#she blows you...a kees

[lxvvie]

Simps 'R Us, Between the Sheets edition: Your faves and the wholesome and funny things you two get up to in bed, part I.

Capt. John Price - When he's half asleep and about to snore loud enough to wake the dead (Price vehemently denies this), you like to have random conversations with him because you know questions you ask will do one of two things: elicit a nonsensical answer from the Cap'n or... wake him up from his sleep altogether.

Gaz - Is curling up into himself because you're the big spoon, you're running your hands over his body because he's highkey lowkey ticklish, and your face is buried in his neck because... he's highkey lowkey ticklish. "Darling, please—" Gaz manages to gasp out between... wait, are you giggling, Garrick?

Soap - Your darling golden retriever chaotic good boyfriend loves... to sleep naked. You're not complaining, though, especially because he loves it when you lay on him. You've made a home for yourself between his thighs; his stomach is your pillow, and he usually has a hand rubbing your head. Helps him to relax, y'know, bonnie? And whenever you don't lay on him, it's an affront to Johnny's... everything. His heart is broken. His soul is crushed. You're too far away from him (even though you're still right under him). How could you do this to him? He can't live like this. No other stud muffin can offer you what he can, beautiful. But no really, bonnie, he needs you on top of him like... yesterday.

Ghost - You really like his body. Like... really like his body. You blow raspberries on his stomach, you smack his ass, you talk about his eyelashes—scratch that, you love his body. To you, every scar tells a story, and you've asked him plenty of times to talk about them. And then you did the unthinkable that had Simon wanting to disappear into the fucking blankets—"Si-bear, I didn't know you had a mole on your inner thigh!" Bloody fucking hell, he'll never hear the end of this. And then you kissed it and Ghost's face had never felt so bloody hot before. Christ, you'll be the death of him, sweetheart.

Roach - Nothing but the most sickeningly saccharine stuff to ever stuff happens with Roach. A poke-fest, a kiss-fest, a tickle-fest, you name it, it happens. Roach loves to sleep with his face buried in your chest and arms wound tight around you. Always. You rubbing his head soothes him to sleep as well.

Alex - You're also the big spoon here, too. You're busy talking about conspiracy theories you believe the government is/was involved in and Alex is entertaining you ("That so, Boss?"). In actuality, his eyes are comically wide because the truth is oftentimes stranger than fiction and you may or may not be walking a little heavy there, Boss.

Alejandro - Is the big spoon to your little spoon in bed no matter what you're doing. Loves to intertwine your legs together, too. Alejo murmurs how much he loves you in your ear and kisses the top of your head before telling you good night.

Rudy - Sometimes when he's asleep, you'll whisper "Rodolfo" in his ear which causes Rudy to shoot up, eyes comically wide because the only time someone calls him by his full government name is when he gets into shit but it wasn't him this time, it was that idiot Alvarez— "Didn't get to tell you good night and I love you, Rudy, so... good night and I love you, Rudy." Oh. Oh. Ha. Real funny.

Farah - A cuddle bunny through and through. She loves laying up under you, her head resting on your shoulder or under your chin, or her face in the crook of your neck. She wants to hear you as you sleep. She wants to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest or the resonances as you speak. Farah simply can't get enough of you.

Keegan - It's really you teasing him because Keegan isn't one to really get flustered or deviate from his infamously neutral expression. Much. Until you came along. You two are relaxing in bed and you're the one randomly calling out, "Hey, Kee-Kee," to which Keegan makes the most surprised and disgusted face in response and you're wheezing.

[wwooyology]

❛ ━━━━ Gamer Boyfriend Riki

「paring」 : bf!riki x fem!reader 「word count」 : 1k

「genre」 : headcanon, fluff, semi-crack

「warning」 : skinship and kissing, I believe that's about it!

「notes」 : nana (@rikstar) started blowing up my phone with how riki deprived she was so I am here to offer gamer bf riki headcanons to help satisfy her needs for the time being 😭

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will leave one side of his headset off just in case you needed anything from him because he will always put your wants and needs over his game.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who is willing to stop whatever he’s doing if you were to call out for him, even if it was for the smallest thing, even if it meant that he had to go back to his friend who would either nag at him for throwing the match or teasing him because of how down-bad he was for you.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who keeps his desk and minifridge stocked with all of your favorite snacks and drinks because he knows how much you love to snack. Sometimes even goes as far as writing little notes to stick to the packaging just to see your cute smile whenever you grab something from the drawer and because you always press a kiss either on his cheek or the side of his neck depending on if he was in a match or not.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will try to get you to play a match with him, but will laugh when you start pouting or raging because you couldn’t figure out how the controls work and would die almost instantly after leaving the lobby. although he’s also quick to help teach you how to play, hands over yours but only after he kisses the pout off of your lips and it's replaced by a wide smile.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who always wants to have you near him at all times, like 24/7, finding comfort in your touch and presents so you tend to find yourself perched in his lap, clinging to his body like a koala while he plays.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who if you are in his lap will kiss you anywhere he can, your head, cheek, shoulder, whatever was closest at the time, whenever he goes back into the lobby and checking in on you making sure that you were okay and comfortable, but will smile like a love sick puppy if you had fallen asleep on him, your face buried in the crook of his neck.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will ditch his friends in a heartbeat if you wanted to play animal crossing with him. the two of you cuddled up on his bed, switches in hand while you decorated your shared island. he also decorated the house because you claim that ‘he’s better at it than you’.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who loves when the two of you play multiplayer games together because he enjoys watching you get so competitive, doing everything in your power to win against him. sometimes he’ll throw the game just to see your face light up in excitement when you saw that you had won, rubbing it in his face which only caused him to laugh.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will play minecraft in creative mode just so he could build you random things then will look like an excited puppy whenever you see those things when the two of you play together.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who when he rage quits will toss his headset on the desk before crawling into his bed where you’re laying and just lay down on you, head on your chest without saying a word. he will pout whenever you tease and coo at him, but will instantly melt into your touch when you run your fingers through his unkempt hair.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will try to keep his voice down if it was late at night and you were sleeping, because the last thing he wanted was to wake you up. and he didn’t like it when you scolded him so it was better to play it safe.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who gets all giddy and happy whenever he sees that you designed a character for the both of you in sims. and if you gave yourself his last name? that boy would turn into a mushy puddle in his seat.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him whenever you sit in his lap to play a game. his chin resting on your shoulder, watching everything you do with such a keen eye that he was sure he had memorized all of your ticks.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who is just the biggest simp in the world whenever you wore one of his hoodies, loving how tiny you looked in the oversized fabric, bonus points if you just woke up and were sitting in the middle of his bed with that sleepy pout on your lips and your hair was a mess.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will also thank you repeatedly whenever you would bring over his favorite boba, his eyes shining brightly when you even went as far as drawing small doodles on the cup.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will always facetime you whenever you aren’t already at his apartment, not caring that he was in the middle of a match or not, he couldn’t last a day without seeing your face or hearing your cute voice.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who lit up like a christmas tree whenever you bought the both of you matching headsets.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will always play a game with you even if he is unsure if he will like it or not, but he’s always willing to try whenever it comes to you.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will pout like a puppy whenever you giggle at him after he gets jumpscared while playing a horror game.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will become a flustered mess whenever you start teasing him and complimenting him because he was wearing his glasses. even better when they’re the cute wireframe glasses that you had bought for him because you were sure that he would look cute in them, and of course he does.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[backtothefanfiction]

Insecure | Joel Miller Imagine

Prompt: “YOU MAKE ME FEEL SO INSECURE!”

Summary: Being Joel’s- well- whatever you are, isn’t easy.

Warnings: ANGST!!!

A/N- just a quick one before bed to keep me in the habit… and I just needed to write something angsty. A bit open ended, but yeah, hope you enjoy! Don’t forget to give feedback and reblog if you like!

Joel was handsome- you knew that. Had always known that. Heck you had wanted to jump his bones the very first time you saw him. So you understood when women, girls and sometimes even other guys did a double take or just stared at him. But it was like he was oblivious to it.

You had been travelling and working with him for 7 months now and no matter what town, city or QZ you dropped into, it was the same fucking story. He’d walk in all swagger, some dickhead would feel threatened because Joel turned his girl’s eye. They’d end up in a fight and he’d get you both kicked out because he was both too ignorant or stubborn to just concede. He’d then get frustrated and go take it out on something- hunting game or punching things or if that still didn’t work jacking off in the middle of the night when he thought you were asleep.

2 months into it you had gotten drunk with him in some cabin in the middle of nowhere that thankfully still had a stash of liquor hiding under the kitchen sink. With a little liquid courage you had drunkenly admitted you’d heard him on those nights. You had teased him and offered to help if he wanted it. You should have just kept your mouth shut, shouldn’t have offered anything because Joel really was oblivious. He thought it was just sex. A way for you to both blow off some steam at the end of the fucking world. But for you… well… it was everything.

Even when you got back home, on those particularly tough days, he sought you out. You would fuck and talk until you both fell asleep. He seemed to smile more around you. Open up to you about the past. But where you thought you had a growing relationship, he just thought you were a good friend. Because at the end of the day, if it’s not clearly spelt out for him, Joel won’t see it… Or maybe he does, he just refuses to acknowledge it- and that just makes it worse. Especially when he starts coming to you for other stuff.

He would come to you for dinner. And you would play the happy little housewife role too; laying the table, learning his favourites so you could cook them for him. If he got hurt for any reason, it was you and your first aid kit he would come to, to patch him up.

He would invite you to other peoples gatherings as his plus one. He moved some of his stuff into one of the drawers in your dresser. For all intents and purposes you were a couple… but you weren’t- and he always made that abundantly clear when others asked.

“So how long have you two been together now?” Tess had asked over dinner.

“Oh we’re not together.” He had hastily said before shoving another forkful of food quickly into his mouth, not even sparing you a second glance.

But Tess saw it. She saw the way the light dimmed in your eyes when he said it. Saw how distant you became. After all this time, he still wouldn’t call it what it was.

The three of you ate in uncomfortable silence after that, but he seemed none the wiser. He didn’t see the looks of pity Tess shot your way. Didn’t see the apology in her eyes as she left.

“Did I do something wrong?” He finally asked, breaking the silence as you began clearing plates off the table, scraping the scraps into the bin, before placing them into the sink.

At his words, you wished you had the luxury of being dramatic, throwing down the plates and smashing them, but resources were scarce enough as it was. Not to mention you’d just have to clean up all the pieces when he inevitably left to avoid this conversation. But all your anger and frustration was still there, bubbling up under the surface like a pot of boiling water, just waiting to simmer over. “No, Joel.” You seethed under your breath, trying to keep a lid on it, but you had sat too long in the silence just thinking about it all- realising how silly you had been to even think someone like him would actually want to be with you.

“Really, Darlin’, because it feels like-“

“JUST STOP!” You said, dropping the glasses into the sink on top of the plates with a clatter, your hands flying into the air searching for some sort of mercy. “Please stop!” You said again, forcing yourself to breath and take a moment and try as much as you could to keep your cool, because you knew him. You knew the moment he heard you raise your voice or get stressed with him, he’d just shut down and check out.

“Stop what?” He tried to say confused, which only made your blood simmer more.

You took in a deep breath and counted to five inside your head before you spoke. “Why did you have to say that?”

“Say what? Darlin’ I’m so fucking confused right-“

“No.” You said, shutting him down, willing him to think, to listen, to see- for once in his life. “Why did you say that in front of Tess.”

“Say what?” He asked again confused. His foot began to tap on the floorboards as he began to feed off your energy, himself growing equally as irritated as you.

“That we weren’t together.”

“Because we’re not.” He said bluntly.

“Really?!” You asked exasperatedly.

“Yes, really!”

“Joel, you practically live here. We do everything together. I cook you dinner. I do your laundry. WE SLEEP TOGETHER!”

“You offered all those things!” He stressed.

“Oh my god! How do you not see it?!”

“See what?!” He retorted.

“You invite me to places as your plus one.”

“Yeah, because we’re friends.”

“Oh my GOD!” You sighed, your hand running through your hair as you turned away from him, unable to look at his face. “YOU KNOW, YOU MAKE ME SO INSECURE!” You shouted at him as you sharply turned back to face him. “I literally put myself out there for you, every- single- day- and it’s still never enough. What is it Joel? Am I just not good enough for that?”

“We’re just us, why do you want to put a label on that?”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!” You screamed at him.

It was like detonating a bomb. His face was a picture. He really hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t wanted to see it.

“You think I did all this for you, just because we were friends?” You asked him, when the silence between you grew too much.

When he remained silent, you sighed in defeat and turned back to the sink. You rested your hands against the cold porcelain, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. This was it. You’d lost him, you were sure of it. Any second now he’d say he was gonna grab his things and go and that would be it. Unwilling to face a goodbye, you reached for the tap and turned it on.

You didn’t hear his footsteps move closer to you over the sound of the running water. When his hand reached past you to turn off the tap, it made your blood run cold.

“No.” He finally said into the silence. “No, I didn’t think you did all those things just because we were friends.” He sighed. “I just… after Sarah’s mom- and then everything that happened to Sarah- I just…” His voice kept trailing off, unable to find his words. His hand reached to rest over yours on the edge of the sink, forcing you to turn your head and look at him. “I was just so scared about getting attached. If I put a label to my own feelings, it’d just feel worse when it’s inevitably snatched away from me again.”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to work out what he was saying. He sighed as he hung his head, unable to meet your eyes, his own guilt and shame weighing heavy on his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He eventually said. “I’m sorry that I made you feel insecure, or like I don’t appreciate everything that you do.” He said, his eyes slowly lifting to find yours again. “I never meant to make you feel like that. You are enough- more- than enough, I’d be nothing without you.” He quietly confessed. “I’d still be picking fights and killing guys and beating one out in frustration most nights. Barely eating. Wearing the same flannel and pair of jeans for he fifth day in a row… I’m sorry- okay… I’m sorry.” He said and his words began to make you soften, your body leaning further into him. “But I still can’t put a label on this.” He said; and your face fell.

You took a moment- you breathed deeply. One, two, three.

“Okay.” You conceded.

“Okay?” He questioned.

It wasn’t the answer you were looking for- the outcome you had been hoping for- but for him… it was close enough. “Okay.” You confirmed,

“Okay.” He slowly nodded and agreed. “I’ll do these.” He offered, nudging you out of the way of the sink.

“Okay.” You quietly agreed again…. But only time would tell if it was really okay… or if this fight was just on hold for another day.

[yuujispinkhair]

Gamer boyfie Kuna headcanons

These headcanons are inspired by @windlullaby-arts super sexy fanart of gamer boyfie Kuna. You said you would like someone to write about him, so I did it ;) I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for blessing us with that sexy art!!

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: 18+, smut, cockwarming, dirty talk, creampie, oral, cum-eating, possessive Sukuna, implied possibility of getting overheard during sex. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who looks so cool and so sexy, sitting there dressed all in black with his cute cat-ear headset, eyes focused on the game he is playing. But when you walk into the room, he always has time to wink at you and make a kissy face.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who is so proud when his teammates hear you through his mic and ask if that is his girl.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who loves to show you off when he asks you to join him and his boys for a game. But who gets possessive when they talk too much to you and try to hit on you in the chat. "Back off, I know she is perfect, but she is mine. You wouldn't stand a chance against me anyways."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who smirks so smugly when you walk over to him and press a kiss onto his cheek afterward, whispering in his ear that he is your only, while he starts the next round with his online friends, who complain that they already miss you.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who grins when you crawl under his desk and unbuckle his belt and open the zipper of his skinny black jeans. Who bites his lip when his thick cock slaps against your face before you take his gorgeous dark-pink tip in your mouth and suckle so sweetly on it.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who tries his best to play a good game, even while you blow him under his desk. But in the end, he can't hold back and just fucks your mouth. One large hand lands in your hair, tugging on it, and his hips buck while he moans, "Fuck yeah, princess, that was worth losing that round."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who, under normal circumstances, plays to win and, in most cases, does win because he is good at everything he does. But on the rare occasions when he loses a game (without you being the cause), he will throw a fit. Flaming everyone, getting banned, throwing his mouse against the wall, and then complaining when it doesn't work anymore.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who isn't scary in those situations, though, but rather ridiculous because he becomes so dramatic. And you know he would never shout at you or hurt you. To you, he is always the sweetest devil, purring like a kitten when you coo at him and scratch his undercut, and run your fingers through his slightly sweaty pink hair. "Aww baby, did you lose a game?"

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who sighs and pulls you onto his lap, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and telling you something about how those other guys clearly used cheats! Because it cannot be that a gaming God like Sukuna loses!

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who needs lots of kisses to get over the defeat. Strong, tattoed arms wrap tightly around you, keeping you on his lap while he licks into your mouth with his pierced tongue until your head spins.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who whispers hoarsely in your ear, telling you to stay on his lap while he starts a new game. It feels so good to snuggle against him, feeling his firm muscles under his shirt and his toned arms encircling you.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who gets hard when he has you so cutely on his lap in your little skirt, feeling your warm pussy press against him through your thin panties and his jeans.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who slips a hand into your panties while waiting for the game to load, playing with your pussy until he has you whimpering and squirming on his lap.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who smirks and pulls your panties to the side, murmuring to you softly, "Keep me sweet company, princess. Wanna feel your pretty pussy on my cock, keeping me nice and warm while I own all those losers."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who tells you your pussy is his good luck charm. "See, I can play even better when you sit on my cock, my sweet thing."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who makes you whine because it feels so good to cockwarm him while he plays round after round, your pussy stuffed with his thick cock, feeling so full and so loved when you snuggle against him and just feel him.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who looks at you with a passionate fire in his eyes when he is finished playing, and his large hands land on your thighs, kneading them while he rolls his hips upwards to push his thick cock deeper into your wet heat.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who tells you in that sexy low voice to ride him right here on his gaming chair. "Let's celebrate my success with a victory fuck. Thank you for being my lucky charm, baby."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who looks so sexy when he lets his head fall back against the headrest of his gaming chair, his cat-ear headset askew, eyes closed in pleasure, and lips opening in soft groans, while you ride him.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who smiles when you get up from his lap afterward, with wobbly legs and his warm cum running down your thighs. He doesn't let you get far but stops you with his strong hands, making you sit on his desk, pushing your thighs apart so he can lick your pussy clean, driving you crazy with his tongue piercing against your clit.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who also loves to play games with you, basking in the quality time you spend together. He is always very biased towards you and lets you get away with everything, letting you win and get the loot. No matter how ambitious he is, when it comes to you, he is fine with losing.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who thinks it's incredibly cute when you take his place and sit on his gaming chair wearing his cat-ear headset, playing the games you enjoy.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who spends hours playing on your account to unlock a special achievement for you so you get the mount you want so bad. Who grins broadly at you when he calls out to you, "Hey, princess, come here and look what I got for you!"

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who laughs softly when you squeal and throw your arms around him. "Oh my God, Kuna!! Thank you so much, baby! But this must have taken hours!" And Sukuna just smirks that irrrestible, sexy smirk and tells you in that velvety voice, "You know I would do anything for you, princess."

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who always makes sure to log off after a while and spend some time with his girl because, after all, you are his favorite toy, and playing with your pretty pussy gives him more satisfaction than any game could.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who hopefully turned his mic off before he fucks you hard on his bed, or everyone will hear your cute moans, letting them know how good he fucks you and that you only belong to him.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, who doesn't just take a break from gaming to fuck you but also to take you on cute dates, or cook with you, or just lie on the couch with you, his big body curled around you, hugging you from behind, cuddling and kissing you while you watch your favorite shows together.

++ Gamer boyfie Sukuna, whose top priority will always be you. His princess, his love, his player 2.

HE GIVES ME BUTTERFLIES 😭😭😭 Thank you so much for reading! Seeing that gorgeous fanart drove me crazy!! I went into obsession mode and couldn't stop writing, and suddenly it was dark outside lol. Now I want to sit on his lap the whole time while he plays aaaaahhhhh!!!

I hope you like gamer boyfie Kuna!! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[princesssarisa]

I've been thinking about Mulan and some of the commentary I've read about it.

(This applies to the animated version only – I've never seen the remake and have no desire to.)

There are two different interpretations of Mulan's struggles at the beginning, one that was always my takeaway, and the other that the fandom repeatedly cites: "Mulan's problem is that she doesn't fit into the rigid expectations of her society" vs. "Mulan's problem is that she needs to learn discipline."

I'm not sure how to reconcile those two interpretations. One speaks against pigeonholing people into rigid gender roles, while the other paints Mulan's problems as being her own fault.

Now, I do understand the "lack of discipline" claims. At the beginning she is impulsive, bad at time management, easily distracted, fails to control her nervousness, and sometimes tries to cheat her way through things (e.g. writing notes on her arm instead of memorizing her speech for the matchmaker, or sticking a tomato on her arrow before firing it – although the latter is Mushu's idea).

But I've just rewatched all the relevant scenes: everything leading up to and including the matchmaker scene, and the initial army training camp scenes, up to and including "I'll Make a Man Out of You." And in both of those sequences, Mulan's struggles are less her own fault than the characters (including herself) think they are.

Despite the few mistakes she makes at the beginning, it's not really Mulan's fault that her meeting with the matchmaker goes haywire. It's because Cri-Kee gets into the matchmaker's teacup and Mulan can't warn her because the expectation of female silence forbids her to speak without permission. Even if it is rash of her to try to snatch the cup out of the matchmaker's hand, she wouldn't have done it if she had only been allowed to say "There's a cricket in your tea."

Likewise, I don't think it's just a lack of discipline that causes her struggles in the army. The mass brawl she "causes" on the first day happens because she takes Mushu's bad advice, tries to act like a stereotypical man, and accidentally offends Yao. Again, her trying to play a rigid gender role is what causes the slapstick mishaps. Then in "I'll Man Out of You," most of her struggles stem from three things: (1) that she's inexperienced, (2) that she's less physically strong than the other soldiers, and (3) that Yao and Ling keep pranking her and sabotaging her efforts.

I've always viewed her turning point in "I'll Make a Man..." not as her finally learning discipline, but as her finally gaining confidence in herself, and inspiring new confidence in the other soldiers too. The fact that this camp-wide inspiration leads Yao, Ling, and Chien-Po to become her friends and start cooperating with her instead of trying to sabotage her makes a huge difference too.

I'm starting to feel the same way about "Mulan's problem is that she needs to learn discipline" that I do about "Quasimodo's love for Esmeralda is unhealthy because he idolizes her as an angel, while Phoebus treats her like a real woman." There's some truth in both statements, but as the fandoms parrot them again and again, they blow them out of proportion and take the characters out of context. They tend to ignore that Quasimodo has been abused all his life and that Esmeralda is his first human friend, and that Mulan is plagued by self-doubt and pigeonholed by gender stereotypes both as a woman and as a man. (Not to mention the other characters who cause mishaps that she unfairly gets blamed for.)

And I suspect that both of those claims have similar origins: trying to defend the movie from complainers. The Hunchback fandom's insistence on Quasimodo's "toxic idolizing" of Esmeralda is a response to complaints of "Quasi should have gotten the girl." And the Mulan fandom's emphasis on Mulan's "lack of discipline" as the source of her woes probably stems from people either (a) accusing the movie of being an "anti-femininity," "Not Like Other Girls" narrative, or (b) glorifying Mulan for being "masculine." This is probably what leads them to insist "The movie doesn't portray traditional femininity as a bad thing. Mulan just fails at it because she lacks discipline, which she learns in the army."

(This is also why some people insist that Mulan "likes" getting dressed up and getting a fancy hairdo and makeup during "Honor to Us All." No she doesn't.)

I feel uncomfortable with that reductive interpretation of Mulan's struggles for two reasons. (1) By making everything Mulan's own fault, it strips out the movie's genuine criticism of rigid gender expectations for both women and men. (2) As a person with autism and possible undiagnosed ADHD, I find all of Mulan's flaws at the beginning extremely relatable. While this probably wasn't the writers' intent, it's easy to read her as having ADHD and/or being on the autism spectrum, which would explain her struggle to conform to any social expectations. When people imply "She just doesn't try hard enough util her army training cures her laziness," it makes me feel as if I'm just not trying hard enough, and that I should be as hard on myself as Shang is on his trainees.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Mulan Rewrite

I recently rewatched Mulan, the 1998 animated movie not the thing Disney made in 2020, and got hit with some creativity about a few things I would change.

In my rewrite the start of the movie is basically the same till Mulan runs away: the Huns attack the Great Wall, the Emperor sends out the conscription order, we meet Mulan, Honor to Us All, matchmaker, Reflection, Chi-Fu arrives with the conscription order, Mulan and her dad argue, Mulan runs way, Ancestors awake and Mushu decides to go after Mulan himself.

The only change I would make to the beginning of the movie is give Mulan two younger siblings. I'm taking this from the original Ballad of Hua Mulan (yes in the Ballad Mulan's sister is older, but I want Mulan to be the oldest sibling.) The Ballad doesn't give the brother and sister names so I'm calling them Hua Chun (12F) and Hua Wei (10M) they serve as another reason for Mulan to war in her dad's place, because her siblings are still young and need him in their lives. Mulan is 16.

So Mulan runs away, and after a few days, she sees the army camp in the distance. This is when Mulan and Mushu meet. Mushu is still the comic relief but is also really helpful. He points out that Mulan hasn't even come up with a fake name, and Mulan, after thinking for a bit she decides on Ping. Mulan explains that Ping was a friend of her dad's who served with him in the army and died in battle after saving his life.

Anyways Ping enters the army camp and is completely out of his element. Hijinks ensue, the rice is spilled, and the general of the army shows up.

Some explain. In this version Shang is a regular soldier, he is the son of a respected general and has promise to one day be a good general himself, but right now he's serving as a the assistant to the general overseeing this band of recruits.

Back to the story, General Jiao asks who's responsible for the mess, and everyone blames Ping. He's surprised to learn that "Ping" is the son of war hero Hua Zhou and says that he has very large shoes to fill, and so far, he's failing.

Skip to the next day and I'll Make a Man Out of You. During the song through day-night cycles its going to show that several days have gone by, about a week or two. By the end Ping earns the respect of his fellow soldiers, and Shang who Ping starts becoming friends with. General Jiao is impressed with Ping and tells him that he has his father's intelligence.

Shang approaches Ping and complements him for getting on General Jiao's good side. They talk for a bit, and Ping asks why Shang is overseeing some recruits rather than leading his own army to battle. Shang explains that about a month ago, he accidently launched one of their rockets into an armory, causing the whole place to blow up, and he was sent to the camp as a sort of punishment. Ping laughs, and Shang, embarrassed, asks Ping not to tell anyone, Ping agrees on the grounds that Shang beats him in a race to a tree on top of a nearby hill. Shang accepts the challenge, and the two race, Shang wins, Ping agrees to keep their previous conversation a secret. The two start walking back towards the camp and as they do Shang looks at Ping, this cute recruit that he's started seeing in a strange new light, and he unknowingly started reaching for his hand but as soon as their hands touch Shang pulls away. Ping apologizes, but Shang tells him not to think about it.

The next day, the army gets mobilization orders, real ones not ones made up by Muchu and Cri Kee, and the army packs up and starts marching towards the front. During A Girl Worth Fighting For, Ping opts to sing along to not draw too much attention to himself. I think he'd say something along the lines of, "A girl well versed in philosophy, who always speaks her mind." This gets a chuckle out of the others, and Shang says he respects Ping's taste.

The army sees the destroyed village and the battle field, General Jiao orders everyone to search for survivors. While searching, Ping finds the girl's doll and picks it up. Ping eventually meets back up with the army as Chien Po returns with General Li's helmet and sword and gives them to Shang. Shang sticks the sword to the ground and places his dad's helmet on it, kneels down, and says a silent prayer. General Jiao gives Shang his condolences, but quickly orders the army to head out, saying they have to head towards the Tung Shao Pass to intercept the Huns before they reach the Imperial City. As the army starts to move, Ping kneels down next to Shang and hugs him, Shang hugs him back. Then Shang sees the doll, takes it, and rests it against his dad's sword. Shang and Ping get up and join the rest of the army.

As the army moves through the Tung Shao Pass, they are discovered by the Huns and a battle ensues. The Huns have larger numbers and the edge in the battle. With only one rocket left, Ping takes it, runs in front of the army, and aims it towards a high snow-covered mountain top. By the time Ping is able to launch the rocket, Shan Yu almost reaches Ping. Shan Yu taunts Ping, mocking him for missing at point-blank range, and Ping grins. Shan Yu looks back to see the rocket hit the mountain and the start of the avalanche. Furious,Shang Yu attacks Ping.

Then we have the scene where Ping saves Shang when they fall off the cliff. After reaching safe ground, Shang, thanks Ping, calling him the craziest man he's ever met. But not long after Ping passes out front the wound he got from Shan Yu.

After waking up, Mulan's identity is revealed. Chi Fu demands Mulan be executed, but General Jiao lets her live, saying she saved everyone's life but still leaves her alone in the mountain.

Mulan is ready to turn home when she discovers the Shan Fu, and a few Huns survived the avalanche. She rides towards the city and tries to warn Shang and General Jiao of an attack, but they both silently ignore her. A while later, the Huns attack and capture the Emperor. While trying to save the Emperor, General Jiao is injured by Shan Yu. Shang takes the lead of the rescue mission, and he and a few soldiers try to break down the doors of the palace using brute force.

Mulan arrives on the scene and draws their attention, saving she has an idea. Yao, Ling, and Chien Po quickly follow her, followed by Shang. They scale pillars and enter the palace, specifically the wing where the concubines live. Mulan has Yao, Ling, and Chien Po as concubines to distract the guards so she and Shang can reach Shan Fu and the Emperor.

A fight ensues, Shan Fu's remaining Huns are apprehended, Yao, Ling, and Chien Po escape with the Emperor, and Mulan cuts the rope so Shan Fu can't follow them. Shan Fu goes to kill Shang when Mulan reviles herself to be the soldier that destroyed Shang Fu's army. Shang Fu furious chases her across the palace till they get on the roof. Looking around, Mulan sees the tower with the fireworks and asks Mushu to get her the largest one.

As Mushu gets the rocket, Mulan and Shan Fu fight, and eventually, she disarms him using her hand fan, just in time for Mushu to arrive and light the rocket. The rocket sends Shan Fu flying to the firework tower and is blown up. Mulan, Muchu, and Cri-Kee safely get off the roof before the explosion and land on the steps to the Palace.

Shang runs up to Mulan and hugs her, glad she's safe. Shang tells her that using the fireworks was an insane idea. Mulan laughs, saying she got the idea from him. Shang laughs, embarrassed, and reminds Mulan she promised to keep his accident a secret, Mulan tells him his secret is safe with her. Then Yao, Ling, and Chien Po show up and congratulate Mulan. They're followed by General Jiao, who congratulates Mulan, telling her she is as great a soldier as her father.

Then Chi Fu shows up and berates Shang, Yao, Ling, Chien Po, and General Jiao telling them to stand aside. Shang stands up to defend Mulan when the Emperor shows up.

The Emperor silently tells tells them to step aside and looks at Mulan. Mulan bows to him as he goes on his speech on all the laws Mulan has broken in the last few weeks "I've heard a great deal about you Hua Mulan, you stole your father's armor, ran away from home, impersonated a soldier, deceived your commanding officer, dishonored the Chinese army, destroyed my palace, and... you have saved us all." Then the Emperor bows to Mulan as everyone else in courtyard kowtows to Mulan.

The Emperor offers Mulan a job in his council, but Mulan asks to go back home. The Emperor accepts and gives her his medallion and the sword of Shan Fu.

As she leaves, Mulan hugs Yao, Ling, and Chien Po, General Jiao shakes her hand, and then she goes to Shang, who tells her, "You fight good." Mulan sadly walks past him as she mounts Khan and rides home as the crowd cheers.

Shang looks at Mulan riding away as the Emperor walks towards him. At first, the Emperor tries to be nice and says, "The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all." Seeing that Shang is not getting the hint, the Emperor talks bluntly and tells Shang."You don't meet a girl like that every dynasty!" and walks away.

Cut to a few says later at the Hua residence. Mulan arrives home to see her dad sitting in the garden under the cheery blossom tree. Hua Zhou is shocked to see her, but before he can say kneels before him and gives him the sword of Shan Yu and the Emperor's medallion. Zhou throws them aside and hugs Mulan, telling her, "The greatest gift in honor is having you for a daughter."

Mulan's siblings run to her and hug her. They immediately start asking Mulan questions about her adventure, and Zhou tells them to give Mulan some room to breathe.

We switch to Mulan's mom and grandma looking at the other with the Grandma, saying that Mulan should have brought a man. At that moment, Shang shows up, asking if Mulan lives there, and the Hua Li and Grandma Hua point toward Mulan.

Shang walks towards Mulan and Zhou. Shang bows to Hua Zhou. After seeing Mulan, he tries to give her back her helmet but starts to panic a little. Mulan looks at her dad, who silently gives her a go-ahead. Mulan takes the helmet and invites Shang to stay for dinner. Grandma Hua in the background invites Shang to stay forever. Shang accepts, despite having Chun and Wei glaring at him from behind Mulan.

The Ancestors restore Muchus' status as a Hua family guardian.

End of movie.

Overall I didn't make that many changes mostly adding a few extra scenes here and there. But Mulan is already almost flawless, so there's not much that does need change.

During the credits, I would add in a few drawings showing what all the characters are up to after the war. Mulan is home, teaching some local kids some basic marshal arts techniques like she did at the beginning of Mulan II. Shang is now a general training soldiers. Mushu's statue is proudly displayed among the Hua family gradians. And so on for other major characters like Yao, Ling, and Chien Po.

[cyraelin]

Found out that all my fanfics combined have reached 10,000 Chinese characters in the document ✨ Rewarding myself by writing about sisters 🥰 (I don’t have an older brother, so I’m not great at writing them—sorry Ares, didn’t mean to ignore you 😞). The inspiration for this fic comes from Zhang Yueran’s novella 'Qiao sisters'. 

Flowers of Yesterday

The story takes place on a moonlit night, four years later. 

17-year-old Miss Marigold sits in the Academy Dean’s office, watching the moon wheel upward along the arched trajectory of the floor-to-ceiling window, stirring up a swirl of silver dust, grinding time into two separate segments. What must the moon have looked like four years ago? She tries to imagine. A drop of aged tears, or a nimble silver fish? Were the people from four years ago looking at the same moon as her? 

"Miss Marigold." The Dean smiles as she slides a sheet of paper toward her. The paper opens its gilded little mouth, urging her to sign. "We believe you will bring glory to District 1, just like Pandora did."

Her pen hesitates, a drop of ink bleeding into hesitation. How strange—long ago, 'Miss Marigold' and 'Celeste' were two separate words. Now, they’ve merged into one, while Pandora remains just Pandora. It makes her uneasy, as if someone has forced her into an ill-fitting gown. 

The Dean pulls the paper away and gestures for her to leave. Celeste stands, but the woman suddenly calls out: "Miss Marigold, would you mind throwing away the flowers in the vase by the door?" 

Following the Dean’s gaze, she looks at the small table by the entrance. Inside an ornate marble vase, tuberoses bow their heads quietly, dewdrops rolling from their bright yellow stamens. "They still look fresh...?"

"Those are yesterday’s flowers, dear." The Dean waves a dismissive hand. "Take them with you if you’d like."

She tosses the bouquet into her bicycle’s front basket. The wind blows, and the snow-white petals sway gently. Pressing down on the pedals, the full streetscape of District 1 flashes past her—streetlights casting leaden yellow shadows, then neon lights, dazzling in scarlet and fiery tangerine, blending into the night to form some sort of industrialized cloud. With one hard push, the scenery rewinds into a reel of film rolling backward, the screening date set four years ago. 

Four years ago, Celeste would leave the school as night swept over District 1, riding toward the vivid clouds to find her older sister waiting at the gates. Then, the bicycle bell would ring out in cheerful 'ding-dings'. She used to trail behind her sister, watching Pandora’s honey-colored blouse billow in the wind as she wove through the streets like a bird skimming a forest. Her tea-brown hair, identical to Celeste’s, would glow softly gold under the sunset’s lingering light. 

She never liked riding too fast, pedaling lazily until Pandora turned back, her curly brown hair whipping against her face, a hint of reproach in her voice: 

"You’ve got to keep up with me, Cele!"

She pedaled even slower.

Celeste fished out the key from beneath the flower stems and opened the front door. The living room was steeped in a desolate gray-white, moonlight frosting the windows like ice. She flipped on the lights and called out, "Dad?" No response. On the table sat a congealed bowl of soup, grease glistening slick under the fluorescent light. No doubt her father was drowning himself in some bar again—ever since her brother’s death, this had become his routine for at least half the week. She tried to understand his grief over losing his eldest son, but she and Pandora had lost a brother too. While they clung to each other, trying to fill the void Ares left behind, this man had floundered like a lost sparrow, hopelessly drifting between lampposts and strangers’ roofs, abandoning his fledglings to face the empty nest alone. Whatever warmth he’d once given had long cooled with time. 

Celeste wondered if she should just hate him outright—that way, she wouldn’t have to keep swallowing wasted expectations. One night, when her father had emptied the house of his presence yet again, she voiced the thought to her sister. Pandora said nothing, only running her warm fingers through Celeste’s hair. When Celeste looked up, she saw a pitiable mist clouding those green eyes. Pandora’s lips parted—no defense, no comfort. Just a sigh. Celeste buried herself back into her sister’s embrace and realized Pandora had no answers now, nor would she ever. So what was the point of agonizing over their father’s flickering affection? It was just another burden Celeste refused to carry. From then on, her conversations with him were reduced to cold, factual updates. 

But this was different. Not 'I’m performing in the school play', not 'I’m sleeping over at a friend’s', but 'I’m stepping into the arena with 24 other children, just like my brother and sister did.' Her father’s numb "Mm" would dissolve into sobbing pleas. And she knew his tears wouldn’t change her mind. Unconsciously, her grip tightened on the tuberoses, their juices oozing slick over her palm. 

Celeste jolted awake from her daze and carried the battered flowers upstairs, stuffing them into a vase beside two birds-of-paradise. Then she picked up the phone. After a series of long, shrill beeps, her father’s voice slurred through the receiver: "Cel…este? Wha’s… wrong?"

"I’m volunteering for the next Hunger Games,"she said, forcing her voice steady. "Maybe you’d want to talk about it in person?"

She braced herself—for disbelieving sobs, for shouts. But the man’s voice was thick with drunken confusion: "Wha…? Wha’d you say?"

Just as she opened her mouth to repeat herself, a chorus of raucous cheers erupted from the other end, clinking bottles in the background: "No way, man! Your girl’s volunteering? Congrats!" "A toast to District 1’s new tribute!" The voices swelled, wave after wave. Suddenly, her ears rang. The noise twisted into higher-pitched childish shrieks—she saw her elementary school classmates turning in unison, their faces plastered with identical grins: "Congrats, Celeste! Your brother was so brave, volunteering!" She covered her eyes, but the visions stretched, donning middle-school uniforms, crowding around her desk: "Congrats, Celeste! So jealous your sister’s a Career!"The boozy laughter from the phone mingled with the ghosts of those voices, spilling against her frozen cheeks. Her father, oblivious to what the drunks were celebrating, mumbled along: "Congrats… yeah, congrats…"

She hung up. 

The night deepened. Clouds veiled the moon in funeral black. Stars hardened in the sky, scattering silver like snow across her room. Celeste sat at her desk, an invisible chill ravaging her chest. She knew only something strong could thaw it. 

Downstairs, a cutesy cat-shaped fridge magnet screamed at her: "A clear mind for a brighter tomorrow!" How ironic. Pandora had bought it years ago for Ares, then repurposed it to nag their father. Back then, Ares would peel it off and slap it facedown on the table before fishing two beers from the fridge with practiced ease. Pandora would shriek at his half-hearted attempts to hide it, clutching a bewildered Celeste to her chest: "You’re the only one in this house who isn’t a drunk, little sis. Don’t copy him!" 

Their father usually stumbled home too far gone to notice. That day, Celeste watched Pandora’s lips press into a tight line as she ripped the magnet off and hurled it out the window. Pandora didn’t cry—at least, not where Celeste could see. It’s fine. Tomorrow will be better. A euphemism for 'Go to bed.' Celeste lingered at her desk until she saw Pandora retrieve the magnet from the garden bushes. Only then did she let herself slip into "tomorrow."

What would Pandora say to her now? Celeste still believed her sister was watching over her somewhere, just as she’d once watched from the window. "Sorry, sis," she whispered in her heart. "Clarity only brings me a brighter yesterday now. No tomorrows left. "

Taste betrayed her. Celeste took one sip before dumping the rest down the drain. A soft scoff seemed to echo in her ears. 

She returned to her desk. Only bitterness lingered on her tongue. The moon emerged faintly from behind the clouds as an LCD screen flickered to life, playing a Capitol movie trailer. Resting her head on her arms, the image inverted. A troupe of radiant young dancers glided in, skirts of varying hues blooming with their joyful steps, crafting an artificial spring that never faded. A brunette dancer flashed across the screen—Celeste straightened—but the face that turned was utterly unfamiliar. What was I expecting? she mocked herself. Just because she wore a dress as bright as Pandora’s?

An orange dance dress. She’d never forget Pandora’s orange dress: white waistband, pearl at the center. Dancing was extra labor. She hated it. No matter how Pandora pleaded, she refused to audition. But she loved watching her sister dance. Pandora was tall—taller than some District 1 boys. She walked with her chin high, spine straight. Watching her, Celeste always thought of birds-of-paradise—a notion she quickly dismissed. She didn’t want her sister’s legs cut off and stuffed in a vase. She’d rather use the clichéd swan metaphor: Pandora leaped so high, she ought to have wings. She planned to gift her a swan brooch or new dancewear. "Little sis, you know these take scholarships or wages, right?"Pandora said. Celeste nodded. Pandora tapped her nose: "Cele, just staying awake at the factory’s hard enough. Bring me birds-of-paradise—my curtain-call bouquet."

Celeste kicked her sister’s shin but promised to attend her school gala. 

That night, Pandora shoved a handmade ticket into her hands, its bold print declaring: "Celebrating the Academy’s Xth Anniversary (oops, the number’s smudged!). May you wield a hero’s glory and courage."Celeste knew she’d remember that night, even when the ticket frayed beyond recognition and the melodies drowned in the Muses’ sea. Not for hollow pride—she wanted this moment: Pandora under the spotlight, music flowing through her, arching on tiptoe, head lifted, emerald eyes ablaze. Enough, Celeste thought. Just this moment.

The moon dissolved into the night, fading from a silver coin to a pale tearstain. Dawn approached. Celeste stared blankly. The tuberoses in the vase dipped silently. Logic urged sleep, but she couldn’t. She was terrifyingly awake. Memories she’d buried deep now clawed into her eyes. She recalled losing Ares first: pressed against his coffin, fingers digging into the wood, overturning the monochrome photo in his room as if it might resurrect him. Pandora approached: "You have to let go."

"Never."

"Why?"

"I love him."

"So do I." Pandora’s hand covered hers. Suddenly, warmth from that palm summoned a six-year-old memory: rescuing a bird together. She couldn’t bear its cage-melancholy nor its flight. She’d wept when it flew away. 

"Let him go, little sister." Pandora bent down, enveloping her. Ares’ soul slipped from her fingers. She wailed, feeling Pandora’s body tremble too. "I love you, Cele. I love you."

Night rose like a theater curtain. On Reaping Day, the orange dress lay folded in the closet with a note: "For my little sister." Pandora always decided things for her—she herself never had such choices to make. The Dean made her wear mint green ("Matches your eyes, dear!"). Celeste watched Pandora raise her hand; the green skirt fluttered weakly, like ice clinking in a glass. Their goodbye was brief. Pandora hugged her, whispering: "See you in the Capitol. When you spot me in the audience, send me flowers."

Outside, the screen played a montage of District 1’s victors. No one remembers silver or bronze—only gold matters. Their smiles gleamed like floating gilt or falling glitter—so light, so beautiful. No one recalls funeral headstones. Her sister left for the Capitol; bones returned. Celeste couldn’t remember that day, only that she saw Ares’ death mirrored: the seal-engraved coffin, the Dean’s black envelopes, their father’s howls. Pandora slept among white roses, swathed in District 1’s green velvet. Guests swarmed, echoing: "Miss Marigold, your siblings were so brave." She covered her mouth—they mistook it for grief, crowding like ravens. Wrong. She wanted to vomit. Here, now, she’d rather Ares and Pandora were cowards. One thought remained: She should’ve worn orange, not this green shroud.

Sunlight devoured the last darkness. Celeste slumped at her desk, watching workers haul blooming crimson roses to the town square—proud new hybrids. Beside them, her birds-of-paradise and tuberoses looked weary in their vase. They’d bloomed fiercely through her sleepless night, but flowers die. Yesterday’s blooms always risk one more day of being forgotten, replaced. She recalled the Dean’s dismissive gaze. Some truths never change. 

Celeste closed her eyes. Sleep besieged her, yet her mind burned clear. She wouldn’t change her choice. She needed this victory. Needed them to remember her—and Pandora. Not in green velvet. Not as frozen images. But alive. Dancing in orange. 

As Helios’ chariot split the sky, time fractured again. She followed old tracks, ignoring the scorch in her veins—no more numbness. Seeing her sister in the spotlight, she lifted her gaze to meet identical green eyes. They stood eye-to-eye now. 

"Pandora·Marigold." She gave her a four-year-delayed hug. "I’ll remember you. Always." 

A bird-of-paradise petal drifted from the vase, brushing her forehead like a whisper. 

Last but not least—Happy premiere! ✨ The movie was amazing and I loved it! This post was supposed to go up before the premiere, but I kept making changes and ended up delaying it till now… 🥹

I'm so sorry, I was busy this week, and I kept saying I would read this, and I finally did.

Of course, it's beautiful as always. Love how you added these lovely moments into the backstories of the District 1 tributes.

I have to say, I'm a bit sad now that I didn't have Celeste wear orange at the reaping and instead she wore silver. But I suppose the memory of her sister was fresh in her mind, and she didn't want to be reminded of her.

[hellomisst]

Stone Blind by Natalie Haynes is such a missed opportunity that it is disappointing

I picked Stone Blind in the bookstore as a chill read, but I was expecting to be swept away like how Circe by Madeline Miller did. Stone Blind, according to the synopsis, is about Medusa and her story; it is a retelling, a reimagining. A "fresh" take. Well, for starters, it is not.

It is not difficult to please any reader like me. I never had a book completely disappoint me in all the years I've read. I'm 24 now, and I started reading books when I was like 10. All I want is for a book to entertain me enough to give my mind a leisurely ride while keeping it relaxed, to give me something new to think about and wonder for awhile, or to completely mind-blow me if it is really that good.

This book did nothing of any sort. There are a LOT of lapses in the story because it tried to do a lot of things at once, but it failed to neatly and cleanly pack it all up in the end. It seems that this book did not understand the Ancient Greek culture at all. Even the Greek gods did not seem to have any solid personality in this book. The characters all felt so shallow. Stone Blind is simply literally retelling what anyone with basic knowledge of the Greek mythology already knows, and put some dialogues there to fill in some blank spots.

Spoilers beyond this line.

Now, before we continue, let me tell you that I am not attempting to make an unbiased review of the book. I am writing this as someone who has immersed herself in Greek mythology as a kid, as someone who wanted a pleasant read while having her finals week in the university, as someone who simply wanted something new to think about, and as a woman who enjoys a good feminist retelling of a story of a woman in fiction who was demonized through out history.

Stone Blind promised a "fresh take" of Medusa, "the original monstered woman." As said, there was nothing fresh in the book's take. Nothing revitalized. Nothing reconstructed. The dialogues were mostly bland; the characters, barely there. It did not even feel like Medusa was the main character. It was basically a story of Athene at first, then Perseus. Many parts of the story were unnecessary to the point that you would forget something else happened because they were barely relevant halfway in the story and/ or in the end.

One good point I have for Stone Blind is that when someone is raped, the author really uses the word "rape". At first, I thought maybe this is the lack of creativity and/ or better words, but then I realized that she wants to say it as it is so that there would be no other interpretation, no misunderstanding, and no more debate as to what really happened. That is the only good point I have for this book.

But my main complaints? Let us enumerate them:

First, everyone—Panopeia (whoever that is in the story; the chapter was named Panopeia but it was not in the list of characters even when the olive grove and a random crow made it there), Athene, Hermes, and Gorgoneion (apparently Medusa's head but you would not know until Medusa gets beheaded and says it herself)—or shall I say, the author herself, kept forcing the readers to hate Perseus. Gorgoneion had chapters dedicated to shitting on Perseus: "You're probably feeling sorry for him now, aren't you? Poor little Perseus, the reluctant hero. Defender of his mother's honor. Boastful little fool..." Knowing that Gorgneion is Medusa's head might let us know that she hates Perseus because he killed Medusa, that is true. But the thing is, it is not only Medusa who keeps saying that Perseus is arrogant, whiney, incompetent, foolish, annoying, and more. Even Athene, as a narrator and a character, and Hermes said it. Basically anyone who has interacted with Perseus and narrated the story said it. So it must be true, right? But is that how you write a story? Sure, they all keep saying that Perseus is all that and does not deserve to be called a hero, but they fail to show the audience how! It keeps being said but it is not shown. The author wants us to hate Perseus by saying it but does not show us why.

This is where it feels like the book fails to understand Ancient Greek culture. The point about Perseus being an annoying and arrogant little prick circles around the fact that he wants to set out on a quest to get Medusa's head but he does not know what a gorgon is, what to do, where to go, and all that shit. He also "complains a lot" and when he got Medusa's head, he "liked killing people" and became "arrogant". First, honor and pride are the center of Ancient Greek stories, characters, and heroes. This is why Greek gods and goddesses intervene in wars and quests. This is basic in any Greek mythology thing! And even without these values, of course Perseus would not want his mother to be taken by any man, even by a king! Why would we fault Perseus with that? Gorgoneion kept saying in one chapter that had Perseus not intervened, the king would have grown tired of Danae (Perseus' mother) and would have cast her aside because he was not interested in her anyway; he just wanted whatever his brother, Dictys, had (Danae and Perseus was taken in by Dictys when they escaped Danae's kingdom long ago). But how would Perseus know that? All Perseus knew, as a 16-year old boy, was that their peaceful life was disturbed by a king and now the king wants his mother. What child would not want to do anything and everything to intervene, Ancient Greek mythology character or not?

Next, Perseus was sixteen! A child! An Ancient Greek child, at that. Of course, he would not know what a gorgon was, where Nereids lived, what he needs to behead a gorgon, and all those things. He did not grow up as a prince being educated on what gods, goddesses, and monsters looked like; he grew up in a fishermen's village learning how to live day by day beside a sea! He was well-taken care of by Danae and Dictys, of course he was mostly comfortable in life. Of course, he would complain when there are painful and uncomfortable moments in his quest! Anyone would! Anyone would grow frustrated and complain when they do not know stuff, but know that they have to do something or else their parent would be taken away, but somehow they keep failing and/ or getting lost! It was stupid, yes, to set out not figuring things out first, but if you were given only two months to do something known as impossible with your parent's freedom at stake and with no one else to support you (even Dictys did not speak against the king, his own brother), even you would go impulsive.

In moments in which Perseus does something abhorrent, his actions seem random and forced, just so they can say that he is bad. For example, Perseus used Medusa's head to turn someone to stone when they denied him food and lodging. They said he had to get the king's, Atlas', permission first and the directions they gave him was lengthy and confusing that it annoyed him, so he turned them to stone.

In the end, most of his being annoying and whiney can be attributed to the fact that he is just sixteen but he feels that he has to do something impossible to save his mother. His being arrogant can be attributed to the fact that he is just sixteen yet he killed and outsmarted gorgons with the help and favor of the gods. He was also mostly kept company by gods who are known to be arrogant. Now, I am not in any way defending Perseus—I know Ancient Greek men in the mythology are shitty—but this is how I view the author's persistent shoving in the face of Perseus being a prick. The author keeps taking Greek mythology out of context; Stone Blind keeps being pulled to modern world and standards that it cast aside the context and nuances of Ancient Greece and Greek mythology. It is not impossible to apply modern idealogoies like feminism in Greek mythology; Circe by Madeline Miller did it. Proper contextualization and a good understanding of Greek mythology can do the trick. And in the case of Medusa? It should have not been difficult at all. Common people on the internet have done it! Medusa has already become an icon for survivors of abuse and harassment. How did the retelling of Medusa's story in Stone Blind fail in this?

Second, how did a book claiming to put women at the center fail to write women in better light? Stone Blind kept trying so hard to say "men bad" but in the end, it seems like Athene was the villain and Medusa was no better than the Perseus she kept insulting; and no man faced any consequence nor retribution. Retelling and reimagining a classic, an ancient story already gives you the edge to make a difference, to send a better message, yet Stone Blind failed so miserably. Sure, maybe the idea was that, "if men can be so bad they can kill anyone, maybe my being vengeful and heartless as a woman is not so bad?" But if this is so, then it all becomes so wrong. How is Medusa's "killing" people "empowering" for women when in the end, she was just a weapon used by Perseus that she did not even have the agency to choose when and who to kill?

The root of it all was Poseidon. Poseidon violated Medusa in Athene's temple. But Athene cannot directly offend Poseidon, so she goes to Medusa, the easier target. Poseidon tricked Hephaestus to take Athene as a bride. Zeus blessed the idea. Hephaestus violates Athene. Athene takes Athens to offend Poseidon. And that is it. Athene did not even craft any long-term plan to take vengeance on Poseidon, the root of it all. And what of Hephaestus? What was the purpose of that scene!? Sure, that was part of the real mythology, but in this book, what was the purpose? If it was to show that even goddesses are not safe from the evilness of men, that even Athene, the one who cursed Medusa for Poseidon's sin, knew how it felt to be harassed, then why did she not change her thoughts about Medusa and her curse? Why did she not change her perspective on women? Because she is an Olympian and Olympians are arrogant? Or is all this just so that the author can retell the story of how Athens became Athene's, and then the olive grove, Elaia, can narrate a small part of the story that is not all that significant anyway? Such a missed opportunity to change the tides in Medusa's story. Women tore each other down; men stood unaffected by their own actions and the consequences.

Then there was also this small appearance of a woman who could have done something: Amphitrite, the wife of Poseidon. According to Stone Blind, Amphitrite was pursued by Poseidon nonstop until she gave up hiding and just gave in. So she knew how Poseidon is. And she knew Medusa caught Poseidon's eyes. The book said, "...she wondered if she should warn the Gorgons of the danger their sister is in." What was the purpose of this line, or the whole chapter's thought, for that matter? To show that the own wife of Poseidon became his wife because he would not stop going after her, even after rejection? To show that Amphitrite also went through what Medusa was about to go through? And then what? Nothing.

Gaia, the titan goddess of earth, was also introduced. During that pointless titan vs. gods war, Gaia was introduced as a mother who wanted to help her titan children, but was immediately defeated by Zeus through god-knows-what. And that war, my god, what was that for!? If that was only to introduce Gaia and allow her to get Hephaestus' semen (from Athene's discarded cloth when she wiped herself after the harassment) and create a child out of it for revenge to Athene, and for that child to grow and help in settling to whom Athens will go to, then it really was not that important. Because: how is this relevant to Medusa?

More on the lack of better characterization of women? Let us talk about Cassiope and Andromeda! Cassiope, and her husband, the king Cepheus, wanted Andromeda to marry Cepheus' brother, an old man. Andromeda vehemently refused, Cassiope felt her loss of power and beauty, and so she blasphemed saying she is more beautiful, if not as beautiful, as the Nereids. The Nereids got offended by her hubris and demanded Poseidon to punish their kingdom. The kingdom gets flooded, and they demanded a sacrifice as an offering to appease them: Andromeda. Andromeda, before getting eaten by the sea monster who was apparently Medusa's mother, gets rescued by Perseus... by using Medusa's head to turn the sea monster to stone. Andromeda, then, wanted to marry Perseus, but Cepheus and Cassiope have doubts. They are correct in having doubts in him, because in Stone Blind, Perseus is said to be bad. But Andromeda refuses to listen nor believe in them because she no longer wants other people to dictate her marriage, which is good for her! She wants what she wants. But in the end, she still is not better than Cassiope because she also believes Cassiope is at fault. She is, but Cepheus' inaction should have been just as bad. What makes their story difficult to follow is how women in this story immediately face terrible consequences for relatively small offenses, while men do not; and it is also women who punish and look down on them. And again, what was the purpose of Cassiope's vanity and hubris in the run of Medusa's story? To show excess vanity can lead to hubris and a godly offense? To make Medusa meet her mother? But then, what was the point of Medusa meeting her mother? For her to think, "Why did I not close my eyes?" Why not, indeed?

Do note that I know this all sounds like I am putting the responsibility on women, rather than men. But remember: the author kept explicitly saying "men bad" (and so far men really did bad things and/ or stood by on the side when something was happening, so that checks out); and if this is a book meant to focus on women and retell their stories, then women should have been written better and differently from their original accounts. But so far, nothing. They were all as they originally were. And they stood by, like the men, when something happened to their fellow women.

Third, the characters are bland and are mischaracterized. The only good people depicted who are relevant to Medusa are her sisters, her fellow gorgons. They are also the only characters who have personalities. They even have more agency than the supposed main character, Medusa. Other than that, Perseus, we already talked about him; Dictys, introduced as a kind protector of women who wash up on the beach, but suddenly did not defend Danae when the king wanted her as his wife? He was kind enough to take them in, wise enough to move away from his king of a brother when he was clearly unwanted and it seemed he induces paranoia in him brought about by insecurity and envy; but when the king himself shows up and claims that he wants Danae, who Dictys said that he sees as his own daughter, for himself, he suddenly cannot speak against him? Changing a character's personality so suddenly to drive the story forward?

Now, about the gods. The gods, the Olympians, are only depicted as one thing: arrogant and prideful. All of them. Gods and goddesses alike. No other personality. And so when Athene and Hermes were made to banter, it comes off all wrong, weird, and irrelevant. Sometimes, the author tries to put humor in Athene, but it is just wrong and out of character. One time, the author made her whiney and childlike when she demanded a "thing" because all other gods have a "thing", it felt so out of character because throughout the story, she was just serious and arrogant. But then this scene happens just to show how Zeus made owls her thing. And owls did not even become relevant in the story (though a crow randomly narrated a chapter). This might have been there to show dimensions and depth of Athene as a character, but it just failed because: it did not become relevant.

The ending also felt so weird and out of character for Athene. Athene, the goddess of wisdom, literal brainchild of Zeus, who should be serious, sure, and always knowledgeable, for some reason, does not know the extent and capabilities of the curse she herself put on Medusa! What the fuck was that? She wanted Medusa to "change her back"; Athene accidentally turned a priestess of her temple to stone because the priestess looked into Athene's breastplate where she put Medusa's head. One, how does the goddess of wisdom accidentally turn someone to stone because she forgot she was wearing Medusa's head and regret it? Two, how does the goddess of wisdom not know her own curse that she herself put on someone? Three, how does the goddess of wisdom forget that that happened a century ago, and not know a century, a year is longer than an hour? And four, how does the goddess of wisdom, an Olympian, not know when a torch is lit not for her but for the priestess she turned to stone?

More than that, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Athene wants a home, but not the temples nor Olympus. She felt homesick and lonely. But why? How? Nowhere in the story did it say nor show that she felt anything of the sort. And she opens this up to Medusa, and allows Medusa to turn her to stone. Why? In this kind of ending, what and where is the resolution?

Lastly, all Medusa was in this story is still a helpless gorgon whose agency in her own story was so minimal that she was not able to change her own fate. She even turned her own mother to stone, and then thought, "Why did I not close my eyes?" The same question I kept thinking of every time Perseus takes her head out of the bag and uses her as a weapon. When Medusa was first beheaded, she made sure to look at the ground only to avoid turning anyone else to stone, but wanted Perseus to accidentally look because she was so angry she wanted to turn him to stone. The first time Perseus took her out to turn people to stone, Medusa felt too powerful and seemed to regret it. I thought, as a revenge and to finally make her own move and decisions, she would maybe start closing her eyes whenever she is taken out by Perseus. But no. I thought, maybe it is because she claims to no longer be the Medusa who cares for mortals. Because a mortal killed her, she no longer feels sympathy and no longe cares when she kills mortals. Alright. But then, I thought you hated Perseus, so why allow him to continually use you as a weapon? Why agree to be used by him and help him succeed?

Eventually, I realized how everyone in the story is an unreliable narrator, especially Gorgoneion aka Medusa/ Medusa's head. That would have been fine if not for the fact that the characters themselves are mischaracterized throughout the story. And to make things worse, why are other characters, mainly men, and other storylines used for Medusa's story to progress? The only reason I can think for this is that the author herself does not understand Greek mythology, Ancient Greece, and the values upheld by Ancient Greeks (at least, in the mythology) well enough to apply modern ideologies in it and so she did not know what to do with Medusa in Medusa's story herself.

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Alternate Ending: Medicine

If things went differently.

pick it up, pick it all up, and start again.

-Medicine, Daughter

Frosty grass crunches under your feet as you dash out the gates, eyes scanning the battlefield frantically. Piles of bodies are strewn about, some orcs, some goblins, and far more elves and dwarves than you’d like.

There!

Across the way, you just barely spy three small figures making their way to the mountain. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hurry to meet up. Fíli and Dwalin support a limping Kíli between them. His right foot is twisted at an angle that makes your stomach turn, and his sleeve is soaked with blood. Bilbo stumbles not far behind.

“Fíli! Kíli!” You rush forward, wrapping your arms tightly around Fíli’s waist.

Fíli raises his head. His eyes are dull. Tears slice through the blood and grime on his face. “Y/N…” he whispers.

“Are you alright? What happened?” you gasp.

“I couldn’t save him.”

Your heart drops. Over his shoulder, you glimpse little shapes swooping down from the Ravenhill. A large bird carrying a limp body. You let go of Fíli and step back, falling to your knees. “No.”

Footsteps pound behind you. Bofur and Nori grab Kíli. Fíli collapses with you, burying his face in your hair.

“It’s all my fault, Y/N,” Fíli chokes. “It’s all my fault.”

You wake with a jolt, but Fíli’s voice remains in your ears. You turn over in bed. His back is to you, but you can tell by the way his shoulders shake and his whimpers that he’s having similar dreams.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, no…” he mumbles.

Your heart cracks, and you reach out to lay a hand on his clammy arm. “Fíli,” you whisper, gently rolling him onto his back.

His face spasms. “I have to help him! Kee, I have to…to…” He jerks his head to the side, blinking. His eyes are clouded with confusion when he turns to you. “Y/N? Where–”

“You’re home,” you murmur, scooting closer to him. You’ve done this dance before, but it doesn’t get any easier. You tuck his head beneath your chin and rub his bare back gently. It’s coated in a thin layer of cold sweat. “Thorin’s gone, sweetheart.”

Fíli’s breaths are shaky as his mind, still fuzzy with sleep, processes your words. His shoulders slump. “I couldn’t save him, Y/N.”

You swallow. “I know. It’s okay, Fee. Let it out.”

He lets out a soft sob, chest heaving and pressing his face into your neck. His arms grip you tightly, desperately, like a child clinging to his mother. You don’t say anything, just stroking his hair. Outside your bedchambers he keeps up a strong façade, busying himself with his newfound duties. But it’s moments like these, these nighttime rituals, that reveal how fragile that shield is. You’d be honored at how he lets his guard down around you, if it weren’t so heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I shouldn’t be… like this.”

“Don’t say that, Fíli. Don’t you dare say that.” You pull away slightly and fix him with a stern look.

“I’m supposed to be strong,” he protests.

You reach up and stroke his cheek with your thumb, cupping his face in your hands. “What, are your mother and Kíli not strong while they grieve? Or Balin, or Dwalin, or any of the rest? Am I not strong for still grieving Thorin?”

“Of course you are! But—”

“But nothing.” You press your lips to his, swallowing his words. “Show yourself the same kindness that you show others. You deserve that.”

Fíli sighs, rolling onto his back and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

You curl into his side and lay your head on his chest, listening as his heartbeat gradually starts to come back down, and his breathing becomes more even. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right? I need to know that you know that.”

“That blow was meant for me.” His voice is thick as the two of you finally broach the subject you’ve tiptoed around for a year.

“And he chose to take it. He chose to save you, and you avenged him. Azog is dead, Fíli, and you’re alive.”

His beard brushes against your hair when he shakes his head. “It didn’t bring Thorin back. What’s the point of victory then?”

A muffled cry sounds from the next room. “That’s the point of victory right there,” you say as you sit up. You start to get out of bed, but Fíli is closer, making it to the nursery door first.

He vanishes inside, reappearing with Juniper in his arms. “Hush, little sprout, I’m here,” he whispers, sitting back on the bed. “Adad’s got you. Papa’s got you.” Fili leans down and brushes his lips against her forehead with a sniff. “Thorin would have liked her.”

Now that she’s in her father’s embrace, Juniper’s cries quiet, and she snuggles into his warm chest with little cooing noises.

“He would have adored her.” You join them, laying your head on his shoulder. “She’ll be a princess tomorrow.”

“She’s always been a princess.” Despite himself, a weak smile appears on Fíli’s lips. “Are you ready to be queen?” he asks, resting his head against yours.

“Every girl wanted to be a princess when I was a kid—not sure how many wanted to actually be queen,” you reply. “Queens have responsibilities. Princesses get to sing, and run through forests, and talk to animals.”

“What strange princesses your world had.” Fíli lifts his head and looks at you. “But are you ready?”

Queen. You will be queen of the dwarves. There’s a joke about my height in there, somewhere, you think.

Since the battle, you’ve done your best to avoid the subject, busying yourself with preparing for Juniper’s birth, and your wedding after that. But now, on the eve of the coronation, your nerves resurface. “Will they accept me as queen?” you whisper. “I’m not a dwarf—I’m not even from Middle Earth.”

You’ve seen the looks you get wandering the halls or venturing out of the mountain, and you know Fíli has, too.

Fíli doesn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he kisses your cheek. “If they don’t, there will be hell to pay,” he promises. “I’ll send Kíli after them.”

That draws a chuckle from you. Kíli delights in ruffling the feathers of the more judgmental dwarves, loudly referring to you as his sister in their presence, casually draping an arm around your shoulders whenever he sees someone giving you a strange look.

”It’s so weird. In less than two years I’ve gone from working a low-paying job, living in a shi—crappy apartment,” you censor yourself with a nervous glance at Juniper, “to being royalty, living in a palace, with a baby.”

“And married to the most handsome dwarf in all of Middle Earth,” Fíli adds teasingly.

“And married to the most handsome dwarf in Middle Earth.”

A thin line of drool seeps from Juniper’s mouth. Her eyes are closed once more, lips puckered around her thumb. Fíli stands slowly, careful not to jostle her too much as he takes her back to the nursery. He returns and closes the door softly.

You tuck yourselves back in and pull the covers up around the pair of you, hugging Fíli close. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too, ghivashel.”

You make your way through the lower halls of Erebor, going deeper and deeper below the earth. The air is cool and moist, patches of moss growing on the stones that sat unmaintained for so long. At the end of a long hallway, you reach your destination: Two large, wooden doors in the stone, with gold insets. They’re already ajar, and you poke your head inside.

Kíli sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a stone casket, head down. The hinges groan in protest as you ease the doors shut behind you. But Kíli does not acknowledge your presence.

“I thought I might find you here,” you say, approaching him cautiously. “Fíli sent me to see where you were.”

Still, he doesn’t react. You sit next to him, ducking your head to get in his line of sight. “Kee?”

“It should be Thorin,” he mutters. His eyes are dark, glaring at nothing. “And it’s my fault.”

You suppress a sigh and put an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Kíli’s lip curls. His right sleeve is pulled back, exposing a long scar running down his forearm. “If Fíli didn’t need to help me, then he wouldn’t have been open for that filth to swing at him,” he spits. “If he hadn’t been vulnerable, Thorin wouldn’t have jumped in.”

“And you’d be dead instead. Is that what Thorin would have wanted?”

He finally lifts his head, staring at the casket dully. “I don’t think he’d want to be lying in a stone box while his nephew takes the throne at only eighty-three”

“He loved you, Kíli. Your death would’ve broken him. Yours or Fíli’s.”

Kíli presses the base of his palm to his forehead. “I don’t understand,” he says. “I thought I was well. I thought I had… recovered. But now it feels like it just happened yesterday.”

The shadow of the casket looms over the dwarf. The torches are halfway spent already. Kíli makes it a ritual to come down to the tomb and light them each morning.

Gently, you pull Kíli’s sleeve down to cover his scar. “It’s because of the coronation. Fíli’s been the same way.”

Kíli scoffs. “I doubt it.”

You hesitate, debating if you want to comfort Kíli, or spare Fíli’s dignity. Fíli’s dignity can take the blow, you decide. “Kee, Fíli woke up crying in the middle of the night. Like he’s done many times since the battle.” You squeeze Kíli’s arm. “You’re not alone.”

He turns his head and looks at you for the first time. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You smile, patting him on the shoulder and standing. “Ceremony’s in a few hours. Go get ready. I’ll see you then.”

You stand on the steps before the throne, looking out over the gathered kingdom. Your kingdom. Juniper clings to your arm with her thumb shoved in her mouth. You’re just glad she’s relatively quiet for the most important moment in Fíli’s life. The Company line the first row, along with Dís. Two chairs sit empty next to Gandalf, for the two missing party members. Your heart wrenches in your chest as your gaze lands on them. He’d be so proud.

Ever perceptive, Gandalf gives you a small nod and a sympathetic smile. You do your best to return it.

Fíli stands beside you, eyes closed and muttering in Khuzdûl under his breath. You reach over to squeeze his hand tightly, and they flutter open. He squeezes back.

Dáin approaches Kíli first with his crown. “Kíli, son of the Lady Dís, the Crown Prince Under the Mountain. Heir to the throne of Erebor.”

Kíli blinks rapidly. He holds his head high at the crowd’s applause, lip trembling slightly. You wish you were next to him—instead, you catch his eye and nod encouragingly. He finally smiles.

Dáin stops before you now. He lifts up a delicate, golden crown and clears his throat. “It has been centuries since this crown has been worn,” he says. “But today, we crown the Lady Y/N, a daughter of Man, wed to Fíli, Queen Under the Mountain. And we welcome their daughter, the Princess Juniper, second in line to the throne.”

Juniper reaches for the crown as you duck your head. Dáin evades her grasping hands with a smile, settling the crown on your brow. Of all the cheers, you hear the Company’s the clearest—Bofur is on his feet, hands cupped around his mouth and hollering. You beam at them.

“And it is my greatest honor to present to you Fíli, son of the Lady Dís. The King Under the Mountain!”

Fíli takes in a deep breath as Dáin places the Raven Crown on his head. He’s flat-out refused to wear it so far, insisting that it belongs to Thorin until he formally receives the mantle of kingship. Now that it rests on his head, he looks so much like Thorin. Perhaps not in his face, but in his bearing, standing tall with shoulders back and chin raised.

“Long live the king and queen!”

The room bursts with cheering. Your ascent to the thrones seems to happen in slow-motion, the noise of the audience dulled by the sound of your racing pulse. Fíli grips your hand so tightly you fear it will leave a bruise.

Before he can sit, you lean in close. “They’ll want a speech,” you whisper.

He clears his throat and lifts a hand for quiet. “Thank you all,” Fíli says. “It is a privilege to stand before you today and receive your acceptance. I know that I am young to be taking the throne. By all rights, it should be Thorin Oakenshield. He fell during the Battle of the Five Armies on this day, a year ago, sacrificing his life for his kin.” Fíli pauses as a somber murmur ripples through the room. “It was his dream to see his people return to their rightful home in Erebor. I will do my best to rule as he would have, with dignity and wisdom—and with my brother and my queen at my side.”

With a smile, he steps back and lifts Juniper from your arms, resting her on his knee as he sits on his throne. She grasps at his tunic and babbles happily.

As the room fills once again with roars from the gathered dwarves, you lean as close to the throne as you can from your seat. “Long live the king.”

“Long live the queen,” Fíli whispers back. “Long may she reign.”

[helluvascribe]

Hazbin Hotel S1 E1: "Overture" Part 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63905872/chapters/163902790

One week later, Charlie sat solemnly on a long red couch in the Hazbin Hotel, gazing out the window. There were a few pillows next to her, one with a gold eye design. Her suit and pants matched the red color of the couch, though her undershirt was white, her high heels were white and black, and her bowtie was black. Contrasting the red color of her clothing was her white face with red spots on her cheeks and her long blonde hair in a thick braid. Behind Charlie was a small striped circus tent decorated with strings of lights. A white plant pot had a snake design curled around it. A round sign outside read “Welcome to Hell” and the sky was its usual crimson red. A glowing red pentagram hovered over the city, hence its name Pentagram City. Charlie stared sadly at the nearby city buildings; many of them were on fire, smoke rising through the air. The streets were littered with broken glass, burned debris…and a few leftover mangled demon corpses in puddles of blood.

Charlie was feeling more lonely than usual. Not too long ago, her father Lucifer had considered her Happy Hotel project a failure. He had somberly suppressed his former dreams for so long, he had closed himself off from his daughter’s own dreams. Charlie had further been mocked on live TV after presenting her hotel idea, and her mother Lilith had not been answering her calls. In fact, she had been missing from her life for quite some time. Where had she gone?

“Charlie,” called a familiar voice from behind her.

Charlie turned around with a gasp, dropping the black Sinner’s Key on the couch. In a puff of red smoke, the key morphed into a small black and white cyclops cat named KeeKee, who meowed and scampered off. Over the double doors was a glowing chandelier and glass decorated with a large eye and two small apples.

“Oh shit, were you here the whole time?”

A woman stepped into the light. “Uh, yeah. I was right there,” Vaggie said, mentioning her thumb to the double doors behind her. Vaggie the moth demon, was Charlie’s girlfriend and manager of the hotel. This time, she wore a short black skirt, gray fingerless gloves, and a short red shirt with a black collar and black buttons. She wore a small black collar around her neck and a slightly worn large red bow tie in her hair. Her skin was light gray, and her white hair spread down past her waist, ending in gray stripes resembling moth wings. Her right eye was yellow with light orange sclera and her left eye was covered by her hair, a patch, and a glaring red X over it. She also wore gray leggings over her legs.

Charlie was thankful to have her faithful companion with her, for Vaggie served not only as her girlfriend, but a protector and a grounding contrast to Charlie’s exuberant nature.

“Sorry,” Charlie said. “I get pre-tty worked up after an Extermination happens.” She glanced back toward the window. “Staring helps.”

Vaggie briefly blinked and gave a chuckle. “I know. Don’t worry, I enjoy your moments of quiet. And your moments of theatrics. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Charlie replied, as Vaggie sat down next to her. “Just…thinking, ya’ know? Family stuff.”

Vaggie frowned, glancing to the side. “Did you…hear from your mom yet?”

Charlie shook her head sadly.

“Oof,” Vaggie replied, blowing a bang of her white hair and a sigh. “How long has it been now?”

“Not that long. Only…seven…years…” Charlie exaggerated with a strained smile. She stood up, hands together, moving toward the giant eye-shaped window. “Off doing something important, I’m sure! But this kingdom was something she really cared about. Something I care about.”

Vaggie took Charlie’s hands in hers. “Well, at least you aren’t alone.”

Charlie smiled. “I just hope what I’m trying to do here will work.”

The two women sat down. Vaggie tenderly touched Charlie’s cheek with her hand. “It will. I have faith in you.”

Charlie smiled as KeeKee the cat hopped into her lap. Keekee’s ears had black tips and a white heart in the center.

Vaggie stood up. “All right, come on. Alastor says he has something to show us.”

Charlie froze in place as she heard the ominous tolling of the golden angel clock tower outside. It had a glowing halo on top, eye designs on the tower and clock faces with pentagrams on them. Under that was a giant glowing hourglass and a counter that showed the number of days until the next Extermination. Four imposing black Exorcist statues were posed like gargoyles around the four corners under the clocks. Charlie shuddered before following Vaggie.

0 0 0

An old-fashioned TV buzzed with spiky static before showing a red shirtless demon with a spiked collar and bat wings stabbing a red imp with a dagger.

“Well, hello there you wayward Sinner!” came the radio voice of Alastor. The camera showed his hand pointing at the demons.  “Do you like blood, violence, and depravity of a sexual nature?” The demons looked at Alastor, the tall red demon posed with his head in thought. “Of course you do! That’s why you’re in Hell!”

The camera panned back to show buildings torn, on fire, and in pieces on the ground near a barbed wire fence. An overturned purple arrow sign with faded round lights read “NO TURNING BACK.” One building part had several purple eyes on it.

Alastor waved his hand, and more demons popped up: a female cyclops wearing black BDSM clothing, a demon with horns, four eyes and dragon features, a red horned demon with two eyes, a small, one-eyed brown cat and an upside-down demon shaped like a grenade.

“But what would you say if I told you there was a place to stay that had none of that?”

The screen buzzed and switched to the Hazbin Hotel building. Arrows pointed to Alastor’s glowing red radio tower off to the side. There was a carousel, a Titanic-shaped boat and a “NO VACANCY” sign as part of the decorative structures. A retro theater sign above the front doors read “NOW PLAYING.” The doors were decorated with designs of circus tents on the glass.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! A misguided path to redemption! Founded five days ago by Lucifer’s delusional daughter, Charlotte Morningstar!”

The screen showed Charlie nervously smiling and waving at the camera. Angel Dust posed next to her with a grin, making his pink gloved fingers into horns around her head and his two other white hands into peace signs. The clip shifted to Charlie showing a dismissive Katie Killjoy a drawing of the hotel, a rainbow on the top and stick figure demons smiling on the bottom. Charlie pointed to the sky, while Katie Killjoy narrowed her eyes, a cigarette between her fingers.

“Come place your fate in her inexperienced hands as she tries to work through her daddy issues by fixing you!”

Several pictures, one on top of the other showed Charlie posing in front of a crime board with a drawing of a demon with puppies, a rainbow with hearts and an “evidence index” card on the board. The next showed Charlie with tears in her eyes as Lucifer posed under a red spotlight, apple cane raised. Charlie was then shown posing with an instructional stick in her hand next to a white board that read “1. SORRY, 2. A red heart, yellow stars, pink hearts, and a rainbow, 3. PLEASE, 4. THANK YOU.”

The hotel doors opened and showed Charlie’s flying goat bodyguards Razzle and Dazzle sweeping and dusting the lobby.

“FUN THINGS” spiraled onto the screen in yellow. “Here we offer fun things, such as…”

The camera zoomed in to show the grumpy cat Husk with black eyes and small yellow iris slouched at his bar. He had a black top hat with red trim, a large red bowtie, black and dark red wings with a red outline and dots decorating them. His eyebrows were long and red with black stripes on the ends. His pointed cat ears had a small red heart design inside each. A black bug crawled on the table. “CONCIERGE” was shown on the top of the bar stand and the highest part was decorated with large deer skulls with rows of long sharp teeth among melted white candles. “Beelyjuice” and a beer mug and wine glass glowed in neon colors on the wall near a pool table. There were three red bar stools and the bottom of the stand showed two green 7s and a red apple in a slot machine style.

“…somewhat functional staff!”

Husk crashed his head on the table in a drunken stupor. Niffty glanced at the black bug crawling over Husk, a sewing needle in her hand as a weapon. The cyclops had white skin, short red-pink hair with a yellow streak in it, and a 1950’s maid pink dress with a white lacy center and a black poodle design on her dress. Pink stains were at the top near her chest. Her large eye was dark orange with a black pupil.

Niffty jabbed at the bug with her sewing needle.

“…and twenty-four-hour pest control!”

“PEST CONTROL” blinked in yellow.

“Custom rooms…”

“CUSTOM ROOMS” blinked in yellow after appearing on a dismal bathroom stall, showing a white toilet and red eyes on the red walls.

“And just look at this tacky parlor!”

The main room had a fireplace and mantle. The fireplace was round, with two skeletons curled on either side. A large eye design was in the center of the mantle. Over the mantle were two crossed canes and golden curved snakes below them, making Lucifer’s sigil. Two elephant lights were on either side. The red wallpaper was decorated with Lucifer’s sigil surrounded by six angel wings. The wall borders showed eyes with gold wings on either side. KeeKee was posed on a table near an old-fashioned radio of Alastor’s near plant vines. An old boxy TV stood off to the side, complete with knobs. Angel Dust lounged on a nearby couch, wearing his usual white and pink suit with a black bowtie and high black boots. He had white fur, spider-like limbs, pink dots under his eyes and a sharp golden fang among his teeth. A wooden plank collapsed to the floor, making the cat hiss and scamper off the table in fright. The red wallpaper had several tears in it.

Alastor spoke sarcastically. “Enjoy riveting conversation with our singular resident!”

Angel Dust noticed Alastor and glared, flipping him the bird.

“WOW!” spun onto the screen in bold red with a yellow spiky background. “Wow!” Alastor added.

A drawing appeared, showing the hotel and various signs made by Alastor: “Ship I guess,” “$1,” “DANGER HOTEL!” “SALE” “Best part” (pointing to the radio tower), “HAHA I NAMED IT!” “50% OFF,” “neat.” “NO TACKY CIRCUS DÉCOR! PROMISE!” Several signs showed Alastor’s creepy grin drawings.

“All this, and more at the Hazbin Hotel, your last desperate attempt at salvation starts here!”

The screen showed the building sign up on the roof and with yellow words: “CALL NOW! OR DON’T, I DON’T CARE! WE STILL DON’T HAVE A WORKING PHONE!”

The screen clicked off as Alastor tuned the knob.

Alastor with a large smug grin turned around. “So, what do you think?”

Vaggie and Charlie sat dumbfounded on the red couch. The couch had three eyes designs on the top golden frame, the armrests and outside structure curved like horns.

Alastor wore his 1920’s red torn tailcoat with vertical pink stripes, a black bowtie with a red center and a red undershirt with an upside down black cross design. He had red long sleeves, black gloves with red tips, and a red monocle near his right eye. His hair was red and black, with thick deer ears pointing up. Small black deer horns curved upwards from the center of his head. His black shoes had red deer tracks on the bottom. In his left hand was his magic red old-fashioned radio microphone with a red eye in the center. His eyes were many shades of crimson.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck was that?!” Vaggie fumed.

Charlie did a strained grin, and held up a finger, trying not to upset anyone. “Uh yeah, one note, Alastor. I mean, first off, thank you so much for making this…seriously amazing…but um…” she moved her hands. “But maybe the tone is a bit…off.” Alastor narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, a wide grin of yellow sharp teeth plastered on his face.

Charlie continued, “We want people to come here. This makes it look…um…”

“Bad,” Vaggie deadpanned, folding her arms. She turned to Charlie. “The word you’re looking for is ‘bad.’”

“Funny. I was going for hilarious!” Alastor exclaimed, craning his neck.

“It didn’t explain anything about how we’re trying to save demons from extermination, which is the whole fucking point!” Vaggie chided.

“Vaggie is right, Alastor,” said Charlie. “The commercial was to let Sinners know we are trying to help them.”

“Well, my dear, I haven’t been active in Hell for some time,” said Alastor, moving his fingers along his microphone staff. He paced and tilted his head. “…and everyone remembers me from my radio show, the proper medium to express oneself.”

Alastor paced back again and pointed at the TV with his staff, a glare in his eyes. “But you insisted on this noisy picture box of advertisement…” He tapped the TV twice with his staff, “…so I had a little fun with it.”

“Oh fun? You had a little fun with it?” Vaggie angrily stood up, hands on her hips.  “Well, this not what we want to represent us! When you showed up here a week ago, you told us you would help run this hotel. Instead, you’re mocking us.” She spread out her arms. “Nobody’s gonna wanna come to a place that a powerful Overlord like you thinks is a waste of time!”

Angel Dust casually raised one of his pink gloved hands.

“What?” Vaggie asked with a glare, facing Angel Dust, and sitting on the armrest.

Angel Dust posed with his long legs in the air before sitting up. “If you’re filming a commercial, can I suggest you take better advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here?”

Angel Dust grinned, pointing at himself with three hands, holding a beer bottle in his fourth and moving one leg on top of his other one.

Vaggie was not amused. “Angel, you’re a porn star.”

“A famous porn star! I’ll have the horniest Sinners knocking these walls down to get in!” He pointed to his lower regions.

“We are not filming a porn as a commercial!”

“Why not? Sex sells, don’t it?” Angel Dust made a money gesture with his hand. Alastor materialized near the couch from shadow. Angel Dust continued. “I swear, if you film me going at it with Mr. fancy talk creepy voice here, you’d be rolling in participants willing to stay at this tacky hotel.”

Alastor laughed forcefully and then deadpanned to Angel Dust, “Never going to happen.”

Charlie added, “Angel, I appreciate you wanting to use your ‘special skills’ to, um, attract folks to the hotel, but, I really don’t want to exploit you…in that way.”

Angel Dust grinned. “Oh please, baby. This body was made to be exploited.” He waved a dismissive hand and posed. “I got the arms, I got the stamina, I got the legs, I got the lung capacity.” He laughed, legs in the air. “Oh, I got the legs! The gag reflex, the holes, the chest fluff everyone thinks are tits.”

Angel Dust leaned against the armrest. “I could keep going all night, baby!”

“Hey, I have a question,” Angel Dust said to Vaggie. He mentioned to Alastor. “If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can’t he just make people stay here?”

Alastor chuckled, “Oh trust me…” He spoke in a low voice, his eyes glowing red, black antlers branching out, his face darkening, “…I can.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Husk scoffed from the bar. “You actually think I’d be cleaning bottles and listening to you fucks bitch and moan all the time if he wasn’t forcing me?”

“I like being forced!” exclaimed a smiling Niffty, raising her hand from beside Husk.

“Keep that to yourself, Nif,” Husk glared.

Angel Dust smirked. “What? You don’t love being here with me, Whiskers?”

Husk pointed an accusing finger. “Call me Whiskers again and I’ll jam that bottle down your throat.”

Angel Dust grinned, beckoning a pink finger. “Kinky. Come on, keep talking dirty.”

Vaggie sighed. “Angel, let Husk do his job. And no, we can’t force Sinners to stay here. They need to choose to.”

Angel Dust scowled. “I’m choosing to be here, and I think it’s all stupid. We’re in Hell, toots. That’s kind of the end of the road, ain’t it?”

“Well maybe it doesn’t have to be,” Vaggie countered. “Just because nobody has made it out before, doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

Angel Dust put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, whatever means I can keep crashing here, rent-free. Crack is expensive.” Vaggie glared.

0 0 0

Later, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Angel Dust sat together on the red couch, while Alastor sat in a nearby red chair. Angel Dust’s long legs hung over the armrest. Husk’s eye twitched in anger as he glared at Angel Dust’s sultry expression.

Charlie paced in front of the group. “Yes, okay, so, Vaggie and I were talking about ways to promote the hotel, so we decided we are making a new commercial that represents our vision and what we’re doing here.”

 “So, we need a camera.” Vaggie held out a hand. “Alastor?”

Alastor smiled and snapped his fingers. In a flash of green light, a red and black 1930’s folding camera with no film appeared in her hands. It was decorated with golden antlers.

“A video camera,” Vaggie glared.

“Hmm.” Alastor snapped his fingers again, and in green light, an old video camera with an eye lens appeared in her hands, with tape and a Band-Aid stuck to it.

“Alright! Let’s do this!” Vaggie said with excitement. Soon, she had positioned the camera to show Angel Dust and Husk sitting at the bar.

“And…Action!” Vaggie called, pointing a finger forward as Charlie watched next to Vaggie.

Husk stared in annoyance at the script papers in his hand while Angel Dust rested his head in one pink gloved hand, elbow on the counter.

Husk pressed the script to his face as he read in monotone: “’Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. Can I help you with anything?’”

Angel Dust put a finger to his chin and smirked playfully as he leaned toward Husk. He cupped Husk’s chin.

“’I’ve been a bad boy and I need a big strong daddy to put me in my place…on the path to redemption!’” He pointed upwards.

Husk rolled his eyes as he read the next line.

“’Well, you come…’”

Angel Dust leaned back and let out a sultry moan… “Oh yes!”

Husk glared at Angel Dust. “’…to the right place.’”

“Cut!” Vaggie called. She slouched and groaned. “Okay, Angel, I need you to be less horny if possible, and Husk, can you maybe not have a script in front of your face?”

Husk wasn’t happy. “I ain’t no actor! I can’t memorize this shit!”

“Well, we can improv this shit, baby cakes.” Angel Dust mused, putting a hand on Husk’s cheek. “Rawwr.”

Husk shoved Angel Dust hard with his paw off the bar counter. He shrugged. “Whoops.”

“Husk, come on,” chided Vaggie as Husk guzzled down his alcohol in a bottle.

0 0 0

Sometime later, Niffty was gleefully trying to stab at a four red-eyed black bug with her sewing needle. “Stab, stab, stab, stab!” she breathed. Vaggie went on her knees down to Niffty’s level.

“Um, alright, Niffty, Niffty,” Vaggie held her arm to stop her from stabbing. She placed her hands on her shoulders.

“Niffty. Your line is ‘we have the cleanest rooms?’ okay?”

Niffty stood up and smiled. “Okay, got it! I’m ready!”

Vaggie stood up and turned the camera on, pointing it at Niffty.

“Action!”

Niffty’s smile fell, and she stared blankly into the camera with her large red-orange eye. Her arms went limp at her sides. Vaggie, Charlie, and Angel Dust stared in confusion as Nifty’s iris grew smaller and smaller.

“Uh…cut,” Vaggie said.

Niffty then shook her head and smiled again, spreading out her black arms. “How was that?!”

“Well, Niffty, you actually have to say the line, so let’s roll again.”

Niffty nodded rapidly and made two fists. “Okay.”

“Action!”

Niffty stared blankly again.

“You’re doing great, Vagina!” Angel Dust whispered to Vaggie with a smug expression.

“Cut!” Vaggie yelled, standing next to a red bed. “Alright, uh, maybe we can try to fix it in post.” She folded her arms.

Angel Dust asked, “Do you even know what that means?”

“I’ll figure it out!” Vaggie bellowed. Angel Dust held up his hands. Charlie comforted Vaggie as she left the room.

Later that night, Vaggie slouched in a red chair in the dark, watching static from the old-fashioned box TV.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel…” came Husk’s monotone voice from the TV.

“Urgh!” Vaggie groaned, hands covering her face, camera in her lap. Wanting some peace and quiet, she had turned out the lights, but the glare from the TV wasn’t helping. Her heart sank; Charlie would surely be disappointed at this half-assed commercial. She was the hotel manager, and she felt a great responsibility to help make her girlfriend’s dreams come true.

“If only I wasn’t surrounded by a bunch of asshole self-absorbed idiots,” she thought.

“Seems like you’re having a bit of a trouble there, hmm?”

Vaggie glared at the smirking Radio Demon, who had popped out of nowhere. He looked at her and moved to either side of the chair.

“Ugh, este pendejo (ugh, this asshole). Why are you even here?” she asked in annoyance.

Alastor settled down onto the couch, one leg over the other.

“For the entertainment. I came here because I love seeing wasteful souls struggle to accomplish something meaningful and fail spectacularly, like you are doing now!” Alastor’s shadow crouched menacingly behind the couch with glowing red eyes, extended antlers, and a wide grin as Alastor talked. “Good job!” Alastor added with a mocking wave of his fisted hand and arm.

Vaggie stood up, aiming her camera at him. “And here is Alastor, the egocentric piece of shit that…ugh!”

Vaggie gasped in fright as Alastor glitched on the screen. The screen flashed red, and the camera fizzled out and sparked with green electric magic. Vaggie let go and it toppled to the ground, smoke curling from it.

“I wouldn’t try that, my dear,” Alastor warned in a low radio voice. Vaggie froze, terrified. Alastor’s shadow grinned behind him. “This face was made for radio.” He tilted his head and neck and his eyes turned black with red radio dials moving where his pupils were. Brief static and red voodoo symbols flashed across reality.

Vaggie recovered and stood up again. “That’s it.” She made a swiping motion with her hand, then pointing a finger at Alastor. “I don’t care who or what you are. If you’re staying here, you’re going to make this work, because it won’t be so ‘entertaining,’ (she waved her fingers) to watch over an empty hotel, will it, shitass!” Vaggie stomped away, but Alastor just stood there, hands folded behind him. A plan was conjuring in his mind.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. He strolled over to her. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s make a deal.”

Vaggie turned around and sat down.

“Pfft, you think I’m that stupid making a deal with a demon like you?”

Alastor rolled his red eyes and waved a dismissive hand.

“Not for your soul, just a simple deal. I do this for you…” He leaned in toward Vaggie, “…and you never ask me to engage with this frivolous television technology ever again.” He turned around and grinned.  “Or Charlie will get to see absolutely nothing.” He turned his head around to smirk at Vaggie, his grin glowing. “Your choice.”

‘Just this once,’ thought Vaggie, pushing down her fear. This commercial was important, and Charlie needed her help.

Vaggie sighed, closed her eyes, and held out a hand. “Fine.” She picked up the camera and placed it in Alastor’s hands. The camera glowed an eerie green as green skulls of magic swirled around it.

“Now then,” Alastor said, clamping his hands together. The camera disappeared and he snapped his fingers. The lights flicked back on. Angel Dust, Husk, and Niffty materialized into the room in green light, with a new video camera with two eyes on top, a round green stage light and a director’s chair. Alastor now had a worn red top hat on his head and a red tuxedo suit, much shorter than his usual one, one red part hanging tail-like behind his back. Vaggie gasped as Alastor’s voodoo shadow minions appeared around her. One wore headphones and held an attached remote. A thin one held a hanging microphone with its pointed tail and a small camera. The third sat in a small wooden director’s chair while holding a white megaphone. The fourth had Xs over its eyes, carrying another hanging microphone and wearing headphones and a worn baseball cap.

Angel Dust, Charlie, and Niffty looked on in amazement as their clothing changed in green swirling light. Niffty now wore a flapper style dress, light red on top, dark red in the middle and light red and straight on the bottom. She wore a big dark orange ladies’ hat with an orange rim and a small yellow flower decorating the top. Angel Dust admired his pink 1920’s suit with a dark pink necktie, buttons on the front, a white hat with a black rim and long white pants. Husk slouched as black and red sleeves and pants appeared on him. Charlie had on a flapper red dress and a red hat decorated with flowers.

Vaggie smiled, standing proud. She soon wore a gray wavy flapper dress, mostly dark gray but with light gray at the bottom. The top had a pink wavy rim. She wore a large black ladies’ hat with a red rim, red flower, a red foxtail, and two red feathers sticking up from the middle. She also wore white gloves. “Alright, everyone, let’s make a fucking commercial!”

For once, Vaggie was pleased with Alastor’s created outfit for her.

After many hours of practicing, pain, and process, they were finally successful.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel,” Vaggie began as the group stood in front of the hotel with their 1920’s outfits. 1920’s jazz music played.

“Founded by Lucifer’s daughter Charlie, the princess of Hell.”

Charlie waved and posed.

The double doors opened, and Charlie spread out her arms. “Come check in here and see our new cozy parlor room.” KeeKee was sleeping on a table next to a radio.

“Meet our first resident, Angel Dust,” said Charlie.Angel Dust posed.  “He’s staying here in the hopes of getting clean and becoming a better person.”

“Still just stayin’ here rent-free,” Angel Dust whispered, earning a glare from Vaggie.

The scene shifted to Angel Dust and Husk at the bar. Husk managed to say his lines without holding the scripts, though he was still grumpy.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. Can I help you with anything?’”

“I’ve been a bad boy and I need a strong daddy to put me in my place…on the path to redemption!” He pointed upwards.

Husk rolled his eyes.

“’Well, you come…’”

“Oh yes!” Angel Dust moaned.

Husk glared at Angel Dust again. “’…to the right place.’”

“In that case, I’ll just check in to one of these fabulous rooms…I could always go for private time in bed.”

Husk looked at the camera. “Have a drink. It’s on the house. Or come over to play cards or whatever. Um…I do magic shows too.”

Niffty appeared in the bedrooms. “We have the cleanest rooms! No trace of bedbugs, dirt, or any kind of mess!” Niffty stabbed at a black bug with her sewing needle and popped it gleefully into her mouth. “Just ring the bell and you’ll have instant fast room service!” Niffty darted around as she cleaned the rest of the room.

Vaggie moved the camera over to Alastor, who just glitched. “Erm, we also have a boat, a kitchen, and a radio tower for anyone interested in listening to music or shows.”

Charlie and Vaggie appeared by a portrait of the royal family. Charlie began.

“With rumors about Exterminations getting worse, the Hazbin Hotel is a safe place where you can stay with your friends and family. Best of all, it’s at no cost! If you’re a Sinner, we can make you a Winner! And with my special self-help program, you’ll be able to pack your bags to Heaven before you can say…”

“Oh, fuck me!” Angel Dust moaned in the background.Vaggie rolled her eyes.

“Charlie Morningstar’s Happy/Hazbin Hotel! Your path to redemption starts here!” Vaggie finished. A number appeared next to “Call Now!” 1-800 – 666 – 6666 or 1-666 – RAINBOW. (Yes, our phone actually works, ignore that other commercial!)

It was as good as it was going to get.

A few hours later, Vaggie grabbed Charlie’s hand and smiled. “Come here, we have something exciting to show you!”

Vaggie led Charlie over to the red couch where the group sat. Niffty sat on the couch armchair. Angel Dust lounged on the floor. Husk slouched in his spot, his chin under his large paw hand. Alastor sat up straight in a nearby red chair, one leg over the other.

“Alastor pulled some strings and it’s about to air,” Vaggie mentioned. She and Charlie sat down.

“I pulled a few limbs, too, hahaha,” Alastor added, hand over his chest.

“Our commercial’s about to be on TV?” Charlie asked, surprised.

Angel Dust grinned. “Yeah, it’s one of my better performances if I do say so myself.”

Charlie beamed, tears in her eyes, hands over her heart. “That’s…that’s amazing.”

Angel Dust put a pink finger to Charlie’s lips. “Shh! It’s startin’.”

The TV screen showed the group standing at the front of the hotel with their 1920’s outfits on. They stood under the “NOW PLAYING” theater sign and the “WELCOME TO THE HAZBIN HOTEL” logo. Niffty stared blankly at the camera, Angel Dust posed with his arms out, wiggling his eyebrows, Husk chugged his bottle of booze, and Alastor glitched in and out next to him.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel…” Vaggie began, off to the side.

Static buzzed across the screen. Niffty clapped her hands, and Alastor sat in amusement as everyone else groaned out loud in anger and disbelief. Charlie’s horns briefly stuck out of her head, and she hissed.

The blue 666 News logo and “BREAKING NEWS” appeared on the screen. Katie Killjoy soon appeared at a desk on TV, with Tom Trench next to her with a gray gas mask for his face. Katie Killjoy was blonde and pencil-thin, wearing a red dress and a necklace. Tom Trench wore his light gray suit with a red necktie.

Katie Killjoy began: “Breaking news in Hell today! We have just received word from the Heaven Embassy that the next Extermination is happening sooner than ever before!”

Three black menacing Exorcists appeared on an image on the screen with “EXTERMINATION” under it in red.

The words scrolled along the bottom of the screen:“HOLY SHIT! THE EXTERMINATION IS HAPPENING IN SIX MONTHS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! CONFIRMED! LEGIT! FUCK! WE ALL DEAD SOON! WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?!”

“Do you know what that means, Tom?” Katie Killjoy asked, turning to him.

“No, what does that mean, Katie?” Tom Trench asked.

Katie Killjoy’s eye twitched, her smile strained. “It means we are all royally fucked!”

The screen then showed the large glowing hourglass. The Sinners screamed as the counter reduced to 176 days. Back in Heaven, Adam’s glowing evil smile flashed in the darkness.

[specialshinytrinkets]

The funniest part about my OCs is that, out of all characters, Kee has the most normal parents (others I just didn't get much into-)

Like. There are three somewhat main characters: Derres, Lioo and Kee (like Sonic the Hedgehog). There's also Ies, but her deal is kind of Complicated™, since they're not quite. Someone to have parents. Cuz. She's a demon-

But anyways (warning for death mention):

Derres doesn't want to remember his parents much to not let the grief and trauma resurface, but he idolises them a lot. However, his speech about them is more often than not very... vague, prioritising the feeling of him missing their company than any specific memory. And I don't blame him, because, if you actually dig in, there aren't many niceties to remember! Being a witcher in a secluded place, from a dynasty of sorts, it was inevitable that a lot of responsibility would be put onto him, especially considering he is the youngest, most recent holder of the amplifiers. So, the pressure resulted in an odd dynamic where young Derres knew that he is loved (he must be loved), but would dismiss his own feelings to prioritise what is important, so that he would be given attention (the way to earn love). Of course, it does not mean the parents were cold to him all the time, but it was not an ideal dynamic. And sadly, one that could not be prevented or, at least, mended. Not now...

Lioo, on the other hand, despises her mom, namely because of how she handled her proposal to become Derres' apprentice. Now, obviously, she was 18 when she left home to do what she wanted, so you need to take this with a grain - or a cup - of salt. However, her decision had somewhat reasonable roots: she saw how much Derres provided for the community, stressing himself out every day, and wanted to easen up his job. Her mom did not take it well, though, shutting down the idea at every possibility. Think of "Blow My Brains Out" by Tikkle Me, specifically the chorus (lyrics):

Lucky is she who lives unaware Doesn't get bothered by those who don't care Lucky is she who lives unaware Who doesn't get bothered by all that's unfair Unlucky me who knows way too much Who fights to make changes and music and such Unlucky me, aware of the pain All 'cause I happen to have some brain

Mixing together teenager maximalism and seeing the indifferent response to trying to fix the issue is bound to create fire. And it wasn't put out, even after drowning. In fact... The rift deepened. Since, who else can be blamed for your daughter's death, but the man who "took her away with witchcraft"? Who else can be yelled at for ruining your child? For making a deal with a demon? Who else?

And then we have Kee, who has been fully supported by his parents throughout his entire life. Said parents tried their best to help him adjust to the prosthetics and reach out when their son suddenly isolated himself and left the city. He's gonna regret that, alright.

All in all, very funny how the guy you'd expect to have fucked up upbringing actually has it fine, he just got hurt much later in life than the rest, hence why his coping isn't very good. And well. We are witnessing it in real time, and not as a memory. Trauma is messy

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave: Part 2

Please only read if you've read part 1, which you can find on my AO3 HERE

(Pic is a 3D render I got awhile ago by Thrawns-Lawyer here on Tumblr)

Chapter 14

We stayed out much later than anticipated, and Gale and I are ready for a night’s rest. Jenevelle chugged a bottle and immediately fell asleep, but she wanted to stay on my chest rather than her crib tonight. I  lay in bed, our tiny baby curled up comfortably on my chest with her pacifier in her mouth. Gale gets out of the bathroom after bathing, wearing his purple pajama pants and joins me under the blankets. 

  “I don't know about you but I am exhausted,” I mumble as I lean my head back. “Some party though, and I'm glad she had fun. To think I'm now twelve years older than her. I feel more like her sister than her mom at this point.” 

  “You know…she did offer to babysit Jenevelle tomorrow and give us a date night,” Gale implied, his voice low and hushed. “I’d like to take you out for a date. What do you say?” I turn to face him, a smile slowly growing on my face as I cherish the idea. 

   “You know? I’d love that. She's never truly babysat her before, but I trust her. She does love this baby more than words can express.”  Gale looks down at our sleeping daughter, who snores cutely while drifting away into the slumber clouds of Dreamland. “I wonder what Jenevelle dreams about.”

   “Probably milk, if I had to guess. Maybe Tara. Using a toilet I'm sure is something she dreams of doing, if only that were one that could come true. Oh…there was that one time she saw Raphael.”

    “Yeah, I'm surprised that face doesn't haunt her often. Then again, he is handsome.” Gale facepalms himself but fights a chuckle. “You're more handsome though.” 

   “Nice save there, bard.” I shrug as I smile at him innocently, then shrink into the depths of our bed with our daughter in my arms. Gale gently picks her up from my chest trying not to wake her, and quietly stands up to take her to her own room. Somehow, she manages to sleep through his movements. I didn't realize he was so dexterous. “It's best if she sleeps in the crib. I know how you get when you sleep.” 

   “Do I roll over that much? I thought I was a pretty stiff sleeper.”

   “The problem is your loud gas that emerges from your behind.” He smirks at me but blows me a kiss as he tiptoes out of our bedroom. Nice one, Dekarios. I plop my head back on the pillow, staring mindlessly at the ceiling above me, fighting laughter as I hide under the purple suede comforters for a few moments until he makes it back into the room. “Hmm, where could my wife possibly be?” 

  I stay silent as I wait for him to join me in bed, my head still hidden away where he can't see me. 

 “I guess the bed is all mine.” I feel him crawl into the bed and lay on top of me, which causes me to laugh and roll off the bed. “Oh, there she is.” I stand up and shake my limbs in a weird dancing motion, playfully glaring at him. 

 “You don't rule this kingdom, love,” I tease as I crawl back into the bed, inching my way closer to him so I can feel our flesh touch. The warmth is so comforting, I don't think I have it in me to ever leave his side. “So toasty.” 

 “You could say I'm a natural heater. You could probably roast marshmallows on my torso, but don't get any ideas.” He kisses the side of my head as I place it on his chest, his heart pounding at a paced rhythm. “Now, shall we get some sleep? I am pooped.”

 “I've never heard you say that word before.”

 “What word?”

“Poop."

“You just wanted to find an excuse to say that, didn't you? Goodnight. Go to sleep.”

“Gale?”

“What is it, my love?” 

“Do you think there are alternative universes? I'm just thinking… I have a sensation there's two other Gales out there that also have wives. Like I had a dream last one of the Gales had a blonde wife named Waverly and she was a sorceress. Then another Gale had this redheaded wife named Darcy. And…all I remember after that was…I had a kangaroo pouch I would keep my snacks in.”

“I love you, Emmy. Please go to sleep.” 

  The golden aura of the bright morning ascends into the sky, and before my eyeballs can even be exposed to the world around me,  Neeve bolts into our room without knocking, something she hasn't done since she was seven years old. 

   “You’re lucky I'm in the bathroom, Neeve Tara Dekarios!” Gale shouts from our bathroom. “What is it?”

    “I’m going to see Maddox today before baby duty tonight, I'll catch you on the flip side, cheese bags! We’re grabbing breakfast together at the little breakfast stand down the street. Spy on me and I'm turning you into a gnome.”

   “Neeve Dekarios…”

   “I'm kidding, Mum. Probably. I'll be home soon, okay? Love you both. I already gave Jenevelle a kiss.”

  It's come to an unfortunate realization for me that the older she gets, the less time she wants to spend with us; something I should have expected, but still hurts nonetheless. She's growing up into a young woman who is crazy over a boy, who honestly might just be her soulmate. I remember like it was yesterday when she was learning how to walk, talk, eat, and cast her first spell. Now? Well, we’re facing plenty of hard truths: our daughter falling in love, moving out sometime soon, and  the inevitable fate of her leaving us behind when she passes one day. I just want to enjoy it while it lasts. 

Gale comes out of the bathroom, but then notices my unusually dim behavior. 

“Love? Is everything alright?”

“I'm okay, just…” I pause and he patiently waits for me to finish my sentence. “I like that she has her friends and Maddox makes her so happy. I just wish we could spend more time with her.” Gale chuckles and sits down on the bed next to me, not concerned whatsoever, which surprises me to say the least. 

“You know how much time we've spent with her the past few years? Up until a couple months ago, when she graduated from Blackstaff, she's finally socializing and being herself. It will be alright.” Gale kisses the side of my head and places his hand on my upper thigh. “Plus, Maddox is a good kid. Karlach and Wyll raised him well. He's good for her…as much as I hate the thought of her ditching us for a boy.” 

 Jenevelle can be heard fussing in her room, ready to be free from her crib. Gale and I smile at one another as we stand up to get our baby. When we reach her room, I noticed it decorated in pink flowers; the same ones from Neeve’s party last night. She  must have done this. 

“This is so beautiful and thoughtful. We raised her right, didn't we?” I ask, admiring Jenevelle’s room. Gale chuckles as he picks up the baby. 

“Indeed we did, my love. Despite her stubborn nature.” Gale holds Jenevelle close to his chest, swaying her gently in his arms as he kisses the top of her head. Though we complained before about her never aging, I think part of us truly appreciate it despite the circumstances. 

[vinylspinning]

Townes Van Zandt: Townes Van Zandt (1969)

Townes Van Zandt never did anything the easy way, and I can personally relate with that philosophy ... though not to the point where it would put me in an early grave.

Van Zandt's widely-chronicled self-destructive tendencies did just that to him by age 52, but he was already making things difficult for himself with this eponymous third LP, which followed '68's For the Sake of the Song and the same year's Our Mother the Mountain.

Recorded 55 years ago at a since-closed studio named Bradley's Barn, in Mount Juliet, TN (about half-an-hour's drive from where I sit writing this), its songs stripped away the ornate production that drowned Townes' voice and painstakingly considered poetry under an ill-fitting, low-budget version of Phil Spector's 'Wall of Sound.'

And that meant re-recording all of four songs (*) found on his first album: starting with its title track and following with "I'll Be Here in the Morning," "(Quicksilver Daydreams Of) Maria," and the all-time-morbid "Waitin' Around to Die" (an ode to codeine addiction). (**)

To be fair, these are now considered by most fans to be the definitive versions, even though they (and new cuts like "Columbine" and the miner's lament "Lungs") feature nothing but Van Zandt's aching voice, nimble finger-picking, and sparse percussion that sounds like someone slapping hands on a kitchen table.

Heck, maybe the same table that our troubadour is sitting at, eyes half-closed like he's nodding off, on the album's cover?

A slide guitar colors "Colorado Girl" and "Don't Take it too Bad," and a whimsical flute blows like a winter gale through the heart-breaking "None But the Rain," but the toughest track to unpack, by far, is the wordy, mysterious "Fare Thee Well, Miss Carousel."

Here, Townes finally cuts loose from the album's reigning minimalism with a fleshed out, drum kit-backed arrangement, and verse after verse of cryptic characters and rich imagery, dark omens, humor, and irony one could interpret a thousand different ways, to wit:

"Well the drunken clown's still hanging round; But it's plain the laughter's all died down; The tears you tried so hard to hide are flowing; And a blind man with his knife in hand; Has convinced himself that he understands; I wish him well, Miss Carousel; But I got to be a-goin'.

Well, the lady's been told that all the gold; Is worth so much it can't be sold; No time to weep, she'll need her sleep tomorrow; When she carries her face to the market place; And bets it on the opening race; She can ring her bells, Miss Carousel; But her singing brings me sorrow;

Well, it's always done, every mother's son; Is shown that grown men never run; So they fight with all the might inside them; When the battle's been fought and they've all been taught; That the trick is just not being caught; Will you give 'em hell, Miss Carousel; When they're begging you to hide them?

When the need arose, your eyes fell closed; You clamped your fingers 'round your nose; Would you say that's any way to judge him? Well, you haven't got the authority; To kill him in the first degree; But would you feel compelled, Miss Carousel; If you had something to begrudge him?

On a velvet beach far beneath the reach; Of those that come to pry and preach; The natural man that tried to stand is fallin'; Well, how long will it be before he sees; You own his legs, but his mind is free? Only you can tell, Miss Carousel; How long will he be crawling?

Ah the castle wall has grown so tall; Seems there ain't no hope at all to reach the top Even though you stop for breathing; But I ain't gonna try to make you cry; The tear drops couldn't find your eyes; It's all been swell, Miss Carousel; But the time has come for leaving.

Won't you come and get me when; You're sure that you don't need me then? I'll stand outside your window; And proudly call your name."

Kee-rist!

To quote an anonymous sage commenting on Reddit, these themes of "existential defeat, a longing for escape, and grappling with the meaning of existence" make this self-titled third LP one of the most inspired and sonically emblematic of Townes Van Zandt's star-crossed career.

So don't do things the hard way ... listen to this record.

* Another, "Tecumseh Valley," had already been revised on Our Mother the Mountain.

** I tend to agree that "For the Sake of the Song," "I'll Be Here in the Morning," and "(Quicksilver Daydreams Of) Maria" benefited from this second try, but I'm not so sure about "Waitin' Round to Die," which originally sounded like a haunting Spaghetti Western theme.

More Townes Van Zandt: Our Mother the Mountain, Delta Momma Blues, Live at the Old Quarter, Houston, Texas, Flyin’ Shoes.

[ask-aurachnid]

Tricks and Illusions

[TW: Gore, violence, non-con drug use, hallucinations, panic attacks, emotional manipulation/abuse??, mental breakdowns]

Word Count: 2k

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

"It was always going to come to this," Mysterio sighs. “But I can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

What?

Frankie can't help their confusion when the figure of Master Kee disappears in a puff of smoke, not vanishing like a magician, but literally turning into smoke and blowing away. They had known that Mysterio was up to something, but somehow they have even more questions than before.

All of the things that "Master Kee" had summoned evaporate too, revealing more than a hundred drones, hovering silently in the air. Some are outfitted with sophisticated projection technology, and others are outfitted with turrets and other combat mechanisms. Suddenly, Frankie's singed suit makes sense, if they were blasted back by an explosion instead of a blow from an earth elemental.

"None of it was real..." Frankie realizes. "It was all an illusion, tricks and holograms to make you look like a hero!"

Mysterio claps slowly, the fog clearing from her helmet to reveal her face under the blue lights of her HUD. She looks smug. "Great job, detective. Truly."

Frankie's eyes narrow in a glare, muscles tensing in preparation for a fight or chase.

"You're right. None of it was real. Unfortunately for you, this is no hologram."

Frankie doesn't get the chance to ask what she means, as Mysterio flings a small canister at their face. They catch it, of course, but that proves to be a mistake when the canister starts hissing, spewing a thick green fog in every direction and surrounding Frankie in moments. They toss the canister away, but it's too late.

The gas is somehow both sweet and acrid, making Frankie's sinuses itch and their eyes water behind the mask. Their throat burns, and they can't help but cough, knowing they may have just signed their death certificate. Whatever the gas is, it can't be good.

"I hope I calculated the dosage correctly. You're going to make an excellent case study for my next paper, and I’d hate to have you keel over from a heart attack before I can collect more data."

Frankie's too busy hacking out their lungs to come up with some witty response, falling to their knees as Beck makes her escape.

Frankie squeezes their eyes shut against the spasming of their diaphragm, and when they open them again, everything has changed. Everything is wrong.

Frankie's still in the street, but Mysterio and her toxic smog are gone. In fact, there's no one. The street is empty, with no person or car to be seen. It's so unnaturally quiet that, for one, terrifying moment, Frankie is convinced that Mysterio has somehow rendered them deaf.

"You should have walked me home." The voice is so achingly familiar, and Frankie nearly trips in their haste to spin around, to see the owner of a voice they haven't heard in so long.

There she stands, dressed in the familiar pleated skirt and grey sweater of the BAT uniform, nails covered with chipped purple polish and wrists decorated with colorful beads and strings, just like the first day they'd met.

"Paige…?" Frankie breathes. "What? No, this isn't possible. It can't be–"

"You knew something was going to happen. Why didn't you tell me?"

“No– No, I had no idea. You have to know that,” they say, stepping cautiously toward her. They reach out, hand shaking, but as soon as their fingers brush against her cheek the image changes. Dust stains her skin and dulls the shine of her hair. Half her face collapses in on itself; gore and viscera pour from the wound. Purple bruising stains her skin as her limbs bend at unnatural angles.

Frankie yanks their hand back with a wounded noise, taking a stuttering half-step backward.

Paige opens her mouth to speak again, but all that comes out is a sickening gurgle of blood.

“Are you even making a difference?” a new voice asks. Frankie turns and comes face to face with another ghost staring at them, despite the hole in her head. Lily McKay, the first person they’d failed to save in the field. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry–” Frankie tries to back away only to collide with another body.

“If you were really sorry, Vulture wouldn’t have been able to hurt anyone else after what he did to me,” he says. Allen Becker. He’d been killed for trying to encroach on Vulture’s Chitauri weapons trade. Toomes had made an example of him, talons opening his torso like a zipper for his entrails to spill out of. 

Frankie chokes on the thick scent of iron. 

“I– I didn’t–”

Suddenly, Frankie’s surrounded on all sides by familiar corpses, broken and bloody bodies, ghostly reminders of all of their failures. Their voices overlap in a cacophony of venomous accusations and grief.

“We never had issues with supervillains until you so-called ‘heroes’ showed up,” says one (Aaron Blake, crushed in the path Rhino’s destruction). “We were better off without you.”

“My little boy is growing up without his mother, thanks to you,” spits another (Leah Sharp, the first of Green Goblin’s victims). 

Frankie shrinks under the onslaught, shoulders hunching forward like it might protect them from the fear and guilt. Like it might protect them from the truth.

“You’re no hero, Aurachnid. You’re just a kid playing pretend,” Paige says, blood dripping down her chin. “I mean, just look at yourself.”

Frankie glances down, alarmed to find the dark Kevlex of their suit has vanished, replaced with the thin white hoodie and athletic leggings of their first attempt at a costume.

“You haven’t changed anything, not even yourself.”

Frankie’s heart is racing and it feels impossible to breathe, making them gasp for air. Their spider-sense is racing up their spine and buzzing through their teeth but there’s no direction, no instinct to dodge or run, just an inescapable, overwhelming sense of panic. 

“Is this really all you’ve done with my legacy?”

“Gods, please– No–” Frankie pleads around wheezing breaths. In the years since the Vanishing they’ve only heard that voice through old YouTube videos and meticulously maintained voicemails.

In a blink, the scene changes. The corpses and the city disappear, leaving Frankie in an impossible void with Spider-Man’s memorial looming dozens of feet above. Bronze limbs groan as he rises from the plinth, the ground shaking under his feet. 

“You’re just a poor copy of what I was. You should have died in that Sears when Rhino defeated you,” he says, towering over them. “You shouldn’t have put on that spider in the first place.”

“I– I just wanted to m-make you proud, Queens. I wanted to protect people–”

“You failed.”

Frankie doesn’t see the blow coming until it’s too late, the statue’s metallic foot catching them in the chest and flinging them backward like a rag doll. They tumble and skid across the ground, gravel slicing through the suit and tearing their skin. It stings, but Frankie barely notices it through the haze of panic and breathlessness. Their vision blurs with tears and warped shadows haunt their peripherals. 

“Hey there, firecracker.”

Frankie sobs, practically flinging themself at the new figure in their haste to wrap their arms around him. Their papa is just like they remember, warm and smelling of books and coffee. Their dad stands with his hand on Papa’s shoulder. He’s got his scrubs on, and Frankie can smell the hospital antiseptic like he just got home from work.

“Papa! Dad! I’m s-so sorry,” Frankie sobs, holding as tightly as they dare. One arm around their papa’s shoulders and their free hand grasping their father’s scrubs. “I didn’t w-want any of this to h-happen.”

"Didn't you?" their dad asks. Frankie lifts their head to look at him, and they can't find any warmth in his eyes. Their papa hasn't lifted his arms to hug them back, and he's looking at Frankie with barely concealed contempt. 

"What? O-of course not," Frankie says, confused. "I missed you so much, you have to know that."

"Could've fooled me," says their Papa. 

"How soon after I died did you start calling that murderer 'dad?'" 

Frankie trips backward like they've been burned, falling to the ground. "I– No, it's not like that– He's not– I'm just–" 

They don't get the chance to explain themself, as they watch their fathers turn to ashes for a second time, their anger echoing in Frankie's ears. There's no dust to collect, no dog tags to clutch like a lifeline. Frankie wails, bruised chest aching as they struggle to breathe. 

"You're just a little cuckoo, is what you are."

"Stop– Please, just stop," Frankie begs. 

"Did you think I would put up with you forever? You're not my family, you're a parasite." 

Castle stands a few yards away, unarmored and unarmed, Max at his side like he's between missions. He's looking at Frankie like they're a stranger, and Max's hackles are raised, his ears pinned back in warning. 

"Castle, please– Please, don’t leave," they cry, reaching out desperately in hopes of seeing just a flicker of parental affection in Castle's eyes.

"You're not my kid. I don't want you," he says, ice cold, before he turns on his heel and walks away. 

Frankie doesn't chase after him, crumpling like a puppet cut from its strings. Their arms are wrapped so tightly around their ribs that they're bruising their own skin. Their hair stands on end in a pathetic, vestigial attempt to make their trembling form look larger and scarier. 

They’re all alone, and they don’t understand why. Terror and confusion tie their brain into knots they can’t undo. Their body hurts and they can’t breathe, extremities going numb as they fail to get enough oxygen. Their head swims with it, black spots dancing in their vision. Their heart beats like a drum, blood roaring in their ears, but not loud enough to drown out insidious whispers. They don’t understand what’s happening or how to make it stop.

They feel like they’re dying.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Frankie can’t remember everything that happens after that, just flickers of memories that slip through their fingers just as quickly as they come. Small sparks as they swing away, racing across rooftops as something chases after them. Flashes of Nicky, wounded by Frankie’s own strength and lack of control. Glimpses of Frankie’s friends in the Cluster turning their backs in disgust. 

Maybe they pass out, or maybe the hallucinations get so horrific their brain just automatically redacts them. Whatever the case, Frankie loses a considerable amount of time. 

The next thing they know, they’re on a rooftop in Brooklyn, pressed into a corner, miles away from where they’d confronted Mysterio in Manhattan. The sun has set and the sky has opened up, icy spring rain pouring down and soaking Frankie to the bone. Heart still beating out of their chest, Frankie clambers to their feet, bracing for the other shoe to fall.

It doesn’t. 

They feel jittery, anxious and paranoid as they make it back to their apartment without interruption. They’re twitchy and on edge as they yank off their soaking mask and fall on top of their covers, still shivering in their wet costume. They’d never even turned the heater on, despite the dangerously low temperature.

Frankie’s apartment is empty and deafeningly silent, and suddenly everything comes crashing down again and again. Every hissed accusation and gory memory echoes in their head. Frankie curls into a ball, squeezing their eyes shut and covering their ears, but it doesn’t help. Their entire body hurts and the whispers just get louder. Frankie can’t do this anymore.

Something shatters in them. Frankie can practically hear the sound as they fall to pieces, a gaping cavern replacing everything in their chest. They weep, into an isolation so expansive they might as  well just be silent.

If a hero falls and there’s no one around to hear them, did they ever make a difference? Did they matter? Were they even there in the first place? 

[skylarstark4826]

“It could've been different.” 

They were his words, his possibly last words, when she pressed the lethal end of the spear to his throat as he laid helpless, back-burned, at her feet.

It's been months, however, since their battle, since they united their two glorious nations. She grieved her brother and mother properly, and now is trying to honour their memories. Shuri is now back in her country as Queen and protector of Wakanda, the Black Panther, to rule and defend her homeland until her nephew comes of age and claims his birthright.

Shuri still finds herself unfit for such a post. Being a sovereign was never her thing; it was never meant for her. It was T'Challa's. But her brother is dead, thus, the burden of the crown lands upon her head. In time, however, the Queen learnt how to do her job and found some privileges in it; she's now not treated as a child but a reverend queen and the saviour of Wakanda, the one who restored the heart-shaped herb.

It's still wrapped around her wrist, the bracelet hegave her. She never takes it off.

When T'Challa died, fire seared her soul. Guilt and rage were eating her up alive. Everyone attempted to muffle her anger, her mother included, except for one person who wanted her fire to merge with his and burn the world together. And she was all in for it.

Untill he murdered her mother.

Namor fueled her fire, and set her soul aflame, rubbing the fact of her helplessness and weakness to do anything for her country, her family. She couldn't save T'Challa nor could she protect her mother, thus, he forced her to be queen, to make a critical choice, and chose vengeance.

“It could've been different.” 

If only her mother trusted her daughter's judgement, if only Queen Ramonda didn't send Nakia to rescue her, if only she refused to escape with Nakia, if only she could heal the Talokanil girl, if only she stayed with him. If only, if only, if only... Yes, it could've been different. 

But could it different from her waiting for him on the bank of the river where she first met him?

The shell he gave her, and the Kimiyo beads she gave him were supposed to be tools for communication between the two nation leaders. But sometimes, Shuri blows in the shell for a more private meeting, and sometimes Namor sends her a blipping message to her beads to see her, and her alone without her counsel and his generals. 

He emerges from the waters at her call, elegant and magnificent as a king — a god should be. Namor strolls down to her, cladded in Vibranium jewelleries, a spear in his hand. Intimidating and powerful, just like the first time she saw him, except, the malice in his eyes is replaced with tenderness, ardency, and desire.

“In pantera,” He purrs, and his lips are on hers. My panther.

Shuri meets his yearning with the same passion, and her lips are hungry for his.

“Inyoka yam enentsiba.” She whispers breathlessly, hands cupping his face ardently. My feathered serpent.

Namor's large hands skim her sides, she's so tiny in his hold, but her force is of mightiness, of gods, just like him. His equal, his fire. 

Shuri's arms around his neck, hands combing through his hair. His jade nosepiece nudges her nose a tad, but she's got used to it. She giggles, fondling his ears and touching his earrings before her hands travel to his nape and click his large collar open, sliding it off. She keeps his smaller pearl and jade necklaces, nevertheless.

“I knew you'd call me tonight.” He tells her as they lie down on the sand, him on her.

Shuri giggles, her smile is playful, “Oh, really? What makes you sure about that, O Great Ku'kul'kan?”

Namor chuckles, kissing her face; forehead, cheeks, chin, jaws, up to her ear whispering, “The Elders gave you a headache in today's meeting.”

“Ugh,” She rolls her eyes, “And you helped them against me, traitor.”

“Well, they did have a point, in yakunaj.” He answers, his voice vibrating again her neck, “Keeping a foreign traitor isn't wise.” 

Shuri sighs when he brushes his lips to her sweet spot, where her delicate neck connects to her shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder which side you're o-on—OH!”

Namor rumbles with a chuckle again, he loves her cute attempts to argue with him while she's totally at his mercy. He slides her dress down, and grins; his beloved must be desperate to come to him wearing nothing beneath her pretty dress. Her dark nipples are already erected, secretly inviting him to feast on them. Namor, however, has other plans for that.

“I'm on my Queen's side. Mantats'.” Always. Shuri sighs delightfully when Namor's head goes down beneath her breast line, his lips lavishing her skin down to her belly button. “Allow me to remind my forgetful wife.” His large hands cupping her breasts, his palm engulfing the entire supple flesh. 

Wife. Shuri shivers at the word. It has a heavy effect upon her, and the bastard knows it and uses it against her. 

If only her mother knew... that her princess daughter was already head over heels with the King-God of Talokan at the fist sight. Maybe if she refused to go with Nakia at the time and married him, her mother would've been alive, her people wouldn't have suffered, an alliance would have formed earlier, peacefully.

“Fuck!” Shuri snaps with a hiss when her husband's tongue leaves a fat stripe on her cunt. His hands caressing and fondling her breasts.

The soft hair of his beard tickles her sensitive skin, and his nose is smothering in her cunt. His mouth is making her see wonders, and his hand are reassuring her, fingers ghostly grazing on her nipples.

Shuri cradles his head in her arms, eyes tearing up with intense pleasure. “Namor! Oh fuck, Ku'kul'kan! Ku'kul'kan! ukumkani wam, myeni wam, sthandwa!” My King, my husband, my love. She cries while his tongue drawing tears from her eyes and her heat. He makes her weep from up and down, profusely. 

“Ch'ah toh almehen!” She screams when she reaches her high and her husband stills momentarily between her thighs.

Namor crawl up to her, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Her eyes are still tightly shut from her orgasm.

“You know my name.” He whispers with a kiss on her forehead. 

“Shouldn't a wife call her husband by his name?” She chuckles tiredly, “Plus, you practically told me when you gave me this.” She raises her wrist, the jade bracelet adorning it, his name is practically engraved on its details in his mother language.

He hums playfully, “I never doubted you'd figure it out.”

He sits back on the sand, ushering her gently to sit on his lap after he rids himself from his shorts. Shuri lock his neck with her slender arms, kissing his lips. “But you didn't expect me to ever use it. Why?”

His hands wander the small of her back, “Your intelligence sometimes frightens me, Shuri.”

The latter grins, “Well, that's what I do. I know things.” She puts her hands on his shoulders, and sinks down on his hardened cock, and Namor lets out a low growl which makes her satisfied.

Shuri presses his chest, and he lies on his back. A smart smirk on her face, his heart aches. Shuri rolls her hips, “Why?”

Namor groans, shaking his head. Oddly, it reminds her of him lying half-dead at her feet. Tonight though, he's on his back for her and deeply buried inside of her. She feels a rough coil at the tip of her stomach. Shuri grinds again. “Why?” She demands.

“Fuck, in yakunaj .” He growls, his hands on her hips, accelerating her already harsh pace. 

“Why, thixo wam?” She asks again, more gently this time. 

Beneath the lunar light, Shuri witness glimmering beads falling from her god's eyes. That doesn't stop her now more tender rhythm, nevertheless.

“In diosa,” He implores, my goddess, and Shuri shivers, and her walls clench around him. “I never thought you'd be the one to break my curse of being without love after what happe—”

Shuri surges forward and her lips are on his. Namor groans against her lips, and meets her yearning with much of his own, her fire reaching the fire in his soul, and he releases inside of her.

“I want to love you,” She echoes, “I want to worship you until the end of days.”

And it's a god-to-god oath.

[fatehunted]

incoming transmission ... :: from @speedconduit / wally west. He leans in close, angling his head so that his lips are at her ear, he murmurs, "That's a trick question. We both know that I can make you blush…" His hands settle on her hips, squeezing gently. "…if I play my cards right…" Inhaling slowly, he blows an intentional breath at her lobe, before finishing his sentence. "All I gotta do is let you know how lucky I am to have you in my life, mm, Beautiful?" With a cheeky chuckle, he pulls away, but not before placing a quick kiss to her cheek. reference / unprompted || always accepting.

The breath against her ear is enough to make her freeze and the confident smirk Artemis had been wearing slips. Her body tenses as he idles up beside her, his lips right there. Artemis cannot kee[p herself from faltering leaning back because she wants to see him.

❝ Wally... ❞ she starts, but it's all that falls from her lips when the redhead begins to speak. And she hates that he's right. She tries not to shiver but the moment his large hands grip her hips and he exhales against her hair, she's done.

She closes her eyes but she cannot ignore the burning that creeps up her olive skin to rest upon her cheeks. Her fist curls against his shoulder and her body relaxes. She can't stop the surprised gasp that leaves her when he continues, and her nickname all but does it for her. The low rumble of his voice as Wally speaks is enough to make the blonde melt and her knees buckle.

He's a smooth fucker.

As soon as he steps back and the warmth he had enveloped her with tapers off, her eyes open and sharpen.

❝ Wally! ❞ she says again, but this time, her tone is angry and loud. Really, the more common way his name echoes from her mouth.She grabs the nearest thing to her—Lian's Kid Flash doll—and aims it towards him. But he easily darts out of the way with an infuriating laugh, his lips against her cheek.

❝ You're an asshole! Get back here! ❞

God, she loves hates him.