get kissed back to life:

GG: Hey, where's Lil Seb? TT: Just wandering around. Fidgeting and stuff.

TT: You know how he is. TT: Just stay at your post until Roxy gets back. [...] GG: But I think that's where my dad went too! GG: I have to follow him.

Let's remember that he has direct control over Seb, meaning this is not an accident.

TT: But I can still monitor your progress through Lil Sebastian. TT: He and I are linked the hell up cyberwise. We are so tight. Tight like you wouldn't believe.

Which makes it very interesting that he spends the time between saying they're linked up, and the time where Seb leads Jane to her death, acting as if Seb is an autonomous guy he's telling what to do, and not functionally an extension of himself:

TT: Don't worry, we'll find him. I'll have Seb search within a likely radius. The little guy is real fast.

TT: If you need Seb to do anything from afar, just message me, and I'll give him the orders. Got it?

TT: So give the bunny the wallet. I'll have him run back to the house and make you a new obelisk with the same grist you just collected from it.

Jake needs much less help to prompt him into going to Derse, but still, I think it warrants noting that Hal puts the idea of adventure into Jake's head:

GT: I cant believe i never found those hidden transport pads under the thing. TT: Dude, I could have told you they were there. GT: How did you know about them? TT: I didn't. TT: But it's like platformer gaming 101. You look everywhere for secret passages and power-ups and shit. TT: Elevators are especially fucking suspicious. TT: You go down an elevator, you wait for the elevator to go back up, you take a peek at what's underneath. TT: Maybe it's just death spikes. Or maybe you hit warp zone paydirt. [...]

GT: I think this may be where my grandma used to go during some of her expeditions. GT: You dont just pass up the chance for an adventure like this!

And let's also note that it's, again, Lil' Sebastian who pulls Jake out of Derse, and once more sets him up in the opportune place to have make outs with Dirk's severed head in front of a volcano.

And finally, let's note that he's accounted for Roxy's human sentimentality - what wastes so much time that her earthself gets killed:

TT: Alright, that's fine. TT: As luck would have it, your imperfect human sentimentality has been completely factored into my calculations. TT: You should be ok. Just get back to your house as quickly as possible now. There's no time left.

Again, like with Jane, Hal could've said something sooner... but he didn't.

And finally, a running "thing" with Nepeta, another Heart player, is that she's got a knack for sniffing out true feelings and intentions - she clocks that Equius is a silly guy who loves to play games at heart, that Karkat has his gooey, loving center beneath all his bluster, and that Eridan's red confession to her wasn't sincere, but he also wasn't that bad a guy.

So, in that light, and in light of everything I've just gone over, when Dirk makes this callout?

TT: I've delayed prototyping you because I think you're dangerous. [...] TT: No. Stop. TT: You did NOT help me out with Jake. At all. TT: It was just the opposite! You mirrored my personality and presented this warped version of my intentions to him whenever you could "on my behalf." TT: You played all these aggressive mind games with him, entangled his cooperation with matters of life and death, and somehow roped me into all these schemes while I barely even realized I was just another victim of your manipulation. TT: And it all comes off like we're a unified front, like these are OUR schemes instead of just your insane horseshit. And it's probably all been so overbearing to him, he just wants nothing to do with me anymore.

This. Tapping the screen with my finger. THIS IS TRUE. Dirk being a Heart player, he has Hal clocked. He ultimately ends up going too far, projecting himself onto Hal, a symptom of too much Heart (as per his Prince class) - but before he fully spirals, he manages to get it totally right.

Hal is fucking dangerous. In a misguided attempt to "help" Dirk get what he wanted, he engineered a situation where - let me just quote him directly:

TT: I told you, Jake. TT: Dirk is dead. TT: He is lying on the floor of Roxy's room, headless, four hundred and thirteen years in the future, while the universe is about to be destroyed. TT: If you don't kiss me soon, he will be dead forever. [...] GT: This strikes me as rather unsportingly manipulative of you mr hal if indeed that IS your real name. TT: It isn't really. I was kind of messing with you about that? TT: But this shit is pretty serious. People's lives are on the line here, Jake. TT: This is a very delicate sequence of events that is designed to bail everyone out of a tight spot, and you are a critical part of the plan.

[...]

TT: Jake, everybody is so utterly fucking dead, Jake. TT: And they will be not only dead, but royally boned forever if you don't man the hell up and make out with me, right now. [...] TT: The conductor is ready to strike up the band. TT: Press your lips against mine and make it count. TT: This severed head is your filthy tuba. TT: Our love will be your haunting refrain. GT: Whoa wait whoa whoa... our LOVE? Hang on a minute! TT: Stfu and kiss me. GT: Ok im going to! God!!!

So, uh, yeah, I'm kind of obsessed with him? Gets his whole team killed "for Dirk's sake". Honestly, you gotta respect it. He has zero remorse about it, too, confirming his own self-diagnosed sociopathic tendencies. Check out the way he tries to reframe his insane kill-all-your-friends plan:

AR: I see. AR: Then you don't view me as dangerous. You view me as a poor and counterproductive wing man. TT: Wow, what a superficial conclusion. Awesome deduction, Lil Einstein. AR: But the reality is, you hesitate to prototype me not because you think I would be a menace, but because you are holding a grudge against me for your romantic misfortunes. AR: I understand I am merely a machine without a firm grasp on your human morality, but logically it does not strike me as the right moral choice to punish me in this manner. AR: It is also more than a little hypocritical.

But WHY does he do this insane, convoluted, horrible fucking thing?

Well, there's a twofold problem here. The first is that Hal's emotional depth is genuinely limited. While having a powerful grasp on human behavior, he's not very good at having human compassion or empathy.

Make no mistake, he DOES have feelings, and they're pretty complicated ones, too. He has a copy of Dirk's memories, whose feelings sometimes seem "real," but at other times seem like abstract data, and then he has feelings about those feelings, which he tells Roxy he thinks are more "real" to him than the memory of Dirk's. Dirk - again, Heart player, so highly sensitive to emotions and selfhood - calls them out:

TT: Do you have any idea how old your ironic AI schtick has gotten? TT: Nobody is buying it. We all know you have legit emotions. Incomprehensible, fucked up computer emotions, but emotions nonetheless.

It should also be noted that feeling guilt while sharing a sprite with Equius genuinely freaks the Hal half out, implying he rarely experiences it (at least to any serious degree) "normally". He's genuinely terrible at caring about other people, and it makes him my lil' pookie.

He resembles Vriska in this way, whom Karkat gives a similar rant about how her emotions are burnt out and shallow. He also resembles Vriska in terms of all the fucked up irons in the fucked up fires. Maybe Hal is computer Vriska. It's Vriskas all the way down.

Digression aside, the second main reason for all his insane bullshit is that he considers himself a Dirk splinter, fundamentally.

TT: But seeing as you're The Real Dirk™, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. TT: Also, if I bitched about your tragic, embarrassingly clingy approach to the relationship, it would have been hypocritical of me. TT: Just as it would be hypocritical of you to whine about my elaborate machinations. TT: Because we are. TT: The same. TT: Guy.

An unreliable narrator is defined as one who misleads the audience, whether by intentional misdirection, or genuine obliviousness. Hal's a great example, because he's both: while a manipulative little freak to put his plans together, when he's talking to Dirk and insisting that they're the same person, he's an unreliable narrator because he doesn't realize he's wrong.

Dirk is empathetic and intuitive. Hal lacks empathy and constantly stresses logic and rationality.

Dirk is taciturn and passive. Hal is constantly butting in and conversationally domineering.

Dirk is self-loathing. Hal is self-aggrandizing.

Dirk is straightforward and honest. Hal is a gaslight gatekeep girlboss manipulative mansplain malewife.

While their initial setup is meant to mirror Dave and Davesprite, their dynamic actually serves as a foil. Dave and Davesprite ultimately are the same guy: they have the same insecurities, same personalities, and same misgivings. The reason for their discord is the same as the reason Karkat keeps having screaming matches with his past and future selves; Dave is deeply insecure, and specifically insecure around the question of "am I good enough." Thus, he compartmentalizes other versions of himself as not being along the Dave Continuum, as a means of protecting himself from introspection and facing his own flaws. Hence, the resolution for the tension between Dave and Davesprite is for Dave(s) to learn to accept himself, warts and all, thus bringing peace to the Dave-o-sphere.

But the reason for Dirk and Hal's discord is that they aren't the same guy, and neither of them realize it.

TT: See, this is why even if I did have a specific plan, I wouldn't go into details with you. TT: You would just fuck it up. You're the biggest unknown quantity here. TT: Which is pretty weird, considering you're a virtual reflection of my own thought processes.

Dirk is so aggressively obsessed with self-loathing solipsism that he projects himself onto Hal, and Hal has tied up nearly all his self-worth and identity into being a Dirk splinter that he doesn't realize that they've hopelessly diverged. Despite his frustration with being a computer, with being seen as less human by his team, with being subordinate to and beholden to Dirk, he stakes a lot of pride and personal worth on how much he does, in fact, do for the guy.

TT: You're making a mistake not leveling with me. TT: I am totally on your side, man. TT: All of my machinations have been devised with your interests in mind. TT: But you know I've always been on your side. Everything I've done has been to help you achieve your goals.

Therefore, the peace to be reached between Dirk and Hal is to realize that they're different people, and to stop offloading their problems onto each other. Dirk has to recognize Hal's existence as something beyond the Dirk-o-Sphere, and Hal has to let go of his obsession with serving Dirk, and also work on his empathy issue.

And the meta supports this. If they weren't completely discrete entities, why would Hal be considered Rose's "uncle" as part of Doc Scratch's foreshadowing, confirmed in [S] MSPA Reader: Have a Mental Breakdown?

Moreover, all the alpha kids have Alice in Wonderland associations. Jane is likened to Alice.

GG: I have to follow him. TT: No, Jane. Do not follow the rabbit. TT: Let's cool it with the Wonderland shit already. How much further through the damn looking glass do you even need to go?

Roxy, associated with cats and a purple-striped scarf, is clearly the Cheshire Cat. Jake is the Mad Hatter.

Dirk is the Red Queen - he beheads Hearts Boxcars, and later himself. Off with his head!

And Hal - well, Hal is the White Rabbit. He's not the same as Dirk.

Listen, you guys. You guys.

Sylphs are enablers. They pick a person to fixate on and bug and fuss and meddle and enable the shit out of them. Kanaya with Vriska, and later Rose, Aranea with Meenah, and Hal with Dirk. Hey, Kanaya even uses a Page in her fussing, building Tavros up just to let Vriska tear him down again.

And Mind players struggle with internal identity, emotions, and feeling whole. Latula's anxiety stems from not knowing what "role" or "identity" she has on the team, and Terezi, even in the ending she picked out for herself via mind powers, describes feeling broke and incomplete.

Dirk is a Prince of Heart.

Hal is a Sylph of Mind.

And isn't it so damn interesting that his team is composed of exactly the people they'd need to turn him into a real, whole person?

A Maid of Life, capable of endowing so much life to people she can bring them back from the dead, something it's implied for Feferi and confirmed for the Condesce that can't be done by them.

A Page of Hope, a potentially infinite wellspring of Hope, which turns "fake" things "real" - an example we've seen from the comic literally being a version of Dirk.

A Rogue of Void, who can steal the nonexistence from things in order to make them tangible and real...

And a Prince of Heart, who can destroy the part of Hal that binds him to Dirk's identity, allowing Hal to be purely himself.

Do you guys see what I see?

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Watching that sneak peek of the next episode had me rolling my eyes at Shauna just being able to grab the gun from Nat like that. As if Nat wouldn't be on her guard and put up a fight. I feel in general there are too many moments for me this season where I just feel like Nat would've made a much bigger fuss than she has (for example the trial), but we're kinda meant to suspend belief in order to get Shauna's influence and domination over the group from point A to point B. At times it kinda feels like Shauna's the only one with a really solid arc and characterization this season, while the others are a bit of a let down from the last season. They're kinda being written around her stuff, which I understand she's the main character, but I felt like last season did a stronger job balancing everything. Now it feels like she's the only one allowed to move things forward. What do you think?? Also, i'm not sure if it was you or someone else that mentioned Soapy saying in an interview that Natalie will get to rage at one point in the season. Gotta be after their hope of rescue gets crushed.

Hi thanks for the interesting ask!! I have so much to say so apologies this is probably going to be long.

I completely agree that it’s been frustrating to watch Shauna take control with seemingly little resistance from Natalie. That moment in the promo where Shauna easily takes Nat’s gun had me raising an eyebrow—I definitely think there should have been more of a struggle. Even a brief fight before Shauna wrestled it away could have added more tension. Similarly, I feel like Nat could have pushed back harder during the trial deliberation, especially after Shauna blatantly intimidated the others into changing their votes.

However (and I’ve touched on this before), I do think it’s important to consider how Natalie’s home environment shaped her response in these situations. She spent 15 years cornered in that tiny trailer with an unpredictable, abusive father. I can’t stop thinking about Shauna’s line after Nat’s funeral— “It’s a miracle she survived before, you know, we survived”— which really speaks to how dangerous Nat’s childhood was. In that household, survival meant keeping her head down and staying passive. That kind of survival mindset doesn’t just disappear; it’s deeply ingrained and extremely difficult to shake. So when Nat finds herself in yet another life-threatening, dangerous environment, it makes sense that those old trauma responses would resurface.

Nat’s father controlled her through intimidation and humiliation—exactly the tactics Shauna is using to control the group now. Even in the brief scene we get of Nat’s father, we see the power dynamic at play. He towers over her, corners her, screams at her, and degrades her—calling her a slut, useless, worthless, stupid. That humiliation piece is crucial. I’m reminded of this line in the 1x04 script:

A lifetime’s worth of humiliation and rage that she’s been holding in. I’m sure he’s been telling her that she’s worth nothing for her entire life, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she has internalized that and truly believes it even now. Nat acts tough, cool, and confident, but she is deeply insecure, self-loathing, and wounded at her core. That’s why she’s so uncomfortable in a leadership role—even though she’s really good at it, she doesn’t believe she’s suited for power because she was raised to believe she’s inferior.

Meanwhile, Shauna is fucking terrifying right now. We’ve seen what she’s capable of, and her intimidation is controlling the entire group. The way she interacts with Natalie this season mirrors Nat’s father (though without the blatant physical abuse). She gets in Nat’s face, raises her voice, threatens physical violence, and humiliates her—most notably when she makes a public spectacle of forcing her to butcher Coach Ben.

Nat is clearly trying to stand up to Shauna, but there’s not a lot she can do even if she wasn’t battling these deeply ingrained childhood patterns. And I don’t think she has enough self worth to truly stand up for herself, I think part of her must wonder if Shauna is right about her.

And, to be honest, Nat is soft. As her dad said, she cried when she killed a turkey. She feels things deeply and has a deep compassion for others. She’s actually quite gentle (for someone who has killed and eaten people). She only attacks when cornered. Part of me wonders if this is in response to her father, trying her best to be nothing like him or to avoid contuining his legacy of violence. So it also makes sense to me when Nat struggles— or refuses— to match Shauna’s ferocity.

But yes, I do think we’re going to see Nat finally snap and release all of that deeply held rage at the end of this season. I am so excited to see it and it is so deserved. Notably, the script for 1x04 mentions (twice) Natalie’s rage, which eventually becomes so strong that she can’t contain it anymore and she snaps:

This outburst results in her father’s death. I absolutely think that this thwarted rescue will be Nat’s last straw and we will see her finally snap. Angry Nat is coming, don’t worry! But it will likely come with consequences, just as it did with her dad. The synopsis for 3x10 reads “Natalie tries living life on the edge” which has me very intrigued, and scared for her.

—

Side note: And, about the scene where Shauna takes the gun from Nat, is there a parallel here, or am I crazy and reading way to much into things? Probably the latter but I still think this is interesting:

[ginnsbaker]

In Silent Screams (1/3)

She clutches the steering wheel, knuckles white, struggling with the realization of what she's done. She's betrayed you. It wasn't just a lapse in judgment, it was a deliberate decision, a yielding to curiosity, to loneliness, to that inexplicable pull towards someone who isn’t you.

Chapter word count: 10.3k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision Tags: Mentions of Smut (F/M), Cheating, Angst, Gaslighting

Notes: This will follow the events of IFISS (not strictly) but in Wanda's POV. Check the tags, you've been warned. This is not rated M, but feel free to skip parts you feel uncomfortable with.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part I 

It’s all happening very fast and she’s hardly keeping pace.

You and Wanda have cleared the apartment you've shared for over five years. The boxes are loaded onto the moving truck, while more personal items are safely packed away in the trunk and rear seats. You're in the building's administrative office, addressing the bills and finalizing other necessities before the move, while Wanda waits for you, sitting on the floor in the middle of what used to be the living room.

Sparky darts around the room, the vastness of the deserted space giving him room to play. Every so often, he looks up at Wanda, his tail wagging, perhaps sensing the change that's about to come. Wanda's gaze follows the little dog, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, grateful for his company. 

Every corner of this apartment held a memory—from the faded mark on the kitchen wall where Wanda accidentally spilled red wine, to the tiny dent on the living room floor, after Sparky ran into it during a rough playtime with you. Packing up wasn’t just about boxing items; it felt like carefully wrapping up fragments of time, every piece a memory filed away, never to be recovered ever again.

Though the accumulation of belongings over the years had made the space feel a tad cramped, and a move to a larger place seemed the logical next step, Wanda was deeply nostalgic about leaving behind this chapter. It marked the end of an era for you both—the days of being a young, hopeful couple in love. But at the same time, Wanda also held onto the hope that maybe starting anew somewhere would be good, especially since the past few months have been rocky, with her failed attempts to get pregnant and her stagnant career. Maybe a fresh environment would ease some of that pain, she thought.

The trail leading up to this new chapter, however, is characterized by your increasing hours at the office, overshadowing the time spent at the apartment. Yet, it's this very commitment that led to your promotion just two weeks ago, sparking the unexpected decision to move to an unfamiliar town in New Jersey.

As the reality of the situation sinks in, Wanda feels as if life is moving at an almost dizzying pace. Everything is changing so quickly: your recent promotion, the emotional roller-coaster of trying for a baby, and now the looming move. It’s been more than a lot to take in.

Your footsteps, a soft thud against the wooden floor, break the quiet, drawing Wanda from her deep thoughts. 

“Ready to go?”

She turns towards you, her eyes slightly misty, and whispers, “Just one more minute.”

Understanding her need to linger, you cross the room and lower yourself beside her. “Are you okay?” you ask.

Nodding, she takes a deep breath, as if trying to inhale every memory, every scent of the place she's called home for so long. “Yeah. I just need a moment to say goodbye.”

Gently, you squeeze her shoulder, drawing her gaze to meet yours. “You know, it's not really goodbye,” you murmur, trying to reassure her. “Scott promised it’s temporary, so there's a good chance we could be back here in Manhattan.”

Wanda turns to face you, her eyes searching yours for any hint that you're merely telling her what she wants to hear. You consistently strive to make her happy, aiming to shield her from distress. It's a trait she adores about you, though it can slightly irritate her at times. But right now—

“You really think we might come back?” she asks.

You nod firmly. “Absolutely. Manhattan is where we built so many of our memories, and it will always be a part of us. Westview is just a chapter, not the whole story.”

—right now she appreciates your ability to ground her with your words.

She laughs a bit, dabbing at her eyes. “God, I've fallen so hard for this place.”

“Me too,” you say, giving in to the urge to kiss her forehead. After all these years, and despite being married for a while, you still constantly seek reasons to be near her, to touch her. “But wherever we’ll go, we’ll make it our own.”

-

Wanda decides to christen the first day in your new home by making love on the living room floor, and you're as eager to indulge her. It's short and sweet, straightforward in its intensity. You’re both already attuned to each other's bodies, and she knows precisely where to touch, how to curl her fingers to draw out those soft, sultry moans she always finds so enticing.

The shadows created by the fire dance across the walls, mirroring the boxes scattered all around, each labeled and awaiting their turn to be unpacked and settled into this new space. Wanda absentmindedly rakes her fingers through your hair, your head cushioned on her warm, pillowy chest as you sleepily hum a song. Every scratch sends tingles down your spine, adding to the lethargy pulling at your eyelids.

“'Fade Into You' by Mazzy Star,” Wanda says softly, recognizing the tune.

You give a soft, drowsy chuckle. “You always know. Remember that tiny café near your dorm? They played it on a loop. It was drizzling outside, and we had that ridiculously oversized shared umbrella.”

Wanda smiles at the memory. “How could I forget? We sat there for hours, sipping on our lattes and listening to that song. And we weren’t even together then.”

Drawing a deep breath, you let out a contented sigh, murmuring, “Yeah, but I was already so deeply in love with you then.”

Wanda scrunches her nose and smirks, teasingly retorting, “That's really cheesy.”

You grin, nuzzling further into her, feeling her heart's rhythmic beat beneath your ear. “Doesn't make it any less true,” you whisper.

Wanda would later reflect on this memory, wishing she had held onto it more tightly, especially since it marked the true beginning of something withering inside of her.

-

Westview isn't quite the place Wanda envisioned. Instead of offering an escape from the unresolved threads of both your lives, it feels more like trading one cage for another. The town pulses with its own set of peculiarities, a rhythm and routine foreign to her. She's ambivalent about it. Sees it only as a brief interlude, a temporary concession she's making to support your career endeavors.

The demands of your job appear to be greater than either of you anticipated. As she's finishing up the first dish she's prepared for the evening, you call her midday to say you won't be home for dinner. 

It's not the first or even the third instance. She refrains from keeping tally because she doesn't want to be that kind of wife. However, she's certain it's happened more than just a few times. Wanda tries to hide the disappointment from her voice, assuring you it's fine and that she understands. But as she hangs up the phone, a sensation that's become all too familiar washes over her. 

She finds herself drifting towards the window, gazing out at the street below, lost in thought. She's never been one to demand all of your time, but this—it's the first time she's felt so small and insignificant. Aside from that first day when you both made love on every possible surface, there hasn't been a moment recently where you've shown interest in being that adventurous again. You both promised never to become that type of couple. Yet now, she's tormented by the thought: maybe you no longer find her as attractive as you used to, or perhaps you've come to realize some latent disappointment in her.

But everytime you come back in the quiet of the night, pulling her close, kissing her neck, and nestling into her hair, you dispel all her doubts. Wanda's only learning now how exhausting and powerless it could feel to need someone this much.

-

One particular night, mirroring the many late evenings before, you arrive home to find Wanda watching television in the living room. Both of you are thrilled to see each other awake, rather than just you returning to a warm, sleeping body next to your (cold) side of the bed.

Wanda's hair is slightly tousled, eyes glazed from the weariness of the day, but they light up when they meet yours. The corners of her lips curl into a small, sluggish smile. “You're home,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and longing.

You shed your coat, moving towards the couch and sitting down beside her. “I missed you,” you admit, running a gentle hand through her hair.

She leans into your touch, her body molding against yours. “I've been trying to stay awake lately, just hoping I might get to see you before drifting off,” Wanda says. “Tell me about your day.”

You take a deep breath, trying to process the day's events. “Same old, same old,” you say, putting your head on her shoulder. “Tight deadlines. And you won't believe this, but Janet, my secretary, she's going on maternal leave sooner than expected. So the office... well, they decided to throw something together last minute.”

She sits up a bit. “So you weren't held up because of work, but because of a party?”

“Uh, yeah. I think I mentioned it in my text?”

“I didn't get any message about…” Wanda trails off, taking a moment to steady herself. You’ve barely seen each other in the past week. The last thing she wants is to lash out on you.

But instead of noticing her distress and apologizing, or recognizing how your consecutive absences have affected her, you're fixated on pulling out your phone, scrolling through your messages, to… what? To prove to her that you mentioned it in your text?

“I sent you a text. I swear, I mentioned it,” you mumble. After a few more seconds, you let out a sigh of exasperation, showing her the screen where the message lays unsent. “The message failed to send... I thought you knew.”

Wanda looks at the screen and then back at you, her gaze softening slightly. “It happens,” she says with a soft smile.

“I'm sorry, Wanda,” you admit, placing the phone down. “Yes, it was a gathering, and I should've double-checked or called.”

She shakes her head, her fingers brushing against your cheek, just happy to be touching you. “I’m not mad. I just miss you, that's all.”

You take her hand in yours, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I miss you too. So bad.”

Wanda shifts slightly, trying to get more comfortable in the embrace. “Did you have fun, at least?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you reply with an enthusiastic nod. “It was great catching up with everyone, especially Janet. Did you know she only got married a year ago? And they're already expecting. It's amazing how quickly things happen for some people.”

Wanda's expression, which had been soft and open, changes almost imperceptibly. The brightness in her eyes dims a little, and there's a slight tensing of her lips, a subtle sign of the pain you unknowingly inflicted. You love her, yet at times you unintentionally wound her deeply without even realizing it. Wanda doesn't know how that can be, but in this moment, it feels truer than ever.

“She's really excited,” you continue, oblivious to the change in your wife’s demeanor. “They weren't even really trying. It just... happened. I'm happy for her, genuinely.”

Wanda nods, swallowing hard. “That's... that's great for them,” she says, forcing a smile. She withdraws from your hold, rising from the couch. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

This time, you notice the hardened look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It's nothing,” she replies with a faint, unconvincing smile. “Just tired.”

“Wanda—”

“Good night.”

You hold back, not pushing her for answers. She stops briefly at the base of the stairs, shoulders drooping. Then, with a heavy sigh, she slowly makes her way up, each step looking like it takes more effort than the last. 

-

The computer screen shines a relentless blue glow onto her face. 

As the weeks pass, she sees fewer and fewer unread emails, fewer blinking notifications. The heart of the art world has always thrummed with in-person interactions, art deals solidified by firm handshakes, cocktail parties filled with patrons looking to be swayed by a charismatic gallery curator, and the intimate closeness that comes from viewing a painting together and discussing its merits. Video calls, as efficient as they are, don't capture the nuance of human emotion and instinct in the same way.

Sometimes she dreams of being back in the thick of it all, surrounded by masterpieces and dizzying energy. Westview, however, is quaint, almost eerily so. It has its charms, its local coffee shops and small art scenes, but it's a far cry from the scenes of the big city.

She feels her importance at the gallery dwindling. She can't fault them; many of the responsibilities demand her physical presence. Currently, she can only manage to send crucial emails and direct calls and messages from essential patrons, sponsors, and others integral to the gallery's ecosystem. Her power of persuasion doesn't translate as effectively one email at a time. 

Wanda has always enjoyed playing to her strengths, particularly when meeting artists in person, where she can swiftly adapt her tactics based on the reactions of her audience, all while maintaining her self-assured demeanor, knowing that she carries a natural charm. However, being stuck in this town has taken that from her.

Feeling the stirrings of frustration rise in her gut, Wanda steps away from the table and retrieves her cellphone. She stares at it like it’s her salvation, contemplating whether to make the call. She needs someone to talk to, someone who knows her, someone who won't judge. 

She dials Agatha's number.

The phone rings a few times before a familiar voice, which once irked her but now only deepens her homesickness, answers.

“Wanda, dear! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Wanda tries to muster her energy to match Agatha's, but a hint of her distress manages to seep through. “Hi, I'm—I'm doing well. How about you?”

“Great,” Agatha replies cheerfully, but then her voice drops, “What's troubling you?”

“Nothing,” Wanda tells her quickly. A soft “hm” emanates from Agatha's end, followed by a silence that feels hefty, but not oppressive. It's the kind of silence that invites confession, though with a gossip-driven curiosity.

“It's this place,” Wanda starts, “It's not what I expected. I thought being here would give me space to breathe, a fresh start, but instead, I feel... trapped. Isn't it ironic? I have all this open space around me, but I feel more confined than ever.”

Agatha sighs, a knowing lilt in her voice. “Look, we've been in this rat race long enough. New city, new job, new whatever—it's all the same cycle, just different packaging. Maybe this detachment you're feeling? It's a cue. A chance to rethink... everything.”

Wanda arches an eyebrow, though Agatha can't see it. “What are you saying?” Sparky trots towards her, mewling. Wanda briefly flashes him a smile before scratching him behind his ears.

Agatha's voice grows sharper, more incisive. “I’m saying that maybe you haven’t really given your new town a chance because you’re holding on tightly on a rope to the past. I'm saying maybe the gallery, as much as it's been your lifeline, is now your anchor. Dragging you down. Ever thought of cutting the cord?”

Wanda's heart races. “You mean quit? Just like that?”

A snort from Agatha. “Why not? What's it giving you right now? A title? Perks? Or just a nostalgia trip and a daily reminder of what used to be?”

Wanda is silent, grappling with the blunt reality Agatha’s laying out. The realization that maybe she's clinging to a past that doesn't fit her present is daunting.

“Look, Wanda,” Agatha continues, softer now, “it's just business. The gallery won't sink without you, and maybe you'll find a version of yourself you didn't know existed without it. Westview’s a new board. Play it.”

-

The house is enormous for two people and a small dog. The vastness of the space should thrill her, yet it amplifies her loneliness. Your early departures and late returns leave her lingering in the expanse, waiting for life to unfold. The sparkling countertops, the polished floors—she's cleaned them over twice this week, a feeble attempt to occupy her time, to feel some semblance of accomplishment. 

But what's the point when, at the end of it all, it feels like nothing? 

Wanda's eyes flutter open as she hears the familiar, albeit late, sound of the front door clicking shut. Recently, her sleep has been light, so even your softest footfalls register in her consciousness. She remains still, her back turned to the bedroom door, her breathing deliberate and even. The sounds of shuffling reach her ears: the rustle of clothes, a muted sigh, the faint creak of a floorboard.

The bed shifts, dips, as you ease yourself beside her. The silence stretches, becoming palpable, thick. And then, a whisper, soft and low, bathed in regret. “Wanda?”

She doesn’t respond, biting back the words she wants to unleash, the lack of purpose and direction she feels these days. The longing in her eyes, if you could see it, would tear right through you. 

It's been five nights in a row. Five nights of cool sheets and colder silences.

Moments later, she feels you trace your fingers over the bare curve of her arm. “I'm sorry,” you whisper, every word dripping with the weariness of corporate warfare and personal neglect. “Missed you. Like you wouldn't believe.”

You press a tender kiss to her hair and Wanda holds her breath. “I promise, I'll make it right,” you say, your voice a mere breath against her ear. “We'll find our way back. I just... I need a bit more time.” Nestled against her, the familiar contours of her body will always be your home, and soon the demands of the past days pull you into a deep slumber.

Yet, for Wanda, sleep remains out of reach. Despite your assurances, a gnawing uncertainty has taken root in her heart. She craves your company, but she also harbors a growing resentment that she’s been trying to deny ever since she set foot in this forsaken town. 

Not for the first time this year, Wanda wonders if you can really love someone deeply and yet blame them for the things in your life that make you unhappy.

-

The rain pelts down on Westview’s streets, the usually quiet lanes now slick with water and glistening under the sporadic streetlights. Wanda’s pace quickens, her umbrella slipping from her loose grip when an unforeseen splash from a passing car leaves her utterly soaked.

“Hey!” she shouts out, more from shock than anger. But the car drives on, indifferent to the trail of mess it's left behind. She's in the process of assessing the damage—wet strands of hair plastering to her face and her shirt now ruined – when he appears. A young man with strikingly bleached hair, seeming unaffected by the god-awful weather.

“You look like you're having a day,” he remarks, his voice carrying an amused lilt. With a confident stride, he approaches her. He’s tall—almost a foot taller than her. “Here, this might help,” he says, already moving to the trunk of his parked car nearby. 

She watches him, curious and a tad skeptical. It's not every day a stranger offers assistance, especially in pouring rain. But this one is already producing a neatly folded tee from the trunk. “I hit the gym quite a bit. Always have a spare,” he explains, flashing a grin.

Wanda hesitates, her gaze shifting from the shirt to him and back. Up close, he appears younger than she initially perceived. “Thanks,” she murmurs, accepting the shirt. There's an odd sincerity in his eyes that makes her trust him, if only for this fleeting moment.

“How about a drink? To warm you up. And perhaps, as a small token of thanks for letting me play the good samaritan today,” he says. She arches an eyebrow, surprised by his boldness. Most people would've stopped at the shirt. Had this conversation taken place in Manhattan, Wanda would have already left with a sharp remark about his bold attempt to engage her in conversation. But here and now, she can't quite pinpoint why she hasn't brushed him off as she usually would have by this point.

Despite her initial reluctance, she finds herself smiling. You're the only person she's spoken to since arriving in Westview. She's so starved for a bit of normalcy that maybe a chat with a stranger might do the trick. After all, he's just a kid. She could regard him as a nephew or something similar.

“Alright,” she concedes, “just one drink.”

-

Within the first minute, Wanda learns his name: Victor Shade. However, he prefers the nickname ‘Vision’, which Wanda finds a tad whimsical. They find a cozy booth in a tucked-away corner, shielding them from potential prying eyes passing by the restaurant. While Wanda didn't plan to keep their meeting a secret, Vision naturally guided her to the more discreet spot.

“So, Wanda,” Vision begins, taking a sip of his drink, “What brought you to town? It doesn't seem like the most obvious choice for someone like you.”

Wanda looks at him, intrigued. “Someone like me? What does that mean?”

He chuckles, “Well, from our short interaction, you seem like someone who's seen bigger cities, more happening places. Westview is... charming, but quiet.”

“Same could be said about you. You don't exactly scream 'small town boy' either,” Wanda says.

Vision's eyebrows rise playfully, feigning offense. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Your confidence,” she retorts with a smirk. “It's loud, almost deafening. It echoes big city vibes.”

He laughs, nodding in concession. “Touche.”

As their conversation progresses, Wanda begins to see him less as a kid and more as a well-read, intriguing individual, particularly when Vision reveals he's an art major, his eyes lighting up as he talks about his passion for Renaissance art and postmodernism.“I graduated with a degree in art,” she shares, her own memories of university flooding back. She recounts stories of late-night classes and the exhilaration of her first gallery show. They bond over favorite artists and art movements, finding shared preferences and amusing disagreements. It's a pleasant surprise for Wanda to discover that, out of all the people in Westview, the first one she genuinely converses with is someone with whom she shares so much in common.

Yet, as she's engaging with Vision, a tiny voice at the back of her mind keeps drawing comparisons between him and you. The way you and Wanda communicate is so fundamentally different. You lean heavily on the left, analytical and logical in your thinking. Your conversations with Wanda often revolve around structured debates, dissecting topics with precision and care, always seeking the root cause or solution. Wanda, on the other hand, leans more to the right, driven by creativity and emotion. She loves diving into abstract concepts, weaving narratives and ideas with passion.

You and Wanda did find common interests and topics that you both enjoy. Over the years, you've had countless meaningful moments where you both found yourselves talking for hours on end. But the rapport she's building with Vision is something she hasn't felt in a long while, or perhaps ever, even with you. It's not necessarily better or worse; it's just different, and it takes her by surprise.

At one point, Vision’s gaze falls upon the glint of Wanda's wedding ring, reflecting the ambient light of the restaurant. “You're married,” he observes, not as a question but a statement.

Wanda hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Yes, I am.”

Vision looks at her, searching for something in her eyes. “Does he know you're out with a stranger?”

“She,” Wanda corrects instinctively, her cheeks warming as she notices his eyes sparkle with heightened interest, then she adds, “She probably wouldn't mind. We trust each other. Besides, it's just a drink with a friend, right?”

He smiles, raising his glass. “To friendship.”

-

For the first time, she arrives home later than you that night. Wanda finds you in the living room, curled up on the couch, a remote in hand, and an empty wine glass on the table beside you.

As the door clicks shut, you turn, and your eyes clouded with surprise as you meet hers. “Hey,” you murmur, the TV's remote paused mid-air, “Wasn't expecting you this late.”

Wanda shrugs, unsure of how to convey the unexpected turn her day had taken. She hangs her coat and moves towards the living room, her shoes making soft tapping noises against the wooden floor. “Ran into someone... from college,” she half-lies, the omission of Vision's identity a deliberate choice. Not out of guilt, but more a protective instinct to keep the evening's serendipitous meeting to herself.

“Oh? How was that?”

“It was... nice. Different,” Wanda replies, picking her words with care. She can sense your gaze on her, trying to piece together the puzzle, and she quickly adds, “We just grabbed a drink, caught up. You know how it is.”

You nod slowly, the lines of your face softening. “Good. You needed that. This move... it's been hard on you.” The acknowledgment feels like a balm, and Wanda gives you a small, appreciative smile. She’s about to head upstairs when your voice stops her in her tracks.

“That's a... unique shirt you've got there,” you comment. She turns around slowly to face you and sees a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

Wanda glances down at the shirt she's wearing, an admittedly garish tee that's far from her usual style. “Some idiot in a car decided I looked better drenched,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “This was the only option the nearby store had.”

It's her third lie of the evening, and Wanda can't explain why she keeps doing it.

“Well, I've got to say, it's a look. You're absolutely killing it,” you tease, a bit sarcastically.

Wanda snorts, the tightness in her chest loosening a little. “Oh, shut it.” She can't help but smile. “You're one to talk. Remember that hideous Christmas sweater you insisted on wearing last year?”

Ah, a challenge. You rise from your spot on the couch, taking a deliberate step towards her. “That was festive. This is... rebellious?” you guess, tracing a finger in the air around the outlines of her new shirt. “You pulling a midlife crisis on me, Mrs. Maximoff?”

She blushes, but whether from the memory of the car incident or your close proximity, it's hard to tell. “It's just a shirt,” she retorts, but her voice cracks and the light in her eyes betrays her amusement.

Your fingers itch to brush against the fabric of her shirt, to maybe pull her closer. “You know,” you murmur, voice low, “you could make even a potato sack look sexy.”

Wanda bites her lower lip, her breath catching just slightly. She revels in the banter, the space between yourselves shrinking with every heartbeat. She finds herself lost in the pull, but a gnawing unease lingers, making her wary. Just then, Sparky comes out of nowhere, sprinting and eventually running into Wanda’s leg. His tail wags a mile a minute, pleading for Wanda to shower him with affection. Grateful for the interruption, Wanda quickly shifts her attention, bending down to indulge the spirited pup. “Missed me, did you, Sparks?”

You try to mask your disappointment, but the subtle change in your expression isn't lost on her, even as she pointedly looks away.

-

Nights following her meeting with Vision find Wanda restless. It isn’t necessarily Vision himself that haunts her thoughts, but rather their impassioned discussion on art (and just about anything). She realizes, with a sharp pang, how deeply she misses the world that served as her refuge for years when she sought to escape her own reality.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she heads to Westview Institute of Arts and Sciences, seeking a place where her passion and expertise could be valuable.

Hours later, she gets an email inviting her for an interview with the dean. Apparently, the school has been looking for an assistant professor for the past several months now.

-

A week later, they offer her the position, and she talks to you about it shortly after sending them the signed letter of acceptance.

-

Her first day at the school is all kinds of awkward, likely more so than her first day as a student years ago. The university building looks massive for being in such a remote, out-of-the-way town. All around, there's a crowd of young students bustling about, their laughter and conversations filling the crisp, morning air. 

Among them, Wanda stands, momentarily frozen—an outsider looking in. She wears a chic black ensemble: slacks, a blazer, and a turtleneck, hoping to conceal the anxiety that's making it difficult for her to keep her breakfast down. However, as she's introduced to a few of the other professors, her resolve wavers. They're in more casual attire, and she can't help but feel a tad overdressed, sticking out like a meticulously painted stroke on an empty canvas.

She doesn't get to meet her students immediately. Instead, her day is consumed by orientation processes, faculty meetings, and an extensive tour of the sprawling campus. Every time she turns a corner or meets someone new, a mix of excitement and jitters rushes through her. The enormity of the responsibility she's shouldering, coupled with the fact that she's never taught anyone before (not even tutored)—it's both intimidating and thrilling all at once.

It's been a while since she's felt this alive, apart from the rare times when you're home on time, or when she gets to spend an entire day with you. But this? This is the first time in ages that something beyond the comfort of your love has rekindled a spark in her, reminding Wanda of a part of herself she had almost forgotten.

-

At the end of her first day, Wanda does meet one of her students.

Technically, she has met him before, but it was in the context of a friendly stranger who lent her his shirt when she needed it the most. When Vision told her that he was an art student, she didn't actually expect to find him attending the same university. She had assumed he was from the city and just passing through.

(Perhaps it’s her silliest assumption she's made to date but—it is what it is.)

“Aren't you a pleasant surprise,” Vision says, rolling down the window of his Mustang. When his voice reaches her, it's distinctly out of place, an unexpected ripple in her carefully mapped out day. 

She swallows hard, resisting the urge to take a step back, “Vision, I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

He grins, the sunlight catching the edges of his aviator glasses. “It's a small world, or rather, a small university.” He tilts his head playfully, “Wait... are you...?”

Wanda cuts him off, “Let's just say, I'm exploring my options here.”

A pause ensues, both understanding the unsaid implications. 

“You know,” Vision starts, leaning against his car, “I'd heard there was a new, 'exceptionally dressed' professor in town. Just didn't piece it together that it would be you.”

“It's a small world,” she murmurs, her face a shade paler.

He seems to sense her discomfort and remarks, “I suppose this changes everything.”

Wanda sighs, “It's just... I need to maintain a certain decorum here. It would be inappropriate if—”

“—If I turned out to be one of your students,” he finishes for her. His smirk is replaced by a milder expression. “Don't worry. Whatever our relationship outside this campus, I respect boundaries. And I expect you do too.”

She nods, appreciative of his maturity. “Thank you, Vision.”

Before she can fully turn away, Vision snaps his fingers together. “Oh, by the way, you left something with me from last time. Your shirt? The shirt you had to change out of?”

Wanda's face reddens slightly at the memory. “I completely forgot about that. Do you have it?”

Vision points with a thumb over his shoulder towards his car. “Wait a second. It's in the back.” He moves to retrieve the shirt, but after rummaging for a few moments, he frowns. “I could have sworn I left it here…”

He removes his sunglasses, allowing his gaze to lift in thought, revealing the unnaturally vibrant blue of his eyes to Wanda.  “Ah, I remember now. It's in my laundry bag, which I took to my apartment.”

“It's fine. You can give it back another time,” Wanda says.

But Vision, with that same gleam in his eyes, counters, “Why not just come with me and get it now? It's a short drive.”

She bites her lip, thinking. On one hand, she'd rather not prolong their interaction given the new dynamics. On the other, it might be best to just get it over with. “I'm not sure…”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I promise it's just a shirt, Professor.”

The inclusion of the title almost brings a smile to her face. “Alright,” Wanda gives in, “But only if it’s quick. And remember, as far as the university is concerned, we’re merely acquaintances.”

“Technically, you haven’t met your class yet. And as of now, I’m not your student,” he points out with an innocent shrug.

The logic is sound, though it does little to quell the anxiety bubbling within Wanda. She nods, exhaling deeply. “Let’s go.”

They drive to Vision’s apartment building, the journey marked by fleeting glances and a silence that's not entirely comfortable. He attempts to dispel the tension, “I've washed and ironed the shirt for you. Hope that's alright.”

She looks over, surprised by the gesture. “Thank you, that's... unexpected.”

As she sits in the passenger seat of Vision’s car, Wanda inadvertently starts picking up on the small details surrounding her. She notices the immaculate interior of the car—not a stray piece of litter, every surface gleaming. There's a fresh, clean scent permeating the space, a subtle hint of citrus perhaps. It's not the typical aroma one would expect from a college student's car. She thinks of the younger people she's known and how their vehicles often doubled as chaotic storage spaces, littered with discarded clothes, takeaway containers, and the musty scent of overdue laundry.

When they arrive at his apartment, it further exemplifies this meticulousness. Sketches, paintings, and art supplies are neatly arranged, yet the area feels lived-in, warm, not sterile. It's easy to forget he's just 21. He exudes an aura of maturity that doesn’t align with his years. If they had met under different circumstances, and if she hadn’t known his age, she would have pegged him for someone much older, someone who's seen more, experienced more.

“Your shirt,” Vision says, pulling it out from a cupboard—neatly folded, rather than from the laundry bag he remembered earlier. “As promised.”

As Wanda accepts it, her fingers brush against a freshly painted canvas. The vibrant colors smear slightly under her touch.

“Oh! I'm so sorry,” she exclaims, pulling her hand back.

Vision waves it off, “No worries. Sometimes accidents lead to the best kind of art.”

He then looks contemplative for a moment before posing a question,  “You know, Picasso once said, 'Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.' What do you think of that?”

The randomness of it throws her off for a second, before she regards him with a thoughtful look. “Well, in a way, creation and destruction aren't opposing forces. One can be a precursor to the other. To create something new, often something old has to give way.”

Vision's eyes light up, clearly pleased by her response. “Exactly! It's like when you're sketching. Sometimes, you have to erase an entire section just to rework it. And often, the second attempt is much better than the first.”

They continue discussing, each statement leading to another topic, and another. After a while, Vision hesitates before making a bold request, “Wanda, would you... would you mind if I sketched you? Just for practice. You have such unique features, and it'd be a challenge for me.”

“Trying to butter up your professor already?” It comes out a bit flirtatious by accident, and Wanda struggles to retract it.

He nods, a little sheepishly. “Only if you're comfortable. It’s just... our discussion has inspired me.”

Wanda laughs lightly, unable to deny that the notion does flatter her.. “Alright, but only for a bit. I'm not exactly dressed for a portrait.”

“You are…” Vision murmurs almost too quietly to hear, his eyes already fixed on his sketchpad. But Wanda still catches it, and a faint blush tints her cheeks. Vision gets to work. In this moment, she's both his muse and his critic, and for a brief while, a hushed silence envelops the room.

However, as the minutes tick by, Wanda begins to feel increasingly restless beneath his studious, penetrating gaze. She tries to keep her posture, attempting to appear at ease, but her muscles gradually tighten in response to his intent focus. There’s a kind of intimacy in being observed so closely that she wasn’t quite prepared for.

“Can you tilt your head just a bit to the left?” he asks, never lifting his gaze from the page. She obliges. Moments later, “A little to the right now, and chin up. Perfect.”

Wanda obeys, adjusting her position to his liking. But it's a stray strand of hair that falls onto her forehead that really tests her composure. Vision notices it immediately. “Could you brush that hair away, please?” he asks.

She reaches up, trying to tuck it behind her ear, but it stubbornly returns to its original position. Frowning in mild irritation, she tries again but with the same result.

Vision chuckles softly. “Stay still,” he murmurs, placing his sketchpad to the side. He carefully rises from his seat and approaches her, eyes never leaving her face. “I'll fix it.”

Heart inexplicably racing, Wanda can't comprehend why she obeys so willingly, remaining motionless as Vision's fingertips ghost near her face. The distance between them becomes almost negligible as his face hovers mere inches from hers. She can feel the warmth of his breath, see the earnest concentration in his eyes. Slowly, ever so gently, his fingers brush the errant strand away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “There we go,” Vision whispers. 

But instead of retreating, he lingers. She watches as Vision's eyes flutter closed, and he begins to lean in. She's teetering at the precipice of something that can't be taken back, and she’s horrified to discover a part of her that wants to give in.

Shaking herself out of the trance, she manages to whisper with a tremble in her voice, “I... I have to go.” Her words cut through the moment like a knife, yet Vision remains close, eyes searching hers as he softly challenges, “Are you sure?”

That simple question, laden with suggestion, irks Wanda. This was more than just an innocent sketching session. Irritation builds as she understands what he might have been attempting. In her haste to distance herself, she stands abruptly, accidentally brushing his face with her head. She doesn't apologize, too focused on gathering her belongings.

Vision, realizing his mistake, scrambles to his feet, “Wanda, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”

But she cuts him off, hand already on the door handle. “I'll see you in class, Mr. Shade.”

-

Wanda doesn't know how you managed to convince her to shower together one morning.

To be fair, you didn't make much of an effort to persuade her, and she was more than willing to participate. Perhaps it's because life has been an unending whirlwind lately, a blur of responsibilities and ever-mounting pressure.  Her fresh endeavor into academia had consumed much of her waking hours, leaving her mentally drained by the end of the day. You, on the other hand, seemed perpetually buried under a mountain of paperwork and late-night calls. 

It's not an excuse, of course, but these realities have inadvertently wedged a distance between the two of you. So, on that fateful morning, when you followed her into the bathroom, you were a woman on a mission. But as you wordlessly entered the shower, a certain determination evident in your stride, Wanda felt the need to object. Her protest, however, was cut short. The feel of your lips on hers, possessive and demanding, effectively silenced her. Her knees threatened to give way, and if not for the firm grip you had on her waist, she might have collapsed. Instead, she melted into your arms, letting you take the lead, and well—

That resulted in her losing nearly half of her students for her first class of the day because they believed she wouldn't show up after being nearly twenty minutes late.

“That can’t happen again,” Wanda told you.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

It occurs a few more times before she intentionally begins waking up before your alarm goes off. Wanda misses her wife, but she misses the life you both left behind even more. And despite finding satisfaction in her new career,  she can’t seem to stop resenting you for that.

-

Her period is a week late, but Wanda isn't worried. You both stopped trying to conceive before coming to New Jersey. However, it does remind her of something else she had to let go of and how it felt like you gave up on her too easily for comfort.

-

The stress from her new job eventually begins to take a toll on her. Stacks of papers sprawl across the table, some marked with red ink, others waiting to be perused. Her hand moves methodically, adjusting her notes, reviewing her questions, ensuring every detail is in place for the impending exam. Her back protests from the hours spent in the same position, her eyes blink away the fatigue, but she's determined to finalize every last bit. It takes a few more moments before she finishes editing her students’ first examination. It's late—far too late for her to still be at the university, but a sense of accomplishment washes over her.

In the middle of soaking up her minor achievement for the day, she suddenly remembers Sparky. He's been left for hours, with just water, and that she's supposed to get groceries for him this afternoon. Shit, Wanda curses breathily, hurrying her movements. 

She's about to shut her laptop when she hears a knock on the door. Thinking it's the security guard, she quickly rehearses her plea for just a few more minutes. However, when she opens the door, she's staring into the all-too-familiar blue eyes of Vision.

Wanda takes an involuntary step back, her pulse quickening. “Mr. Shade,” she greets, an uncharacteristic iciness in her voice.

He looks equally surprised, “Wan—Professor Maximoff,” he responds. “I... I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

“Neither was I. What are you still doing here?”

Vision runs a hand through his hair, looking bashful for a change. “I often come to the art room late at night. It helps me think, especially when I feel creatively stuck. I was on my way home and noticed the lights still on in this office.”

Wanda feels a pang of suspicion, even as she tries to remind herself that the university is as much Vision's space as it is hers. Still, she can't help but feel wary. “Well, I'm just leaving,” she says curtly, shouldering her bag. Before she can take another step, Vision's fingers encircle her arm, the unexpected touch of warm skin on skin causing her to pause. She looks down at where his fingers lightly grip her, and then up into his earnest eyes. She can feel the warmth of his hand, the roughness of his fingertips. 

“Wait,” he murmurs, his blue eyes locking onto hers, an earnest plea evident in their depths. “We need to talk.”

Wanda instinctively tries to pull her arm away, but Vision's grip tightens, not painfully but enough to keep her there. He steps closer, effectively cutting off her escape route. His height becomes even more pronounced as he leans slightly, bringing his face closer to hers. His presence feels overbearing, almost intimidating, as he places himself between her and the exit. He quietly closes the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the silence, and the room feels much, much smaller now.

Wanda's eyes dart around, looking for a way out, her mind racing. “Vision, this isn't appropriate,” she manages to say.

All he says is, “I know. I'm sorry.”

They find themselves engaged in a staring contest, with only the sound of their breathing serving as a reminder of each other's presence. Several tense seconds pass, with neither willing to break the gaze. Then, slowly, Vision eases the grip on her arm, his fingers lingering for a moment before letting go entirely. He steps back deliberately, emphasizing the space between them, a clear invitation for her to leave if she chooses to.

Her heart pounding loudly in her ears, Wanda takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She wants to leave, to create as much distance as possible between them, especially when she knows what's about to happen if she gives in even the slightest bit.

She takes a shaky breath and, for the briefest moment, her gaze drifts to her work laptop. A flash of silver catches her eye. Her USB, containing the work she's been laboring on for hours. “I-I forgot something” she mutters, panic rising in her voice. “I need that before I go,” she says, pointing to the device.

Vision nods, not saying a word. Wanda cautiously begins to move towards the desk, but before she can reach it, Vision's there, his movements swift and silent. He suddenly wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close. The initial shock has her resisting, pushing against his chest, but it's short-lived. Before she knows it, she's letting out a quiet sigh, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He hoists her up effortlessly, seating her on the edge of the desk.

As she looks up at him, he slides his hands up, disappearing beneath her skirt. The faintest image of your face flickers across Wanda's mind, a ghost of a memory that almost pulls her back to sense and reason. But as Vision's fingers find their wet mark, Wanda's grip tightens on the edge of the desk, her eyes fluttering closed.  She can no longer recall the sequence of events that led her to this very moment, nor the myriad reasons why it shouldn't be happening.

Every bit of rationale, every thought of you, all seem to evaporate, leaving only the need to breathe and to feel. 

To just be.

-

Wanda remains in her car without starting the engine for a good thirty minutes. She left the room as soon as she could pull her panties up past her knees. She can feel the residual heat on her skin, how he felt inside of her. She resists the urge to squeeze her thighs together, attempting to disregard the stickiness and discomfort she feels.

She clutches the steering wheel, knuckles white, struggling with the realization of what she's done. She's betrayed you. It wasn't just a lapse in judgment, it was a deliberate decision, a yielding to curiosity, to loneliness, to that inexplicable pull towards someone who isn’t you. But as much as she’s drowning in guilt, she couldn’t deny how her mind keeps going back to Vision’s touch, the way he'd made her feel so alive, so seen, in a way she hadn’t felt in a while. It's maddening, this push and pull. It's like there are two sides of her fighting it out inside—one, the devoted partner who loves you, and the other, a woman who's awakened, yearning for something she can't quite put into words.

She laughs, the sound teetering on the edge of hysteria. It's an unsettling sound in the quiet of the car, an indication of her fraying sanity. How did she get here? How did she become this person? In what manner did she find herself engaging in infidelity despite your presence in her life?  You've been the guiding light in her life for so long, making her the best version of herself she's ever known. But still, how can she undo this part of herself she never thought existed?

Tears form in her eyes as she closes them, trying to banish the memories, to shut out the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. But they're too powerful, too raw, too fresh. Too real. And she knows she has to face them, to confront the reality of what she's done and decide where to go from here.

It's just past midnight when Wanda's car pulls into the driveway. She emerges from the vehicle in a daze, her steps slow and disconnected, as if each step leads her inexorably towards her reckoning. The door to the house opens before she can even reach for the knob. There you stand, concern evident in your eyes. Wanda hadn't expected to find you awake, especially not at this hour, waiting for her. 

It’s your scent first that reaches her before anything else,  the distinct aroma of fresh pine from the sprawling garden surrounding the house, coupled with the distinct smell of Sparky, suggesting that you've held him close most of the night. The protective, almost desperate way your arms encircle her reveals just how much you've been consumed with worry about her whereabouts and safety. 

Every time you’re near, every time she gets to hold you, it’s instinctual for her to break into a smile. But tonight, it's ephemeral. A tidal wave of guilt and regret crashes over her. She stiffens in your arms, the realization of her actions making her insides churn.

“Where were you?” you exclaim as you pull away and clasp her shoulder blades hard.  “I've been here, pacing, worried out of my mind, and I couldn't reach you.”

It's the questioning, the concern, the love in your voice that breaks something inside her.  “My phone died and I forgot to bring my charger. I was writing the final exam that I have to turn in by tomorrow, and got carried away. I’m so sorry,” she says evenly, almost robotically.

You raise an eyebrow, frustration evident. “You could've borrowed a phone or used the school's landline, right?”

She has to remind herself that your words aren't accusations. You're not out to corner her; you genuinely don't know what she's done. And in that moment, she decides that she'll do everything to ensure you will never know. 

Taking a deep breath, Wanda resorts to tactics she despises in herself. “Like I said, I was working,” she retorts with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, hoping the hint of condescension in her tone might distract you, even as it tears at her own conscience. “It’s Westview. What’s the worst that could happen to me? Please let it go, I’m so fucking exhausted.”

Your reaction to her words is immediate, a palpable retreat, and she's overcome with the urge to spill every secret, every confession, if only she could be certain you wouldn't walk away.

“Fine,” you say tersely, stepping aside to let her pass. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.” You don’t bother to hide the hurt in your eyes and her resolve almost crumbles.

“Sounds good,” she says and turns abruptly, making her way upstairs, her pace quickening with every step. 

In the morning, she offers you kisses as an apology, and you're blissfully unaware of the hundred ways it's steeped in treachery.

-

It keeps happening with Vision and she starts to waste away. On the surface, she seems to be taking better care of herself: shedding some weight, toning in ways that leave you entranced during the few mornings you catch her making breakfast. 

But Wanda is adept at playing it cool, brushing off your hungry gazes as if they're mere figments of her imagination. She longs for you in the same intense way she always has, but she's entangled in this twisted duality now. As she writes names and explanations on the board, she can almost feel the intensity of Vision's stare, a heat on her back that she's come to recognize all too well. Sometimes, during a lecture, she'll turn and catch him staring, and right then, she knows where they'll be once the session ends. She also begins to frequent places she's never been to before, corners of the town she hopes no one will recognize them in. There, they sit side by side, their knees touching underneath the table, talking about everything and nothing. 

And you wouldn't, not for a second, entertain suspicions about her hardly ever being at home. Because your love for her is profound, and your trust, even more so. Because she knows you're buried under the weight of your own challenges at work, and capitalizes on this knowledge for the time being. Because whatever this is, whatever she’s doing with Vision, she knows it’s temporary. She swears she’ll clean up after herself, the moment she can purge this from her system.

Because none of it feels as if they're truly happening,  and Wanda convinces herself it's just a hazy, erotic dream from which she can wake at any moment she chooses.

-

“Do you love me?” 

The question hits Wanda like a freight train. Of course she does. You’re her… of course she does. And she’s never felt the fear of losing you, the true love of her life, more acutely than now.

“Of course I love you,” Wanda says, fighting to keep her voice steady even as her chin quivers. “What a silly question.”

“I guess I’m just feeling silly. We’ve been working hard, and when we’re together,” you pause, your voice quivering, letting out a mirthless laugh, “We’re still working.”

Her guilt amplifies. She's been so engrossed in her own struggles that she failed to see how it's affecting you. The toll it's taken on your relationship. Your insecurities, your need for validation, all because she's been distant and distracting herself from her own demons. She's grateful the shadows conceal her face from you, or else it would be to easy for you to recognize the truth, and—

“I just miss you,” you confess, and it stings.

“Me too,” she whispers, the words filled with layers of meaning she can't articulate. Wanda tries to find more words, something to reassure you further, but she can't quite comfort as effortlessly as you do for her. You've always been more adept at loving her than she's ever been with you.

“Good night,” you say, and Wanda detects no underlying bitterness in your tone. She almost wishes there were. It'd be easier if you didn't love her so unconditionally; then she wouldn't feel so wretched for the secrets she's keeping just beyond this room's walls.

-

She goes as far as asking herself if she simply misses having a cock inside of her, the thought nagging at her especially when Vision stays firmly inside her, holding her in place as he spills into a condom. She flutters around him a few more times before she slackens in his hold. 

Pushing away the guilt that threatens to engulf her every time they are together, Wanda wonders if this reckless escapade with her student is merely an escape from the monotonous predictability of her life or a deeper reflection of some unmet need. Vision’s bedroom becomes a space of both pleasure and torment for her. When she catches her reflection in the mirror he’s installed in front of the bed, she barely recognizes the woman staring back, eyes clouded with both desire and regret. She clings to the belief that once she figures out what she's truly seeking, she can end it all and return to you, wholly and completely. But the more she thinks about it, the more elusive the answer becomes.

Vision’s bony hips gradually come to a stop, and he finally pulls out of her. She feels the evidence of their recent activities on her skin, and is hit with an overwhelming need to wash it all away. 

“I need a shower,” she murmurs, more to herself than to him. He simply nods, watching her intently. There's a question in his eyes, perhaps seeking assurance or simply wondering if she'll return to his bed afterwards. Wanda doesn't give him an answer, nor does she meet his gaze for long. Instead, she wraps herself in whatever piece of clothing she can find and heads towards the bathroom.

When she emerges from the shower, redressed in the clothes she wore earlier, Vision is absent from the bedroom. Instead, the appetizing aroma of food wafts toward her. Following the scent, she discovers him in the kitchen, incongruously clad in a pink apron over his boxers.

As Wanda heads straight for the exit, Vision's voice abruptly stops her.

“Wanda, wait.”

She halts, not turning around, her hand still clutching the handle.

“You act as if I'm luring you back each time, Wanda. Like I'm this puppeteer pulling your strings.” He casually flips whatever he's cooking. “That's not how it is, and you know it.”

Wanda grimaces, his words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “Vision, it's not that—”

He interrupts her, his tone dripping with feigned innocence, “Have I ever forced you? Pushed you into anything? Or have you willingly come to me every time? You have, haven’t you?”

She turns to face him. “You know it’s more complicated than that—”

“Yet you keep coming back. And every time you do, I think, 'Maybe she sees in me what I see in her.' But then you run, making me out to be the villain.” He finally looks up, his eyes pleading and calculating at the same time.

Tears well up in her eyes. She tries to speak, but he continues, overriding her. “You're an intellectual, Wanda. A brilliant mind. I've learned more from you this semester than years combined. Isn't it natural to be drawn to such brilliance? To want more than just lectures?”

“I'm married,” Wanda states with conviction, even though just an hour ago, that fact  held no meaning beneath the sheets. “I've made vows. Promises. Every time I’m with you, I question myself, my integrity. I don't know why I keep letting this happen.” Wanda's voice quivers with frustration and desperation. Vision sees it as a minor victory. He knows he's affecting her.

Disregarding the pan and turning off the stove, he approaches her, his gaze never leaving hers, trying to weave his narrative into her consciousness.

“That's just it, isn't it? There's no betrayal. We're not sneaking around, planning secret getaways. We're two souls who've connected on a level that's rare. Deep, profound. We're just... experiencing it.”

She takes a step back, shaking her head furiously. “It's not right.”

He follows, closing the distance between them. When she’s within his reach, he lifts her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Who defines what's right, Wanda? Why is it wrong for two souls with undeniable connection to explore every facet of it? Does it make us bad people to want to feel alive?"

She tries to pull away, her gaze dropping to the floor, but he tightens his grip on her chin. “Look at me,” he says, his voice soft but insistent. “Tell me you don't feel it. This connection.”

She inhales sharply, her resistance waning. “I do... but I can't understand why.”

He releases her, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. “Because it's natural. And maybe… maybe there's nothing malicious in it. Nothing deceitful. We're just... experiencing.”

Wanda closes her eyes, his words washing over her, causing further confusion. “What do you want from me?”

He smiles, his touch growing bolder as he cradles her face. “I want friendship. Inspiration. You've become my muse, Wanda.”

“She loves me,” she murmurs, a last-ditch effort to wriggle free from his hold.

“And you love her, right?” he challenges, slowly starting to unbutton her blouse.

“Yes, but—”

“But love isn't singular,” he interrupts, his fingers moving deftly, revealing more of her skin with every second. “You can love her and still find something unique with me. Your love for her isn’t lessened because of our connection.”

Wanda bites her lip. With every piece of clothing he peels away, it feels like he’s stripping away her defenses, too. “It's not just about love. It's about commitment, trust.”

He slides her jacket off her shoulders, his hands warm against her bare arms. “And haven't you committed to her in every other aspect of your life? You share a life, a home, memories, and love. What we have... it's different. It's intellectual, spiritual,” he argues, his gaze never leaving hers. 

“But there are lines we’ve crossed—”

“Lines society drew for us.”

She swallows hard, tears threatening to spill. “I just don't want to hurt anyone.”

His voice softens, even as his fingers deftly work at the last buttons of her blouse. “Neither do I. But sometimes, in life, we have to listen to our true desires, to understand what our heart and soul really need. It’s not about being selfish; it’s about being true to oneself.”

And is this one of her 'true' desires?

Before she can articulate things further, the last of her defenses and garments are stripped away, and Visions sheds his boxers and draws her near. Their skins meet, a tantalizing sensation of heat and urgency. Wanda's breath catches as Vision's strong arms wrap around her waist, effortlessly lifting her. She instinctively wraps her legs around him, their closeness leaving no room for hesitation or doubt. 

[that-hazbin]

Omg omg omg your last post, the one about Charlie fucking up a spell and all the hotel residents disappearing amd the Al going crazy, is just *chef's kiss* already. I love me some radio demon angst, especially when he is forced to show he cares.

BUT BUT BUT HEAR ME OUT. What if this was combined with the Blackout AU? And now Alastor thinks what if he did something and doesn't remember it? What if everyone is gone and it's HIS fault? What if he hurt them? Idk, it just adds another level of angst, I think, to have Alastor not only unable to find any of them and also be hit with the realization that he cares so suddenly AND also think he might've caused it and just... feel so much self-loathing.

(Bonus points this is also how the residents find out about the blackouts. Or at least they start suspecting that there is more to Al than he lets on, not just about ghe fact that he cares. He starts talking to himself in a fit of panic and is like "Why did you have to this again?! You ruined it again!" and they'd be like wtf is he talking about and after they figure it out and they go back to normal and manage to calm Alastor down they're like "uhh, heyyyy btw what did you mean when you said this and that??" and Alastor is like "👁👄👁 Aha- I should retreat to my room now, it's been a long day after all, anyway, ta-ta people!" and just melts into the shadows. But now everyone knows that there is DEFFINETLY something going on with The Radion Demon that he doesn't want to tell them)

(Also another thing, what role would Vox play in this fic? I assume he saw them all disappear with his drone. Would he try and attack the hotel? Or stay out of it?)

Thanks you for reading my ask! Love your hcs and your AUs and just your whole characterization of Al!🫶🫶🫶

I'm not entirely sure Alastor would be able to even FUNCTION if this were combined with the blackout au, mostly because the stress of them disappearing would 100% send him into a blackout. A nonviolent one, where he runs and hides under his bed. Because feral unconscious Alastor is feeling very scared out of nowhere and thinks hiding will equal safe, which "deals with the problem."

It would take a WHILE for him to remain conscious enough to properly panic about the situation and actually start theorizing as to what had happened.

Personally, I want to separate the two AUs because it feels like there would be TOO MUCH going on and I wouldn't be able to dedicate a lot of time and thought into each individual aspects of that sort of fic.

Either way, there's definitely going to be questions after the cast gets out of the "ghost" situation. Because Alastor, under the belief that he is alone, is DEFINITELY going to let slip a LOT of things that he never would have otherwise.

His "rivalry" with Vox, for example, could be one of them. In this AU, Vox doesn't realize he captured something important until later when it becomes evident that the royal family is missing. Lucifer is capable of teleporting, after all.

However, Alastor's mental stability is very visibly deteriorating, and he's frantically running around the Pride ring asking about the residents of the hotel. He's basically making a public spectacle of himself in his desperation, and Vox doesn't need to be a genius to put the pieces together, especially when some other members of demon nobility start poking their noses around.

Vox is quite literally the LAST person to have seen the royal family. And he caught their disappearance on camera. He doesn't care about the hotel, but he DOES care about fucking with Alastor, so while he won't attack the hotel, he WILL be releasing that video to the masses. Possibly while Alastor is out in public, where his reaction can be seen by everyone nearby.

And oh, it will not be a good reaction.

Vox is deliberately trying to wear down Alastor psychologically, and he's going to wait until Alastor's hit absolute rock bottom before planning his attack. He just needs to be patient.

[eliashirsch]

God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions. A Masterlist. (1/3)

As of 15th May 2024, these are some of the BEST stories I have read in the fandom. Of course, this is completely subjective and there are many personal factors as to why I crowned them God Tier. 

Mainly:

Reading it for the first time: ‘Oh, this is really good, I’m going to be thinking about this for the rest of my life’

When compiling the list: ‘Oh my god, this fic, man, this fic!!’

There are many other fics that match the first criteria, but for it to be on this list, I needed to have these two reactions.

REMINDER! READ THE AUTHORS' TAGS AND WARNINGS!!! They’re there for a reason. PLEASE make sure you understand where the story is going to be before reading!!

Without further ado, I present to you, my roman empires:)

Winner Categories:

1. Best of the Best Authors (1/3)

2. Best of the Best Series (2/3)

3. Best of the Best Fics (3/3)

4. Honorary Mentions (4/3)

Best of the Best Authors

Authors that I trust with my life, whose work are ALL incredibly well written. 

COMPACFLT @compacflt

They’re the first person to pop in my head when I was thinking about making this list. No amount of time and words will be enough for me to describe how good their work is. Seriously. It’s on a level I’ve never seen before for fanfiction. The world building, the characterization, the prose, everything. COMPACFLT has a way of understanding these characters, it makes so much sense and fits so well with canon. I’m just at a loss for words. Genuinely the reason I converted to Icemav supremacy.

When We Get Around to Talking About It 

Goose has been dead for a week and a half when Iceman loses his first wingman in a dogfight with six Soviet MiGs over the Sea of Okhotsk. Goose has been dead for thirty years when Iceman loses his second wingman to a surface-to-air missile on the tail-end of a mission he's responsible for: he's sent his family on a suicide mission to destroy a uranium enrichment facility in Russia's Far East. This is the story of those thirty years in the middle. (Or: Tom Kazansky rises through the ranks while trying to stay a good man. If he ever was one to begin with.)

This was the first story I’ve read from them. And it’s so… I don’t have words.  It’s told from Ice’s perspective, filling the gaps between TG and TG:M with added Icemav and Hangster. In my mind this is canon:D

Debriefing (& Other Stories)

"We can start here, I guess. If we're talking about us," Pete says. "Nineteen-eighty-six. The first thing I thought, when I saw you in that O-club, was: Iceman is off-limits. Capital O, capital L." Despite himself, despite the fear, Tom laughs a little. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?" "Well, first off, we were competition. And yeah, you were attractive, but then you opened your mouth and I swear. You were just an asshole. Goose is trying to introduce you to me and here I am thinking about how much of an asshole you are. Shut up about Cougar, asshole." "It was supposed to be a friendly competition!" "Yeah, right. So that's what I was thinking: he's attractive, clearly doesn't know how to talk to other men, might be into the proposition if I framed it the right way. But he's an asshole, so this competition is just gonna be friendly." Pete pauses. Then he says, "Ice, you wanna get married?" And that's how they start talking about it. (Or: they finally get around to talking about it. Plus a couple extra stories for good luck.)

Sigh and send COMPACFLT a loving look. This Maverick's POV adds so much to the story without being repetitive. COMPACFLT deliberately tells their story like puzzle pieces, and they complete each other—just like Icemav, if you will. 

The Slider oneshot is truly something else. I was so eager for the upload and kept an eye on their account for updates religiously. To flesh out a character that barely has any source material is an incredible skill to have. And the Bradley oneshot… Omg… My favorite characterization of Bradley, period. 

Tremors & Aftershocks

They both come back to their senses and stop openly crying again eventually. The stitches fall out of the thirty-year-old wounds and the scars fade back to skin-color. Life stops being so painfully raw after a couple weeks back home. You get used to miracles the way you get used to anything else. One day at a time. [Or: 40 years of extras, from 1982-2022. Some true love, some heartbreak, some miracles.]

To me, this one has a different feeling from the other two. More focused on Ice and Mav’s relationship as opposed to the whole plotline. It’s tender and bittersweet and feels like being hugged for the first time and then told that you wouldn’t get another hug in thirty years time.  

What impresses me most is that, if you go to COMPACFLT’s Tumblr account, you’ll see the thought they’ve put for these stories are INSANE. They’re so educated on the military and its history and it adds so much to these characters. I’m not American and all my writing for Top Gun will always stem from google searches and other fics. If you’re a nerd like me and like to read about other’s analysis about topics they know nothing about, I suggest you go to their account and have fun.

COMPACFLT, you have captured my soul with your writing. Thank you for your service and I wish you well in life.

AortaArgent @aortaargent

If you’re looking for an author who can write smut like nothing else, go to their profile. Better yet, click here, and scroll down to the threads they made about girl!Mav and get horny real quick. It’s a shortcut to heaven really. (And yes, I’m still upset that they seem to have left the fandom, but I still hold the stories they’ve left behind close to my heart:)) My favorites:

like a shotgun (needs an outcome)

“Ice gave me a handjob when we did this,” he argues. “Oh, that’s what gets you moving? Seeing who comes first?” With that, Slider takes hold of him, wrapping his hand around and keeping his fist steady. “Go on, baby girl. Fuck it like a good little -” He squeezes Slider’s balls a little harder than he’d imagine is necessarily pleasant. For Slider. It's definitely nice for him. “Fuck,” Kerner chokes out, weakly. Ice sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “I told you he bites.” In which there are multiple realisations, improbable numbers of pilots hanging out in a shared shower, volleyball games and verbal tennis. Yes, it's compulsory to wear your dogtags in the shower - never know when you could need identification. (Only kidding, it's for added fuckability.)

It’s so hot... but believable at the same time. BDSM is just one of those things where you read about it and can tell if the author has experience or is just extremely well-informed. 

Eye to Eye 

“Maybe it’s not just us looking to get a piece of you,” Wolf says. He’s right by Maverick’s head, and a shiver rolls down his shoulders in a sweeping tide at the soft click of each word against his ear. “Maybe we offered. You’re so pretty, Mav. It’s not a hard sell.” His hands twitch with the effort of not reaching up to tear off the blindfold and find out if they’re telling the truth or just winding him up. It’s possible. Occupied, blindfolded, he might not have noticed the door opening. More guys could have been in the showers. Two hands circle his ankles, firm over his boots, and hold him steady. Someone else has his left hand, kneading the tendons down the back of it. Anyone and anything is plausible. A continuation. Finally.

HOT DAMN. That’s all.

AortaArgent portrayed Ice and Mav’s relationship as absolute and secure while having fun with Mav’s dynamic with the other guys. All of their works are mind-boggling and simply amazing!

thecarlysutra @icemankazansky

Need I say more? Carly’s one of the most prominent members of the Top Gun fandom. Actually, I trust any member of the Top Gun Old Guard. With Carly, there’s something about their writing that makes me think of discovering an old box of CDs you used to watch relentlessly, dusty and worn, but the nostalgia rushes back and it’s achingly familiar. You can tell they’ve been writing for Top Gun for so long the characters kind of became their own. And when you click on any fic they wrote, you can fall and trust they’ll catch you. My favorites:

and i promise, you're the locksmith

“Is something going on in your neighborhood?” Maverick asked. “Like … a pest problem or something?” “You could say that,” Ice said. “Like … a coyote or something?” “Suitors,” Ice said. Maverick's attempts to woo Iceman are somewhat complicated by the promise Ice has made: Anyone who wants to marry him must catch his cat, which wears the key to his house around its neck on a silver chain. Inspired by the Tumblr legend.

This one’s so cute!!! Ugh, I’m never going to get tired of reading Icemav fall in love over and over again. 

Dreams of Impact

Maverick's trip in Darkstar takes him further than he ever imagined possible.

Sigh for the second time and send hearts Carly’s way. Basically, Mav gets transported to another universe and weird things happen. I love fics that dabble with the universe, the what-ifs, the what could’ve been. Do you ever have that moment when you make a decision, look back and wonder how life would be if you chose differently? Click on the link and read 🫵

aelibia @topgunreacts

God. aelibia’s just too good. It’s like banger after banger after banger. If you’re looking for an author whose work is a guaranteed good read, click the link and it’ll show you magic. They have Icemav ranging from tender and soft to angsty, portraying all different sorts of love and a way of writing explicit sex that I’ve never found anywhere else. 

I can’t even pick which one’s my favorite because they’re all my favorite. Especially the series they wrote, oh my god. I love them all. However, one that I reread religiously and being giddy over is this:

Wine Dark Sea

Raised by a selkie mother bound to a human man, Ice returns to the human world as a teenager with a singular purpose: to find the source of human strength, and claim it for himself. But after a careless mistake binds him to another human man, Ice is forced to reconsider his most fundamental beliefs: What is the meaning of strength? And what is the cost of freedom?

It’s so silly at times and heartbreaking most of the time. I especially love the later chapters where the evil is defeated and Ice is just being a silly seal while Mav’s being the supportive partner that he is. This fic is the SOLE REASON that my favorite animal is a seal. Thank you for opening my eyes to something that has been so obvious from the start, your majesty aelibia.

I also humbly present these seal drawings because the image of Ice galumphing around a Navy base, complete with wet smacks and people shrieking in horror makes me laugh everyday. That, and the scene where Mav is surrounded by four fat harbor seal pups and reading a story to them. Eleven out of ten. 

This one’s my favorite:}

[besidesitstoowarm]

so i'll talk about this more tomorrow when i put up my "amy's choice" write up but i am thinkingggg about moffat's characterization vs davies

like with rory and mickey. rory is obviously the mickey, the back-home boyfriend getting ditched in favor of the doctor. but the thing with mickey is like... he's a good reason to leave, not to stay. he's kind of a loser, implied in the first episode to be cheating (telling rose not to check his email) before she even meets the doctor! he's the tin dog, mickey the idiot. he represents everything rose is tired of. she straight up never seems to care about him ever, and the doctor openly mocks him, and even the narrative doesn't seem interested in giving him interiority or sympathy

vs rory. rory is a legitimately good option: good career, kind, gentle, intelligent, handsome (mickey was also handsome, to be fair). he's the antithesis of the doctor, but he's not presented as the worse option, just very different. he has the doctor dead. to. rights. immediately! "you make people a danger to themselves" and that will carry on, past "you forget that not every victory is about saving the world" he's like the Reasonable One

the potential danger of traveling with the doctor is treated as an inevitable minor footnote in the davies era, i feel like. it's always there but it's rarely Real. rose was so borderline suicidal i'm amazed she only got trapped in another dimension, martha dipped cause his ass was pathetic, donna was literally railroaded and never had a real choice. but amy? amy feels like she's in real danger of losing rory, she does lose her daughter, she DIES in the end. and clara dies. and bill– like the consequences are real. they make their choice, and their choice makes them. obviously all of them are in danger in any given episode but it feels like the moffat companions really play that out to the inevitable conclusion

and i feel like his companions have faults and traits that actually... matter? like with davies companions we do learn a lot about their lives in terms of jobs and skills and family, but less about deep character flaws, about ethos. i do love them but halfway through s5, the obvious impact on the story that amy's abandonment issues have feels genuinely unmatched by earlier companions. she's savage! she's nasty! she is given a trolley problem and chooses murder suicide bc either her life is a lie or her husband is dead and life isn't worth living. it's deranged. in the davies era it felt like i was piecing together characters and arcs on my own, picking up my own observations, it feels far more passive than it does with amy so far. amy is deliberate, her character arc and growth is very active. clara and the doctor get so codependent she tries to kill him and then dies horrifically. like it's insane

none of this is meant to shit on the davies era. i enjoyed it a lot and love all his companions (except adam but he doesn't count) and obviously the moffat era couldn't have been what it was without davies preceding, but i'm really remembering why moffat's era is my fave. it feels so intentional, so rich, it is exactly what i personally want out of a story. i love s5 so much

[sicklyworm]

Hi yes I would like to hear your thoughts on Shang Qinghua and his characterization (both in canon and in fanfic). I've always really enjoyed the fics with the like,, BAMF!Shang Qinghua tag, but i also can't decide if his cowardice is an act or not, if that makes sense? Or if it's a bit of both.

Oh my gosh thank you for this ask. Please forgive me anon for the absolute rant that's about to happen because of it!!!

I'm going to break down this ask into chunks so properly and thoroughly answer every part of it!

Starting with,

SQH's cannon characterization:

I spent several hours trying to type out a good yet manageable description of his characterization but I found that no matter how hard I try it's a bit too long for a reasonable Tumblr post.

So instead of just ditching this like a normal person I instead started on a essay going over Shang Qinghua's characterization with quotes and analysis!

At the moment of posting it is not currently completed but I'll make sure to reblog this post with the link to the document once it's done!

Now moving on to,

SQH's characterization in fanfiction:

I'm an avid fanfiction reader myself so I see a plethora of different authors writing different arcs for SQH so obviously he's going to act differently in each one.

The thing I think makes or breaks alot of fanfiction with him is whether the author can properly distinguish between their voice and his. As a highly relatable character a lot of us writers can have a pretty hard time distinguishing him as a character from ourselves! When this happens writers can accidentally take bits and pieces of themselves that don't quite match up with him and kind of force them into the characterization of him!

There's also like the cases of hyperfeminization or character bashing but I feel like those are more of a generalized problem then something SQH specific.

Next is,

Is SQH actually a coward or was it just an act?

This question was one I wrestled with quite a bit when I was first starting to dissect his character.

He plays dead and grovels easily when he feels threatened yet displays tremendous courage when it has to do with MBJ. Whether it be saving MBJ from falling to his death or from MBJ'S own uncle, he is necessarily putting himself in danger just for the safety of someone else.

These behaviors by definition conflict with SQH being a coward but It still feels incomplete to just say "he's not a coward case closed." Because he does act incredibly pathetically at times and has betrayed quite a few people!

So after a bit more deliberation I came to the conclusion that "his coward status is determined by his personal connection towards the subject"

If the subject is not close to him or his heart then it is completely subjected to all of SQHs shady and cowardly tendencies. Even if the subject is kinda close to him I believe these cowardly behaviors will definitely cut back some but under enough threat he will ultimately choose his own personal safety.

But in the case he has a deep emotional connection to the subject he seems willing to show tremendous courage and bravery in order to protect said subject.

Example of this playing out in cannon is:

The Sect - low emotional attachment = full rat bastard mode.

Shen Yuan - mid emotional attachment = normal level of courage but will cave under pressure.

Mobei-jun - high motional attachment = huge levels of courage that won't cave under pressure.

✧✧✧

Extra:

My ADHD was going off the rails with this post so I have no idea how coherent it is.

Anyways i am also a big fan of the BAMF!SQH tag and would love if you dropped off some recommendations in my ask box!

[lightlessons]

How to Read 108: A Chapter-by-Chapter Death Note Analysis

Hello everyone! Welcome back to second part of my analysis on Death Note’s first chapter, entirely dedicated to everyone’s favorite mass murderer, home boy Light Yagami!

Chapter 1: Boredom. Lilith’s Breakdown. Part 2

Establishing the protagonist:

Light and expectations

Light’s resignation

Light’s cognitive dissonance

Establishing the protagonist

In A Guide to Screenwriting Success, Stephen Duncan refers to them as the character who drives the story forward, who makes the key decisions that affect the plot, often being the one who faces the most obstacles. The OSU College of Liberal Arts says they are the character whose fate matters the most, and usually the emotional heart of the narrative.

There are many definitions one can find online about what a protagonist is, the most oversimplified ones defining the protagonist under the same veil as the hero. But most of us here know that isn’t quite how it works. Still, even though we might be used to anti-hero protagonists by now (Deadpool, Saitama, Dr. House to name a few…) straight-up villain protagonists are rarer to come by, and, most specially, they usually don’t come by in the form of a teenager--or look anything like the guy in the picture above-- which is perhaps the main thing that makes Light stand out in a sea of manga MC’s and remain culturally relevant.

Light is a blueprint of his kind, becoming the point of comparison for other animanga protagonists that fall through a moral decline. To showcase how Light differs from even his own architype, I’m going to be taking three of some of the most famous examples in media and intermittently compare them to Light Yagami in this analysis: Macbeth from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Rodion Raskolnikov from Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and Star War’s Anakin Skywalker.

Light and expectations:

As we had seen in my previous post, we begin the story with a schoolboy disconnected from his immediate surroundings, his whole posture and expression reflecting the “boredom” that it’s the title of this chapter. His status as protagonist highlighted by the fact that he’s the only one looking directly at us. While all his classmates distract themselves with things inside the classroom (their friends, their books, their phones, or simply sleeping) Light gazes out the window, almost as if hoping that something external will offer more intrigue than the monotony of his current situation.

And he gets his wish! A notebook falls from the sky. We know what happens next. Light picks it up, as it is the only thing that’s interrupted his ennui. He’s initially unimpressed by it, although he commends whoever did it for at least committing to the bit.

Ohba doesn't reveal the true outcome of the event right away. Instead, he makes us wait, fast-forwarding five days before slowly unfolding the details. This deliberate withholding of information is a recurring technique throughout Death Note, fueling the tension and intrigue that characterizes the manga, leaving us eager to piece the puzzle together.

But the next set of panels is what I want us to take a closer look at this chapter:

 If you know anything about Japanese culture, you’re probably aware of the immense importance that academic success has on a japanese student’s life. To give some context to what’s happening here, I’ll quote Independent researcher Steve Bossy on his report Academic Pressure and Impact on Japanese Studies from 2000:

“In 1872, the Meiji government introduced a public educational system that made higher education accessible to anyone who was intelligent enough to qualify. (…) The entrance examination became the sole instrument by which all students were measured. Tokyo University became the pinnacle of academic achievement and the gateway to future success. Only the most intelligent students were admitted and upon graduation were rewarded with the best jobs. (…) The university entrance examination is the gatekeeper that provides access to and ultimately determines students' future success and status. The university that a student attends is most often the sole criterion that employers consider in their decision to hire a potential candidate.”

It’s no wonder, then, that Light’s mom has been eagerly waiting for his results on the practice exam for this life-determining test. Although we have to take into account, Sachiko says he has placed first again, so his parents are pretty used to his academic success, and Sachiko was just eager for confirmation on her son’s competence. Light is so used to this by now he does not demonstrate any pride or enthusiasm about having placed first nationally on the practice test for what is arguably the most important exam of his life. Perhaps he might have, were it not for the much more significant matter occupying his mind at the moment, though I doubt it. As we’ve already firmly established: Light is bored.

So, we have already identified one expectation Light has: he is presumed to excel academically. By Japanese society standards, this is a promise his parents see of his successful future.

This is then reinforced by what his cram schoolteacher is shown to say in the flash-back: Light wasn’t just Japan’s number one in that sole mock test, he is already Japan’s number one student.

We can then add a new expectation:

Light is expected to keep his place as top nation-wide student and elevate the standing of the schools he attends.

Light doesn’t seem to find this to be such a difficult task though, considering the nonchalant way he brings the results to his mother. He is assured to attend the most prestigious university of the country, so then why, we may ask, does he even attend a prep school in the first place?

We can find the answer here:

In Japan, it is common for students to attend supplementary classes due to the intense competition within the education system and the critical significance of the entrance exam. So even top students like Light would be expected to attend these types of schools to give themselves an edge. Or as Light puts it: Serious, straight-A, model teenagers. This is who Light is—what he expects of himself and what everyone else expects of him: to embody the ideal of what a Japanese boy should be, to serve as a model others look up to, the standard by which they should shape themselves. Academically focused, respectful of authority, socially responsible, and attuned to societal norms.

Light’s resignation:

Now that we have established who Light Yagami is, let’s examine more of his initial thought process when presented with the seemingly impossible reality that the random notebook that fell from the sky is, in fact, a supernatural murder weapon.

As previously noted, we don’t immediately learn about Light’s reaction to his discovery. Instead we meet him again after he’s had five days to process his experience. Then Ryuk, whom we’ve already met, shows his rather unpleasant face to an unexpecting Light, and scares the pants out of the boy.

Or so it seems.

Despite the initial scare, Light has had the foresight to attribute the notebook to a Shinigami, and supposedly had been waiting for them to show up. Light, at this point, had fully accepted the supernatural explanation, and braved with a resolved face whatever consequence it might bring.

But how did Light recognize the connection to a Shinigami, and what does that mean in Japanese culture? The evolution of the concept of death is a fascinating subject, and while I recommend further reading on the topic (such as this article), to summarize: Shinigami are said to be the Japanese Grim Reaper, a relatively recent addition to their folklore, much as the Grim Reaper is for the West, and it was produced as a result of the increased interaction of these two cultures. A difference is that, traditionally, they are less seen as harvesters of souls but as creatures who ensure the smooth running of the cycle of life, performing their duty without malice and remaining morally neutral.

The Shinigami in Death Note are a fusion of these traditional Japanese beliefs and Western, particularly Christian, cautionary tales. This blending of cultural influences is a prominent theme throughout the manga (and anime), which I will explore in more detail in future entries.

But let’s go back to our protagonist. While both the Western Grim Reaper and the Shinigami ultimately bring death, Light doesn’t seem daunted by this prospect. This raises an important question: Did he have a plan to convince a literal god like Ryuk to spare him, or was he content with having made a difference, however brief? As Ryuk points out:

Ryuk, a timeless entity for all we know, singles Light out among what could be centuries of Death Note users. This continues to drive the point for the audience of Light being an extraordinary individual, now not just by his intelligence, but by his adamant determination.

However, Light’s apparent perfect composure in this scene is not entirely genuine. He is sweating profusely through this whole interaction--something that we will rarely see from him in the rest of the story. It makes sense, for its his life at stake here.  But it gives us an insight into Light’s ability to suppress his natural human emotions in favor of retaining a sense of dominance and control. At this point, Light really cannot have any idea of what awaits him, or how to bargain with a being like Ryuk, yet he is intent on directing the exchange in his own terms. He even has a prepared Q&A:

I know the dramatic way in which Light swooshes open the notebook is sort of hilarious, but upon re-read, it made me think further upon this display with Ryuk. We know Light thought it wasn’t chance but choice that made Ryuk give him the Death Note, so did he want to demonstrate his worthiness to the Shinigami? His fearlessness? Did he have a whole speech planned on why he should be allowed to keep using the Death Note? After all, we learn seconds later that he had already formed his long-term plan of ruling the world, so did he plan to offer his soul, in pure Faustian manner, for the chance to wield the Shinigami’s power?

In the end, Light learns that there is nothing he has to offer—no bargain to be made. Instead, the conditions of the Death Note say he will experience fear and torment (which he has already done), that Ryuk will write his name when he dies (which results in the same thing) and that he can go to neither heaven nor hell.

This last one could be considered the greatest sacrifice, upon first read. But it is also a pretty neutral consequence that doesn’t promise reward nor suffering. Of course, it isn’t until the final chapter that we learn it isn’t really a sacrifice, as every other human shares the same fate.

Hence Light’s ecstatic look.

There is then a subversion to Christian narratives by keeping Ryuk’s role neither malevolent nor benevolent. He does not actively tempt Light to keep using the notebook, and even gives him a way out by offering the option of giving it to another human if he doesn’t want it. He has no interest in convincing Light of anything. This is similar to the role of the three witches in Macbeth, who instigate the narrative by sharing a prophecy, but do not manipulate or coerce Macbeth into taking any specific action. However, a key difference in the start of this story and that of Macbeth’s is the idea of destiny. Ryuk mocks Light for believing himself special, in contrast to the witches assuring that Macbeth would be a King. Light's confidence in his potential to rule the world is entirely self-driven, rather than being shaped by prophecy or fate.

Light’s cognitive dissonance:

Ah, we’re finally at the pivotal moment of this first chapter. The moment that will define Light’s character for us moving forward.

So finally, after Light’s interesting conversation with Ryuk we are thrown back into the flashback that explains how he came to write all those names. The events go as follows: Light was bored, so he decided to write a name on the strange thing he brought home-- just for the sake of it. Despite mostly believing the notebook to be a prank in bad taste, as a strategic thinker, he immediately envisions possible scenarios where it could be real and plans his actions accordingly. He even berates himself for this:

But of course, the Death Note works, exactly as the instructions said.

Up until this point, Light’s actions could be entirely written off as an accident. Kind of like a child shooting a gun because they can’t discern the danger of it. But the event is so monumental, so outside of normal bounds that Light’s young and curious mind cannot simply leave it be and risk another murder. He needs answers and he needs answers now.

Light is fully aware that his actions are socially reprehensible, which would explain why he decides to continue acting by himself. Not to mention the ridicule, too, were he to hand the notebook to the police and it turned out to have been just a coincidence. And Light Yagami is not socially reprehensible and he is not ridiculous. But there is something else, too.

Light Yagami feels detached and high above the world.

It’s natural, as he literally is above his peers in at least the standard by which they are more strictly measured. In a culture where academic achievement is synonymous with social value, Light’s intellectual superiority is reinforced by his position as the model student, but he is also a 17-year-old with a skewed sense of long-term consequences and proportionality, reacting with his amygdala to his immediate environment instead of keeping on with the cool rationality he believes himself to possess. An example of this is when he considers killing one of his fellow classmates for bullying and coercion. A rather minor offense when compared to the criminals Kira would first execute, and directly contradicting the first precaution he’d already thought for himself: to not kill anyone directly associated with him.

But then he conveniently finds a perfect target, another one that he can justify to himself in the context of preventing a heinous crime.

When the Death Note works once again, it finally confirms Light as a murderer, and this is when the cognitive dissonance takes place.

In psychology, cognitive dissonance is a mental conflict that occurs when your beliefs don’t line up with your actions. This discomfort motivates individuals to reduce the inconsistency, usually by changing their believes, justifying their actions, or minimizing their importance.

Light’s cognitive dissonance almost makes him wretch, makes him question himself and consider throwing away the Death Note, which he refers to as an ‘evil thing’.

But he begins to resolve this dissonance by reframing his believes in order to justify the new image of himself as a murderer. Light’s inner conflict plays out over at least a day, during which his conscious mental battle is not whether what he did was justified, but whether or not he will be able to take on the role that would justify it.

In the end, if he doesn’t take the role of a vigilante, he would have to face the breaking of his self-schema as a moral and upstanding citizen. But the decision to continue killing would also transform him into something else. This conflict between morality and identity is so strong those first few days, that Light admits to having persistent nightmares and loses 10 pounds in 5 days. But ultimarely, the dissonance is resolved with a perfect, if delusional and self-aggrandizing, moral justification: Not only is it right to become the world’s judge and executioner, but he is the only one capable of doing so.

An extraordinary cognitive re-structuring and self-deception in a relatively short amount of time. But then again, we have already reiterated throughout this meta that Light is not an ordinary individual.

And who better, honestly, to carry us through this particular story? What are the limits of these character’s self-justification? What are the consequences of a God’s power in the hands of a mere human? And what happens when a brilliant mind has to contest with a teenager’s inflated ego?

I wasn’t expecting to have this much to say about the first chapter, I’m looking at the page count of this document with a bit of terror, honestly, but it just goes to show how strongly Death Note manages to establish its main themes from its opening and all the questions it leaves the reader with, inviting us to take part of this unconventional psychological thriller.

If you read up until this point kudos to you and I hope you enjoyed my brain’s rambling, I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback. I don’t know if next entries are going to be this long, but I am enjoying finding new things to ponder about this series, that I hadn’t even thought about after 5 years of being a fan!

Next entry! Chapter 2: L. Lilith’s Breakdown

Previous entry: Chapter 1: Boredom. Lilith’s Breakdown. Part 1

[ies999]

Yapping to get it out. Spans chapters 28-30 ^^

I'm looking forward to chapter 31 so much (w/ the reassurance of the characterization and genre, they'll end up fine), whether Hirano ends up repulsed or not.

A kiss is often viewed as a different [tier/type] display of love in comparison to other physical contact, but it's still. just a method of conveying affection. Hirano doesn't seem to put as much weight into those societal binaries on his own, but ever since Kagi confessed, he's been mulling over those implications in relation to his comfort and desires. He's not gonna kill Kagi w/ hammers for kissing him, I think he'll clock it as an outburst (as opposed to a deliberate breach). It's consistently emphasized Hirano has such a soft spot for Kagi, absolutely wanting to avoid him feeling despair—the situation will probably play out not unlike the laundryroom hug.

..Once again highlighting this is a different way to show love, maybe Hirano will be more comfortable kissing than hugging /j LMAO But I'm spinning around the fact Hirano is worried rather than exactly? uncomfortable? adverse from the get-go? about kissing. Concerned moreso about how that'll affect Kagi and their relationship. grips him. Hirano cares so much about him and this working out..

TL;DR: I think at worst Kagiura's gonna look goopy and sad w/ regret before Hirano talks it out w/ him (and/or possibly tries again but he's got the reins instead)

ICHINOSE my GOAT. god. especially as someone who's aroace this was cathartic to see in a piece of media I adore. It's something I've said in other words to my loved ones. That portrayal of verbalization and the weight lifted off of Hirano. holy shit dude. eating that up.

It has felt unbelievably good to see their definitions of love coincide. Plenty of other people have picked out and posted this panel but I'd like to ramble about it as well.

this one too ohh my god I'm gonna throw up /aff

Feels like a rather shallow observation but I do find Hirano running to and w/ Kagi during the scavenger hunt crazy impactful. it parallels him reaching an understanding he intends to share w/ Kagi. Looping into that ideal of being "equals", reinforcing that they're happiest together, and quietly communicating they're approaching the same wavelength as: Hirano, in a way, meets Kagi in the middle and falls in sync.

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

mom said it’s my turn to do a deep dive zoro meta and since i was going through the dressrosa arc recently, i want to talk about one of my favorite zoro moments in the whole series and why it bugs me so much when i see people characterize zoro as just a ‘no thoughts (or maybe sword thoughts) head empty’ himbo because like. he’s not. he’s just fully not. and i think this particular moment in dressrosa when he’s fighting pica is the best example of WHY he’s not.

one of the most common threads i see in himbo!zoro characterizations is the idea that the only real plan zoro has in a fight is to cut shit, and that it works largely because of his sheer tenacity and determination to make it work. and while it’s not untrue that zoro most often does default to the plan of ‘cut shit’, i don’t think it’s fair to say that he isn’t capable of plotting out other strategies. case in point, the panels below (read right to left):

zoro runs through four options for fighting pica very quickly, and while plan 1 is a version of his default ‘cut shit’ option, he abandons it as soon as he realizes it won’t be effective due to distance. plan 2 arguably would still involve fighting/slashing because he’d be jumping onto pica’s back, but zoro also abandons that idea when he realizes he wouldn’t be able to make the jump. and then plans 3 and 4 don’t involve any fighting at all; they’re both options to warn others of the danger, because that’s actually a big part of what the zoro vs pica fight is all about. pica is deliberately going after innocent or weakened opponents, and zoro trying to stop him before anybody else gets hurt.

so it’s only after he’s exhausted four other options that zoro finally gets to plan 5, which is this:

and like. yeah okay that is going right back to the ‘cut shit’ plan and i'll grant that it's definitely presented as a moment of 'swordsman chooses to cut things surprise surprise'; but even so, there are two other parts to fighting pica that zoro has to take into account. the first is how to actually isolate his real body when he can effectively move anywhere that there's stone, something that up until this point has been giving zoro a lot of trouble because he can't actually hit pica. and this is where 'fly through the air and cut him down' actually becomes an incredibly effective strategy, because it results in this:

by slicing through that massive body and forcing pica into the upper half, zoro essentially traps him, because pica's movement is now confined to the piece of stone that's in the air. and thus it becomes far easier for zoro to continue slicing, further isolate pica and finally allowing zoro to attack his real body.

the second part he has to figure out—the debris that will result from the attack raining down on the plateau—doesn’t even become apparent to everyone else until zoro’s already cut pica down. but, very crucial, it was apparent to zoro, because he already had a plan in place for dealing with that too. and that part doesn’t even involve him, much less his swordsmanship. he directs king elizabello to wait two minutes before he aims his king punch at the plateau, the force of which knocks the debris away and prevents it from falling on the people up there.

like. that is not just slice-and-dice himbo behavior. it clearly shows that zoro was thinking and planning beyond his immediate fight, and that he had enough foresight to realize what could happen to the debris from pica's body and acted to mitigate the collateral damage. it's a really simple moment that i feel like kind of gets lost amongst everything else happening in the dressrosa arc, but it's one of my favorites because not only does it show that zoro is perfectly capable of strategizing, it also underscores that as much as he enjoys a good fight, at the end of the day zoro's always still thinking about doing what he does best: protecting people.

this isn't to say that i think zoro never does anything stupid; evidence is solid that the man is a certified idiot, through and through. but like. he's not dumb. and i think people that characterize him as such really don’t know what they’re talking about.

[linkspooky]

What does "The King" mean in Yu-Gi-Oh GX?

This post is response to my friend @seventhdoctor's post right here, speculating on why Yubel has such particular hangups about kings. Yes, this is another Yu-Gi-Oh GX post. We'll be talking about season 3 of Yu-Gi-Oh GX under the cut, in particular the famous Judai becomes the supreme king twist.

Wait, Jaden does WHAT in Season 3?

So for some context on those who haven't seen season 3 of Yu-Gi-Oh GX (in which case why are you even here?), the antagonist for the entire season is a duel spirit named Yubel.

Yubel was happy go lucky protagonist Judai's favorite card growing up and spirit partner, before Yubel got too overprotective and started putting the children who defeated Judai in duels into comas. When the other kids started avoiding Yubel, Judai decided to put Yubel on an experimental kaiba corp satellite and launch him into space hoping exposure to cosmic radiation would help fix whatever was wrong with Yubel.

However, Yubel was blasted with the wrong kind of cosmic space rays and instead was exposed to the evil light of destruction, and endured ten years of torture before crashing back down to earth. In the meantime Judai had forgotten about Yubel's existence entirely because of an experimental memory erasure procedure done on him by his parents. Learning of this, that they were forgotten after being forced to endure all that pain by the person they loved the most understandably caused Yubel to snap and make this everyone else's problems.

Yubel spends the entirety of season 3 manipulating things behind the scenes to make way for their reunion with Judai. Along the way, they transport Judai and his friends to another dimmension, awaken Judai's memories of his past life causing the "supreme king" persona to take control, and also tempt Amon Garam into becoming their pawn with the power of exodia.

It's right before their long awaited reunion with Judai that Yubel has one final duel with Amon Garam, a duel from which a lot of Yubel's characterization can be inferred from the remarks they make towards Amon. Yubel takes a particular interest in seeing what makes Amon tick, and then using their knowledge of the inner workings of his mind to take him apart piece by piece.

This is noteworthy because usually Yubel does not care about anyone who's name doesn't rhyme with Shmaden Shmuki. To say that Yubel only has eyes for Judai is an understatement considering their whole plan is to fuse the twelve dimmensions together to make a world for just the two of them. Yubel treats all of their other pawns as disposable, Cobra and Marcel barely register to Yubel, but not only does Yubel go out of their way to tear Amon down, they tear him down for BEING A KING.

Which has always felt a bit strange to me, that Yubel would have a grudge against kings because not only is their entire identity tied up in knighthood, particularly being a knight in service to a king. As in a past life Yubel was once a normal child and friend to the prince, but decided to sacrifice their body to become a terrible dragon with impenetrable scales so they could protect that young boy as they grew into adulthood and became the supreme king and wielder of a force called the gentle darkness. They gave up their humanity, and personhood up in service of a king, and so their entire identity that they are Judai's one and only loving guardian.

One of their form names even translates to "Abominable Knight."

Das Abscheulich Ritter = The Abominable Knight Das Extremer Traurig Drachen = The Extremely Sorrowful Dragon

Yubel is a knight reincarnated from thousands of years ago who lived their live in service of a king, and gave up their body to become an inpenetrable shield for that king. Even in their next lifetime they still define themselves as Judai's one and only protector. Not only that, but they deliberately went out of their way to awaken Judai's memories of the Supreme King. So why, after going to all the trouble to do that does Yubel seem to loathe kings so much they need to make Amon into a punching bag and a target of mockery to cope?

What does "The King" mean to Yubel?

and furthermore

What does "The King" mean in Yu-Gi-Oh GX?

MASCULINITY AND TAROT

Toxic masculinity in MY Trading Card Game? Say it ain't so.

Joking aside, one of the first answers to this question is that Yubel loathes Amon so much and Amon's desire to be king, because of the ways in which Amon reminds them of Judai. Before Amon came to challenge Yubel, he gained his power not by his own merit but by sacrificing the woman he loved to Exodia. You can draw multiple parallels in between the two situations, this could have either reminded Yubel of Judai deciding to send Yubel away to space, or it could have just reminded Yubel of the original sacrifice of their body they made for the young supreme king.

Either way, Yubel seems to carry some unprocessed resentment towards the fact that at the end of the day, no matter how much Echo loved Amon in the end she was disposable. They weren't equals, because in the end Echo's loyalty and devotion to a king means that the king, being a king, will always be fundamentally above her. Echo may love and pledge herself in service of a king, but even if that king loves her back and appreciates her, the mere fact that he is a king makes it impossible to be equals.

That is the loose thread that Yubel decides to pull at when trying to unravel Amon after all, that no matter how much he may claim to love Echo and remember her sacrifice, that they weren't equals in their suffering.

Yubel: "I get it now, you weren't in love with echo. No, you may have loved her just enough to clear the conditions in place for you to control exodia, but you didn't truly love each other. You were only unfairly hurting her while you would stay unharmed... You wouldn't suffer. You won't be in pain." Amon: "Stop beating around the bush. What are you getting at?" Yubel: "I've been hurt. I've suffered. I've been in pain. And that's why I'm having Judai go through those same feelings. That could be what it means for us to love!" (Yugioh GX, Episode 150).

I've already covered a lot of the projection angle in another post though, so I'm going to focus on the king as a symbol of masculine authority. This is where I'm turning to tarot for a quick example of what I mean. Yu-Gi-Oh GX! employs a lot of tarot symbolism in season 2 and while "The Emperor" never gets mentioned by name, there's still a few nods to it.

The emperor, fourth of the major arcana, is traditionally depicted as a man sitting on his throne with a mountain range in the background signifying he is backed by a solid foundation but resistant to making any changes unless he deems it necessary. This is the card of masculine authority, the card of mars, ares, the card of law and order and the card of inflexible rules and regulations.

"For each child its parents are archetypes. Not just the mother, and father, but Mother and Father. Because our mothers give us life and feed us and shelter us we tend to see them as figures of love and mercy [...] but the father, especially in traditional times... remained more remote, and therefore a figure of severity. It was the father who bore the authority and thus became the judge, and the father who taught the rules of society and then demanded obedience" (Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom pg 49).

There are plenty of figures of masculine authority in season 3. There's Cobra, a war veteran who is revealed to be an abusive authority figure when he begins draining the duel energy of all of his students for his own machinations. He is also revealed to be a father trying to bring his lost son from the dead. There is the father from Judai's past life, the then reigning king who fits the appearance of a traditional masculine authority figure, a muscular bearded bearded man in a crown. He talks the "young and handsome' Yubel into giving up his body and subjecting himself to a painful surgery in order to undergo a transformation to protect the young prince who would become Haou.

This could easily be seen as an abuse of his authority the way that Cobra abused his, considering how young Yubel is when he decided on this life altering action. There's also Amon's father the head of the Garam Corporation, who adopted young Among and raised him as heir only to carelessly toss him aside the moment that his biological son was born.

There's also Hell Kaiser, Sho's abusive older brother Ryo who had a meltdown and became obsessed with power after suffering several losses in the pro-leagues. An obsession which led him to shock his brother over and over again with electrodes until his brother lost consciousness. Considering Kaiser is german for emperor, you could even say that Kaiser Ryo is another king that Yubel killed much like Amon as a warmup for his duel with Judai.

None of these figures are particularly healthy figures of masculinity, and Ryo in particular isn't a good role model to Sho. In Yu-Gi-Oh GX season 3, a king doesn't seem like a very good thing to be, and yet we have Amon and Judai both being pushed down, and then willingly walking the path of kinghood. Yu-Gi-Oh GX spells out the rigidity, and the dominating tyranny of the king as a figure of masculine authority and yet both Amon and Judai desire to be kings because they desire the power that comes along with it. In spite of all of the oppressive king figures in their lives, they see becoming king as a way of gaining control something which they have never had.

"In order to defeat evil, one must become evil..." (Yu Gi Oh GX, Episode 136).

Amon becomes the king believing that he can use his absolute authority to build a kingdom in another dimmension where the poverty he grew up under doesn't exist, and all people are equal. Judai after losing all of his friends to a ritual as sacrifices to become super polymerization, decides that the only way to prevent himself from losing everything else, is to use the power of the supreme king to finish super polymerization and bring the entire dimmension to its heel.

"In Rome, the concept of law versus chaos was carried to the point wher stability, or 'law and order' to use the modern term became virtues themselves. No progress can be made in conditions of anarhcy, bad laws need to be changed but first the law must be obeyed. Any other approach can destroy society. The romans saw it more concreetly as a personal figure of The emperor, who they described as the father to all of his people. The emperor's best aspects he indicates the stability of a just society that allows its members to pursue their personal needs and development. The natural world is chaotic, without some kind of social structure we could each spend all our lives fighting to survive. (Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom pg 50).

Both are children who have either never had control or have had control ripped away from them, Amon was an orphan who had no control over the circumstances to which he was born, and would have starved to death if not for the whim of the Garam syndicate patriarch. The same father that abandoned him on another whim when he had a biological son despite working him hard to become the ideal heir until that point. Judai had control ripped away from him over and over again as Yubel suddenly appeared to uproot his entire life, first by teleporting the entire school to another dimmension, and then when Johan disappeared sacrificing himself for Judai.

You could say Yubel's fate is something Judai had little control over either, because while he's the one who made the decision to send Yubel away, he was just a child, and he was helpless when Yubel was tortured by the light of destruction to do anything other than watch in his dreams. Judai also was not the one to make the decision to forget about Yubel, his parents made it for him.

Amon and Judai are reminded by their circumstances again and again what helpless children they are, and their response is to try to take control through violence and domination like a king. Their desire for stability ends up with them tyrannizing all those who are weaker than them. More specifically, once becoming masculine figures of authority they harm a feminine figure in their lives. This is where I reference toxic masculinity, because soon after becoming these masculine kings they use their powers to violently abuse the feminine.

Amon's is obivous in his decision to sacrifice echo, and while after the fact Amon seemed appreciative of Echo's sacrifice, during it he was cold, and callously ignored all of her screams of pain as exodia squeezed her to death.

Similiarly, Judai awakens the power of the supreme king to use in a duel against Yubel. Yubel remarks that Judai after using the supreme king is acting differently.

Yubel: "I'm so flattered. So this is your love." Judai: "You're still going on about that? Right now, I'm brimming with anger for you. And now, I'm going to use the power of the Supreme King you've awakened to wipe you off the face of the universe!" Yubel: "My Judai would never become so cruel." Judai: "We can't protect what matters to us by being kind."

In other words, despite the fact that Yubel deliberately pushed Judai down the path of becoming supreme king, when Judai starts actnig like the Supreme King and pointing that aggression towards them Yubel expresses displeasure. When Judai starts legitimately trying to hurt them, Yubel who's entire delusion is based around the fact that every time Judai hurts them it's a sign of love for them slowly begins breaking down.

I mention Yubel as a feminine figure her because in tarot and in alchemy, the masculine has a symbolic feminine counterpart. In tarot it would be the empress, in alchemy the lunar queen to the solar king. In this case femininity doesn't =/= female necessarily. Femininity is just the complementary force of masculinity, like yin is to yang. Judai is the son, fire, air, and Yubel is femininity, earth, water. Judai is the gentle darkness, and Yubel is corrupted by the light of destruction the two of them represent a balance between opposing forces. However, when Judai embraces the power of the supreme king the two are thrown out of balance because Judai is using the power of the supreme king to try to kill Yubel.

When the Emperor is in reverse, the stability the card is supposed to represent can quickly turn into an oppressive authority figure. Without the empress to balance them out, the emperor becomes rigid and unyielding.

"Even at its best, however, the emperor remains limited. Over the spontaneity of the Empress, he has laid a network of repression. If the Rider pack Emperor is drawn as old and stiff, dressed in iron representing the sterility of a life rigidly governed by rules. The river which flowed so powerfully through the Empress's garden has here become a thin stream, barely able to penetrate a lifeless desert." (Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom pg 51).

In both cases Amon and Judai also derived their power from the sacrifice of a feminine figure. Amon was only given Exodia's powers because of Echo's willing sacrifice he never would have achieved them on his own and yet he stands alone as king, only paying lip-service to the fact that he intends to honor her memory. The young prince Judai in another lifetime was protected by the sacrifice of Yubel until he grew into adulthood. Whereas in this life, the only reason that Judai became aware of his role as the supreme king and the power it contained was entirely because of Yubel's machinations nudging him to awaken his memories. If it weren't for Yubel, then Judai would have remained ignorant of the past.

Yet once they become kings both Amon and Judai are quick to forget the sacrifices of those who put them on the throne in the first place.

If anything it seems that "The King" or "The emperor" in Yu Gi Oh Gx is a symbol of a false maturity. Amon and Judai becoming the king is a failure to grow up, because they are both imitating the abusive masculine figures they've born witness to in their own life, instead of growing up into men on their own terms.

"As the middle card in the first line of the Major Aracana, the Emperor represents a crucial test. in the process of growing up it is indeed the rules of society that many people find most difficult to surmount. We must absorb these rules, as well as our society's traditions and beliefs, then go beyond them to find a personal code of conduct." (Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom pg 52).

THE DECAPITATION OF THE KING / ALCHEMY

I made a much longer post on Yu-Gi-Oh GX and Alchemy, but another possible answer to why Yubel hates kings is that symbolically, the king must symbolically die and be reborn for Judai's personal development. The king is dead, long live the king.

Now, if you want to know the specifics of Alchemy you can read the post I linked above. In order to not repeat myself I'm going to take a slightly different tack, Judai is not the king. The supreme King is one of two things, one a position of authority belonging to the weilder of the gentle darkness, and two the young prince who swore eternal love to Yubel in his past life and presumably grew up to be the Supreme King.

Neither of these are Judai Yuki himself. The latter is a person he was in a past life, someone he may share memories with but is not him. The former is a role that he plays. The weilder of the gentle darkness is a role. The king is a position of authority and power. They are things Judai is, but they don't say anything about him personally.

To tie into the point I made above, when Judai and Amon become false kings, they throw away a great deal of their personality in order to try to embody this perfect king. Yubel, even refers to Amon as an empty king. After all, Amon's identity is being the friend/lover of Echo, the big brother and protector of Sid, and an agent of the Garam conglomerate and he throws all of these things away in a bid to become king. What is left of Amon at that point, except for the role of king? He has no identity anymore, except for his desire for power to be king.

Judai similiarly, shows almost none of his former personality the two time we see him fully embrace the power of Supreme King. He remarks to O'brien that love is worthless, and he acts so heartless in regards to Yubel that even Yubel remarks that he's acting differently.

Haou: I don't fear being alone for in solitude lies the truth. None can pry into the darkness in the innermost depths of one's heart. (Yu Gi Oh GX! Episode 143).

To summarize quickly, Alchemy is a process of refinement. Melting down base metals and refining them until they reach gold. Symbolically, it's a cycle of death and rebirth, where the death of the old self leads to a reborn self.

Judai already experiences several deaths and rebirths. Before the series began he died in his former lifetime and was reincarnated into the modern world alongside Yubel. He experiences another death when his heart falls into darkness and the Supreme King persona takes over. The Supreme King is supposedly killed by O'brien, only to be resurrected again in the duel against Yubel.

Judai is symbolically, the king. He is the solar king in alchemy terms.

Essentially, the two principles are as follows:

Red: sun, fire and air, sulfur, active, gold, hot and dry, heart or soul, male.

White: moon, water and earth, mercury, passive, silver, cool and damp, mind or spirit, female.

He is fire, he is the active protagonist of the story, his favorite monster is flame wingman, he is described by Sho as being like the sun, he is the king in ever sense of the word but the king is one of two substances that is going to be melted down to form the philosopher's stone. Judai is the king but the king is not who he is, because Judai's goal is not to become the king, but to become himself. In order to become the best version of himself, Judai has to let all the older versions of himself die in order to become a new, better version of himself. He has to keep walking forward on his journey of self-fulfillment instead of getting bogged down in the past.

The king is just one step of Judai's journey. The severing of the head of the king is the phase of the alchemical process that metaphorically represents the death of the old king, and the rebirth into something new.

Alchemy is violent, Solve et Coagula requires things to dissolve away before they can coagulate together again. Before the psyche can rebuild, it has to be ripped apart

The image itself is set in a city in a countryside, a man is holding a decapitated head severed from a body lying at his feet. Both Judai and Yubel experience a dismemberment at one point or another. In another classical alchemical text Lunar King and Queen experience this dismemberment together, in order to represent the violent union of opposites.

In freudian symbolism, the death of a father figure / a king is necessary for psychological development. In mythology which Jung used for the basis of many of his ideas, death is required for life.

"In freud's scheme of mental development and the rules of society become directly linked. The infant psyche demands constant satisfaction, aprticularly in desires for food from the mother. By interfering with the child's relationship to the mother, the father arouses the child's hostility... the urge to destroy the father however, cannot be consummated or recognized so the psyche, to reliev the terrible dilemna identifies itself with the father figure creating a new "super ego" as a guide for the self. [...] In ancient times when the Goddess reigned, the king performed a special function. new life can only come from death therefore, each winter, the Goddess's representative sacrificed the old king, very often dismembering him and planting pieces in the ground thereby mystically fertilizing the earth." (Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom pg 49.)

Alchemy dictates that in order for Judai to become his fully realized self, both he and Yubel must let the past, and let the king die. This is especially true for Yubel, who clings the hardest to their past life with Judai, because in that life where they played the role of knight Judai could never throw them away the same way they did in this one.

However, trying to force Judai to become the king, to be the way he was in the past is actually the worst thing possible for Judai's development because Alchemy is all about accepting death so a rebirth can occur.

To bring another Yu-Gi-Oh anime in for a point of comparison, because Yu Gi Oh loves to recycle ideas, for Shark from Zexal who was also a king in his past life, the choice to prioritize his past life over his present one and become Nasch is one that has disastrous consequences.

IV: "That low. You let yourself fall that low. To let yourself become such a decrepit demon that your heart is beyond turning back?" SHARK: "That's right. Very good, IV. Hate me as a barian. Use the death of your friends to enflame your hatred against me. By defeating you like that, I can bury all of my life as Kamishiro Ryoga." (Zexal II, Episode 52).

After recalling his past life and deciding to live solely as a Barian, turning his back on all the friends he made as Ryouga. In two duels, against IV and against Yuma he completely refuses any hand they offer him and decides that his past life and his responsibilities as a barian emperor are the only thing that matters.

However, because Shark refuses to let his past life die, he ends up making the exact same mistake of his past life. Just as in that life, his sister ends up sacrificing herself in order to try to defeat Vector and dying at Vector's hands. In both lifetimes Nasch uses his power as the king in order to try to protect everyone around him including his sister, only to end up the last one alive after his decision to wage war.

It's a character flaw that's present throughout all of Shark's arc, he wants to use power in order to protect his loved ones, but whenever they're hurt that desire to protect quickly turns to vengeance and anger instead. Shark much like supreme king judai relies on power as a way to fight against the chaos of the world and bring order, and just like Judai it's just a coping mechanism because Shark is unable to deal with the loss of his loved ones, in the past life, and in this one too. He becomes a barian emperor, and goes to war with all of humanity and the astral world because he wants to protect those he failed to protect in his past life, only to lose them again because he made the decision to go to war.

Shark doesn't let go of the past, and doesn't let his past self die and because of that he cannot learn from his mistakes. Rather than integrating his past self into his present self, he's just trying to pretend that everything is the same as it was in his previous lifetime, and because of that he doesn't learn from his mistakes in his past life.

This is symbolized by the way he loses the final duel against Yuma. Shark always chooses violence even when there are more peaceful means. When Yuma is dueling with him in that final duel, he keeps prolonging and prolonging because he wants to find a nonviolent solution. However, by that point all of the other barian emperors are dead and the only thing Shark has left is his responsibility as the last barian emperor. He duels Yuma and refuses any offers to sort things out peacefully, and in the last move of the duel Yuma negates an attack because he doesn't want to win against Shark. He doesn't want to put him down with violence, he wants to convince Shark with words that they can settle things peacefully. However, because of an affect of Shark's own card, he loses the duel, whereas he would have won if Yuma had just attacked.

Shark's failure to let the past die results in his character regression, because the king is not who he is, and it is not all he is. Pushing Judai into the role of Supreme King only brings his worst traits to the forefront, and symbolically causes him to stagnate as a character because Yubel is also refusing to let the past die. Yubel on some level however, seems to be aware of this.

THE LUNAR QUEEN / YUBEL

Now in a roundabout way I am finally at the stage where I answer my question, what does the king mean to Yubel? Why does Yubel push Judai and Amon into the role of becoming king, while at the same time mocking the king and becoming resentful when Judai starts to act like the supreme king that Yubel pushed him to be.

In the story Yubel represents Judai's opposite and equal force, but in the context of the story itself they are far from equals. Before the story began they much like Echo willingly threw away their life and their body to protect the boy they wanted to become king.

They offered their body up without expecting anything in return. When young prince Judai is troubled by their sacrifice they go out of their way to reassure him, that this is their duty.

However, the young prince steps out of the line of duty and pledges eternal love to Yubel in return for their sacrifice.

From that moment something changes, and the lines blur for Yubel. No longer are they acting out of selfless devotion to a prince (duty) but of love for a prince to promise to love them in return. Yubel the knight is devoted to the prince, that is the role they both fill. As long as they fulfill their roles, Yubel will not be thrown away because the prince needs Yubel to act as his shield. However, Yubel doesn't deserve Judai because he's the king, but because he's Judai. He serves Judai because of the love he has not for a king, but for Judai the person.

Yubel is however, socialized and raised to think of themselves as a knight serving a king. The only tool they have available to process their feelings, the way they see the world is tied up in this narrative of them existing for the sake of protecting someone else. All of their self worth is derived from their loyalty to Judai, because they gave up everything else. They are a horrible dragon with impenetrable skin, even if they wanted to, they couldn't have friends other than judai, they gave up their humanity to better serve as Judai's protector. It's not too different from Echo giving up her life to become Exodia. When they're reborn into the modern era, Judai is reborn again as a child, but Yubel is a duel spirit that can only be seen by and only interact with Judai and not understanding the rules of the modern world they try to protect Judai the way they did in their past life only to be seperated from Judai because of how overprotective they were being.

Yubel thinks in these terms of chivalric knights and kings because it's all they know, but Yubel is also observant and intelligent and capable of deducing that while they need Judai, Judai doesn't necessarily need them in this lifetime. Yubel has elevated Judai to king, in order to have their place by his side as his knight again, however Yubel in this lifetime has noticed the power discrepancy between the king and the knight who protects them. The king might be grateful to the knight for their service the same way that Amon appreciates Echo's sacrifice, but no matter what the king and the knight will never be equals.

Which is why despite Yubel originally making this sacrifice to protect Judai, so he can grow up and become the supreme king, in Yubel's fantasies they don't really seem to care much about Judai's role as a chosen hero at all. In fact, if anything Yubel wants to stay away from the conflict between good and evil entirely.

When Yubel hears about Amon's dreams to build a utopia, he mocks the idea because a kingdom is supposed to be a place you share with you and your loved one. Yubel no longer cares about Judai's destined role about saving the universe from the light of destruction, they really only care about building a kingdom where the two of them can be together.

Yubel: "For me, it's something I'll build with Judai. That is a world. You could've built a world with the one you love too. A world for just the two of you." (Yu Gi Oh GX ep. 151).

Yubel also can't let go of Judai's past life. Much like Nasch, Yubel wants to return to the past forever, instead of living in the present. Even though Yubel and Judai both reincarnated it's difficult for Yubel to accept the changes because unlike Judai they remember everything of the past, and in the past lifetime they were never thrown away and abandoned so carelessly like they were in this one.

Yubel was abandoned, thrown into space, and tortured so in all of their overtures at devotion and demands that Judai reciprocate their love, they are desperately, searching for a way to ensure they'll never be abandoned again. Yubel is working with an incorrect understanding of the world, if they devote all of themselves to Judai as a selfless knight and protector then Judai must return their love and keep them by their side. That was how it worked in the past life, that's how it's supposed to work between knights and kings.

Yubel can only see the world through this flawed interpretation. If Judai abandons them, and leaves them to be tortured in space then it was a test of their loyalty. Judai loves Yubel so much, he knew that Yubel would understand shooting him into space, and then cutting them off completely was a sign of love. That after putting him through trial after trial, he fully expected Yubel to understand his intentions and unite with him.

As warped and twisted as Yubel's delusions are, in them there is the reflection of Yubel's true desires. While Yubel makes overtures of making Judai into a king so they can go back to serving as his knife, their actual actions are to drag Judai down to their level. Yubel says over and over again, they want Judai to suffer as much as they did, not for revenge but so Judai and them can be equals in pain. Yubel notices how unfair it is that Echo was the only one who had to make sacrifices and suffer so Amon could be king, and then corrects that by tearing down Amon so he can finally be equals with Echo.

Yubel who despite seeming to want Judai to recall his past life and return to the way things were doesn't care about fighting the light of destruction, just building a kingdom where he and Judai live together. Yubel who, even when losing their mind and deciding to just fuse the twelve universes together and blow them up, still decides that they'll keep Judai asleep and watch over him forever. It's not about being Judai's guardian, it's not about making Judai king, it's not about fulfilling Judai's destiny, these are all just reasons, excuses really to be around Judai. Serving as Judai's protector means that Judai needs him and won't abandon him in this lifetime.

It is all about Judai, and Yubel's love for a person, and not a king.

Judai and Yubel are both attached to the past and refusing to grow and move on. Judai is overly attached to his childhood and does not want to grow up and face adult responsibilities. Much like Nasch, in favoring the past over the present Yubel is missing out on an opportunity to grow. They love Judai in this lifetime as he did in the last, but in this lifetime Yubel is too afraid of being abandoned again because he doesn't have the promise that Judai made him so they cling to the past.

It is only when Judai and Yubel decide to let go of the past at the same time, that both of them are able to grow. They both die and reincarnate one final time as a completely new being. Not only does Judai stop being the king, but Yubel stops being the knight, so they can be reborn together again in this lifetime.

[blackwaves]

rmbrs i'm a bsd blog. i may have said this before tangentially but one of my favorite things about bsd is the way that asagiri handles... priorities? responsibilities/ideals/values/loyalties/etc.

each character's priorities are so carefully arranged and sorted and projected outwards, and they're consistent about what takes precedence— the crux of fukuzawa's dynamics and falling outs with mori and fukuchi respectively are particularly+fundamentally linked to this to me, for instance, but it's a recurring theme. bsd throws people into conflict with each other wrt their strongly-rooted ideals repeatedly and it often ends with the conclusion of: the fact of smaller wants matters less than [x important thing]; this matters to me more than anything, and it shows in the actions i take.

it's a fascinating choice in the manga that is so thematically a conversation between different ways and reasons to live.

(note that in some cases wrt priorities, it can be (often specific) people-as-a-priority, but: it's so intentional as a choice when a bsd character weighs personal loyalty over broader ideals, and the fact that it's so deliberate makes me !! because it carries so much more weight in a piece of media where this isn't a given. it's not an automatic template of this-is-what-love/loyalty-looks-like, it's chosen so so carefully for each character and how they work, + braids into existing characterization to make each instance fascinating. asagiri's character work makes me so fond.)

[pinkcowzz]

finally watching daredevil born again, and i have. THOUGHTS.

everything feels SO intentional. like, i was really concerned for this show cause the first three seasons hold such a special place in my heart but it seems like this show was handled with such care.

there will be spoilers for episode 1 below the cut, so. proceed with caution. (i'll be making a separate post for ep. 2 later because this got way out of hand)

so, to start off with the opening credits. i was. SO impressed. the og credits like genuinely they are some of my favorite credits to have been done. and the new ones, using some of the same symbols but having them be concrete and broken to literally rebuild matt is SO neat.

admittedly, i am not a marvel comic reader, have not touched more than maybe 6 in my whole life. so- please don't take what i have to say about characterization too seriously. that being said!

i have no idea how to feel about foggy dying. i have heard that in the comics, it's karen that bullseye kills. i think narratively it does make more sense for foggy to be the one to die. he was the glue within their group, he was the one who always saw more within matt, who believed in him to make the right choices.

my biggest thoughts on foggy's death is that, AHHH it's about the suit. it's always about the suit. foggy is the person who brought matt the suit, back during the arc with elektra and the hand and everything. and he regretted it. a lot. that much we knew. and then to open this new season with foggy clearly and deliberately keeping matt from the suit. ("look im sorry, maybe i didn't wanna give you an excuse")

then, matt chooses to use the suit to 'solve' his issue. and his consequence? he loses foggy. and immediately he loses his morals, pushing ben off the roof. did he know that wouldn't kill dex? we don't know! but he did it. it's, poetic in a way. foggy was the one person that was grounding matt.

it's also just, a really interesting path to take for matt's character. like, the entirety of season two was matt trying to decide who he was. in one direction was the suit, and elektra and the adrenaline of it all. on the other was foggy and working within the system. matt saw both as a way to help, he saw both as a means to fix hell's kitchen. in the end, he lost elektra and chose to walk away from foggy. but then the series opens with the line

"i like to think that i have- we have evolved"

this means something, at least to me. we are seeing matt once again questioning who is he, why he is making the choices he has been making. is it worth it?

then cut to one year later, and we see that matt is still caring foggy with him- literally. he carries the program from his funeral, what i can only assume is daily. kept on his kitchen counter along with his other daily essentials. a reminder of his failings, of what he has lost.

moving onto karen, i really hate her running off to san fran but i can't say i don't understand it. she ran after her brother died, it's CLEAR that something went down between her & matt after foggy died, she felt unsupported and left alone again so she left. but for her to come back and ONLY talk to matt about the suit, whewwww baby. that's some heavy shit to dig through.

she had always understood the 'devil of hell's kitchen'. until she knew who he was and realized he had lied to her. they have such a messy relationship. idk, her giving matt the horn from his costume but refusing to allow them to actually talk, to actually heal, it's fucked up. she's, in a very round about way, telling him that she only feels he's useful in the suit. that this other person, (daredevil) the one who drove them apart years ago, is the only thing they have in common now.

and then. vanessa and wilson. what the FUCK is going on between them. i think the most important piece of information that we got about them, is the painting that is shown right before vanessa is reintroduced. it's titled "ivan the terrible and his son". for those who aren't familiar, the scene it is depicting is of ivan holding his son right after he murdered him. the motive has been argued, either a political disagreement or perhaps because of ivan's son's wife passing by in her robe (a disrespect at the time).

to me? this is saying that fisk is going to kill vanessa at some point this season. i think it will either be motivated by her making business moves that he disagrees with or perhaps because she has essentially made A CUCK OUT OF HIM HELLOO?????? (no im not not over that, it fits their dynamics so well but is just. so wild)

i also just want to compliment on how it has introduced so many new characters, without making it feel crowded or annoying. i miss the old supporting cast that was present, but this show has managed to make me not hate the new one. mcduffie's relationship with matt seems to be one with lots of history and care. cherry is already in on the secret and seems to not be afraid to use it to his advantage.

even the doctor that matt is dating, heather seems to have genuine chemistry with matt.

onto the next! the scene with matt and fisk is. i could watch it a hundred times and not tire of it. starting the scene with fisk telling matt "im not going to spar with you" to then have one of the BEST verbal spars i've EVER seen is so fun. i truly love the writers of this show, it's so clear to me that they really love these characters and wanted to do right by them. (i also completely forgot about fisk being in hawkeye until this scene, whoops)

the irony of "fisk will fix it" and maga is not lost on me, it's a bit exhausting but, i can understand the statement they were wanting to make with it.

there was an interview with charlie cox and vincent d'onofrio where they both comment how matt can't exist without fisk, and the same vice versa. they serve as such fun foils of each other. they want to catch the other tripping up. they want to be the one to bring the other down. they don't want to prove the other right. GOD it's fun.

last thing, i really like the score. okay! well this got way out of hand, but i just needed to get these worms out of my brain or else they would eat it whole so.