#she could be such an interesting character

[andstuffsketches]

Maybe not Impulse, But I think she would date Cissie

a glimpse into a possible future....

[secretmaniacc]

FILL THE VOID

Pairings: the salesman x Fem!oc

Summary: After avoiding him for two days, she finds herself pinned down as he insists they go out to dinner, just as he promised in their bet. Reluctantly agreeing, she anticipates an elegant evening, but the night quickly takes an exciting and dangerous turn.

Warnings: slow burn, language, violence, Dom!salesman x baddie!oc, teasing, degrading, kissing, gun play, Russian roulette, knife play, semi public sex, hair pulling, mentions of blood, oral sex, male recieving, p in v, rough sex, spanking.

Wc: 6.2k

A/n: so sorry for the wait here’s pt.2 for “ride or die” since some of y’all liked it and I’m very happy for that, did some justice this time and spiced it up they can be out of character sometime so forgive me, hope y’all will enjoy it really worked hard on this one, not proofread <3

For two days, she’d managed to avoid him—strategically timing her office hours to when he wasn’t there, ignoring his messages, and pretending not to notice the way he seemed to linger just out of reach. But deep down, she knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up with her. 

That time came at the end of a long day when she thought she was safe. She gathered her things and prepared to turn around and head towards the door, only to feel a familiar presence.

“Thought you could avoid me forever?” His voice was low, smooth, and infuriatingly smug. 

Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag as she turned, schooling her features into something calm and unaffected. “I’m busy. Move.” 

He grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Busy ignoring me? Impressive effort, but I don’t take silence well.” 

“I’m not ignoring you,” she lied, stepping forward to brush past him. 

His arm shot out, blocking her path. “Really? Then why haven’t you answered my messages? Or were you too busy pondering about how much fun we had in the alley?” 

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she shot back, her tone clipped as she tried to push past him again. 

But this time, he shifted, moving to block her entirely and locking the door with a quick twist of his wrist. The faint click of the lock sent a chill down her spine, though she refused to show it. 

“Let me go,” she said, keeping her voice steady even as she felt her pulse quicken. 

He leaned back against the door, his arms crossed lazily, as though he had all the time in the world. “Not until we settle something.” 

She arched a brow, masking her unease with irritation. “And what’s so important that you’re resorting to theatrics?” 

His grin widened, his gaze sparkling with that insufferable confidence. “I’m a man of my word. And I promised to take you to dinner, didn’t I? Unless, of course, you’d rather recall how I made you feel so good in the alley.” 

She blinked, caught off guard by the reminder. “That was two days ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

“It matters to me.” He stepped closer, the teasing edge in his voice making her heart stutter. “You won, fair and square. So, dinner. Tonight.” 

“Not happening,” she said firmly, though the conviction in her voice wavered slightly. 

He tilted his head, studying her with mock curiosity. “Why so stubborn? Afraid you’ll enjoy it?” 

Her jaw tightened. “I’m just not interested.” 

“You’re lying.” 

She glared at him, determined not to let him see how her resolve faltered under the weight of his gaze. “You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re avoiding the truth,” he countered, stepping closer until there was barely a breath of space between them. “But that’s fine. Say no if you want—I’ll still show up outside your door.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, though the uncertainty in her voice made her doubt her own words. 

“Try me,” he challenged, his tone light but his intent clear. 

She sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly in defeat. “Fine. One dinner. But don’t make a habit of this.” 

His grin broadened, a glimmer of triumph lighting up his face. “Perfect. Wear something elegant—something that’ll fit the place. I expect you’ll be just as stunning as you were in the alley” 

“Excuse me?” 

He ignored her indignation, leaning in close enough for his breath to ghost against her cheek. His lips brushed lightly against her skin, leaving behind the faintest trace of warmth. “See you tonight,” he murmured before stepping aside and unlocking the door. 

She stared at him, momentarily thrown by the unexpected gesture. The smug look on his face only made her irritation flare, and she pushed past him with a sharp, “Don’t be late.” 

As she walked away, she tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, brushing it off as nothing more than irritation. But the faint smile tugging at her lips told a different story. 

-----

She stood before the full-length mirror, the soft glow of her bedroom light catching the gentle shimmer of her crimson dress. The bodice hugged her figure like it was made for her, the delicate cowl neckline draping gracefully across her collarbones, while the fabric flowed into a silky skirt that brushed the floor with every subtle movement. Her long, black hair fell in effortless curls to her waist, framing her face with a touch of timeless elegance. A sheer wrap rested loosely on her arms, adding a layer of ethereal softness that seemed to dance with every step. 

Her phone buzzed on the dresser, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced down to see his text: "I’ll be there in five." Letting out a small breath, she grabbed her purse, gave herself one last look, and headed downstairs. 

The evening air was cool as she stepped outside, heels clicking softly against the pavement. There he was, leaning casually against a sleek black Audi A6, its polished exterior gleaming under the streetlights. He wore a tailored black suit that framed his tall, broad figure perfectly, paired with a crisp white shirt and a black tie that added a sharp elegance to his appearance. His dark hair was neatly styled, though a rebellious strand fell over his forehead, softening his otherwise sharp features. 

As she approached, his gaze locked on her, a flicker of admiration crossing his face before he straightened and stepped toward her. Without a word, he took her hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“You look breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet sincere, his eyes holding hers for just a moment longer than necessary. 

A faint blush warmed her cheeks, but she managed a small, teasing smile. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” 

His lips twitched into a smirk as he opened the passenger door for her, gesturing for her to step inside. 

She settled into the plush leather seat, the soft scent of new car and faint cologne filling the space. The interior was sleek, with polished silver accents and an impressive digital dashboard glowing faintly in the dim light. She trailed her fingers over the armrest, the comfort and luxury surprising her. 

“You own this?” she asked, glancing at him as he slipped into the driver’s seat, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. 

He chuckled softly. “Why? Did you think I’d show up in something less fitting?” 

She shook her head, amused but still impressed, as they drove in silence toward their destination.  He would make teasing comments here and there that earned a chuckle from her.

The car pulled up to one of the most elegant restaurants in town, its grand facade glowing with soft golden lights. Outside, a long line of patrons waited eagerly, some dressed to the nines, chatting in anticipation. 

Her brows lifted in surprise at the sight. “You didn’t mention this place,” she said, her voice laced with curiosity. 

Before he could respond, two security guards stepped forward, opening her door with practiced precision. One took the keys from him while the other escorted them toward the entrance. She noticed how the murmuring crowd shifted, heads turning as they walked past. 

The guards held the doors open as they entered, bowing slightly in his direction. She bowed back out of respect, but he merely did, wrapping his arm around her waist as they stepped into the opulent dining area. 

The restaurant was stunning. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over tables draped in crisp white linens. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking view of the city skyline, and a soft melody from a grand piano filled the air with an elegant ambiance. 

They were guided to a private table near the window, the staff pulling out her chair as she sat. As he took his seat across from her, she leaned in slightly, her tone playful. 

“Care to explain why everyone is treating you like you’re some mafia boss?” 

He chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at her. “Let’s just say I know how to make an impression.” 

She rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips. “Oh, I’m sure you do.” 

The waitress approached with a professional yet warm smile, handing them menus. “Welcome. May I offer you something to start with?” 

She glanced at the menu, the luxurious options catching her off guard. “Are there any prices on this thing, or do we just guess?” she quipped, arching an eyebrow at him. 

He laughed softly. “Don’t worry, dinner’s on me. Feel free to splurge.” 

She smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Good, because I was planning to order the most expensive thing just to annoy you.” 

“Be my guest,” he replied smoothly, his grin teasing. “But I hope you know that means dessert is non-negotiable.” 

her eyes scanning the intricate names of dishes written in french. Brows furrowed, she tilted the menu closer as if the words would magically make sense the second time around. 

“What is... uh, rat-a-tou-ille??” she sounded out slowly, glancing up at him with genuine curiosity. 

His lips curved into an amused smile. “Ratatouille. It’s a vegetable dish—stewed with tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, and herbs. Simple but classic..” 

“Oh, okay. That doesn’t sound too bad,” she nodded before her eyes caught another word. “And this one? Coq... au vin??” 

“Coq au vin” he corrected with a small laugh. “Chicken braised in red wine with mushrooms and bacon. Very traditional.”.” 

She tapped her chin with her finger, pretending to consider it seriously, then moved on to another dish. “Bou-ya... bouillabaisse?” 

“Bouillabaisse,” he supplied smoothly. “.It’s a fish stew with a mix of seafood, Want me to keep translating, or are you planning to make me read the whole menu for you?” 

She shot him a playful glare. “Hey, these names are intimidating, okay? I didn’t grow up speaking fluent…. Uh, whatever this is."

“french” he said, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbled out. “I have to admit, though, this clueless act of yours is kind of adorable.”

She rolled her eyes, heat rising to her cheeks. “Whatever. I’ll just stick to this one.” She pointed to a dish she didn’t recognize but liked the sound of. 

When he glanced at his menu filled with prices unlike hers, his smirk grew wider. “Interesting choice,” he mused, leaning back in his chair. 

“What?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Nothing,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh. “Just that it’s the cheapest thing on the menu.” 

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?” 

He nodded, still grinning. “Repick. Or I’ll do it for you.” 

She groaned, flipping through the menu again. “Fine. You pick.” 

He didn’t even look at her menu, already knowing it by heart. “Filet de boeuf Rossini,” he said confidently.

Her eyes widened slightly. “That sounds... fancy.”

“It’s perfect,” he replied with a wink. “Trust me.”

The waitress returned, taking his order for a sole meunière and hers for the beef Rossini. “And a bottle of Château d’Yquem,” he added casually.

When the waitress nodded and walked away, she raised an eyebrow. “Château d’Yquem? What’s that?”

“You’ll see,” he replied cryptically.

Moments later, the waitress returned with a sleek silver ice bucket, placing it on the table with a bottle of golden wine nestled inside. The light caught the liquid, making it shimmer, and her eyes widened as realization hit.

“This is wine?” she asked, pointing to the bottle. 

“Not just any wine,” he said, pouring a glass with practiced ease. “It’s... exclusive.” 

“How exclusive?” she pressed.

He took a slow sip, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re drinking liquid gold?”

He laughed at her incredulous expression, his voice rich with amusement. “Relax. Tonight’s on me, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” he replied with a wink, setting his glass down.

Silence evoked as the air in the restaurant shimmered with quiet luxury, a symphony of muted chatter, piano tunes and crystal clinks filling the room. She leaned back against the chair, her delicate fingers tracing absent patterns on the edge of the table. Her gaze flickered toward the expansive window, the city lights sprawling like a living canvas. There was an effortless grace to her, the way her crimson dress caught the glow of the chandeliers, the silk shifting like liquid fire with her every move.

He couldn’t look away.

His pupils sharpened with intensity as he studied her, the soft curve of her jawline, the way her lips parted slightly as she sighed in quiet awe. Her black hair, cascading in soft curls to her waist, gleamed under the golden light. She was a vision, suspended somewhere between elegance and rebellion, her beauty a contradiction he couldn’t quite define but didn’t want to stop trying to.

She tilted her head, her profile catching the faint light of the chandelier, and his breath hitched. As he took a sip of his whiskey, the taste burned less than the thought that this moment—her, here, now—felt like something he shouldn’t deserve.

He smirked at himself, shaking his head slightly. Get a grip.

But then she glanced back at him, catching his stare, her brow arching in question. “What?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Nothing,” he replied, his smirk deepening as he set his glass down. “Just taking it all in.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the slight tug of a smile at the corner of her lips.

Moments later their food arrived, the rich aroma wafting from her plate made her mouth water. She picked up her fork, taking a cautious bite. The moment the tender beef hit her taste buds, her eyes fluttered shut, and a soft hum of delight escaped her lips. 

“This is... amazing,” she said, already diving in for another bite. 

He watched her, captivated by the way she was completely absorbed in her food. Every little sound she made—those happy, involuntary noises—pulled his attention. For a moment, the bustling restaurant around them disappeared, leaving only her. 

“You’re staring, again.” she said suddenly, snapping him out of his daze. 

“You make it hard not to,” he admitted with a small smile. 

She flushed, quickly taking another bite. “Just eat your food, so we can get done” she muttered. 

He chuckled, cutting into his fish. They settled into a comfortable rhythm, exchanging light banter between bites. At one point, she attempted to spear a piece of his fish with her fork, but he caught her wrist with a grin. 

“Ah, ah. That’s mine,” he teased. 

“Sharing is caring,” she retorted, but he held firm, playfully shaking his head. 

He shook his head with exaggerated defiance, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “You want it that bad? Beg for it.”

She narrowed her eyes, “‘Never mind,’” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm as she went back to eat.

He chuckled, leaning closer. “Come on, don’t act like you didn’t do it.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” she said, standing up abruptly and grabbing her bag.

He burst into laughter, his gaze never leaving her. “I’m messing with you,” he said, grabbing her wrist gently and pulling her back into the chair.

She shot him a glare, crossing her arms. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love it,” he replied, giving her an amused smirk.

She sighed, reaching for her glass of water. As her gaze drifted across the room, it landed on a couple at a nearby table—so engrossed in each other they might as well have been the only two people in the restaurant. The man’s hand rested on the small of the woman’s back, and their faces were inches apart, whispering between soft kisses.

Her nose wrinkled. “Ugh. Get a room,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.

He followed her line of sight, his brow arching before a low chuckle escaped his lips. “Jealous?”

She snapped her head back to him, her eyes narrowing. “Jealous? Please. That’s gross. There’s a time and place for that sort of thing, and it’s not next to someone trying to enjoy a meal.”

His grin widened as he leaned back, clearly enjoying her reaction. “You’re awfully opinionated for someone who didn’t seem to mind when I kissed you.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly. “That was different!”

“Oh, was it?” he teased, his tone playfully smug. “Because if I recall, you were the one leaning in first.”

Her jaw dropped. “I was not! You were the one who couldn’t keep it together and kissed me like some—”

“Like what?” he interrupted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Someone who’s not afraid to take a chance?”

She glared at him, struggling to find a comeback that wouldn’t dig her deeper into the hole. “You’re crazy,” she finally huffed, crossing her arms again.

“not as much as you,” he replied, his smirk softening just enough to make her annoyed

The unspoken tension hung like a storm cloud between them, unshakably present as they lingered in that charged moment. “Are you actually saying you wish you were that couple?” he asked, leaning in with a seriousness that made her heart constrict.

Her heart raced at his words, a flutter of uncertainty and curiosity mixing with annoyance. “I just think PDA is a bit much!” she shot back, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. “I mean, can’t people keep it to themselves?”

“Really?” he challenged, his voice low, brushing against her ear as he leaned closer. “Or maybe you’re just afraid of what it could feel like to let loose, to feel something real for once?”

Her breath caught in her throat as a rush of heat spread across her cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shot back, a desperate edge in her voice. She could feel the tension weave between them like a live wire, crackling with possibility.

“Maybe I do,” he replied, that daring glint in his eye making her pulse quicken. “Maybe you just need the right moment to let go.”

The couple at the table nearby erupted in laughter again, and she found herself glancing back at them, trying to refocus. But when she looked up, he was watching her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. “Forget them,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, pulling her even further into his orbit. “What do you want? Something real? Or more of this… competition?”

Before she could formulate a response, he suddenly stood, extending a hand toward her. “Come with me.”

“Where?” she asked, hesitating but feeling a rush of adrenaline at the thought of doing something entirely unexpected.

“A place where we can talk,” he replied, a challenge sparking in his eyes. “Unless you’re too scared to follow.”

With her heart racing and her mind swirling with uncertainty, she placed her hand in his. He led her through the restaurant’s bustling dining area, weaving through startled diners and busy waitstaff. But there was no turning back. The thrill of being drawn into the unknown ignited something within her.

They approached a door at the back of the restaurant, and she felt both exhilarated and apprehensive. He flung it open, and they stepped into a dimly lit hallway lined with fancy doors that seemed to whisper secrets.

“Seriously, where are we?” she asked, blinking in the low light as confusion mixed with an adrenaline high.

“Somewhere more private,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous, eyes flickering with mischief and something deeper. “We won’t be interrupted here.”

Her pulse raced, excitement and fear coiling in her stomach. “Is this your idea of romance?” she shot back, the challenge lacing her voice, even as heat coursed through her.

“Maybe it’s just my idea of taking risks,” he countered, stepping closer, the space between them charged in a way that made her skin tingle. “You might even enjoy it.”

The energy shifted as they stood beneath the dim glow of the overhead light, their breaths mingling in the tight space. She caught herself wanting to feel the weight of his words, the electricity in the air. “What if someone catches?” she asked, half playful and half serious, but the way he was looking at her made her thrill with curiosity.

“Let them,” he said, eyes smouldering, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between them. “Are you really going to back down now?”

She felt a rush of defiance surge within her, mixed with undeniable attraction. “I’m not afraid,” she said boldly, but her voice wavered slightly, betraying the thrill and lust she was trying to suppress.

“Then let’s find out how dangerous this might get,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, igniting the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

With that, he turned on his heel, pulling her deeper into the hall, and she felt her heart pounding with excitement and uncertainty. Each step into the unknown only drew them closer together, and she couldn't shake the thrill of what lay ahead—the thrilling uncertainty,

He paused in front of an ornate door that looked far more expensive than the rest, its golden handle glinting in the dim light. With a knowing smirk, he pushed it open, and she was met with an intoxicating scent—rich cologne mingling with something deeper, something intimate that tugged at her senses.

As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The room was lavishly decorated, a blend of modern luxury and classic elegance. An oversized leather couch sat in the center along with a table, surrounded by walls adorned with vibrant artwork that seemed to pull her in. Warm lights cast a cozy glow, and a plush rug covered the floor, offering a sense of comfort veiled in sultriness.

“wow,” she breathed, taking in the opulence, momentarily forgetting the tension simmering between them.

“Sit,” he commanded softly, gesturing toward the couch. She hesitated for only a moment before obeying, settling into the soft fabric while he moved around the room, his gaze scanning various items scattered about—a vintage record player, a collection of intriguing books, and an array of exotic liquor bottles.

Stopping at a sleek display cabinet, he opened the door and pulled out a pistol, its silver surface gleaming in the warm light. A grin played across his lips as he turned to face her, an unsettling excitement dancing in his eyes.

“We’re going to play a game,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Russian roulette.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Are you serious?”

“Relax.” He waved his hand dismissively, the light glinting off the barrel. “Only this time, we’re playing with a twist. There’s only one bullet, and each time the gun goes off, we have to strip a piece of clothing.”

A mix of thrill and apprehension surged through her. “That’s insane.”

“Maybe,” he replied, his smirk deepening, “but wouldn’t it be fun?”

With a defiant spark in her eyes, she leaned forward. “Fine, let’s play.”

He sat across from her, the couch sinking slightly under his weight, and loaded the bullet into the chamber with a casualness that both intrigued and unnerved her. He spun the cylinder and brought the gun to his temple, pulling the trigger—click. He laughed, a dark sound that echoed in the room,

“Not so scary, right?” he teased, loosening his suit jacket. With a fluid motion, revealing a fitted dress shirt that clung to his frame, accentuating the muscular definition of his arms and shoulders. The sight made her pulse quicken

“Your turn.” He passed the gun to her.

She arched an eyebrow but took the gun, feeling its weight in her hand. She couldn’t believe they were doing this. She spun the cylinder herself, heart racing, and then pressed it to her temple. Click. A rush of relief washed over her.

“Now it’s time to shed that scarf,” he said with a teasing tone. With a quick, decisive movement, she untied the delicate fabric and let it fall to the floor, feeling freer, more emboldened.

“Here you go,” she responded, tossing the gun back to him. The tension was tangible as he caught it effortlessly.

filled with a languid confidence. “Ready?” He pressed the barrel once more to his temple—click. The sound rang through the air like a taunt, a challenge freighted with electricity.

“Lucky again,” he grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“What’s next? Your shirt?” she quipped, eager to see how far this would go.

His gaze flicked to her, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he loosens the tie taking it off, before he began to unbutton his crisp white dress shirt. With each button undone, the cloth pulled away to reveal the chiselled muscles of his torso, the defined lines and curves making her breathless. He threw the shirt aside, letting it flutter to the ground like a fallen banner of surrender.

She couldn’t help but take in the sight, her breath momentarily caught in her throat. she breathed, both impressed and challenged by the game they were playing.

“Like what you see? Now it’s your turn,” he teased, giving her the gun once more, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

She took the gun, spun the cylinder yet again, and pressed it against her temple—click. Relief flooded her, but the tension was palpable.

“Let’s play it safe,” she decided, slipping off her heels and leaving her feet bare on the plush rug beneath her. The contact with the soft Fibers felt grounding after the intensity of the game.

“Back to me,” he said, taking the gun from her hands once more. He spun the cylinder, glancing at her with that effortless chill. “Here we go.”

With a languid movement, he pressed the cold metal against his own temple, a shrug of confidence reflecting in his posture. He squeezed the trigger—click. The sound reverberated, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

She felt a small knot of apprehension twist in her stomach. Could they keep going like this? The stakes were rising, and she felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

He turned to her, offering her the gun again. “Your turn. Only two triggers are left, make sure not to die.”

With a mixture of determination and nerve, she accepted the gun from him. Her heart raced as she spun the cylinder for what felt like the hundredth time.

He stood to remove his shoes, casually tossing them to the side. That simple act ignited something within her, a thrilling edge of power and vulnerability. Just as he prepared to sit down, she lunged forward with a sudden burst of resolve.

With a swift motion, she pinned him against the couch, the gun now aimed firmly at his chest.

"What’s the matter?" he teased, the laughter in his eyes shifting to something darker. “Afraid you will die?”

“Not a chance,” she challenged, taking a seat on his lap, her pulse racing. In a moment of reckless defiance, she kept the gun pointed at him. “You think this is a game?”

He laughed, a wild, psychotic sound that echoed against the walls. his hands resting firmly on her waist, the gun now pressed against his chest as he leaned in closer. “I love it when you take charge.”

“You’re going to regret underestimating me,” she said, catching a glimpse of the wild delight dancing in his eyes.

“so it’s Game over for me?” he taunted, his words dripping with boldness. His hands slowly wandered to her thighs, fingers teasing, sending pulses of electricity coursing through her. “Shame, really. I’d hate to die without pleasuring you.”

Her breath hitched at his insinuation, his cocky demeanour igniting an uncontrollable fire within her. The tension crackled like static in the air, urging her to respond.

“You wish.” she said, her voice wavering slightly with the rush of emotions surging through her.

With a fury of need and desire, she leaned in and captured his lips in a fervent kiss, their mouths colliding in an explosion of pent-up frustration and attraction. The world around them melted away as her heart raced. The moment was electric, and in the whirlwind of passion, she pulled the trigger.

But all that followed was a click.

The sound ricocheted in the silence between them, and her eyes widened in shock as she pulled away. The thrill morphed into a dizzying rush as realization struck—there had been no bullet, no fatal ending, only the raw, intoxicating energy swirling in the air between them.

That's when he took the gun from her hands, his movements quick and decisive, a spark of defiance in his eyes. With a swift motion, he tossed it across the room, the gun landing with a loud thud against the wall.

“If you wanted my tongue against you, then you’ve fucking earned it,” he spat, crashing their lips together in a fierce, hungry kiss.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging tightly, igniting a low groan that reverberated into her mouth.

"You wanted to fucking kill me, sweetheart," he growled, biting her bottom lip, eliciting a sharp whimper from her.

“It was your game,” she countered, the adrenaline pulsing through her like fire.

“And yet,” he replied, his voice dark and sultry, “I’d never kill you.”

“I wouldn’t either.” She pulled back, a smirk curving her lips as her eyes roamed over his swollen lips and messy hair, an enticing sight.

“So, why did you aim that gun at me? Say it.”

“Because I was too damn scared, you’d do it instead of me,” she admitted, feeling his grip on her loosen slightly.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you really know how to make a scene,” he murmured, his fingers deftly unbuckling his belt with confidence.

“Kneel,” he demanded, helping her rise before guiding her down so she knelt on the floor, her dress cascading around her like a waterfall.

“You want to act like a little slut? Then suck until your mouth isn’t filthy,” he spat, and she flashed him a smirk as she slid his pants down, revealing his hard on.

Her hand wrapped around the base of him, moving up and down slowly, the rhythm sending soft growls of pleasure from his lips. As she continued pumping back and forth, in a rhythmic pattern the more he strived for her lips.

“Did you not hear me? I said suck,” he snapped, frustration threading through his tone.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You call me a slut yet can’t wait a moment longer?” With a teasing glimmer in her eyes, she leaned forward, taking his tip into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it while maintaining a steady rhythm with her hand. His breath hitched, a bead of sweat forming on his chest as he succumbed to the jolting pleasure.

Without warning he bunched her hair up in his fist and pushed his tip to the back of her throat, thrusting himself deeper into her mouth until she gagged. The sight of her watering eyes only seemed to rile him up.

“Look how fucking beautiful you are, my darling. Take all of me, just like the good whore you are," he breathed, pleasure dripping from his words.

Her eyes glistened with tears. and he watched her head bob back and forth.

"fuck I'm going to—" he gasped, releasing her head and pulling back slightly. But before he could finish himself off, she caught his hand, her determination surging, and continued, letting the warm liquid hit the back of her throat while he moaned, curses spilling from his lips until he finished.

He fixed his gaze on her as she swallowed every drop, wiping her bottom lip clean with a satisfied smile. “You’re not finishing with me down here,” she challenged, cheeky confidence returning.

“Insanity suits you,” he replied, standing and holding out a hand to help her rise. “Now let’s see just how wet you are for me.”

He led her to the table, and a surge of vulnerability washed over her as he slammed her against it giving him full access to her clit, while her stomach pressed against the polished wood. His hands roamed the insides of her thighs, and she softly moans as he moved her lace underwear to the side, his fingers brushing against her trembling skin

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he pulled her head back, connecting their lips once more, sucking on her bottom lip. After He released her hair, his hand quickly found her clit, eliciting a moan that was both pleasure and pain.

“Make a scene, sweetheart. Let everyone hear how much you enjoy this," he seethed, delivering a sharp smack that made her gasp, her stomach hitting the table harder.

As he moved her dress out of the way, he slowly removed her thong. Her grip tightened on the table's edges, anticipation thrumming in her veins. But just as she exhaled, he pressed a blade to her neck, drawing a gasp from her lips as he grabbed another fistful of hair to pull her back.

“I’m going to fuck you until you beg to finish, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But this is on my terms. Move too much, and your blood will splatter.” She nodded slowly, and without warning he pushed himself inside of her.

She gasped, feeling every inch of him stretching her, she felt his eyes darken with lust as he fucked her against the table. Each powerful thrust accompanied by the sound of the table squeaking beneath her, the blade scratched at her skin making her hiss at the foreign pain of the knife grazing her neck.

“you like that? hmm” he asked, delight etched in his expression.

“I do. It hurts," she admitted, breathless.

“Tell me to stop,”

But the words caught in her throat, her senses overwhelmed as the blade pressed deeper, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes back in pleasure.

“ But that's the thing, you like that huh? You don't have to hide what you truly want. I know you like this blade at your neck. Watch how good you take my dick slut" he groaned into her ear picking up the pace and she could already feel herself coming close to finishing.

A few more cuts on her neck and he flipped her over, her back colliding with the table, the sharp contrast of sensations sending goosebumps over her skin.

He poured his focus on the cuts, pressing kisses over the crimson marks as the metallic taste lingered in the air. The euphoric mix of pain and pleasure sent her into a frenzy, her nails digging into his bare back as he slipped himself back inside of her her.

“You won’t be the only one leaving this room marked,” she moaned in between their kisses. Both of them cursing and filling the room with the sound of their pleasure.

Their bodies moved in sync, letting the euphoria continue and their pace become sloppy. a dangerous dance of desire and desperation, the air thick with their shared moans and whispered curses.

“I’m gonna—"

“Not yet,” he interrupted, the tension in his voice low and commanding.

“I can't—” she yelped when he stopped, a sharp smack to her ass, only hard enough to sting.

“You can, and you will,” he grunted, slamming into her again, her hips bucking against him as he threw her leg onto his shoulder, pushing deeper. His penetrating gaze bore into her, making sure she didn’t disobey.

“Beg if you wanna finish.”

“Please,” she pleaded, breathless urgency coloring her voice.

“You're mine. Never forget that. Got it?" he growled. She hummed in agreement.

“Use your words,”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Cum for me. Be a good girl,” he murmured, and she quickly became undone. After a couple more strokes he finished after, his head rolling back in delight.

Her legs quivering and the short circuit of her brain stopping for just a moment. It was almost as if her body was made to be with him alone, each pulse and surge a beautiful convergence of pleasure and pain.

He tucked himself back before effortlessly lifting her off the table. Her feet barely touched the floor before her legs wobbled beneath her, struggling to support her weight.

"I can’t walk," she muttered, clutching the edge of the table for support, the remnants of their passion still buzzing in her veins.

"What was that?" he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

"You heard me. Shut up and help me stand up," she sneered, irritation mingling with the lingering satisfaction in her tone.

He rolled his eyes, but his expression softened as he stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her upright. "Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you," he murmured, his voice low and steady. With gentle firmness, he helped her regain her footing, guiding her away from the table as she leaned into him.

They took a few tentative steps, and he chuckled again, the sound warm against her ear. "You really know how to make things interesting."

“Oh, shut up,” she replied, though a smile betrayed her annoyance. “You’re lucky I’m even standing,” she added with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Lucky? I was thinking of round two,” he shot back with a grin, winking at her as they made their way towards the couch. Unaware of long night they’re about to witness.

part 1

[cappycapital]

Oh i sort of have an explanation for this!! hi its me :) Fandoms will often be known for / create a lot of content that is tonally the opposite the source material. Why? Not sure but I can think of some possibilities

'Hey we have that at home!' - Fandoms have the original source material already so the novelty of more of the same wears off after a while, If I want to watch breaking bad content that is the tone of breaking bad, well? I'll just watch breaking bad! Whereas if I want breaking bad CONTENT well, lets go find something a bit more novel, right? Let's get weird with it!

'Let's have fun with it!' - oftentimes creative types (I am one of then :3 ) really want to flex their creative muscles! They wanna Put Those Guys In Situations, we already KNOW what My Little Pony Character Twilight Sparkle would do if presented with too many sweets to eat or a friendship problem, but how would she fare against say- a plague ? Now THAT'S where all the meat is!! Unexplored and ready to dig your teeth into!!

'Oh well that's surprising...' - It could easily be just that content which contrasts heavily with the source material is extremely attention grabbing! 'WOAH is that hank hill in a dress!?'- and so with the attention comes more people noticing THAT kind of content in the fandom and creating more of it, or just letting whatever algorithm the art is hosted on to keep boosting and boosting it until it becomes widely known! I find it interesting!!! Of course this is more or less just wanting to brain vomit a little bit, at the end of the day it's a rather funny phenomenon

phenomenon

[ka1rin]

Blue Lock Romantic Tropes

isagi, kaiser, sae, rin, reo, nagi x reader (separate)

word count: 1.1k , genre: romance / fluff

note: this story is about what romantic trope would suit these Blue Lock characters. I hope you guys love this!

Isagi Yoichi — Childhood Friends

Yoichi Isagi had always been head over heels for her—though he didn’t realize it until it was almost too late. She’d been his best friend for as long as he could remember. She was the one who stayed after practice to kick a ball around when no one else would, the one who always seemed to know exactly what to say after a tough game.

But lately, everything felt different. He couldn’t stop noticing the way her hair caught the sunlight or the way her laughter softened the edges of a bad day. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t just his best friend anymore.

They walked home together like always, her voice filling the air with stories about her day. Isagi barely heard a word. His mind was somewhere else, lost in thoughts he didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

When they reached her street, she stopped and turned to face him. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s up?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. “Do you ever think about the future?”

Her brow furrowed. “Sure. Why?”

“I mean… us,” he said softly, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “Do you ever think about where we’ll end up?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. “What are you trying to say, Yoichi?”

“I think—no, I know—I want you in my future,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not just as my best friend, but as… something more.”

Michael Kaiser — Enemies to Lovers

Michael Kaiser had never believed in losing. In his mind, every match, every argument, every moment in life was a game to be won. That’s why she infuriated him so much. She wasn’t interested in playing by his rules.

From the moment they met, she challenged him—both on and off the field. She had a knack for seeing through his façade, stripping away the charm he used so effortlessly on everyone else. At first, he hated it. Then he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

One evening, after yet another clash on the pitch, he found her sitting alone in the stands. The moonlight caught the curve of her profile, making her look softer than he was used to seeing.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.

“Maybe I’m trying to figure you out,” he replied, sliding onto the bench beside her.

“You won’t,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re not as good at reading people as you think.”

Kaiser smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “And you’re not as immune to me as you pretend to be.”

Her lips twitched, but she said nothing.

For the first time, Kaiser felt like this wasn’t a game he could win—or one he wanted to.

Sae Itoshi — Second Chance

Sae Itoshi had always been good at letting go. Whether it was friends, family, or teammates, he had a way of detaching himself from people, of moving forward without looking back.

But she was different.

She’d been his calm in the storm, the person who grounded him when the pressure of his career threatened to swallow him whole. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on her until the day he walked away, convincing himself it was for the best.

Now, years later, she stood before him at the airport, looking as composed as ever. His pulse quickened at the sight of her, and for the first time in a long while, Sae felt unsure of himself.

“You’ve changed,” she said softly, studying him like she was trying to figure out a puzzle.

“Not enough,” he admitted, his voice steady but quiet.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced away. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I couldn’t stay away,” he confessed. “Because letting you go was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

Rin Itoshi — Sun and Moon

Rin Itoshi didn’t believe in distractions. He’d built his life around focus and discipline, shutting out anything that might interfere with his pursuit of perfection.

Then she came along.

She was everything he wasn’t—bright, cheerful, and completely unafraid to push her way into his life. At first, Rin had found her presence irritating, but over time, he started to notice the small things: the way she always brought him water during practice, the way her laughter filled the empty spaces of his world.

One afternoon, as they sat in the park, she turned to him with a mischievous grin. “You should smile more, you know. It’s not illegal.”

He frowned, looking away. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it suits you,” she said simply, leaning back against the bench.

Rin’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t know how to explain that smiling felt foreign to him—except when she was around.

Reo Mikage — Unrequited Love

Reo Mikage had always been drawn to her. She was different from everyone else in his life, uninterested in his money or his status. She treated him like an equal, never hesitating to call him out when he deserved it.

He’d fallen for her quietly, keeping his feelings to himself out of fear that she’d never see him the way he saw her. Still, he stayed by her side, always there when she needed him, hoping one day she might look at him differently.

One evening, as they sat together in a quiet café, she broke the silence. “Reo, why are you always here for me?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… you’ve never asked for anything in return,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Why?”

Reo hesitated, his heart pounding. “Because you’re important to me. That’s all.”

Her gaze lingered on him, and for the first time, he thought he saw something shift in her eyes.

Nagi Seishiro — Forced Proximity

Seishiro Nagi didn’t like effort. He preferred simplicity, staying in his comfort zone, and avoiding anything that felt like too much work.

So when she moved into his apartment as his new roommate, he wasn’t thrilled. She was loud, messy, and always finding ways to drag him into her whirlwind of energy. At first, he counted the days until she’d leave. But as time passed, he started to notice the way her laughter brightened the dull moments, the way she always made sure he had dinner even if she didn’t cook for herself.

One night, as they sat on the floor eating instant ramen, she looked over at him and smiled. “You’re not so bad to live with, you know.”

Nagi shrugged, his usual indifference masking the warmth spreading through his chest. “You’re okay too, I guess.”

She laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Wow, such high praise.”

He glanced at her, his voice softer than usual. “I mean it. I don’t mind you being here.”

Her laughter faded, and she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, Nagi felt like that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

[fabuloustrash05]

10 interesting details that happened in the ending of The Odyssey that is cool to think about for Epic’s Itheca Saga:

The suitors were in the palace for 3 years, meaning Penelope managed to stall 108 men for 3 years straight with the shroud excuse.

Unfortunately, one of Penelope’s maids betrayed her by telling the suitors of the unthreading of the shroud. This maid’s name was Melantho and she was the lover of Eurymachus, the suitor who pleaded to Odysseus with the open arms line in the Itheca saga.

Athena disguised Odysseus as a begger so he could travel around Itheca and his palace without anyone noticing him, especially the suitors. He wanted to assess the situation before striking.

Only two characters recognized Odysseus when he was in disguise; Eurycleia, his childhood nurse, and his dog Argos.

Eurycleia, realized the beggar was Odysseus by the scar on his leg that he got when he was a child after killing a boar. This boar is referenced in the song Warrior of the Mind in the Troy Saga.

Telemachus and Odysseus reunited before the killing of the suitors. Together they hid the suitors weapons when the were all asleep and locked everyone inside the palace before the massacre began.

There was one suitor who was considered the most well behaved and wanted to win Penelope’s hand in marriage fairly. His name was Amphinomus and he appears in the song Odysseus, saying the line “Let’s make the bastard rote” before Telemachus kills him. In the Odyssey, Odysseus (still in his beggar disguise) gives a subtle warning to Amphinomus to leave Ithaca before the slaughtering begins, but Amphinomus unfortunately ignores the warning and ends up dying along side the others.

Telemachus attempted the bow and axes challenge. He was close to successfully stringing the bow, but in the end, Telemachus pretended to fail the challenge so his father could do it.

Odysseus was naked when he fought the suitors. I’m talking completely BUTT ASS NAKED.

After the suitors were killed, Odysseus asked his nurse (the one who recognized him earlier) if there was anyone else that was disloyal in his palace. The nurse revealed that 12 maids who served Penelope were equally as disrespectful towards her as the suitors were. Said to have been bad mouthing his wife, along with sleeping with the suitors in his own home, which is greatly disrespectful. So, Odysseus ordered for these 12 maids to be hung for treason.



[beloveds-embrace]

hey this worm in my brain just told me a crazy scenario where duchess reader is reading a book in the bedroom with gaz feeding her grapes one by one and while he's feeding her she's at the part of the book where there's a scene of a character inserting their fingers to another character's mouth sensually, and bad good news is that she's ovulating and she (not so) accidentally dragged her lips a bit longer on gaz's fingers when he fed her a grape and-

i think this worm is saying some important info and i think u need to know about this

smooching that worm and its host <33

The gentle rustle of pages filled the warm, golden glow of the your chambers, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. You sat nestled in a mountain of pillows, a novel open in your lap, the silk of your nightgown brushing your legs. Your beloved Kyle sat beside you on the bed, feeding you grapes one by one, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they pressed the sweet fruit to your lips.

You had grown so used to the comfortable intimacy of their presence that it never occurred to you how the simplest gestures could spiral into something far, far more tantalizing.

Kyle’s eyes followed the slow movement of your lips, mesmerized as they closed around the grape, your tongue brushing the pad of his finger in a way that made him inhale sharply. You didn’t notice his reaction- not at first. You were too engrossed in the book, your cheeks warm as the current scene unfolded: a stolen moment between lovers, where one character sensually slid their fingers into another’s mouth, the intimate act charged with forbidden tension, unable to tear their gazes away from one another even as drool trickling down the receiver’s chin, down and down to the valley of their throat.

The description sent warmth spreading through your belly, and without realizing it, your lips lingered on Kyle’s finger a beat too long when he fed you the next grape. His breath hitched audibly this time, and you froze, eyes widening as they flicked up to meet his. Realization came to you equally slow and fast.

“Duchess…” Kyle murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges, like gravel softened by rain. His eyes darkened, gaze heavy with something that made your pulse quicken. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Your lips parted, and you stammered, “I-I’m not- ” But the denial died on your tongue as Kyle’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb grazing your lower lip. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver racing down your spine, pooling heat low in your abdomen.

The book slipped from your hands, forgotten.

Kyle tilted his head, his mouth curving into a slow, mischievous smile as he leaned closer. His scent- clean, woodsy, and undeniably masculine- filled your senses, and you instinctively leaned back into the pillows, though you didn’t shy away.

“You’ve been distracted all evening,” he murmured, a velvet murmur the caressed your body. “The content of that book has left you quite flustered. That’s unlike you, my Duchess.”

Your breath hitched as his hand, warm and steady, cupped your cheek. He brushed a stray lock of hair away, his fingers tracing your jawline before skimming down your throat. The touch left a trail of fire in its wake- and it coalesced in your belly, warm and demanding.

“I-I was just reading- ”

“Mm.” Kyle hummed, clearly unconvinced, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip again. “Reading something interesting, I’m guessing. Care to share?”

His voice was teasing, but his eyes were locked on yours, dark and unyielding. Your skin burned under his scrutiny, and your mouth moved without thinking.

“It… It was about… a man… and his fingers…”

Your voice trailed off, your face as warm as a furnace. Kyle’s smile turned wolfish, and his thumb pressed just slightly into your mouth, grazing your teeth with no opposition.

“His fingers, hm?” His voice dropped lower, the rasp sending a shiver through you. “And what was he doing with them, Duchess?”

You couldn’t answer. Words failed you as Kyle slowly, forcefully, pushed his thumb past your lips, testing the waters. Your tongue brushed against it instinctively, and the low groan that rumbled from his chest made your thighs clench. And then it was your turn to moan softly when he pinned your tongue down, the rest of his fingers cupping your jaw.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, smug. “You’ve been craving, haven’t you, wife?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, leaning in closer until his lips were a breath away from yours. His hand slipped lower, trailing down your neck, his thumb retreating only to be replaced by his mouth capturing yours in a searing kiss. You gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that left you dizzy and breathless, and yet chasing the feeling again.

Kyle’s hands didn’t stay idle. One slid to your waist, pulling you closer, while the other found its way to your thigh, pushing the silk of your nightgown higher as his fingers caressed the bare skin beneath.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” he confessed against your lips, rough with restraint. “Every look, every smile, every touch… And now, this.”

His fingers gripped your thigh firmly, tugging you closer until you were straddling him, the novel long forgotten on the bed. His hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions, and the warmth between your legs grew unbearable.

“Kyle.” you whispered, your voice trembling but laced with want.

“Yes, my Duchess?” His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and biting gently at the sensitive skin, leaving behind little marks he knows he will obsess over later.

“I… I need you.”

The admission was all he needed. His hands slid to your hips, lifting you effortlessly as he guided you into his lap. The hardness pressing against you made you gasp, and he chuckled darkly, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised, molten honey and soft silks. “I’ll give you everything you need, and then some.”

You didn’t doubt him for a second.

[quantomeno]

I typically prefer the past tense. I consider it as a 'neutral' tense: the reader is unperturbed by it and it makes sense since most of the time you're retelling an event. But the last book I read was written in present tense and I had this distinct 'there's something off here' feeling until I realised it was the tense.

Also there's a bit in The Great Gatsby where Fitzgerald switches from past to present:

At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby's enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors-d'oeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. ... By seven o'clock the orchestra has arrived .... The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs; the cars from New York are parked five deep in the drive ... The bar is in full swing and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside until the air is alive with chatter and laughter and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other's names.

As you can see, it goes from absolute past (came, crowded) to present perfect (has arrived, have come) to present (is, permeate). It evokes a sense of energy: "the air is alive" and it feels alive because it is in the now.

The past tense is the natural tense because that's how we talk about our personal stories. But you'll notice sometimes you'll use the present tense when recounting: "So I'm walking down the street when I bump into Marie and she keeps me there talking for half an hour, and I'm standing there with my shopping bags digging into my hands and she just yaps away."

The present tense tends to make the reader feel more involved in the situation, it makes the story feel more immediate and more real because it's not relegated to the past. A perfect example would be Se una notte d'inverno un viaggiatore (If on a Winter's Night a Traveller) by Italo Calvino, which not only uses the present tense but the second person ('you') to make the reader a character in the story.

There are also times where the present tense is used in recounting history. I've seen it done. I think it has a similar enlivening effect as it does in fiction.

Personally, I think the present tense is strongest when you use it sparingly. Too much of it can grow tiring. Partly by virtue of being a less commonly used tense it has a more exciting edge.

One last thing though, and as a final reason for the present, is that it makes the reader think the story is playing out now and thus what will happen next is still variable. In the case of the past tense, it's implied that the full story is over and the reader feels the narrator knows how it will end. In the case of the present, it feels more like no one knows what's going on.

Also the past tense is comforting. It is the tense of old tales and sitting by the fireplace, the tense of legends and rumour. It igves things a sense of fixity and truth. Brideshead Revisited, for example, needs to be written in the past tense because it is all about a reminiscence of the halcyon days of youth. Dracula should be written in the past tense since it is a collection of supposedly real diary entries and so it needs to look like things were being recorded properly and fully. The present tense can feel rushed, fleeting, but the past is always there and gives you time to set things down.

As a bonus: the future tense is an odd tense because it implies a degree of certainty, but can also have the feeling things could change still. It is incredibly disorienting and weird and should be only used if you really think it helps the idea you're trying to convey. Don't do things for shock value or o be cool. Like, a future tense horror/thriller story about an impending disaster to evoke a sense of helplessness in the reader might be interesting. Also consider context, because if the story is set in the past, future tense would be really off-putting (that might be the goal, or perhaps it's because a character in the past is predicting the future, there are times I'd say it's justified).

(also obviously I mean this as 'the whole book or a significant section is written in this tense, you can of course have bits where there's a bit of future tense, like that present tense passage in Gatsby. I just mean reading a whole novel in the future would be annoying)

I am thinking about fan fiction writers, but anyone who writes any kind of fiction can answer. (As far as I’m aware, non-fiction is usually written in the past tense - but if I’m wrong do let me know!)

If you like, explain why in the tags!

When I was young I gathered that all serious works of fiction were written in the past tense (past tense third person to be precise) so that is what i did when I started writing. However my mind was blown by the power and immediacy of Margaret Atwood writing in the present tense so I started to experiment with it myself, and now i strongly favour it. I get the impression that past is still the most commonly used, but I’m prepared to be surprised!

Please share!

[thewertsearch]

Anonymous asked: just read through your entire liveblog and wow. what a place to catch up. do you have any predictions about what the postscratch versions of the guardians will be? what about the guardian versions of the kids?

So.

Mom Lalonde, Grandpa Harley, Nanna Egbert, and Bro Strider, reborn as the story's protagonists, and thrust into a Playerdom I never expected them to bear. The consequences of this reveal are likely to kick in on the very next page - and since that's a page I'm clicking on tonight, this is my last chance for some blind speculation.

There are an absolute mountain of angles I could potentially cover here, and it's impossible to address all the implications of this twist, so I'm just going to touch on a few key questions that Act 6 will need to answer sooner rather than later.

Without further ado, let's dive into our first question.

Who, exactly, is raising these kids?

The simplest solution, of course, would be a one-to-one exchange between each Player and their Guardian. That certainly seems to be the case for Jade and Grandpa, who have been directly swapped. This would imply that Rose raised Mom, Dave raised Bro, and John might have raised Nanna. (More on that later.)

Still, that's not the only possibility. There's no reason why Dave couldn't raise the adolescent Mom instead, for example, with Rose adopting the younger Bro in his stead. That particular configuration has a lot of character potential, actually, because Bro Lalonde would undoubtedly be an unholy terror, and Mom Strider might just be one of the coolest characters I've ever conceived of.

This aesthetic, with those shades? Come on.

...all that said, though, I'm fairly sure we are just getting a one-to-one swap. That's how it appears to have worked for the trolls, and the one post-Scratch Player with a confirmed Guardian already matches this pattern.

Plus, swapping the kids with their own parents is just so interesting, on a character level, as it'd add a whole new dimension of analysis to the fucked-up relationships between Bro & Dave, Mom & Rose, and Grandpa & Jade.

Seeing how they all treat each other, now that the roles have been reversed, would be incredibly illuminating, and might shed some light on the thought processes of the pre-Scratched Guardians, as they were raising their own respective charges.

Anyway - now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about each individual family.

The Egberts

Astute readers will notice that I only mentioned the Guardian-Player parallels for three of our Players above - and that's because when it comes to the fourth, there's a slight complication.

Namely, Dad Egbert no longer exists.

This means that Nanna's home life can't parallel John's, because the man who raised John was never even born. It's possible, then, that John will simply raise Nanna himself, as her grandfather.

Honestly, that's the scenario I'm hoping for, here. Out of our four original Players, I think that John would be the best parent by far - he's sweet, resilient, and has a natural talent for nurturing the positive qualities of the people he loves. If a baby lands in his backyard, he's going to rise to the challenge, octogenarianism be damned.

...now, here's where I'd speculate a little about Nanna's personality, but she's the one post-Scratch Player I can't really get a bead on. We only ever interacted with her Spritesona, whose personality was obviously corrupted by the presence of the jester doll.

As a result, I don't really have a clue what Nanna will be like. The only thing I'm sure about, if John's the one raising her, is that she'll be loved.

The Striders

First of all, I have faith in Dave.

I think he's more or less guaranteed to be a better Guardian than his brother ever was. Granted, I don't think Dave would be particularly paternal, but I also think he'll be able to refrain from beating Bro's ass with a puppet, which is progress.

I think Dave would be a laissez-faire type of guardian, who allows the younger Bro a lot more agency and autonomy than other kids his age, but also struggles to be the adult in the room when his kid needs guidance. He's not going to be as traumatized as his younger self, but I bet it's still borderline impossible to have a serious conversation with him. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Kid Bro turned out to be the more mature of the pair.

In a nutshell, Dave was born to be a cool uncle, but was forced unwittingly into a parental role instead. He's doing his best.

Quite frankly, I'm very worried about Kid Bro.

If we assume that every Paradox Clone keeps the same Veil item as last time - and there's no reason why they wouldn't - then Bro will be coming down with Lil' Cal, the cursed puppet created by Gamzee's Chucklevoodoos.

I'm still convinced that long-term exposure to this abomination was the main reason Bro was so batshit insane, and while the younger Bro won't have been around it for quite as long, he'll still have thirteen years of an evil Juggalo's Rage miasma being beamed into his brain.

I think Kid Bro will be a little batshit, but not completely batshit. We'll see a child with the potential to become the deranged ventriloquist who tormented Dave, but one who can still be saved, if we can just get that hell puppet away from him.

Separated from Cal, I still think Bro will be a memelord, and I'm sure not all his interests came from the puppet. I think this guy was always destined to be a pretty bizarre dude - but with luck, this iteration of him will be a little more pleasant to be around.

The Lalondes

Rose... could go either way, honestly.

Just like Dave, I don't think she's the type who'd willingly choose to be a parent. Rose doesn't want a baby, she wants a library full of cursed tomes, a coven of witches to scheme with, and to live in an enormous gothic castle with her wife, Kanaya Maryam. Her ideal lifestyle couldn't handle a kid, and I think she's self-aware enough to know that, and adopt a hundred mutant kittens instead.

That said... if she had to raise a daughter, I think she'd try her best to do right by the girl. I think some part of her would absolutely resent the fact that she's a background character in someone else's life - especially if, like the Sufferer, she remembers being a Player - but she'd do everything she could to keep that resentment to herself.

Rose would be an alright mother. A little cold, maybe, and more than a little distant, but she'd still love her Roxy.

As for Roxy, I can only assume she's a gigantic fucking badass. Even among the Guardians, her barehanded combat feats were always astounding, and I think she and Kid Bro will be the primary combatants of their session.

I also think she'll be one of the most analytical, scientifically-minded Players we've ever seen. Her adult self was experimenting with Ectobiology even outside of Sburb, which suggests to me an intense curiosity about how all this shit works, which isn't present in most of our other heroes. Like Rose, she'll be a researcher, and maybe even a Seer - but while Rose searched for the truth via magic and mysticism, Roxy's research will be entirely scientific.

Honestly, the most exciting thing about finally meeting Roxy is the milestone it'll represent. I'll finally, finally have encountered every character I knew about prior to starting the comic.

The Harleys

Grandma Jade was still the Witch of Space, and was clearly aware of that fact.

This tells us that:

John, Rose and Dave also retained their Titles, even if they don't know it.

Grandma Jade was probably aware of Sburb and its secrets, especially if she was living near the Frog Temple.

Grandma Jade was the Witch of Space. She's gone.

...and I have a theory about what happened to her.

I think that when Grandpa was a baby, Jade travelled to Anachronism Island, just like her predecessor did - but this time around, it wasn't Bec who greeted her at the Temple.

No, I think Jade had a fatal encounter with the new First Guardian of Earth - a corrupted First Guardian, spliced with the same HONK code that created Scratch. Kid Grandpa clearly survived whatever happened next, and I think it's horribly plausible that the new First Guardian is a pseudo-Guardian to him, the same way Becquerel was to Jade.

In other words, this kid might be completely compromised, manipulated by English's servant since infancy. Let's not forget that he's the one who suggested making the bunny to Jade, which is the reason Jack was able to ascend in the first place...

...but someone suggested it to him, first.

Anyway, those are my high-level thoughts about the new timeline's key players. We'll be starting Act 6 in an hour or so, and I've got a feeling that we're about to see Nanna standing in a very familiar room.

After all, it just so happens that today...

[splinterclan]

Where’s Cedar during all of this? How’s he feeling with the tension between his kits and them, and has he seen Bess since?

He's been in camp under watch somewhat, but he hasn't tried to go see Bess or anything. Mostly just sitting around being a sad guy rn

I'm sorry to hear that, but genuinely so happy my story feels therapeutic. I've also had issues with my parents/mom in the past so while it's not a direct comparison I understand the feelings. I really hope that the way it ends up feels okay to everyone (or at least is interesting to read ;v;)

Getting slapped with what you've been thinking subconsciously but didn't want to admit to yourself make you go :o

This is such a nice reading of her and I think you're right on a lot of points - what Oakclan did was extremely bad for her and she is so right to choose her own way of living. But when she gave up her kits it was because she didn't want to care for them - she had never really seen herself as a mother and when they came along well. Cedarheart would take care of them, she could give them up and assume they were doing fine, No problems

It was only after he insisted that they should see her after they were older and pushed for a relationship there that she started to like them and want to be around them. If she had a second litter she'd 100% keep them, but she gave up the cedarlings for selfish reasons at the time (which I think is Bess's character flaw boiled down to one word - she's very selfish and it def hurts those around her!)

[yaoirotic]

Strilondes (or more specifically just Dave and Rose), a second gen immigrant reading.

Firstly, it’s important to note that Bro & Mom don’t hate their kids. I feel that getting this is pretty integral to getting them and getting their relationship with their children. They both are good intentioned albeit going about raising their children in bad ways. A lot of this comes from the isolation they felt arriving on earth and growing up without any guardians of their own, attempting to project traditionally western societal ideas. For Bro, it was full of violent, macho masculinity. For Mom, it was the busy house-keeping housewife.

Dave’s story of having traditional masculinity being imposed upon him by Bro is very comparable to how second gen immigrant kids experience masculinity and tough love. Bro was trying to toughen up Dave for the world albeit using violent methods that are comparable to how normalized it is to use corporal and physical methods of “discipline” as a means for punishing their children. Bro doesn’t hate him, but like some second gen immigrant parents his methods of raising Dave are extremely misguided and harmful. How he comes to terms with realizing that he did suffer from abuse is a lot more relatable when you look at him from a non-white perspective. He grew up in a household where this tough love mentality was idealized, and as a result he never really considered how bad his situation truly was until he was able to get out of it and realized him being given such extreme measures of “toughening” didn’t really help him at all in the long run.

As for Rose, her mother wanted to give her the childhood she would’ve wanted as a kid. Lots of lavish objects, giving her ponies and wizards while still inflicting child neglect on her in an alcoholic stupor. Even Mom’s tea set and extravagant bedroom imply a yearning to relive living a more lavish and feminine upbringing. It’s possible to interpret this from a transfemme perspective, and I think that’s right too. I don’t think they’re necessarily mutually exclusive by any means.

Rose’s reaction to her mother’s alcoholism and neglect is a lot more interesting from the reading of her being a second gen immigrant. She feels guilty for hating her mother in spite of her bad upbringing, for the lack of a relationship they ever really had. It’s similar to how a lot of second gen kids may feel guilt for having less than positive feelings on their parents due to them not necessarily trying to hurt them and being well intentioned, but still having faced abuse regardless. There’s an all too familiar sentiment amongst ethnic that regardless of how awful a family member may be, they’re still your family and you should be obligated to try and keep a connection or relationship with them, and reading Rose as a second gen immigrant you could very well see that she has a pretty bad case of this.

Hussie, whether intentionally or not (likely not if we’re being honest), wrote a pretty solid depiction of how children from ethnic backgrounds may realize and deal with their abusive upbringing, and I think reading it as such makes for a pretty intriguing read of their characters. In a way, Bro and Mom wanted to raise their children better than them. Bro wanted to harden Dave up for the world and raise him to an idealistic and reasonably unattainable level of masculinity. Mom wanted to give Rose a life of luxurious femininity and gifts, but in turn failed to meet her emotional needs. I feel that when you look at it from the perspective of a second gen immigrant (speaking from experience here) it’s a lot easier to sympathize with and understand their struggles and relationship with their parents. It’s a good, different depiction of abuse that breaks out of the mold of “abusive parents purely hate their children.” Because not all abuse comes from a place of hate for your children.

[zykamiliah]

#su xiyan is my favorite example of this#not even the single scene we get with her is from her pov#<- PREV YESSSSSS#shes painted as this cold taciturn woman#but at the same time she not only fell in love but held so much warmth within her heart that she sacrificed herself so her baby could live#she was clearly a deeply loving person imo#but not in a traditional way#which I think speaks to mxtx's style of character creation a lot

@fireandgrimstone i think it's not random that mxtx has tianlang-jun comparing shen qingqiu to su xiyan, and the comparison is very intentional for the same reasons you mentioned: they are both seemly taciturn people who hide their huge heart behind a cold face and would sacrifice their own lives for the people they love. it's not a coincidence either that at maigu ridge shen qingqiu says that he would never abourt binghe. i think it's an interesting parallel with mdzs in which lan wangji's mom is subtly paralleled with wei wuxian.

I'm obsessed with characters we only hear about second or third hand, especially when those accounts are conflicting. No, you don't get to see them, but here's a warped mirror of what other people thought they were. Enjoy your contemplation of how being known is an act of translation and communicates only aspects of the self.

[fireheartpages]

interlude | b.d

bodhi durran x reader chapter two. series masterlist summary: So, he made a plan. He would work his way into your atmosphere. Get your attention somehow, manage to win you over. He didn’t know what it was, only that his interest would only be satiated by one thing: knowing you. word count: 1.8k notes: kind of second person pov, it's mostly all bodhi's pov though. canon-typical violence. bodhi is such a sweetheart ok. this is a little brain baby because i wanted to dive a little more into his brain so i could get a good feel of where this was going! pls enjoy reading bc i really enjoyed writing it, i love a good character study and that’s well and truly what this is!

When Bodhi had seen the dragons after parapet as a first year, he had almost been apart of the group that ran.

They were menacing—terrifying, and for a brief moment, he wondered why more people didn’t have the common sense to turn around in their presence. Leave them be. Simply try something else. Like maybe something that encompassing and powerful should just be left alone.

His anxiety had eaten through every nerve ending in his body until he was barely able to stay on his feet. But he did. He stayed standing, and when Garrick leaned over and whispered to him not to move—lest he incur the wrath of such a colossal beast—he listened. He planted his feet on the ground and kept his head held high. This was his life now. This was the card he had been dealt, and deal with it he would.

It was this attitude that had gotten him bonded to his own dragon: Cuir, the massive green with a quick tail and even quicker tongue.

She was a mother hen if he’d ever met one. Half the time she was making sure Bodhi had an adequate meal and enough sleep, and the other time she was the backbone he’d grown and hardened in the quadrant.

She’d gotten him through all of the hardest things he’d done within the quadrant. His first year had been rough—not incredibly eventful by most standards, but enough to put him through the wringer.

Nothing had made him feel more inadequate than watching all of his friends develop signets while his own lie dormant. Cuir had started channeling almost immediately. Her trust in him was implicit, but he had worried it was misplaced. He worried he would just never develop one. Worried that he would just burn up and never amount to anything.

But there never seemed to be a danger of it. Never seemed to be a surge of power with the threat. He could feel it, and he could channel into lesser magics, but there was no signet. Nothing.

Everyone else in his squad had a signet. They had even been developing and training them. But not Bodhi.

It was only a few weeks before the end of the year, going on a mission for the rebellion and suffering through Xaden’s taunting when he realized his signet had developed. He just hadn’t used it yet.

Xaden had swarmed his feet with shadows, nipping at his ankles like they were viscous animals, and they all watched as the shadows seemed to burn up.

No one was more surprised than Bodhi was.

“Light?” Garrick had asked.

Xaden shook his head. “No, I—I felt that.”

Then, during War Games, he realized what it was.

Some asshole from first wing was a fire wielder, and he had it out for Marked ones. He sent a wall of fire at Bodhi, completely intent on killing him, and Bodhi had thrown his hands up. And then nothing happened. The flame sputtered out, and—oh.

A twist of his hand, and he had rendered the asshole incapable of using his own signet.

The other rider tried again, and Bodhi was intentional with it this time. He twists his hand again, imagining it was a dial on someone else’s power, and he watched as the flames seemed to retreat back into him.

Satisfaction was a tangible thing in his chest. Pride filled his bond with Cuir. There was a roar from someone behind him, and Bodhi couldn’t help but just fucking smirk at the guy.

“Nice try.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Durran!”

“You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that!” Bodhi called as he mounted his green, knowing it was a taunt. He was top of his wing in sparring. He’d lost to one other person during challenges ever. In that moment, Bodhi felt unstoppable.

He suddenly became the most useful tool his squad—hell, his whole wing. Needless to say, they won War Games that year.

The Executive Officer title came as no surprise, not after the display of power he had shown in the latter half of the year. It did, however, paint a target on his back. No one liked that Marked ones were working their way up in the ranks. Him, Garrick, Xaden, they were the pentacle of everything leadership had hoped rebellion kids would never become—good at their fucking jobs.

But Bodhi had decided he refused to show them what they were looking for. Including anything less than perfect. He would be a powerful rider. He would master his signet. He would be a just officer. He would do everything he could to help with the rebellion. He would be the perfect soldier for Navarre, so they could never suspect he was an even better soldier elsewhere.

And then he watched you make a dance of the parapet.

He couldn’t resist the interest that followed, the way you captured his attention simply by being there. You were meant for a stage, not the hardened walls of Basgiath. And yet.

You were incredible. Skilled and talented. You were kind, and witty, and good gods he would give anything to be the center of your attention. You were like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

So, he made a plan. He would work his way into your atmosphere. Get your attention somehow, manage to win you over. He didn’t know what it was, only that his interest would only be satiated by one thing: knowing you.

Step one: observe. Figure out your likes and dislikes, your habits and interests, who your friends were. Xaden’s weird interest in Violet helped, gave him an excuse. He watched you during challenges, even got the chance to spar with you. Would watch you slip those gloves on your hands every morning as you run to catch up with your squad. Watched you dominate the Gauntlet despite the odds stacked against you.

Step two: get an in. Ané was the cadet in the healer quadrant that always seemed to be stuck with him when he came in with any particularly nasty wounds. A sprained wrist, too-deep cut, and one time, even a broken rib or two he’d gotten on a very much not sanctioned flight to drop off some weapons over the border. That was all his fault, but it was hard to explain away when no one had observed it. But Ané was kind, like you, and when he explained what he’d seen of your hands, Ané seemed to know what it was. And have a solution.

Step three: delivery. It had taken Ané minutes to make a balm for you, and he kept it on him until the next time he saw you. He had felt like he was ambushing you, jogging up to you in the courtyard as you headed back from the infirmary, but he was excited. To say the least. Not being able to do so had never crossed his mind, so when you’d nearly rejected it, he had almost crumbled right then and there. But then you’d taken it from him, and gods, the look on your face—he wanted to bottle the feeling in his chest, the light in your eyes. And when you’d told him about home? Trusted him with little pieces of yourself—the cold you hated, your mom’s role in the damn rebellion, how you’d ended up in the quadrant. The high he felt was better than winning War Games.

Step four: make you like him. You were a hard shell to crack, but he was working on it. He was doing his damndest. He would give you as many little pieces of himself as he could. Find you during Threshing and talk down your anxiety. If you could admit your history to him, he could tell you a little about his. You weren’t Marked physically, but from the burden you carried, you were marked in another way. On your soul.

Step five: make you fall for him. Not that he’d fallen for you. He wasn’t, like, in love with you or anything. He just—liked you. Yeah. Really, really liked you. Cuir thought he was full of shit, but she didn’t know everything. (Even though she reminded him many times that she, indeed, did.) And the more he got to know you, the more he liked. He would teach you how to spar, and make you give him something in return. He didn’t care about flying like you. In fact, you were terrifying in the air. Said you weren’t meant to be a rider and yet you rode like you were born for it. He just wanted to spend time for you. And if he got to touch you while you sparred? In the most innocent way, of course. No funny business. Unless you have the green light, then—

Then you started pulling away.

He missed seeing you for days at a time, sometimes an entire week. He felt it like a phantom limb.

It had only then occurred to him then just how thoroughly you had encompassed every part of him. Just how easily he had gotten you mixed into every aspect of his day. How much he looked forward to seeing you until he was deprived of you. Until he didn’t have access to your wit and your laugh anymore.

Seeing you on the flight field had been nothing less than a shock. He had recognized Shocair before she had even seen them. He was still thinking of the most recent drop when their little group had stumbled across her.

And somehow, deep in his gut, he knew. He knew that if you discovered them, found out what they were doing, that they were working with the resistance… You wouldn’t say a word. In fact, he knew you would jump to help.

Those thoughts had sprung forward without him realizing, and it was like they were caressed, cupped in his head and—it was a weird feeling. Almost like someone ran a hand through the pond that was his mind. Not unlike the one he got around Xaden sometimes. The one that flared something in his channel.

And then Shocair’s wing lifted and you stepped out and Bodhi’s heart about stopped beating. You looked run through. Tired. Still beautiful. Beaten down.

Xaden had gone on offensive, but you handled it with ease. With the support of Shocair, of course. When you said you slept on the flight field, it was like his world had stopped spinning.

Something was wrong, something was deeply, deeply wrong. He would have done anything to fix it.

But you kept icing him out. And it hurt like hell.

He wasn’t going to push, but damn him if he wanted to. There was a moment there where he thought he might have cracked you. But he wasn’t a fire wielder, so he couldn’t melt your ice, and he wasn’t an inntinnsic, so he couldn’t figure it out for himself.

So he walked away. And he felt like a damned coward for it.

[mysoftboybensolo]

Things I Don't Understand of Audiences Reaction of Nosferatu 2024

Complaints of how this is a ripoff of Dracula, and I am like, of course it is! The original 1922 film is the most famous ripoff in the history of cinema, but it is also one of the best ripoffs ever. Maybe know your history just a bit.

Why are people saying that Ellen dying was stupid or unnecessary? Firstly, that has been the ending in the 1922 and the 1979 film, this wasn't just anything Eggers pulled from nowhere. Secondly, people don't seem to understand that the Gothic genre never not one that allows it's characters to walk away unscathed, whether it is physical damage or mental damage. Blood is demanded, and hardly a truly happy ending is found, at best a bittersweet ending or at worst an ending where everyone is unhappy. I think not only is it true to the films this one is based on, but also the only satisfying ending. Ellen wouldn't have been truly happy if she had survived, because she still will be a seer, she will still have darkness looming inside, and Thomas is either incapable or unwilling to accept it. He's belief that killing Orlok will bring a reset to everything, even bringing Ellen back to how she was before, but the Ellen she was before was still suffered. He brushes aside her nightmares without comfort, he doesn't take into account how she views their marriage (when she insists that she doesn't need material things but he acts as if he knows better), and when she tries to express her suffering, he would prefer her to suppress it. She would never be truly free, but to die doing a good thing, to have control over her death the way she didn't in life, it's an empowering end, if bittersweet.

People complaining about the pace of the film, saying it starts off fine but then drags in the middle? I think the film flowed wonderfully, there was never a moment when I was thinking how much longer to the end or felt it rushed in the story. I personally cannot wait until we get the extended version, but I am happy with how it came out.

Where are people getting "Orlok groomed Ellen" from? Grooming is when someone goes after a minor and gets them to be emotionally attached to them for a long period of time in order to achieve some sort of goal (often times sex). People have been saying Ellen was a "literal child", but we don't know that for certain. Yes, Ellen described herself as a child, but it seems that the term child is used more as a synonym of "inexperienced" or "young". Also, we are not sure how old any of these characters are. If we were to go by actors ages as guidelines, Lily-Rose Depp was 24 when filming this, and all we get in between the first scene to the present day is merely "years later". That can mean two years or ten, we cannot be sure. And while Lil-Rose Depp can look younger than her age, no one better try and say she was playing a 12 year old or whatever in that first scene, because there is no way you can convince me she is as young as that. Also, Ellen hadn't been emotionally attached to Orlok between the years to make it grooming. I can make a better argument of grooming in another famous Gothic movie the 2004 "Phantom of the Opera" then I could with "Nosferatu".

Listen, this movie won't be for everyone, that is fine, but what I have an issue with is saying people are dumb or evil for thinking Ellen x Orlok is interesting/has romantic elements to it. One person commented on another's post about saying that the cast are dumb for seeing this as a love triangle, especially Lily-Rose Depp for not seeing Ellen as a victim. The director, who also wrote it, wanted this version to play up the Death and the Maiden themes, that was their vision, and I don't think it's right or fair to say they are dumb because the original movie wasn't a love triangle. If we were to be really anal about it, so many pieces of media we have we wouldn't be able to enjoy because it's origins are not the same. Sorry Disney's Hunchback fans, you can't enjoy the happy ending because the original was a downer. Sorry Wicked fans, it's nothing like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", so it shouldn't be enjoyed. See how ridiculous it sounds? You can debate if whether or not they managed to achieve their goal, but you can't deny that was the intention and say people are dumb for picking up what they had intended.

I also feel that it's quite hypocritical of people to say that the relationship between Orlok and Ellen is evil and creepy, but then go off and say that the scenes where Friedrich has sex with Anna's corpse as "romantic" and Thomas' couch scene as "hot", when both deal with dubious/no consent at all. Just admit it, you are fine with dubious stuff so long as it's a hot guy doing it. The couch scene was quite uncomfortable for me, Ellen is clearly not in her right mind, even if not by some kind of possession, but emotionally, and it didn't sit right what Thomas did. I am not saying he raped her, but she wasn't in the right mind space to have this be a passionate moment. And he wasn't doing because of love or passion, he was doing it because he didn't like hearing Ellen say how he couldn't please her like the Count could. We had seen what they are like when they are in a good head space and the feeling mutual, as we saw in the den of the Harding's home. I feel like this scene wasn't meant to be a hot and sexy moment, but a incredibly distressing moment when two individuals are acting at their worst.

I don't understand how people feel that this film isn't a feminist film. I've seen people claim that the movie shames Ellen and that her not finding out how to stop Orlok is robbing her of her agency. Here's the thing, yes, many characters shame her for what she feels, but the narrative doesn't. As the audience, we feel sorry for her, feel bad for everything she is going through, and given the time period, of course there would be many people (mainly men) who will shame her passions or deny her darkness in favor for a more "womanly behavior". We are meant to see how the human world would never understand Ellen the way Orlok would understand her, why she would have called out a force that is inhuman, because humanity has turned her away. What's fascinating is that Ellen has control of Orlok, being able to call him, speak to him as an equal, and get him, a powerful centuries old being, to admit that she is his affliction, his weakness, and in the end, it's proven right. This mortal woman is able to defeat a supernatural being, all the while him loving her, how is that not awesome and feminist?

In regards to her finding the cure; true, in both the '22 and '79 film, Ellen figure out on her own what needs to be done to stop Orlok, but that doesn't mean '24 Ellen isn't smart or in charge of her own actions. We've seen Ellen say what the future holds multiple times, so it isn't crazy to believe that she would have seen what her fate would have been as it drew closer, and her need to talk to Von Franz read to me as her knowing the cure. When Ellen walks Von Franz to his home, she says that she knows what must be done, and they work together to make this happen, with him promising to keep Thomas away. Out of all the men, Von Franz had been the only one to take her feelings and thoughts seriously, and he does so here, including her in the plan (where Thomas had refused her to help), even giving her the chance to be stop Orlok without interruption. He isn't denying her agency, he's keeping others at bay so she can be the hero.

I like the moustache, just like a Romanian nobleman would have had, exactly what the director wanted. After leaving the theatre, my friend and I were discussing the film, and of course the design of Orlok was brought up, and she said "I liked it, especially the moustache, very Vlad the Impaler". She isn't a massive Dracula fan but she understood what was the inspiration behind it. Y'all are just uncultured swine.

In the end, I love this film, and wanted to just share my two cents.

[mirandaputsherbestbuttforward]

I do find it kinda........... Interesting how ppl in certain RP circles will say they support female OCs, but then............. if the female OCs aren't of a particular type and kind (often women of colour, not conventionally attractive, and/or aren't accessible to their male muses for shipping, for example), then they don't get interactions, don't get asked about, don't get cared about.

[magicalgirlfia]

Anyways here’s a list of thinks I things about this story

(Spoilers, obviously)

Marina speaks in a combination of hiragana and katakana in Japanese, but she doesn’t in the story because she’s speaking Octarian in-universe.

More conformation that Marina is seen as a celebrity in the domes(!!!)

I already mentioned this once, but I love how we get more Acht characterization. How they show how much they care about Marina with their actions. How they put a lot of thought and analysis into what they say and do. How they burn to death if they’re not surrounded by moldy boxes. They have this inexplicable autistic aura in a way I can’t describe.

They gave the octopus gender dysphoria. I don’t know how else you can read their reasoning for not liking it when their picture is taken.

The speculation station is back, but I wonder if Acht regrets that they chose to walk away from Marina at the end. I wonder.

Something something Acht rebels against society and Marina who exceeds societal expectations but both are social outcasts in different ways

Probably not intentional but the line about how they assume Marina wouldn’t want to bother them with things that weren’t music related reminded me of how after they got sanitized they couldn’t think about anything but making music.

Again, probably another throwaway line but. What if Acht not malnourished because they’re a zombie. What if they just forget to eat.

The layout of octo valley having a dirty lake is interesting to me. Why would you need that. Maybe since other octarians don’t shift between forms they can go into water? I bet there’s some random concept art out there that confirms or denies this.

I do not think that Acht is jealous of Pearl and I really hope that won’t become the prevailing fandom sentiment. I think that it’s probably weird seeing your childhood friend/crush (I could go either way and personally see it as ambiguous myself, as non-committal as that answer is) and her girlfriend flirting while the only other person in the room is some random octoling who does not talk.

But I refuse to believe that there are people who genuinely think that an inarguably queer character is homophobic and those jokes were always weird and not funny, so if this is what makes those jokes go away then so be it.

The fact that the dome is made of fucked up scaffolding is cool too. To my understanding, the bases are like Octo Valley and Octo Canyon while the domes are the hub worlds in between them.

By the way, Acht says “クソ [kuso]” quite a bit. Despite the word being able to be translated to anything from “aw man” to “fucking hell”, the fact that they say it in katakana gives it a sharper vibe. What I’m saying is that there were multiple times where, if I were translating something like Guilty Gear, Acht would’ve said “fuck”. Thank you for your time.

I think there is a point in time where you look at the same information for so long that you start reading too much into it. I bet half of what I just wrote reads as the ramblings of a madman but whatever.

Regardless, thank you for all of the lovely words and support. Acht is one of my all-time favorite fictional characters and I’m glad more people are starting to see what I see in them and maybe won’t water them down to their relationships with other characters I mean whoops who said that. Oh, and for the record there will be more Bankara Walker translations.

A translation of the short story about Marina and Acht featured in Bancala Walker has been completed! You can read it here:

Thanks to @3600frames and @mossible for transcribing the story and @rassicas for editing.

[srslylini]

I have some thoughts about the idea of forgiveness and moving on we see in media and fans. The thoughts mostly come from being in therapy and spending time with people who specialize in those fields and helped me come to terms with my own pain.

This can very well be taken in general but is mostly about Vi.

Right. So.

Vi is a genuinely interesting character, who has gone through hell and back to put it lightly. She lives in conditions in the undercity that has people who don't live in them wear masks to handle them. She grew up and saw her parents die, which means she had to step up. Vander did adopt her, her sister, Mylo and Claggor but Vander still put a lot of responsibilities on Vi. She was told she cannot be selfish when people look up to her.

Then, of course, the entire act 1 of season 1 happens, which in itself is already very much and not something that should have ever happened to anyone, let alone a kid/teenager. She then, on TOP of all of this, got thrown into Stillwater after seeing her entire family die (and presumed Powder also as dead, although she continued to hope), where she was canonically beaten, starved, put into isolation and... the rest is up to interpretation because I guess the writers did not care. But that interpretation is not a good one.

What I am trying to say with all of this is that Vi has been put through so much by the system and by people (Enforcers get a special mention here) all around her.

This gets me to the point. I see a lot of people, the writers themself even, talk about how Vi needs to (or already did) forgive and move on. And I just wonder where this idea comes from?

In all my time in therapy, no matter what and who I talked about, you know what I have never heard? That I need to forgive.

What I heard instead was rather close to this:

"What happened was not your fault. It happened and can't be changed. But there is still something you can do, because you stand here now. You can imagine yourself back then and guide yourself. Hold yourself and tell the younger version of you that what happened isn't ever going to be fine but that you are still here and that you need to be kind to yourself." She told me "take the hand of your younger version and walk her through it because in the end it will have always happened but you can choose to help yourself"

There is a lot more she told me, but that is between her and me. What I am trying to say with this is that not once did I ever get told that I need to forgive the people involved. I am also not trying to say that doing this works for everyone, because health does not work this way. The point I am making is that I find it incredibly weird that we came to the point of saying that the only way to let go is to forgive, when that could not be further from the truth.

I would say understanding it happened and being kind to yourself does a lot more than trying to forgive people who hurt you so much that it ends in you being broken to what seems beyond repair (it isn't I have learned that much, lol). That's what my therapist taught me.

Which brings me back to Vi and why I find the notion of "she needs to forgive and move on to get better" or the writers writing "she forgave and moved on" so weird.

What happened to her is not something that can be forgiven. And... that is okay. Or it should be okay. But for some reason it isn't?

I mean if you can and want to forgive that is for you to do but to say that it is a (or even THE) way to move on does not sit right with me. At all.