#I AM SO SHALLOW :') no i am not i am in fact very refined and sophisticated for admiring the craft and hard work an actor has to do

[leatherbookmark]

ohhhh found the scene after Millennia of searching.

o

k

a

y.

[ikuzeminna]

Uhura casting in SNW

I saw your post about the uhura miscasting. Do you believe in the theory some fans have that why they chose an ugly actress to play uhura was because they did not want her to be a threat to chrsitine chapel? I am glad I am not alone in thinking the new Uhura is highly very unattractive. So unattractive that it breaks the 4th wall. Like he creators don't see it. I was scared to say anything because I did not want to be labelled as a racist that hate dark skin black girls. There are very pretty dark skin black girl actresses.The Uhura actress is just not one.

Oh, Ce|ia Gοοding looks perfectly fine, my dear crap-stirring anon. Large, soulful eyes that draw the attention, a soft smile. Soft lines and curves. It's all there.

The creators of SΝW simply choose not to portray her Uhυra as attractive. And that's very easy to tell because they sure choose to do so with Chaρel. We see Chaρel be confident and cool and in a dress in a bar, we see all the ship teasing with her and Sρock and get to hear her talk about past trysts or a relationship or whatever that was. Her kissing Sρock has him feel~ things. Chaρel is actively painted as desirable by the narrative. SΝW Uhυra? We get to see her in her PJs and stuff her face hurriedly. She doesn't get to flirt with anyone. She randomly hums during a get-together to introduce a MacGuffin for later that is done so clumsily that Uhυra just comes off as a weirdo. Honestly, SΝW Uhυra's mannerisms remind me of Rοry Gilmοre. A book-smart, overachieving oddball, complete with juvenile exclamations during life or death situations ("And the crowd goes wild!").

That is not what TΟS Uhυra is like. TΟS Uhυra is refined and graceful. TΟS Uhυra is someone who is in control. She is someone who is confident. She is someone who draws attention to herself because she wants to. When she hums in the rec room and disrupts Sρock's playing, she owns it. She openly flirts with him. When Sρock tells her to hurry with the comm repairs she doesn't cave. You piss her off, she'll lock you in a closet. There was a slew of people who found her gorgeous. TΟS Uhυra was actively shown to be highly desirable (even if it couldn't go anywhere due to racism).

Hmm, did I just describe SΝW Chaρel? Oh my, what a coincidence.

If SΝW Chaρel and Uhυra switched personalities and backstories and Chaρel was written less like a 14-year-old's self-insert it would already make the characters more consistent with their TΟS counterparts. In fact, it'd make a lot of sense if Chaρel had massive daddy and self-esteem issues, explaining why in TΟS she'd latch onto the intentionally most emotionally distant man in the universe. Goodness, imagine. Exploring the reason for a woman's biggest character flaw in-depth instead of relegating her to just a dramatic love interest again. Because that's all Chaρel still is. Her modern upgrade has been knocking people out and being a spunky wisecracker, but she still has no relevance outside of her feelings for Sρock.

What an update.

To answer your question, I don't know what the creators were thinking, but it was definitely not casting an unattractive woman to get rid of competition. You can't even be unattractive as an actress. That's not how the show biz works. To me it looks more like yet another of the misguided takes about female empowerment that have been trending for the last 10+years that demand that "strong women" need to be independent and emotional hermits and not sexy because that is demeaning and women are not objects of desire or just there to be girlfriends, how dare you! what do you mean, that's what we do with Chaρel? that's completely different, oh em gee..!

The only character in SΝW who got the better deal is Τ'Ρring. She is actually a character now and not just more shallow drama for Sρock. Whoever is in charge of writing her should get a raise and be given the other characters, too, because SΝW started out strong but quickly became a kiddie pool of character depth.

No, I'm not a fan. The first half is fine but then it flushes itself down the toilet. Ηemmer dies and the focus is on Sρock's ship tease with Chaρel. Are you kidding me.

And then I have to sit through Ρike angsting about his fate yet again because the creators apparently hate disabled people.

People can scream all they want about JJ Τrek, but it got things right. It introduced new dynamics and elements that make sense and are interesting. JJ Τrek wasn't afraid to use romance and attractiveness to give depth to Uhυra and realize something that wasn't possible decades ago. It gave an attractive woman agency in her relationship that reveals as much about who she is as a person as the man she's with. Was JJ gunning for feminism? No, he was gunning for badass but got a lot of things right in the process.

They introduce her right after Sρock tells the Vυlcans to go eff themselves, showing us someone who is popular as she greets people here and there until she gets to the bar. Then Κirk comes leaning into the shot and immediately starts hitting on her. JJ Uhυra is not just popular, she is hot. So hot that the main guy sets his sights on her. And then they just start deconstructing the Hero Gets The Girl trope. You buy her a drink, she'll want something from you? Sorry, bro. You impress her with your knowledge, she'll want something from you? Nah, man. She smiles at you, she finally took the bait? Go sleep with some more farm animals, my dude.

Uhυra turning down legendary womanizer Κirk is such an important thing.

She is in control when Κirk is hitting on her, she is in control when she confronts Sρock about the Farragυt posting. Even when she's scared for her life facing the Κlingons, she remains in control of her emotions just like TΟS Uhυra when she admitted to her captain she was often scared but drew strength from him. One of her defining traits is being able to still do her job despite her emotional state.

SΝW Uhυra has none of that refinement and control. It's a completely different character. And I don't care if she is young because JJ's Τrek showed an Uhυra who was just as young, but where her core character traits were all present.

As for female empowerment, again, people can scream all they want, JJ Τrek still did a better job at it than SΝW. And why? Because an attractive woman doesn't automatically mean a sexualized woman. Yes, there is the underwear scene that was completely unnecessary and stupid, I'll own that. But aside from that dumb shot no one in the movie cares about, Uhυra being an attractive woman during the bar scene was not sexualizing Uhυra, it was portraying Κirk as a lecherous idiot. If people take a scene like that and think "Look! She's only an object of desire! She's only there to be the girlfriend!" instead of "Wow, what a jerk. Which part of no is so hard to understand, you loser?" that's on them and their male view interpretation and the bullcrap, internalized opinion that being attractive is an open invitation for every numbnut to hit on you.

It's not necessary for a strong woman or a non-sexualized woman to not have any sexuality at all. That's stupid and limiting. Like having to be allergic to nuclear families. This whole "You can’t want that, it’s demeaning!“ nonsense is pretty much the opposite of feminism. There's a reason Νichelle Νichols was wearing a freaking mini skirt during ΤOS. Because she wanted that right as a woman, not because she wanted to be a floozy.

Side note: I'm not gonna tag this anything because I have better things to do than get into arguments about a show I couldn't care less about. But I wanted to answer the ask nonetheless. I know anon will see it.

[k-s-morgan]

Those Gentle Slopes: Snippet 3

A weekly snippet)

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

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked. He might have sounded overly stiff, but it was well deserved. He held respect for this man — Tanaka had a curious soul and an interesting mind in the periods when it wasn’t being devoured by senility.  But he had already received liberties he should not have acted upon. He accompanied the boy by taking Sebastian’s place. And now he was getting tea started?  

Tanaka looked at him, his eyes unsettlingly shrewd.    

“Tea brings calmness and comfort,” he said. “Would you like a cup, Sebastian?”

“No, thank you. May I ask why you are making tea for Young Master? I understand you had to do that while the two of you were away, but now he’s home. I will take care of it.”

A shallow laughter shook Tanaka’s chest.

“It’s very flattering that you are jealous of an old man,” he noted dryly. “But I am simply making a cup for myself. It saddens me to admit it but Young Master has developed quite a taste for your cooking. Nothing else seems to satisfy him any longer.”

Tension changed into another flood of mortification when he realised what a foolish mistake he’d made. Of course Tanaka was making tea for himself — he did so all the time. But mortification didn’t last long either, swiftly transforming into smug joy.  

So his lord preferred his cooking to Tanaka’s? Naturally. He had a refined palate and nothing short of perfect could earn his approval. Sebastian had modelled his skills based on his unique preferences, so there was nothing surprising about the boy favouring his food.

It was gratifying to hear the confirmation, particularly from Tanaka, though… Not that it changed the fact that Tanaka had been chosen for their trip.

His mood darkened again. With a curt nod, Sebastian opened one of the cupboards.

During his lord’s absence, the urge to concentrate on something had been overwhelming. He cleaned the house twice over and developed a new recipe that he knew Ciel Phantomhive was bound to appreciate. He had an alarming sweet tooth, and what could be sweeter than white chocolate? Sebastian felt nauseous when merely watching someone consume it. He lacked the ability to experience its true taste, but the appearance, the consistency and the way this chocolate affected human bodies allowed making an educated guess. Indian salt would be a perfect diluent, just as it would make for a fitting parallel.

He had come up with this drink for the Master he knew, not the one who chose to hide from the present in his past. Sweetness represented one side of his life, the sharpness of the salt represented another. If Ciel Phantomhive had returned as a frightened little boy, Sebastian wouldn’t have granted him the honour of tasting it. He would have made common tea and put a paralytic into it. This would have been a suitable punishment. He would be watching how his lord’s body failed him, how he tried to move or speak but couldn’t. This would have amplified his terror tenfold, and perhaps the pathetic display would have been conclusive enough for Sebastian to crush him at last, effectively bringing their contract to the end.

Yet this wasn’t what had taken place. His Master remained himself, at least for now, and the very sight of him made Sebastian’s heart soar.

With a faint smile, he completed his preparations and carried the tray to the office. The boy looked up with a frown.

“I have prepared hot white chocolate with Indian salt for you,” Sebastian told him. The surprised gaze made his lips twitch more distinctively.

“With salt?” his lord repeated. His voice was sceptical, but there was an undeniable curious undertone beneath. Regardless of how he doubted Sebastian’s culinary choices, he would be unable to resist the opportunity to taste something new.

When Sebastian offered him the cup, he took it gingerly. Some traces of wariness still decorated his face as he took a sip, but they evaporated in an instant. Making a pleased sound, he stared at the cup with awed admiration, and his soul flared with pure, incandescent joy.

Sebastian’s heart stumbled. His lungs forgot their human functions, too. He didn’t transform into his true form, but the effect was the same: something entirely demonic gripped him from inside, howling in hunger, greed, and desire.

He hadn’t realised how the lengthy separation between them had affected him. During their brief interaction, he had been too focused on looking for flaws instead of appreciating what had drawn him in from the very start. The awareness was belated but staggering: Ciel Phantomhive’s soul shone more brightly than he even remembered, defiant and vicious yet with the gentlest touches of light. This light was glowing now, and Sebastian wanted to devour it. A tremble rippled through his body; a sudden flood of saliva made his lips part in hungry anticipation.

The boy looked at him, and while it made something in Sebastian’s chest lurch, he only got a frown in return.  

“I will drink it,” his lord said. The lighter part of his soul dimmed, but the light did not leave. It never had, no matter what orders passed these lips.

[morihaus]

Betrayal

Waves splash against the rocky shores of Betony as a small ship rows into port. The docks of Whitefort town are quiet in the dying light of the evening, busied only by sailors and dockworkers as they fix ships to the moorings and ferry cargo about, hurrying to get their work over with so they might retire for the night. There are few people, and of them, the lone passenger of the sailboat blends into the crowd, steel boots stepping onto the dock, cowl held close around her head.

She keeps her head down, not attracting any attention as she takes a circuitous path around the shipyard, pausing only to spare a glance over her shoulder every now and then. It's not her first time here, and she knows where she is going- the grand Imperial ship affixed to the far dock lies foreboding in the corner of her vision- but even miles from the mainland of High Rock or Hammerfell, she feels eyes all over her, grasping hands reaching out for her. She's walking into a pair of them right now.

It's with this note of fatalism that she climbs aboard the Imperial galley, its captain waits for her at a table on the deck, seated warmly in her fine Skyrim furs. Lady Brisienna Magnessen smiles cordially, cheeks rosy, but not bothered by the winter chill as her visitor is, letting her fair hair curl down her shoulders without hat or hood.

"Agent Delarda," She greets her with a refined tone, coarse Nordic tongue dipped in honey, smoothed and shaped to suit the needs of an inter-provincial operative. "Please, take a seat. Let's conclude this as quickly as possible."

Against her better judgement, the agent sits down. Her amber eyes, sitting in dark circles, peer out at the Nord from under her hood. "They know." She says flatly, her voice quiet and weak for the first words she's spoken in days. "Gothryd, Eadwyre, Athoriki, Gortwog-" She slings her pack down one shoulder and reaches inside, producing several written correspondences. She sets them on the table in front of her, unsealed, slightly crumpled. She looks down at them now, rather than Brisienna. "Even Mannimarco, and the Underking. They know, and they want it. They're making offers now. I'm not sure how long they'll wait for me to make up my mind."

Brisienna takes a letter into her deft hands, unfurling it and scanning it over.

Arduirel- code name Delarda- lets her hands lie limp on the table, numb with cold and nerves.

After a minute or so, the Lady speaks up. "They're making quite the hefty offers for it."

"You believe them?" Arduirel says.

Brisienna looks half-insulted. "No," She shakes her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if any or all of them were lying. All that gold, those artifacts, nothing but bait."

"Should I assume the Emperor was lying as well?" She says curtly, still not meeting her eye.

Brisienna purses her lips some, but reaches over into her own pack, producing a small jewelry box. She places it on the table, turning it to her fellow agent. "The Warlock's Ring, as promised. Feel free to check. I wouldn't lie to you."

Arduirel's ears burn under her hood at that. Still, she reaches forward, unlatching the tiny chest and taking a peek at the ring inside. Gold-banded, covered in ancient runes, inlaid with a dazzling red gemstone. She closes it, satisfied with its authenticity, more or less. She looks back up at Lady Magnessen, who peers expectantly at the elf.

"The Emperor has been planning this reward for some time, Delarda. Your efforts, both here and in years previous, are greatly appreciated." For a moment Arduirel looks and only sees a mouthpiece, a puppet; she wonders whether Uriel said any such thing, whether these words were really his, or mere lip service from the Nord woman. She's sick to her stomach either way, not helped by the gentle rocking of the boat in the harbor.

"...I'm curious. What would the other rulers have done with... the Totem." She asks, quite aware of the fact she's expected to be taking it out by now. She doesn't want to touch it, to let it be seen by anyone. Her whole body feels wired, jittery, as though the other agent were about to make a desperate lunge for her pack.

It doesn't come to pass, though, Lady Magnessen remains seated, glancing down once again at the letters on the table. "Nothing good." She shuffles them around, laying one on top of the other, leafing through the names on the pages and thinking on what she knows of the Illiac's politics. "No doubt Daggerfall, Wayrest, and Sentinel would use the Numidium in their petty war games. Perhaps they would even realize the extent of its capabilities- they could undermine the whole of the Empire with this power." Arduirel feels a chill as she speaks. She wonders what Brisienna knows about Numidium. How much does the Emperor know about Numidium? The Nord frowns as she continues to speculate. "Orsinium would no doubt crush its age-old enemies, claim all of Wrothgar for the Orcs, maybe beyond. I cannot begin to wonder at what nefarious end the King of Worms has in mind... he claims he wants godhood?"

Arduirel gives a shallow nod.

Brisienna shakes her head. "By the Nine, what a travesty that would be..."

"Could that even work?"

"If what we are led to believe about big Numidium is true, it very well could. It could be as easy as it plucking him from this world and placing him high up in the heavens." There's an attempted humor to what she says, but Arduirel can only fight to keep up a veneer of composure.

"Is that what Tiber Septim did?" She blurts out.

Brisienna gives her a judgemental stare. "Is that... what? What are you talking about, Delarda?"

Arduirel clenches her fist, grinding her teeth together for a moment. "I just mean-" She looks out into the horizon, the now black sky meeting the edge of the water. "He became a Divine. He also used the Numidium. Is that related? Is Mannimarco trying to do what he did?"

Without looking, she feels the icy stare of her superior. She lets out a sigh. "Tiber Septim didn't become Talos through some... automaton. He was always Talos-" She trails off, shaking her head. "We can discuss theology when you're back in Cyrodiil, Delarda. You have the Totem, don't you?"

"Yes." She quickly replies.

"Where is it?"

Arduirel looks back at her. Brisienna's face is creased with irritation- she knows a diversion tactic when she sees it, she's starting to wise up to what's going on here.

"What is the Emperor going to do with it?" Arduirel asks.

Brisienna pauses. Arduirel stares and picks her apart with her eyes, trying to figure out what she knows. "That's none of your concern, agent." She replies with a blunt, forceful tone. "Just know that he's the only one who can be trusted with it. These petty kings will rip each other- and the Empire- apart in their bickering, and those undead sorcerers will only do the same. This thing belongs in the hands of an Emperor, a Septim, not some pack of quarreling insubordinates."

Her words hang in the air, burning against Arduirel's ears like the cold night air. Her hands begin to shiver. "The last Septim who got his hands on it..." She furrows her brow, glaring from under her hood at the Nord. "The Underking, he's Zurin Arctus, Tiber Septim's battlemage. He claims to have made the thing- that the Mantella is his heart, and that Septim used the thing to conquer all of Tamriel, to destroy all his opponents, to replace all royals with those who would swear loyalty to him." Brisienna tries to get a word in, but Arduirel plows on ahead. "And when he disagreed with this use of the Numidium, Septim fought with him, and both he and his creation were destroyed." She produces another letter from her person, one she hadn't intended on sharing. "This says that the Blades have been gathering parts of the Numidium for centuries- what is the meaning of this??? To what end does it serve???"

Brisienna leans in with a dour expression. "You take the word of a rotting, undead wizard over mine? Over the word of the Emperor?"

Arduirel stands up with a start, frost crackles in her palm as she glares down at the Nord, who reaches for her blade. "What is he planning!? Why reassemble it?! Why use it now??"

"Delarda, stand down!" Brisienna barks out the order with her sword leveled in the elf's direction. "Think for a second! If you don't relinquish the Totem, you'll be branded as a traitor to the Empire of Tamriel- you'll have one more agency hunting you down, is that what you want!?"

"I am NOT giving you the Totem! I won't let this happen again!" Before Brisienna can even question her, Arduirel shoots an ice spike into her chest. She staggers back as it pierces a rib, she wheels back her sword-arm before another spike finds its way into the hinge of her elbow, icing the joint over and sinking deep into her tissue. She cries out in pain before Arduirel charges into her, bashing her off the side of the ship with a forceful elbow to her collar.

The Nord falls into the icy water, right arm stiff and inflexible, lungs pierced by a spike through her ribs. She cries out at Arduirel- "YOU CANNOT DO THIS!" But a torrent of frost is already firing down at her, freezing the water she's fighting against, encasing her in a thick sheet of ice. Her body temperature drops rapidly, she trembles and struggles as her muscles grow stiff and weak.

The small block of ice containing her body floats out into sea. The Agent absconds with the Warlock's Ring and the Totem, forcing her way through the confused crowd and boarding someone else's ship, pushing it out to sea with the force of her magic, arrows from the guards loosing in her wake as they piece together that she had something to do with this.

It doesn't matter. The Emperor will not get the Totem. As soon as she's out of sight from the isle, she makes course for the east, for Hammerfell, as a traitor to the Empire. Her true colors are finally revealed. It's exhilarating. It's sickening. It's the only way to avoid another Summurset.

[catty-words]

i was tagged by @pearlcaddy to play this fun lil fic writing game 

Your most popular fic:

by hits, it’s the perpetually unfinished we don’t talk very much and by kudos it’s the silly halloween fic i put a spell on you - both of which are clexa fics because the clexa fandom was insatiable

Your best fic:

i am so bad at answering questions like this because, like, by what metric? most effectively conveys emotion? and if that’s the way we’re measuring it, how does one compare the effectiveness of smut to the effectiveness of fluff?

god. ANYWAY. i think start, acceleration, then take it back to square one is my best work in recent history. i think it’s paced well, which is usually something i struggle with for longer fics, and the ending is perfect, which i cannot say about a lot of my fics. also, it was one of the most fulfilling fics i ever put out into the world.

Your favorite fic you wrote:

well, so. i am feeling especially fond of could be dangerous to keep this up at the moment, and it’s all pearlcaddy’s fault.

otherwise, my affection for easy to resemble pretty much never waivers. the fact that more than one reader found the PSA-ish thrust (heh) behind the story helpful/comforting/encouraging is something that brings me endless joy.

Your least favorite fic you wrote:

definitely feeling the point that the more distance there is between the writing of a fic and your present, more refined skill level, the more likely you are to have fallen out of favor with the fic. so there are many 5 and 6 year old fics on my account that i would not be able to read without cringing half the time. and i’ve talked a bit before about how my engagement with the 100 fandom came at a time in my life where i needed to affirm my identity as a wlw but, looking back, the shallow and whitewashed conception of loving women rampant in the fandom probably did me as much harm as it did good. so all my clexa fic feels kind of performative and stilted to me now.

anyway, my least favorite is probably could be the thing you reach for in the middle of the night. i haven’t read it in years, but the version of it that lives in my head is rushed and clumsy all the way through. no emotional beat was hit at the right time. ugh. just a mess.

tagging @notbang and @akisazame and @theheart-isanarrow

[kingreywrites]

Our Paint Chips Away

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2865

New Dream Appreciation Week Day Seven: Memories

Summary: In the aftermath of Pascal running away from home, Eugene can't sleep. He keeps thinking about seeing the tower again, for the first time since... since it all went down. He also keeps thinking about the way Rapunzel went inside alone, and how he hadn't been sure he could have followed her in if she asked.

Note: this story is a coda to Pascal’s story!! not sure it fits the prompt but when am i ever afgsgdh it’s very late because inspiration struck me uh... very late too, but i hope you’ll still enjoy it!! this week was amazing, thanks to @gleamful-lanterns and @autumn-ravenclaw for organising it!! <3

Read on ao3

The day Pascal ran away, Eugene saw the tower again for the first time in more than half a year. Rapunzel did, too. It was way more difficult for her than it could ever be for him, because the tower had been her home and her prison for eighteen long years, and he knew it, he knew that she needed all the support he could give. His heart broke when she stumbled back, her voice trembling, but she had always been brave, and she raised herself up again, ready to confront her worst nightmare. She needed to go up there alone, and he was worried, of course he was, but he also felt incredibly proud, because she was the most courageous person he knew, and he admired her more than anyone.

More than himself, for sure.

Because the thing was, he shouldn't be scared. Or a little maybe, but certainly not more than her. After all, he hadn't even spent the equivalent of a whole day in this tower and like, the whole death thing had lasted for what, thirty minutes tops? If Rapunzel could find the courage in herself to brave the tower, he should too.

But he couldn't. His stomach was twisting on itself as he held Rapunzel close to him, and his hands were trembling, and his throat was so dry he worried the girls could hear it as he tried weakly to make light of the situation. He didn't want to be here. And when Rapunzel said she was going in alone, the relief in his heart might as well have been poison for how sick it made him feel. He should... He should have tried to help her, but he couldn't.

If she had asked him to come with her inside, would he have been able to?

The question started to haunt him as soon as he sat on Maximus to wait, hoping the horse couldn't feel how jittery he was. It haunted him for the entire time she was inside, and he couldn't see what was happening to her, couldn't know if everything was okay. It haunted him as he tried his hardest not to look to the spot where he knew Gothel fell, where he remembered digging a shallow grave with Rapunzel to bury what was left of the woman she thought to be her mother for most of her life. (It was nothing more than folded clothes, and some ashes, but they had tried their best.)

It kept haunting him even when she came back down, with Pascal in her hands, looking emotional but happy and safe. He held her tightly on the ride back, hoping to bring her comfort just as much as he was trying to ignore the dread still sitting heavy on his chest.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Because even when Rapunzel went to sleep, still giving all her attention to Pascal because the little guy deserved it, Eugene couldn’t shake his own uneasiness. His mind kept going back to the tower, and to that door he hadn’t been able to cross, despite wanting to. If Rapunzel had needed help, would he have been able to go up there? Was he really so much of a coward that some bad memories were enough to stop him from supporting the love of his life when she most needed it?

Eugene couldn't sleep. He… He wanted to think that he could have overcome his fears if the situation called for it, but the fact was - he didn't.

Before he could think better of it, Eugene pushed his cover off abruptly, and got up. He put on his clothes quickly, and laced his shoes with trembling hands. He- he needed to prove to himself that he could do it. It was even better that way, he rationalised; he could come to terms with whatever was troubling him without bothering anyone, especially not Rapunzel. He'd go in the tower, see that it was no big deal, and come back to the castle before the sun was up.

Flawless plan, no doubt.

It wasn't too hard finding a horse that was neither Max nor Fidella, and the path to the tower was burnt into his mind. He hadn't expected to go there earlier, and the surprise had made him fumble with his words as his heart sank, but he was ready now. He was ready, and so it made no sense for his pulse to get faster, or for his hands to clench tighter around the reins. He was…

He was fine. He repeated that to himself, as he dismounted the horse, and came face to face with the tower again, heart in his throat. Vaguely, he noticed that he had never seen the tower at night - he had truly not been here long enough for that to happen. That was all the more reason to not be scared, he told himself, trying to ignore how menacing it seemed, looming over him with the moonlight shining down on it.

He could do this. He should do this, just to show he could, and that was it. Just in and out, no one would have to know, and he could sleep in peace that night.

So why was he stuck in front of the door? His right hand laid flat on the cold stones of the tower, and he felt frozen in place, heartbeat echoing loudly in his head. He had gone down this way once, after he- after Rapunzel brought him back. He had been on those stairs, and he hadn’t cared, because he was too worried about Rapunzel's state of mind to be scared of a tower… So why was he now?

The chilly air of the night made him shudder. He clenched his jaw tightly.

"Okay," he muttered, "in and out, I'm just going in and out."

Eugene took a step. Then another. The stairs were dark, the walls covered in moss, and it all smelled of dust. This was an abandoned tower, which couldn't hurt him, and he just had to get over it.

Rapunzel hadn't put back the panel blocking the entry. Eugene climbed up easily, and there he was.

In the tower. For the first time since-

Shaking his head, Eugene started to dust off his clothes, before surveilling the room around him. He hadn't spent a lot of time within these walls, and yet they were sickeningly familiar, even in the darkness.

Around him, still on the floor, was Rapunzel's hair. The one he had-

Before he could try to stop himself, his eyes traveled to the window, and to the staircase where the- the chains that had held him were lying broken, just like they had left them. They hadn't known what to do with them back then. He had still been dizzy, though it was more from fear than blood loss, and Rapunzel had been scared and lost and… They had just left, without looking back.

He took a trembling step towards it. He was alive, he repeated to himself. He was alive, Rapunzel had saved him, and this was simply a place, nothing more. He had no reason to be scared, because he was alive and-

He still remembered how cold he had been, barely able to hold himself up as his own blood coated his side.

Eugene felt himself pale at the memory, and he stumbled back ungracefully, wavering in place as he tried to stay on his feet. He was- he was stupid, this was just a tower, and he- Rapunzel had surmounted it, and he needed to- to-

He had backed himself to the other side of the room. The side right across from the window, the… The side where Rapunzel had been held in chains, fighting to get free as her screams for him were muffled by-

This time, when Eugene tried to get away unsteadily, he tripped on his own feet and fell down heavily. His breathing was loud, and he knew he was well and truly pathetic. This was Rapunzel's tower. The place where she had suffered for eighteen years, trapped with the woman who called herself her mother. And despite the pain and the fear she undoubtedly faced, Rapunzel went up here, and she was fine. Definitely shaken up, but fine.

So why couldn't he be?

He knew she was stronger than he had ever been. She showed it everyday, when she overcame challenges after challenges, while staying optimistic even through the bad times. Eugene simply… He simply wanted to know that she could count on him, even in the hardest moments. He wanted to be able to stay at her side if she asked, no matter the place. But here he was, sitting defeated on the ground, because a few memories made him so tense he trembled.

Eugene closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. He just- he was… He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to move on from this, because everyone thought he did already, and he- he- well, Rapunzel knew he still struggled sometimes, with the nightmares and the memories, but he needed to be fine, he…

He was scared.

His nails were biting into his palms. He opened his eyes slowly, looking down at the wall to avoid looking at anything that might make him panic again, when he saw it.

The small, uncertain lines of a drawing obviously made by a kid. The scribble was messy, but it was easy to recognise who it was supposed to be - a girl with long blond hair and a smile too big for her face.

Rapunzel.

Slowly, he moved closer, his hand brushing the wood faintly. She had to have been… so young, when she did this. Nowhere near the artist she was now, but with as much joy and imagination, trying to create something to express it. There was a little sun next to the drawing, its rays uneven. It was so easy, to imagine a small, maybe five or six years old Rapunzel, doodling away with a smile on her face.

Eugene let his eyes wander softly on these walls. He got up again, still feeling numb, his gaze going up to more refined drawings, with different styles and quality as Rapunzel experimented. No matter what, though, they were always bright and sunny. There were plants, and birds, and so many Rapunzels smiling and laughing, their hair flowing with an invisible wind.

Each painting, each stroke, hid a part of Rapunzel within it. It was her, so young still, scribbling a sun with too many branches, remembering without knowing the kingdom that was missing her dearly. It was her, growing up, painting flowers upon flowers even though she could barely see some of them through her window, imagining a world she wasn't allowed to live in. It was her, charting the stars on her wall, a painting he could only slightly see in the darkness, but knew was here because she had told him of much time and patience she had needed for that.

He couldn't even see half of it from where he was, but already, he had gotten a glimpse into the world that was hers not too long ago. And… And he was still scared. He still couldn't look at the exact spot where he died, not when there was nothing here to do but think about it.

But, as he was gently tracing the contours of a little Rapunzel, looking longingly at a bird flying next to her, Eugene felt a small smile forming on his lips. This tower was full of memories. Some were painful. Some were not. It was the place that Rapunzel turned into her world, while she waited to be allowed into the real one. It was the place where she grew up, braver and kinder than anyone could have been in her situation. It was also the place where he met her, completely thrown by this determined girl with a lot of hair and a frying pan she wasn't afraid to use. It was a place full of memories, yes, but these memories were hers - these memories were theirs, and there was nothing about Rapunzel that Eugene could hate.

This tower hadn't been their ending. It had been their beginning. Rapunzel's beginning. And Eugene was still eager to leave, hoping to never come back again, but he had his answer now.

For her, he would brave anything.

------

There was a soft knock at her door. Rapunzel nearly didn't hear it - she had been asleep, after all, and had a pretty long and tiring day before that, so she could have missed it really easily… but she didn't. Opening her heavy eyes slowly, she sat up, careful to not wake up Pascal at her side. It was still night, but the sky was getting clearer, so the sun had to be coming up soon.

"Yes?" she whispered, unsure that the person behind her door would hear it.

The door opened to a crack, and Eugene poked his head through.

"Eugene?"

"Hi, uh…" he trailed off, looking embarrassed. She waved him closer, faintly concerned because Eugene never seeked her during the night. He shuffled forward, and she noticed he wasn't wearing his night outfit - had he even slept yet?

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, glancing down to make sure Pascal was still sleeping as she straightened up. "Are you- Did you have a nightmare?"

Usually, she was the one knocking at his door because of them. She knew he had some too, but he always tried to keep them to himself, so the fact that he was here, avoiding her gaze, immediately made her more alert.

"Something like that, I guess... I- I needed you," he admitted in a breath, something indescriptible in his eyes as he finally met hers. "Sorry, I-"

"Come here," she said, patting the empty space to her right. He didn't even protest, instead coming to sit next to her, throwing a glance at Pascal too to make sure the little guy wasn't bothered. Eugene was more thoughtful that he admitted, and she loved him for it - though right now, she was more worried about what was bothering him.

He looked at her, his eyes soft, and full of an emotion she couldn't name. Before she could ask him again if something was wrong, he gently brought her into a hug, and she held him back tightly against her.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, "please don't worry, I just…"

"Needed to see me?" she finished softly. He nodded. "Okay," she whispered, before adding: "You can sleep here if you want."

He hesitated a little, and nodded again. It was a little awkward, but they both shuffled under the covers, one of her hands in his and the other resting on his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe not right now," he murmured after a while, gaze wandering to her walls. "Did I ever tell you I loved the mural you painted?"

"Yes," she smiled, her eyes still on him. "You always compliment my paintings." She didn't say that she was still surprised, sometimes, that he did. Gothel had nothing against her paintings as long as it didn't inconvenience her, but she also never encouraged it, or even told Rapunzel she was good at it. Having someone in her life genuinely appreciate her creations always made her heart flutter.

"Do you plan to do more? Like…" His free hand vaguely gestured at her still blank ceiling. "That part?"

"I… Yes, I think so. I simply… I want it to mean something," she whispered. "In the tower, I painted every little things that came to mind. Birds, flowers, pretty dresses… Painting helped me feel better when I was lonely, or scared." He was looking at her again, now. His eyes were shining in the darkness. "But now, painting isn't my only source of freedom," she grinned, squeezing his hand tighter, "and I want… I want my room to be full of meaningful memories for me. Things that I can look up to and be proud to have lived through, if that makes sense."

"It does," he breathed, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I still haven't figured out what it'll be," she admitted, caressing the side of his jaw, "but I know already that you will be there for all these new memories."

His eyes widened, before he softened again, looking way more comfortable and sleepy than when he first came in. "I can't wait," he whispered, voice full of emotions.

"I can't either," she whispered back, slowly brushing his hair away as he relaxed.

It had been a difficult day for both of them, she knew. Eugene joked a lot when he was scared, and she… She was glad he came to her, in the end. She was glad he was there with her when she needed him, and she could do the same thing when he needed her. Looking up at the blank space she still needed to fill, she knew that, no matter what, she would treasure all the new memories she made with him.

She really couldn't wait.

[bookwyrminspiration]

Hello! I am now home and can respond to your ramblings about my art properly!

PlayBoy:

Thank you!! I'm very proud of the tattoos and had to look up several references for Māori tattoos and they're all so lovely and intricate. The tattoos on his thighs are placeholders until I can find some that are just as intricate and lovely. Fun fact! The moon tattoo is supposed to be a matching tattoo set, the second one being a sun. (You should post the drawings with the crescents! I'm sure that they would look lovely) And yes the hands- I was so pleased with the hands, they were so fun to draw and I'm proud of how they turned out! Though I may have cheated a little and traced a genuine playboy magazine that didn't seem too hard and appealed to me. It lended a hand in how good I drew the hands in this, as directly tracing hands never look good. I say traced but I mostly mean for the prices and the word thingys and the but, and then I referenced that sketch and refined it more until it looked about right. The original magazine had the very satisfying back curve! The highlights hoenstly bring the art together, it just looked boring without them and I wanted to make it pop. Thank you so much!

Space man:

Yes that is space! The tentacles were very fun to draw but it took a little bit to make them look right. He is truly chaos incarnate. Jeremy (The little man off to the left and basically his assistant) doesn't even know what he's doing. Jeremy hates this and hates Maui and is going to berate him later for it /lh. And I put so much effort into the background!! And I'm still only revising it!! There's so much more for me to do with this drawing!! I have so much more to do, it is a very mentally taxing drawing so I'm just taking my time with it. It'll look awesome once it's finished! And thank you so much, I'm glad that it's working out so far!!! And no, it will absolutely not work out and he'll nearly accidently get the crew killed and give Jeremy a heart attack (/hj) (/lh)

Mermaid:

Yes! Mermaids are very fun! I think this au of him was the reason I got into them in the first place, and then I got into angels and demons because of Laproxie on Instagram, and now I've kind of forgotten about both tbut the mermaid has sticked mostly!! Thank you about the fluidity about the tail! I am also very picky about flowy lines and how they work and fish don't have knees. I actually stole the way the colours work from Castle Swimmer on webtoon! It's honestly so beautiful and the story and art is both great and now I'm on the edge of my seat waiting for season three because the two love birds just met again after a long time of trying to find each other and there was so much lore and three comedic witches and it's just beautifully written. The water was the hardest part, I don't like drawing water. But the light scattering were fun! And the white bit on top is either seafoam or light refractions. Ok so I spent a really long time thinking about it and decided he would be more of a deep sea fish (I only drew him in shallow waters because its so much easier to pose) so I made him blue so he could camoflauge! He also has natural bioluminessence that I didn't draw in the because it's very light out. And yes!!! Those are stitches!! Thank you so much!!

Casual:

Yes, it is a very different vibe! It's a lot calmer than the other ones (And less sexually inclined like in the first one, but I would describe him as promiscuous so I feel its fitting) He is very smug and carefree but also quite vain, he can often be seen looking at himself in any reflective surface he can, including a small pocket mirror he takes with him wherever he goes. He has traded comfort for a life of being sexy and his brother is so confused and keeps trying to shove him into something comfortable and Maui Hisses and shys away like he's a cat and his brother is trying to get him into a bath of water. His brother is the opposite and also very buff

I put si much effort into the straps!! I'm very happy to have them recognised!! They gave me a bit of issues but I managed to beat them into looking good. Same with the scarf! Though, most of the credit has to go to the fabric brushes on procreate. I don't know what I would do without them

Thank you so much for taking some time out of your day to view them and comment on them <333 I love it when you ramble so it's absolutely no problem! Ahhh, I'm so glad that my art is colourful and pleasing to look at and I hope to continue sending Maui to your inbox!

I'm very glad that you're slowly piecing him together, and that you seem to enjoy what he is. It is a veyy joyous day <33333

-Heathen

Heathen!! Hello! I have finally gotten to the third ask you sent me that fateful night a few weeks ago! I was not expecting a response at all (probably should've since this is you) so i'm very curious what this contains

that being said my response will be under a cut since. long!

Playboy:

The tattoos were so lovely!! I love tattoos so much I'd love to get a few. I used to have a whole host of tattoos planned out, but that was when I was like 13 and now looking back I'm like wow so glad I was not allowed to get tattoos because I'd now like very different tattoos. Still want a dragon tho. Matching tattoos also sound super cool! Sun and moon imagery is also *chef's kiss.* And I'd forgotten about the crescent art I have but mayhaps I shall post it at some time!

Congratulations on the hands tho the blending between tracing and making it look good can be hard but you did great! For me one of the biggest annoyances when tracing hands is that...they do not match my style. I usually take my own reference photos, so my real life hands when traced don't match my less-realistic style. The translation between the two is annoying sometimes but you nailed it! and highlights are always fun--I frequently go a little too over the top with highlights (especially in curly hair) and then am just like whelp can't do anything about it now (for traditional art at least)

Spaceman:

Yes!! haha!! I know enough about sci-fi to recognize space! Tentacles are like a hit or miss for me. I'm. very picky about the fluidity of lines and tentacles can be a nightmare! Side note: i frequently type out little rants on tumblr and then just save them to my drafts and one of them is about the squiggle of lines.

but poor Jeremy, having to deal with the chaos that is Maui. I don't think him berating Maui is going to change anything but he sure can try.

As for the background, I hope you have fun with it! Those kinds of big detailed drawings can be really draining so good idea to take your time. It already looks awesome so I have no doubts that it'll be even better once you've finished it. What will not get better are Maui's plans everything is going to descend into chaos i fear for Jeremy

Mermaid:

You're so right mermaids are fun. When I think of the ocean I usually think about pirates because my dad is a pirate nerd and he infected me with pirate brainrot, but I also love the idea of sirens and creatures in the water as part of that. And so true fish do not have knees. Maybe we could...do something about that :). your fish has been kneed.

I don't know anything about Castle Swimmer but the colors you stole are very pretty!! Three seasons sounds like a lot tho I don't know how people do it. I say, with a blog heavily focused on an 11 book series. But back to Maui! Camouflage sounds like it could be useful, but also I'm wondering how much light is down in the deep sea and if it'd even be necessary to hide if no one can see you. That's like ingrained hiding in the environment. Just a musing though, the design is still very pretty. Something something all I hear after that is bioluminescence which is hella cool I'd like to also glow in the dark. Maybe that was my thought process when I accidentally cracked a glow stick into my eyes when I was a child, I was trying to become bioluminescent

Casual:

it is so much calmer than the others but also still has the wicked expression from the space one. Like he may look nice in terms of his appearance, but he also looks malevolent and like trouble. Good for him for the self-confidence tho. Sometimes you just need to stare into your own soul through a mirror. Though if you don't blink long enough then your face will stare to distort and you'll stop recognizing yourself, at least in my experience. it's pretty cool.

that is hilarious that Maui's brother is trying to unsexy him I love that so much. Just confused but supportive "it's cold out you can't wear that" and maui's in booty shorts and fishnets and a crop top, that's the dynamic I'm imagining rn.

yes!! the fabric texture is so impressive! thank you to the fabric brushes for giving heathen the tools they need to make cool art of a sexually chaotic part robot man.

thank you for sharing your art with me! I was very honored when you directly sent it to me even after you'd already posted it, it was like an "oh? you went out of your way to make sure I saw this?" moment /pos. I will enjoy as much as you have to say about Maui, so feel free to continue sending him!! he is a little puzzle I am gleefully putting together in my head one bit at a time and it's lovely.

[thiswasinevitableid]

this isn't a real mermay prompt, but if the mood strikes you: indulgent supernatural sugar daddy indrid? roleplaying that he's finally reached the limit of his patience for duck's teasing and now he's going to tie him to the bed and use him however he sees fit

Here you go! I riffed on something we discussed on the discord. CW for mentions of stripping, blood and booze, the roleplay could be read as dubcon but it's clear what they're doing and that everyone is consenting and enjoying themselves. After care is show.

“Damn, guess they ain’t kiddin when they say it’s the city that never sleeps.” Duck stares from the window of their suite onto the flashing neon and 11 pm traffic of the Las Vegas strip.

“I thought that was New York City?” Indrid looks up from where he’s laying their dinner out on the shiny black table.

“Maybe? I dunno, only ever been there once, on a trip with my folks as a kid.” Duck slides into his chair across from his grinning boyfriend. They picked up a massive spread of food earlier tonight, their friend Barclay having lots of intel on the best food in the city and the affection for them to write out a detailed list where to try.

Indrid grabs a pill from his bag on the bathroom counter, then settles across from Duck with an excited grin, “There, now I can dine without fear.”

They’re well into dessert when Indrid wipes his lips with a thoughtful hum.

“You know, sweet one, this never silent, ever bright environment lends itself well to certain activities.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck leans across the table to take his hand.

“I have more details that we can discuss while we digest, but to begin; how do you feel about dressing like the loudest man on a college campus for the night?”

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

Duck strides into the main floor of the Wynn, the industrial strength air conditioner practically sending him into shock after the heat of the pavement and desert air.

En route to the agreed upon Blackjack table, he makes eye contact with his reflection in a bank of windows. Only the flip flops were in his suitcase when they arrived; the mint green muscle tank and khaki shorts came from the nearest thrift store. He picked up special underwear once he and Indrid separated, suspecting it will make his boyfriend laugh. He loves making him laugh, even during their most intense scenes.

He gets his chips, his seat, and his hand within ten minutes, signaling a waiter for a screwdriver. God only knows why, but it feels like what this kind of guy would order on a Saturday afternoon. Duck’s decent at Blackjack; Juno taught him how to play and Ned helped him refine his technique. So he’s holding his own when a new player sits down two stools to his right.

“I intend to play the eccentric millionaire.”

When Indrid uttered that sentence, Duck pictured a slight variation on his usual evening wear; the suit he brings on trips just so he can take Duck out for nice meals without--as happened on one occasion-- being forced to borrow a jacket from a waiter.

He was not expecting this.

Indrid’s suit is jet black, blood-red lining flashing when he unbuttons his coat. His usual red glasses perch on his nose, and he’s done something to his hair that renders it sleek rather than it’s usual silvery tangle. His back is straight, his smile wide, and his manners pure perfection.

“May I join on the next hand?”

“One sparkling water please. Do add on a nice tip for yourself, won’t you?”

“Twenty! Oh, how delightful.”

Indrid wins more than he loses, careful to go over or come too far under enough times to avoid accusations of counting cards. Duck’s stack of chips dwindles, and he directs his frustration at this fact towards Indrid, muttering unkind things whenever the older man says, “hit me.”

When he’s down to thirty bucks, he taps out. Pushes back from the table with the huff of a man who’s used to getting what he wants. He finds the nearest bar and takes a small table for himself.

The chair across from him doesn’t stay vacant long.

“Hello.” Indrid folds his hands on the table, smiling pleasantly.

“What the fuck do you want?” Duck grumbles.

“To see if you were alright. You seemed rather upset when you left the table.”

“Ain’t upset, I’m fuckin broke. Came to vegas to get laid and get rich and I’m strikin out on both so far.”

“Perhaps I can help. I, ah, we are both here alone. Why don’t we keep each other company? Two bachelors taking on the city.” Indrid gives a very awkward “ta-dah” with his fingers.

“Dunno, I don’t really feel like slummin.”

“You won’t be. I promise.”

Duck leans back in his chair, arms crossed, “Oh yeah?”

A knife-edge enters Indrid’s smile, only to be covered by a menu, “Let me buy you lunch as proof. Order whatever you like.”

He calls the older man’s bluff by ordering a craft beer, the most expensive burger on the menu, and three appetizers, only to discover it was not, in fact, a bluff. Indrid pays for everything without so much as glancing at the prices.

“There now” he smiles at Duck as the waiter clears his leftover steak (“as rare as possible, please”), “have I proven myself a worthy companion?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Excellent” Indrid claps his hands together, “then let us see what else this town has to offer.”

While they digest they peruse the malls and casino hop wherever there are shaded routes that allow them to do so. As they’re maneuvering through the throng near the aquarium, Indrid says, “tell me a bit about yourself, Duck. Nono, wait, let me guess; southern prep school, expensive college, a family very happy to support you while you search for your place in the world?”

Duck nods (the only ways he’s able to lie during their scenes).

“I certainly hope you didn’t burn through your trust fund playing the slots.” Indrid elbows him playfully.

“Nah. Set myself a limit for what I could spend gamblin each day.”

“Clever young thing.”

“Indrid, how old do you think I am?”

“Thirty?”

“Thirty-six.”

The crowd presses them closer together as Indrid murmurs, “You don’t look it.”

“If we’re goin for personal questions, how old are you?”

“Oh, a bit older than yourself.” Indrid replies breezily, “ooh, look, rays!”

When the thermometer flashing in-between advertisements for Lady Gaga and The Osmonds cracks a hundred, Indrid ushers Duck to the indoor pool at their hotel. His new companion lounges in a reserved cabana while Duck soaks in the cool water, other swimmers floating past him or propping themselves on the edges to talk with their partners.

And every time he surfaces, he feels a red tinted gaze watching him. His new friend isn’t even trying to hide it, flat out ogles him whenever he’s in shallow water. Duck’s far from the youngest or most ripped guy here, but Indrid’s eyes never stray. It’s flattering.

It also makes sinking further into his role as easy as slipping into the deep end.

If the rich weirdo wants to buy him fancy shit because Duck is hot, he can knock himself out. It’s not like Duck has to fuck him. But teasing him might get him even more free drinks and expensive souvenirs. If he plays his cards right, he won’t pay for a single thing the rest of his trip.

He hops out of the pool, takes his time drying off and stretching before laying on his belly on the swanky deck chair, facing the opposite direction Indrid is to give the other man a better view of his ass.

“Where to next?” He tries for a purr and only succeeds at exaggerating his drawl.

Indrid’s smile widens all the same, “I have a few ideas. But let’s linger here a bit longer.”

After that he stays as close to the other man as he can, let’s their shoulders bump and fingers brush as they make the rounds for some pre-dinner drinks. He even whispers a flirtatious word or two, makes Indrid blush when he orders a drink called “silver fox,” looks him dead in the eyes and grins, “my favorite.”

He’s plenty tipsy when Indrid steers them into a hallway where bass shakes the floor and pink light disguises the cracks in the walls.

“Can’t say you’ve been to Vegas unless you’ve seen a little sin.” Is all the explanation given before the doors open on a two story strip club.

“Holy fuck.” Duck lets Indrid shepherd him to a stage where several men with abs that look painted on play at fucking the air, the stage, and each other, much to the delight of the two bachelorette parties and the single men dotting the audience.

“You’re a fuckin genius.” Duck growls, sitting when Indrid pushes down on his shoulder. The older man takes the seat to his left, watching the proceedings with polite detachment. He orders a cocktail for Duck and water for himself.

In spite of his apparent disinterest, the dancers all come to Indrid, one after the other. In theory, some of them should pass by Duck afterwards. But they all go right back to the stage or to other patrons. The few times one even looks at him, their eyes immediately slide away onto Indrid.

The fact the other man is handing out fifties and hundreds like they’re singles probably helps.

A tall brunette is currently in Indrid’s lap, and the silver-haired man whispers something and points at Duck.

Suddenly there is a very hot man in a glorified thong in his lap, who gives him a vaseline slick smile, “Your friend over there bought you a dance.”

Indrid waves, the movement grating on Ducks pride. He glares in response.

The older man calls “you looked lonely.”

“I don’t need your fuckin charity.”

Indrid cocks his head, then shrugs, “very well. Please come back here, for double the tip.” He holds up three hundred-dollar bills. The instant the dancer is out of his lap, Duck stands and stomps out, swaying more than when he came in.

The onset of evening has worsened the crowds. He slogs and weaves through them with every intention of getting back to his room, ordering room service, and bandaging his scraped ego

“Why so down, Duck?”

“Fuck! Jesus, let a guy walk in peace will you?” Duck snaps as Indrid falls into step beside him.

“We're on the strip, there's no peace here. No quiet either. Makes it easy to do what one wants.”

Cool fingers find Duck’s wrist, keeping him from breaking ahead to the crosswalk. As they stand and watch the cars and buses roar by, Indrid murmurs, “How about a little friendly game as an apology?”

“Better not be fuckin blackjack.”

“Nono, I’m thinking Poker. If you win, you win bragging rights and whatever else you like that I can give you. But if I win...you have to walk me back to my room. I’ll still buy all the drinks, of course.”

Neon glints off a fang Duck pretends not to see.

“Fuck it, sure. I'm gonna wipe the table with you, old man.”

“I look forward to it.”

In spite of Indrid making good on his promise of drinks, Duck only has one Whiskey Sour before switching to water; being full-on drunk would make him worse at Poker, something he’s complete crap at on the best days. Figures Indrid would choose a game where bluffing is key.”

His card shark of a companion is beating him, and everyone else at the table, soundly. He also declines any food or drinks for himself. After two hours of play and countless hands of defeat, Duck surrenders. Indrid preens, tips their dealer, and wishes everyone else at the table a good night.

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

“Why are we takin the stairs to the top floor?” Duck stares up the winding flights, unable to see their stopping point.

“It’s good for one’s health. And it’s, ah, far more private.”

“Why do you need privacy gettin to your room.”

The footsteps behind him stop as they reach the next landing.

“Simple. I'm hungry.”

Duck whirls just in time to catch Indrid as he lunges at him, fangs bared. It turns out to be a useless movement, the vampire trapping him in a corner effortlessly.

“What the fuck, fuckin let me go.” Duck hisses.

Indrid licks a fang with a thoughtful hum, “I can, though it comes with its own risks.” He sighs, put upon, “But you have been such pleasant company, I suppose it’s only fair to give you a choice. If you let me feed now, I shall be as gentle as I can be and only take a little. Or you can take your chances at outrunning me. However, should I still catch you, then I will take as much blood--and whatever else I like--as I please.” He brushes their noses together, “It’s up to you, sweet one.”

Duck takes a deep breath, the game fading while Indrid gives him time to decide how he wants to play.

Then Duck shoves Indrid away from him and bolts through the nearby door, running down the maze of corridors until he finds his salvation. Indrid’s laugh is still ringing in his ears when the elevator door finally closes.

When the ding announces his floor, he pokes his head out like a prairie dog watching for a hawk. No sign of the vampire. He comforts himself with that though, and with the fact that there’s no way Indrid could catch up to him now, as he click his keycard into the lock.

He shuts the door and reaches for the light switch.

Chilly fingers circle his wrist.

“I win.”

Duck is dragged, then carried, through the darkness, the light not clicking on until he’s tossed onto the bed. Indrid stands at his side, grinning hungrily.

“W-wait, fuck, please, I, how’d you-”

“Quiet.” Indrid tosses his jacket on the floor, straddles Duck with fangs unashamedly on display. Duck whimpers, tries to curl in and protect his throat. Indrid noses at it all the same, “don't worry you spoiled excuse for a man, it won't hurt too much.”

“‘Drid” Duck gasps, tipping his head automatically at the purr in the vampires voice.

Cool lips tenderly meet his own, “Indulge me a bit longer?’

“Hell yeah I will, sugar.” Out of habit, he guides Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of crushing range, “Uh. Please, my dad is real fuckin wealthy, I'll pay you whatever you want?”

Indrid traces a sharp fingernail along Duck’s collarbone, “What I want is you. All those years getting what you demanded, not lifting a finger, you'll taste very rich.”

“Please don't kill me.” Duck can feel himself getting harder whenever teeth brush his skin.

The vampire cups his cheek, “Not a chance. I need to eat often, after all. And you're perfect to be my new pet. Spoiled, handsome, and no one will miss you.”

“Fuck you” Duck kicks weakly at Indrid’s ankle.

Indrid tuts, “Do I need to tie you down? I could hold you down easily, but I need my hands free to cover that sinful mouth and enjoy this lovely body while I feed.”

“N-no, no I’ll be good, I’llAAH!” His whole body tenses as fangs pierce his neck. He wants to cry out more but it’s perilous, might make him jerk away and tear the skin. But his body has to do something to release the tension, or the taught coils that replaced his muscles might snap and leave him in pieces.

He’s saved by a rush of pleasure melting every tendon, caressing every nerve into calm. Duck sinks into the bed, his body registering the suck of Indrid feeding but feeling no need to intervene. The vampires right hand creeps down to hold Duck’s left, his satisfied hum setting arousal buzzing in his chest.

Duck only realizes he’s been slowly grinding on Indrid’s slacks when the other man laughs, muffled and bloody. The vampire raises his head, lapping at the wounds so not a drop is wasted, “greedy boy. Even when you're dinner you think your pleasure deserves priority.”

“Please.” He wants his teeth in his neck forever, he wants his fingers and tongue between his legs every night.

Indrid kisses the wounds, sits up while daintily wiping his mouth with his shirt-sleeve, staining the starched white with red, “Delectable. Don't go anywhere, pet.”

“Not your fucking pet.” Wooziness pulls any teeth left in his tone, “and, and I thought you wanted me up here cause you were hungry. Now you ain’t. So, so I can go.”

“Oh no, that” he points to the marks on Duck’s neck, “was because I was hungry. The rest of tonight is happening because of your endless teasing.”

“I, uh, I don’t-” Duck turns bright pink.

“You were rather obvious. And silly me, indulging you because of your charms. Well, now it’s time to show me how grateful you are. Let me just slip into something a bit more comfortable.”

Indrid snaps his fingers. Reality gives a sickening crack. Then a mothman stands at the foot of the bed, feathers of soft browns rustling as he stretches his wings. He doesn’t have mandibles, but when he yawns it reveals rows of sharp teeth, the two where his human canines would be noticeably longer than the rest.

“Much better.”

Duck yelps, scrambles back into the headboard as Indrid dives onto the bed.

“Ah-ah” Indrid pins his arms and thighs to the bed with his four hands, “we had an agreement, little one. I get to do whatever I wish to you because you lost. And, more importantly” a long tongue drags up Duck’s cheek, “because that is how spoiled little humans earn their keep.”

“Oh god.” Is all Duck gets out before claws rip his shirt and shorts to colorful pieces. Indrid tips him sideways to finish mauling his shorts and pauses.

“What in the-” the vampire flips him onto his belly, stifles a giggle, “‘Bite me? Rather fitting underwear choice.”

“Thanks” Duck smirks into the blanket.

“Well, since I find myself incapable of denying you things, pet…” reality cracks once more.

“Wh-AHFUCK!” He yanks the nearest pillow over to muffle his cries as Indrid sinks his human fangs into the meat of Duck’s ass. It’s a different kind of pain, not as heart-pounding but just as fun. Indrid isn’t feeding, so he bites down only a few seconds before lifting his head to target another patch of skin. He doesn’t let up until Duck sobs his name into a silk pillow.

The vampire pulls back, but keeps Duck on his forearms and knees as he kisses a curve from his lower back to one of the innermost bite marks. Another shift and claws prick his legs.

“Mmmm, I can smell how turned on you are. I wonder….”

“Fuck, ohfuck” Duck pushes his hips back as Indrid’s tongue infurls down to tease his folds, “Indrid, please, please fuck me like that.”

“‘Ike ‘is?” The tongue presses in, thrusting lazily and without much pressure.

“Yes but, fuck, but more.”

A growl and Duck is slammed onto his back, Indrid looming over him with his wings outspread, “Have you forgotten the purpose of this evening?”

“No.” He stares up into red eyes, too turned on to be sheepish.

“Then why do you keep making demands? You have spent all day asking things of me and now it is time to show me why I tolerate such behavior.” He grabs Duck’s knees, holds them up and open with his lower arms, and purrs, “though there’s no denying your appeal from this angle.”

“Fuck yeah.” Duck fists the blanket in anticipation as Indrid adjusts them to put his head between the human’s legs. Indrid’s tongue caresses his dick, filling the room with slick, obscene sounds.

Then searing pain flashes through his left thigh as Indrid sinks the fangs of his form into it.

“FUCK! I, I thought, moths don’t-”

“Vampire moths do.” Indrid grins before smearing a line of red on Duck’s skin, “and I intend to drink my fill.”

Duck yelps again, slams a hand over his mouth when he remembers there’s two other suites on this floor.

“Be as loud as you like; I cast a little spell on this room to make sure no one hears what I’m doing to my new pet.” He thrusts his tongue into Duck without warning, fucking him on it until he’s bucking his hips, then pulling out to lap and suck at his thigh. When he next returns to sucking Duck’s dick, the feathers around his mouth are as red as his eyes.

Heat builds in Duck’s gut at the sight and he moans, “‘Drid, please, I’m so close to cummin just from this, please just let me cum.”

“Absolutely not.” Indrid drops his legs, dragging him into his lap with a hiss, “you have still not learned your lesson. You think you can get whatever you want just by looking sweetly at me. You’re so very wrong.” His upper arms trap Duck’s own behind his back while his lower set prick his hips, “now be a good pet and keep your legs open.”

Duck doesn’t get a chance to ask why; a cock, covered in vertical ridges with a very thick tip, shoves halfway into him.

“Mmmm, that’s lovely.” Indrid thrusts hurriedly, “now I remember why I put up with your demands all day. Spoiled though you may be, I’ve never had someone fit my cock so well. Ohhhhh” he opens his wings, grinning, “someone likes that.”

“Like you, fuck, Indrid, I swear I wasn’t, uh, wasn’t not teasing, no, fuck FUCKfuck” He takes as much as he can in one thrust, the last third still pulsing outside his body.

“Don’t lie, sweet human. I know you let me spoil you endlessly, teased me mercilessly all day, all while thinking you would spend your evening asleep and alone, rather than where you belong.”

Duck whimpers as his thighs fight to keep up the pace. They give out a moment later but nothing happens; Indrid’s grip on his hips is so strong he’s moving him without help.

“Fuck that’s so fuckin good.”

Indrid flutters his wings “You see how easily I control you, sweet one? You may be strong and handsome, but at the end of the day you’re nothing more than a toy for me to use and discard as I please.”

He whines at that, let’s himself go limp so it’s easier to hide his face in Indrid’s fluff.

“Don’t worry, pet, I shall not discard you. As I said, you are perfect for me, a lovely little gift to myself after a day spent giving them to you.” The hands restraining his arms let go and he instantly wraps them as far around the vampire as he can. Then clawed fingers gingerly stroke his dick. He groans out a thank you and Indrid laughs.

“Oh no, this isn’t for you. I just find that humans taste even better during orgasm.”

Any noise Duck makes in reply is drowned out in fluff and Indrids high, trilling moans as he sinks his teeth into his neck. Duck thrashes helplessly as his orgasm burns out his veins and muscles, leaving a melted man in its wake.

“Perfection” Indrid purrs, licking at the bite to close it as he grunts and pumps his hips, “my spoiled little human is finally worth something OHyesss, yes.” He holds a squirming Duck down on his cock as his spurts into him, the human unable to do anything but cling to him and moan his name.

A sweet voice lilts in Ducks ear, “if you ever forget what you’re for, or dare to tease me so again, I will strap you down in my lap and fill you until it sloshes.”

Duck nods to show he heard, but only gets through half the movement before wincing.

“Oh, oh dear, is the bite too big?”

“N-no, think, think it’s just real sore. You bit hard both times.”

“Let me look to be certain...yes, you’re right, the wounds are the usual size. Come, let’s get you in a bath at once.”

The next thing he knows, spindly arms lower him into the fancy jacuzzi. Indrid chirps over him, telling him how wonderful he is, how well he did, promising to fetch him anything he desires for dinner, all while bandaging the bigger marks and scrubbing blood from his chest. When the vampire is satisfied with his efforts, he takes his human form and joins Duck in the tub. The human immediately waves him into his lap and guides him into a kiss.

“Insatiable thing.” Indrid purrs, nuzzling his cheek.

“Damn right. And you love me for it.”

“That I do.”

[recentanimenews]

Random Reads 2/18/21

Are You in the House Alone? by Richard Peck Are You in the House Alone? came out in 1976 and though I totally could’ve read it when I was a teen—and thus still a member of its target audience—I never did.

Gail Osburne is a sixteen-year-old high school junior and native New Yorker who’s not at home in the quaint Connecticut village her family relocated to several years back. I knew that the plot involved Gail receiving menacing anonymous notes and phone calls, and I was expecting these events to get started quickly and the suspense to remain high throughout. But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, the story is told retroactively, so we know Gail survives. Also, obvious culprit is obvious. (I hope the reveal wasn’t intended to be a surprise, but perhaps readers were less savvy about such things in 1976.) Initially, much more of the focus is on Gail’s relationships with her parents, boyfriend, and best friend, and in particular how the latter two are in the slow process of dissolution. Eventually she receives some threatening notes and creepy phone calls, gets scared, is let down by people in positions of authority, and comes face-to-face with said obvious culprit. That happens halfway through this slim novel. The rest of the book is about Gail’s recovery from her ordeal.

I thought Are You in the House Alone? was going to be fun, suspenseful fluff, but it turned out to be fairly serious and occasionally (intentionally) infuriating. I really appreciated how Peck was able to weave in a couple of threads that seemed very random at first and make them integral to the denouement, too. Ultimately, I didn’t love the book, but I kind of… respect it, if that makes sense. It didn’t go the cheap route.

The Automatic Detective by A. Lee Martinez Mack Megaton is a hulking robot who was created to destroy. He developed self-determination, however, and went against his programming. Now, he’s a probationary citizen of Empire City, where mutagens and pollution have created a very diverse population. While some “biologicals” are still “norms,” others have been physically transformed (like rat-like Detective Alfredo Sanchez) and others have been changed in not-so-visible ways (like Mack’s friend, Jung, a talking gorilla with refined literary taste). Mack works as a cab driver and is trying to keep a low profile, but when his neighbors are abducted, he can’t help but try to rescue them. This gets him into all sorts of trouble, of course.

Despite its name, The Automatic Detective isn’t really much of a mystery. I suppose it’s more… sci-fi noir. Mack meets various thugs, beats some of them up, gets beat up himself, etc. Slowly, he makes progress on uncovering a huge conspiracy. At times, I felt like Martinez was a little too enamored of the gimmick he created, and places in the middle dragged a bit as a result, but the ending is pretty satisfying and overall the book was enjoyable enough, even though it’s quite far from the sort of thing I usually read.

As a final note: I really liked that Martinez limited himself when it came time to invent universe-specific profanity. Instead of the text being liberally sprinkled with words like “frell” or “frak,” the phrase “Oh, flurb” appears but once (during a moment where the meaning is 100% apparent) and made me laugh out loud.

I don’t know if I’m necessarily eager to read more by Martinez, but I’m glad I read this one.

The Inimitable Jeeves by P. G. Wodehouse When I read My Man Jeeves back in 2010, I was somewhat disappointed because so much of it was repetitive. While there are some common elements that recur within the eleven stories that comprise The Inimitable Jeeves, it is still so very much superior that I’d now say… forget about that first book. Start here. Go back and read My Man Jeeves for completist purposes, if that’s your inclination, but start here for the best introduction to these characters and Wodehouse’s uniquely charming and amusing writing.

First published in 1923, The Inimitable Jeeves contains a linked set of stories that typically involve affable Bertie Wooster being imposed upon by either his eternally lovesick friend Bingo Little (who is “always waylaying one and decanting his anguished soul”) or his mischief-making younger cousins, Claude and Eustace. One plot thread involves convincing Bingo’s uncle (who provides him with an allowance) to agree to Bingo marrying a waitress. Jeeves comes up with the idea to ply the uncle with romance novels featuring class differences to soften his heart, and it ends up that Bertie is compelled to go visit the old fellow and claim to be the author. In addition to containing the most elegant description of sweat I’ve ever seen—“The good old persp was bedewing my forehead by this time in a pretty lavish manner.”—this situation is referenced a few times in subsequent stories until Bingo succeeds in getting married to a different waitress who really is the author of those romance novels.

So, even though you’ve got episodic happenings, it’s rather a satisfactory conclusion. Bertie is endearing, Jeeves is competent, the writing is excellent, and it made me laugh. (I especially liked when a character was described as resembling “a sheep with a secret sorrow.”) I’m so glad that I didn’t give up on the series after the first book; now I feel as though I finally see what the fuss is all about. I’d also like to give credit to the fabulous narration by Jonathan Cecil. I’m not sure if it’s deliberate, but I hear echoes of Fry and Laurie in his performance, and I heartily approve. I will certainly seek out more unabridged versions read by him.

The Murders of Richard III by Elizabeth Peters This is the second in the Jacqueline Kirby series of mysteries. I haven’t read the first, and wouldn’t normally begin with the second, but the book promised an English country mansion plus “fanatic devotees of King Richard III” so my usual routine flew right out the window.

Even before university lecturer Thomas Carter likened himself unto Watson, I’d noticed the similarities between how this tale is told and the Sherlock Holmes stories. We are never permitted inside Jacqueline’s head. Instead, we see her how Thomas, hopeful of one day securing her romantic affections, views her. It’s fairly interesting, actually, because Thomas’ opinion of her fluctuates, sometimes peevishly. “You drive me crazy with your arrogance and your sarcasm and your know-it-all airs,” he says at one point. And though he soon after claims “I’m no male chauvinist; I don’t mind you showing off,” the fact is that earlier he was grumbling inwardly about her feigning “girlish ignorance” to reel in mansplainers and then walloping the “unwitting victim” with a cartload of knowledge. It’s true that Jacqueline isn’t especially likeable sometimes, but for remorselessly trouncing the sexist louts she encounters throughout the book, I must commend her!

The mystery itself is somewhat bland, unfortunately. The leader of a Ricardian society has received a letter purportedly written by Elizabeth of York, which would exonerate Richard of the deaths of her brothers, the “princes in the tower.” He calls a meeting of the society, with each attendee costumed as one of the historical personages involved, and summons the press, planning to unveil his find with much fanfare. But someone begins playing practical jokes on the Ricardians reminiscent of the fates of the people they are pretending to be. The book isn’t a long one, and soon the pranks start coming right on the heels of one another. Because of the swift pace—and some shallow characterization—the solution is rather anti-climactic.

Still, while I’m not sure I’ll seek out any more Jacqueline Kirby mysteries, this was overall a decent read.

A Perfect Match by Jill McGown The series of books featuring Detective Inspector Lloyd (whose first name is a secret for now) and Detective Sergeant Judy Hill begins with a short yet enjoyable mystery in which a wealthy young widow is found dead in a small English town on property she’d just inherited from her recently deceased husband. Unlike some mysteries of which I am fond, there’s no preamble where readers get to know the victim or the circumstances of their life. Instead, immediately there’s a policeman discovering the body and then Lloyd turns up to question the victim’s next of kin. This same lack of character development hampers the romantic tension between Lloyd and Hill, leaving me with no idea what motivated Hill to finally decide to act on her feelings for him, betraying her marriage vows in the process.

The mystery itself is interesting enough, however, involving long-married Helen and Donald Mitchell who have ties to both the victim, Julia—her late husband was Donald’s older brother and Helen thinks they were having an affair—and chief suspect, Chris, originally a friend of Donald’s who has fallen in love with Helen. I can’t claim to have mustered anything more than a mild curiosity as to what the outcome would be, but neither did I guess the specifics, so that was good. I liked the interrogation scenes, too.

McGown’s writing had some fun moments. I loved the super-evocative imagery of Lloyd telling Hill that her new perm makes her look like Kevin Keegan. I also really appreciated a recurring bit where each chapter ends with the point of view of wildlife. When Chris is eventually brought in by the police, his arrest is depicted from a bird’s perspective, for example. There are also ducks, a moth, a fly, a cat… I don’t know if this device recurs in later books in the series, but I look forward to finding out.

Reconstructing Amelia by Kimberly McCreight This is the second mystery/thriller I’ve read in which a single mom who is a lawyer with a cold and unfeeling mother of her own attempts to work out the mystery of what happened to a family member (the other being Girl in the Dark by Marion Pauw). Is that some kind of trend these days?

Kate Baron has a demanding job at a swanky firm, but she’s trying her best to be a good mom to her fifteen-year-old bookworm daughter, Amelia. She’s shocked to get a call from Grace Hall, the prestigious private school Amelia attends, saying that her daughter has been accused of cheating, and by the time she makes her way to the school, Amelia has evidently jumped to her death from the school roof. The police are only too happy to classify her death as a suicide, but when Kate gets a text that says “Amelia didn’t jump,” she starts trying to put together the pieces of what happened.

Reconstructing Amelia has quite a few problems. Despite her better judgment (and a promise to her best friend), Amelia joins a clique of bitchy girls at school who end up publicly humiliating her and trying to get her expelled when she falls in love with someone deemed off-limits. It’s hard to muster sympathy for what she ends up going through when one remembers the cruel prank she was willing to pull on someone else as part of the initiation process (largely kept off-camera to keep us from disliking her too much, I guess). We’re repeatedly told about the great relationship Amelia and her mom share, but never shown it. The subplot about Amelia’s dad is the literary equivalent of wilted lettuce. And the fact that the new detective who gets assigned to the case allows Kate to question suspects is absolutely ludicrous.

And yet, I couldn’t hate the book, largely because of Amelia’s friend, Sylvia. For much of the book she comes across as shallow and self-absorbed, but when Amelia really needs her, she’s there. She gives Amelia this tour of “great moments at Grace Hall” to cheer up her impressive pal, right before breaking down about her own legitimate pain. I never would’ve thought at the outset that I would have such immense sympathy for Sylvia, but I do. I find myself hoping that she’ll be okay.

Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane It sure is nice going into a book unspoiled, particularly one as twisty as Shutter Island. I was quite happy with the book as it began, with U.S. Marshals Teddy Daniels and Chuck Aule taking the ferry to Shutter Island to track down a patient missing from Ashcliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane. It’s late summer 1954, and these guys are manly but accessible, and surprisingly funny. Consider this relatiely early exchange that cracked me up:

Pretentious Doctor: *makes remarks on the lives of violence the marshals must lead* Chuck: Wasn’t raised to run, Doc. Pretentious Doctor: Ah, yes. Raised. And who did raise you? Teddy: Bears.

For a while, all seems straightforward. Then Teddy confides to Chuck that he’s actually come there looking for a patient named Andrew Laediss, who was responsible for setting the fire that killed Teddy’s wife two years before. Gradually, one starts to doubt everything (and there was a point where all of the uncertainty got to be a little much for me) but the ultimate conclusion is a very satisfactory one.

Why Did You Lie? by Yrsa Sigurdardottir Set in Iceland, Why Did You Lie? starts out with three different storylines taking place a few days apart. The first involves a photographer on a helicopter journey to take pictures of a lighthouse on a rock in the middle of the ocean, the second is about a policewoman whose journalist husband has recently attempted suicide, and the third is about a family who returns from a house swap with an American couple to find some of their stuff missing and weird footage on the security camera. Of course, as the book progresses, these storylines converge, and it’s pretty neat when the police activity the helicopter flew over in chapter one turns out to be almost the culmination of the policewoman’s plot thread.

For some reason, I can’t help wondering how Ruth Rendell might’ve written this book. I think Rendell would’ve done a lot more with characterization, for one thing. There’s certainly some here, especially for the anxious husband who struggles to make his wife admit something really has gone wrong with their houseguests, but the primary concern seems to be getting on with the suspenseful action. Quickly, each plot features some kind of creepy lurker and then ominous notes (variations on the “why did you lie?” theme) figure in to all three, as well. Nina, the policewoman, digs around and talks to people and works out that everything connects to a supposed suicide from thirty years ago.

The result is certainly an entertaining book, but not one I could really love. One major issue I had is being able to predict something very significant. The number of characters who could’ve been angry enough about the 30-year-old lies in question to terrorize people in the present is very small. And once the existence of a certain person is oh-so-casually mentioned two-thirds through the book, I thought, “Oh, well, it’s them, then.” And then a little later, I figured out which of the characters it must be and I was right. This made for an anticlimactic ending that was clearly meant to be a shocking one. Also, I would’ve liked to have cared more that one character ends the novel poised to move on with life but, in reality, still in jeopardy.

I still would read more by this author, though.

By: Michelle Smith

[generic-fandom-name]

A ficlet of learning more a hit the one you travel with. I do everything on my phone so there is no way to put it under cut! But there is no explicit content. I wanted some book/game Geralt. I like to think Netflix geralt is soft in private.

Jaskier thought he knew enough about witchers. Early days at university he devoured every text of witchers he could get his hands on.

Then he learnt he knew nothing of witchers when he finally met one in the flesh, and not just any witcher Geralt of Rivia. The butcher of Blaviken. From this unlikely friendship he began to pull fact from fiction. Witchers are just like every other creature on this god forsaken land. They eat, piss and shit...not Jaskiers most eloquent conclusion but it got to the point. Through Geralt Jaskier learnt the ways of the world, how to survive and enjoy it.

For many years Jaskier too Geralt as the average witcher. It wasnt until 5 years into their travels did they come across another from the guild. Geralt exchanged a heavy shake with the man as he guided him to their camp for food and rest.

For his part Jaskier was fascinated. The other witcher was very different indeed. Hair thick and a shade of shining copper in the fire light, and cheeks flooded with freckles, and he was by no means as pale as Geralt. If Jaskier were to pass him by in a crowd he wouldn't have even considered him a witcher unless his caught sight of the medallion before the 2 looming swords.

He was from the school of the griffon the witcher explained. From Kaer Seren. The man was chatty, eloquent in his speech and rather humours. When he took a seat by Geralts Side, the differences were very extreme. The witcher was eager to share tales of his exploits and even asked to write a song about him. That night Jaskier's notebook filled with great stories of slaying dragons and other creatures.

By the time he and Geralt bid farewell to the other witcher Jaskier chalked the differences up to, well different schools and thought nothing else of it.

It wasn't until their paths crossed with another Wolf. This time Jaskier was able to bask in awe as Geralt pulled the other man into a tight embrace, both thumbing one another on the back in a rather brotherly way.

Eskel, was his name and perhaps the closest thing Geralt had to a family. He led them both to his rented room in the inn and was quick to introduce himself properly to Jaskier.

"Its an honour to finally meet you bard. Geralt never shuts up about you during the winter."

The comment caused a heavy blushes to pull across Jaskier's cheeks. To know Geralt talks about him in his absence is a fine thing indeed.

When all three men sat around the small table in the room enjoying each others company jaskier once again notices the stark differences in his witcher and Eskel.

Eskel, is built the same and scarred also. But he too looks more, human. Brunette hair and flushed skin, easier to talk to also. Even in Eskel's presence Geralt remained quiet only offering a response when absolutely needed.

It seemed Geralt was very different even among witchers. Deathly pale skin, ash white hair, fangs sharp enough to rip flesh. Like a wolf in man's clothing. Why was that Jaskier pondered.

When they eventually retired to their room, jaskier noticed the confused look his dear friend sent his way. Jaskier had been rather quiet for some time and a quiet Jaskier was never good.

"What plagues your mind, bard?" Geralt Asked. His eyes traced over Jaskier's face.

Jaskier held his breath for a moment. Should he be honest with his train of thought or try to weave sweet lies. Maybe the ale had got to his head because he quickly decided to take a step closer to the Cliff that was Geralt.

"You are so very different. Even among witchers aren't you?" He watched closely as Geralts face pulled a minute wince and turned away. But for once in their decade of Friendship Jaskier doesn't want Geralt to close off and so he quickly reached for Geralt's wrist and pulled him back to look him in the eye.

Amber darted from left to right as if in a panic trying to find something among Jaskier's features. Geralts Shoulders eventually slump ever so slightly and his eyes drift to a spot just beyond Jaskier's shoulder.

"I was put through extra mutations as an experiment. To make Witcher's stronger. However all they achieved was further death and a creature far more monstrous than human." He pulled his wrist and Jaskier let him, but still followed as Geralt took a heavy seat on the edge of the bed. Jaksier knelt in front of him, the wooden floor not good for his knees but he wanted, no needed to see Geralt face on.

Something with Geralt seemed to break, maybe the final barrier, the last guard finally submitting to Jaskier's need to burrow further into the witcher's soul.

"My hair fell out at first. And my skin lots all colour. They thought me dead until they felt my shallow breaths. I was kept isolated...the teeth." He mumbled and pointed at the extra fang. "The teeth were the most painful. My jaw having to move to accommodate." When Geralt spoke it was like Jaskier had opened a floodgates within him. Had he ever spoke this much in one go. Jaskier remained frozen, not wanting to startle his friend.

"When I finally came to, they discovered my senses were heightened but not refined. And that was no good to anyone. I could barely hand the taste of the blandest of foods, the sound of a spider run across the stone floor or even a candle light in a dark room. I were the only to survive the extra mutations and the mage decided it was not worth the work for what they got out in return. Even among witchers I am a monster, Jaskier. I remember when they let me out on a hunt, I killed and at the flesh of a wolf, raw. I was scorned by peers. Except for Eskel."

Jaskier nodded, and for a moment a let the speech sink in. He noticed one of his hands had made their way to Geralt's knee and so a quickly drew his hand away not wanting to show his friend pity, he didnt deserve that.

[bluerosesburnblue]

Nothing upsets me more than a legitimately good story being ruined by “extra” content. I’ve already complained at length about Pokemon Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon’s story changes over the original games so now it’s The World Ends With You: Final Remix’s “A New Day’s” turn because CHRIST

I’m writing this as I come across points while watching a playthrough, so:

God, Coco is the single most insufferable being. “totez hilar” just dated this content so baaaad, and I’d even say it was dated language when Final Remix came out. No other character abuses modern slang as their entire character. Like, slang is used but not as a substitute for personality. Beat speaks in a very casual, urban style but it never ends up being detrimental to his character as a bit of a punk with a “perfect little sister” that he wasn’t as naturally smart as, so he just gave up on trying and ended up being a bit of an aggressive slacker. Heck, he tones it down a bit for emotional moments, too. Coco, though, comes across like her ultra-modern “cutesy” text message slang is supposed to be her personality, and even when it’s revealed that she’s the villain of the episode you just can’t take her seriously through the “like, ohmigosh, I can’t believe you’re ruining my plaaaaaans” bullshit. What does she have going for her if you rewrite all of her lines without that speaking style? She’s just a generic manipulative brat

Frankly I also just disagree with the entire premise of A New Day and the plot threads it sets up for a potential sequel, i.e. “having Neku and Beat run through a game again as a trap to get Neku into yet another game in a possible sequel.” TWEWY is a complete experience and had been for at least a decade. Literally every character had a complete arc. The worldbuilding was rich enough that they had more than enough to come up with a sequel set in the same world, but in an entirely different town with an entirely new cast and, heck, even entirely new rules for the Game that would’ve expanded upon the world of the games without taking away from the characters whose time in the Underground was already done

But, noooooooo, we’ve gotta bring Neku back. Can’t have a game without Neku they literally SAY THAT (”The Game, like, literally can’t go on without Neku.”). And let’s bring Minamimoto back, too, as a good guy! The fans loved him! This doesn’t come across as pandering at all!

Just... you have the girl with the red headphones designed! Make the sequel set in Shinjuku with her as the main character! (Hell, I don’t think I would have even minded Minamimoto coming back for that because there was enough leeway in the base TWEWY for him to have survived his encounter with Josh, just leave Neku out of it). This is the most infuriating part because it actually takes away from Neku’s story. The entire GAME was a test of character to see if even the worst, most closed off person could learn empathy and respect and Neku DID. And in return, that sparked a change in Josh. His story is done. Coco using Neku, though, has nothing to do with him as a character and everything to do with him being the face of the game and it shows

And why the hell is Neku so trusting of Coco anyway? I get that he opened up over the course of TWEWY, that was kind of the point. But you come back to life, everything’s fine, and then suddenly you’re in a death game again and so is one of your best friends, like, he should be WAY more concerned and suspicious. But one little Reaper gives him the sad eyes and he just caves instantly like “fine, come along.” Even when Neku grew to like some of the Reapers, like Uzuki and Kariya, it was still far more of a rival-like respect. He knew damn well that it was their job to see him gone and while he accepted their help when they gave it and helped them when their lives were in danger (possibly, up to player choice), they weren’t buddy-buddy with each other, knowing that as soon as the immediate danger to them had passed they’d be on opposite sides again. And these are the Reapers he’s closest to, even at the end of the game. And then all of a sudden Coco goes “but I’m a wittle wost baby weaper” and Neku’s response is, “well, shit, welcome to the team.” WHAT

I hate using the term “Mary Sue” but Coco is absolutely a Mary Sue in its original meaning. The plot bends over backwards to accommodate her at the expense of the main characters’ personalities or reason, all while giving her a clothing style incongruous with everyone else’s meant to stand out and make her look special and not having her face any repercussions for her actions (so far which is, again, another issue with the very premise of A New Day since that’s exactly how things will end off if TWEWY doesn’t get a sequel, the possibility of which is not a guarantee AT ALL)

Shiki and Rhyme start saying blatantly false things about themselves and handwaving it away with “ohhh, that must have been our new Entry Fee! Just the exact same ones as the first time again!” and only BEAT is suspicious and NEITHER OF THEM are suspicious of Coco, the only non-generic Reaper they’ve met so far. Christ, I appreciate Beat being attentive with matters of his sister because that’s in-character but NEKU was always the more paranoid AND observant one yet all he thinks about is “gee, I’m sure having weird visions today, huh?”

And then Coco starts BLATANTLY gaslighting them about Kariya and Uzuki’s personalities and they’re STILL not suspicious of her like ughhhhhhhhhhh. Nekuuuuuuu you LIVED THROUGH JOSH WEEK 2, you have BEEN IN A SITUATION where the mastermind partnered up with you to divert your suspicion and keep an eye on you how are you less suspicious of this brat than Beat is???

And why are none of the characters bringing up the fact that you have to be DEAD to be in the Game??? You all spent three weeks of hell to claw your way back to life, how are you not more upset about what seems like you all dying again, basically immediately after you just got brought back? And I know the Shiki and Rhyme in A New Day are illusions, but Neku and Beat AREN’T. Nobody even comments on the implication that they’re dead again and what that means!

I can’t believe they made new expressions for the fake Josh’s changed personality but still refuse to make anything for Shiki’s true appearance

Hell, there’s enough lore with Josh that you could make an entire prequel about him becoming the Composer instead of this mess and, you know, EXPAND on someone’s character and what led to him being so disillusioned with Shibuya as the Composer instead of employing the Happy Ending Rewrite on Neku and then gutting his personality to make Coco the focus. I’d LOVE a Josh prequel with competent writing. Kingdom Hearts made the Xehanort prequel and hooked me in a single chapter with expanded worldbuilding and interesting ties with Xehanort’s character to friends that humanize him, do the same for Yoshiya “Joshua” Kiryu!

Pfffffff hire me and let me make the dream TWEWY trilogy: Joshua prequel > TWEWY sans A New Day > sequel set in Shinjuku starring Red Headphones Girl with Occasional Josh and Hanekoma Interaction

It is so unnecessarily cruel to make Beat relive Rhyme’s erasure and subject Neku to believing that Shiki was erased as well, and yet they do NOTHING with it except have it be cheap tension for five minutes. The characters basically say “wow, I’m so sad!” and then IMMEDIATELY move on to “OMG is Neku seeing the fuuuuuture?” Your LITTLE SISTER and FIRST REAL FRIEND IN YEARS just seemingly died permanently! When Rhyme was erased the first time it took Neku one and a half in-game days to even talk about it because he was so upset, and from then on he was focused on avenging her/bringing her back. Shiki was his entry fee in Week 2 and that made him hyper paranoid the whole time! WHY ARE WE JUST GLOSSING OVER THIS especially since they made SUCH a big deal about how they just finally started believing that the fakes were real (after a whole TWO conversations)

And then at the end they say that they’re inside Coco’s Noise that is SO BIG that it has an ALTERNATE DIMENSION INSIDE IT and Hanekoma’s like “I’ve never met a Reaper POWERFUL enough to make a Noise like this. Wow, Coco, you’re so POWERFUL that even I, an Angel, am impressed!” This. Coming from the guy who specifically chose Minamimoto as his failsafe to kill the Composer should the Game go wrong because a Taboo Minamimoto, heavily refined using forbidden methods, would be strong enough to defeat THE COMPOSER. And he’s now going on about how Coco’s the strongest Reaper ever, basically admitting that she’s probably stronger than the Composer of Shibuya. SURE. BECAUSE COCO WASN’T BAD ENOUGH ALREADY SHE HAS TO BE THE STRONGEST REAPER EVER, TOO

And then it just ends with Josh and Hanekoma exposition dumping about how Shinjuku got erased as Noise entered the RG (WHAT?), Neku’s visions were probably caused by the red headphones girl who’s super special (who???), and Coco’s just so special powerful (why...), but it’s not their problem so fuck it. Oh, and also Josh doesn’t care about Neku anymore, despite that being the whole point of TWEWY. Yeah, the guy who flew off all upset when Hanekoma asked him if he wanted to hang out with his friends at the end of the game. Uh huh. Even if he’s lying, why even put that THERE instead of saving it for the sequel?

And then Coco just... revives Minamimoto. Even though, oh, right, the Taboo Refinery stuff was so precise that the only reason Minamimoto came back the first time was because Hanekoma, THE PRODUCER AND AN ANGEL, set it up for him. But I guess Coco’s just soooooo super powerful and knows FORBIDDEN HIGHER PLANE KNOWLEDGE and can just do whateeeeeever she wants. Not like Hanekoma was so paranoid about someone finding out what he did for Minamimoto that he went into hiding, certain that he’d be reported to the higher Angels and destroyed

A New Day is so painfully shallow from a writing experience. It’s a poor continuation off of the solid, complete TWEWY story experience that just doesn’t have a handle on Neku’s character, turning him into this bland vision machine with no emotional connection to anyone. The way that it expands the worldbuilding with “Inversion” does one thing that I HATE, which is taking an emotion-and-character driven story and turning it into a generic “end of the world” scenario, “raising the stakes” in a way that divorces it from what made it memorable in the first place. If Kitaniji directly effecting the RG during the main Game’s plot was the point where he crossed the line in-universe, then that loses its special nature and impact if you then go “oh, btw, Noise can destroy the RG city if you let them”

And then there’s the absolute black hole of a character that is Coco Atarashi. She wasn’t designed to fit into the world of the game, she was designed to stand out. On its own that’s not a bad thing, especially given the themes of the game that revolve around owning your true self and baring it to the world, but then you combine it with no personality beyond being a manipulative brat obsessed with the events of TWEWY, extremely lazy text message slang dressing up her dialogue to make it stand out, the way that Neku and Beat’s personalities change to accommodate her presence just to shoehorn her in and then have a cheap “omg she was bad” twist, and then dumping powers on par with Josh and Hanekoma on her and there is NO saving her character

The only good part of A New Day is “Wake Up.” And even then, there’s better TWEWY songs, I just like the vaguely Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance vibes it has in parts

[elains]

BOOK REVIEW: HOUSE OF EARTH AND BLOOD, Crescent City Book I, by Sarah J. Maas.

First off, my sincerest thanks to @scraphim, who listened to my comments and rants with the patience of a saint and encourage me to put them down. Second, english is not my first language, so my apologies if there's anything confusing or awkward.

General Rating: ★★ 1/2

THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CUT HERE OUT OF COURTESY BUT TUMBLR MOBILE IS BEING ITS IMPOSSIBLE SELF SO DO MIND THE RATING BEFORE CONTINUING.

Congratulations, Sarah J. Maas. You got me to sit down and write a review for a book, something I hadn't done (officially, anyway, might as well count the endless conversations with my friends) in a long while. Unfortunately, House of Earth and Blood was one more disappointment in an ever-growing list, and this review was born not out of pure, simple enjoyment, but of how much reading this bothered me.

Let me start by saying that I wanted to like this book. I did. I don't buy books which I don't think there's a chance I will not enjoy, I have way too much to do with my life and little money to spare on that. I hoped Sarah would go back to the early days of ToG, when the writing wasn't so choppy I kept questioning what is her problem with commas and when the characters weren't more and more of the same. Or perhaps that she would go back to ACoMaF, which at the time I loved reading.

Silly, silly me. The thing about having an eye-opener to something is that you can't go back. It's not so simple to close your eyes and pretend the bad doesn't exist, doing so feels irresponssible. I'm not sure her books have changed much, perhaps it was just me, the reader, whose perspective changed.

Let's go into the detail, then. Warning for spoilers of her previous books:

• THE LENGTH. It. Is. Ridiculosly. Long. I would say that length itself it's not necessarily a bad thing, something can be long but engaging. HoEaB's problem is that it drags on, to the point I had to put it down I don't know how many times out of frustration that nothing relevant happened. The infodumps do not help AT ALL, making the whole experience even more tiresome. I'll talk about worldbuilding separately, but jesus, so much unecessary information whose only purpose was to add to the wordcount and could have been woven into the story more organically. Readers are not dumb, they can make simple inferences, you don't need to explain every little detail.

The story only picks up and runs like the devil itself is chasing it in the last like, 20 chapters or so. Considering there are 97 of them... Yeah. It could have been a shorter, more direct and overall just more engaging.

• THE WORLDBUILD. I'll give Sarah J. Maas a point: it is more elaborate and refined compared to ToG and ACoTaR, whose worldbuilding are in general quite shallow and in the later's case, nearly nonexistent. However, the use of names blatantly lifted from real-world mythology and places bothered me to NO END. In a book which is built around those mythologies as their main source of inspiration, I can understand. Not here. Look, Maas can come up with original fantasy names, there are even some in HoEaB itself. But unless it's meant to be purposeful and Crescent City is to be Earth All Along, it's just jarring and feels lazy. It's not something new— refer back to the Illyrians and the Myrmidons.

Archean? Valbara? Pangera? Hel? REALLY? And those are just place names. Might as well name something Proterozoic. Or Laurasia.

The Roman inspiration, which was supposed to be a big thing from all her talk felt extremely loose and barely there. Oh sure, there are legions, a governor, the SPQR/M, and some names which to me, a portuguese speaker, where so cringy I had to laugh (Like Gelos and Cervo. You know, literally Ices and Stag or in that case Hind), but they did not feel Roman to me, naming aside. You could literally have named them anything else and it'd still have worked.

We studied Rome (mostly the government and the legal system) in our first semester of College and it might be the student in me, but I kept wanting to see more of the government structure, the politcal system itself. In a book that dealt with law enforcement and figures in places of power, this was a part of the worldbuilding that felt lacking, and a wasted opportunity to expand on the Roman inspiration.

What gets me is that some interesting concepts could have been explored better. I kinda like the idea of the Asteri, the rifts, the summoning salts.

• HUMANITY'S PORTRAYAL. Ahahaha. Where do I even begin with this one? In KoA, I hated that Aelin loosing her human side was seen as such a big sacrifice when the Fae were repeatedly shown to be "superior": stronger, more beautiful, immortal, the list goes on. Aelin herself preferred the Fae-side, so it felt a completely pointless sacrifice. In Crescent City, it gets even worse. Humanity is oppressed, trying to fight for their freedom and their inherent rights as sentient beings, and the books keeps going on and on about the Vanir.

Forgive me, but I'm supposed to be sympathize with the Vanir? To see the Vanir main-characters go on and change the world and make it better for everyone? I'm sorry but I'm not here for that. Bryce's mother and stepfather and Briggs aside, the HoEaB could have definetely used a human PoV or just. You know. ONE THAT DOESN'T FAVOR THE VANIR IN EVERYTHING. So yeah, I'm here cheering for the humans.

• THE CHARACTERS. I like Ruhn. He read like a concerned older brother, I could relate to that, not a possessive alphahole and I was baffled when Bryce kept insisting that. Oh, he has his flaws, but overall, I like him and his friends. They're nice. Danika, too. I would have liked to see more of Juniper and Fury, and them together, instead of using their relationship as kind of a surprise. Hypaxia is another Yrene/Sorscha. I also liked Lehabah, she was a sweetheart (Also I'm sorry am I supposed to think Bryce witholding the news on her freedom to throw a party WASN'T a WTF move? That Lele just knew because she looked at the documents???)

Now, to our main duo. I found Hunt boring. Simple as that. There was nothing in him that I found captivating, nothing new in terms of SJM's Love Interests. How he kept sexualizing Bryce in the most inappropriate of moments pissed me off. His and Bryce's relationship felt to me as Rowaelin 2.0, just as they themselves read as another versions of them, and not very different ones. He is not supposed to be an "alphahole" but... I didn't feel it. Hunt felt as just more of the same.

Now, Bryce Adelaide Quinlan.. Is it so much to ask for a main character who isn't gorgeous, super special, and super-powerful? I get the appeal of the trope, I'm no so hypocritical as to say that I've not indulged in it myself, but with Sarah, it feels overdone. When all characters are beautiful, special, so powerful it... kinda loses its meaning. However, that's not what bothered me about Bryce, no, it's the fact that she could be read as PoC (Golden, Tanned skin, two very ambiguous terms. My white cousin gets golden skin when she stays too long outdoors ffs), and as a PoC myself, reading her into those situations bothered me so, so much I cannot even begin to tell you.

Her curvy, sensual, bug boobs and butts are easily one of the more sought after where I live. People would go to great lengths for such a body and no, it will not hinder your dancing career. We have a word for it roughly translates to Hot, but having men call you that as something laid out on a table for their pleasure, objectifying you is horrible. And that's what most characters do in HoEaB: sexualize Bryce again and again, playing into harmful stereotypes.

My skin crawled reading those passages. I felt uncomfortable. And it wasn't even just the nameless, countless side-characters: it was Hunt himself. Every single move Bryce made was sexualized and I hated, hated it. "She's a Queen who owns her body and doesn't care for anyone else's thoughts" is all well and good, but women like me already have the stereotype of whores, sluts, homewreckers, and it was handled in such a tone-deaf way that it touched ALL of my wrong buttons. It was just uncomfortable, and cringy.

Two and a half stars, like those bad movies we still watch god knows why.

[shreddedparchment]

The Brightest Star Pt.05

Celestial Confessions

08/15/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader     Word Count: 6,984

Masterpost     Warnings: language, fluff, angst

A/N: I am so sorry that it has taken so long to get an update out for this. As most of you know, I have signed up for quite a few challenges and some of those have turned into series of their own so, please forgive me for the delays. I am still very much discovering what I want this story to be so I thank you for your patience. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“Ouch.” You whisper, the slice of the knife on your finger shallow.

Almost no blood. Cutting cheese is hard.

A quick anxious glance shot over your shoulder at your bedroom’s wide open door while you press the slice to your lips to suck the flow to a stop.

Had he heard you?

When no one comes you turn back to your tray.

You’ve got a nice layout, crackers, cheese, ruby red apple slices, and midnight purple grapes to accompany the blackberry, blueberry, and raspberry red blend wine.

It’s a dusky taste, clinging and deep, the tart flavor dulled by the fruity aroma. You fill two glasses, plate them along with your selection of fruit and cheese, and with an excited heart head back in search of Thor.

He’s right where you left him at the mouth of your balcony doorway gazing out at the Eden you’ve created.

The long elegant lines of his limbs, strong bulging biceps, and as he turns to you, an electric blue eye accompanied by the other in amber all draw you breathless.

Your feet falter as he smiles at you. The soft curve of his lips gentle and inviting.

You’re at a loss. Complete and utter bewilderment as to how or why this God is in your home, smiling at you as if you were some sort of gift.

Deftly he eyes your tray. “Goodies?”

That deep tremor of his voice nearly chokes you. It fills you up with too much giddiness and you chuckle stupidly.

“Sorry.” You clear your throat. “Yeah, some cheese and fruit. Some wine. It’s not expensive. I don’t really have a refined palate but this one has always been my favorite.”

A twenty-seven dollar bottle of wine. That’s what you like.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful.” Thor smiles, moving towards you with strong confident steps.

Despite the kisses he'd given you only an hour ago, your own confidence wavers. You shrink as he approaches, just slightly. Just enough for him to notice.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s standing right in front of you.

You stare up into his eyes, holding his gaze as he peers down at you. Happily. That small tempting curve of his lips so sweet and seductive all at once.

“Allow me.” He says, takes the tray and moves to set it on your coffee table behind you.

Once settled on the sofa, he pops in a grape then reaches for a glass. He sniffs the wine, brow furrowed, then gives it a rapid taste.

Worried, you wait. Does he like it?

Slowly, he smiles. The soft yellow haze of light from the ceiling paints him warm.

“It’s delicious.” He assures you, gets back up when you don’t join him, and walks towards you with his glass in hand and yours in the other.

When he offers it, you take it and drink a quick sip.

So good.

“I love your garden.” He gestures over your shoulder at the open balcony doorway.

The crisp fall air is colder now that winter is even closer. Soon, you won’t be able to keep the door open.

You shiver lightly as the air wafts in towards you bringing with it the aromatic scent of a hundred different blooms.

“Thanks.” You smile, never taking your eyes off of him despite the fact that he’s looking at your garden and not you.

“It reminds me of the gardens my mother tended to on Asgard just outside the courtyard. She would spend hours watering and pruning. Really, it’s very beautiful, Y/N.” He nods then finally brings his gaze back to meet yours.

Beaming you take a sip of your wine again and smile bashfully at him over the rim of your glass.

“I was too distracted last time I was here to notice.” He begins, voice sharp with a subtle playfulness.

It’s almost not even there. What he saw you doing with Jeremy must have really upset him.

Oh, shit.

“You know. Because you were busy.” The corners of his smiling lips twitch, eyes dazzling mischievously.

Lowering your glass, you reach up to wipe your lip, flashing back to that night of torture and bliss all rolled into one.

You’d been so heartbroken over Thor ghosting you but then so pleasantly satisfied and wanted by Jeremy.

When he'd made to leave the first time your heart had panicked. Being alone meant thinking about Thor and you’d been grateful for the reprieve that Jeremy had offered you.

“I'm…” You swallow hard, curling your wrist inwards to press your glass of wine against the side of your breast as you find the words. “I'm sorry you saw that.”

When you meet his gaze, Thor’s teasing light is gone as your own sincerity shimmers through your own. His smile falters and then slowly fades as you chew on your lip.

“I’m not strong, Thor. I’m…I mean, you’ve seen me with Nan and Seth. I needed to feel something other than incompetent that night and Jeremy has always been there for me in that sense. I definitely didn’t want you to see me…like that…And Jeremy and I aren’t—I mean, he has a girlfriend. So…it’s not like that with us.” Your cheeks are burning.

“Y/N…I don’t…” He begins but your stare seems to make him speechless. “I will not lie. I was rather hurt by what I saw.”

You breathe in slowly, heart racing.

“I have no right to be upset about you being in…in the arms of another man.” He nearly chokes on the words and clears his throat to cover up the hitch in his voice.

You breathe out, deflating under the nerves he’s betraying. You laugh, a small huff of air as a joy unlike any you’ve felt before warms your limbs.

The trickle of heat begins at the center of your chest and spreads out across your shoulders, along your arms, hip, legs, and down to your toes.

For him to be upset, it would have to mean that he likes you, right?

“What?” Thor asks, surprised by your amusement but also smiling again.

You shake your head, flat out refusing to admit to your source of giddiness and take another sip.

“Keeping secrets from me?” He asks playfully, stepping towards you.

You nod.

He takes another step and reaches out for your left arm.

You make to pull away, but he catches it, his touch burning but nowhere near your own body’s strange heat.

With your body pulling back, he chuckles and makes to pull you towards him but you turn into his left arm, to try and pull away as you chuckle but he uses your own move to wrap both his and your arm around your waist and pull you back against his chest.

His heart is pounding. A wild thrumming to match your own.

He smells like rain. Earth. The metallic sting of ozone saturated with a sweet floral scent. It’s intoxicating and melts all resistance you have as he leans down to rub the right side of his bearded face against your left.

He leans down more and more, scratching your cheek with his scruff until you’re no longer chuckling and he’s pressing his lips to your cheek.

The tension builds in seconds, making your body hum.

“Keep your secrets.” He whispers, his deep timber marks your soul. “As long as I can have you, I don’t care.”

He steals your breath. Romancing you sweetly and gently.

You turn your head to look at him and he dips down to kiss your lips before you can say anything.

Warm, wet lips, with the fruity taste of your favorite wine massage your own.

Slipping your left hand out from underneath his arm around your waist, you slide it up behind his head and stroke the soft waves of his short golden hair.

“Mmmm.” He mumbles against your lips making your hips ache and your stomach flutter.

The arm around your waist wraps you up tighter and he brings his right around your torso with his glass slowly teetering back and forth in his distracted state.

There’s a slosh and you feel it fall against your skirt.

Thor gasps, regrettably pulling back to look down over the pale blue of your dress.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” He frets.

Cloud nine. That’s where you’re still at. You open your eyes slowly, hovering in the bliss of Thor’s kiss but he’s distracted, removing his arms from around you as he meets your dreamy gaze.

“I should have been more careful.” He worries, his left hand still on your waist as he turns you around to face him.

Looking down at the stain, you smile and find your bearings.

“It's okay.” You shake your head. “I’ll just have Jeremy buy it from the designer and see if he can’t get someone to clean it up. I should go change though. Can’t spend the entire night in formal wear, right?”

Thor gives you a smile, his hand drifting up to caress the skin of your cheek. His fingers are so gentle. Slowly gliding from the back of your jaw all the way down to the curve of your chin.

“No.” He agrees. “I suppose you can’t. Go. Make yourself comfortable.”

You really hate to pull away, but you also do really want to get out of this dress. “I'll be right back.”

You make to pull away then turn back to him and push yourself up onto your toes, pulling him down by the silk lapels of his suit with your free hand.

He meets your peck with a smile, eyes wide open as you pass your glass of wine into his left hand.

“You should make yourself comfortable too. And…don’t go anywhere?” You ask, still a little unsure in your confidence with him. Does he want to stay longer?

“I'd rather be beaten than leave you again.” Thor jokes.

*****

You are absolutely stunned when you walk out of your bathroom. Not just because Thor seems to have gone for pizza—you can smell the melted cheese and cooked toppings—but because as you move out and search for him, you find him staring out your wall of windows at the city below.

It glitters like starlight out before you, so high up, you’re immune to the sounds of it but can enjoy the display of lights.

Thor’s got his tuxedo jacket off, laid out on the bench at the foot of your bed, his bow tie pulled apart, left to dangle in the collar of his pressed button up which now has the top two buttons undone giving you a relaxed view of his sun-kissed clavicle.

He’s rolling up his sleeves to the elbow as he turns towards you.

He freezes too and you don’t realize he’s gawking until you remind yourself not to be an ogling creeper.

A slow smile spreads across your lips as you realize he’s ogling right back.

At what, you aren’t sure.

Your nightgown, like your wine, is also not fancy. A little feminine perhaps but comfortable. Soft white cotton that billows out around you as you start walking towards him again.

It ties at the top of both shoulders with ribbons made of shiny antique white satin, and the back falls very low. It curves down in a narrow U stopping just above your bum.

The bottom hem is a band of lace that drags across your concrete floors. The soft pat of your feet the only sound as you move to stand before him.

“Wow.” He whispers, then clears his throat because you smile and huff a small laugh.

“That’s what I was gonna say.” You admit, giving him a quick head to toe.

Chaotic, casual formal wear looks good on the God of Thunder.

Nervous, you reach up and begin to thumb your necklace.

Thor’s eyes are drawn to it, gazing at the polished black stone with its craters as the tip of your index finger slides over the smooth red gem that can only be seen if you tilt the stone up.

“What’s that?” He wonders, moving closer.

His hand slides over yours until you drop it and he takes hold of the rock.

“It’s the most important item that I own.” You admit, smiling stupidly up at him despite the depressing reality of the rock you wear daily.

“This little thing?” He asks genuinely curious.

You nod but since you don’t explain, he drops it to gesture at the coffee table. “I brought you dinner. I didn’t see you eat at Stark’s gala so I assumed-?”

“Thank you.” You’re touched. “I am starving. I didn’t get there until after dinner was over.”

“Oh.”

Thor reaches down and takes your hand, heated digits tickling the center of your palm making you nearly quiver.

“Then come.” He tells you softly and pulls you towards the sofa.

The two of you settle on it and Thor quickly pushes the slices of apples off the plate you’d put them on and lifts the pizza box lid.

You’re awash in the delicious smell of bread, cheese, and tomato sauce. It makes your mouth water and you have to swallow as you watch Thor pile on slice after slice. One. Two. Three. Four slices.

“Wait…” You tell him, then chuckle as he places a fifth piece on the plate.

“What?” He asks, confused, stopping as he looks at you.

“I-” You chuckle again and watch as Thor’s eyes light up, his own lips pulling at the corners subtly. “I can’t eat all that, Thor.”

“Oh.” He quickly pushes three slices off and holds the plate out to you.

“Thanks.” You continue to chuckle to yourself. Amused by his cuteness.

He’s so big…so wide. You feel for his heat and enjoy it. That golden aura that had first seduced you. How can he also be cute?

“I was thinking with my own stomach, I suppose.” Thor explains, analyzing the slices before taking one for himself.

“Oh, I mean, I can eat them. I just like to eat slowly. Two slices at a time. We’ll probably need another pizza.” You confess, brow drawn together in an apologetic gaze.

“Don’t worry. If we run out, I’ll go get some more.” He promises, leaning forward elbows on knees as he takes a bite and watches you chew on your own piece.

For a whole two minutes, the two of you sit staring at each other. Eating in silence. Small smiles playing on both your lips but your eyes roaming over every curve of his face. The straight line of his nose. The deep imposing brow. His cheekbones are surprisingly flat. They still form a small apple, but they’re not as pronounced as, say, Jeremy’s? His jaw looks strong, covered in his beard as it may be, but it’s soft. You might not cut yourself on his jawline but it’s still a square. Still twitches deliciously when he clenches it. And damn it if you don’t want to kiss it.

“I’m really glad you went to the gala.” Thor says, reaching into the box for another slice.

“Me too.” You admit, though your trepidation at the event had been great.

If Jeremy hadn’t pushed you to go and gotten you through that first bout of anxiety, you’d have left and never seen Thor. You wouldn’t be here, sitting with him in your apartment, loving the way the longer golden strands of his hair up on top of his head fall against his forehead.

You want to reach out and stroke it.

To rebel against this instinct, you fist your nightgown, deciding to let Thor lead the night. You’re not sure what he wants really. You know that he likes you—for some unknown reason—and you know that he wants to spend time with you.

Does he want to get all touchy feely right away? You really want to start touching him, you’re touch starved and you’ve wanted him, however quietly, for months.

Jeremy is the only person you’ll allow to touch you and that’s only because he knows who you really are.

Thor can handle you. The real you. It had seemed like a dream that you might find someone that could fit with you so perfectly.

“What are you thinking?” Thor asks, staring right back at you.

He reaches out and sweeps your hair back, the pads of his fingers stroking the swell of your cheekbone.

You lean into his touch without meaning to. Your eyes are relentless in their gaze, taking in the soft admiration in his own.

Does he really like you? Is this possible?

You lick your lips, tasting oregano and mozzarella.

“I…I told you that I'd explain.” You begin.

Thor straightens up. Finishing his bite of pizza, he places the slice on the box and wipes his hands on a napkin. He crumples it nervously, crushing it into a small ball.

Suddenly he looks terrified for some reason.

“Before you do, I…I think I must confess something.” The deep tone of his voice is so impossibly beautiful, but you can’t even enjoy it because the worry in it, the shame he speaks with overpowers it.

“What?” You ask, brow furrowed as your heart sinks.

It can’t be that he's with someone, can it? Why did he kiss you then? Maybe they have a complicated relationship and he’s going to tell you that he’s also seeing someone else?

Can you share him? Probably.

Do you want to? Fuck no.

“I…if we are going to be together, which I very much hope we are, I want to be honest with you.” He says somberly.

Damn him. His words make you happy, but his tone makes you worry.

“Thor, what?” You plead, free hand flying up to fidget with your necklace.

Thor watches your hand then reaches into his right pants pocket. He pulls from it a sleek black phone unlike any you’ve ever seen. After he unlocks it, he opens his gallery and scrolls to his videos folder.

When he opens it, a singular thumbnail shines up at him. He selects it and the screen goes dark before he holds the phone out to you.

After a curious look at him, his electrifying eyes holding you captive in their remorseful hope, you look at it and place your plate down beside you.

You watch, hands steady as you wait for the darkness on the screen to change.

When it does, you wish it had stayed black.

The video opens to a corner lab. A large metal table with looming rings from head to toe around it. It glows faintly, blue and teal.

You know this lab.

You swallow hard, staring as your now deceased stepfather walks into screen, followed by your mother and a much younger version of yourself.

You watch with your heart slowly filling with lead as your mother convinces you to get on the table.

She makes you count. Uses your innocence to lure you up where you’re already too scared to go.

As you watch the video, you suddenly flash back and see it as if it were happening again. Glistening between the metal rings that thicken and trap you inside of that cradle, the flash of stars. The color of rainbow in neon against the black backdrop and void of space where moments before there’d been a regular old ceiling.

Mind rushing back, you focus on the video again.

You’re screaming. The little version of you, who still doesn’t even understand that daddy is never coming back, is screaming.

Your body blackened. It burns and you can remember the agony. It’s in your bones. It’s who you are.

You don’t remember much before that pain. Your consciousness in childhood was awoken on that day when you were scorched so your life, it all springs from the pain of that night. The fear and the confusion as to why mommy wouldn’t help you.

The room explodes and then they’re dead and you’re just a baby on a lab table, changed forever by the whims of a man who never loved you.

Never cared about you.

And the woman who should have protected you.

You click the screen off, blood flowing like magma in your veins.

Angry does not even begin to explain how you feel. You hold his phone back out for him to take, using deliberate, slow, calculated movements and Thor hesitates before taking it.

“How…” Responding to the wrath in your voice, Thor leans in closer as you speak, reaching for your hand which you yank from his grip with the hiss of his calloused skin sliding against your own.

You struggle to clear your mind, that seething bubble of emotion that threatens to explode overwhelming.

You get up, move around the coffee table then turn to look at him, needing the distance to keep from burning. You can already feel it. The heat rushing through your arms and legs.

He’s standing too, wringing his hands, brow puckered with worry and regret. He’s also watching you, looking your body over and you know what he’s seeing.

That light. The shimmer you get. So rarely does it come out. You’re never this upset.

“How do you have that?” You demand, pointing at the phone replaced in his pocket. “H-how long have you known?”

Thor moves around the table and you back up, retaining the space between you as he still reaches out for you but remains too far to touch you.

“I found out on the day we shared our coffee. When you gave me your number? Stark-”

“Tony?!” You gasp, glaring at Thor because this is betrayal.

You look away, pace to the glass wall and place your hands on the cool surface, urging yourself to stay calm.

You know what Tony wants with you. You know what he’s been after all these years. Like everyone else in your life, he wants something from you. He doesn’t care about you. Only what you can give him. The answers he so desperately wants.

“Yes, I-?”

“So, this…this has all been, what? Some type of recruitment? Trying to get me to come in so that he can run his tests?” You turn and narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious.

The golden God looks different suddenly. Still beautiful. Still breathtaking. Untrustworthy.

“What?” Thor asks, shocked by your leap. “No!”

“Was it his idea for you to seduce me or was that you? Get me t-to lower my guard and then ask me for a favor?”

You can hear the paranoia in your words, but you can’t help it. This has happened too many times. Not since Jeremy came into your life, but it’s happened before and it hurts every time. This time might be too much.

You really like Thor. Fuck.

“Y/N, that’s not-”

“She’s lonely enough, it won’t be hard, right? That’s what he told you?” Your heart aches, the kisses tonight, the soft touches…had they all been fake? “Get the f-freak to come in and get some tests done?”

Thor’s expression darkens. For a moment, a very small quick moment as he lunges towards you, strutting across the space between you and taking your arms in his hands, you’re afraid.

You squeak as he grabs you, though you can fight him off, you’re not sure you’re as strong as a God.

“You are not a freak; do you hear me?” He demands, giving you a very small shake. “You are beautiful and perfection.”

You’d thought that his touch might fuel your rage. That you might blow up if he came closer, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. With his touch, you cool, your anger melting to be replaced by heartbreak. You are definitely not beautiful. Or perfect.

His words hurt despite their positivity. “You should have told me that you knew.”

You gripe, staring down at his chest with stinging eyes.

“That’s what I just did.” Thor explains, pleading with you, his voice rising and falling as he pulls you closer.

Damn, he’s right.

In your defense, you weren’t expecting to have the darkest moment of your life thrust at you like that.

“I didn’t want to start anything with you until we had all of the facts laid out.” Thor explains, his hands stroking your bare arms, chafing them and slowly lulling you back into your blissed-out state. “I’m sorry. I should have…warned you.”

Yes, he sure the fuck should have! With a sigh, you shake your head, your rage rising again but this time it’s not for Thor.

“How does Tony even have that video?” You demand angrily, growling under your breath but speaking softly.

Thor sighs, tracing your arms all the way down to your elbows where he lets them linger.

“He’d said something about a data breach? Hydra-?”

“Oh.” Your mind races back to that incident but you’d had little to do with it.

Papa Roman had been alive then and he’d dealt with it. You only remember reading about it.

“They’d stolen only this video and Tony retrieved it. Out of curiosity, he watched it.” Thor explains. “He was saddened by what he saw.”

“Oh, how nice for him. Must be tough to be sad about watching a toddler kill her parents.” You spit, still angrier than you’ve been in ages.

You move around Thor, pulling out of his grasp and he lets you go.

“I think, as he explained it, he feels regret for abandoning you.” Thor says.

You wrap your arms around yourself, hating Tony because he had abandoned you. He’d stayed away for so long. You could have used someone to confide in. Someone who’d truly known your parents. Who’d known you.

“I swear to you, Y/N…my feelings are not a ruse.” You can hear Thor move towards, slow heavy steps as he approaches you from behind. “I was not sent to you by Stark. I walked into a coffee shop and watched a woman smile with excitement. Her eyes shone like stars and then the light was sapped from them. Her disappointment has haunted me every day since I saw it there and all I have wanted is to help put those stars back.

“I have thought only of how I might get close enough to you to make you smile. To make you laugh. Please, don’t push me away.” He begs.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to think. To process what he’s saying.

It’s not his fault that Tony stole that video. It’s not his fault that Tony had shown it to him. It’s not his fault that Tony has been itching to get you into his lab to run his tests. And it’s not Thor’s fault that you find it hard to trust, to believe, to accept that someone might really want you to do as he says; to smile.

Strong bulging arms wrap themselves around you.

You can breathe properly again.

It feels so good, as he settles in against your back with his scratchy bearded chin nudging against your cheek. It feels amazing to have his heart absolutely pounding against your own.

He’s nervous. He’s worried. Or…whatever it is that makes his heart beat like that.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, ashamed of your outburst.

“No.” He whispers against your cheek, soft lips featherlight against your skin. “I’m sorry I did not warn you first. I only wanted to be honest. I know about what they did to you, but I don’t understand what it means.”

You did promise to explain. “Thor-”

Your bedroom door suddenly flies open, so forcefully that it hits the wall and swings back closed only Jeremy is there to stop it, still dressed in his powder blue couture tuxedo.

“Jer?” You stand up straighter, Thor’s arms only tighten around you. “What’s wrong?”

He looks frazzled, breathless. Like he’s been running.

“I-” He begins, his dark brown eyes moving from you down to Thor’s arms wrapped around you, then up to his face before settling back on yours. “I didn’t know where you went.”

You frown. “I told Tony to let you know that I’d come home. Sorry. I should have found you myself.”

He’s already mentally brushed off your explanation, taking a step closer, eyes narrowed as he really looks at you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, taking a step towards the two of you with his hands clenched into fists.

“Okay?” You ask confused. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Jeremy frowns at you. “You’re crying.”

Startled, you reach up to touch your right cheek making Thor drop his arms as you move. He doesn’t stray from right behind you, keeping his chest pressed against your back. His heart is pounding harder now. Faster than before.

Sure enough, your cheeks are stained with tears. You’re not sure when you cried. Maybe while watching the video?

“Oh. I’m-I’m fine. I was just…remembering my parents. Thor—Thor knows what happened to me and it kinda caught me off guard.” You explain, shrugging one shoulder only to feel Thor’s hand slide up along your arm to rest on the side of your shoulder.

He gives it a squeeze and you look up at him, feeling calm again. Floating on his warm golden aura. How could you have ever doubted him?

You smile.

“How the hell does he know about what happened to you?” Jeremy asks, needlessly sounding aggressive.

“Jeremy,” You begin, frowning.

“That’s not your concern.” Thor tells him.

Surprised by the harsh note of his voice, you turn to look back at him, searching his face for a hint but he’s got his eyes trained on Jeremy.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” Jeremy asks, strutting forward, chest first.

“Woah, hey.” You move out from under Thor’s grasp and put your hands on Jeremy’s chest, pushing him back gently and he complies with your touch. “Tony gave him the video of how it happened. I guess he took it back when Papa Roman dealt with that big data breach. Hydra. Remember?”

Had he been here then? You think so.

Jeremy turns his glare down to you, softening his brow as he reaches up to take hold of your hands.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, thumb stroking the back of your hand.

Thor clears his throat, his hand rising to stroke the shape of your hip.

You’re not expecting it and his touch makes you dizzy.

“She’s alright.” He says.

“I didn’t ask you.” Jeremy seethes, then pointedly asks, “What happened to your date?”

“Jeremy.” You chastise him, frowning up into his handsome face. You don’t appreciate the reminder of Thor dancing with Helen Cho. “What’s wrong with you?”

“This guy blew you off, Y/N. You were a mess for days.” He says pointedly, looking from you to Thor.

“It was all a misunderstanding.” You tell him, smiling up at him. “Thor thought—”

You have to stop because you can’t explain about him seeing you and Jeremy together in bed. Jeremy will freak out. Thor spying on you? That’s not what it was but it’ll sound like that.

“It turns out Thor was still off planet the entire time I was messaging him. The other Avengers released a false story about them having returned on purpose, to throw off the bad guys here on Earth but really, they hadn’t come home yet. And…”

Maybe you don’t have to tell him about the sleeping with him. You and Jeremy have kissed and hugged and shared affection in spaces where you could have been seen.

“And what?” Jeremy demands.

“Well, Thor saw us. Kissing. He…he thought you and I were together, but I explained everything to him. So, he understands now.” You smile, looking up at Thor who has finally turned his gaze back on you, eyes dazzling in affection.

“I can give you that now.” Thor whispers, making you smile wider.

“Y/N, he could be lying to you.” Jeremy insists.

“He isn’t.” You tell him, turning your happy gaze on him.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” You shake your head, confused by Jeremy’s resistance.

“Y/N…” He begins.

“I’m fine, Jer. You can go.” You order, shifting your tone into your boss voice.

You don’t understand why Jeremy’s being so difficult, but you don’t need it right now. You need to talk to Thor and figure all of this out.

Jeremy watches you, eyebrow scrunched, eyes worried, biting his bottom lip. He looks at Thor, gives him a glare, then turns on his heel and heads back out, slamming your door shut.

Instant regret. That’s what you feel.

Jeremy has been so good to you lately. He’s been patient and kind and he’s given you his body and you’ve accepted his comfort. You owe him more than this.

“Jer…” You move to go after him, but a hand pulls you back. Strong thick digits around your wrist.

“Wait. Let me. I’ll explain myself.” Thor promises and moves around you, after him.

“Thor?” You move a step towards him as he stops with the door open to look back at you. “Please, if he hits you, just let him? He’s really protective over me and his hit won’t hurt you anyway, right?”

“You have my word, my starshine.” He caresses your cheek, then nods leaving you with a barrage of flutters as he shuts the door behind him.

Starshine? You smile, teeth plunging into your bottom lip.

“Stop.” Thor calls out, reaching out to grab the assistant’s shoulder.

He jerks out from under Thor’s touch, but he turns to face him, pulling himself up to his full height. Chest puffed out. Disapproving glare set in place.

Thor drops his hand. Rolls his shoulders and looks down at the man. He’s really tempted to knock him on the head, just once. He can hide him in a closet until you’re asleep then take him and leave him on a park bench.

No. Keep your word, Thor.

“What do you want?” The assistant nearly growls.

Thor watches him, taking in his defensive stance, the hard light in his eyes, the way his hands are balled into fists. With his brow furrowed, Thor chooses his words carefully.

“You mean a lot to Y/N.” He acknowledges. “You’re very important. More important than anyone else in her life.”

The assistant isn’t expecting this. A keen observance but also one easily made by anyone paying attention to you. It’s clear that you love this assistant. Maybe not in that way, but you do care about him immensely.

“What’s your point?” The assistant asks, confused, relaxing a little.

“She’s very important to me.” Thor confesses. “I’ve been watching her for a long time, and I have never wanted to make someone happy the way I desire to do so with her. I want to see her smile. Genuinely. Happily. I want to see her express real excitement and enjoyment without having it be broken by those two morons she calls friends.”

The assistant shifts his weight, uncomfortable because this isn’t what he was expecting maybe? Thor can see right through him and he wonders. Does he know? Is he aware what he really feels for you?

You clearly aren’t.

“In order for me to do that, you must let me.” Thor looks down at the floor, wondering if maybe he should say it.

He felt it. As soon as the assistant had walked into the room and saw Thor holding you, that aura…that energy…so clearly, Thor had felt it.

“You hurt her.” The assistant argues.

“A mistake.” Thor explains. “Just as she said. A misunderstanding.”

He thinks quickly. Calculating the odds of him getting punched if he says it.

Fuck it. He needs to know if he’s right. For himself.

“I saw you with her.” He begins. “I came that night I returned, when I suddenly received all of her messages at once and realized what she must think.”

Thor can see the assistant putting two and two together. He should help him. He’s being slow about it.

“I saw you with her.” Thor says, lowering his voice because they’re only in the kitchen. Your room is not far. “The way you treat her—you try to deny it but…you love her.”

“So?” The assistant doesn’t even hesitate!

Thor’s lips curve up into a small knowing and slightly bitter smile. He’d been prepared for a denial.

“She doesn’t know.” He nods.

The assistant finally averts his gaze.

“If she did, she would not let you touch her the way you do.”

“You don’t know that.” The assistant protests, moving towards Thor, maybe itching to hit him.

Thor doesn’t respond. He just stares. He lets the assistant come to the correct realization on his own.

He drags his hand through his dark brown hair, messing the carefully styled do in his frustration. “I just needed some time.”

Thor takes a step towards him, the movement drawing the assistant’s eyes up to face him.

“Are you going to stand in my way?” He asks, the slightest hint of a threat in his voice.

This isn’t in Thor’s character. He doesn’t get this possessive. He doesn’t feel this jealous. This voice is reserved for his enemies in battle and yet, that’s what this assistant feels like. He’s an enemy.

He doesn’t think that he could ever actually hurt this human. This weak man.

He wants to though. He really wants to make sure that he knows that you’re already his. That you belong with him and only him.

Whatever past this assistant might have with you, it’s clear that to you it meant something different. Your eyes are hopefully only on Thor.

The assistant stares up at him for what feels like ages without saying anything. He reads him, glares at him, hates him. Thor can see it in his dark eyes. The assistant would give anything to cut Thor out of your life again.

“Thor?” Your gentle voice drifts out towards him and the assistant.

You round the curving wall and Thor takes a step back, renewing the distance between them to a much less threatening space.

“I’m here.” Thor assures you.

He hears your feet stop a few feet behind him.

“Jer…?” You plead, worried and hesitant.

Thor watches the assistant stare at you. Slowly he forces his face to relax. He gives you a smile.

“Sorry.”

Thor looks over his shoulder at you, watching as you shake your head.

“You always take such good care of me, Jer. It’s okay.” You promise him.

“I’m gonna go.” He tells you. “Take it slow, Y/N. There’s no rush.”

Thor looks back at him, frowning. Does he think he wants you for your body? As if you’re only good for that? He doesn’t care if you never sleep with him—okay, maybe it would sort of break his heart—all he wants is to make that sparkle in your eyes come back.

“Jeremy…” You say, reprimanding his thinly veiled accusation.

“Good night, chipmunk.” He whispers, and Thor can feel the heartache in his voice.

That energy that he’s so good at reading is flaring up from the assistant’s side but he feels nothing from you.

Thor almost feels bad for the man, but he’s grateful that only an hour ago that heated aura had been wafting off of you in droves and at him specifically.

“Night.” You call after him as he turns and leaves, taking Thor’s nervous tension with him.

However he might have just made it seem, Thor is terrified of the assistant. He’s known you longer. He knows you better. He knows you intimately. If he were to tell you that he loves you, if he were to confess, would you go to him?

Would you abandon this freshly blooming romance to commit to the man whose been by your side for so many years?

If the world were just, you would.

But Thor is pretty sure that if he doesn’t already, he’ll soon love you as much as the assistant does.

No.

He’ll love you more.

His heart skips a beat as your hotter than normal fingers slide down along his forearm, wrist, and finally intertwine with his own.

His hand engulfs yours, swallowing it in his soft caress. He looks down at you, watching that amazing sparkle that he’d fallen for brighten your eyes.

“I’m still hungry.” You tell him, and almost as if on cue, your stomach grumbles loudly.

Thor can’t help himself. He chuckles, releases your hand to cup the sides of your face, then kisses you softly.

You shut your eyes and Thor feels you melt against him. That strange heat of your body flares as you press it to his. You kiss him back eagerly, your tongue sliding forward to coax his lips open before he can make the move himself. He welcomes your kiss, opening his mouth and tilting his head to the left as he breathes you in.

He gives you what you want, slipping his arms around your waist, letting his hands trace up along the bare back of your nightgown.

Your skin is intoxicating and soft. The small imperfections perfect in that they’re yours. He loves every inch of skin he can feel, and he wants to kiss you and make love to you, but he can’t do the latter yet.

Even though you moan against his lips as he brazenly touches you. He pulls back, noses nudging, foreheads touching, lips ghosted over yours.

“You feel like silk, my starshine.” Thor whispers, deep, and that attraction he’d felt flowing from you almost drowns him.

He feels you shiver in his arms and he kisses you again, pulling another moan from you as he scoops you up, arms wrapped tight around your waist as he walks with you towards your bedroom.

To feed you, of course.

As he crosses into the room, your tummy rumbles again and Thor chuckles against your kiss.

Buy Me a Coffee

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Thor Taglist @darkdragonpheonix

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Erin!

You have been accepted for the role of ISLA SELWYN-MACMILLAN! Your application was beautiful! We especially loved your decision behind Isla’s familial background, which then led to her decisions and motivations within both her personal life and her life in the Order. The details you put in your application really brought her to life in a lovely way! We are so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: erin

AGE: 26

TIMEZONE: est

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I work a regular 9 to 5, so will be quite scare weekday afternoons, but am pretty consistent around evenings (into the woo hours of the am, as I’m an incurable insomniac) and weekends.

ANYTHING ELSE: n/a

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME:  Isla Arcine Selwyn- Macmillan

AGE: 25

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cisfemale. She / Her. Bisexual, in that way of scratching an itch rather than deliberately seeking out a romantic partner. Sex is sex is needs met, and a base appreciation, besides. When it comes to things more long-term, things which people out there in the world at large still call a relationship, it’s more touch and go. It’s been a long time since she’s had a romantic other who could be in any way tagged significant; not since Hogwarts and long before Archie’s confession of his orientation caused her to consider whether her own desires incorporated same-sex. They did and they do, but romance is another animal altogether and she has never down well with it no matter where on the spectrum you place her.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: N / A

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

At first blush, it’s challenging to get a proper bead on Isla beyond liberal application of the word ‘dry’. She moves and speaks with the considered stillness of a woman well aware of her age, her place in life. That things have perhaps not gone as planned, but there’s no turning back now, so she may as well just commit to the person she’s found herself to be. Isla, then, is the woman who dresses practically, who hangs along the seams of situations with arms folded across her chest, and holds for that single breath of silence to fall before chiming in with observation.

That is in no way to suggest that she is the paragon of forbearance. She is, in fact, hugely impatient. Queen of the drummed nails, the tapped foot, the not-so-surreptitious watch check. Isla has had to do very little waiting in her life, which is fortunate as she isn’t very good at it. But give her something to attend, something to measure, and Isla can spend all the time in the world passing judgement and weighing and hmm-ing thoughtfully. The measured consideration of herself, her peers, the very world around her. Isla studies, assesses, and only then moves to act. She’s the one who watches the Order’s fracas of people come together like the tide crashing, waiting for it to roll back out before she picks her way through to deposit her thoughts. It takes a hell of a lot to make Isla do before Isla thinks.

She is, after all, above all else, a connoisseur. Selective, thorough, intractable, endlessly demanding and ferociously precise. Her perfectionism is legendary; her attention to detail rivaled only by her appetite. Her enthusiasm for what she loves—food, flying, finery—is heady and infectious. Unfortunately, what-ifs and maybe-justs have eaten away at the electric smile which used to light her up during days gone by, because she’s been wrestling with the sensation of a stifled life on a precipice for some time now. And if it isn’t fear which rules her life (it isn’t; she is afraid to be afraid, and subsequently knocks it to one side lest she start choking on what unfamiliar fear tastes like), then anger is the name of Isla’s coolly played game. The years she burned away living unrestrained and satiate are like a mental scrapbook, something for her to page through with mixed feelings of nostalgia and frustration.

Isla has always been indomitable and stubborn, but current climate has put a bit more of a bite to what was once a more good-humored brand of overbearing confidence. The remnants of playful, irreverent, imperious woman she was-is-might-be-again is best seen in dealings with nearest and dearest. She still does things like hiding all of Archie’s left hand loafers when she feels he’s not paying enough attention to her. Still signs off letters to favorite cousins with the words ’don’t be a cow, Love Isla’. Still bitches bitterly to best friends about what a sell-out twat Josef Wronski is. But where once the sensation of being untouchable and inviolable meant her charm and candor were universal, present reality has seen it condescend, contracted, confined to trust spheres and safe space. She is shade of former self and Isla is honestly terrified that she might never have the whole back.

Swallowed pride sits badly in her belly and it’s a daily debate on whether she can life with the sensation for the rest of her life. Her family taught her to compromise, but she never, ever learned to capitulate or tolerate. Even less to bow. Though she does well enough in tandem to authority she acknowledges, it's only authority she acknowledge and beneath any other hand she bucks and bristles and bites. At present, Voldemort’s throat is the one she longs most to sink her teeth into, but time and tide are proving how unlikely that may be and so she, eminently loyal and deeply sentimental, must start focusing on what she wishes most to protect and preserve. What the best course of action is to safe guard the present and future of family and friends, the people she sees as the ones she must protect. Because at the end of the day, though she’ll fight for herself she’d die for nothing less than those she loves the most.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The House of Selwyn is known for two things: pearls and politics. Polish is the name of the game in either. A refined family, whose members dot the upper echelons of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and whose wealth was built ages ago on the back of their many oyster farms off the sun drenched shores of the Mediterranean. Her mother’s prized possession is a pearl the size of an ostrich egg, Isaac’s gift to her when they first got engaged. It sits, even now, on a marble pedestal in Arsinoe Selwyn’s sitting room and Isla has memories of mother running white hands affectionately across the milky sphere till it was almost impossible to tell where pearl ended and skin began.

Isla grew up in their house on the coast of the Isle of Angsley, a neoclassical mansion whose gardens fell down to the sea. She was her family’s first and final princess, the daughter her mother prayed for since honeymoon’s initial afterglow had worn away and revealed the stark reality of a husband whose cultured charm was as infinite as his penchant for philandering. Isla was, if only for a time, the cure-all which the Selwyn couple so desperately needed: Father was fond of her, Mother was attentive, but most important was opinion of House Matriarch, for Grandmother is gentle with her the way she is to no other, wrinkled hands fearfully referred to as talons by the three sons and the half a dozen grandchild descended from Innana Selwyn turning soft as silk when they cupped Isla’s fair cheeks or braided grandthing’s dark hair. In those hands too was the decision of who would inherit the lionshare of the family’s estate and it was clear from the moment Innana folded Isla affectionately to her side that the son she was sure to pick would be the one who sired her favorite grandchild.

Though no idyllic portrait of white dresses and tea parties – she and her young relatives played at being tigers and at princesses and of course at the wonder of wizardry, but tucked comfortably amidst their baby-games was ongoing theme of competition and envy and scrutiny  – her youth still managed to smack quite soundly of comfortable entitlement, familial solidarity, and reasonable compromise. As a child she struggles most with the latter. Her mother says she looks too much like her father, more hard and sharp than soft. Arsinoe Selwyn does her best to blunts her daughter’s edges and wraps her in velvet, but Isla never becomes particularly pliable. Instead she identifies early where the line is and toes it unrepentantly; stretches against the limits of her girl skin and twists and turns within it’s proverbial limits. She is a child with a riptide inside her; restless as the current threshing against the cliffs she once scaled for the sake of beating her cousin in a race back from beach to front door.

Her parents are perennial negotiators. A flying instructor is hired to keep her off the cliffs. A fencing master in exchange for cooperation in deportment. Free reign so long as it’s neat skirts and straight hair when the rest of the clan comes to visit. One was never to show shortcomings in front of the extended branches, after all. But even with all the mistrust and rivalry, family was family was family and her first show of magic is sparked when she bisects a Kelpie attempting to drag her cousin down through the shallows. The following Autumn, when she is seated in The Great Hall as the Sorting Hat weights her heart for what means more, ambition or valor, she remembers Electra Selwyn’s shivering hands as she kicked the creature’s corpse into the surf.

Armed with parents’ indulgence and grandmother’s doting she can do no wrong. Nicknamed The Grand Duchess by her cousins for her domineering ways, Isla was infallible force of nature for so many years. She is given partial reprieve from the spotlight of mother’s sole focus after baby brother is born. Caius Selwyn, small savior who comes into the world when she is thirteen years old, consequently holds paramount place in Isla’s affections. To younger sibling she is larger than life; dark eyes lighting up with admiration the first time he sees big sister in her Montrose Magpies uniform. A woman Icarus. Then comes the fall.

The shifts in their family begin with grandmother’s death. Innana Selwyn, so old and august and unyielding, it had never occurred to Isla even that she could die. But the coffin is black and her mourning clothes black and the cloud over the family is bleak, pitch dark as ink. If grandmother’s will was anything to go by, it should be Isaac who became family head and yet her eldest uncle Elijah steps in to fill the vacancy. Her father does not protest and Isla frowns like the gathering rain clouds, wonders why.

It’s off-season half a year later when she is called again to grandmother’s residence, now Uncle’s. The day is in it’s dregs when she arrives. The decayed sunset still hung a cloud-caught drift of humid, mauvish red and sent down its ominous indigo shade, which ran from hummock to hummock of the manicured lawns like spilled water. The architecture of the Selwyns’ ancestral estate was itself fairytale like – silver gates like spider webs on a wet May morning, cobblestone streets, wet-black wood entrances – but the something that evening caused everything to look overripe; an otherwise perfect fruit with a rotted spot just starting to spread. Inside the house many lights were burning bright: her parents had arrived ahead of her, for there was important business to discuss. Isla’s marriage prospects.

It was a shell shock, being confronted face to face with the savage delicacy of a wedding dress. She felt like marriage would eat her alive–rip her limb from careless limb. But there was no twisting and turning to avoid this. Father is stern, Mother is reproving. Something tense and heavy braids itself through their insistence, something like a predator stalking through the dense gardens outside their walls. There is no room for negations here. And think, Arsinoe tells her after, how much better off she is than some girls; at least they are giving her the freedom to choose whom she’d prefer from among the matches her uncle has put forth.

So Archie, who is companion and confidant and closest friend since she was small wild child with loose hair and imperious ways. Who should be perfect match except they are not in love and marriage ought be more than two people making the best of a last ditch effort to preserve what they can’t stomach losing. So they marry. They move into a home together. Clean and white on the outside, its window shutters decorative rather than functional and all its internal fripperies stripped away upon her arrival because no man would ever put Isla Selwyn up in a wallpapered home and live to tell the tale.

She learns later the name and nature of the beast-thing driving her family to tighten up tradition. Some power bloated dark wizard who thinks himself a lord with the right to reign over their way of life. Her uncle Elijah, her eldest cousins, they have already sworn fealty. And sure, things for her could certainly be far worse, but life till now had promised Isla Selwyn a world without limits then failed to deliver and so now entitled, intractable, implacable Isla, Isla who has never accepted the word ’no’ in her life and isn’t about to start now, is woman on a war path. If the world Voldemort means to build is one where she has to bow to his notion of what a woman ought be then he had best look to his kingdom, because she’s coming for it.

OCCUPATION:

Housewife. And she chokes a little on the reality of it ever time. What was once a glowing quidditch career was quashed under family applied pressure in the wake of a rising regime. She was going to fly forever, that had been her plan. Instead she’d been made to resign from her position as Chaser for the Montrose Magpies and supposedly idles her days away in domestic leisure and social functions. But idle hands are the tools of the devil. Or in this case, the Order.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER

The same surname which gives her access to the insular world of pureblood social circles is a source of suspicion and skepticism for her comrades-in-arms. Many of the members are uncertain about her, be it of her motives, her commitment, or her loyalty; though even her staunchest detractor can’t deny her effectiveness nor her conviction. Luckily for all, Isla has a lifetime of experience in banding together for the greater good despite nebulous trust and constant scrutiny (see: the Selwyns). She does not need them to like her, but she does need them to make good use of the advantages she has to offer.

Informant, infiltrator, instigator. She has access to places other Order members do not, clout in certain circles that overlap with the enemy. Isla’s connections are many and they run the gamut from marked death eaters, whose names and movements she funnels to the order, to fence sitters who just need a bit of a nudge to sway the right way (or at least lend a helping hand so long as their safety is guaranteed). She has, on occasion, served as a soldier though always from behind a white and gold volto mask to preserve the secrecy of her affiliation.

That said, failure and fracturing among their numbers have roused Isla’s frustrations. It seems absurd to her that they have become at once so woefully disorganized and yet increasing concerned with rank and file. The faith she had in the beginning has begun to dwindle and she’s starting to doubt if this motley crew can overcome all the in-fighting enough to focus on the real enemy. Moreover, she’s starting to wonder if their own prejudices will turn them into something just as deplorable as the Death Eaters. If they cannot even tolerate each other, what might they do to those on the fringes? Her reservations were only exacerbated by the incident with Leina Nott.

SURVIVAL:

For the moment, her identity as a member of The Order remains still unknown to those outside it’s number. She lives then, almost as she always had. A house, honey hued when the light slid down the hills and made it so,  wreathed with ivy about the windows and draping the door. With husband who is loved-but-not-lover and with secrets kept closely guarded and all actions planned and plotted and maneuvered with careful calculation of risks and reasons and weight. She survives by walking a tight rope and living a lie and praying victory comes before the truth.

RELATIONSHIPS:

She has always been a woman who collects acquaintances but is few in close friends and the war has only caused her to make even sharper delineations. Archie Macmillan has always been her perfect constant, consistent and timely as the tides their friendship. Her parents may have indulged her, but Archie is the only person who has ever supported and encouraged her. They may not be in love with each other, but he is the most important person in her life, the only individual she is wholly honest with, her partner in all things. It was she who convinced him to join the Order and for that reason, Isla has resolved to put his wishes and well-being first and foremost so that he doesn’t come to regret that decision. Even if her own life comes crumbling down as a result of her choices, she’ll make damn sure that Archie’s doesn’t.

From the start, members of the Order’s inner circle have been treated to a polite but firm personal distance, business only please. Polite distance has since evolved to more than a little frost. She has never done well with authority figures she hasn’t specifically acknowledged and between a string of failures and the way their hierarchy is coming more and more to resemble that of the opposition’s, Isla’s regard for them and their leadership has dwindled significantly. It doesn’t help that James Potter is among their number and all her negative biases against him have subsequently colored the rest of the Order’s proverbial generals with the same standoffish brush.

She fares much better in interactions with the mid and low-level members and, in all honest, best with half and pureblood women. Because she can relate. Because she feels protective. Because being surrounded by women fighting for their right to autonomy and self-determination reminds her why she’s here in the first place and, truly, she needs those reminds now, here, when her morale as it’s most dismal. They encourage her to dirty her hands with much-missed paint, and to muddy up the colors. If she tells herself that it isn’t all well among Order ranks, then she openly admits that it’s not all bad.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: Isla x Chemistry

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Isla has lived her entire life in a world of extreme privileged. Because of blood status, because of wealth, because of weight of family name. Given ever access to education and resources and connection. Because the Selwyns were lax in regards to traditional values, even running up against the wall of gender biases was minimal up until more recently. Suddenly confronted with the the strictures and restrictions of antiquated sexism, Isla, in the way of a person born with every advantage, is predictably outraged and righteously anger at suddenly being put at a disadvantage.

A staunch anti-traditionalist, Isla imagines herself enormously liberal, but the reality of her upbringing informs all things. The Selwyn family’s pearl farms employ mainly muggles as menial labor, harvesters, and low level managers of their precious crop. And so, Isla has always thought of muggles as existences only a few step above house elves; backwards, easily excitable, but hard working creatures, obliviously happy with their own lesser way of life because they haven’t the capacity to imagine something broader. Her attitude towards muggleborns, therefore, smacks of condescension and distinctive othering. As though they are the lucky, mutated winners of some biological lottery. “Corrected” muggles, fixed of the flaw of lacking magic. And though Isla imagines that because she supports the right of muggleborns to everything the Wizarding World has to offer, it means she has no prejudices, in reality her internalized biases are many and she views them as inherently flawed by virtue of their birth and disadvantaged by virtue of their upbringing.

The reverse could be said of her prejudices about half-breeds and squibs. Their non-wizard heritance is a tragic blot to me sympathized with. For squibs she regards their lack of magic like a grave congenital disability. The kind of thing pregnant mother pray for protection against as they go into labor. The notion that this way of thinking might be problematic has not only never occurred to her, but would in fact be wholly anathema to how she navigates socially.  

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? There is so much plot jam-packed into this RP and I am living for it. I love the idea of an all Order focus; love even more that the Order is not depicted as some happy pack of underdogs who all love and get along with each other. I love that they’re losing and everything is getting desperate and painful and pushing people to their emotional / mental / moral limits. The ugliness mixed in with all the good-intentions and differing drives is so meaty, scoop me a huge helping pls & ty.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: N/A

ANYTHING ELSE? As though her family section isn’t already too long™, have some mini drabbles from her childhood

[danwhobrowses]

Tinfoil Discussions: My Hero Academia - The UA Traitor

I guess I’m late for the height of this debate, but I might as well throw my hat in. I will begin with this though; I’m not caught up with the anime or manga. I am waiting for Season 4 to finish up so I can binge it, so everything I say below is from memory of seasons 1-3 (which I had really enjoyed having binged for 3 days, they really do the ‘punch the air in victory’ moments well), so some of it might be wrong through hindsight I don’t currently have (and please don’t let me know, I’ve done my best to limit the spoiler content as much as youtube keeps suggesting me thumbnails of s4 moments and manga chapters)

So for anyone farther back than I am, spoilers for Seasons 1-3 and general speculation below

There is a Traitor Among Us Said by Present Mic after Bakugo was taken in the Forest of Beasts, it became all to apparent that someone had been leaking information to the League of Villains. The idea of a traitor is an uncomfortable one, since it means that someone in the loveable cast is not genuine and what’s more is perfectly willing to allow heroes and students alike to die in order to simply get at All-Might. Now, I don’t think I know who the traitor is, but I do have theories and options. Suspecting the Students The students are the first to be suspected because they’re the new blood, all this has happened from the start of the semester and the young are influenced easier. With kids having constant access to their phones there is an easier possibility for a leak, and the traitor could be the following people Hagakure - Perhaps the one everyone seems to be looking to, it is quite easy to point the finger at the Invisible Girl. Hagakure is an expert in stealth and her personality is bubbly enough to be seen as a facade, being unable to keep track of her is the main reason people could suspect her. However, I really don’t like this option; it’s too easy you know? And you’d have to pull out a hell of a lot to explain multiple things. For instance, Hagakure can’t make objects invisible as shown by her clothes, where would she keep a phone? At USJ they were in their Hero outfits and if I remember rightly the Forest of Beasts had no phone signal, it’s possible that there’s like a tracker under her skin (a decent way to have the league bug the class but also have her be a victim) but even then that’s just location. Another qualm would be bastardizing her friendship with Ojiro and the people who actually see her (despite being invisible), if she wanted intel surely she’d get closer to the people of interest to the league, there’s also her desire to stand out, a spy would not be so flagrant about standing out. It could just be that I don’t want to suspect any of the Class 1-A students, but it does seem too obvious to make Hagakure the traitor. Monoma - on the other side of the coin there’s Monoma, who I really dislike. Mr ‘Ohmygoshclass1Ahasflawstoo’ is someone very obsessive over hierarchy, the line of superior and inferior. You also can’t deny that he has been trying to sow seeds of disarray by putting 1-A and 1-B against one another. Like Tobi in Naruto, it serves well to be wary of joke characters, and let’s not forget that Monoma has a dangerous quirk. His copying may not switch by touch, or deplete over 5 minutes without use, it could be that the ability disappears after 5 minutes of full use (or it’s just a flat out lie). His quirk is the worrisome thing, remember how he first met Midoriya? He intentionally bumped into him, if he’s able to copy One for All that could be extremely dangerous for the villain’s side right? Monoma being the traitor does require a bit of stretching though. it rides a lot on 1-B having been to USJ before 1-A (which is possible since Midoriya would have to recover from his broken arm on the combat training) and someone letting slip where the Forest was (since 1-B got there after 1-A, giving him opportunity to contact the league), he also got the information that 1-A would be at a different stadium for the license exams, allowing Toga to get some blood and pose as Camie for 3 days. He’s also someone who has had direct interaction with Bakugo and seen firsthand his potential, but he was also safe and sound in the Forest’s extra-curricular base (where Dabi just happened to know where Aizawa, Vlad and other students were). Monoma may be overboard, but it could just be his villainy seeping out, we cannot forget that Monoma is a formidable strategist as shown in the Calvary Battle. Mirio Togota - put down those pitchforks! I will immediately say that this is highly unlikely. But Buff Tintin just seems off to me, nobody can deny his strength or the refinement of his quirk but again it’s silliness as a front. He uses nudity as a distraction tool but we’ve seen him effortlessly use his quirk to stick his face out to Midoriya. Togota knows little about 1-A so that adds to his unlikelihood, but being closest to Number 1 and then to see All Might take on the first years? That could sting, and his quirk does allow him a strong capability for infiltration, all he has to do is poke an ear out somewhere hidden or phase through a locked room to look at documents. I heavily doubt this is where we’re going with him, but he is an option nonetheless. Suspecting the teachers While it’s difficult to accuse the students, the teachers are easier to accuse but harder to prove. Every teacher knows that All Might is weakening, but every teacher also knows about USJ and the Beast Forest’s location, so they have access to betray, it all then comes down to motive. Nezu - the principal is the heavy long shot, we know he has his manic times but it’s a matter of whether he would subject his fellow heroes and students to death. It’s a shallow motive that I don’t see, but you have to suspect the guy with all the information, especially now that he managed to put the students immediately under the eye of Big Brother. Ectoplasm - The man who can clone himself is definitely someone who can wander off. I remember them saying that he was able to clone himself more while drunk at karaoke, but is that simply a hint that Ectoplasm has at least 2 clones he never accounts for hero work? Judging by the peg leg he is certainly experienced, and I’m sure he ranks high on the ‘Heroes that look most like Villains’ list that Gang Orca is on (Endeavor’s Number 1 right? Has to be, only thing he would earn the Number 1 spot for besides World’s Worst Dad XD). Ectoplasm’s clones allow him to easily spy, steal and have an alibi all at once, his interaction with the students and knowledge of the class protocol do mean that he has the sufficient knowledge to leak to the league. Snipe - Snipe out of the teachers would be my likely pick, Gas Mask McCree here could’ve easily tapped Shigaraki with his quirk, but he went for the arm and leg even though he was going straight for Midoriya and All Might. The fact that he always wears a mask does open the door for him being a replacement as well, All for One having stolen his quirk and bestowed it unto a spy or simply that Snipe isn’t all that good. He was the first to quickly turn the finger pointing to Present Mic when he brought up traitor talk. Like the other two teachers, he’s able to access information without getting involved in the league’s matters, but it has to be really suspicious that he could headshot grunts at USJ but shot Shigaraki in spots he could survive in. Suspecting an outsider Just because there is a traitor leaking UA info, doesn’t mean that they have to be in UA, parents must have forms to permit their kids to go out in these things, and people can sneak into the premises in different ways. Currently though there is only one outsider I can suspect Endeavor - I can’t have been alone when the moment I saw Endeavor I thought ‘that guy’s a villain’. Since Season 3 I don’t believe he’s in league with the villains so much, his reaction to being Number 1 does slightly protect him from accusation, but not entirely. While he may be the Number 2 Hero, Endeavor is a horrible person, using money and influence to get what he wants and what he wants is to be treated as better than All Might, this coincides with the league’s goal to remove All Might as the Number 1 Hero and Symbol of Peace. Motivation for treachery would obviously be jealousy, and he’s only angry about the One for All incident because All Might still triumphed, so his ultimate victory is actually tainted, he didn’t want to win ‘this way’. The matter of him getting the info could require more traitors within UA, but someone of Endeavor’s status definitely has the funds to bribe or the influence to have access to security cameras, under the guise of a ‘parent keeping an eye on his child experiment’ (after all, wouldn’t want him to go like that other child with fire powers, Endeavor’s blue eyes and who’s obviously one of his previous failed experiments). Power and Influence allows people to get more things and being a UA alumnus also has small benefits to elbow in some spying. We were never told that Todoroki was on the list, but Endeavor would surely want to write Bakugo - the guy who beat his son at the Sports Festival - out of the way, even at USJ putting him in an area where his son could easily handle himself while Nomu ‘dealt’ with All Might. Suspecting someone new While the idea of a traitor means that you have to look at the characters you know, this could also be a red herring. One of UA’s current strengths has been the ability to trust one another in their ability, be it between classes or schools in the license exams. So to sow distrust means they break the foundations of the future. I believe that the endgame of the manga isn’t just having a ‘Number One Hero’ but a group of heroes who can all dispatch and work well together, it does look like that’s how we’re building with Midoriya, Todoroki and Bakugo getting some diverse team ups with the rest of their class. If that is the case, then this is the moment where the unity has to be reinforced, which’d mean identifying that a villain is causing this traitor talk. Besides, 3 people calling themselves a ‘league’ is rather underwhelming, most of their influence came post-Stain so maybe there have been people we’ve yet to see. A Mind Reader - We’ve had telepathy in Mandalay (low suspicion on her, since she knows nothing about USJ) going outwards but she was unable to actually read minds, we also have a brainwasher in Shinso. So right in the middle would be someone who can read people’s thoughts, a mind reader easily has access to read the thoughts of teachers to relay back to the league. A Bug - we know that there are animal-kind quirks (oh yeah Koda’s quirk could be treacherous, but he’s too wimpy for me to suspect him) in Tsu, Pony, that OVA Lizard girl, Tokoyami, Spinner, Selkie and Gang Orca, so what if there was a villain with a quirk of an insect. We had a small nod to insects in the exam Kyoka and Koda had, showing how they could sneak into other places - or people in Present Mic’s case. If there was someone with an insect quirk they could literally be a Fly on the Wall. A Body Swapper - I mentioned earlier that Snipe could have his body swapped because he’s hidden under the mask, but we could go deeper. Citing Naruto’s Yamanaka Clan jutsu, DBZ’s Ginyu or DC Comics’ Jericho, there could be someone with the quirk to basically take over someone’s body for a short while. This could be a way to have characters be unknowing leaks. Like how a mind reader goes between Mandalay and Shinso’s quirks, a body swapper would sit between Shinso and Toga’s quirks so it’s not entirely out there for a quirk like that to exist, let alone for nobody to notice that quirk exists because they don’t ever recall their body being taken over. Conclusion So yeah, those are my list of suspects. As stated before I’d rather it not be a 1-A student, the art of these things is to use it as a twist and if you can immediately guess the twist then it’s not a good twist. Granted I’m sure delivery can better a obvious twist, such as when we finally get told that Dabi is related to the Todoroki family or when Stain gets released and fights alongside Midoriya but in terms of the UA Traitor - a lingering plot line that has spread through half the series - you need a big drop to validate the wait. Personally I would like the traitor to either be a teacher, Endeavor or someone we’ve not seen before that builds to a big bad. Regardless it’ll probably be years before I find out, much shorter for Manga readers, but when it does happen I hope the reveal is satisfying.

[litegrillgrenadine]

I don’t know if I’ve touch on a lot of these topical subjects in such a shallow way in order to distract from myself or if I’ve spoken about myself in such a self absorbed way that it distracts from more important matters that I’m too chickenshit to delve deeper into. 

Why am I so scared of trying to understand all the minute details? Am I really just that lazy? I find myself becoming impatient when it comes to have to finger comb all the that hay in order to find that goddamn needle. 

Unfortunately a lot of my motivations are stoked by maladaptive reactions. The biggest pull for me in acknowledging that I am indeed a person and that a lot of what I perceive to be “real” is construed as objectively intangible.

 Like emotions..

theories...

concepts...

...dreams. 

On a case by case basis, one’s feelings are subjective. About as unique as fingerprints. Emotions have the ability to drive perspective which then shapes and refines opinion. 

Everything is subject to change at any given moment for any given reason.

 That’s another absolute I have  complete confidence in no matter how lame and reductive that is.

I don’t know why I allow these feelings of intellectual inferiority affect me. I’m fully aware of the fact that I’m nowhere near even grasping a lot of concepts that are almost to the point of being common sense. It’s pretty embarrassing. 

Why do I always seemed to get whisked away in these broad ideals? 

How can I stay more grounded when touching on these subjects? 

I’d like to think I know better. At least I claim to know better. You can’t really claim to be intelligent if knowledge obtained isn’t applied. I like to think it’s how you decide to verb knowledge. How do you even optimize the way you adverb knowledge? efficiently? effectively? pragmatically? realistically? Hopefully the gamble is calculated.

It’s painfully clear that I willfully almost outright refuse to utilize these tools given to help make my life easier in a longer term way vs. refusing to spend spend 5 goddamn minutes paying attention long enough to get the gist. 

I wish I wasn’t such a slave to my emotions. A recurring nightmare I happen to have is a of a beast/beast man that’s captured me for consumption. I scream for rescue or at the very least express my anguish and all that comes out is silence. I guess I’m my own detrimental beast. I’ve always thought it was something used to temper my ego but I wonder if it just holds back my success? Can that be confused as one in the same? I’m not trying to survive the hardest or the best but has it come to a moment in time for that kind of mindset to be a necessity just to survive at all?

I’m feeling that I’m too comfortable to grow/evolve. Consistency, repetition and intent to improve/optimize systematic machines have a driving force to adjust details to optimize function. It’s unreliable to have emotions lead and lead blindly with your fingers crossed. Not everyone is blessed with all that dumb luck. Concepts without actual calculated reasoning is romantic. Ideal as it is, idealists aren’t grounded in reality. They’re caught up in their ideals

What kind of neurotic motive  feels to prove a working strategy vs stepping back far enough instinctively gauge your obstacle/reason for survival? vestigial organs and all? The idea of collective knowledge is interesting whether in accumulates within your lifetime, genetic material, or both.

Everything is subject to change at any given moment for any given reason no matter how subtle it is to pick up on. If you stake your claims now with interest you might be convinced what I’m trying to sell is such a deal by the end of this holiday season.