#:but the fact that they in the text of the game are morally grey at best is not:

[jordan-the-pious]

Why do you refuse to help those in your flock captured in the hands of a wolf? Even if devoted to your church you refuse to protect those in the grip of bailey, who plan's to give their body's away to evil and sin if unable to pay. You work as a hypocrite in the lords home for turning your back on innocent souls who reach out their hands for protection.

You seem to be confused my dear. There is room at the temple for all who are worthy. We hold a vigil once a week at 8 pm on Sundays, where initiates who have sufficiently proven their grace and devotion to the temple may undertake the vigil to become fully-fledged members of our order.

I will not say that it is an easy task, but any may do it, should their devotion to the temple be strong enough. Even those who are sullied and have broken their vows are allowed in if they show that they have sufficient drive.

We are a temple my dear. We help the poor and unfortunate, but we are not a charity. Those who need our services need only live by our rules and be remorseful if they fail to do so.

[edens-pen]

𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝗻 (𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲?) | 𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝗺𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸!𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

summary | part of being eddie’s best friend means knowing what’s best for him, even when he doesn’t. his new girlfriend? definitely not what best for him, in fact, it’d be your pleasure to get rid of her.

pairing | eddie munson x black!fem!reader (twists, brown skin + morally grey)

wc | 5,045

warnings | 18 + ! cheating (not on reader!), oral (f!receiving), fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, eddie cums twice (that felt important), creampie, cum eating + swapping, eddie has a big dick, squirting, eddie gets a bit mean, and reader is a little bitchy bold and a little dark.

a/n | no beta, so please excuse any spelling errors, let me know if i missed anything and yes the title is from alien superstar, beyoncé ate with the album!!

[ 18 + | minors, blank, ageless blogs, do not interact! ] 

-

You didn’t want to. Truly, hand over heart, you didn’t. You wanted to do things properly, after all, you’re a good girl. A good patient, girl. You know how to wait. 

But you’ve been waiting too long, and you were getting hungry. 

You’re ready to eat.

Eddie's been your best friend for years and you've given him time. You've let him sleep around and have his fun with whatever girls catch his interest for a few weeks, or even a few months. It always ends abruptly, once they realize you're not going anywhere. Once they realize that Eddie will always be at your beck and call because you've trained him that well.

He's your greatest prize and nothing could come between what you had created between you two.

Now of course you’re one to give credit where it’s due, she’s smart. You were always taught to never underestimate an opponent, and at the beginning, you’ll admit, you did underrate her, just a bit.

Eddie’s new girlfriend, that is. 

She inserts herself very slowly, where she doesn’t fucking belong.

She starts small of course, she sits on his lap during lunch. That’s fine, she’s his girlfriend, she can sit there. But you always sit next to Eddie, on his right side, where you belong.

One day, when you get to the cafeteria, she’s sitting in your seat. She’s messing with his hair, when you walk up. Her eyes flicker up to yours for a moment, and you don’t miss the smirk on her face when she feigns innocence.

“Sorry, I know you usually sit here, but I needed to give Eddie’s leg a break today!” She giggles at the end of her sentence and for some reason, it makes you vicious, and cruel insult bubbles up on your tongue. But you don’t bite, you just smile and nod in understanding, taking a seat next to her.

You let lunch pass without much fanfare, and as more lunches come and go, she takes your seat next to Eddie. Somehow, that’s even worse than her sitting on his lap. And she knows that.

When she’s secured that spot, she’s coming to the DND meetings. Though she previously shrugged them off for homework, or hanging out with other friends, now she’s coming. 

Originally, you don’t know why. She doesn’t play and neither do you. You normally sit off to the side, occasionally providing commentary and quips. Eddie’s attention isn’t on you during the campaign, he’s completely immersed in being the dungeon master. His full focus is on the game. So, she has nothing to gain from coming to the meetings.

You don’t get it until she’s batting her eyelashes after the meeting, telling Eddie to drop you off at home first, so they can have some alone time together. When Eddie hesitates, she leans up on her toes, speaking into his ear about how her parents are gone until next week, and she’s got the house to herself. What Eddie doesn’t see is her eyes flicking over to you, the quirk in her brow, asking you to challenge her.

Once again, you don’t bite.

Eddie’s a weak man, because of course he is. So he promises to hang out with you some other time, then he speeds off, leaving you on the front step of your house.

She works like that for weeks. Subtly, she works to remove you piece by piece from Eddie’s view. Your texts go unanswered, your calls are screened, your plans are canceled or abandoned entirely. 

With each new part she takes, she gives you that saccharine smile, letting you know exactly what she’s doing.

It all comes to a head when she approaches your locker after school. You would be walking home that afternoon, thanks to her of course. She leans against the locker next to yours, watching you stuff your books inside.

“Hey hun, I know Eddie’s birthday is coming up, and we’re kind of planning on having a party for him, y’know and we all graduate in a few months, all the more reason to celebrate right?”

You nod in agreement, listening to her smack her gum. “What I wanted to talk to you about is a bit more important though,” She slams your locker shut, nearly catching your fingers in the metal. “I know you’re supposedly Eddie’s best friend or something like that, but I think we both know that’s over. I see the way you look at him and I don’t like it.”

Instead of speaking you listen to her ramble on about her place in Eddie’s life, how you need to move on, and find somebody else to love you. She talks about how Corroded Coffin is on the come up and he’s her ticket out of this shit town, so you need to back up. She tells you that you need to extract yourself from Eddie’s life. At the end, she rolls her glossed lips and smiles widely.

“Be nice when you tell him though, I don’t wanna make this hurt for you,” She winks at you when she sees Eddie down the hall. “Thanks, hun!” She walks off, chasing after her boyfriend.

You don’t answer at all, instead you sigh and roll your eyes. You don’t waste your time responding to her threat, you already know what you’re going to do.

The plan is only just stewing when Dustin and Mike rush up to you minutes later. The conversation is stilted until you ask them what they really want.

“We want her gone,” Mike says finally, peering at you with frustrated eyes. “Eddie’s girlfriend,” He clarifies.

“She’s ruining the game and our lunches, she’s always talking about his band, and dragging him away during lunch,” Dustin explains, gesturing. “She even had him cancel a meeting last week and this week for that party. Eddie hates parties.”

You nod slowly, but shrug your shoulders. “So you want me to…?” You trail off, letting their expectations fill the void.

Dustin looks at Mike who shrugs, “I don’t know! Do something!”

Walking out of the school with the two boys on your tail, you shake your head. “I’m not Eddie’s mom, I can’t make him do anything,” You feign helplessness while they argue back.

“Yes, you can!” Dustin huffs.

“Make her leave or make him break up with her,” Mike supplies. “Anything to get rid of her.”

Their desperation hits you and finally you smile. You stop walking and nod shyly. “Okay, I’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You know what you’re doing is for the good of everybody.

–

But you’re smart, you know better than to fight fire with fire.

So you pull back at her request. You take a seat further from Eddie during lunch, you don’t come to DND meetings, or ask Eddie to hang out with you anymore.

You pull back quickly, extracting your presence from the group. You know it’s working when Mike texts, telling you Eddie is asking for you, wondering where you’ve been. You text him back telling him not to answer Eddie, letting Mike know that you’ll see them all at Eddie’s party tonight.

And you will. You've taken some time to sharpen your teeth, tonight you will bite, and you promise to enjoy it.

That evening when you get home, you take a nice, hot shower. You don’t spend too much time on your makeup, pulling your twists back from your face. It’s not going to be worth it in a few hours anyways.

You run your fingers over each dress in your closet until you settle on the baby pink one. The silk settles nicely on your body, the hem sitting a little too high on your thigh. Sliding into your platform heels, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror.

You almost felt bad about what you were going to do. But you looked so fucking good doing it, you couldn’t be too upset.

When you made your way to Eddie’s girlfriend’s house, you weren’t surprised to see the house filled with people you’ve never seen before. People who definitely weren’t Eddie’s friends. This party wasn’t for him, it was for her. She was showing everyone that she’s Eddie’s girlfriend, like she owned him.

Poor thing.

You text Dustin, letting him know you were at the front door. He rushes to your side, flanked by Mike. They do not comment on your appearance, but you urge them to separate Eddie from his girlfriend so you can talk to him. They walk away with a smile, and you feed off their excited energy.

It only takes a few minutes for Eddie to make his way over to you and he does not hide his reaction to seeing you.

“Fuck,” He smiles, running his tongue over his teeth. “You look good.”

You pretend to lean into him to speak, but sadly pull back when you realize he can’t hear you over the music. “Can we go somewhere to talk? In private?” You settle a light hand on his arm and he nods, guiding you up the stairs.

He tries a few doors before going into a large bedroom and shutting the door behind you both. You note the style of the room and take a guess as to who it belongs to.

“Hey,” Eddie calls softly, gaining your attention. You turn to face him, a soft expression on your face as you take a seat on the plush comforter. You stretch your legs out, the dim light of the room resting softly on your brown skin. “Where’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.”

You laugh lightly, looking off to the side, “It’s only been days, Eddie.”

He shakes his head, disagreeing with you. “No, it’s been weeks. You haven’t been coming to lunch, you don’t even sit next to me in Physics anymore.” He stands in front of you, looking down at you. “Did I do something?” The soft tone of his voice has big fat tears pooling in your eyes. When you look back at him, his mouth drops open and he cups your cheeks. “No, what’d I do?”

“I guess,” You whine. “With your new girlfriend and everything, I just feel like you don’t have a lot of time for me anymore.” 

You know he wants to argue against that, but a tear slides down your cheek and Eddie Munson has always been a sucker for your tears. “Damn, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been distracted lately, but I’ve missed you.”

Sniffling, you shrug, “It’s okay.” You give him a watery smile. “I figured this would happen. Eventually, there would come a time where I’m not your best girl anymore.”

“No, no, no,” He takes a seat next to you, swiping at the tears rolling down your brown cheeks. “You’re still my girl, still my best girl.”

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. “You promise?”

“Of course,” Eddie swears. “You’re always going to be my girl.”

Sliding closer to him, you wrap your arms around his neck. Eddie buries face in your neck and you feel him take a slow inhale of your perfume, it was the vanilla and ginger scent he loved. Pulling back slightly, you pout. 

“Kiss?”

He nods, giving your cheek a kiss and then turning to kiss the other one. “Still my girl?” He whispers.

Your body is much closer to his now, your arms are still around him and he’s holding your waist, rubbing you lightly over your dress. “Still your girl,” You mumble, your breath puffing against his cheek. Leaning over, you slide your hands under his jaw, running your nails along his neck. He closes his eyes at the feel of your acrylics against his skin. “Are you still mine, Eddie?”

He nods slowly and you glide your thumb against his bottom lip. “Your lipgloss?” He asks.

You’re Eddie’s best friend, you know him like the back of your hand. You know everything that makes him weak, everything that fogs that pretty little metalhead.

“Strawberry Lipsmacker, Eds,” You answer, giving him a small smile. “Wanna taste?”

He swallows hard, eyes still closed. “I shouldn’t.”

“C’mon, Eddie,” You urge him, still running your nails on the spot just under his jaw. “Just a little taste.”

Eddie leans forward before he answers, lips already brushing against yours. “Please.”

His lips are over yours in a second, kissing and licking, sucking at your tongue, tasting as much of your gloss as possible. “Your dress is so pretty,” He breathes between kisses, sliding a hand up to the back of your neck, pushing you as close as possible. 

Tilting your head up, you give him access to the sensitive skin on your neck. “Think so?” You giggle coyly, carding your fingers through his hair. “I got it to match my panties.”

He groans against your neck, his tongue licking along your shoulder. “Baby, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Not kidding, Eddie!” You whine, breathless at the way he’s still working on your neck. “Can I show you?”

Eddie pulls back, eyes blown wide, “Yeah, of course, yeah.” You stand to your feet, towering over him with your heels on. He reaches up to the zipper, pulling it down slowly, watching as the dress drops to the floor, pooling around your feet. 

You turn around to face him, kicking the dress to the side. Eddie takes in the sight of your soft pink panties and your lack of bra. Standing between his legs, you set your hands on his shoulders. “Is it pretty, Eddie?”

He groans as you lower yourself on his lap, pushing him back against the bed. Your lips descend on his neck, kissing and licking every inch of available space. “Eddie?” He’s hard against your lap, and you grind down while he moans out loud. 

“So pretty, princess. I promise, so fucking pretty.”

You pull up to look into his eyes, “Show me how pretty?” You pose it as a question, but you know Eddie won’t be able to help himself. He can’t help himself when it comes to pretty things.

So you’re not surprised when Eddie rolls you over, laving his tongue over your neck and taking a nipple into his mouth. He tweaks your other nipple with his hand as he sucks, and then switches. He gets both slick with spit before tugging on them slightly. When he twists a little too hard, you moan his name, wetness gathering in your panties.

“Princess,” Eddie chuckles. “You like it a little rough?” Nodding, you roll your hips up to meet the bulge in his pants. “You have no idea how perfect that is.”

Then he’s sliding down your body, leaving wet kisses and dipping his tongue in your navel along the way. Stopping just over your panties, he toys with the hem, “Can I?”

“I’m yours, Eddie. You can do anything you want.”

He nods slowly, settling himself between your legs. You watch as he presses his face against your panties, taking a deep inhale before licking you over them. He plays with your clit through your panties, rubbing in light circles with his thumb.

It’s filthy and sweet at the same time. 

Eddie makes the choice to mouth against your panties, not giving you enough of what you need. He covers them in his spit and then pulls them up, not down, against your cunt.

Whining breathlessly, you grab his hair. “Don’t–”

“Thought you said I could do anything I wanted?” He laughs and you hear Eddie getting mean, and it’s exactly what you wanted. “You’re mine so take it.”

He pulls them harder against your cunt, rubbing your clit raw with the fabric splitting your pussy lips. He’s relentless as he tugs them, watching as you whine and cry in front of him.

Just like before, Eddie’s a sucker for your tears. “You’re so pretty when you cry, princess.”

Yanking your panties off, you note that he doesn’t remove your heels, even when your panties get caught on them. Instead, he makes himself comfortable between your legs, watching your pussy. He leans in immediately, swiping his tongue through the mess. You card your fingers through his hair, tugging him closer to your cunt and he gets the hint. Spreading you open, Eddie sucks your clit into his mouth while his fingers tease at your slit, not going in just yet.

He leans up only to spit down at your cunt, groaning as your hole clenches around nothing. “Don’t know why I did that, you’re already so fucking sloppy.”

“Eddie, fuck, please!” You squeal, already breathless

Slipping his middle finger in, Eddie wastes no time curling it up, listening to you moan and plead his name. He doesn’t wait too long to add another right next to the first and returns his mouth to your clit. He’s licking and slurping at the wet mess that’s gathered in front of him, and you’re crying above him.

In between each nip at your clit, or bite on your thigh, Eddie’s asking you how much you love this. He’s telling you how long he’s wanted this, admonishing you for not letting your best friend get a taste of this hot little pussy, making him sleep with other girls who don't taste half as good as you.

Before you can respond, a series of wet smacks lands against your clit and you’re arching your back away from the impact. But Eddie’s hand is curled around thigh, and there’s no way for you to escape.

“Wanna feel you cum on my face, princess,” Eddie’s almost begging against your cunt, sliding his tongue in with fingers,

You don’t have the strength to deny him. Not when he’s staring at you, hungry and desperate to taste more of you.

So you're digging your heels into his back and he lets out pleasured groan at the pain you're inflicting.

Throwing your head back, you whine his name as the tension in your belly releases the hot tension built up inside you.

“Holy fuck, Eddie,” You cry, gripping his hair even harder. “God! I’m close, I’m gonna–I’m cumming–”

And Eddie doesn’t let up when he feels you coming. He doesn’t change pace or remove his fingers, he keeps curling them right against that spot that has you gushing around his tongue. In fact, you have to yank at his hair to get a break from the sensitivity.

When looks at you, his chin is covered in your release and he’s grinning at you. 

“You sound so hot when you cry my name,” Eddie laughs as he leans down to kiss your lips. Tasting yourself on his tongue has your head a little fuzzy, but you gather yourself enough to tug his shirt off. Between kisses, you’re unbuckling his belt and throwing his jeans on the floor. When Eddie finally pulls his boxers off, you swallow harshly.

You weren’t expecting him to be so big, and you tell him as much.

“Fuck, Eddie, you’re huge,” Your voice is shocked and excited and Eddie doesn’t get a chance to respond before you’re swiping your fingers through the mess between your legs and then gripping his cock in a tight fist.

He leans over as his eyes roll back, thrusting into your hand. “Princess, this feels so good. Didn’t know your hands would feel so–fuck–soft.”

You smile as you kiss him. Reaching down a little more, you run your nails over his balls lightly and Eddie shivers above you.

“Hah, princess, gotta fuck you now,” Eddie groans against your lips, but you don’t let up. “P-please, or I’ll cum all over you. Don’t want this to b-be over yet.”

Looking up at him, you grin, “If you think you’re cumming once, you’re mistaken.”

You guide his tip down, pressing the fat mushroom tip of his cock against your wet hole. Eddie swears he tries to be patient, but you keep whining and grinding your hips, trying to make him bottom out.

What choice does he have?

So he thrusts all the way in, making sure his waist is pressed against yours. The near scream you let out when his tip kisses your cervix almost makes him cum right then. But he doesn’t want to yet, he needs to fuck you for a bit first.

Eddie doesn’t wait for you to be okay, he pulls nearly completely out, then shoves himself back in. The way you’re gripping him, clenching around his cock–it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Your cunt is slick and tight around him, like you’re trying to milk him already. He builds a steady rhythm, loving the way you moan when he hits your cervix. Your nails are already scratching up his back, leaving red, long marks in their wake.

“Fucking tight little pussy, princess. You ever been fucked before?” He tries to laugh, but your eyes are shining with those tears again and his stomach tightens. The tears are rolling down your cheeks and instead of wiping them away this time, he’s leaning down to lick them up.

You sniffle, “N-never had anyone this big.”

The groan he lets out is loud, and he’s dropping his head to kiss you properly, sucking on your bottom lip. He hoists your leg over his shoulder, kissing under your knee as your heel digs into his shoulder blade. Hissing at the pain and the new position allowing to fuck you deeper, Eddie whispers, “Not gonna last long.”

Your walls keep tightening around him, the combination of his pre, his spit, and your cum has the mess between your legs getting even louder. The sound is fucking filthy and he hears it louder than the heartbeat in his ears.

“Told you,” You pant, reaching down to fondle his balls again. “I’m giving you more than one, Daddy.”

Everything hits him all at once. The sensation of you squeezing his sac, the sound of that nickname rolling off your tongue, and your cunt milking him for all he’s worth. It would bring the strongest man to their knees. It would have the fucking president spilling nuclear codes and CIA agents giving up their cover. 

Yeah, your pussy is fucking lethal.

Eddie doesn’t have the sense to pull out. Hell, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to spell his fucking name if you asked him to. All he knows is that your cunt is begging for his cum, and he can’t deny you. So he’s almost screaming your name while he’s spilling inside you, giving you all he has and thrusting until it’s too much for him to take.

When he finally slows down, his cum is beading up at your entrance.

“Daddy fucked his princess so fucking full, huh?” The sight of his cum spilling out of you is too much for him to handle and his dick is still twitching weakly inside you. “You’re a fucking mess down here, princes.”

You can’t even formulate a response before Eddie’s pulling out and yanking your hips up, sealing his mouth over your slit. He’s not even cleaning you up, he’s just drinking his cum out of your cunt. He’s swirling the mess around your pussy, playing in the spill with his fingers.

“That’s so g-gross,” You say as your pussy clenches, and Eddie only grins when he feels it. He doesn’t respond and he knows he doesn’t have to. He gives your cunt a final harsh suck and releases your hips. Gripping your jaw, Eddie forces your mouth and spits a glob of your combined mess on your tongue.

You promise you see God when he teases his cock against your clit, slapping the head against the button. He’s getting hard again, but in the meantime, he’s speaking filth into your ear.

“Gross? You mean you don’t like when Daddy feeds you your mess? You begged me so hard for it, princess. Your pussy was begging for it too, tight little hole kept crying for me. I had to give her something,” Eddie’s chuckling darkly, watching as your eyes roll back. “Doesn’t seem like it was enough though, feels like she needs some more, what do you think?”

“Fucking hell,” He hasn’t let up on your clit and you can’t focus on what he’s saying. All you know is the stimulation alone is getting you close and you’ve never felt like this before. “I’m gonna c-cum.” You cough out the last part because your breath has been stolen from you. Eddie’s hand is around your neck and he’s urging you to finish.

“Give me another one, and then we can have one together.”

The promise of a third orgasm has you nodding your head as your vision whites out. Your head is fuzzy and you’re floating in a weightless space as you cum this time. Eddie releases your neck and you let out a high whine as your orgasm hits you in waves, rolling and rolling until you’re drowned entirely.

While your pussy is still clenching, Eddie bullies his cock back inside, taking advantage of your wetness. It’s an easy slide that has both of you moaning.

Both of you are too sensitive to make this last long, but Eddie could not stop fucking you if someone put a gun to his head.

He’s rolling you over, choosing to fuck up into you this time. But this is the worst position he could have you in because once you settle on top of him, you start bouncing immediately. You’re dropping your ass down against his hips, letting the loud sounds of sex fill the room.

It all feels so good to him, and you look so pretty. You’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but your eyes flick down to him for a moment and you give him a smile.

Guiding his hand back around your neck, he holds your throat but doesn’t squeeze. 

“I’m yours right, Eddie?” You whine, alternating between grinding and bouncing on his lap. When he nods, it’s not enough, so you pout and scratch down his chest. “Eddie!”

“Mine,” Eddie confirms, using his free hand to tweak your nipples. “Only mine, princess, nobody else’s.”

“And you’re mine?”

“Just yours. Daddy’s only yours.”

You grin as you bounce faster, angling your hips while slipping your hand down to rub against your clit. “Motherfuck, this is good.”

It’s better than good, it feels right. Eddie belonged inside you, he was made to fuck you and fill you up, and you know he’s understanding that now.

Eddie plants his feet against the bed and starts meeting you thrust for thrust, finding that spot inside you again. He works against it, toying with making you cum, like he’s not ready for this to be over just yet. You can taste your release, it’s right on the horizon but you need something more.

“Pussy’s so goddamn good, princess,” Eddie praises, releasing your nipple to slip a finger in your cunt. You freeze and shake while Eddie continues fucking into you. He fits his fingers right in front of his dick, curling them against the front of your walls. “Best I’ve ever fucking had.”

Your head is lolling back and Eddie’s squeezing your throat lightly, bringing your attention back to him. “Hear me, princess? Tightest cunt I’ve fucked,” He laughs when you don’t answer him. “I know you need to cum, so do it baby. You’re already dripping down my balls, but promise I know you’ll clean it up. My girl always finishes what she starts.”

The room door slams open but Eddie’s praises are swirling in your head, and you know you’ve got him. Someone is in the background, yelling at you both, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Eddie’s, not when you're climbing a peak this steep. The room is falling away and all you can feel is Eddie’s cock stroking against your walls, and his fingers curling inside your pussy. So when he shoves his fingers in roughly, relentlessly fucking against your spot, you let go and cum. You shriek, as everything explodes.

“Goddamn,” Eddie groans. And you’re very aware of Eddie roughly thrusting into you a few more times, before he hits his own peak. Praises of your name and your cunt fall from his lips as he cums inside you for the second time that night. You collapse against his chest while he rolls his hips weakly, then finally stops moving. “Y-you squirted, princess. Didn’t know you could do that.”

“Me neither,” You pant, resting on him as your heartbeat begins to slow down. “Did someone come in? Thought I heard the door.”

Eddie nods, “My girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” You correct him with a sigh and he laughs underneath you.

“Yeah, ex-girlfriend.”

–

You give Eddie a kiss on the cheek, telling him to wait by the van while you saunter over to his ex-girlfriend.

Before you can even speak, she’s sneering at you, “You’re a fucking bitch.” 

Her insult doesn’t hurt, not in the slightest. Instead you smile brightly at her, tapping your nails against the metal of the locker next to you. “Y’know I tried to get him back today? Cornered him in the classroom and told him I could forgive him for what happened if he promised never to speak to you again. He wouldn’t even look at me, told me he was sorry but he didn't think we were anything worth saving, and gave me back the necklace I got him and everything.”

“Listen, hun,” You start condescendingly. “You’re a pretty girl, and a smart one too, and you might’ve had him if you didn’t mess with me and Hellfire. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, but if you don’t stay away from Eddie, everything will get very dim, very quickly for you. And I won’t be so nice about it.”

“You fucked my boyfriend in my house–”

“That was me being nice,” You interrupt as your smile becomes sharper and you step closer to her. She looks into your eyes and whatever she finds has her stepping back, submitting to you. 

She knows her place.

Stepping away, you blow her a kiss and make your way back outside to Eddie.

The scent of vanilla and ginger lingers in the air, taking her breath away.

-

[funficwriter]

A Wolf and A Snake (Wriothesley x Reader)

Chapter 3: In the Low Gardens

A/N: Thank you all so much for being patient with me! I wanted this chapter to be fun to read, but had so little time to write this week. I just hope I have a little more freedom in the future. Anyways, enjoy!

Synopsis: Being a noble meant that marriage was a chess game, not an affair of love. Unfortunately for the pristine Balthazar family of Fontaine, Y/N has long been enamored with love and sought it out before their priorities. After her grey, boring time of courtesy, she meets Duke Wriothesley, who makes her yearn for the first time in her life, and it's the same for him. Threatened by the idea of losing this first, it seems they'll stop at very little to be together...

Taglist: @yue-caelum, @reyy-chanx, @mis-disaster, @ladyarchiviste, @keigo-hawks-takami-simp

Warnings: Talk of murder/violence/corruption, yandere talk, Wrio gets a lil primal, a few smutty details, does scheming behind the back count as a warning? Lol

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Your parents were not the type to sing, least of all sing to express joy. But whenever they peered at you from the balcony, they looked like they could explode in song any minute. They never looked as jubilant, as proud of their daughter as they saw her, arm linked with the chivalrous and gentle Duke Archandelle.

You supposed any other girl would kill to be in your place. Duke Archandelle hailed from a long and well-respected lineage, and made a fortune for both himself and Fontaine's economy through his commerce. He was rather handsome, had a voice described as 'light honey with mint', and towered over you, the lady he was going to protect with that advantage. Hopefully, for the rest of your lives. On top of that, he was cultured, up-to-date with Fontaine's classical and modern trends, but was no pansy; He was an excellent swordfighter and hunter. You almost heard their voices yelling at you: "You've got the perfect gentleman falling at your feet, and you're not grateful?! How dare you!".

There you two were, in one of your manor's many gardens. This was the highest, prettiest one of all, and had a lovely table among the flowers where you would soon take your tea. Both of you were well-dressed, engaged in conversation (he carried most of it) and took tiny steps to ensure it stayed that way. You looked like the perfect royal Fontainian couple. Add on the fact that Archandelle has decreed himself 'fervently in love' with you, and didn't look like he was going to give up... No wonder your parents were probably even happier than they were on their own wedding day.

'Fervently in love', my ass. If I wasn't so angry, I'd laugh. Maybe with his stupid monologues or my last name's history book... My Wriothesley could teach him a thing or two about love.

"And I say, it was so dastardly for them to write that ending! I mean, to let these filthy 'protagonists' get away with their crimes! I can think of youngsters reading this novel. What will they think? How are we raising them and- My dear, are you with me?".

The funny thing about his tirades was how they can be condensed to the same strand of puritanism, either outrageous or righteous. You barely had to listen and should he feel testy, you had an answer.

"Ah, forgive me, my dear Duke. I was just appalled at the text, to the point where I didn't know what to say. But do know I'm in full agreement!".

He beamed: "Why, of course you are. Your parents raised a fine and virtuous young lady who knows right from wrong.".

Your agreement seemed to have calmed him down. He stopped to take your hand and kiss it.

"One of the countless reasons I fell in love with you.".

Liar!

You wished you could shut him up. As he embodied the peak of your social class, he also had all the ideas you wanted to criticize as loud as you can, but couldn't risk. One of them was this picking on cultural output not based on whether it was good, whether they liked it, but whether it was 'moral' or not. What's more is the power they hold. Should something not be 'moral', that would mean another secret trip to the bookstore for you, before it got fully banned.

Though you couldn't shut him up, you had two tools up your arsenal: The first was thinking of Wriothesley, which made you surprisingly more patient than you imagined. The second was hearing Archandelle be less of a whiner, more of an admirer.

"Say, my Lord, surely you've seen some good plays where this doesn't happen, right? I'm sure we'll all need good recommendations.".

Once again, he beamed, and you could tell he was restricting himself from being too physical. But perhaps he felt a bit more daring, because he put an arm around your waist and carried on walking, while talking about 'good' plays he's seen (which you were sure were total dogshit if it came from him.).

The butler had called you for tea time. It wasn't the day for your favorite dessert, but a quick wink from Agatha, who was passing by, let you know who twisted his arm into bending the unofficial rule. You felt a bit of remorse for not being able to tell her who you really liked, but you decided to do it when you were in a more secure position with Wriothesley.

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Curse whoever decided that falling in love with a half-wolf (or any hybrid, for that matter) was a curse, and bless your own canine lover for using his affinity towards the night to pick this one. The stars shined along with the soft moon, with only a few cloudy wisps passing by. The air was crisp, cooling but not so much that you had to stay in.

The hour struck. Your heart did a leap so brusque, you had to take a deep breath. The clock said it all: It was time.

You picked a simple dress for your rendez-voux; Flattering, but no hassle. Your mother wasn't fond of it, because she thought it didn't 'do justice to your beauty'. Another one of millions of differences between you two, separating her and your father into the loud and showy sun, while you counted the minutes until you could entangle your hand into his under the moon. Though everyone slept, the night was still young... Should you desire it, would more than that happen?

No one could police your desires if you thought of them.

Let him hold me again. Let him hold me securely, claiming me as his under the full moon as his own culture decrees. I'm asking a lot... But please, let him kiss me before Duke Archandelle does and let him scream it out to the world so it could throw me into his arms.

As you made your way down, your reverie was only interrupted when you passed by your elder brother's room. Being married, he split his time between his new villa and your manor. You weren't looking forward to his next visit, especially when he caught wind of your 'engagement' with Duke Archandelle and sent you a long, pompous letter congratulating you as his 'equally prestigious sister, upholding the Balthazar's powerful unions'. Ugh.

In retrospect, perhaps you should have hurried along; Just after you continued, you bumped into a curvaceous figure you knew well (after all, she held you more than your mother) and made an audible "Ow!".

So much for not being caught, least of all by your own hissing governess. Should you be caught, she'd surely get heat for not making sure you were in bed.

"Y/N! What are you doing out of bed? You have lessons tomorrow, don't you?".

As she talked, she pulled you away from your brother's door and the bedrooms of the floor. After all, she was just in as much danger as you were.

"Agatha! Hey, um... I was... I was going down to grab a glass of water. I'm thirsty.".

Forget the fact that you weren't in your sleeping attire and that your voice was racked in nerve. How could you have hoped to lie to her, your true mother figure who knew every inkling of you hiding something on your face? Her quirked-up brows clearly let you know that she didn't buy it, but what really made you want to spill the beans was the slight glimmer in her eyes: She was hurt by you lying to her.

"Really, Y/N? After all those years, you think I'd believe that? I have raised you as my own, yet you act as if I were hired this morning.".

"Agatha, I'm so sorry. Please don't be sad, I'll tell you but...".

You couldn't believe it; You were about to tell someone that you were seeing another man behind your arranged partner's back. It would be one thing if he were some king and your parents were idiots at making their final verdict. But you were seeing Duke Wriothesley of Meropide. You were seeing a wolf-hybrid, a dangerous kind to human beings (even though you'd argue that correlation does not equal causation). You were seeing a prison warden, a polite but hardy, brutish man.

Agatha could sense that your secret was a big one. She ran a hand through your head: "My dear, I've always kept your secrets, haven't I? What is so scary that you would hide it from me of all people?".

"Oh, Agatha, it's not scary at all. It's wonderful and lovely and beautiful. It makes me get out of bed with hope in my heart. it sends me to sleep as the happiest girl of Teyvat.".

Her face broke out into a smile: "By Focalors! What is it then?".

"But I'm the only one who sees it that way! It's not scary to me at all. He brings me all the joy in my life, and yet if anyone found out that would spell the end of me and him! Agatha, why did you have to be up tonight of all nights?".

A moment of silence eclipsed, you wallowing in the realization that you gave her a hint. In both your hearts, you felt that she knew you didn't like Duke Archandelle, as with most royal women. But to go to the lengths of seeing another man... Did she think you had it in you?

"Who is he, Y/N?".

"Duke Wriothesley of Meropide. We snuck by the last two socials, and we were planning to meet up tonight in the low gardens.".

You could see the shock in her face. Anyone would be, pairing you with him of all gentlemen. You couldn't blame her. If anything, you wanted to burst in tears, put your head at her feet and thank her for her tolerance. Rather than alerting even the most insignificant servant in the house, she patted your hand and stayed.

"Does he make you happy?".

"Yes. Happy enough to live.".

"That's a lot of happiness. A level you've always deserved, but if you're honest, only recently acquired. If at last my prayers for your joy are answered and they come in his form, who am I to judge you?".

A small, meek smile made its way on her face. You threw your arms around her shoulders.

"Thank you, Agatha, thank you!".

She helped you up, then looked out of the window. Whether it was at the skies or the gardens below, you couldn't tell nor had the time to ask. She grabbed your hand and continued the way downstairs.

"Let's not keep him waiting.".

------------------------------------------------------------------

You stepped out, feeling light and relaxed under the cool moon. Then there he was: Your very own prince charming, who was expectantly waiting in front of the garden's backdoor. His ears perked up. Once he saw you, your time of admiration from afar was over. A few loud steps resonated before you felt his embrace engulf you, and at last you were in his arms and everything felt (was) alright.

What made it better was his reciprocation; From the big, dumb smile, to the twitching ears (how cute!) to the feeling of his strong muscles protecting you from whatever misery could strike you right then and there...

"If I told you of how much my heart screamed out for you, you wouldn't hear the end of it.".

He kissed your hand as per usual. You supposed that if you wanted more, you had to catalyze it yourself: "I don't want to hear its end, Wriothesley.".

You didn't have to hear it, for you were still held against him. His heart was beating frenetically, reverberating into your own body.

Only when he looked up and saw Agatha, that wonder dwindled.

"What the... Who are you?".

"Wait, Wrio. She's on our side. She's the only one who supports our romance.".

He let out a small 'oh', trying to relax but with worry clear on his face. Agatha, being ever so talented at soothing, stepped in.

"Greeting, Lord Wriothesley. I am Y/N's governess. Forgive me for being out, I wasn't supposed to know of this. I just caught her by accident, but I promise I won't tell a soul.".

He took a moment before speaking up: "Agatha? Oh, Y/N has mentioned you before. In that case, I'm glad it was you who caught her, and no one else. And thank you for keeping up the secrecy, though it won't be that way forever. I intend to marry her, one way or another.".

"Frankly, anyone who can take care of her and makes her happy is great, in my opinion.".

Her warm, motherly smile has lowered many people's guards. You could tell his worry was fading away, knowing she could be trusted. He nodded one more time, and off you two went. The good thing about the low gardens was the fact that unless someone was close, no one could hear you. It was the 'abandoned' garden per se. While it wasn't as grand as the higher ones, it had many beautiful flowers, a lake, and you could never uncouple your memories of playing hide-and-seek there with Agatha or your friends.

But nevertheless, it didn't stop your displeasure at the fact that you weren't recognized at his yet. You wanted to show all of Teyvat who you really loved, who had the right to call you 'mine'.

"I wish... I wish I could have shown you the higher gardens.".

He squeezed your hand and you looked up to him. You could have died with the beautiful vision in front of you: Did the moon make his piercing eyes glow better, or was that just you?

"My love, there will be a day where we can stroll out in the open, in whatever garden you want. And besides...".

He looked on his surroundings as you kept walking, now linking arms.

"I like the secrecy aspect that comes with this one. It's like... Like our social world doesn't want you to be mine. And yet here and now, you are. Always were, always will be.".

It made you blush. It only got worse when you wanted to tuck a piece of hair, and he caught a glance at the wolf bracelet: "And from the looks of it, you want to be all mine, don't you?".

"Oh, yes. I wear it all the time Father isn't around. I'm sorry if I was morose earlier. It's the fact that I can't stand being someone else's fiancée, especially when I had no say in the matter.".

"Don't beat yourself up. I know well that we're on the same wavelength. I'm already scheming on it, too...".

While you loved talking about being his, you knew that alone wasn't enough. There had to be some sort of plan, some idea as to how he'd get you. And much to your happiness, he wasn't empty-headed to doom you to just keeping your affair, an affair. You leaned close to listen.

"So I'm presuming he wants to marry you because of your family name, yes? Like all other shitty noble marriages...".

You laughed a bit: "That's the one.".

"I already have an investigator to look further into his. Depending on whether he committed serious crime, going above the general corruption that's too often seen and brushed aside, you as his future wife have the right to file for a 'Motion of Marital Worry'. Then the Court could look into how that may affect you, and thus stop you from marrying him even if your father objects.".

This was... Wonderful.

"Why, Wriothesley, I love a man who's proactive! But I have one worry about this plan: Fontaine may be less corrupt than other nations, but there's still crime that's deemed as 'not serious', especially from our class. What if they bribe someone? That's what always happens.".

"Nah, don't worry. I myself am well acquainted with some... Important figures in the judicial system. They'll be sure to look out for such a motion with your name or mine on it. And if the crime is very serious, there's no way they'll turn their head.".

He stopped walking, letting the soft howl of the wind play out before continuing: "And anyways, that's only the first plan. I've got more ideas in case it doesn't work.".

"You really think ahead, eh?".

"If it concerns you? I think about it all the time. Even my sleep is yours.".

All the time. All the time, for me. This union was nothing like the trash your father wanted to force you in. In the other one, you belonged to Archandelle, but contrary to his spiel about love, he didn't belong to you. Maybe not other women if he were 'loyal', but you saw his attitude towards seeing you as a Balthazar, versus seeing you as... You. He really only belonged to himself.

"Don't worry. If he didn't do anything, I'll just make him. If his hand is clean, I'll twist it until it bleeds then yell bloody murder until he's sentenced for life.".

Wriothesley long made it clear, and he kept making it clear to reassure you. His loving gaze, his obsession, his thought of you that went as far as remembering everything you've ever loved or told him (and believe me, it's a lot) said it all: He belonged to you, and you belonged to him, as true love should be.

You stroked his cheek, taking in his eyes as he did yours: "And when you twist him into the wrangled, bloody mess you can make... I'll cheer you on. I'll praise like I'm watching the greatest of theater.".

Perhaps it was the fact that everything has been so dreary, or that the full moon just made people playful, but you broke away from him, your arms brusquely rejecting him and giving you distance. His stunned look hurt you a bit, but the fun you wanted was priceless.

"But Duke Wriothesley, the prince must always fight hard for the one he desires, yes?".

His boot made a quiet crunch as he approached you, and you took a step back. In a way, it was fun, withholding yourself from him as he ached for you. However, he reciprocated your playful smirk, understanding what your intention was. As you stepped back, you did the occasional twirl as your dress flowed with the moon's shine.

Teasing him was so fun: "Aren't I right? Isn't what he desires most, the most guarded and forbidden by everyone else? Shouldn't he be ready to do anything if he loves the princess that much?".

"My... Are you underestimating the limits I'll break to call you my wife? While I try to be calm to avoid prejudice, I have no issue tuning into my violent side if it's for you.".

The string snapped. You turned back and ran off: "We'll see about that, Your Grace!".

How long has it been since you ran? You forgot the freedom, the breeziness it offered.

"I'll make you see, alright!"

But that wasn't where your true excitement laid. It was the quicker, heavier crunching sound right behind you.

Off the wolf went, chasing down his partner. He had the advantage of being fit, and his hybrid blood granting him more speed than the average human. But you were also flighty and you knew the garden better than he did. Whenever he thought he had you, you ran back another corner, and even pulled your tongue at him if he was far enough.

At some point, you hid close to the lake. He had not reached this area yet, so you were safe to catch your breath. If only this could last beyond your couple of hours together! Not even factoring the end yet, you thought of him, smiling and chasing you both literally and figuratively. Only when you looked down to check on your dress, did you notice your legs clenching tight and the sudden warmth, the higher you went...

Perhaps you should have remembered that you were still being chased, ergo had no more time than a few quick breaths. You didn't hear the rustle of the bushes. Before you knew it, large hands grabbed your waist and their owner let out a victorious growl, lifting you up.

"Oh no, the wolf got me!".

"Damn right, he did! Now you're his to devour!".

He wanted to carry on, but a loving state always reduces one to recklessness. He tripped on a pebble, but made sure to switch so he'd take the fall rather than you. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as he expected.

"Wriothesley, my dear! Are you okay?".

He chuckled at your worried face: "Nah, don't worry. It was way softer than I expected. Hah...".

A crimson blush spread upon both of your faces (but especially yours). It just dawned on you: You were on top of him, like on his body, and the chase excited him in the same way it did you. His red cheeks and the hard poke you felt against your thigh said it all.

"Archons, I... I'm so sorry, Y/N. I tend to enjoy that sort of stuff, running around and chasing...".

"It's okay... I enjoyed it, too...".

The time stopped when you (slowly, yet surely) shook off the awkwardness, as you sat up in his lap. How do you proceed from there? How do you deal with feeling so clueless in what you want? You barely processed that, as you ran a hesitant hand through his hair.

"I really like your ears.".

"There it is.".

His arms tightened around your waist as he replayed the phrase in his head: "I really like your ears.". And you liked his dark attire above all the others'. And you liked his voice and his way of comportment, and by Focalors, you were madly in love with the human and wolf halves of him, never conditionally or pretending some part of him did not exist.

In the midst of this prolonged yearning, you two could no longer wait. He leaned down and sealed his promises with the kiss you've long thought of and saved just for him.

The full moon made its appearance on the lake reflection. The wind rustled the plants around you a bit. Unbelieving that this was actually happening, you pulled him in closer, wishing you could merge your bodies together. Even when you were dipping slower, slower into the ground, you knew he wouldn't let you fall harshly. You knew his tight grip was ever present to protect you from that or any other dangers, and its warmth of love and appreciation was only for you.

And you took in his mint breath, each time breathing in more and more. You were starved for your lover, and so was he, keeping you in his arms and away from a world that wanted you two apart. It already did enough of that throughout the day. The night was yours.

You two broke away, panting and looking into each other's diluted pupils. Sometimes, you couldn't believe how being with him was like having your own puppy. He whispered: "I love you with the marrow of my bones.", before dipping his head into your neck to kiss it. If marrying him, sharing the same bed, meant you could nuzzle your face into his fluffy hair, you had another reason to fight away from your other suitor.

Happy with its softness against your running hand and face, and his sweet kisses, you couldn't help but purr out: "I can't wait until... Until we can do this all the time, whenever we want.".

"Hah... And that time will come. I've already handed so much to the world, I'm not handing you out too.".

He looked up at the sky to tell the time, then chuckled in a morose manner: "Time sure flies by when I'm with you. It's like I lose control over it so easily.".

He made a sad, but true point; For one, you had to head back into your chambers, because dawn would emerge soon enough and you needed time to change, actually sleep... There was also the fact that even if he got onto the active part of taking you from your father and Archandelle (funny, you just remembered his name), your parents would probably want to have you married soon. Time was of the essence, and that essence was short-lived and impossible to take back.

As he walked you back to the backdoor, hands squeezed tight, he leaned in: "My dear, can I ask you for a favor?".

"Of course. Anything for you.".

"Next time you have to meet that idiot your parents call 'your fiancé', look at whether he behaves out of the norm. Specifically, if he's nervous or uncomfortable. Or maybe if he talks more about politics.".

"I see...".

"Nobles who feel like they have something to hide always act like that. Depending on what's found against him, he could be called for questioning. That's enough to cause unrest.".

You laughed: "As with every other noble guy. You'll probably find worse skeletons in my father's closet.".

"The question isn't whether there are skeletons. It's how you use them.".

You liked that idea a lot, enough to make you smirk. Now that you thought about it, there were many 'skeletons' around you, especially those belonging to your father. And now, you were growing into a position where you could use them, where you could be as knowledgeable in the law as Wriothesley and use it to your advantage. Sure, that might get you called 'disgraceful', but you'd be ripping yourself away from them faster, ergo into your lover. And if Fontaine was all about fairness, what was happening to you was unfair. You were just rectifying an error.

"Uh-oh. My mischievous darling is smiling like that of all ways. What do you have in mind?".

"I just liked what you said. It feels a lot like how the world works.".

"It's not far off.".

Agatha was sitting down next to the backdoor. She stood up and bowed, but her smile grew bigger when she caught sight of your intertwined hands. You felt very lucky to have her by your side.

Before bidding goodnights, Wriothesley turned you to him, and kissed you one more time, before stroking a strand of hair from your face: "Dream of me. Let us meet in the realm of sleep and continue this, until we won't have to dream anymore.".

"I promise.".

Much to your heavy heart, you headed back in, and he was off to the nearest teleportation waypoint. The ending of your meetings always brought sadness to your heart, but he worked so hard for a reason; He would rather die than you two not be together. His very passion was you, and you knew that if he was yours, some things had to be done. And you were sure that could happen, starting with the favor.

---------------------------------

"Y/N, you said he made you the happiest girl of Teyvat?".

"Yes.".

"Well, you sure look like that right now! How was it?".

[lieutenantfloyd]

General headcanons — Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Pairing: None

Summary: Some general headcanons I have about Gaz

Warnings: Mentions of Death, PTSD, pregnancy, and mental illness

notes: This is somewhat of a sequel to this post I made last year, except solely about Gaz. Soon I hope to post some romantic headcanons for the guys :)

Grew up in London

Has four older sisters and was raised by a single mother

His dad passed away when he was young and he never really got to know his dad's side of the family

Spent most of the week at his grandparent's house because his mom worked a lot

His sisters used to dress him up in dresses, do his makeup, etc and

Is very secure in his masculinity + feminine expression as a result

Prefers rugby to soccer

Worked odd construction jobs from the age of 13 until he enlisted

His dad was Jamaican and his mom is white British

Has a Pinterest where he saves nothing but outfit ideas and recipes for snacks to share with the 141

Is the deepest sleeper ever

Loves caramel and chocolate together

His favorite sweet is an Aero peppermint chocolate bar

Is a great dancer + often goes to dance studios

Also wishes he had the time to join an actual dance crew

His civilian clothes are 98% Nike tech

Even though he isn’t close with his dad’s side of the family, he wants to go to Jamaica and see where his family is from

Had a pregnancy scare with his gf when he was 18

The experience made him realize that while he definitely wants kids, he only wants them if he was out of the military and could be there for them every day.

Is annoyingly good at battle royale and shooter type games, despite the fact that he far prefers cozier games like Breathe of the Wild or Pokemon

Very nearly became a medic

Is a fantastic gift giver

Prefers to sleep on the couch instead of in bed

Always says goodbye with a hug

Collects figurines, lego sets, and hot wheels.

The duvet on his bed is navy blue/grey with white plaid stripes

Will always Facetime instead of sending texts or calling

Has been seeing a therapist/counselor since he was 4 for anxiety disorder and some BPD symptoms.

Two weeks after the attack at Piccadilly Circus in MW1, he ended up in the hospital after having a severe panic attack that left him almost completely dissociated.

A year afterward, he was diagnosed +with C-PTSD

His favorite season is autumn

Has a fear of dogs, but absolutely melts when they lick his hand/face

His dream was to be an MMA fighter, and he still trains frequently

wants to grow his hair out but can’t because of Army regs + doesn’t have the time to take care of it properly

His favorite movie is Avatar

Is involved in the online cosplay community/forums and has spent a few thousand pounds creating the most accurate Miles Morales cosplay

[cornettotrilogies]

i must've said this about a thousand times but my opinions on chassis wheatley are that yes, while the chassis probably had some influence on his actions and so did the withdrawal, neither things had TOTAL control over what he did. i think saying that he wasn't in control of his actions while he was in the chassis therefore he's innocent takes away a lot of nuance and complexity and just leaves that whole segment of the game bland.

ramble below the cut

we can infer from a lot of his dialogue that he feels resentment and a certain amount of distrust towards chell, for various things like not catching him when he fell off of his rail, or never saying a word, leaving him to feel like she was silently judging him since she never communicated whether or not she actually liked him.

chassis wheatley is angry and bitter from YEARS of being the underdog, of being just a tiny moron on a rail, always given the short end of the stick, and now that he's in total control he's just taking it out on everything that moves, because who's going to stop him? nobody has any power over him anymore, and he's desperate to hold onto it for as long as possible.

and yes, the chassis itself probably had something to do with that. whether it was removing his inhibitions, or making that pent-up anger feel just so much louder, or quite what, i'm not certain. but it didn't have EVERYTHING to do with what wheatley did while he was in control.

he's sort of like a kid who's used to always having his toys broken or his sandcastles pushed over, and the second he comes across smaller kids, he realizes he can break THEIR toys and push over THEIR sandcastles and just completely gets carried away with it. the bullied becomes the bully. the downtrodden underdog becomes the shit-hot antagonist.

and i like how that's shown ingame- glados gets bored of chell and plans to kill her. wheatley breaks her out early to save her life. wheatley dethrones glados. wheatley gets bored of chell and plans to kill her. he's repeating the cycle they were both stuck in, as some people who were stuck in a cycle tend to do, except now he's at the top of the food chain.

but i really do think that wheatley didn't intend to hurt chell when he hit the elevator. glados provoked him by calling him a moron, hitting him in a particularly nasty weak-spot, and instead of being forced to take it he realized he could fight back and it completely went to his head. he acted in the heat of the moment, and didn't realize what he'd done until that quiet little "uh oh." glados was his target. chell was just caught in the crossfire.

wheatley has always been sort of rash and impulsive, as shown by bashing the relaxation chamber into a wall instead of stopping and trying to read the text that says "500FT BELOW," deciding to plug himself into a panel so close to glados' chamber, et cetera. when you put someone naturally impulsive into a high-stress situation, they're obviously going to act first and think later, and i think that's probably what was going on with chassis wheatley. he's doing the first thing that pops into his head, which, as an intelligence dampening sphere is definitely not the best thing he could do then and there, and then only getting a chance to think about it later, hence how regretful he sounds in space.

anyway this was a really long-winded way of saying: i think people who say wheatley was completely innocent and not to blame because he was mind-controlled are weak and cannot accept the fact that their favorite characters can be morally grey. they can have flaws, and complexities, and parts of them that aren't wholly 100% good, and they can do the wrong thing. if you can't love wheatley at his worst then you can't claim to love him at his best

[cafeleningrad]

alright, actually I wanted to stay out of any FE 3 Houses discourse because some arguments seem to wrapped into 11 layers of previous fandom dramas and I still have to finish Azure Moon, and still have to go through Silver Snow.Also, as someone who's in the ASOIAF fandom, having to read takes about morally grey designed characters, and conflicted moralities about an RPG which is way more barebones in worldbuilding and sides (although clearly inspired by GoT), it does seem tiring to me.

On the other hand, I did scroll over a post in the vain of "[Edelgard was so wrong to start a war against the Church of Seiros.] Actually the crest system isn't bad. If it really was oppressive then Mercedes and her mother wouldn't have been fallen into poverty. Constance too, btw." Apart from somehow trying to argue the fact that the crest system, a system which privileges social status automatically by bloodline, is a not subtle stand in for a nobility based social hierarchy, the game pointing it out as a problem in the very early chapters, there was also a glaring overlook of systematic sexism in the game. Or in other words, it finally clicked to me, someone who avoided fandom discussions, why such arguments are brought up, and to an extend why the Edelgard vs Rhea discourse (TM) exists in the first place: This fandom doesn't like women. Or to rephrase, this fandom doesn't like women who're not written in a morally conflicted manner. Women who's trauma, decisions and behavior can not be couched into sweetness or quirkiness. Say, women afforded agency but therefore all the pitfalls and nuance that comes with consequential decisions.

The crest system is as much a problem in Foádlan as much as sexism is. These two systematic problems are interlinked.

I think everyone is allowed their space to like or dislike a certain kind of character but I find it very interesting how the most discussed character are women (Edelgard and Rhea) in a role, in hindsight of the fandom's history, usually a man would have in an FE title as villain with a cause - and fun thing, these men are barely talked about or praised for their nuance (Lyon). At least I've not seen much discourse about Randolph starting a war because of Duma's impending downfall. (And I get why "actually that female character is the best, all she does is amazing" is annoying when in the text the character is actually flawed. On the other hand, I get the reactionary sentiment because fandom spaces in general like to dump down on female characters more aggressively than on any male characters, most of the time.)

So, sexism in Fódlan. Clearly, FE 3 Houses is not the first tile to tackle systems as the problem rather than ghoulish non-creatures by force-of-darkness-dragons. But it is also true that in it's history, women of the title series were victim of sexist writing. In Awakening the Aversa on the evil side isn't only dark skinned but also clad in sexy latex, the darkest character we get is Tharja who's creepiness in repackaged as quirky yandere behavior. Eirika is a)not even cleverly duped by Lyon's schemes leading to the dark hour in her route b) not afforded the moral conflict with Lyon's complicated, ambiguous motivation like Ephraim, excluding Eirika from any more layered storytelling. And, 3 House's predecessor, Echoes, oh boy...! Listen, I like Echoes but this there're is such a load of sexism in in it. Celica is given the more difficult choice how to deal with Mila's absence while also being manipulated by Jedah. Her mistakes get punished by death, which Mila ex-machina-fied but from Alm's route. In Alm's route we do not have only one but entire four damsels in distress, in Celica's route, counting herself it plus her being brainwashed, two damsels in distress. Oh, and all the endings where only Silque is granted autonomy, every other girl is pushed into a cozy marriage with childbirth. (And ouch, Faye still being hung up on Alm with own family.)

So yeah, I kinda understand why the fandom is, in a historical sense, not used to women with agency or narrative conflict. Even less so with tackling sexism within the narrative. Women in the title series are barely unpleasant, and if they're on the "evil" side it comes with sexually aggressive character design, and not much character depth.

But whereas the game is very explicit in pointing out that arbitrary birth lottery systems like the crest system is bad by displaying the Church's enforcement of the crest order, and reasons why people might want to turn against it with Lord Lonato, and Miklan in Chapter 4 and 5, the problem of sexism is not named this explicitly. Yet it is constant theme and source of struggle in the life for the female cast. Interestingly, the most freedom of choice about a life is afforded to women within the Church. Most women who're not depend on a men to have a career as cleric, or warrior like Shamir, Catherine, and Manuela (her dependence on a man is entirely for romantic purposes and played as a joke) is in the Church. Well and of course, Rhea as century long leading Archbishop. In contrast, most women outside the Church don't have that freedom, in fact their crest becomes a problem.

The only exception might be Leonie: Outside the church order, lowborn, choosing a career as sellwsord on her own. What is also strikes me as interesting detail is the fact that Leonie is by behavior, interests, and design rather gender non-conforming. And well Petra, who's culture lies outside the faith and system of Seiros.

But already with Dorothea, another lowborn girl, the problem of a woman's position in Fóadlan becomes very apparent, especially in her exchange with Caspar: Without a crest (for which she was discarded on the streets), without a high social standing, even as a famous singer in the opera company, not being securely married means an incredibly unsafe future. For Caspar, the male equivalent of having neither crest nor remarkable, is making a career in the military - in spite of him being born as a noble.

Dorothea's problem gets mirrored so often in the life of noble women. Dorothea has to find a got match, the noble women are forced into it, and they can't get opt out of participating in the system. Ingrid's constantly pressured and guilty to marry and pass on her crest - otherwise her family will fall from their noble position. Part of the reason Ingrid's still hung up on Glenn is the fact that she a) genuinely liked him b) without his existence her future, a marriage with a noble who would've also accepted her wish to become a knight, therefore her family's future is incredibly uncertain. Her family does all to present her as good match, to the point of likely starving in order for Ingrid, the crest bearer, to survive. In spite of Ingrid describing her father as kind, on sidequest reveals how urgent the matter of marrying Ingrid off is to him that he possibly overlooks less favourable candidates. And Ingrid herself feels incredibly guilty for prioritizing warfare, the liberation of her kingdom over making a match.

There're so many unseen women in the story who's tragic stories revolve around the crest system. Hanneman's sister died due to the burden of the crest system, Balthus's mother's crest was not seen as something prestigious she was chased away from the happy marriage with Lord Albrecht. The crest didn't protect her. Balthus himself gets continuously harassed by his stepmother because she sees his crest as a danger to her own son's fortune. Also note, the one's suffering physical abuse due to having crests are all women: Hapi, Edelgard, Lysithea. They've explicitly fallen victim to human experimentation because of their crests. The Agartha's are those who conducted the experiments on the three, but in Edelgard's and Lysithea's case those who handed them over in the first place were the Adrestian nobles. Who actually get retaliated against with stripping their power when Edelgard ascends the throne. (Just to make it clear, this is not a pro-Edelgard point, it is to point out that the text explicitly names that human (male) nobels very much exploit the crest system for their own.

Also, there's Marianne. Instead of being cared for, and helped through her fear and guilt caused by the crest of Maurice, her uncle expects her to act all the noble part. While both of them seem to be in agreement to not talk about the crest of Maurice, for Marianne it brings too much pain, Marianne is left alone with her sorrow which might have not been resolved if not for the support and care of her classmates.

And let's get to Mercedes because the comment that the crest system isn't at fault for Mercedes' and her mother's social downfall is so crassly overlooking the text for an easy "gotcha" against a disliked character who is waging war against a system. Because yes, sexism and the hierarchical unfairness link in Mercedes' story. As mentioned before, lowborn women either marry or go to the Church for a more autonomous life, noble women with crests, like Ingrid are pressured into marriage. And the latter is very much true for Mercedes and her mother. Lady von Martritz only remarried because the Bartels wanted her to birth a crest bearing heir (Emil). Her entire function was serving a prestigeous childbirth. They both fled House Bartels because they got treated badly after their function to baron Bartel's was disbanded.

When Mercedes became of age she was viewed as an access to prestige not as a noble person. The problem here isn't that the crest system doesn't make a person not privileged. the problem is, that women in Fóadlan aren't given a personhood outside male dependency/inside the church. Even though Mercedes desperately tries to remain within the sanctity of the church her own stepfather, and a greedy merchant try to pry her away from it in order to exploit Mercedes as crest producer. (I mean, despite Mercedes' so gentle demeanour, her story line is extremely oppressive. The reason for Emil murdering his own father was because to protect his sister from getting sexually exploited.) So the Ladies of House Matritz, like Ingrid, are seen only as valuable as in they can pass on crests. It's sexism that lead the poor treatment of the remaining members of House Matritz - because the crest system interlinks with sexism in making women only as valuable as the crest they bear.

(Note on Constance why House Nouvelle fell: Well, she's a woman, duh. No but seriously, partly Constance is an unfortunate position because she's an additional DLC character who needed a bit of liberation from the Adrestian Empire in her actions because the Ashen Wolves are written as outcasts. Within the text, her proximity to Mercedes is interesting as she basically was befallen the same social downfall situation as Mercedes. And well yes, she's a woman who didn't receive any help, like Mercedes didn't receive any.)

In short: Whereas Miklan is an exemplary in the story why the crest system as class issue leads to abuse and neglect of human lives, notice how many women are victim to forced marriage, bad life conditions by failing to bring up the expected crests, or not having one. The crest system only gives women so much value as their crests are considered worth passing on. The crest itself doesn't protect women, within the events and background stories of FE 3 Houses it was only cause for exploitation and (physical) abuse. Last note: Whereas for Sylvain his struggles stem from the cycle of abuse passed on from Miklan to him because of the crest system, it is interesting how for many male characters other issues like poverty, racism, false ideals are more at their personal forefront of the many systematic problems Fóadlan entails for them. For the women, most issues are caused by the crests they bear. (Even Flayn/Cethleann isn't spared from it, although in her case it's a bit more complicated.)

Unsorted note on my thoughts on women the FE 3 Houses fandoms likes to bash on: (In a more tame version, it can be seen how some people despise Ingrid. Sorry, but in a game which has many sideplots about people growing together, out of the systematic barriers they're caged in, it is quiet unrealistic that only face- and nameless NPCs are perpetrators of systematic problems like racism. Ingrid being first abrasive to Dedue because of bias and unresolved trauma about Duscur, to later fumble her way in seeing her mistakes and doing better to Dedue is like... part of the theme? And funny enough, Hilda brushing over the fact that Cyril was previously enslaved by her family doesn't get as much scrutiny.)

[the-rainbow-lesbian]

idk how active you are in the genshin fandom but i wonder if you know zajef? he's a theory crafter, i absolutely hate him but i watched him to build some of my characters.. his worst take to date yet is that raiden is /worse/ than dottore (okay raiden was partly responsible for a civil war but she wasn't the sole factor and she had some more or less valid reasons for it.. like the fact that she was grieving for her beloved sister and was completely unprepared for her role as archon (she was merely a samurai/the brawn while makoto was the brains) dottore on the other hand? willingly tortured ppl, children included, and gruesomely murdered a woman he was "dating" when he was a student, etc) and i was like.. yes this is such a male opinion. also i love morally grey female characters... need more of that.

idk if arlecchino will suffer the same fate as yae and raiden though, because she's a harbinger and ppl in the fandom have the biggest boner for them, if anything ppl will complain if she's not evil enough.. (i've already seen ppl complaining about how are hyv gonna redeem someone who kills the parents of children who are raised to be soldiers? they think she's gonna become a typical waifu)

oops sorry for ranting :^)

I think people overestimate Ei’s crimes because when we went to Inazuma it was very tense let’s just say, so people got the feeling that Ei was some fascist dictator not counting the fact that the vision hunt decree only affected a small minority of people and the sakoku decree was the one that affected the general population most, and they only lasted for few years, not decades. some fans legit think Ei or the samurai were murdering people for fun but like that was not the case :) and the civil war only happened because Orobashi attacked Inazuma but before that Ei left Orobashi and Watatsumi alone, and only slain him when he attacked. there is in-game speculation about why Orobashi attacked Celestia basically told him to kill himself after he read forbidden text. even after Ei slain him she didn’t try to assert authority over Watatsumi and allowed them to give offerings to Orobashi’s corpse. I know they resent Ei and they have the right to do that since they don’t know the real reason (also they asked him to attack Inazuma but I can’t be too hard on them since they were low on resources) let’s just say it was a complicated situation but Ei had every right to defend her people, her people loved her precisely cause she kept them safe. some players were confused about why the citizens “forgave” Ei and didn’t want to overthrow her but like I said they overestimated Ei’s “crimes”

male villains like Scara get babied around even though they actually had evil intentions, Ei was just misguided and had very low self-esteem about her ability to be a ruler.

as for Arlecchino, make no mistake they are gonna be insufferable about her and write post after post trying to “cancel” her. I was hesitant about her being playable, because I didn’t want her to be redeemed cause how do you redeem someone who raises orphans into soldiers? my speculation (and hope) is that she will be on speaking terms with the traveler because they are interesting as a descender, she might just tolerate us or want to watch what we do, without caring much for our wellbeing, I think she is capable of that level of manipulation.

[qomrades]

god like.... bit of a vent. but. you can like a character that's bad, or morally grey, of course you can. but to imply that them atoning makes them innately a good person when, quite literally, all of the evidence (and the TEXT within the ACTUAL GAME) points to the fact that this is not genuine altruism or a change of heart but a reflection of rage and vengeance. that's not atoning? that's not genuine redemption that's doing the same thing but under the false guise of benevolence. it makes for an interesting character, don't get me wrong. but don't tell me that's a "good person". the WHOLE POINT is that it's not.

[zr-art-world]

Homestuck fan comic act 1 script w.i.p

I thought I might as well post what I have so far of my scrips. I'm not done with the whole outline, but I am far in its development that I feal confident enough to work on the act 1 script.

I’m also posting this for any possible critique. Working on something alone kind of suck so... if anyone out here has any critique for me, it would be very much apricated

(I’m doing this on word, so this isn't a link, sorry its long)

Act 1 Script

 *Curtains open up

A young girl is asleep in her bed, despite the time, the warm covers that trap her body heat and protect her from the cold threaten her back into the sweat embrace of sleep.

wake up

…

Wake Up

WAKE UP

WAKE UP!

…

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Jean falls off bed

A young lass lays in the middle of her room. It just so happens to be the 17th birthday of this young girl’s birthday. It was 17 years ago she was given a name and due to time and events, her name has slipped from this young girl’s mind. Help the lass jog her memory.

 *She takes the text box and scribbles in her name

Wait, shit, what are…

 Oh…ok, take the fun out of it. I hope your proud of yourself

 Your name is Jean Croker, a spunky girl that loves jokes, japes, and overall buffoonery, as it is in your blood. Granted, your jokes tend to be a little less humorous and more impish. Not helped by your love of misdirecting magic tricks and love of jesters. You also enjoy video games that, due to their age, are considered retro in this day and age, one series in particular that tickles your fancy being about a certain thieving, morally gray racoon. You also like comics and comic movies. However, you have a soft spot for the morally dubious yet heroic leads, as evident from the poster strewed around your walls and the figures lining some of the surface in your room.

Enough of that, let us take a better gander of your room, shall we?

 Jean, equip arms

 Equip…arm??? You have your hand here, on your body. Whare else would they be??? Would I have a pair of fake ones? Why would I?

…

Although that does sound fun, you can only imagine the possible pranks you could pull with those bad puppies.

 Jean, inspect posters

 As mentioned before, you have a love of morally grey heroes. They do the right thing, but their methodologies aren’t the greatest, there’s also the fact that these characters tend to be more fun than the grittier brand of anti-heroes. With their wise cracking mouthy personalities and all.

 Inspect plush

 You inspect the large plush on your floor, it depicts one of your favorite animals. The majestic and trash eating racoon. They can be cute or a little menacing and their depiction in media tend to associate them with thieve, as seen with their method of gathering food and the fur pattern around their eyes. God, you love these scrunkly fucks.

 Inspect figurines

 You already made you point clear towards Harley Quin, but the jesters…well… you don’t really have an explanation of that, you just like them for no defined reason. Maybe its that they look slightly more elegant than their clown counterpart? You’re not sure.

 Look in closet

You don’t have a lot of shelf space, so you result to putting most of your stuff in the closet. This is where you put all your games, movies, DVDs, plushies, figures, ect.

Inspect bat

Inside is you prized baseball bat. Man, you have had some fun time with this thing, it’s somewhat dented from previous use as you used play quite a bit in the day. You did quite a few extracurricular activities when younger. It was one of those things’ you guardian signed you up for in order to put your energy to more…productive activities.

 Mess around with bat

You begin to mess around with your bat, trying to be carful not to knock anything over.

 Grab hat

(grabs hat and puts it on her head and spins it backwards)

Jean, pose

…

Wait

What are you doing?

Quit dilly-dallying and get going on with the story.

You also decide to put the bat under strife spesubes. You never know when you need to “accidently” break a window with a base ball and run away like the kids in almost every movie that has some illusion to base ball.

Inspect dress

You fish a taky red and white dress from your closet. You look at it with discontent as your eyes are assaulted with the shiny accents and itch white frills. Your guardian gave this to you to wear on your birthday so you can prance around like a show pony. You didn’t even want a big party and you certainly don’t want to wear this thing. God, you just want to burn the damn thing.

Throw the dress on the floor

You can not burn it for obvious reason, so you decide to just disrespect it by throwing it on the floor. Ya, you sure showed that inanimate object what for.

Other outfits

You don’t actually put a lot of your cloths in your closet, so you head to your dresser.

*Old baseball outfit

*Some shirt that looks like someone skinned a 90s arcade or old bowling ally

*Some weird looking overall clown pants that look like its missing a texture package

Ok, this is dumb, pick and outfit already

 Wait, what is that box under your bed

It is a present from one of your friends that arrived early. You remember you had to sneak the package inside to prevent a lecture from your guardian.

Open box

The first ting you note is a classic Walmart birthday card with striders equally classic vernacular and doodles.

Happy B-day jean, it is on this day that you appeared on this random mud planet and it is today you turn a year older. For your b-day, I got you something that made me think of you. I defiantly didn’t see it in my dad’s “Old shit” closet and I’m defiantly not trying get it out of my house because it freaks me the fuck out. I hope you like it.

Sinsirly fuck spelling

From, Dare

You open the box and…oh…wow.

It appears to be a long limed stuffed porcelain faced jester in a purple outfit with gold trim. The smirk engraved on its face emits an eyrir energy. The doll itself doesn't look inherently scary but you kind of get a weird feeling emanating off it. This is giving you some serious Annabella vibes. Maybe to avoid being stuck in the middle of your own Goosebumps episode, you should put the jester back in the box.

Put the jester back in the box

Um...are you going to put it back or...

You love it

Oh...seriously. Ok, but you only have yourself to blame for the inevitable B-movie horror plot that happens next. You capture log the disturbing and possible possessed porcelain jester in your sylladex…for some reason. You have the pocket fetch modus and so you kind of just stuff things in what ever pockets you have on you. However, it has a size capacity so you just tie the arms around your neck until you find a proper fetch modus.

Look out window

Outside, you can barely see the entrance gate and there are also an abundant of chimaera looking gargoyles. These things line the perimeter and area of the house, a creepy decor choice that scares you shitless when you go out of your room to piss or when you go and grab a glass of water in the middle of the night.

Despite living in this house for most of your life, it still feels off.

EXSPOSITION

You believe it is time for some context. You Just so happen to be adopted into the Crocker Corp Family tm. A massive baking conglomerate dedicated on pushing their confections to the word. They have also bought a multitude of different companies that don’t really relate to baking, like their software branch pushing games and computer software and they even have a gaming division. Recently, they released a game that you were able to get you and your friends early access, not sure if you mother meant it as a nice jester or to get you to not bother her.

Jean, answer friend

WOW, that got sad, but look!

One of your friends are pestering you, most likely about the game. It appears to be your friend Remi Lalonde, a clever lad you met on a gaming forum along with your other friends. Despite your differing personalities, you and the other members of your friend group seamed to hit it off. Your friend Remi also seems to be interested in your family, more specifically, things that your family does that may seem… sketchy. You don’t really believe a lot of the theory’s he has proposed, but your relationship with your mother and the Crocker corp name isn’t the best either way. You can’t even remember the last time you saw her.

Jean, pester back

 --gnawingInquiry [GS] began pestering with riotousCharlatan [RC] at 8:02 AM—

GI: Morning Jean

RC: RRRREEEEEEEMMMMMIIIIII

RC: whats up man?!

GI: currently, nothing of note

GI: Have you gotten the game yet

RC: idk, I just woke up a while ago

RC: pretty rudely to. Have you ever had that feeling of falling in your sleep and waking up in a cold sweat?

RC: granted, I did fall out of bed so…

GI: Well, that is one way to start your birthday

RC: I think its pretty on brand for me on this day of all days

RC: But I think Dares gift defiantly made it a bit better.

GI: :/

RC: What?

GI: I’m just a little worried what he decided to give you. Although I don’t live with you, so I can’t say what you can and can’t do with your gifts.

GI: what ever mischief or general chaos you choose to inflict isn’t any of my busyness.

RC: >:)

RC: anyways, he got me an old porcelain jester that belonged to his uncle.

GI:…

GI:……

GI:………….

RC: Dude

GI: Give me a minute to think of a response

RC: ok, I get that, but do you have to put in the ellipsis. I can feel your cocked eye brow judging stare.

GI: I just, have you seen his uncle’s puppets. They ether range from weird to horror movie prop.

RC: I have in fact seen them. Tbh, this is one of the less weird looking ones.

GI: ok, send me a pic

RC: …

RC:……

RC:………

RC: Fuck you

GI: I believe I made my point clear.

RC: OK smart ass. Your one to talk, you live in the middle of but fuck no ware woods. That’s some slasher shit.

GI: Correction, it is not “…In the middle of the woods”. The nearest city is literally a 40-minute drive from here.

GI: Ok, we are grossly off topic

GI: we can talk again once you check your mail

RC: ¬_¬aaaaaggggghhhhhhhh

GI: ?

RC: I don’t want to deal with a certain person today

GI: Ah yes, the pains of having a private maid. The horror.

RC: look, she’s…ok. But she is so nagging and I know she would say something about me giving you guys my address.

GI: Granted, it is a valid concern

RC: But still.

RC: I also don’t want to see all those decorations

RC: I know she did a lot to make it look perfect, but I never asked for a large party. Its just going to be me and her. Like last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, ya get the point.

GI: Sooooo

GI: your mother…

RC: She’s probably gonna give me the obligatory gift and card with money in it

RC: Again, I know I’m lucky to have all this stuff but…

RC: Shit, I’m sorry for dumping all that on you. I just started typing without really thinking.

GI: It is quite alright; it is totally understandable to feel like that.

GI: It’s only fair, considering all the times I talked your ear off with my problems.

RC: It just kinda feels like being thrown in the deep end of a cold pool. Left flailing and cold, uncomfortable, and you want to be any ware else.

RC: Just left there to hold onto the edge like that guy from Titanic.

RC: Tbh I forgot his name.

GI: I did not think the Titanic would be something from your movie repertoire.

RC: Not really, it’s just one of those movies most people know because it’s been around for a long ass time.

RC: We can all agree that there was defiantly enough room for both of them on the piece of wood.

GI: …

GI: Did you just say that because it is a common thing said about the movie.

RC: … maybe

GI: Part of me really want to dissect that statement and point out the holes, but I’m not.

RC: Have you seen Titanic

GI: I’ve seen reviews of the 2017 one.

RC: You're the type of person that spoils the movie for themselves by reading the reviews, aren’t you?

GI: Look, I rather spoil a good movie for myself than waste my money to see a bad movie.

GI: Getting back to the main topic that I feel like you are avoiding in order to prolong getting out of your room…the game.

GI: If you don’t do it now, you are going to have to in the future.

RC: UUUUGGGGHHH!!!!!!

RC: I hate it when your right!

RC: I bet you fucking love though.

RC: Maybe I could go out the window.

GI: omfg

GI: You relay need to talk to someone about this.

RC: Nope.

GI: What about those dreams you have been having.

RC: Double NOPE

RC: Aren't you the one that says that dream theory is "Incredibly dubious"

GI: Not when dissecting common themes and relating them to behaviors and instances in a person’s life. When I said "Incredibly dubious" When referring to dreams, I was referring to their usage to tell the future.

GI: One of the reasons most people tend to feel like an event is familiar is because your unconscious mind simulates a variety of different events. Therefore, it is possible that a real event will have similarities to a dream you had in the past.

GI: Jesus, how do you keep making me go on tangents! Getting on the main topic, no more derails, I have a fucking death grip on the reins to this shit show pony ride.

RC: >:P Your the one that was asking about dream theory.

GI: I was making a statement about a problem you probably need help with. You are the one that brought up my feeling about how dreams are used in a less scientific method.

GI: Also, its You’re.

 --gnawingInquiry [GS] ceased pestering with riotousCharlatan [RC] at 8:19 AM—

 Check mail box

You look out the window and find the fed flag on the side is down. Wait, does that mean you don’t have mail? If you remember correctly, when you flip it up, it signals to mail people that you have mail to send. You might as well check to make sure. You look back and forth between the door and the window ceil.

Abscond out window

You use your sheet and blankets to-wait, what!

Oh, wow, you were being serious

Um

Well

You use your sheets and blankets and tie them together to slid out the window like Rapunzel.

You misstep and almost fall and break you neck. You can already imagine the headline, “Local Ritch kid Dies from Tall Fall After Reenacting Disney Movie”.

You catch yourself and nearly miss snaping your neck like a pencil and making this story really short.

Climbing out the window and swinging the gate to for the walk way, you get a good look at the exterior. It is…a fucking mansion. It’s on the older side with little minimalism, unlike modern houses. Another thing to note are the fucking gargoyle things, each one a variety of differing animal parts. You see that the gate you just existed through has a pin pad and another, much larger gate, for vehicles to enter the premises.

You also take a good look at the scenery around your house. You live in one of those towns people stop by when they’re on a long trip and need to get gas and restock on snacks. You’ve only been in town a few times growing up because it takes forever to drive there and also due to your protective care taker.

Check mail box

Yes! It is in there!

You have successfully retrieved SBURB

Abscond with spoils

Grabbing your spoils, you attempt to dash back to your hidey-hole but-

Uh oh, it looks like your maid has trapped you in a corner. Crap, now you have to explain your ass.

Strife

[fantasyinvader]

That recent post really makes me think about Steve Ditko's view of anti-heroes.

Ditko believed in objectivism, where right and wrong were clearly defined with no grey area. That A is A. A hero's job was to be a role model, a peak that humanity should strive towards rather than accepting compromise. Ditko would even argue that no-kill rules, such as Batman's, were in fact more immoral than killing the bad guys because killing the bad guy would wipe a force of evil from the world whereas sparing them gives them the opportunity to commit more evil and harm more people in the future.

Yet, Ditko didn't support the rise of anti-heroes. Yeah, Mr. A may kill bad guys but he's not an anti-hero in Ditko's mind, he's meant to be that ideal Ditko believes people should strive towards. If a character tries to make themselves out to be a victim of society, that them doing bad wasn't their fault, Ditko instead believes in telling them to stop whining because, ultimately, it was their choice to do those acts which, in turn indicates a moral or mental weakness on their parts. With anti-heroes, you start saying that those failings are okay provided they are in the service of “the greater good” (is there an echo in here?). But by doing that, you've justified acts that would otherwise be condemned. You've made them acceptable.

I feel like this does sum up Edelgard's worst defenders. That to justify Edelgard's “greater good,” they'll in turn have to justify everything she does in pursuit of that greater good.

That her hiring a bandit with orders to kill her classmates can't be taken at face value because 1) it undermines the claim she's only targetting Rhea and the Church and 2) it goes against how people read her character. That when she lies and manipulates those around her, it's not cause for concern. Her using the demonic beasts isn't immoral, it's “smart” because she's using the resources available to her (I have literally seen this claim). That Remire village and the acts of TWSITD are not her actions specifically so they can't be used against her. That killing Dimitri is okay because “he's a rabid dog” and she shouldn't trust Claude “because she doesn't know where he's from.” That Hubert's secret police putting down rebellions is meant to keep order. That her relaunching the Church under her own control isn't bad as she's making “a religion without religion.” There's all the claims that she does give power to the people rather than her canonically centralizing it on herself, in addition to her immediately stepping down from the throne rather than spending most of her life ruling. Any worldbuilding that undermines her or paints those she kill in a positive light is to be avoided as lies, all while wishing for worldbuilding to make the Agarthans out to be less cartoonishly evil.

To say Edelgard is the good guy, I have to ignore the evil she does, ignore what her ends actually are (especially in the Japanese text altered by the translation), ignore the fact she's trying to manipulate me, ignore the worldbuilding, and ignore the statements of the devs themselves. I have to ignore pretty much everything in the game to take her at face value that she's really the good guy here, all while dehumanizing everyone who stands against her or writing off her victims as a necessary sacrifice. And the scary part is, there are people who do just that.

I'm not going to say Ditko was 100% right on his takes, but he probably did have a point there. It's like, when I read the Elric saga and understand that at the time of publication Elric was a protagonist...who was also evil. He wasn't a hero despite facing even worse people, and would tell you as much himself. But nowadays, you have the comics from France needing to make him even more evil, make him do things the original Elric wouldn't do, in order to get that same point across. Melnibone went from a gaudy place whose extravagence hid the sadistic nature of it's hedonistic people, went from that to being inspired by the cenobites from Hellraiser.

So what the hell happened? It's like society has lower moral standards because we started celebrating the anti-hero concept, and it's to the point people will cheer for a villain so long as they can latch onto some form of “greater good” in doing so. And as this happened, the heroes of old were looked down upon as being too simple, too naive, too unrelatable. That, like Lex Luthor, we find it impossible to believe that Superman could have all that power... and use it selflessly.

I mean, even with Houses look at the other leads. Dimitri becomes the Savior King who provides for his people after he goes through his character growth, Claude became more of a “pure good guy” in order to become the King of Unification rather than manipulator he was before that, while Byleth goes from being an amoral mercenary to someone who works to support every soul in Fodlan (though the translation turns this into them being the arbiter, or judge, of every soul). These, actually, go against Ditko's beliefs, showing it's possible to lead people to the light rather than just cutting down everyone deemed evil provided they show that they are willing to change.

But to some, these are all worse outcomes than Edelgard ruling over all of Fodlan, reshaping it based on her beliefs. Beliefs that they put into her mouth rather than her own words. That Edelgard can do evil acts provided that they aren't for her own ends, but the ends the player wants. That so long as she cuts down who they want her to and reshape Fodlan the way they believe in, they'll support her. Like they're Agarthans themselves, except that's not what happens, as Edelgard simply uses them in order to rule the way SHE wants. Not how Thales wants her to, not how the player wants her to, but the way she wants to.

So, really, the only way Edelgard can win is if the player supports her villainy. It's the player's choice to be the bad guy, believing society is the problem and therefore what they are doing is justified only to show their own moral and mental failings. And all of this is in denial of what actually happens, believing they are the good guys even as they support genocide.

Really, makes the player out to be no different from the Argarthans if you think about it. We should really call that sub “online Shambhala” or something.

[thoughtsaladblog]

Covert Affairs

Why are men such ass holes? I mean really?

I've come across more than my preferred share of posts/reels and whatever the fuck else where so many women talk about men who leave them for hours on read- losing their minds, over-analysing every little detail and wondering whether to send a follow up text. Or men who just abruptly up and leave- no explanation whatsoever. Or just straight up gaslight them or refuse to communicate... And the fact that I can relate to all this is just WOW!

Why are you men like this? It's not like we're asking for a lot- at least not in this case! We're just saying cool it with the mind games and manipulation. How hard is it to communicate what you want and follow through on it? I mean you do it in your job don't you?

I'm currently up late juggling the thought of texting or waiting until I receive a text from Mr. Morally Grey, who has since yesterday been quite strange around me. Basically giving me the vibe that he's bored of our little dalliance or freaked out- either way dude's being distant. So me, not willing to give it up easily- I also chose to be all attitude about it. But let's be real- he's detached so I doubt this has any effect on him. But it's fucking torture for me. I want to text him- but I run the risk of revealing the fact that I need his company more than he needs mine, thus turning the tables. But also I feel like maybe the dude got bored after I showed him that I'm not as Dom as he has built it up in his head- I feel like that was a turn off. But either way, he's quiet and I want to fucking text his ass! I want to talk.

I'm headed down a fucking rabbit hole. I like the guy and he's playing games with me. Red flag much??? But my pewny brain can't seem to comprehend that coz the bitch is still letting me pursue this giant Chinese flag. Ok, I shall offer it to the Lord (who I already know isn't in support of this- because well, for obvious reasons) and go to sleep.

Bye.

[kestrel-of-herran]

vincenzo: anti-capitalism, moral greyness, and katharsis

or, why watching vincenzo is both satisfying and blood-thirst-inducing

this analysis is a response to the wonderful discussions on this topic already flourishing in the fandom, and an attempt to synthesize and expand on the points already raised by others. let’s dive in!

anti-capitalism

vincenzo’s aim as a work of art is not only to engage and delight an audience, but more importantly to inspire a civic consciousness among it. by building the central conflict around the crimes of a capitalist conglomerate easily exchanged with any big company anywhere in the world, the writer directs our attention towards the violation of human rights that such enterprises commit in our everyday reality. by explicitly showing the atrocities orchestrated by its boss and his underlings time and again - their tireless, shameless suppression and falsification of the truth in the name of greed and ambition, their disregard for the lives of people they deem to be ‘lesser’ - the narrative inspires the anger and contempt we should direct towards the perpetrators of this system in our daily lives. by making both people who are far and close to the protagonists the direct and indirect victims of this company’s tyranny and portraying side and main characters’ pain in the aftermath of these crimes, the series makes us bear witness to the ‘casualties’ of unchecked economic growth and realize its inherent inhumanity. by demonstrating how members of the private sector, the jurisdiction, and the media all contribute to the upholding of the company’s myth and conspire to prevent each other’s downfall, vincenzo exposes the rotten state of the system along with its relentless oppression of those who refuse to play by its crooked rules.

this message is underlined by the series’ explicit, frequent references to the class war in the form of its symbolic invocation of the french revolution through the reconstruction of liberty leading the people and the name of the ‘guillotine’ file as well as its off-hand references to parasite, a film which illuminates the horrific consequences of the struggle between the rich and the poor. it is even directly addressed through the conversation between the tenants after prosecutor jung’s betrayal in ep.15, in which they wonder about their newfound awareness of corruption and corporate propaganda, and understand that the political is personal and the personal is political.

one of the chilling ways in which vincenzo reminds us of how vulnerable we are to the abuse of power perpetuated by big corporations is through the fact that the four relatives of babel’s victims are targeted and murdered thanks to the retrieval of their text messages from their phone providers, an extreme example of the privacy violation that data collectors and controllers are capable of committing at any time.

the audience’s warranted anger against capitalism is focused towards the characters of han seok and myung hee, and the extremity of our bloodlust for their suffering demonstrates how successful the series has been in achieving its aim. while han seok’s diagnosis as a psychopath almost provides an excuse for his nonexistent understanding of basic human morality, the character of myung hee is a fascinating case study of the moral corruption caused by extreme ambition and blind commitment to climbing the corporate ladder. her introduction as a potentially positive character is telling of her capacity to be one in different circumstances, but her deliberate steps over corpse after corpse of her creation demonstrates her willingness to cross any boundary on her way to accumulate more power as quickly as possible. the recurring scenes of myung hee’s gratuitous consumption of food during or after a murder of her planning provide a visual metaphor for her symbolic devouring of her victims’ life forces on her way to the top. while oppressors at the bottom of the chain like the bye bye balloon crew can read the wake-up call of their own abuse by the system, those at the very top like myung hee have to fully embrace the position of exploiter in order to thrive.

moral greyness

who is bold and tenacious enough to not only defeat these monsters, but return the suffering they have caused tenfold?

enter vincenzo cassano and hong cha young, two deliciously morally grey protagonists who have been forced to use their talents to do the bidding of others - the mafia and babel - up until now. their introduction as already firmly over the border of human decency is the key to their ability to best their enemies at their own game, because how can one win against a cheating player surrounded by accomplices and false witnesses professing his innocence, unless one is happy to get one’s hands dirty as well?

cha young’s arc of empowerment through her embrace of conventionally negative traits is not only particularly impressive for a female character, but is especially satisfying because she acts as the audience’s double in her journey from passive bystander to powerful villain. it is this subversive portrayal of badness as a force of individual and collective good that proves so fascinating and humanizes characters who could have been portrayed as bland defenders of universal good just for the sake of principle.

vincenzo and cha young’s negative actions are so easy to understand and agree with because they are driven by the positive forces of familial and romantic love. the fact that these protagonists are allowed to achieve both their public life goal - vengeance - and their private life goal - belonging - through the same act of defiance is the cherry on top.

katharsis

katharsis in vincenzo is achieved through the empowerment of the powerless and the avenging of the wronged.

we cheer at the the protagonists’ commitment of arson, kidnapping, and murder because we are shown that the only way to meaningfully punish those responsible for suffering is to return their favours in kind.

through our identification with vincenzo and cha young, we live a fantasy of just retribution for the very real crimes of capitalism and are encouraged to take the extreme actions necessary to right the systemic wrongs in our everyday reality.

[autisticcassandracain]

"People don't have to engage with your fantasy version" THANK YOU So many of my conversations with strangers about any batfam member make me go, What On Earth are you talking about???

yeah no I feel like it happens a lot especially in comic book fandoms because canon is so all over the place and people already regularly pick and choose what canon they do and don't want to acknowledge, which very easily flows into 'I like the version of this character that exists in my head but I don't like how they were written anywhere', which, for the record, is perfectly fine and valid. I do it on a regular basis. It just becomes a problem when people start using those fantasy versions of the character as a basis for analysis and arguments.

and to be fair I do think in comic book fandoms there's like. a very thin line between 'a character has been routinely badly written so I refuse to acknowledge the bad writing, which at this point means the majority of their appearances' (which is still engaging with canon, and may still be fair game in arguments) and 'I don't think they've been written well anywhere and have created a character based on their potential in my head' (which isn't). But I also think that you should be able to differentiate those two when arguing with others.

I think the conflicts start because people get like, really attached to the version of characters in their head. So when they see people disliking the character, they get upset and defensive. But then they argue about stuff that just.... has no bearing in canon, because they're arguing in defense of the fantasy version in their head.

And like, obviously you can have that fantasy version all you want, ignoring canon and/or deconstructing it for scrap metal to build with is a fun past time and I recommend it. But when people dislike the character for reasons that are based in the text, you cannot argue from the perspective of your fantasy version that they are wrong. To bring up an example from the tags this anon was writing about, maybe your version of Jason takes care to only kill truly awful criminals like rapists and supervillains, but Jason in canon kills criminals pretty much indiscriminately. And that's a valid reason to dislike him. The fact that you think this is bad writing doesn't change the fact that the version of Jason that exists in your head, that one who takes care to only kill the 'truly bad' criminals, doesn't exist in (preboot) canon. And people don't have to engage with your fantasy version.

That said, I do want to stress that I think it's entirely fair to point out the ways people's dislike of a canon character or the way a canon character is written may be based in/influenced by bigotry. For example, I'd argue that part of the reason Jason specifically was chosen to be the 'villain/morally grey' murder Robin was classism; obviously the kid from a poor background would go on to become a criminal. This is especially prominent in the way his time as Robin has been retroactively re-written to highlight what an out-of-control, angry asshole he was (which he really wasn't), and also, you know, the direct assertions made multiple times in canon that Bruce, a rich guy, specifically took in Jason to 'save' him from 'inevitably' becoming a criminal. While I wouldn't say classism is the sole reason for either his turn to villainy/moral-greyness or the re-writing of this time as Robin, I think it's fair to question how Jason's time as Robin, his death, and his resurrection would've been handled if he'd been a character like Tim, rich, popular with readers, and obviously intended to be 'relatable' to the audience.

All of that is fair game, and actually rather important, and I think people who dislike a character for their canon portrayal need to be able to engage with that reasonably, even if they dislike that character. I'm doing it right now even though I dislike Jason.

But none of that makes the canon portrayal of a character like. disappear. And it's fair game to dislike them for that, and criticize them for the way they've been written in canon.

[knivesareout]

take on the world - chapter one

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, bad jokes, flirting idiots and Tom doesn’t exist.

Summary: A whirlwind romance takes you by surprise when Frankie rescues you.

A/N: Well, here is the beginning of what is going to be a BEAST of a fic. There will probably be around 8-10 chapters in total and I’m already working on the next one (aka where the smut is). I will warn you all that this is going to deal with some heavy subject matter as we go along but I’ll put up proper warnings when they come. I hope you all enjoy and you can read it on AO3 here.

INSPO TAG | CHAPTER TWO

___________

There was a special place in hell for people who set their friends up on blind dates.

This wasn’t your first, or even your fifth, blind date in the last year that you’d agreed to go on to appease a happily married friend. This time it was Jessica’s husband’s co-worker who she’d shown you a picture of and you had wearily agreed, nodding as she told you how great he was.

He was in fact, not great, as he was now 30 minutes late and counting despite the numerous texts you’d sent him.

Thankfully the bar you were currently at was only a quick 10 minute walk from your apartment, a small miracle you were glad for. Surely you could stumble back the couple of blocks to your place if you decided to drown your sorrows in shots of tequila, a couple beers, and maybe a fruity drink or two if you were feeling spendy or particularly sad.

The bar was loud and, of course, overly crowded. It was a Saturday night after all.

Most tvs around the room were playing various baseball games at top volume with the season having only started a couple weeks prior. It wasn’t your favorite sport but you knew enough to keep up, eyes fixated on the Red Sox game just to the left of you.

“Need a refill?”

A cough sounds in your ear and you turn, realizing the question was meant for you. The man who’s taken up residence on the bar stool next to you is waiting for an answer, a distressed ball cap tugged low over his face and you wish you could see him better.

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, glancing down at the empty pint glass and back up again. When did you finish that? “Yeah, I mean. I need one.”

The man just nods, motioning the bartender over and he wordlessly clears your glass and sets a new one in front of you as well as one in front of the man next to you.

Muttering a quiet thanks to the bartender, you turn to the man in the cap and smile. “Thanks. Didn’t even realize I’d gone through it so fast.”

The man nods with a shrug of his shoulders, a slight smile on his face. “No worries. You looked like you were sucked into the game and figured I could help. I’m Frankie, by the way.”

Giving him your name, you reach a hand for him to shake- which he does. Rough, calloused hands envelope yours in a tight squeeze before he drops them with a cough.

You realize he must’ve been watching you before, if he knew you were with an empty cup.

Normally that was something you would find creepy because you were clearly alone, or at the very least weird but for some reason it’s endearing on this guy. Frankie. Out of the corner of your eye, you try to take in his features without being obvious, his attention now turned to the same game you’d been watching only moments before.

Dark hair curls outside of his baseball cap, a dimple embedded into his cheek on the right as he smiles. Patchy facial hair covers his jawline, bits of grey catching the light as he tilts his head back to take a swig of his beer and you wonder how old he is. At first you would’ve pegged him around your age, but now getting a somewhat better look he might have several years on you.

“Were you waiting on someone?” He asks, turning to you with his voice raised. A group of men are shouting in the back of the bar near the pool table and you wince.

You nod, downing half of your beer and swiping at your mouth. “Yeah. Blind date. I should know better but I can’t tell people no and he was cute.”

Frankie just laughs at your honesty, “So he just didn’t show?”

“Yep. Never had one that just didn’t show up. Figured I might as well get drunk to commemorate the occasion. Or commiserate. Either one.” You bring your glass up to his and cheers, shaking your head incredulously.

“His loss.”

You turn to Frankie with a raised brow, lowering your glass to watch him slowly check you out. You feel hot all over and clear your throat, teeth tugging on your bottom lip.

“What about you then? Here alone or did you ditch someone?”

Frankie presses a hand to his heart, fake wounded at your jab. “You already think so little of me? I was here with friends but they bailed on me,” he explains. “Saw you by yourself and thought we could both use the company.”

His answer puts you more at ease and you finish off your second beer of the night.

“So, figure I gotta ask. How old are you?” It really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things but if things are heading in the direction you hope they are, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable if you’re too young.

He seems startled by your question, like it’d never occurred to him to ask and he falters before answering. Did it make him uncomfortable?

“You know,” Frankie starts with a chuckle. “Normally, I’d be offended but I’m not. ‘M 42.”

Nodding, you blow out a breath that you didn’t realize you’d be holding. “Newly 30,” you tell him, bringing your refilled drink up to click against his own.

The age reveal doesn’t seem to bother him, at least from what you can tell. You’d never cursed your age before until now, hoping it hadn’t put him off.

You turn on the barstool to face Frankie, hoping to break the tension.

“So I have just one question for you, Frankie.”

He nods, turning to face you and waiting for you to continue.

You hold up a finger and place it on his jaw near his mouth, the one spot not filled up by wiry grey and black hair. His eyes are wide at your touch and he’s tense.

It was something you’d noticed right away when he sat next to you, your attention drawn to it for whatever reason. His terribly patchy facial hair was endearing.

“Why is this the perfect place for a kiss?”

The way Frankie looks when he laughs makes your heart ache in the best way. He tosses his head back, mouth wide as he tries to contain his laughter. His dark eyes crinkle, nose scrunched up at your blunt question and you retract your hand, satisfied with his response.

“How much have you had to drink?” He manages to get out between wheezing while he catches his breath.

“Couple shots of tequila while I stupidly waited. Two beers now, thanks to you,” you nod at the empty glass. “I might be drunk? It’s hard to tell, honestly. I think I’m fine.”

“So you’re just normally like this?” Frankie laughs, tilting his head. His fingers drum on the side of his almost empty pint glass, something you wonder is a nervous tick.

You push your empty glass away, hoping it’ll get the bartender’s attention and it does. Ordering Frankie another beer and a vodka cranberry for you, you turn back to him. “Guess so. If it’s too much though, I can pretend you never came over here and finish the game by myself.”

“Not what I meant,” he’s quick to tell you. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting myself into is all.”

Silently your lips tick up in a smirk and you start on your drink, turning your attention back to the game.

Over the next hour, you get to know Frankie and vice versa. He’s ex-Army; out for the last couple of years and he’s slowly getting back into the real world. Explains how he doesn’t have any family in North Carolina but all of his buddies live here, so he moved.

Frankie’s a helicopter pilot, giving city flyover tours to people coming in from out of town. He doesn’t love it but he loves flying so it’s enough for him, he tells you. You can see it in his eyes how passionate he is about flying and it makes you grin.

In turn, he asks about you. Normally you wouldn’t give up so much information about yourself to someone you don’t know all that well but Frankie has slowly started to feel like anything but and you feel guilty letting him give you so much only to get nothing in return- so you tell him. Maybe too much. About how your job working at a law firm is the most boring thing, especially when you had no interest in law. Which in turn sparks up his question- what do you want to do? That ends up setting you off on a tangent about your love of photography but how hard the industry is to break into to do it professionally or at the least get paid for it.

“Here, hang on.” You tell him, sliding your phone out of your back pocket and pulling up your Instagram. Social media was, normally, the bane of your existence but you used the app for your photos and nothing else, you tell him. He nods like he understands, telling you he isn’t much better technology wise.

Frankie’s quiet as he scrolls through your feed. He’s slow about it too, clicking on a few to see them bigger, and you bite your lip in anticipation at what he might be thinking. It’s nerve wracking to show anyone your passion and you manage to finish off your drink while he’s still scrolling, waving off the bartender as he asks if you want another.

“You’re fucking talented as shit, you know that?”

His response catches you off guard and you can instantly feel yourself getting warm at his compliment. It feels different, coming from him. A stranger who’s slowly becoming something more.

“You’ll have to let me take your picture some day,” you shoot back, kicking your dangling foot against his.

“You don’t have pictures of people on there though,” he’s quick to point out, handing you back your phone.

“Well no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t. It’s hard convincing people to hike with me is all.” Nature photography was your niche but you could already envision photographing a portrait of Frankie on a mountain with the sun illuminated behind him.

Frankie finishes off his beer and sighs loudly, turning to you with his brows raised. “Well, we’ll have to plan something then won’t we?”

You’d known that was coming and still, your stomach fills with butterflies as he all but asks you out. To see you again beyond this dark, crowded bar that smells like smoke and sweat.

“Definitely.”

Frankie asks if he can walk you home once the bar tab has been paid an hour later- he’s even covered yours too, in apology of your ruined date and unintentionally crashing your plan to wallow in self-pity afterwards.

“I’m just a couple blocks down,” you tell him, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders to combat the cool, spring breeze.

“No worries. Can’t complain about getting to spend a little more time with you,” he says cooly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

The line is smooth and cheesy but it still puts a smile on your face, which you’re sure was its intended effect.

You chuckle, turning to him so he can see the roll of your eyes. “Smooth, Casanova.”

Frankie puts his hands out in front of him in defense, scoffing at your jab.

“Cut me some slack, alright. Haven’t even dated a woman in years, let alone spent hours interrupted and talking with one,” he explains, knocking his shoulder with yours.

The little touch is something weirdly intimate and you cough, looking at him with a skeptical eye.

“I find that hard to believe, Frankie,” you chuckle, “You’re a good looking guy. Can even hold a decent conversation. No dates? Really?”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “Wasn’t in the right headspace for it. And now that I am, I just so happen to meet you and who knows. Was it fate?”

You spot the teasing tone of his voice immediately and you shove him lightly as you start to approach your apartment building. “You’re an ass,” you tell him, giggling as you try and pull your keys from your pocket, fingers fumbling and they drop to the ground with a clang.

You both reach down at the same time, heads knocking together and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. Laughing so much your chest aches with it and you can’t breathe, tears pricking the corner of your eyes and you glance over and Frankie’s no better, clutching his stomach as you both sit on the ground around your fallen keys.

“We’re a fucking mess,” you manage to get out between left over laughter and catching your breath.

Frankie lets out a loud breath, trying to calm himself and he nods in agreement. Picking up the keys, he hands them to you and stands, offering you a hand that you gladly take and try to steady yourself once you’re safely back on your feet.

“You alright?” He asks, running his hands over your hair and brushing at the crown of your head. As if he’s inspecting you for any injuries and you hold your breath.

The best you can manage is a nod, eyes flicking to meet his and you search them for any sign that he’s feeling exactly what you are.

He is. Expressive brown eyes that tell you everything you need to know.

Frankie sighs, pulling his hands back from your face and groans. Kicking at the pavement and mumbling quietly to himself.

Has the moment passed? Did you not react how he was expecting?

Turning back to you, he gives you a self-deprecating smile. “We’re drunk,” he explains. His tone is apologetic and you wonder why he’s saying the words if he feels bad about them in the first place.

“Maybe a little,” you agree. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t had, what I’m sure is, a much better date than I would’ve if that guy had shown up.”

You can tell your words mean something to him. It’s like he’s got this loose energy that he doesn’t know what to do with. Like he wants to shout and scream and run down the street. It makes you want to know more about him- what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Bouncing on his toes, Frankie hurriedly pulls out his phone from his front pocket and hands it to you. “I wanna see you again. Put your number in there?”

The phone is old. Flip-phone old and you laugh as you figure out how to program your number in there, adding your name along with a smiley face at the end before handing it back over to him.

“I had a really great time tonight, Frankie,” you promise him, fiddling with your keys. “Thank you for saving me from what was probably going to be a terrible night.”

“Me too,” he agrees, pursing his lips.

It’s like he’s deciding his next move and it catches you off guard when he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek.

Once there’s a fair amount of distance between you, Frankie heads down the sidewalk and waves. “I’ll call you,” he tells you, calling over his shoulder.

“You better,” you yell back.

Your grin is huge and you’re sure he can see it, even as he continues to walk backwards, watching you, and he disappears into the night.

---

Frankie calls the next day.

Phone numbers that weren’t saved in your address book were usually sent straight to voicemail but there was a nagging feeling deep in your gut to just answer it so you move to the edge of the sidewalk and out of the crowd and pick up.

“Hello?”

You catch a sigh and Frankie’s voice sounds over the speaker, bringing a smile to your face instantly. “Hey, it’s uh. Frankie. From the bar last night?”

Laughing a little, you nod to yourself. “Yeah. I remember you. Almost knocked me out when we bumped heads trying to pick up my keys.”

“Oh good,” he sounds relieved and you glance around as you wait for him to speak again, hoping the conversation was more than just chit-chat. “I know we just saw each other yesterday but I was wondering if I could see you again. Tonight maybe? If you don’t have plans. It’s fine if you do, I just thought I’d ask.”

He’s rushing through his words and you can tell instantly that he’s had to psych himself up to call you from his nervous tone through the receiver.

You don’t have plans and you’re more than eager to see Frankie again. Wondering if last night was a fluke and hoping that it wasn’t. Relationships weren’t your forte but maybe this was the exceptiontion. He was the exception.

“Yeah, I’d really like that Frankie. Just wanna meet me outside of my building around 7?” You chew on your lip nervously.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “That- that would be great. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you chuckle. “Bye Frankie.”

“Bye.”

Suddenly thankful that you were done running your errands for the day, you headed back home with a grin on your face that didn’t seem like it wanted to leave. Cheeks aching, you wondered what and if he had anything planned.

It had been too long since you’d gone on any sort of date. A real date; something planned and thought out unlike the blind dates you were used to. Frankie didn’t seem the type for a typical dinner and a movie, and something about that idea had you even more excited to see him. Everything about the situation with him was unpredictable: the chance meeting at the bar, to the walk home where you laughed harder than you could remember. There was clearly something there between the two of you and it was exhilarating.

The rest of your day was spent cleaning and daydreaming about the night you might have with Frankie. You wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel when you liked someone. The concept was foreign to you, your relationship history basically nonexistent. Was it possible that he was just as nervous as you were?

As 7pm rolled around, a text sounded over your phone and you leaned over on the counter to see Frankie telling you he was outside. Grabbing a light coat on your way out, you took a deep breath and locked the door behind you. No turning back now.

Frankie was dressed similarly to last night. Jeans, a t-shirt and a tan jacket that looked like it’d seen better days. His hat was missing and his hair looked soft, the ends curling around his ears. You greeted him with a smile as you walked out of your building and he nodded, rocking back on his feet.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” He asks, nodding his head as you both started to walk left down the sidewalk. “The fact that we met last night and we’re seeing each other again?”

You chuckled, “It’s weird in the sense that I’ve never done this before. Any of it. But no, to answer your question. I wanted to see you again and I am, so.” Shrugging, you turn to listen to him as you both continue to walk, keeping to the side.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I’ve met people in bars. Women. But it’s usually a one night kind of thing-,” Frankie stops himself and groans, running a hand down his face in embarrassment. “That sounds bad. Fuck.”

“Ain’t no shame in the game, Frankie. I’m not here to judge you,” you promise, pausing as you wait for the crosswalk sign to turn white so you can cross the street. “Where are we going, by the way?”

Frankie waits to answer until you’re both safely across the street and heading further into downtown, the crowds getting thicker and you push yourself against his side so as not to lose him. His arm finds its way across your shoulders to keep you close and he answers, leaning his head down closer to your ear. “There’s this bar and arcade thing down a couple more blocks that I figured we could spend some time at. Maybe head to the park after that and walk around. See where the night takes us?”

It’s easy to tell he hasn’t quite planned this out and something about that makes your heart race. He really had just wanted to see you, planning this as he goes only so you can spend more time together.

“The park can get a little murder-like late at night,” you point out with a laugh,

“That’s true. Well, we can always just see where the night takes us after we play a couple of games then if that’s alright?”

“That’s the part where you’re supposed to tell me you’ll protect me,” you poke a finger into his side and laugh. “But yeah of course, Frankie. Whatever you wanna do,” you reassure him. “I’m just along for the ride.”

The bar slash arcade was… something. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t what you walked into. The building was packed to the brim; loud noises, slots and different game noises sounding from every corner, and a small bar was tucked in the left corner with a tv playing what looked like The Shining above it.

“Have you been here before?” You raise your voice, balancing yourself on his shoulder to get closer to his ear.

He nods shouting back, “Yeah, once. Came with a couple of buddies of mine. They’ve got some cool retro games in the back that we used to play as a kid. Everyone loves air hockey too, right?”

You can see the air hockey table he’s referring to. The black light makes everything under the table glow and it reminds you of the arcades off of food courts that most malls used to have. The skeptical feeling you had when walking in seems to fade away and suddenly you’re excited, wondering why you hadn’t been here before when it was so close to your apartment to begin with.

“Once the table clears, I wanna play,” you say, tugging Frankie towards the back where you see a racing game that looks familiar.

Frankie exchanges a few bills for tokens while you hold the two racing games and once he’s slid in the appropriate amount, it’s immediately turned into a competition.

As the screen starts to countdown to your race, you turn to him quickly with a proposition. “If I win, you buy me a beer.”

“I was gonna buy you one anyway,” he tells you, shaking his head as if he’d do anything less. “But alright. If I win, you have to give me a kiss right here.”

He annoyingly points to the empty spot on his jaw where his facial hair didn’t seem to grow, that you had drunkenly pointed out the night before, and you can’t help the loud bark of laughter that escapes your lips as you quickly nod. “Deal.”

You’re almost tempted to lose once the race starts, just so you can kiss him there. But deep in your gut you feel like there’ll be plenty of opportunities to kiss him there in the future so you don’t hold back. The routes feel familiar as you and Frankie virtually drive through them and you’re sure you’ve played this game before, years ago.

As you both reach the last lap and the finish line, you just barely win and pump your fists as you cross. The screen declares you the winner in big font, a trophy spinning in circles and you turn to Frankie. “So, about that beer.”

You two end up at the bar for a little over an hour. The barstools surrounding the area are a hot commodity and once you and Frankie are sat down, you’re reluctant to give them up, especially with the bartender keeping your drinks filled without having to ask.

Frankie tells you about his friends. Benny, Will, and Santiago. How they’ve kept him going since returning back to civilian life. He says they’re all one big support group to each other, knowing that even if it feels like there’s no one you could count on, one of them is always around. There’s a tightness to his voice when he talks about them, like he can’t believe his luck that he has such supportive friends. The clear despair on his face has your chest aching, and you squeeze his hand in comfort.

It makes you yearn for a friendship like that. Most of your friends are married and it’s harder to relate to them when you’re single and living in the city while they’re still living in your hometown with a couple of kids. You tell Frankie as much and he sympathizes and points out that you have at least one friend in the city now, shaking off the emotions of such a heavy conversation.

“Looks like the air hockey table is free,” you nod, seeing the table free for the first time that night.

Frankie nods, standing up to grab his wallet. “You grab the table, I’m gonna close out the tab.”

You quickly walk over, grabbing the two handles and knock a few tokens into the machine when the lime green puck pops out. Frankie joins you a few seconds later, grabbing his handle and standing opposite you.

“So, what are we competing for this time?”

You think for a moment, “Well, I don’t think I need another drink. What about if I win, you have to cook me dinner sometime this week? Maybe Wednesday?”

Frankie seems taken aback by your suggestion but readily agrees. “I can do that. And if I win, you have to cook me breakfast Thursday morning.”

His offer isn’t lost on you and you toss the puck onto the table with a smirk as the air starts to push it around. “You’re on.”

The match is filled with trash talk as you two play. You even manage to gather a small crowd of people around you, cheering you both on. It’s close. For every point you get, Frankie’s one step behind you. Your wrist is starting to ache and the countdown starts on the side, signaling the end of your game in the next 30 seconds.

“You’re gonna lose, Frankie,” you taunt, scoring another point and he tosses the puck back on the table and shoots it towards you as you block it, sending it back across the table.

Except you lose. By a point.

There are cheers for Frankie and slaps on the back as another couple takes over the table and you both move to the side to watch.

“I can’t say I’m all that mad that I lost,” you tell him honestly, glancing up and locking your eyes with his own deep, brown ones.

“It was kind of a win-win for both of us either way,” he agrees, nudging his arm with yours. “So, another date Wednesday night?”

You nod quickly, “Sounds perfect.”

--- Frankie walks you home a few hours later.

After the arcade, you both grab slices of pizza from a small place down the block and walk around, grease staining your fingers and tongues burnt from being so hungry.

Most people are tucking themselves back into their beds at the late hour, your watch showing it was coming up on 2am as you both approach your building.

“A successful first date, I think,” you turn to him, arms wrapped around yourself as the wind turns cold around you. You sniff as your nose starts to drip, scrunching it up and Frankie laughs.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against chest in a hug.

You savor the warmth as you press your cheek against him, then turn your head. “I should go inside. And you should head home, it’s so fucking late.”

Untangling yourselves, Frankie shoves his hands into his pockets and knocks his arm against yours. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Nodding quickly, Frankie shoots you a smile and turns, jogging across the street to where his truck is parked.

It’s like seeing him walk away pushes something inside you, itching to see him just once more and you call out to him quickly before he can get in his truck, “Frankie! Wait! I forgot something!”

He turns to watch you run across the street as he stands in front of the driver’s side door, looking at you curiously once you’re stood in front of him.

“What did you forget?”

“This.” And you lean over to press a kiss to the bare spot along his jaw, the sparse hair around it tickling your lips and you pull away with a grin.

Turning to glance both ways before crossing the street you call behind you, “Goodnight Frankie!”

NEXT CHAPTER

[legends-live-in-memories]

“How Did All This Happen?”- A Memoire by one Marinette Dupain-Cheng 1

Soooooo I decided to write this. much longer than the other things i posted, also very tonally different. I will definitely continue that other fic tho. I was just brainstorming and now this exists. Yeah.

 without further ado

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

People Fucked Up and Now It’s All Marinette’s Mess to Clean Up I

This was not how Marinette planned for her night to go. Granted, she also could not envision it going literally any other way. The woes of making a deal with the hell-raiser himself, John Constantine, she supposes. She truly hoped Adrien was having a much better time than her with his cousin in London. After the circus that was the past three years, he deserved some reprieve, even if it was with his bratty doppelganger. Regardless, Marinette. Was. Not. Pleased. No matter how many times she thinks over her plan, recalculates every step and decision, she could not fathom this night ending well for her, or anyone really, but mostly her. And no amount of old Ladybug or Guardian luck could help her. Now, if one were to wonder what kind of tragedy had befallen Marinette on this disgraceful night, a brief history of the last three months could enlighten such a person. Or better yet, let’s start at the beginning. The Real Beginning.

So, things existed. Obviously. First there was nothing, and then, something. And as more things began to exist, as new schools of knowledge and concepts and ideas began to, well, exist, Kwamis formed as well. Each Kwami was the physical manifestation of these ideas or abstracts. Creation was the first, coupled with Destruction. And as more things began to exist, more things began needing to be protected. Thus, the Kwami of Protection. This went on. For a while. Soon thereafter there were Kwamis of all types. Jubilation, Time, Strength, etc, etc, and etc. Now these Kwamis did not linger in one spot. They roamed across the far stretches of existence and interacted with the life they found.

Some Kwamis decided to form a magical pact which intergalactic historians would later dub the Emotional Electromagnetic Spectrum. Sounds familiar? The Kwamis themselves were completely blissfully unaware of this title, lest they would have explained to these beings, Maltusians they were called, that they were not in fact, electromagnetic but more so a part of the Powers that Be. Kind of. But this side-story involves the formation of a few universally known Lantern Corps, and that is a barrel of monkeys our exasperated narrator does not want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Or ever.

Other Kwamis, who stuck close to what would become known as the Milky Way, were discovered by a mage who granted them the ability to interact with humans. This mage— and Marinette was silently cursing his descendants, herself included, for if it weren’t for this absolute mad lad, none of the subsequent events of this night would have transcribed—had bound the Kwamis to magical jewelry called Miraculouses. An interesting side effect of these Kwamis being bound to the miraculouses was that the wearer could call upon the powers of the Kwamis for their own usage. The mage feared what could become of the world if this kind of power became so easily accessible, so he created the Order of the Guardians. The Order was dedicated to training young mages to protect, wield and harvest the powers of the miraculouses. The Order swore to true neutrality; wishing not to impose their will on one side or the other, to maintain balance and to not upset the natural order of the world. 

This went surprisingly well for a few millennia, that is, of course, if you ignore the sinking of Atlantis, the extinction of the dinosaurs, the Black Plague, the creation of the Lazarus Pits, Pompeii, to name a few completely egregious instances—not necessarily in order of course—and well, the point stands that it could have been astronomically worse. Until it was.  

One young mage and Guardian in training had caused the downfall of almost the entire Order of the Guardians. All the centuries of history, teachings, artifacts and even the people at the head temple, were lost to the calamity. Dozens of Miraculous Boxes were lost, destroyed in the fray. The Kwamis themselves were relatively unaffected, being immortal and all, but the magical jewelry binding them to the earth were broken, thus those Kwamis were lost to mankind once again. Only one singular box, and the young mage himself, survived. The new Guardian of one miraculous box was left to scour the earth in solitude. Well, about as much solitude one could have with 17 pocket gods as company. The fact that the only box that survived was missing two more miraculouses caused the already stressed guardian to grey further. But that tidbit of information would be a problem for later. And for someone else entirely too. Oh joy.

But before that sequence of events, aptly named “Marinette’s Trial by Fire,” however, the young guardian had a couple more life mistakes to make before he reached his internal quota apparently. Rather than travel to another sector of the Order on the other side of the earth, this young mage stumbled upon another organization, one similar in architecture and hierarchy but a pendulum swing in the total moral opposite. Yes, that’s right, the guardian found himself upon the League of Shadows, led by Ra’s Al Ghul in his endeavor of global cleansing; by acts of ecoterrorism, but who sweats the small stuff, right? There, the young guardian, who adopted the name of Wang Fu, met his first love Ming Hong and they had a son. The son had a daughter he named Mei. Now Mei was only a few weeks younger than Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson, Damian. Now with an appropriate heir, and someone to procreate with said heir, Ra’s Al Ghul gained a special interest in the small Fu family that originally flew under the radar of the League. 

Now this is where things continue to go downhill, but not until much, much later in this story. Ra’s Al Ghul, despite his radical ambitions, was particularly good at playing the long game and understood when he couldn’t accomplish a task directly. This being said, he recognized that, due to prolonged exposure to the Lazarus Pits, his soul could not bear the strain of being a wielder of a miraculous and so he waited. Waited until a suitable heir was sired and could copulate with an heir to the guardian of the miraculous box, desiring to create a bloodline of genetically suitable successors and wielders who were loyal to him and his cause. 

Ra’s ordered for the Fu family to have a place on his court and ordered for Mei Fu to be trained in mastering the secrets of the miraculous. And master she did. By age 6 she was fluent in the coded language of the magical text, or as fluent a 6 year old can be in any language, and she had mastered 7 out the 17 miraculouses. By age 10 she was as skilled as the grandson of the Demon Head in combat and could handle simultaneous wear of 3 miraculouses. Her training, however, had to be put on hold as somebody thought usurping the Demon Head was of the utmost importance that glorious Tuesday and staged a coup. She wished Deathstroke had lost more than an eye that day, but a girl can dream she supposes. Mei and her grandfather were separated from the rest of the League and journeyed west. Somehow they ended up in Paris, France. After one too many run ins with the authorities, Mei was removed from her grandfather, who was deemed too unfit to support her. It was a miracle he wasn’t deported. 

Mei was put into protective custody where she resided until she was 13. Recently adopted, and thoroughly done with the plebeians of her daily encounters, Mei Fu became Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of the best bakers in Paris. All was well and good for the new Dupain-Cheng until the start of the new school year. 

She met her grandfather again. And apparently he had a job for her and her soon to be new partner.

Hawkmoth, that bitch, had somehow acquired the two last surviving miraculouses and the only surviving grimoire and thought domestic terrorism was on the agenda for the next few years. Why? Because investing in a family therapist was too much of an inconvenience for local recluse, Gabriel McFucking Agreste, Marinette would shortly learn. 

After dealing with all of that and juggling between her reignited guardian training, and ‘normal’ girl life—because her parents don’t know that she’s a magical girl in the making—, Marinette was ready to sleep for a thousand years. Or commit murder. Whichever gave her enough serotonin to complete her current passion project. But, alas, no rest for the totally-over-it or however that saying goes. Because after declaring Paris safe once again, sending off her brother-in-arms, Adrien Agreste, to family in London (marginally decent but anything beats the abusive prick of a sperm donor), in waltz one drunken John Constantine.

Ah yes. Him. That absolute bastard who doesn’t deserve nice things in life. That guy.

This unpleasantry approached Master Fu and Marinette, who has been regulated to errand-girl in lieu of training, with a job that he proclaimed that only one blessed with magic, and specifically NOT connected to the Justice League could accomplish. Apparently, a group called the Cult of the Kobra resided on Santa Prisca and was in possession of a dangerous magical artifact that had been the backbone of their organization for years. Constantine came to them asking them for assistance in retrieving it as the Justice League could not interfere in the Caribbean due to new UN legislation. It was a mission of utmost urgency for he feared the cult leader, Kobra himself, was planning on enacting a ritual that could bring calamity to Earth. Which is just what the doctor ordered. Not. In exchange, he agreed to add to her magical training as while master Fu was good, he was still young when he ran away from his problems the first time and thus was limited in his magical knowledge.

That was three months ago. Three months of planning, training, and convincing her parents that letting her go on an extended retreat for an undetermined amount of time with her mostly absent biological grandfather was totally reasonable for the seventeen year old to do. Like, come on. She’s almost old enough to drink, almost ready for university and has been praised for her independence and self-sufficiency for years. She’ll be fine is what she told her parents and she was almost able to convince herself of that too. She would be perfectly fine. Right?

Wrong.

Marinette was anything but fine. She was stressed, she was tired and she was abso-fucking-lutely pissed at anything that even breathed in her direction. Why? Well that brings us back to the beginning of the story when everything on this mission did not go according to plan. So here she was along what was once upon a time the eastern coastline of Santa Prisca. Oh and look. The Junior Justice League has arrived.

Purrrrfect. 

Some one asked for a taglist. Ask and ye shall receive

@deathwishy @neakco  @ virtualreading  @f-rget-lt @your-resident-chicken-nugget

[qqueenofhades]

oh dark!qqueenofhades tell me your unpopular SAB opinions for the sleepover ask game 🌒

...you want to get me in trouble don't you.

TGT/SOC BOOK SPOILERS BELOW!

1) Mal/Alina is just... boring, okay. Boring. I've said this before and I stand by it. There's no growth, it's regressive as hell especially for Alina, it's not (at least as written in the books) actually any "healthier" than Alina/Aleksander (see my rant on Fiction Is Fiction, Not Real Life), and it literally sends Alina back to exactly where she started: powerless, in obscurity, living on a farm with Mal, not a Grisha, etc. It's presented as what a Good Girl would choose (which is why book!Alina suffers from Good Girl Syndrome) and just... meh. Fictional women should be allowed to go feral, be worshiped by their morally grey dark and handsome powerful lover, and take over the world. As a treat.

2) Likewise, I love Aleksander, but let's not kid ourselves that the boy is flaming hot garbage. I sometimes see posts like "Aleksander did nothing wrong and is actually the hero of the entire story" and I'm like, well, the whole point is that he started out with a good cause and then he went too far in it and his perspective has become so skewed that any evil is justifiable in the name of his greater good. Yes, the aim of protecting the Grisha is noble, but not by putting all of Ravka under shadowman totalitarian rule. I certainly don't agree at all with the simplistic "worst villain evah!" framework that the book text and some fanon interpretations try to push on him, but yeah, he's done genuinely garbage-ass things and Villain Discourse TM would be so much better if we didn't try to whitewash our trashy favorites as entirely morally pure and correct all along and act like they're not, well, trash. Enjoy the garbage. Live the garbage. Love the garbage. Dive into the garbage and paddle around. It's what I do.

3) I don't know if this is unpopular or not (especially among readers of my blog) but if they made Fedyor and Ivan into a couple just to then follow their book arcs and kill them off anyway, the writers will personally receive bags of flaming poo on their lawns, with love from me. Also, they can then stfu permanently about how "diverse" they want their show to be.

4) Inej really, really is too good for Kaz. By like a lot. However, both of them are well aware of this fact (especially Kaz) and I am always a fan of people/characters growing and changing together, rather than staying stuck at one place in their lives. So I'll accept it.

5) Killing Matthias at the end of CK was an extremely stupid decision which seemed to be made largely for grimdark shock value (and to set up two more books which, imho, were definitely not as good as the other ones), especially when all the other couples got a happy ending, and I don't and will never accept it.

....there are probably more but let's hold the salt train for now, lmao.

sleepover weekend asks