#something something metamorphosis reference

[all-lee24]

Young Malenia doodles + headcanons

((A.K.A Malenia as Miquella always sees her even after she grew up and became a fierce warrior))

[anghraine]

Just thinking about Spock's obvious annoyance and jealousy upon finding Kirk kissing Helen in "The Dagger of the Mind"—which only happens as a result of Helen and Dr. Adams implanting false memories and feelings in Kirk's mind. And Spock actually knows all about the mindfuck machine at that point, and saving Kirk from it/Adams is why he's there in the first place, and his look of annoyed judgment happens after Helen says, "This isn't right! Dr. Adams did this to you!"

The episode ends with a visibly shaken Kirk returning to the bridge, talking about how he can actually believe in death from loneliness, and staring blankly into the distance with McCoy right behind him. Then Kirk looks at Spock (who is physically further away) and smiles, visibly brightening after Spock smiles faintly back.

I'm also thinking about how upset Kirk is by Spock's spore-addled interest in Leila in "This Side of Paradise," and even more by Spock's disinterest in him. Leila herself will eventually admit that she knows Spock would never enter into a relationship with her except via the sex pollen/docility spores, and previous to all this, she said Spock would be given no choice in all this. Spore-influenced Spock also begs Kirk to join them ("It's a true Eden, Jim. There's belonging and love [...] you'll come around sooner or later. Join us. Please"), and Kirk instead hatches a plan to force him out of the effects of the spores.

Afterwards, Spock bleakly tells Leila, "I have a responsibility to this ship, to that man on the bridge. I am what I am, Leila, and if there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them." He admits to Kirk that falling under the artificial tranquillity of the spores is the closest thing to happiness he's ever experienced.

Kirk is more outwardly cheerful, expressive, and easy-going than Spock, occasionally admitting that he's lonely, but not much more, apart from the implications of how he explains romantic love in "Metamorphosis" ("Is he important to you, more important than anything? Is he as though he were a part of you? [...] By your feeling for him, you are condemning him to an existence he will find unbearable. [...] You may keep him here forever, but you will always be separate, apart from him"). It's only when he gets literal amnesia that he can admit that he's pretty sure he's never experienced happiness before.

The seething jealousy even in obvious dub-con circumstances and quiet, restrained unhappiness pervading their lives just feels like—well, so much. There are so many other cases, too, like when McCoy jokes about Spock falling for a computer (not an android, a literal computer) and Kirk gets visibly upset and jealous until Spock tells him in front of everyone that Kirk is irreplaceable, obviously. Spock spends an entire episode miserably jealous of an actual android love interest of Kirk's, and after McCoy tells him he fundamentally can't understand the agonies and triumphs of love Kirk experienced with the android, Spock waits for McCoy to leave then deletes his rival from Kirk's mind while he sleeps.

They aren't well, but they sure are something!

[shebadfuckk]

All I’m trying to say is your lowest point is the doorway to your highest self.

When the heart breaks something far deeper is taking place than mere misfortune. We don’t really realize the value of the darkness until it has passed.

The human mind seeks comfort, but the soul stirs for change. It longs to grow, not to stay the same. You’re not here to chase happiness like a dog chasing its tail. Happiness is just a byproduct of becoming whole. And wholeness requires contrast.

Dark and light.

Sorrow and joy.

Breaking and rebuilding.

So when it hurts, let it hurt. Don’t run from it. Sit with it and when you finally rise from it, you’ll realize the joy was never in the outcome, but in the transformation. 🖤🤍

Feed the soul, not the ego. Choose evolution > escape. And the light you’re always searching for will no longer be something you find.

It will be something you are.

[mentally-ill-for-bes]

Something about the emphasis on blacksmithery in Viktor's commune.

It's not really that emphasized, but enough to let us know the principal activities in the commune are agriculture and blacksmithery. Agriculture is kinda obvious because: 1. Eating, 2. All the communities through history can establish and prosper as soon as they start agriculture systems.

However, blacksmithery isn't the same. Historically, most societies would choose easier materials to work with (wood, bricks, mud, and straw) rather than metals because molding metal is just so much riskier and harder labor (and much more time if you're using it to build houses as if the commune's case).

And I get this is a Viktor metamorphosis into a metal-organic living creature kind of reference but still. It's shown that they use organic materials for their baskets (which is the most practical option), there's nature and flowers everywhere yet still Viktor is picking the harder and less practical option (blacksmithery) to create the houses they are living in.

But it's what the little dude says to Vi. It is:

Then it has plenty of food and flowers, clean water and; for some reason, blacksmithery being a principal activity there.

Incredibly funny that y'know, despite being a scientist Jayce is still a blacksmith and for the same reason a lower house. Incredibly funny how during Progress Day Jayce himself mentions his house probably made the hammers the chairs were created with, implying that despite providing Piltover the bases for daily living blacksmithery is still overlooked. Incredibly funny how blacksmithery is one of the principal activities in Viktor's commune, literally making the houses everyone is living in despite what; I insist, is stupidly impractical.

[maacbrem]

Absolutely insane about the Thelyss brothers in Vasselheim cause like

Essek the Bright Queen is RIGHT THERE SIR PLEASE - but then, so is his brother, his little brother he probably still thinks of as a child because they were allowed to be children so briefly before anamnesis failed to come and they had to make something of themselves as new souls in an ancient Den, and Verin is the youngest Taskhand of Bazzoxan and a highly accomplished Echo Knight but he’s going to war??? Against aliens and would-be god killers and Ludinus Da’leth???? And Essek is a heretic fugitive and selfish to his bones, but he loved his brother even when he didn’t think he was capable of love at all, even if he wasn’t very good at it. So he stays in Vasselheim and he makes sure that these strange, awe-inspiring legendary heroes know his brother’s face, his voice, his armour, so that maybe if he falls one of them will deign to pick him up. He thinks about his friends, far from him now (Caleb, out of his reach and likely preparing to do something reckless but too brilliant to be called foolish), and looks at his brother, who will also go, who might never come back.

And Verin??? The youngest son of his Den, the second new soul prodigy by necessity who never really understood his brother but loved him anyway, who mourned their father so hard that he tried to become him by throwing himself against the endless hordes of the Hells, who now answers the call of all the gods and Exandria itself to fight a war with impossible odds, offering himself and his soldiers as potential cannon fodder so that the legendary heroes of the age might emerge victorious? I need to know how long he’s known what Essek did (because I know that Essek confessed and part of him hoped that Verin would condemn him, his righteous, devoted brother), and I need to know if Essek faked his death or just vanished, and I need to know if Verin wept for him. Verin who loves his people and his country and his god, who believes in things like faith and loyalty because he’s never really had cause not to, who has to find a way to believe in his brother, too. He learns to recognize this Archivist disguise and a few others that Essek favours, and he stops referring to his brother by name ever just so he doesn’t forget at the wrong moment, and he carries the beat-up booklet of Ashari poetry that he first learned to read Common from that still has child-Essek’s penmanship in the margins and he thinks about how seasons change and how winter doesn’t really kill, it just rests, and the process of a butterfly’s metamorphosis isn’t really that far off from the Luxon’s decree to become your ever-bettering self.

Essek doesn’t say “come back” but he does say “fight smart” and Verin knows what he means. Verin wraps him in a spine-cracking bear hug, uncomfortable in his armour but Essek has gotten better about physical affection in the past few years and one day Verin intends to thank the Mighty Nein personally for that. Verin says “stay sharp” and then quieter he says “i’ll see you again” and Essek hears ‘in this life or the next’ and he very calmly and sanely doesn’t start screaming, but he does press a pearl to Verin’s forehead (Caleb’s variation of the somatics, a useless bit of sentimentality made powerful that Essek adores). And then they have to part ways before Verin rejoins the Kryn contingent and Essek disappears back into the crowd, two brothers finally on the same side but unable to stand together.

Anyway, I think they’re neat.

[starfirexuchiha]

Danganronpa 2 Flower Language Symbolism During Chapter 3

I’m not sure if anyone else noticed this but, when I was playing Danganronpa 2, I noticed that the flowers are different in each hospital room during Chapter 3. I immediately recognized that these different flowers are associated with the respective patients, because of my knowledge on 花言葉 (hanakotoba). My knowledge is thanks to an old P5 Royal post I made regarding flowers. 😊

So I decided to go over each flower I saw for each patient!🙏

Ibuki Mioda - Sunflowers

In Ibuki’s room, there is a sunflower on the cabinet. 

Sunflowers are called 向日葵 (Himawari) or in katakana ヒマワリ in Japanese. 

In Japan, sunflowers are well-known for being a happy flower because the kanji “向日” means “facing the sun” as if they are always chasing the sun. They usually symbolize brightness, sunshine, and happiness!

In Hanakotoba (花言葉) Sunflowers mean:

私はあなただけを見つめる (I only have my eyes on you)

あなたを幸福にする (I will make you happy)

崇拝 (Admiration / Adoration)

光輝 (Brightness)

あなたは素晴らしい (You are amazing)

This connects well with Ibuki’s personality because she is usually cheerful, carefree, and happy. She is also loud and full of life and energy, something that sunflowers also represent. 🌻🌻🌻

Not only are sunflowers full of sunshine, they also produce some tasty seeds! Sunflower seeds are my favorite seeds to eat. 😄

Nagito Komaeda - Red Spider Lilies

In Nagito’s room, there are red spider lilies on the cabinet.

Red Spider Lilies are called 彼岸花 (Higanbana) in Japanese. 

In Japan, red spider lilies are well-known to be associated with the themes of death, departure, and the afterlife. The kanji “彼岸” (Higan), can mean “the afterlife” which is why this flower is referred to as the “Death Flower”. The bulbs of these flowers are also poisonous, which adds on to the ominous and dangerous symbolism it holds. In Japanese media, these flowers would usually appear when someone dies or when someone goes through a new transformation. In addition to that, these flowers are also often seen in graveyards as a way of mourning the dead.

So these flowers usually symbolize “Death”,  “Rebirth from Death”, and “Change/Metamorphosis”. 

In Hanakotoba (花言葉) Red Spider Lilies mean:

死と再生 (Death and Rebirth)

生と死 (Life and Death)

変化 (Change)

悲しき思い出 (Sad memories)

諦め (Resignation)

It’s not surprising that Nagito represents this ominous flower, because it actually makes sense for his character. It can also portray his near-death experience when he had the Despair Disease, because those red spider lilies were there during that time. Nagito has always been dancing around life and death due to his Ultimate Luck. In his FTEs, he mentioned that his Luck can bring death to others, and it also gave him a life threatening illness. It’s as if his Luck is a curse that poisoned him like a poisonous red spider lily. 😔

and well what do you know? Red spider lilies are actually my favorite flower because I love red, I love its beautifully creepy shape, and I love the foreboding symbolism it holds! 💖

Akane Owari - Bananas

In Akane’s room, there are bananas on the cabinet.

Bananas are called バナナ (banana) in Japanese.

Bananas are not flowers so there is no Hanakotoba (花言葉) for them. It can just mean that Akane loves food, but I think there is some symbolism behind them. 

Bananas can symbolize transformation and personal growth, because the ripening process of bananas, from green to yellow to brown can portray that. This can probably symbolize Akane’s growth as a character after witnessing Nekomaru’s “first death” during that time, and her willingness to get stronger. Bananas are also good to eat after a good workout to prevent sore muscles, so maybe that can relate to Akane’s athletic nature. 🍌🍌🍌

Bananas were actually my favorite fruit back when I was a kid, and nowadays I usually eat them after going to the gym too! 😊

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu - Pink Carnations

It’s hard for me to tell what kind of flower is on the cabinet in Fuyuhiko’s room, so I’m guessing that it is a pink carnation flower with white tips. Please correct me if I am wrong! 😣🙏

Carnations are called カーネーション (Carnation) in Japanese. 

In Japan, pink carnations are the most commonly found color and they can symbolize gratitude. Although carnations, usually the red ones, are used to represent a mother’s love, a pink carnation in particular can represent a woman’s love in general. 

In Hanakotoba (花言葉), Pink Carnations mean:

感謝 (Gratitude)

あなたを決して忘れません (I’ll never forget you)

女性の愛 (A woman’s love)

温かい心 (A warm heart)

美しい仕草 (Beautiful behavior)

気品 (Elegance)

I think these flowers represent Fuyuhiko’s feelings towards Peko after her execution. He must have been grateful for all the things she did for him, and for saving his life during her execution. What happened to her had made him change into a better person with a “warmer heart”. He of course will never forget her, in fact Peko was the first thought in his mind when he learned that his “dead” classmates are actually not physically “dead” in reality. As for the “woman’s love” meaning, it’s pretty obvious that it is regarding Peko. It was revealed in her FTEs that she has feelings for Fuyuhiko, which means that her actions and her desire to protect him, stems from that as well as her duty.

If I am correct that the flower in Fuyuhiko's room is a pink carnation, then I am once again hitting myself in the feels with the KuzuPeko angst 😭😭😭

—---------------------------

I can never look at flowers the same way anymore in anime/video games after delving into Hanakotoba years ago. I might end up making another flower-related post in the future at this rate. 🥴

[allurer23]

TURN THE PAGE TO US

YOU ANNOTATED MY SOUL

In Focus: Mark Lee × Reader

Synopsis: You and Mark Lee: two English Lit majors, one department, zero peace. You can quote The Waste Land by heart, and so can he—but your shared talent for verse usually ends in verbal warfare. Forced to co-lead a competitive research project, Mark’s infuriating intelligence and maddening focus drive you up the wall. Yet, rivalry softens into playful banter, and late study sessions stretch longer than expected. Turns out, the line between rivalry and something softer is written in pencil—easily erased, effortlessly rewritten.

Warnings: Rivals to lovers, Explicit sexual content / verbal kink, Mentions of sexual tension, arousal, and suggestive dialogue, Dom/sub implications (voice kink, praise/degradation mix), Consensual power play, Intense academic rivalry dynamic, Emotional repression / internalized longing, Some strong language (casual swearing), Alcohol (minor party scene), Academic stress / intellectual elitism, Brief reference to being interrupted post-kiss, Heavy use of literary references / sarcasm / metaphor, No actual smut scenes occur, but it’s very hot

Author’s Note:

This is the first footnote in TURN THE PAGE TO US—because nothing screams ‘healthy coping mechanism’ like falling for the one person who annotates your entire existence.”

I didn’t mean to write something this long, but apparently, Mark Lee + academic rivalry + literary thirst = me losing all control. This ended up way longer than planned, and I still haven’t finished it—so I’m posting it in two parts.

This is Part 1, guys

You can read Part 2 here

This is for the girls who annotate their fantasy smut and the guys who smell like books and think arguing about Kafka counts as foreplay. This fic is messy, wordy, and borderline unhinged in the best academic way. To everyone who's ever caught feelings during a debate—this one's for you. Engagement means the world: likes, reblogs, comments, screams in the tags.

Please be 18+ if you’re reading.

"You underlined metaphors. I read between the lines. Somewhere between ink and irritation, we annotated each other."

Third coffee of the day. And I hate coffee. It tastes like existential dread steeped in burnt hope. But like Gregor Samsa waking up as a bug, I didn’t choose this life—I just…adapted. Caffeine is my metamorphosis.

Sips, grimaces, and watches Mark Lee walk in, perfectly on time, of course.

And there he is. Mark Lee. Human punctuation mark. Probably thinks the sun rises because he quoted Woolf at it. He writes like he’s got a personal vendetta against mediocrity and walks like he’s never been told he’s wrong. Spoiler alert: I’ve told him. He didn’t listen.

The academic rival I never asked for but somehow ended up stuck with since freshman year. Ever since our first clash over whether The Waste Land is genius or just a fever dream with footnotes, it’s been intellectual warfare. I don’t know why, but every time I see him, I feel this irrational irritation—like my brain knows it’s about to be challenged, and my ego's already rolling up its sleeves.

And of course, can't forget to mention his group. The ever-infamous Dream boys. The campus golden group. Seven of them, like some mythological fellowship but with more hair gel and less emotional regulation. A cocktail of charisma, chaos, and misplaced confidence.

Professor Jung walked into the classroom with the kind of smile that only meant one thing: chaos was coming. Not the scream-and-run kind. The academic kind. The kind that ruined friendships, ignited crushes, and made someone cry in the hallway after overanalyzing Jane Eyre.

“Let’s start today with a wonderful question,” he said, practically rubbing his hands together like a Bond villain with tenure. “Fate versus free will in literature.”

Of course. Of course. The kind of question that turns polite English majors into caffeinated gladiators wielding highlighters and wounded pride.

“Think Kafka’s labyrinths of absurdity or Austen’s cages of etiquette,” he continued, eyes gleaming like this was the TED Talk he'd been preparing his whole life for. “Who really writes the story—the characters, or some invisible puppeteer called fate?”

Naturally—and I mean this with every ounce of disdain in my soul—Mark Lee’s hand shot up. Instantly. Like he had been waiting for this moment since the womb. Like fate had chosen him, which is ironic, considering he clearly sides with it.

He wore that insufferable smirk—the one that made girls sigh and me want to throw a Norton Anthology at his face. His glasses glinted like they were part of some book-boy cosplay, which, tragically, only made him hotter. Tragic for me, I mean. Not the population of people who thirst after tortured literature boys who quote Woolf on first dates. (Yes, he did that. I overheard. He used To the Lighthouse. Someone really should’ve drowned him there.)

I raised my hand too. Because if Mark Lee was jumping into the ring, I was showing up with verbal brass knuckles and annotated Kafka.

We both started speaking—of course—and Professor Jung smiled like his plan to cause chaos was going exactly as intended.

“Y/n, go ahead,” he said. And I did. With glee.

“Fate? Please. That’s just what authors use when they don’t want to admit they wrote themselves into a corner. The Trial isn’t an ode to inevitability—it’s a primal scream from a man being smothered by bureaucracy and desperately trying to claw meaning out of the absurd. Free will exists. It's just ugly and panicked and gets drowned in paperwork.”

Mark’s smirk—God, that smirk—deepened. Probably because he thought he was about to say something clever. Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.

“Delusional,” he said, all smooth confidence and unjustified cheekbones. “Austen’s characters are textbook fate victims. Emma? Lizzie? They ‘choose,’ sure but only within the bounds of societal programming. It's not free will, it’s conditioned responses. Fate, just wearing a petticoat.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my ancestors. “You’re reducing character arcs to algorithms. Emma isn’t doomed—she’s flawed. And she changes. Growth is a choice, Mark Lee. Free will is messy, but that’s what makes it beautiful. Fate is a cop-out for people too afraid of consequences.”

He leaned back like he was lounging in a coffee shop, not verbally brawling in front of thirty people. “And yet the greatest tragedies rely on fate. Romeo and Juliet, Gatsby… Doomed from the start. Fate is the poetry of inevitability.”

I gave him a smile that could peel paint. “And maybe you just like sounding poetic while ignoring the fact that most tragedies are people screwing up, not the stars aligning. Gatsby wasn’t doomed. He just made garbage decisions and idealized a girl who liked shiny things.”

He adjusted his glasses like he was preparing to deliver an epiphany. “So you’re saying free will is just people being dumb?”

“Exactly,” I said, triumphantly. “Free will is people being dumb, brilliant, selfish, selfless, human. Orwell’s 1984? Winston tries. He chooses resistance. That’s the whole point. Even a doomed choice is still a choice.”

Mark tilted his head, all faux-curious. “And he’s crushed. Crushed by the inevitability of the system. Free will doesn’t win. Fate does.”

I could practically hear the air crackling. Our classmates were silent, hanging on every word like this was a courtroom drama and someone’s scholarship depended on it. Maybe mine did.

Professor Jung finally clapped his hands, grinning like a man watching two tigers fight over a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Exactly what I wanted. Good. Very, very good.”

I slumped back in my seat, heart thumping, and glared at Mark’s profile. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. His smirk. His glasses. His perfect posture, like he didn’t just ruin my blood pressure for the day.

After the verbal warzone had been declared over by Professor Jung, I packed up my notes with all the casual serenity of a boiling kettle. Mark was still smugly tucking his glasses into his collar like he hadn’t just played devil’s advocate for fate, of all things. Fate. I mean, who chooses to side with destiny in 2025?

“Y/N and Mark, please stay back,” Professor Jung said, just as I was plotting the most satisfying way to avoid him for the rest of my life.

I glanced sideways at Mark—or as I affectionately referred to him in my mind, the walking thesis footnote of my irritation. His brow arched, clearly intrigued, and I hated that it looked good on him. Could someone’s face be grammatically correct? I didn’t want to talk about it.

Once the last student dragged their bag out and the door clicked shut behind them, Professor Jung beamed like he’d been waiting to drop a literary bomb.

“I like the way you both think,” he began, steepling his fingers like some benevolent academic overlord. “You don’t just read literature—you wrestle it. Respect it. And occasionally stab each other with it.”

I said nothing, just nodded politely while standing as far from Mark as physically possible without flinging myself out the window.

“There’s an international literary conference hosted by the University at Veritas,” he continued. “It’s prestigious, competitive, and… paired.”

Mark straightened beside me like someone had just offered him a sonnet and a scholarship. I, on the other hand, was already sensing doom wrapped in MLA format.

“It’s on the notice board, but I’m telling you two specifically,” Professor Jung went on, smiling that same evil-genius smile he’d worn this morning. “Because I think—no, know—that if you teamed up, your chances of getting accepted are incredibly high.”

My brain short-circuited.

Team up?

With Mark fate-is-a-poem Lee?

We’d kill each other before we even chose a font.

“That’s… very kind of you, Professor,” I said, my voice politely strangled.

Beside me, Mark let out a soft, amused hum. Like a man already composing the opening paragraph of our academic obituary.

“I’m in,” he said. Instantly. No hesitation. Of course.

I looked at him like he’d just offered to co-author my nightmare.

“I mean,” he added, shooting me a sideways glance that felt like a challenge dressed as a compliment, “if Y/N can handle it.”

Handle what? His metaphors? His smugness? His perfectly organized notes that somehow always smell like cinnamon and ink?

“Oh, I can handle it,” I said sweetly, a dangerous smile curving on my lips. “Just don’t start talking about Austen like she’s a 19th-century NPC again and we’ll get along just fine.”

Professor Jung clapped once. “Perfect. Submit a proposal by next Friday. Surprise me.”

As we stepped into the corridor, I could already feel the words crawling up my throat like they were too irritated to stay inside.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I muttered. “This isn’t a prize. It’s community service.”

Mark had the audacity to laugh. “I don’t know, I think we might actually work well together.”

I stopped walking. He did too, turning slightly with that same irritating eyebrow tilt like he thought this was a scene from some academic rom-com. It wasn’t.

I crossed my arms. “Meet me at 4 p.m. in the book cafe outside campus. We need to figure out a topic before your ego writes a paper all by itself.”

He gave a mock salute. “Wouldn’t dream of being late.”

Then he walked off, all easy strides and unbearable confidence, like we hadn’t just declared a ceasefire for the sake of intellectual dominance.

I stared after him, jaw clenched.

This was going to be a disaster. A well-researched, peer-reviewed, highly-cited disaster.

I walk toward the field where my so-called friends are lounging like overfed cats under the sun. Chenle’s playing basketball, all fluid limbs and annoying laughter. The rest? Already grinning like they know something I don’t. Which is impossible. Unless…

“Hey, Mark Lee,” Haechan calls, eyes glinting like he’s logged into my brain. “You look like someone tore your ego again today. Was it our Lit Queen?”

I flop down onto the grass beside them with the dramatic energy of a tragic Greek hero. “Today’s topic was free will vs. fate in literature,” I mutter, tugging blades of grass like they personally offended me. “Obviously, I sided with fate—because hello, I’m not naive enough to believe I have control over anything in life—but now I don’t know if I won or if she did or if I just got verbally suplexed by a girl in winged eyeliner.”

Haechan snorts. “Verbal suplex. That’s a new low, even for you.”

“It’s like she thrives on chaos." I continue like a man possessed. "The moment the professor mentioned fate, her eyes lit up like she was summoning literary demons just to argue.”

“She probably lives in hell, Mark. Maybe she’s just giving you directions,” Renjun says without looking up from his notebook.

“The worst part isn’t the debate,” I mumble. “It’s the fact that I’m teamed up with her. For the inter-college conference.”

That gets them. A collective gasp like I just announced I’m marrying her tomorrow.

“Oh,” Jaemin says, eyes wide. “You mean her? The girl who corrected Professor Kim when he misquoted T.S. Eliot?”

“She’s the same one who once sent Sunwoo a list of grammar corrections when he asked her out,” Haechan adds, cackling. “Imagine trying to flirt and getting a red-inked Google Doc back.”

“She brought up Plato at that party last week,” Jeno says, shaking his head. “And they were literally talking about their dating lives. I think someone asked what her type was and she went ‘philosophically or emotionally?’”

Chenle jogs up just in time to drop the final blow. “Rumor says she turned a guy down by sending him a bibliography on why she’s emotionally unavailable.”

“A bibliography?” Jisung blinks. “Like… with citations?”

“I think there was APA and MLA formats involved,” Chenle grins.

I sigh, dragging my hands down my face. “You guys don’t understand. I notice… things now. Like—like the way she rolls her eyes every time I speak. Which is always. She does this dramatic slow blink and I swear, I hear ‘disappointment’ in 4K.”

“She probably keeps a thesaurus in her bag just to judge your vocabulary,” Renjun mutters.

“And the eyeliner,” I continue like I’ve lost control of my mouth. “You know? That perfect little wing at the corner of her eye? Like she’s ready to slice me with it.”

“Oh my god,” Jaemin groans. “He’s noticing eyeliner. This is terminal.”

“She bites her pen when she’s thinking,” I say, ignoring them all now. “Like the cap is a life-or-death decision. And when she drinks coffee, she winces. She hates it. I know she does. She drinks it like it’s a punishment, not a preference. That’s not someone who likes caffeine. That’s someone who’s forcing herself to function in a coffee-drunk world.”

“You’re in deep, man,” Jeno laughs, clapping my shoulder. “You’re starting to sound like her.”

“I am not—” I stop, because, okay. Maybe I am. Maybe the worst part isn’t even being teamed up with her. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about how her voice sharpens when she’s passionate about a book. Or how her handwriting looks like it belongs in some old library archive. Or how her smirk makes me want to argue with her just to see it again.

“She’s going to destroy me,” I say aloud.

“She already has,” Haechan smirks. “And we’re just here for the literary funeral.”

I walk into the book cafe and spot Mark Lee instantly—half-slouched in a corner booth, dressed like a Pinterest board for "hot literature major energy" and scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t been waiting here early on purpose.

He looks up the moment I sit across from him and slides a caramel frappuccino toward me like it's a peace offering.

“I don’t drink frappuccinos,” I say, pulling out my laptop and notebook. “Especially not ones pretending to be desserts.”

“You should,” he says smoothly, “it’s better than wincing like you're in physical pain every time you drink coffee. Just spare the Americano your judgmental stare.”

He says it like he’s read the last ten pages of my life.

Which is the worst part.

Because he kinda has.

“I’ve already chosen our topic,” I announce, ignoring his smirk. “‘The Quiet Catastrophe: Literature as a Witness to Absurdity and Human Frailty.’ It’s in line with the conference theme and—”

“Of course you chose that,” he cuts in, leaning back like he’s bracing for impact. “Tell me, what’s your word count goal this year for Kafka-Dostoevsky Existential Crisis Essays? A hundred thousand?”

I glare. “It’s a strong theme.”

“It’s a recycled theme.” He raises an eyebrow. “I'm just saying… have you considered that Franz and Fyodor might want you to move on?”

I open my mouth, then close it. Because damn it, he’s not wrong.

“I was thinking,” he continues, voice casual but eyes very not, “what if we pitched ‘Ink as Ammunition: Literature as Resistance in Postcolonial and Feminist Texts’? It’s bold, fresh, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll meet authors who don’t end their novels in total despair.”

I hate that it’s a good idea.

I hate that my face reacts before my pride does—because he sees it.

His smirk deepens.

“I don’t want to waste time arguing,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “So fine. We’ll go with your idea.”

“Wow.” He places a hand over his heart dramatically. “Mark this day, for she has spoken the word: fine.”

We fall into a silence so deep it might as well have its own heartbeat—the kind of silence that says.

I catch his brown eyes catching the light every time he lands on a good point, like he’s just uncovered some secret cheat code for the paper. His eyebrows furrow into that “serious genius” crease, and of course, his damn glasses betray him by slipping down his nose as he leans in to sneak a peek at what I wrote. The way he pushes them back up with one lazy finger? Too casual, too precise—like he knows exactly how distracting he looks.

Focus, Y/N. Focus on the paper, not the guy who plays basketball to ease his tension and somehow looks like he just walked off a runway. And yes, he looks damn hot when he plays, but this is strictly an academic observation, no judging.

Mark’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Handmaid’s Tale?”

I nod, trying not to make it obvious that I’m really thinking about how his hair falls perfectly messy when he pushes it back, and how the sleeves of his shirt roll up just enough to make me wonder if he knows the effect he’s having.

“What’s running around in that head of yours?” he asks, eyebrow raised, suddenly silent like he’s waiting for some grand revelation.

Definitely not how good you look right now.

"Oh nothing"

“And seriously,” he adds, eyeing my pen like it’s a secret weapon, “you should stop chewing on that thing. I know you’re hunting for a sentence to obliterate me with.”

“I’m not,” I snap, yanking the pen away like it’s a live bomb.

We’re both silent for a while — a rare event, considering we usually argue over everything from font sizes to who gets top billing on the title page. But right now, it’s just the clack of keyboards and the soft hum of the café.

“I don’t like this,” he says suddenly.

I glance up. “What, being productive?”

“No. You being quiet. It’s weird. It’s like I’m watching a thriller with no plot twist. Where’s the snark? The dramatic sighs? The eye rolls?”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m saving all my energy for the bibliography.”

He grins. “Oh, I get it now. You’re lulling me into a false sense of security before you hit me with the footnote from hell.”

I sip the Frappuccino — the one I swore I wouldn’t drink. He notices, of course.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s tolerable.”

“You say that about everything you like. Just admit you love it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That line working on anyone else?”

He leans back, smirking. “Only the ones who can spell ‘conscience’ without autocorrect.”

I can’t help the laugh that slips out. He notices that too.

“You laughed,” he says like he just won a bet.

“Congratulations. What do you want, a trophy?”

“No, just acknowledgment. It’s rare. Like finding a happy ending in an existential novel.”

I grin. “You’re really trying to make metaphors happen today, huh?”

He shrugs.

We fall back into silence.

Two weeks had passed since our abstract got the green light from Mr. Jung. Since then, it felt like we’d been living in a war zone—bickering over everything from fonts to spacing, to whose point held more weight. Every tiny detail turned into a battlefield.

“I’m taking you to the party,” Giselle declared, even though I was standing right next to her.

“I’m not coming,” I replied, flipping through Onyx Storm. Honestly, can you blame me? The ending was right around the corner.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m taking you. That’s not a request, Ms. Litlady. And please, don’t start in on Plato or whoever. People are still talking about that.”

“They asked me a question,” I shrugged, marking my page before closing the book. “I just answered.”

“It’s a party, not a philosophy lecture. Dress up and come with me. Jungwoo’s picking us up.”

“It’s not like I hate parties.”

She grinned. “Exactly. You like parties—you’re not one of those typical bookworms who lock themselves away all weekend.”

“Yeah, well, I like finishing Onyx Storm more.”

“Whatever. You can finish it later. You’ve been working on that paper with your academic rival nonstop. You need a break from that hot nerd.”

“He’s not hot. More like a mosquito buzzing in my ear and I'm just tolerating him.”

“Speaking of that hot nerd, only you can hold a conversation with him. I heard Jia finally snagged a date with him last month, and he went on about the Renaissance and its impact on literature, the printing press, the first Bible—all that jazz.”

A small smile spread across my face. “That sounds exactly like him,” I said, walking to my closet.

“The red one or the black one?” Giselle asked.

“I like the red one. It looks good on you.”

“Done and done.”

The music was loud, the air smelled like cheap cologne and spilled cider, and the lights were dim enough to make everyone look ten percent more attractive than usual—which meant nothing to me, obviously. I was here for a drink and maybe a reason to leave early.

Then she walked in.

Giselle first—grinning, glossy-lipped and glitter-eyed. Jungwoo next, bouncing like the Labrador he was. And then her, in black. Not the mournful academic black we lived in, no. This was dangerous black. Skin, collarbone, the glint of a necklace that caught the light every time she tilted her head and laughed.

And she laughed.

At him.

Jaehyun.

The golden boy. Soccer star. Her brother’s best friend. The type of guy who didn’t have to work for charm—he just breathed and people adored him. She was leaning in, brushing his arm, and throwing her head back like he’d just told the best joke in the world.

I hated it.

I didn’t even know what he said, and I hated it.

Haechan appeared next to me with a red cup and a knowing look. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re glaring.”

“Same thing.”

“She looks good tonight,” he said. “Not that I noticed. I mean, Jaehyun noticed. And half the team. But not me. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes, took a swig of something that burned, and tried not to look back. Failed.

“She laugh like that with you during group projects?” Haechan smirked, the devil in a hoodie.

“She doesn’t laugh with me. We argue.”

“And yet,” he drawled, “here you are. Third drink. Sixth stare. First stage of denial. Classic.”

I turned away. “Shut up.”

“She’s just talking to Jaehyun, man. Your crush is allowed to talk to people.”

“She’s not my—”

I paused.

He grinned.

I hated him.

____

I walked into the room after attending a call from Renjun. She was laughing again. That sharp, carefree kind of laugh that somehow always managed to echo over the music. And of course, it was Jaehyun standing next to her. She tilted her head slightly when she laughed, like whatever he said was the cleverest thing she’d heard all night. Whatever.

I made my way to the bar. Not toward her — just the bar. The fact that she was already there? Unfortunate timing.

I stepped into the space beside her, nodding at the bartender. “You do remember our submission’s due next week, right? Or is your strategy just charming Jaehyun into doing it for us?”

She turned toward me, a slow, amused look crawling up her face. “Mark Lee at a party and talking about work? I’m shocked. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

I grabbed my drink. “I just figured your attention span might need the reminder.”

Her smirk widened. “Worried I’ll outshine you again?”

“Again implies it happened once.”

“You’re right. But let’s not forget all those other times I accidentally outdid you — it’s kind of a pattern by now.”

I took a slow sip. “Delusions are getting bold these days.”

She laughed under her breath. Not the same kind of laugh she gave Jaehyun. This one had teeth. “The cafe’s closed tomorrow,” she said, casually, like it was no big deal. “So if you want to get this done before the deadline, you’ll have to come to my place. I’ll text you the address.”

I raised an eyebrow, letting a beat of silence stretch before answering. “You sure your Wi-Fi can handle all that ego in one apartment?”

She looked at me over her glass. “Guess we’ll find out.”

And just like that, she turned back to her conversation — not sparing me a second glance.

Fine by me. I got what I came for. A drink. And a reminder that this partnership was going to be the end of one of us.

Probably her.

___

She said her place. Her place. I didn’t ask questions—just said yes like a man trying to win a debate by proximity.

But now I’m standing in front of her door with a backpack full of citations and a mouth that can’t stop thinking about hers. This isn’t about the paper anymore. Not really.

She’s let me in—literally. And I don’t know what I’ll do when she forgets I’m the enemy and starts looking at me like I’m something else entirely.

He stepped into my apartment like he owned the place, tossed his bag onto the floor beside the low table in the hall, and sank onto the opposite side without a word. We didn’t need pleasantries—not in our world of rivalry laced with disdain.

I shouldn’t have said my place. I could’ve picked the library. A cafe, The quad. Literally anywhere that didn’t have soft lighting and shelves full of books that double as secrets and i didn't realise it tho.

But the way he looked at me—like he knew something I didn’t—made my mouth move faster than my brain. And now we were meeting in a space where my defenses didn’t work.

My apartment wasn’t neutral territory. It had favorite pens and worn notebooks and a bookshelf I’d never let anyone touch. Not even the friends who knew what I read when I wasn’t trying to impress professors.

He pulled out his laptop and the familiar clack of keys filled the silence as we settled into rhythm, working through the final citations. I was focused, eyes scanning a paragraph on postmodern consumption—but I felt it the moment his attention drifted.

Not to me. Not yet.

His gaze had shifted—toward the corner.

Bookshelf.

I followed it too late. He was already rising, curiosity pulling him like a magnet to the shelf I usually guarded with selective disclosure. His fingers grazed the spines, pausing over a particular set of titles that didn’t exactly scream Kafka.

Twisted Love. Fourth Wing. Iron Flame. A Court of Thorns and Roses.

I didn’t have to look up to know the smirk forming on his lips.

“Interesting collection,” he murmured, voice laced with something that wasn’t entirely mockery.

I turned my face toward him slowly, schooling my expression into bored defiance. “It’s called research,” I said coolly, though I could feel the heat creeping up the back of my neck.

He pulled a book halfway out. “For our project?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“For the sake of literature as a whole,” I countered, folding my arms across my chest.

Another step. “Didn’t know you were into… dragons, morally grey men, and explicit tension.”

I didn’t move. “Didn’t know you had time to read spines while pretending to be better than me.”

That earned a short laugh, rough and low. He closed the distance until he was standing right beside me, the book still in his hand, his fingers brushing the edge of the cover like it was a dare.

“I guess I underestimated the kind of stories that get your attention,” he said, his voice quieter now, deeper.

I tilted my head. “And I overestimated your sense of boundaries.”

His gaze flicked to my lips for a fraction of a second too long before settling back on my eyes. “So… which one’s your favorite?”

I reached out, plucked the book from his hand with deliberate slowness, and placed it back on the shelf.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I said, and turned back toward the table and settled into the chair.

I could still feel his stare on my back. Heavy. Unspoken.

The citations could wait a few seconds more.

He didn’t come back right away.

I could feel him still standing there. The air around the bookshelf was thick—static, electric. His presence dragged across my skin like a storm waiting to break.

And then he came back after grabbing another book from my collections.  Not quietly. Not carelessly.

He sank into the chair like he owned it. Like he owned the moment. Like he’d found a secret and was now deciding just how deep he wanted to bury it in me.

No glance at the screen.

Only me.

His eyes were darker than before. Focused. Sure.

“Research purposes, huh?”

Low. Laced with something that tasted like trouble.

I didn’t flinch. “You know—methodology, citations, critical discourse—”

“You mean your collection over there?”

He jerked his chin toward the shelf. “Looks a hell of a lot more like late-night escapism than anything academic.”

My throat tightened. “You’re making assumptions.”

He smirked. “Am I?”

Then he leaned in. Slow. Measured. His voice dipped into something filthy and deliberate.

“You’re the girl who quotes Barthes in class, who sighs at Kafka like he ruined you—but you’ve got a whole row of books with titles like Thorns and Temptation, Credence and Twisted series.”

I blinked.

He didn’t stop.

“Let me guess. The main guy’s always a tortured immortal. Says he’s a monster. Calls her little mortal, my mouse, my princess or butterfly, before bending her over a throne.”

“That’s not—”

He cut in, brutal and soft. “You like that shit.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

“And I bet you read it one hand on the page, the other under the covers, acting like you’re too good for it. Telling yourself it’s just fiction. Just tension. Just... literary curiosity.”

He grinned. Dark. Triumphant.

“But you keep going back to the same scenes, don’t you?”

I crossed my arms. “So what if I do?”

“So nothing.” He shrugged. “Except you walk around like your head’s above it all. As if you wouldn’t come apart if someone actually pressed you up against a wall and whispered the things you pretend you hate.”

He was too close. I could smell his cologne—woodsy, dark, intoxicating.

“You think that’s all it takes?” I tried to say it steady, but my voice betrayed me. Too tight. Too breathless.

He tilted his head, eyes on me like a predator amused by how long his prey thought it could pretend.

“No,” he said. “I think you want someone who gets it. Someone who won’t judge you for reading smut dressed in metaphors.”

His hand reached forward. Not touching. Just close. Suggestive.

“I think you want someone who’d highlight those lines with you. The ones where she begs. Where he growls. Where the line between danger and desire blurs and she likes it.”

I felt heat rush to my face. My stomach twisted. My legs didn’t move.

“And I think,” he continued, “you’ve spent so long playing the good girl with her annotated classics and tragic quotes... you’ve forgotten how much you crave someone seeing you. Really seeing you.”

“You don’t know me,” I whispered.

“I do now.”

His voice was a promise. A threat. A challenge.

“And you know what’s wild?”

He leaned in just enough to ghost his lips near my jaw. “I’m not judging you. I’d read them with you. Out loud. Every filthy line. Make you admit which parts made your thighs press together. Make you say it—this one, this is the line that made me want to be ruined.”

My breath shuddered.

His knee slid against mine again. Pressed there. Solid. Heavy.

“You still gonna act like you’re above it?” he whispered. “Or are you gonna let me peel that good girl persona off you page by page?”

I didn’t answer.

Because if I did—I wasn’t sure if I’d stop.

Because the thesis wasn’t the only thing unraveling.

I was.

And God, maybe I wanted him to keep pulling.

He didn’t pull away.

He leaned closer.

Still no contact—just his presence, thick and heavy and humming with a kind of heat that felt almost unfair.

“You’re really going to sit there and act like your thighs haven’t been pressed together for the last five minutes?” he murmured, voice low, velvet over something razor-sharp. “Like you’re not wet under that skirt and trying not to squirm in your seat?”

I raised a brow, careful. Steady. “You always talk like this during research sessions? No wonder your GPA’s hanging by a thread.”

He smirked. “Cute. Deflecting.”

He dragged his chair an inch closer, the scrape of wood jarring in the silence. His knee bumped mine. Intentional. Firm. And then his fingers tapped the table, slow and steady, inches from where mine rested.

“You know the parts you reread the most?” he said, gaze dropping to my mouth. “The ones where he doesn’t even touch her yet. Just tells her what he’s going to do. How he’s going to make her lose control.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” I said coolly, even though my pulse was sprinting and I could feel the heat crawling up my throat.

He leaned in further, his breath brushing my cheek like a secret I wasn’t allowed to hear.

“I bet you love the build-up. His mouth at her ear. The words he says when no one else is listening. You’re already soaked for me, aren’t you? Look how easy it is to make you squirm.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Because if I did, he’d know.

“You act like you’re above it,” he said, voice going lower. “Like none of it gets to you. But I see the way you shift in your chair. How you stopped breathing when I said ‘wet.’”

I scoffed, leaned back just a little. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Want me to read aloud your favorite passage? The one where she’s told to shut up and take it? Where he pins her wrists and tells her, You’re not going anywhere until I’ve ruined every part of you?”

I stood abruptly.

His eyes tracked every inch of the movement like a dare.

I didn’t speak. Just reached for the book near his elbow—my copy, spine cracked, pages dog-eared and traitorous—and walked to the nearest bookshelf to shelve it. A small act. Simple.

But it was enough.

He was behind me in seconds. Catching my wrist to turn me towards him.

His hand landed on the shelf above mine, boxing me in. His body close. Too close. Heat radiating from his chest to my neck, not touching, but god, it felt like he was.

“You’re not fooling me,” he said, voice dark against the shell of my ear. “You can act cold all you want. Witty. Detached. But you’re the kind of girl who reads the dirtiest pages twice, then closes the book just to sit there and feel it.”

I gripped the spine of the book tighter.

“You want someone to make it real,” he said. “To tilt your chin up, press their mouth to yours, and say, Don’t run. Take it.”

My chest rose too fast.

“You’d hate how much you’d love it,” he whispered. “How fast you’d fall apart. How easily you’d beg when I tell you, Keep your eyes on me while I make you mine right here.”

I should’ve told him to back off.

Should’ve moved. Should’ve breathed.

Instead, I froze.

And that’s when he kissed me.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d waited too damn long and couldn’t hold it in any longer.

His hand slid to my waist, dragging me closer. His mouth crushed mine, no hesitation, no apology. Just fire and hunger and everything we’d been pretending not to want.

I gasped against him, hands fisting in his shirt as his body pressed against mine, pinning me lightly to the shelf.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating between us, his mouth moving over mine with brutal precision. Tongue teasing. Teeth grazing. Every second pulling me deeper, tighter, unraveling something I hadn’t even realized was wound that tight.

The book fell from my hands, hit the floor with a thud I barely heard.

“You feel that?” he breathed against my lips. “That spark when I touch you? That ache? You think I can’t tell how wrecked you are right now?”

He kissed me again, slower this time, more purposeful. Like he wanted me to remember it later—alone, frustrated, aching.

“I could fuck you with just my voice,” he whispered, mouth trailing to my jaw. “And baby—don’t lie—you’d let me.”

The bell rang.

Sharp. Final. Echoing down the hallway.

“Y/n?” My brother’s voice, too close.

I jerked back, panting.

His eyes were wild. Lips swollen. Still breathing hard.

I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, heart pounding out of rhythm. He didn’t say anything. Just watched me.

“Y/n?” Louder now.

“I’m—coming!” I shouted, hating how wrecked my voice sounded.

I didn’t look at him as I turned.

But I felt his stare all the way to the door.

And long after I left, his kiss still burned like it hadn’t finished yet.

“The problem wasn’t that he kissed me. It was that I kissed him back.”

or

“We were supposed to write a paper. Not rewrite every boundary I ever built.”

___

Author's note:

Well, if you’ve made it this far, congratulations—you survived Part One of You Annotated My Soul without throwing your device across the room. This story is basically my caffeine-fueled brainchild, packed with all the awkward academic tension, chaotic vibes, and just enough cursed chemistry to keep you hooked. If you liked the drama (or even just the mess), drop a comment or reblog—it’s like digital high-fives that keep me writing.

Part Two is brewing, and spoiler alert: that kiss? Just the appetizer. Stay tuned for the main course.

Thanks for sticking around—and try not to ship them too hard.

Now, I see this fic is not that long.

[tiamathh]

METAMORPHOSIS - CHANGES IN YOUR LIFE

Note: Hello! Thank you for waiting! I hope everyone's doing well, stay hydrated loves 🤭 <33 Check out my Masterlist for more! <3 LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE V APPRECIATED!!

1 -> 3

Do not plagiarise, reword, steal, repost or replicate my work!

Masterlist | Paid Readings | Tip 🍯

Pile 1

The next phase in your life is going to include you moving away from home. This can either include you moving out of your actual house and living independently or you distancing yourself from the familiarity of what feels like home and trying to step out of your comfort zone. You are supposed to be going on a journey or a trip and this is actually going to be life changing for you. If you have a trip marked on your calendar let me tell you something, you're going to be feeling very in touch with your emotions, if you've built walls around you or are someone who frequents the phrase "why am I supposed to care?" etc to protect yourself from caring too much because you think it's cringe or it makes you uncomfortable, times are changing finally. You're going to be owning the way you feel, you're going to be more open about how you feel and give yourself space to be more vulnerable around the people you love and cherish, not feeling like you have to keep up the "tough" image and truly letting yourself live laugh love.

You are entering a time where your relationships are going to be flourishing, some of you have been through a rough few months when it comes to the people around you, you may be feeling used, betrayed, cheated or even sidelined by them. However new people are coming into your life, they're not only going to be on the same level as you but they'll also be people who will be a little contrasting personality wise like they'll fill the gaps for example if you're not good at communicating but they are and if they're not good at being vulnerable but you are, there's going to be a very healthy exchange of energies and it will help you maintain a sense of self without being overly dependent on them or developing a codependent relationship. Also I have to mention you're finally going to be getting a break, you'll get time to rest and relax and just take a seat because a lot of work you may have done in the past, and this I'm getting could be referring to the past few years related to academics or career, is going to be bearing fruit, making life feel more easy breezy for you lot!

Pile 2

Really good messages coming in for you pile 2! To begin with you may have been feeling a little stagnant lately, not in a bad way, just in a "stuck in a monotonous routine" kind of way, where there's nothing wrong but it just feels full and unexciting. That's changing for you, you're going to be entering a time of your life where things will still be peaceful and calm just slightly more fast paced so that you have to work harder to keep up. Anyone that you haven't moved on from in the past, or even anything maybe people maybe situations, you're going to be shedding off that old skin and almost starting over, there will be a new chapter which will be making you feel more enthusiastic about life. You're realising that you don't need to carry the weight of your past around and are going to be putting yourself out there more, you'll be healing and maybe working with balancing your energies. During this time it would be good for you to engage with energy healing or chakra work as well as soundbaths.

After a long while, you'll be more comfortable being alone, you won't be feeling lonely when you're alone but rather use that time for introspection and working on yourself. This time alone will give you a lot of insight about what you actually want when you strip away everything that society or societal norms tell you you need to achieve. Who would you want to be in life if you didn't have any obligations to anyone? Those are the kinds of questions you will be answering and it'll make you more confident in your skin as well, because you'll truly realise who you are and what you want. I keep seeing the fool so this also shows to me that there's a new chapter opening for you, one where you can make mistakes, you SHOULD make mistakes so that you can learn and grow without dire consequences looming over you. Fresh starts are great for that <33

Pile 3

Hi Pile 3! I feel like with this pile, some of you may be struggling a LOT with breaking past patterns, you may be unable to get out of bad habits because you feel comfortable in that pattern of predictability even if it's bad for you, even against your good judgement. For some of you this could be addiction, which is very difficult to deal with and I'm sorry if any of you are going through that, addiction doesn't necessarily have to be related to substance abuse (even if it could be) it can also be related to shopping or escapism and you will be finding yourself being free of it soon. World has been feeling too fast for you as opposed to the other piles, so for you things are finally slowing down, you're nowhere near the completion of a cycle, in fact you may have started one the end of this August/start of September, so you still have a few months for the cycle to end, it'll probably end somewhere next year around February or March (probably March end though). You need to realise that this is the phase of your life you should focus on, going slow is a good thing! It means you can check yourself and your surroundings, that you can be more present in moments in your daily life, that you can cherish the people and situations around you.

This is a time in your life where you'll be celebrating your wins a lot more, you'll be building your wealth and earning, also a lot of savings! You'll be saving money, bringing down your spending and truly deciding what you need to buy and what you will use if you buy it, so a lot more thought will go into where you're putting your money.

Lastly, if you feel like you've been wronged recently, don't worry, divine justice is in the works, you were "betrayed" or "misled" by someone so that you could be removed for a situation where you had no growth potential, doesn't mean it was right though, neither was the gaslighting that came after (ultra specific) and the person or people who did this will get theirs in due time and you may be present to witness it front row!

All Rights Reserved tiamathh©® DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REWORD, STEAL!

[blackhholes]

Monstrosity in Teen Wolf

Hybridity Is the New Metamorphosis by Harvey L. Hix / Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters by Judith Halberstam / Monstrosity: The Human Monster in Visual Culture by Alexa Wright

Written for @teenwolf-meta‘s Meta May Monday theme: beast

Monstrosity and what, precisely, makes a monster is a topic that is discussed both within the text and the larger narrative of Teen Wolf. The most direct mention of monsters vs monstrosity is in *Monstrous* when Lydia tells Meredith “Not all monsters do monstrous things” referring here to Scott, which Meredith then flips back onto Lydia herself. It’s obvious to see here that the show makes a clear differentiation between what it means to be a monster and what it means to be monstrous. To be a monster means to be something unnatural it’s particularly about the outward facing part of a person, this is mainly seen with the shapeshifters who undergo a physical transformation which marks them as something different than humans, but Meredith referring to Lydia as a monster means that it’s not only the physical attributes which makes someone a monster. Being a monster is less about what you are and more about what you aren’t. Once you’re no longer able to be comfortably placed within the category of human you are a monster. This form of monster isn’t a negative attribute though, it’s a neutral one. It simply describes that the person is not a human. 

Acting monstrous is a negative attribute within the show, humans and monsters alike can act monstrous. Monstrosity is therefore not a description of person but instead a description of character. One of the most potent examples of this is in *Fury* where the viewer sees three different factions of characters. Matt is a human so he is per definition not a monster but he is a monstrous human, he stalks Allison and has spent the season carrying out his revenge plan by taking away Jackson’s autonomy and forcing him to kill people. The werewolves on the other hand are monsters who aren’t monstrous, at least to the viewer, they, particularly Scott, are trying to find a way to catch Matt without having to kill him or Jackson. It’s interesting to consider that the Argents, hunters who have always equated monster to monstrosity, have become even more radical after the death of Victoria, despite Matt’s actions he isn’t their primary target when they enter the police station, Derek is. Because, to them Derek killed Victoria by biting her and turning her into a monster just as he is. Matt is an afterthought, he’s the loose end they will deal with afterwards. The Argents therefore has the opposite understanding of the situation than the viewer does.

Humanity is also an important topic within the show, humanity is something fallible. In *Lies of Omission* the scene at the end with Scott and Stiles in the rain serves as an important look into the characters’ and particularly Stiles’ understanding of what it means to be human. When he says to Scott “Some of us are human” it’s a vocalization of the idea that to be human is to make mistakes and that humanity makes a person incapable of always doing right. As opposed to the in-humanity that comes from being incapable of erring. It is preceded by Stiles saying “Not all of us can be true alphas”, throughout this conversation, and even the entire season, Stiles has started categorizing Scott as something other than human capable of humanity, it’s not the monstrous monster previously mentioned either, it’s a third category of non-human. The true alpha isn’t monstrous but he isn’t human either. To Stiles Scott has become a sort of mythologized character who always does the right thing instead of being a real person who’s standing in front of him. 

[ragde890]

Hunter x Hunter 405 is probably the best chapter of this batch so far.

(commentary incoming)

The whole Hisoka monologue is just so good. It also reinforces Hisoka's actual obsession. A lot of people seem to misinterpret Hisoka as someone with a "fetish for powerful people". This is not completely wrong, but it is inaccurate. Hisoka's actual fetish comes from a power fantasy. It's not powerful people what turns him on: it is the fact that he will be stronger, he will defeat them. And not only that, he will destroy them. He has to come at top. That's why, when he fights Kastro, he isn't satisfied by only beating him: he has to break his mind down, killing him mentally before he kills him physically. It is also something "romantic" in his mind. He doesn't just fight these people: he forms a bond of them before destroying them. He was very fond of Gon, Machi and Chrollo, and not just on a "they're strong; I wanna destroy them" level. That's also why he killed Shalnark and Kortopi after Chrollo beat him. His ego-driven power fantasy was shattered. His bruised ego made him petty, because he is a deeply childish person.

Also, fun fact. The thing Hisoka's dancing with looks like the weird toy/trap/magical beast seen in chapter 4. Likely a coincidence as it is just a very simple design.

Then we get the confirmation of the "Bonolenov is Hisoka" theory, which I did not expect. I talked a lot about this theory and people always treated me like crazy (although I must admit that I believed the "Chrollo is Hisoka" more than this one).

The "another fake?" line is weird, though. Is it a mistranslation or is he actually implying that this second Hisoka isn't Hisoka either? It doesn't seem realistic. Although imagine we had a situation where Bonolenov and Illumi are both transformed into Hisoka and Hisoka is transformed into Illumi. Very contrived. But it'd be hilarious.

Just as a fun fact, I know Bonolenov's abilities might look inconsistent, but they're not. In the Chimera Ant Arc, his hatsu allows him to summon a small replica of the planet Jupiter to crash his opponent. Now, he can transform with it. That's because Metamorphose is a reference to Ovid's Metamorphosis!

Then we get to the Lisnorth scene.

This guy is actually the same dude that was responsible of Sarasa's death.

We can now confirm that they did get revenge. It seems that Togashi's put this here to create a parallelism between the Troupe's revenge against Lisnorth back then and their revenge against Hisoka in the present.

We also got more Heil-Ly and The Troupe in this chapter, and Morena's "Joker" is mentioned.

So hyped for whatever Togashi is cooking with this.

[clownshifting]

Expansion

i believe myself to be reasonable at times.

i have noticed these past few weeks that the air regarding transspecies identity and the legitimate, literal transition of species has gotten stale.

nothing has moved. save for some few who have created ID cards, animal HRT, and have been writing essays and workshopping new projects (this is amazing and i want to see more.)

i am not a leader, i don't like leading the strays, but i do like talking and as a louse, i have found it in me to say something in regards to the transspecies symbol i made.

i do not wish this symbol to be used exclusively for transspecies affairs, and i see that it fits better if any/all experiences of literal, physical deviation from zoanormalcy be declared by use of the symbol.

yes, "literal, physical deviation from zoanormalcy" includes deviae folk, physical shifters, body modders, biohackers, physical/biological nonhumans and transspecies folk who are taking nonhuman HRT, or have body modifications, or are physically presenting (with or without permanence) as other than what is normally considered 100% human. this includes religious experiences, somatic experiences, bodily sensationa, and other altered realities of being.

no, this symbol does not include metaphorical physical experiences or otherwise experiences that do not result in literal transformation of flesh, organ, or bone. this of course, doesn't mean i don't support these folk for having metaphorical identities - the mere act of expressing something other than zoanormalcy in any way is almost taboo - but this symbol was made for those who are becoming else, not those who are exploring life through the body they are in now.

this symbol is hereby named "Metamorphosis sui" and refers to what was described above.

each part of the symbol means something. the anchor is for physical shifters, the triangle for holotheres, the line from the delta is for physical nonhumans/therians, and the venus(attached to the anchor)/mars/androgyne represents the spectrum of genders and sexes in relation to animality past human concept.

the symbol itself is not just a way to speak on transspecies folk, it is a way to speak on any single form of transition and metamorphosis from what is considered the normal; breaking boundaries of gender, sex, species, belief, and the body.

viva la metamorfosis.

[neuroprincess]

Bunny Ears and Chocolate - Ava Coleman/Female Reader

Ava Coleman/Female Reader

Summary: When another celebration arrives, you think it's going to be one more blank day, but an unexpected gift and a wonderful girlfriend prove otherwise.

Classification: Slight angst, Fluff

Warnings: Reference to a reader's unhappy childhood, Ava being a romantic baby

Note: I should have posted this at Easter, but you know me, I just found it in my archived writings

Word count: +2200

Unrevised

Growing up in a home that was considered unstructured and not at all affectionate deprived you of many moments that other children had throughout their lives: the tooth fairy didn't even bother to leave 5 cents for each tooth that fell out, Christmas didn't have the same sparkle as the TV commercials and Thanksgiving was always summed up in canned food, maybe a fight between your parents in the kitchen at the end of the night. It was no different with Easter, every now and then you'd get a cheap bar of chocolate at school or from some kind neighbor, you didn't even take part in a neighbourhood egg hunt. The whole process was a gray area between so many celebrations, weekends and holidays spent watching movie marathons with lots of popcorn and a pinch of loneliness by choice. 

It was like that for years, until you met Ava, who never cared about any of this before and you thought it might be a good match when you started dating. However, she had this, her parents were affectionate and gave the best moments that continue to be remembered fondly when each of these dates arrives. You like to hear her describe every toy she got from some distant relative and later exchanged for something more interesting with classmates, the weird casseroles grandma invented for dinner or when she bought the first make-up with the money the fairy, aka her mom, left under the pillow. Between laughs and jokes, she always looks forward to hearing your stories and can't hide disappointment when the subject is suddenly changed, teasing you a little, but giving up so as not to make you uncomfortable. Deep down, you start to care and feel envious of all the lost moments, all the things you can't have, the invisible, dormant childish wounds festering. Wounds set aside, especially when it comes to your work as a teacher at Abbott.

"Miss Y/L/N, how do we know if the butterfly is male or female?" one of the students asks, leaning over the table to get a better look inside the transparent box.

"Don't be silly, Kayla!" another replies, rolling his eyes, and does the same "They're all female."

"Actually, not all of them are female, dear." you stand between them and point to the insect that's emerging from its cocoon, weeks before you found a caterpillar in Barb's flower beds and it collected itself in the cocoon, which coincidentally ended up hatching on the last day of school before holiday "That's a monarch butterfly, if there are dark spots on the hind wings it's a male and if not it's a female."

"But it hasn't opened the wings yet." Kayla observes sadly, for a child minutes can seem like a real eternity "It's taking too long..."

"That's just it, hatching can take from 10 minutes to 60 minutes, each one has their own time."

"Just like the rest of us," she adds with a hearty smile.

"You all see how incredible metamorphosis can be?!"

A little animated chatter starts up as your class waits anxiously to watch it fully emerge from cocoon, most of them debating which names to choose and how they would take care of it, forgetting the little agreement they had made, you decided to let them enjoy the moment before scrapping the hopeful children's plans.

"I don't see any spots!" Carson shouts excitedly "We've got a girl!"

After a while, they agree on a name and end up naming her Lizzy - cute, short and pretty. In third period, your kids gather to release her into the playground, and you take advantage of the moment to explain the relationship between butterflies and Easter and all the meaning behind the beautiful transformation. 

"Miss Y/L/N..." Kayla calls out to you shyly as everyone gets ready for break, most of them already running, the girl puts her hands behind back and blushes approaching the table "I saved this one for you."

She holds up an Easter egg wrapped in fluffy colored paper, a bow adorning it and making the package more attractive. The girl stares at you with her eyes shining in anticipation as you fight back imminent tears, not something you expected to happen when you woke up in the morning. It's your first chocolate Easter egg in all your years of life, a small, innocent gesture from a schoolchild that makes the entire wall built up around commemorative dates and traditions crumble in seconds.

"Thank you so much, dear..." you accept the treat with a little uncertainty, hands trembling as you hold the candy "I..."

"I knew you'd like it, it's very good, I promise." she says cheerfully and leaves the classroom, as if she hadn't just made a grand gesture.

As soon as the girl leaves, the principal comes through the doorway with her usual cheeky grin and full of curiosity about your reaction, asking herself what she could have done to you, none of which comes close to the real thing. Her presence is barely noticed, not even when she closes the door after the room has emptied, your eyes fixed on the adorable wrapping, the colorful patterns and the generic but cute note wishing Happy Easter.

"Kitten..." she calls for the third time, worried "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was over the moon." you try to pull yourself together, compressing lips and bringing fingers to the corners of eyes, wiping your face "Hungry?"

"Just of you." Ava whispers seductively and takes two steps forward, standing inches away to steal a quick kiss "Now tell me what happened or I'll tickle the hell out of you." it's the kind of affectionate threat that doesn't make you laugh this time, it's a difficult topic to talk about, but maybe that's the time.

"Well, there's a reason I never tell holiday stories or have great comments for yours, I..." tears are there again, stronger and warmer, you take the candy to heart in search of comfort, the woman keeps quiet listening attentively "I never had any of that, my parents never gave a damn and I wasn't a demanding child."

"That?"

"Coins from the tooth fairy, nice dinners, Christmas trees, gifts and..." the Easter egg is raised with a certain pride, finally giving in to crying, tears of sadness and happiness mixing together "This! It's my first!" you finally admits, feeling a little childish at the thrill and excitement of something so small for an adult.

"Your first?" she is genuinely confused, staring at the simple candy, which for her has no great significance, then the realization of the fact hits her hard "Really?"

"Yes, one of my students just gave it to me." you whisper, feeling the tears wanting to come back again and a tight feeling in chest "I know, it's silly..."

"No, it's not, it's never silly, especially if it's something important to you." the woman responds quickly, wrapping arms around your trembling body and puts your head against her soft breasts, it's an intimate and comforting act "And if I'd known before, I'd have been the first person to give you a chocolate. And decorated the house last Christmas. Or better, I would have taken you to New York. I guess I just wouldn't have had a solution for the tooth fairy... but there are ideas on how to make up for it."

"God, you're the best girlfriend ever."

"Of course I am." Ava kisses your forehead and takes advantage of the position to slip her fingers under your shirt, lightly tickling the sensitive spots "So much so that I ordered tarts from that new store you mentioned last week."

She holds up the cardboard bag with the pretty logo and half a dozen tarts in various flavors. A delicious dessert for a pleasant shared lunch, which has become routine, a moment of peace to enjoy each other's presence in the busy and chaotic routine that is working in childhood education.

With a bag full of art supplies and a pile of exam papers in hand, you enter the apartment, struggling not to knock everything off the improvised jenga. Usually you would have the help of the tallest one, those long arms look so sexy carrying boxes full of children's books and covered in glitter, but after all that sugar and dough, she had to go home early with an stomach bug. Of course, in her pile there are one or two medicines and tea for her.

"Darling?" home is strangely dark, silent and there's no sign of your partner's vibrant personality "Ava? Are you feeling better?" you ask, starting to get worried, hurrying to turn on the light switches.

When the light turns on, you find yourself with one foot on what looks like a rabbit's footprint glued to the wood floor. Then another next to it, followed by another and another, the bags are abandoned at the entrance and the door closed. Step by step you reach the coat closet, where a chocolate bar is placed next to a card with the words "Our love is sweet as the place we started the day together... or as your coffee." handwritten in impeccable calligraphy. It makes you smile lovingly, she always jokes about the amount of cream you put in the liquid as you get ready for the morning, only to steal some of it with kisses. The fun mugs, perhaps one of the first things you bought when decided to move in together, hold truffles and the next tip. Seven cards later, almost every room explored and your arm full of candies, you finally reach the last place with the tip "No matter where we are, as long as we're together, we've found our home." and it's obvious that it's the master bedroom, where you love each other, talk about your days and plan the future, where you can strip away the burdens of everyday life and forget about the world.

"Do you like it, kitten?" the woman asks, coming up behind as soon as you open the door.

In the middle of the bed, there's a huge Easter basket of chocolates, from simple chocolate bars to decorated boxes of handmade truffles, with colorful wrapping and a giant bow, next to a big stuffed bunny, one of those fluffy ones that are too cute to resist hugging. A Happy Easter banner has been placed above the headboard and when turn around you let out a laugh when notice that the principal is wearing a fuzzy bunny ears, one up and the other down, a cute made-up nose.

"Welcome back, little baby!" she wraps her arms around waist and lifts you into the air, capturing your lips as she spins around.

"You... You did all this for me? Aw, that's so sweet and thoughtful."

"And all yours, I wanted to make your first official Easter something special." Ava puts you down and picks up a second bunny ear from the shelf, carefully placing it on your head "My cutie..."

"I'm literally speechless, all I can think about is how amazing you are."

"I know!" she jokes and leans in to give you another kiss "Sweetheart, you're a wonderful person and I'm sorry you didn't have any of these moments, but know that I'm going to make each of these dates unforgettable and unique, something of ours."

You stare at her in shock and feel your eyes sting, tears gathering at the edges of eyes, it's hard to control. This was the first surprise you've ever received in your life and certainly the best of all, every detail was thought of, planned and made especially for you, as well as the romantic touch she gave to every little and big gift.

"You don't have to do that..." you whisper, voice breaking with emotion, "I... You already do so much for me."

"I haven't even done half of what I want to do for you." your girlfriend smiles tenderly, her hand sliding gently across your cheek "You deserve the world and I'm going to do my best to give it to you."

"I don't even know how to thank you for everything." a feeling of being silly comes over you again, but it's quickly gone when you see the passionate smile on her plump lips "It's more than I could have dreamed of."

"You don't have to be thankful, baby, just enjoy it." she replies, lifting you onto her lap and standing face to face "Or enjoy it while you thank me."

Ava is funny and suggestive, walking slowly over to the bed, sitting there with you on her lap, surrounded by the candies and the cheerful decoration. She brings a hand up to yours, intertwining her fingers with yours. The comfortable silence is broken only by the soft sound of breathing and happy giggles.

"Shall we eat some chocolate and then watch a movie?" the woman asks, squeezing you a little tighter against her "We have the whole weekend to ourselves."

All you can do is nod, leaning in again to give her a kiss, this time slow and passionate, full of tenderness. She moans feeling your fingers tangle in the black strands, pulling her towards you and deepening the contact.

"I love you, baby." you whisper against her lips, knocking into the soft mattress.

"No more than I love you, kitten. You have no idea."

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[beannoss]

SxF RA 2025: volume 1! (pt 3)

My last post on volume 1, just some additional general observations I had in the re-read! Just a head's up that where the other two posts had no spoilers for future manga chapters, this post does have a few vague and also one or two more specific references to chapters not yet animated.

I was super curious if Twilight's motif of ash floating around him would be there from the start and it absolutely is! The motif is of course especially utilised in Twilight's backstory, but I'm thrilled by the tragedy ❤️‍🩹 that it's been in play since the very beginning.

Once again I look up what Strix means and once again it leaves my brain immediately because I don't understand how it's connected to the mission (from wiki: "a bird of ill omen, the product of metamorphosis, that fed on human flesh and blood") Actually now having typed that and pasted in what it is, I'm like: ... okay so probably this is referencing war and the toll taken on all the Forgers and those they're working to protect in their respective country's pursuits thereof. And then the mission itself is to seek prevention of more. GOT THERE IN THE END maybe

I was intrigued that Twilight is directed to look out for "seditious" activity from Donovan, given WISE is a Westalian organisation... It makes me wonder if maybe WISE's goal/first choice is actually to try and bring in Ostanian authorities to deal with Donovan, assuming they can find the evidence they need for it (and something that Ostanian authorities would actually act on, seeing as they seem fairly inclined towards fascism themselves)

I've talked a fair bit about Twilight's first thoughts about a spouse and family (on the right) but now I'm hung up on the next reference (left) that eluded me when I did my first analysis. Liabilities, huh. Bounces off of Yor's strongly held belief that a happy home life and family to cherish make her better and strengthen her resolve...

Endo may change things of course, but I also snagged on the description of Anya's abilities as an "unintended consequence." To me that potentially implies telepathy wasn't the pursuit of experimentation, which also potentially means Donovan was not pursuing telepathy either, for himself or as a tool. (however, with chapter 111, I suppose it can't be ruled out entirely...)

Anya noting that if anyone found out about her powers, she would have to run away... I wonder... foreshadowing...? I very much hope not but... 😬

I already talked about chapter 2 a fair bit, but this made me laugh. Random dude in the back is so right 😂 they're both odd balls 😊

Loved that chapter 3 gave us a li'l taste test of what it would be like for the Forgers working together. Yor into immediate action; Twilight puzzling things through; Anya giving the missing piece. Moments of emotional sweetness. It's all there! We're only missing Bond!

To Hemlock's point in this most recent chapter, I wonder how accurate his read was... after all, this was only days after Yor had met Twilight and Anya... She definitely has grown and changed and is increasingly thriving as herself, but I find it hard to believe that Yor wouldn't have done this before... Maybe the difference is how much she's now looking at the world around her and engaging with it?

Of course they're all motivated by multiple things, but in line with thinking about Yor & normality & acceptance, I'm now also pondering this panel, and Twilight wanting more recognition than he gets...? (I wonder if this moment also informs how often he thanks Yor for things 👀)

Sharon at the Eden Academy interviews! I don't think I noticed her before!

Henderson's face here made me laugh out loud gjdasklgjksa

I wouldn't be me without a TwiYor note, and I am once again fixating on... well several things here but most especially the circled thing in the left-most panel and Twilight's phrasing specifically... "isn't even" is doing a lot of work there already... the mutual affinity between them really was strong right off the bat, eh? We see it most with Yor but yeah, this is a pretty loud admission!

Also on the above, whether intentional or not, Spy x Family has also 100% always been to a degree about gender and queerness (if only insofar as: "not normal" -> non-normative -> queer) for every member of the family. It is one area also where I wish I better knew Japanese cultural norms and societal philosophical underpinnings. It's a story clearly informed by collectivism, but there are blatant underpinnings, frequently made explicit, about liberation from societal expectation and pressures and... ahhh I'd love reading a Japanese feminist's take on the series.

and finally this gag, from Chapter 1 "hundred faces" chapter 4 "thousand faces" I, alas, don't think it continued onto million, billion, endless faces but I sort of wish it would XD

<- part 2

[see-arcane]

Seeing the Nosferatu and Creature of The Black Lagoon remake summaries reminds me that heterosexual Monster movie summaries are like "The intense and tragic and erotic encounter between a Lagoon creature/vampire/demon/victorian zombie and a woman he is infatuated with." When will the monster be the woman.

Seriously. So fucking seriously. The most I can think of off the top of my head are one-off bogeywomen who never brush the mainstream.

First off, monster women. Not sexy waifu vampire girl with baby fangs meets Average Everyman and they do kissing about it. Real monster women. Who are decayed, or ugly, or inhuman, or outright horrifying. Even just a visibly cadaverous revenant babe ala Warm Bodies' R or Lisa Frankenstein's Creature. Where are they? Where the hell are the actually monstrous monster women?

I know The Ritual has Moder the Jotunn and her badass giant chimera god utterly non-human look. She does some killing, as one does. But we only actually learn she was female from outside sources, not in the film itself. When Moder is referred to as 'a god' the assumption is male, rather than just calling her 'a goddess.' Feels like a cheat.

There's Jenifer from Masters of Horror, based off the comic from Creepy by Bruce Jones and Bernie Wrightson. Her whole deal is being 1) Unavoidably uncannily grotesque and 2) Capable of some depraved shit via simple violence or using her psychic ability to orchestrate some very very unpleasant intimate interludes (and tragic demises).

I know the V/H/S movies have gotten a good handful in, some Medusas and body horror babes, but always in the form of those brief one-shot anthology bits. There and gone. They had an exception with Lilith (the type who starts as Pretty Girl and transforms into Something Else) who appears in the first movie with "Amateur Night" and got her own standalone movie with Siren, which I thought was a really well done sexual/amorous horror story--one in which the woman is the unambiguous predatory monster seeking and assaulting a man as her human crush-target. ...And is also barely known to the horror community.

There's the nightmare shit that happened to the protagonist of Bite. The full movie is here. Do not--Do NOT--watch if you have any phobias to do with insects, disease, reproduction or slow transformative body horror. This is the daughter of Cronenberg's The Fly and The Metamorphosis' pure misery. Good god.

And...that's it. That is the full roster of visibly monstrous females on film I have in my memory.

Second thing: Romance. Human Guy and Monster Lady.

Literally the only thing that comes to mind is 1) Corpse Bride with the Most Hourglassed and Beestung Pout Lipped Cadaver You Have Ever Seen and 2) Spring (2014). The latter I haven't seen yet, but the premise is very clearly Legit Monster Babe and Smitten Lover. Kudos.

Everything else I've come across is just Hot Chick has Fangs and the guy is a guy. No genderswapped Beauty and the Beast. No scaly hulking Ladycreature of the Lagoon pining for a young man taking a swim. No eldritch/demonic horror-woman forming a relationship with a male admirer who has heart eyes despite (or because of) her power and monstrosity.

There is no equivalent of Nosferatu with a female villain being gruesome yet intoxicating to her young man victim.

There is no equivalent of Lisa Frankenstein or otherwise romantic fairy tale between a scary bogeywoman and a handsome--dare we dream, pretty--gentleman.

It simply does not happen in the mainstream and rarely if ever in the niche indie efforts.

And I'd ask why, but like. We know why.

Who wants to see a frightening woman as the powerful villain?

Who wants to see a frightening woman as a romantic partner?

Who wants to see a frightening woman?

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

Sam and Dean are always withholding information from and lying to each other, constantly. That’s literally the plot of the show every season.

There are important differences between the types of "lying and withholding information" (I'm going to use the word lying primarily here going forward for simplicity but it is referring to several different types of behaviours and is not being used intrinsically as a value judgement) Dean vs Sam does, and these are fundamentally tied to their positions within their abuse dynamic (and more broadly within their roles within the larger Winchester family abuse dynamic).

Lies abusers tell, and their motivations for doing so are distinct from the types of lies told by abuse victims in an effort to manage their situation and avoid conflict (within the abuse dynamic this isn't to say that abuse victims cannot lie more generally).

Dean does sometimes tell some of the same types of defensive "lies" as abuse victims, and this shouldn't be surprising as Dean is a victim of childhood abuse. ("I'm fine" for instance, something they both frequently say when they clearly are not, and something that whilst not exactly healthy for themselves is a defence mechanism and not - generally speaking - fundamentally a harmful action to the other).

The clearest distinction between Dean's abusive lying and Sam's defensive lying: Dean lies and withholds information about Sam from Sam. Sam withholds information primarily about himself from Dean.

Dean lying to Sam about Sam or things that have happened to him, or things that Dean has done to him is a frequent and repeated pattern. Instances include, but are not limited to: lying about Sam's resurrection in "All Hell Breaks Loose", not telling Sam when he finds out about Azazel feeding Sam the demon blood as a child ("Metamorphosis"), lying about Sam having been soulless and of course the big one, lying for months on end about the Gadreel possession, both in order to obtain the 'yes' needed for possession in the first place and then in for the subsequent time during which Sam was unknowingly possessed. Dean's lies allow him to maintain a position of power and control over Sam and Sam's body.

By contrast when Sam withholds information about himself he's usually seeking to maintain control over his own self, his body, his personhood, and his agency. And to avoid negative reactions from Dean that often lead to him being hit, shouted at, or otherwise punished.

The most stark example of this contrast for me is the situation regarding the demon blood administered by Azazel.

Sam finds out about this in "All Hell Breaks Loose", he chooses not to tell Dean, this is well within Sam's rights, this is an issue that affects Sam and Sam's body and nobody else, he is under absolutely no obligation to tell Dean and he has every reason to believe, given Dean's reaction to previous examples of Sam's "otherness" that telling Dean would not have elicited a positive or supportive response.

Dean finds out about the demon blood in "In the Beginning", he proceeds to keep this from Sam and it is only brought up because Sam accidentally reveals that he already knew, its pretty clear that Dean had no immediate intention of telling Sam himself. This was not Dean's right, he has no right whatsoever to withhold information about Sam and Sam's body from him.

[cnl0400]

(Trying to make sense in the Simeon human >> demon pipeline. Very Headcsnnon heavy post so be warned)

Simeon steals the Ring of light and gets told off by Michael. Michael enters panic mode because that means Simeon messed up with a human life spawn and he would be punished/banished for this

(Reminder that in the conversation with Michael in S2OG, he mentions how If he would have been more like MC, things would have gone different and he wouldn't have lose Lucifer/his brothers. So in a way, trying to stop Simeon from falling/being punished Is his "second chance" on doing everything right)

The punishment for messing with a human life spawn Is basically being forced to wander through darkness for all eternity (both NB & OG mention different punishments for Lilith, my rule Is that the newer version it's whats considered canon unless stated otherwise), and going against the CR in general Is losing your angel status and become a fallen angel. So Simeon punishment was odd since the start

To stop the whole process of Simeon becoming a fallen angel, Michael turns Simeon into a human. In that way, Simeon doesn't have enough magic to go throught the whole metamorphosis. Also explains why he was defenseless for the whole S4OG

S3 happens and Simeon Is "human" the whole time. Probably in the same way that MC Is human (that they can see that he's not a regular human and has a supernatural origin, but still pretty weak by himself)

Raphael regularly checks on him for the whole S3, he was probably keep in the dark about how bad the situation situation Is, judging by his actitude in L48NB

S4 Happens and Raphael gets into the exchange program, to keep Simeon safe and to inform Michael about whatever changes he may be going through. Luke also says that Michael asks him more about Simeon so it's probably that Simeon being human just was a way to gain more time to fix the whole issue

** The whole Nightbringer/Time traveling arc happens (S1 & S2 of NB), not a lot happened here since the time barely moved in the present

They return to the present, Solomon cast a protective spell on Simeon and that's where everyone starts to see that something Is going on with Simeon. My theory Is that now Simeon has enough magic in himself to "transform"

(Also: Simeon apparently still has hidden power within himself, even after becoming "human" but tbh that's makes everything more confusing. Sry Solomon)

** Something that I found interesing Is that 7 Lessons after L41, this lesson was the one they choose to make reference to the past. Solomon references his time with MC in Cocytus hall. Does this mean something? Probably not. But I'm still on the cracktheory that Simeon & Nightbringer are in this together.