#I already have a baseline for a plot

[azar-rosethorn]

If Nickelodeon or Netflix or whatever company ROTTMNT is in the hands of doesn't announce that they're giving us season 3 by the end of the year I will make it myself istg

[c0rpsedemon]

insane 2 me that eiyuu senki has a translation b4 fate/stay night does

[writingwithfolklore]

Writing a Story from Start to Finish - Guide

                I see you guys in the tags and reblogs talking a lot about how you have a desire to write, but have no clue what to write about, or where to even start figuring that out. While starting any project can be incredibly daunting, I wanted to put together a little guide to hopefully make it a bit more accessible. Be warned, this will probably be a long post.

Step 1: Form an idea

All writing begins with this: an idea. Ideas can start as small as an object, or as big as a world or cast of characters. What’s important is that your idea genuinely interests you, and makes you want to explore it more.

                There are a million ways to gain inspiration for ideas, but my favourite method is a sort of brainstorm/mind map of all the little and big things you find interesting. Any tropes, characters, places, concepts, objects, animals, other stories, etc. you love—write them down. Then, start connecting the pieces. Each connection is one concept or idea you could explore further.

                If this doesn’t work for you, try using some writing prompts or check out 15 ways to spark new ideas.

                If you are a planner, proceed to Step 2. If you are a pantser, skip to step 7.

Step 2: Create your Protagonist

Now that you have a sort of concept or inspiration to work off of, you need your main character. There are about as many ways to create characters as there are characters themselves, and each method is going to work better or worse for every writer.

                At the barest minimum, all your protagonist needs is a Goal to work towards, a Reason for wanting it, and a Flaw that keeps them from having it right away.

                These three things can form a baseline character. Consider what the thing they want, why they want it, and what’s keeping from it says about them as a person.

                Rapunzel (from Disney’s Tangled) wants to see the ‘floating lights’ on her birthday. She wants to because she believes she will learn more about herself through seeing them. Her fear over disappointing and disobeying her ‘mother’ keeps her from it.

                My favourite character creation technique is actually Here—it takes you through creating character in order to create story.

                If that one doesn’t work for you, try this one. It is more focused on defining traits and figuring out the personality of the character first.

Step 3: Your Plot is your Protagonist’s Arc

As stated in the character creation technique I shared in Step 2, character is plot. By that I mean, the character’s journey is the plot of the story. We’re here to see the protagonist transform because of the circumstances incited in the beginning.

                So to form a plot, we need to know who the character is at the beginning, and what they need to learn by the end.

                Your character’s arc is A but B so C:

                A – your character and their flaw

                B – The conflict they go through

                C – how they change

“Obsessed with success, Jenny Beech works tirelessly to earn the approval of her strict parents and graduate top of her class, but when the new girl in town pulls her into a whole new world of excitement and fun, she must stand up for herself against her impossible standards and learn how to be a teen again.”

                This one sentence has everything we need to know about this story and character: “Obsessed with success (character trait/flaw), Jenny Beech works tirelessly to earn the approval of her strict parents and graduate top of her class (goal), but when the new girl in town pulls her into a new world of excitement and fun (conflict), she must stand up for herself against her impossible standards and learn how to be a teen again (change).”

                If you have these three things, congratulations! You already have a story. If you’d like, you may begin writing it now (skip to step 8). Or…

Step 4: Theme

                I did a whole post on theme you should check out here. Essentially, the big takeaway is that your theme is a lesson to impart to the readers—which means it is not a question, it is an answer.

                For the example given above, our theme would likely be something like, “Teens need to balance their additional responsibilities as they mature into young adults with the joy of being young and having fun.” Or, “Friends and a close social network is more important than having the best grades.” Or, “It’s important to take frequent time away from work in order to maintain one’s humanity.” Etc. Etc.

                Theme is conveyed through what your characters need to do to succeed (or what they do that causes their failure). If Jenny lets loose and suffers consequences for it in the end, we’re saying that she should have stuck to her studies rather than letting herself have fun. If she lets loose and is rewarded with a greater relationship with herself and her parents, we’re saying that was the correct thing to do.

Step 5: Outlining

                Now that we have a plot and a theme, we can outline our story. An outline is like a roadmap of what you’re writing. It can be as specific or broad as you want. My outlines tend to follow this structure, and I improvise the little stuff in between, but if you need to get all your ideas within your outline, that’s good too!

                Just make sure your notes make sense to you so when you need to know where to go next, you have a handy tool just for that.

Step 6: Worldbuilding

                Worldbuilding is probably where you’ll spend the most time because there’s just so much. However, I also find it one of the most fun parts. The minimal thing you need to know is your world’s normal, and how that normal is disrupted in the inciting incident.

                Jenny’s normal is school work and trying to impress her parents. The disruption is the new girl in town.

                Rapunzel’s normal is the tower and her hobbies. The disruption is Flynn breaking in.

                I did a more in-depth post on worldbuilding here, but the basics is just ask questions, explore consequences, and do plenty of research.

                Which brings us to…

Step 7: Research

                This can also be done after your first draft, but can’t be skipped entirely. It’s important when trying to convey experiences that may not be wholly your own, or unique perspectives, that you understand the context behind those things in the real world.

                Once again, ask questions, talk to people, and remain open to what you find.

Step 8: We can start writing now

                Now that you have all your planning ducks in a row (or have a good inspiration to jump from) it’s time to start writing! Either go from the outline you built, or just try out scenes. I have some tips for actually writing the dang thing that I’ll put here:

                Let me know how your writing goes, good luck!

[bengiyo]

We Are Sucks, and BL Will Be Worse When This Succeeds

We Are the series, the latest empty drivel from New Siwaj, has crossed a line for me that I cannot abide. This show is nothing more than loosely connected setups for BL moments that are easy to gif or clip for maximum virality, designed to fulfill a financial obligation to iQIYI and otherwise keep the B- and C-tier BL pairs occupied with work. This show is saying nothing about the human condition with any verve, and there is no queer subtext or text to pull from any of these characters that the viewer isn’t already bringing to the table. 

I had stopped writing Stray Thoughts for this show because it doesn’t really have much of a plot or story to tell, but I am not going to be able to continue this show past episode 5. This show is the BL equivalent of a cumshot compilation. It is designed exclusively as fap material to coo over known BL pairs smiling at each other. I was chatting with @twig-tea yesterday about how after five episodes we still don’t really have anything resembling an arc for these characters and how it’s just a bunch of BL dudes hanging out. Twig described it as “disingenuous to [even] call it a show” and “...a bunch of compatibility workshops strung together.”

I hate this so much. There is no story being told here. This is like watching actor reels on IG or TikTok. There is nothing here to hold onto other than your baseline fondness for the cast. There was a moment in episode 5 that felt completely unscripted between Aou and Boom that felt like Boom reacting to being teased by Aou and not a moment between their characters. They didn’t even let Aou’s character confess the specificity of his feelings because they don’t matter to this show! It doesn’t matter why he likes Boom’s character! Just that he does! Why does Boom’s character respond so positively to these feelings? Why didn’t he take initiative on his own before? What changed at all? What’s the goddamn story here? There’s nothing! We just make it up and enjoy the smiles.

I usually don’t want to bitch about shows I don’t like extensively on here, and I especially don’t like spamming tags with negative commentary or musing on shows. However, there are 11 more episodes of this empty nothing, and 30 more episodes of New Siwaj trash on the horizon. He has become the GMMTV BL Babysitter, and I am horrified by what this means for the genre. I try to stay patient with New because usually he captures some form of gay melancholy or angst in his shows, but there is none of that here in We Are. All of these characters know each other and are basically just hanging out for about an hour of TV. 

I worry about stuff like this being good enough to monetize. There’s nothing interesting for me in this experience with a queer lens. There is no real story being told, and caring about any details as if they matter leads to questioning the integrity of the characters (are we really doing a slave narrative in a college BL again?). It feels like the end product of giving up on chasing ratings and only chasing virality to monetize the talent for ad spots, concerts, fan meets, and merch. No longer do we even need to make stories about compelling romances between men. We just need to get passably attractive boys on screen together and just ask them to smile. 

What does it mean for the genre if GMMTV goes another step forward with this and no longer brings any robust writing to the BL table. Are we satisfied with BL as glorified slideshows of shippable actors? What happens when GMMTV is able to easily milk this over other robust productions? Is this just the filler fluff to keep people engaged with the network between their solid projects to prove their bonafides? BL has always struggled with depictions of queerness, but are we at the point where we don't even try to tell stories that even feel queer? Is just simply putting boys next to each other enough? I don’t like this at all, and it unsettled me as I watched five episodes of We Are only to feel nothing. 

I am always half-joking about being over New Siwaj, but I really am at this point. 

[sillysowa]

CHANGE

PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X FEM!VILLAIN!READER

GENRE: ENEMIES TO LOVERS, ANGST, MUTUAL PINING, COMFORT

WORD COUNT: 8K

WARNINGS: THEMES OF ABUSE! READER HAS AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR PARENT THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING! GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF INJURIES. DOES NOT FOLLOW ATSV PLOT.

AUTHORS NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO TOPICS LIKE ABUSE, FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED. I DID MY BEST TO LEAVE THE DESCRIPTION OF READERS GEAR VAUGE SO THAT YOU CAN IMAGINE WHATEVER YOU'D LIKE BUT READER AT BASELINE HAS FIRE ABILITIES + WINGS, AND A MASK THAT CAN SHOW EXPRESSIONS LIKE A SPIDER-PERSON CAN. HOBIES PERSONALITY IS HEAVILY INSPIRED OFF OF HIS COMICS!

SYNOPSIS: YOURE SUPPOSED TO HATE SPIDERPUNK, BUT…WHEN HES THE ONLY ONE WHO TREATS YOU KINDLY…AND THE ONLY ONE WHO HELPS YOU WHEN THE PERSON YOU SHOULD TRUST BETRAYS YOU, HOW COULD YOU?

-

There was the sound of the city below, and the rushing of wind above, but there was nothing in between. You felt nothing; just coming to and completely delirious. Your head spun as you looked down on London, watching droplets of blood fall from…your body? Were you bleeding? You suddenly became aware of the familiar deep mumbling above your head and the secure arms that held you tightly. You looked down at the red suit and black leather worn by who held you and pieced it all together, albeit slowly; you were in your rival’s arms, bleeding out as he was web slinging through the sky. You groaned, growing privy of injures that you didn't know you had, immediately feeling Hobie’s arms tighten,

“It's okay, you're gonna be okay.” You heard his deep voice faintly, sounding panicked and far away. You squirmed, wincing and crying out,

You couldn't feel your wings.

– 

Spiderman, Spiderpunk, asshole–whatever you wanted to call him—he was a royal pain in your ass. He’d cocoon you inside indestructible webs when he caught your gang in a crime, beeline to you when he was fighting off the group, and web you down whenever he’d catch you lurking on the rooftops at night, leaving the scene slinging away with a sly or flirty remark. At first, you just assumed that he must have sensed weakness in you–not taking you seriously and toying with you for kicks…it could have been true and honestly probably was, but you were ready for a change. You had changed significantly since you and Spiderman first met. He didn’t see you for a very long time while you worked out and trained, touching up your fighting skills, reaction time, and stamina–never slacking off. It didn't take long for you to surpass your once superiors, becoming your Master’s most prized possession. 

Your Master was all you knew for a guardian figure. They called you their ‘Firefly,’ as you had phoenix-like wings and fire based abilities that they were oh so proud of. What you didn’t know, was that they formed your supernatural self, nurturing you in their lab after destroying your genetic makeup until you were ready to be their perfect prodigy, yet they didn't want you taking on their largest mission–killing Spiderman. They told you that they knew about the way he targeted you and took you down with minimal effort and they hated it–not wanting to see you caught in a life-or-death fight with him.

“He may have never hurt you, but if he wants to, he will.”  They would say. You never knew that it was all lies, only hating the idea of your Master looking down on you. 

So you would become Spiderman’s biggest threat–telling yourself it was not to prove a point to them, but to you.

–

You were ready for this city to finally start taking you seriously; buildings emptying at the glow of your fiery wings, blinds closing and light flicking off at the sound of your crackling fire, streets clearing with screams of “Spiderpunk!” and “Help!” You believed today was the day.

The people of London already knew the sight of you meant trouble—often the most eye-catching of your master’s entourage even though you weren’t the most dangerous, but you were rarely seen alone. It was alarming to the citizens who quickly emptied the dark streets. You felt a sense of confidence surge in your chest at the fear in their eyes just from you simply walking, lighting up the streets with a red-orange glow and wildfire-like crackling sounds. You didn’t get very far though, a faint booming guitar chord piercing the air nearby like a firework. You grit the soles of your gear into the ground, securing your mask and looking up to catch Spiderpunk swinging off a tall building, legs spread and hand outstretched in your direction,

“Ay, what do you know?! If it isn't the Firefly all by herself! What do you think you're doing out here, lil phoenix?” His voice quickly gained volume as he swung full speed ahead in your direction, aiming to effortlessly web you up and leave the scene when he neared and took a powerful blow directly to the chin, flying into the wall like a magnet to metal.

He groaned, fallen on the floor and back slammed into the brick wall, “Damn! Where did you learn how to throw a punch like that? Did’ja friends finally decide to teach you the basics?” With squinty spider-suit eyes, he rubbed his jaw, comically ‘fixing’ it back into place before lunging like a jumping spider and tackling you with his arms around your waist. Your back hit the ground with a thud and you quickly kicked your feet up on his stomach and flipped the two of you backwards with your hands on his leather vest. You throw punches and hits with calculated precision and instead of being scared…Spiderpunk is pleasantly surprised at your newfound strength. He finds himself totally up for the challenge of fighting someone ‘worth his time.’ He web slings out from under you, jumping behind a nearby bench to put some distance between the two of you and attempt to apprehend you,

“Come on Spiderpunk, throw a punch! What are you, scared? Didn’t think you’d have to even try to beat me huh? Is that it, asshole?” You yell in frustration, hand clutching the back of the bench and clearing it like a track meet. He backpedals, never once getting violent with you–no hitting, punching or kicking, just strategically tiring you out until he can find an opening and restrain you.

“Come on now, you know this is just anotha cakewalk for your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.” He laughs in a sarcastic teasing way to rile you up, ducking to avoid your advances when you unexpectedly lunge at him, your masked heads knocking against each other and sending him falling over into a messy alley. Spiderpunk struggles against you before you slam your fist across his cheek, sending his head left before he cranes it back, grabs your ready fist, and then the other one when you raise it. You're both grunting and panting, his eyes squinty and your arms shaking like an arm wrestle when, eventually, he overpowers you and pushes you off him, wrapping you up like a spider to its prey and having the temerity to dust his hands off after,

“Well, I oughta say, tonight was full of more surprises than I would've ever guessed! Didn’t know you had all that fight in you, Firefly.” He said, casually leaning against the wall across from you with his foot up, wiping his wrist over his masked forehead and feigning exhaustion. Your face scrunched up in anger at the name, reserved for only your Master.

“Don't call me that! I don't need you underestimating me, Spiderpunk, and I don't need your pity–actually fight me next time!” You spit, “I’ll be back for you.” Your ablaze wings tear through the web restrains and you fly away, knowing he’ll let you go. He watched you leave into the night sky, cursing to himself at the throbbing pain in his jaw. He slumped off the wall, web slinging home with a sense of sympathy weighing heavy in his heart,

“Poor thing–all fucked in the head.”

–

Your Master has a long standing history with Spiderpunk. They were once a cop—devoted to their work and truly confident that they were doing the right thing. Then one day, this ‘Spiderman’ came along. He ruined everything; encouraging anarchy, winning the people's hearts and turning the citizens against the officers–but worst of all, he killed their brother who was also in the police force. Nothing was the same since, and they turned to a life of crime, building a force of people who wanted to do anything in their power to stop Spiderman. 

Spiderpunk had directly attacked their old headquarters before, growing more and more familiar with their motives, their methods, and more importantly, their members. There was a new lair now, sneakily hidden from Spiderpunk to keep him from learning more than he already knew.

What he did know was your Master was like a parent in your eyes. He knew you were unable to label anyone else as a guardian in your broken life, but damn it was sick to him. Your Master literally made you address them as such to enforce harsh power dynamics and keep you in your place. They mutilated your genetic code like a lab rat, but you can't remember a thing because you were completely comatose. They wanted to train you until you were strong enough to fight for them, and then do nothing to prevent your death when the foreign chemicals in your body would eventually catch up to you. Worst of all, they don't want you around Spiderpunk because he knows the truth. They do everything in their power to keep you faithful to them because they know you'll be too strong on Spiderman’s side–you'll turn to him without sparing them a second glance if you knew the truth. 

They couldn't let that happen. They wouldn't let that happen. They swore it to themselves everyday.

–

You came quietly through the doors of the lair (which was disguised as just another house in a crowded street) keeping all noise to an absolute minimum to avoid the ‘where were you’ questions from your comrades. You were new to sneaking out, never seeing a point in it before this self-improvement journey of yours. You were lost in thought, walking to your room when a loud slam jumped you. You cursed and looked up to see none other than your Master standing in front of you, staring at you with an intensity that never meant any good, rendering the hallway placate. You looked up at them, fear taking over your bones.

“…Where have you been for the past hour?” Their dour tone sliced through the thick silence. You held eye contact like you've been told,

“I went out to train.” You answered, not the full truth but not a lie either. You looked up at them with a cold-sweat inducing anticipation rattling your knees. The silence was so loud, and your heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

You didn't even register that you had been slapped until you noticed you were no longer looking your Master in the eyes. Your face felt warm, stinging with pain as your eyes welled with tears that you fought back. They said nothing more, leaving you to stand stunned in the hallway for a long moment and then trudge into your room to fall asleep feeling numb. 

–

You knew you must have done something to deserve the punishment of getting slapped and grounded, but you also felt that your Master just didn't understand what you were doing— that you were doing it for them. You were going to help them take down Spiderpunk! You were going to do what they had always wanted! After thinking for a long hour in your room, you decided you just needed to be more sneaky. That way, they couldn't be mad at you in the end when you finally got their worst enemy in the lair, bound up and defenseless. 

Nothing could stop you from training mercilessly for days, readying yourself to fight Spiderpunk again. You lived for the shocked expression on his spider-suit mask when you threw punch after punch at him, taunting him with an attitude that he had never seen from eager but stupid you–you who had failed to even get close enough to attack him in the past. He had wondered why he wasn't seeing you with the usual group for a couple months, almost worried that your Master had done something.

Time passed and the few times you saw Spidepunk, you were with a bigger group. You were no longer the first person he took down, rather the last—he struggled more and more fighting you these days. It had been days since your last 1V1 encounter and night fell—this time, you waited until you were absolutely positive that your Master was asleep before you left out your window, flying into the night with your blazing wings. You knew how Spiderpunk was going to fight you this time, playing a completely defensive game until he saw an opening to take you down, and you were prepared for it–ready to counteract it. You didn't want to leave this battle completely unscathed like last time, you wanted a fair fight.

–

Hobie sat on a distant rooftop, overlooking London in the darkness of the night. He had had a very ‘normal’ day in Spiderpunk terms—help a little old lady across the road, stop a handful of thief’s dumb enough to steal in broad daylight with his spidergang, and graffiti a couple political statements in places that no one else could reach. He chose a rooftop garden area to relax, chewing his bright pink bubblegum and strumming on his guitar with his heavy boots hanging over the ledge.

Hobie thought about you, he thought about Y/N L/N. It was difficult to fight someone who was so misguided, so fixated on a dream that would only hurt them more. He didn’t know what he could do to get to you—to get you comfortable enough with him to even believe a word of what he’s been dying to tell you. Hobie needed to save you from your Master and the twisted ideology they had drilled into every fiber of your being.

He knew no one else would understand why he cared the way he did. Hobie had a soft spot for you and your gang because he knew of the lives that you were all robbed of.

He strummed his sticker-covered guitar to the bridge of ‘Change (In the House of Flies),’ looking down at the bursts of color that his guitar cycled through in time with each chord he played.

There was a fleeting moment of tranquility, then his spidey-senses went wild, a fiery glow seen from behind him. 

Hobie didn’t move—he didn’t even flinch—he just softly finished the song, 

“I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be seein’ you again.” Hobie quipped, getting on his feet and slinging his guitar behind him, turning to face you.

You looked him over—his spiky accessories, his expressive messy spider-suit eyes, his guitar and all its color. You wondered what he could have done to become the center of all your Masters hate. You knew it had to have been pretty significant, even if you didn’t understand it.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Spiderman.” You said, voice muffled through your mask. Now it was Hobie’s turn to take you all in. You had definitely made some augmentations to your gear since he last saw you, he could see how touched up it looked and he started to worry you might catch him off guard this time, so he tested the waters. He circled you slowly and instantly you tensed and out came exactly what he feared—new weaponry.

Fiery blades ignited out of your wrist gear as you put your hands up in a block. Hobie was actually impressed,

“Well would ya look at that! A shiny new weapon, eh? did ya make that all by yourself, lil phoenix?” He inquired, leaning in with typical comical Spiderman enthusiasm. He got too close for comfort, resulting in you swinging your burning blades at him with a grunt. Hobie lurched backwards, making a shocked noise,

“Alright alright, trying to show me what those new blades can do huh? Come on, come get me.” He teased, web-slinging away and starting a chase. Hobie was often chasing, not entirely used to the reverse, but he felt adrenaline pump through his veins at the sound of your yells, chasing him like a rabid animal through the rooftops of London.  

This time, you knew well what he was doing—attempting to tire you out and get you at your weakest without even having to lay a finger on you, then restrain you like last time—so you came to the fight with a couple tricks up your sleeve.

You ducked down into an alleyway, seemingly headfirst, running down the wall and up the next. 

Spiderpunk looked behind him, expecting to see your struggling form desperately trying to keep up with him, only for his heart to stop at the sight of you—or the lack thereof. 

His reflexes came in handy when he saw a faint glow out of his peripherals. He swung from a high-hanging sign when you lunged at him from his side, giving him minimal time to react. He tried to web to another building, but he was too slow. Your fingers closed around his neck, slamming him into the wall, his long fingers instinctively came up to your wrists, only to falter away when he nearly slices his hands clean off on your blades. He instead opts to use his boots to try and kick you away, but blades instantly ignite out of the gear surrounding your ankles,

“You really came prepared huh? Whipped up all this new gear in a matter of days just to see me? You’re so thoughtful.” He grit out, still trying to not harm you if he doesn’t have to. He was in the middle of calculating your next move when you brought your head back like you were going to knock him out with it. Instantly, Hobie ducks down, thrusting his spiky spider-suit mask at your chest and pushing away from you when you flinch and let go of him. 

“Spiderpunk!” You screamed, jumping up and lunging at him, sending artificial webs his way. He rolled and dodged them, yelping in surprise,

“Look at you! I mean, you’re basically a spider woman now!” He shoots his own webs, snagging your ankle and effectively stumping you, if only for a moment when your heated blades sear them off. You angrily throw yourself at him again, falling to the ground when he dodges. Suddenly, a loud crack is heard as your left ankle gear slams against the solid rooftop, buzzing and crackling as it breaks. You hiss and grunt angrily, and Hobie’s brain lights up. He has to break all your new toys to take you down, that’s all. 

Spiderpunk suddenly jumps at you, tackling you onto your back to keep your wings useless and webbing your biceps down, then your thighs—they’re the spots where you have no defense mechanisms, although you’re a lot stronger than he’s used to seeing you so he remains cautious. He grabs hold of your ankle, pressing his palms into the gear and sending electric volts through it—he risks the chance of hurting you, but when he begins to fry the electrical cords and sees only confusion in your eyes, he continues. The gear fizzes and smokes as it breaks, but Hobie feels the shock of it all, wincing and grunting as he get electrocuted. 

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, and you scream,

“No! No!” You strain against his webs, freeing one arm and swinging your fist at the man, slicing the cheek of his mask only for him to grab your bicep and pin you back down with a struggle, electrocuting himself once more as he kills your right wrists gear with a zap!

You look up at him, paralyzed with confusion as he still refuses to hurt you, only breaking your gear so you’ll run back home again. You won’t take it, breaking free your left fist the very next second and screaming in anger when he pins it down with all the strength he can muster.

"Why are you doing this? Why won't you ever fight me?" You scream emotionally, struggling against him as he uses all the strength he has left to fry your last piece of protective gear while you struggle against him, kicking and pushing to no use. He doesn't speak at first, breathing heavily, and sighing,

“You really wanna know?” He mumbles, looking at you through his mask with squinty eyes, “Or do you just want an answer that will make you happy?” He asks, leaning back and getting off of you completely, but keeping you restrained on the ground.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You ask, genuinely caught off guard, letting out a scoff, “Dont pull some weird mysterious bullshit with me-”

“I’m serious.” He cuts you off. It doesn't sound harsh or angry, it’s strangely genuine. “The truth hurts–worse than anything I could do to you if I fought back the way you so badly want.” He says through his thick accent, sitting beside you and looking out at the city.

You looked up, knocking your masked head on the hard surface while you thought in angry silence. What could Spiderpunk have to tell you? Why did he think it would matter to you? You hadn't really guessed there was a good reason for why he didn't fight you, just assuming he pitied you. You let your head loll to the side and looked at the spikey masked man with dark skin peeking through the cut you left in his mask, your curiosity winning,

“I…I’m all ears.” You mumble, your voice hoarse. 

He just looked at you for a moment, then he cursed and ran his large palm down his covered face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what to say or how to say it. How do you tell someone their whole life is a lie? Furthermore, they're fighting for a cause that will end in their demise? He gazed off into the sparkling lights below,

“It’s not easy to say so i’m just gonna tell you as bluntly as possible. I’ve known that lousy sod you call ‘Master’ for years now…they’re not at all who you think they are.” He starts, missing the way your body stiffens, “And…neither are you. They actually…made you what you are. You weren't supposed to have the abilities you have but they-”

“No, no I'm not listening to this, this is useless! You're full of shit!” You spat, arching your back enough to set your wings free, cutting through the webs, triggering him to jump up and put his palms out defensively,

“Hey, hey! You said you were all ears right? Don't go throwin’ a wobbly on me now! Just listen okay? I’m trying to save your life!” He frantically begged, walking towards you slowly with bent knees and a tilt of his head, trying his absolute hardest to not come across as a threat. You weren’t having it.

You got close, “You can go to hell with your weird conspiracies about my Master and I! I-I’ll never believe you—you don’t even know me!” You yelled your fists up defensively. You felt weak and angry with your gear useless, and you didn’t exactly expect a deep discussion about your life and what it might or might not be,

“I do though, Y/N. That’s…that’s what I’m trying to get at here.” He states, not once taking his eyes off you. He watches as your eyes flicker wide open, your guard faltering for only a moment. You stand there stunned, the silence of midnight surrounding both of you, until you finally have the courage to speak up,

“Is…that how you know my name?” You state the obvious. You know the answer, but you want him to be the one to say it.

“Yes, because what i’m telling you is the truth. Your Master, they used to be an officer until I came around and fought against the police force…one day, there was an attack from a villain force and I couldn’t save their closest friend…but from what they saw, it looked as though their blood was on my hands. They changed overnight—quitting the force and becoming the worst villain overlord of this city. They built their own empire, and they bought you. You and the rest of their army, you’re all captives who were brainwashed and robbed of your lives.” He finishes, full of anticipation as he looks at you.

There’s a long silence, as you take it all in. You don’t know what to say to do for a while, internally struggling on if you even believe his words or not…but the longer you think about it…you’re sad to admit the more sense it starts to make.

You don’t remember having any sort of childhood, no matter how hard you thought, and you’ve only ever known your Master and their orders on how you should live your life. You were lost in thought, puzzle pieces slowly fitting together, and Spiderpunk just watched you patiently. You thought about how he looked at you, how he refused to hurt you, and how he seemed to genuinely mean every word he said…It was too much to take in all at once.

“I’m sorry, I-I can’t.” You stammer out, your voice cracking as you back up.  Your wings crackle with burning fire. He doesn’t follow you, just stands still as you walk backwards, then turn and fly off. The wind whistles as you fly home faster than you ever have in your life, your thoughts racing a mile a minute with every flap of your wings. Hobie watches you fly off into the sparkly night sky like a burning shooting star, sighing in relief. 

—

That night opened your eyes, and nothing was the same between you and your Master since. You pulled back and unintentionally started acting cold, now you were afraid they were noticing. They had been randomly gifting you things or spending time with you, a lot more than they ever do. You were starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable and anxious as the days went on, and strangely, you decided you wanted to clear some things up with Spiderpunk—you just needed to find a way to sneak out without your Master noticing with all their excessive hovering over you these days.

It was dawn, and you had just finished the dinner that they insisted you have with them. Your Master had finished eating and was now cleaning both your dishes when you quietly headed to the door and slipped on your jacket,

“Going somewhere?” They asked questioningly, not turning from their spot at the sink but still instilling nausea in you from their tone alone. You hesitated for a second, then slipped on your shoes,

“Just going on a walk.” 

“Right after eating? Shouldn’t you give it an hour or two?” They pressured.

“I’d rather walk while it’s still relatively light out, I won’t be gone long.” You countered carefully, trying to keep the peace the best you could. You reached for the door handle, your back turned to them when you heard the water shut off, footsteps, and then felt their arms around you, turning you into their embrace. It was uncomfortably silent, and their hands suddenly tightening on your jacket felt horrible,

“I know you’ve been lying to me.” They murmured, their grip strong as they feel your body go rigid for a moment. You stall. They release you and stare coldy,

“I-I don’t know what you’re-“ The hardest slap you’ve ever felt lands across your face and cuts you off. It burns like hell and leaves your head blank for a moment. You look down only to get your eyes forced upwards from a pressuring grip on your jaw,

“You know you can’t keep secrets from me…I will figure out what you’ve been doing, my Firefly, and you won’t like it.” They grumbled, pushing you outside and slamming the door.

—

There had to be at least five cops chasing after as you careened around the block, all having yelled at you when you raced out of a small jewelry store with hands full of anything shiny and expensive looking that you could loop around your fingers. You zoomed down the dark street and caught a myriad of unfortunate obstacles ablaze in your wake. You were trying to cause as much of a scene as humanly possible—It was working.

You turned to look behind your shoulder right as Spiderpunk swung down towards you, one hand high above his head and the other swinging a web straight for your abdomen. When you were about to redirect your focus ahead of you, you’re left with no time to process your masked ‘rival’ headed straight for you before pulling you up into the sky with him. A scream tears out of your throat from shock and you can’t move as your body is pulled through the sky, golden rings and necklaces spilling from your fingers. The loud hollering of Spiderpunk is echoing around you before he pulls you onto a rooftop, both of you rolling onto the building. He grunts and pants, looking at you as he lays on his side, propped up on his elbow,

“How’s my favorite little villain doin huh? Long time no see…I was starting to miss your pretty mask.” He pulled you towards him by his webs like Scorpion, before tearing it when you were close enough, “Was there a reason you caused such a dilemma down there or did ya just miss me?” He smirks, pretending to run a hand through his hair. He was clearly in a good mood today.

You sigh, full of emotions and slightly bothered by his over-the-top entrance and flirty behavior, “There’s a reason, asshole…I need to talk to you.” You confess, sitting up in a comfortable position while he mirrors you, leaning his head in his hands. He stays silent and only nods, allowing you to continue, 

“I thought about what you said—all of it. Things weren’t the same when I woke up that next morning. I still don’t trust you but I don’t really hate you the way I used to…because of what you said I sorta started to think for myself. I came to see you today to ask you a couple of questions and maybe get some answers?” You whispered, voice soft as you looked into his masked face. The moonlit night was cold and dark. It left you shivering with a sense of anxiety squeezing at your lungs. He nodded once more, leaning in,

“What can your friendly neighborhood spiderman do for you?” He asked with an audible smiled, trying to ease your obvious distress.

“Who was I?” You blurted out.

He shuddered, expecting the question but still feeling underprepared for it. He exhaled through a buzz of his lips and clicked his tongue a couple of times,

“That’s a difficult question, doll. To put it simply, you’re a normal girl who was supposed to live a normal life with her normal parents—they were some of the many that were killed by the multiple heinous villains that terrorized London a few years ago. You weren’t too much younger than me when you were forced into a hostage situation by the killers, soon after you were sold. I couldn’t save you all before the brainwashing, and I couldn’t get to you like this until…now.” He admitted. He felt sympathy knowing that you were sitting in front of him, probably feeling as though you were suffering the consequences of his incompetence—but the thought never crossed your mind. You just wished you knew that girl, the one who was robbed of her normal life, but you felt that moping was useless, 

“Well, what can I do? I mean i’ve basically learned that my whole life isn’t at all what I think it has been and i’ve been chasing after the one person who was kind enough to tell me the truth-“

“You didn’t know any better.” He corrected, “I tried to go easy on you…couldn’t bring myself to fight such a sweet, misguided, girl.” He admitted genuinely.

“I am so stunned…I mean I never thought you’d be able to be this close or say these things to me without attacking you.” You teased, looking at the way his eyes scrunch up and his knees come close in a laugh, “I…I don’t know how to thank you. All I’ve done has been attacking you every chance I got because my Master painted you out to be some threat. I never thought for myself until you told me the truth, and now you’re being so nice to me, Spiderpunk.” You sighed.

Suddenly, he shifted before reaching his hands up to his neck and pulling his mask off, revealing his identity to you. The newly unmasked Spiderpunk shook his hair slightly, and looked at your still masked face as you took in every detail of him. He had deep brown skin, messy wicks, plump lips, a big nose with a ring on the side, deep set eyes complimented with pierced eyebrows and high cheekbones. He had the face of a model and it was no surprise that that effected your ability to breathe for a moment,

“You can call me Hobie.” He said with a cheeky tone at your silence, leaning back, “And you don’t have to thank me, just glad I could help.” He answered. He looked at you solemnly, his heart warming at the idea of helping you. “But you can at least make us equal and share a taste of your secret identity.” He winks, leaning in eagerly.

You roll your eyes and trail your hands up to your own mask, removing it and watching as his eyes scan you in the low lighting, taking in your appearance. You expected something different than what you got, your stomach dropping at the sudden look of shock on his face. You felt anxiety well up in a matter of seconds before he speaks,

“Who did this?” His deep voice lingers in the air and you’re left with no time to process his words, his hands that were reaching for you stuttering when you flinch, “Y/N, who hurt you?” He asks you, stern but gentle, looking into your eyes with his large hands gently on either side of your head to examine the red blistering slap mark. You can’t even respond, your mouth open but no words coming out. You both know the answer. 

Hobie knew there was a possibility your Master was hurting you, but this just confirmed it and left him feeling inexplicably enraged. 

“I’m sorry, I-“ 

“Why are you apologizing? You have no reason to be sorry, If I had known I…I would have stopped this a lot sooner.” He whispered, gaze soft as he instinctively holds your head to his chest, almost motherly. 

You just try to focus on stabilizing your breathing, the comforting hold new and strange to you. You never would have expected this, that’s for sure.

Time goes by, Hobie allowing you to sit in front of him again while you eventually talk about your relationship with your Master. It’s difficult, and Hobie has to thank his lucky stars for his ability to remain expressionless, because if not, he probably would have cried or thrown up several times. It becomes emotional for you as you wrap up, Hobie feeling his gut twist at the sight,

“It’s alright. I-I’m not going to let you be in that place much longer. I’m going to stop them okay? I’ll be helping you out of there soon.” He spoke clearly, his hands on your shoulders to keep steady eye contact. You felt uneasy at the idea of your Master and your unsteady relationship. You didn’t want to see them hurt but you knew that how they had treated you all these years was wrong, especially if what Hobie said was true. It was conflicting, and you were scared. You tried your hardest to trust Hobie, but you had only just opened up to him…so could you really? Was it safe?

“Okay…bye, Hobie’.” Was all you said before you parted, disappearing into the dark of the night. Hobie plotted, swinging far behind after a lot of careful thought and a ton of unusual hyperactivity from his spidey-senses.

—

The door creaked louder than it usually does—just your luck. You cursed as you held the handle all the way twisted until it was in the frame, manually twisting it back into place to keep the house silent. You were on a mission, and it couldn’t wait. You walked your way into the basement and into your Master’s secret laboratory. This was where they kept all of their ‘work stuff.’ You had never cared about anything in the dingy and dark room until now…you never knew any of it would pertain to you. You sifted though their stuff, everything seemingly kosher until a file, stuffed in the back of the lowest cabinet of their desk with the bold printed letters ‘Y/N L/N’ splattered over it in red ink called to you among all the other tan files. You wasted zero time in pulling it out and investigating. The file was full of information about you—things that you didn’t even know about yourself; the day you were bought, the chemical makeup of your fucked-up genes, and the day that you were…no…that couldn’t be right…the day that you were supposed to die? Your heart stopped. You read the date over and over again, adrenaline rushing through your body and pumping blood straight to your head. You couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Your Master horrifyingly lingered in the doorway, watching as you trembled in unbridled terror. Why the fuck did you have a pre-determined death date? You tore your gaze off the paper, looking up and jumping when you saw, to you absolute dismay, your ‘Master.’ 

“Y/N. I’ve heard that you made a new friend! Is that right, my little Firefly?” Your master seethed through their sickening smile. You had never seen them this angry…it terrified you, but your adrenaline was stronger than your fear.

“I know who you are…and…I know who I am. You’re a sick person, and you’ve been lying to me my whole life!” You yelled, defensively staring them down with as fierce of a face as you could muster, “You destroyed the person that I’m supposed to be! You bought me out of a hostage situation to build your own suck army! Worst of all, you have a predetermined death date for me? What the fuck do I look like, perishable goods?” You scream.

“Quit acting dumb, child. If you were smart enough to understand maybe you wouldn’t be so angry at your loving Master. I did what I did to give you a life worth living. I made you who I made you at the cost of your life span shortening. Would you rather live a long, boring, and sad life with no parents and no purpose? Or would you rather life a fulfilling life with me?” They spat, anger present in their red eyes.

“I would rather die than live with you any longer. Spiderpunk told me the truth and I believed him because it makes sense! He was the first person to ever let me think for myself! He has never hurt me the way that you have!” Screaming, you threw the file onto the ground, the contents spilling out at your Master’s feet and your wings burning hot. Embers flicked across the room, catching small things on fire. Your Master had had enough.

“Is that so? And what exactly do you intend on doing with that information, hm? Run away from the loving,“ they flip the desk as it begins to burn, sending wood and fire all over as they come closer, “supportive,” they slam their fist into your side and kick your feet out from under you, “family that I’ve pioneered for you? You’d leave that all behind to follow a brain-dead, arachnid, anarchist who killed my loved ones?!” They scream, pulling you by your wrist out of the office and into the basement, shoving you down onto your stomach and crawling onto of you harshly. Your wings were as intense as your emotions—your horror, sadness, and anger all causing the flames to burn unusually hot and wildly—but your Master didn’t care. All they saw was red.

“You know what happens when you go against my rules, Y/N. How dare you do the one thing I specifically instructed you against.” They snapped, tears pooling out of your eyes as you struggled to breathe. Your eyes shot open as you heard their hisses in pain and felt their hands tighten around the base of your blazing wings. Your heart raced as fire embers flung around the room and you felt a sharp tugging, triggering you into screaming uncontrollably,

“No! No! Please, stop it! Master, I’m sorry! please d-don’t! What are you doing?! I’m-I’m sorry, please!” You screamed, feeling the extension of your body being torn out of your spine, uselessly screaming in agony. You were kicking and crying as you felt the most uncomfortable pain you had ever felt in your life. You were helpless, the room around you catching on fire as your powers go haywire. You didn’t know who to call, but the one name you knew started spilling from your lips,

“Hobie! Hobie please help me!” You cried, voice cracking and hoarse as the building rapidly started to burn. Your master brought their heel up digging it into your lower back as leverage as they grunted and pulled, fueled on your screams alone. You let out one last scream of Hobie’s name before it all faded to black.

—

Hobie had no idea where he should be looking for you, never having located your Master’s new hideout. He relied completely on his senses, a game of ‘hotter’ and ‘colder.’ He raced around like a madman, ignoring the excited screams of “It’s spiderpunk!” However, soon the screams became about a fire, and his senses were overwhelmed with a buzzing feeling. He snapped out of it and looked down to see a house on fire, mentally battling on if he should continue searching for you or deal with the house fire, opting for the latter. When he Hobie leapt down, he got a sinking feeling that he had found you. 

He tore through the burning building, groups of familiar villains racing out of the doors and windows. He kept low and crawled like a spider when he heard a broken scream of his name, so pained and so desperate. He nearly tripped down the burning basement stairs and took in the horrific scenery. 

Your blood was all over the floor, surrounding (what Hobie prayed was) your unconscious body. Your Master was panting, and holding your bloody, fleshy, wings. They had never looked this truly evil, staring down at you with no remorse until they noticed Hobie’s presence,

“Spiderpunk.” They stated, tossing your wings into the calmed with burning with rage,

 “I think it’s time for our long overdue last dance, ‘Master.’” Hobie grumbled, circling them. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” They smiled, chucking a knife from their belt at his head, watching as he expertly dodges it and maneuvers around the collapsing room combating with bloodshed heavy on his mind. There’s a symphony of punches and stabs, Hobie was growing bloody and angry. He was kicked into the fire his face whacking across a burning plank and causing him to cry out. Hobie shook his head and screamed, lunging at them, 

“I’m gonna make you wish you never payed your hands on her.” Hobie grunted, his grip tightening around their throat as they desperately tried to pull him off. All Hobie could think about was what he could have done to save you all these years; if he had known the torture you were enduring at their hands he would have helped you sooner. He knew the whole time that it was doomed, but he didn’t know how to save you. 

Hobie felt a crunch, and he snapped out of it, finding himself on top of your Masters now dead body. he pulled his hands back, wiping them off on his jeans and spitting down on the corpse of your abuser. Turning rapidly to scoop you into his arms and burst out of the burning building. The fire department was there, and ready to take care of it, but Hobie needed to get you as far away as possible.

—

There was the sound of the city below, and the rushing of wind above, but there was nothing in between. You felt nothing; just coming to and completely delirious. Your head spun as you looked down on London, watching droplets of blood fall from…your body? Were you bleeding? You suddenly became aware of the familiar deep mumbling above your head and the secure arms that held you tightly. You looked down at the red suit and black leather worn by who held you and pieced it all together, albeit slowly; you were in your rival’s arms, bleeding out as he was web slinging through the sky. You groaned, growing privy of the injures that you didn't know you had, immediately feeling Hobie’s arms tighten,

“It's okay, you're gonna be okay.” You heard his deep voice faintly, sounding panicked and far away. You squirmed, wincing and crying out,

You couldn't feel your wings—and it all came back to you. Your ‘Master’ had pulled them completely out of your body, and now you had never felt so light in your entire life. There were gaping holes in your back, and cuts that littered your skin from your struggle. You felt robbed, but oddly, you felt free. However, nothing could compare to, above all, how much pain you were in. You clung to Hobie, becoming aware that you’d have no way to support yourself if you were to fall, but Hobie held you tightly, telling you he would never drop you without saying a single word. 

He landed somewhere unfamiliar, carrying you through a window with an odd amount of calculated grace. He set you down on what you assumed was his carpet, and you didn’t realize he was currently in front of you, helping you onto your stomach. You took his hand and allowed him to help you, gasping and whimpering when your entire body hurt.

“Easy, love, m’gonna take care of ya.” He whispers. He tears your shirt clean off, beginning to clean your wounds,

“Ah! Hobie!” You mumble, wincing.

“I know, I know, it’s gonna hurt love m’sorry.” He says in the most soothing voice he can.

He bandaged your cuts, and he feels his heart sink with every pained noise you make, watching you fiddle with his carpet to take your mind off of how it all feels. When he’s finished, he slips a clean shirt over you and he scoops you up—laying you down on his soft couch.

“Your wounds are deep love, but they’re not unsalvageable. Give it time and you’ll be feeling as good as new.”  Hobie smiled softly. He was covered in blood, ash, and grime, but no one had ever looked as beautiful as he did in that moment. He pulled the blanket off the back of his couch, draping in over you and tucking it in gently,

“I am truly sorry for everything, doll.” He said suddenly with raw emotion taking over. You looked up at him confused,

“Don’t…don’t be sorry, Hobie. You…you saved my life.” You murmured, exhausted and pained. 

He softly smiled at you, his eyes full of sadness as he forced himself to get up off his knees by your side,

“Well, i’ll be in the other room love, just holler if you-“ 

“Wait!” You interrupt. He stops abruptly, turning to look at you with confusion present on his face, scanning over you and taking note of the space you made in front of you on the couch,

“I don’t want to be alone.” 

And with that, Hobie feels his heart break. Your voice sounded so fragile and meek, and he never wanted to hear it sound that way ever again. He would feel horrible holding you in his state, but he would feel worse if he said no to you. Reluctantly, he walks over to you, unties his shoes, and lays down with you, holding you close and gently running his hands up and down the bandages.

You didn’t understand how your whole life could change in a matter of days—going from hating Spiderpunk with every fiber of your being, to being genuinely afraid of him not being in the same room as you. But…he’s the one who saved you. This whole time, he was the only one who truly cared, and you felt so blind to have not seen it. He held you closer, lost deeply in his own thoughts. Hobie’s mind raced with thoughts of your safety, and specifically the death date in your files. 

He decided he would worry about that another day, and for now, he would hold you closer.

[balioc]

Thoughts on the Barbie Movie

Hoo boy. Here we go.

This is long. Spoilers abound.

I

The movie is not, in any normal sense, a Barbie movie (like this or this or this or whatever). It is not a story of Barbie doing the kinds of things that Barbie does in stories. It is an endlessly postmodern and self-referential movie about Barbie, which is to say, about the Barbie franchise and its role in culture. Which is, at least plausibly, an interesting thing for a movie to be.

You probably knew all that already. But it does give us a baseline of "this movie kind of had to be political and discourse-y, one way or another." Or even, to be more specific: "to some large extent this movie had to be about feminism, explicitly, if it was going to exist at all." How could you talk meaningfully about Barbie's role in culture without touching on that stuff?

II

The evaluative TLDR:

Barbie is very ambitious, and in many places very fun. It is also deeply confused, and fragmented, about what it's trying to say and do. Often it raises genuinely interested problems/scenarios and then totally fails to address them, or else addresses them in ways that are incoherent. The text knows that it's doing this, and on several occasions kind of apologizes for it; a couple of times it more or less looks into the camera and says "sorry, we're not going to deal with this properly;" but, well, that's not a substitute for dealing with things properly.

There is also a streak of genuine political nastiness running through the film, in a place where the story really cannot afford it. It...doesn't match up, tonally or thematically, with some of the surrounding material. I have no background at all in cinematic stratigraphy, but I would be fascinated to learn about Barbie's editorial history, because I have the vague sense that a more-cogent (and more-interesting) story got hacked apart and then Frankensteined together into something much cheaper and worse.

III

The opening sequence of the movie is wild. You've seen most of it -- or you can, if you haven't, and you want to -- because it is the film's first teaser trailer. Girls are playing listlessly with baby dolls; a giant Barbie appears like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey; and then the girls enter a frenzy of destruction, bashing their baby dolls' heads against the ground.

I don't know whether I would have found it as disturbing as I did, if I didn't actually have a baby of my own. But speaking from the standpoint of a parent...yeah, wow, it's more viscerally horrific than most actual horror I've seen recently. The narration says some stuff about Barbie providing a new and more rewarding set of imagination games to play, but the visuals by themselves tell a message loud and clear, which is: Barbie will turn your daughters into infanticidal maenads. It wouldn't need any editing at all to be part of a shock-you-silly Reefer-Madness-y moral panic film.

Which is really good! And really interesting! It starts us off on an undeniable thematic note: there is something primal and powerful and very dangerous about Barbie.

IV

The very best part of the movie is probably the part that comes right after the opening, when we explore the movie's depiction of "Barbieland" by going through Barbie's Typical Day, before we get into any of the notional plot or metaphysics. It's joyful and charming in a consistent way. The gags are (mostly) great. The movie is in love with its base premise, and that love is palpable.

This sequence makes one thing very clear:

Barbie treats Ken like absolute dogshit. She is a bad girlfriend.

And it's taken seriously. I mean, it's played for laughs, almost everything in this movie is played for laughs, but...it's not mean-spirited, not here. It's not, like, "ha ha, Ken, what a contemptible loser." He's Pierrot, asking for very basic forms of affection and attention and respect, and getting the door slammed in his face over and over. It's honestly kind of heartbreaking.

That colors everything that comes later.

The movie doesn't forget this, or fail to acknowledge it. At the end, after everything, Barbie does apologize to Ken for her treatment of him. It's a halfhearted and supremely unsatisfying kind of apology, especially in context, but...it's there, in so many words! I'm not making it up! This thematic foundation was laid down, not-very-subtly, right at the beginning!

V

This movie, which is at least trying to be ambitious, is juggling a million themes. Many of them are dumb at their core, and have no real promise; many of them lack any kind of narrative synergy with the others. But there are at least two which, I believe, (a) are genuinely worthwhile individually and (b) work well together in a story.

One is: What does it mean to be a symbol rather than a person? To exist, not for your own sake, but for the sake of influencing the dreams and culture of entities that you don't know and can't really understand?

The other is: What is the proper ordering of the relationship between Barbie and Ken?

I've seen a number of Takes in which people say, essentially: Couldn't this have ended with the Barbies and the Kens just being decent to each other and treating each other like humans? Couldn't there have been equality and mutual respect, instead of the weird uncomfortable girlboss-supremacist stuff that we got? And I sympathize with that impulse tremendously, but the honest answer has to be: No. We cannot have simple equality and esteem between Barbie and Ken, not in a movie like this. That would be a lie. Because this is a movie about Barbie-as-symbol, and when you're looking at Barbie through that lens, it is true and unavoidable that Ken is an appendage and an afterthought. You can have toys for boys; you can have dolls for boys (even if you call them "action figures" or whatever); for that matter, you can have dolls of boys for girls, so that girls can tell stories centering on male characters; but that's not what Ken is, and never has been. There are no Ken stories, and no one particularly wants them. Ken exists to be Barbie's boyfriend.

(One of the most painful moments of the movie comes during the resolution wrapup. Ken wails to Barbie that he has no identity outside her. She says, basically, "you have to find one, because I'm leaving you." And he...acts like he's had an epiphany, and does a little silly celebration. But his "insight" is just literally "I'm Ken," there's absolutely nothing there, and of course it's the most hollow and awful thing in the world because he really does have no identity outside her.)

VI

The movie's metaphysics are not even slightly consistent. The nature of Barbieland, and the ways that it affects and is affected by the real world, are completely different in every scene. In large part because the film can't ever pass up a gag, whether or not it's funny, no matter how much damage it does to the narrative and the theming overall.

The worst part is that the movie is not capable of saying anything remotely coherent about the real world, because its version of the "real world" is as weird and fake as its Barbieland. Will Ferrell's CEO of Mattel character is more of an absurd cartoon than any of the Barbies or Kens. Mattel HQ is some kind of surreal labyrinth tower out of The Matrix. A random receptionist can handle herself like James Bond in a car chase, for reasons that are [handwaved in a gag].

VII

So. Yes. There is the sequence in the third act where Ken takes over Barbieland with the power of patriarchy. This is pretty much as bad as it can be. And I say this as someone who thinks that the movie probably did actually need a plot thread doing roughly that kind of thing.

Almost as bad as it can be. The wannabe-patriarch Kens are gleefully goofy in a way that you can't help but love, or at least, I couldn't help but love it. Which has something to do with the writing and something to do with the charisma of all the Ken actors. The main Ken, Ryan Gosling's Ken, really seems to believe that being a successful patriarch has a lot to do with riding majestic horses and wearing a giant fur coat without a shirt, and when he takes over Barbie's Dream House he names it Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House -- that kind of thing.

But. Apart from that, it's real unfortunate. The justification for Ken's ability to conquer Barbieland with patriarchy, instantly and effortlessly, is -- in almost so many words -- they had no defenses against it, it was like the American Indians encountering smallpox. I...don't think I need to spell out the problems with that.

Worse yet, the whole sequence is soaked in, uh, let's call it "2014-era upper-middle-class social-status-oriented feminism." The real bad behavior on the part of the Kens, the stuff they do when they're not being adorably weird, is: mansplaining their extensive opinions about cars and movies, and wanting to show off how helpful and knowledgeable they are to "damsels" who are having trouble using machines or computers. Apparently that's the real problem at hand, the causus belli of the gender wars. The way that you deprogram a patriarchy-brainwashed Barbie is by...ranting to her about the stereotypical social irritations of upper-middle-class women (e.g. "you have to keep yourself thin but not act like you care about being thin," "you have to be a confident leader but also be nurturing and supportive," etc.) [note that the Barbies of Barbieland have never encountered these irritations, at least not at the hands of men]. And the girlboss victory montage consists of having the Barbies put on deceptive manipulative bimbo acts to stroke the Kens' egos, which sure is one way to depict girlboss feminist victory.

But the most unforgivable thing of all is the depiction of the patriarchy-brainwashed Barbies. They're lad-magazine caricatures, endlessly offering their Kens "brewski beers," dressing up as French maids, gazing on in cow-eyed adoration as their Kens mansplain stuff to them.

Barbie does, in fact, have a problematic history with the patriarchy. And it does not look like that.

VIII

@brazenautomaton:

Barbie isn’t someone who had to fight through the patriarchy to be seen as good enough to be an astronaut even though she’s a woman. Barbie’s a fucking astronaut because she’s fucking Barbie of course she’s good enough to be an astronaut.

That is...one aspect of the deep Barbie lore. It is the Barbie-nature that Mattel was trying to push, as far back as my own childhood; it's certainly the Barbie-nature that Mattel is trying to push in this movie. But there is another side to Barbie, even older and even more fundamental than Senator Astronaut Veterinarian Barbie, and you can't make a postmodern movie-about-Barbie without addressing it.

This is Barbie the fashion doll. The Barbie who is an icon of ultra-consumerist teenage girlhood, whose life is defined by her fancy clothes and her fancy car. The Barbie whose most salient traits are her hourglass figure and her long blonde hair and her feet that are always posed to fit into high heels. The Barbie of "math class is tough!" The Barbie who is kinda vapid and shallow and, yes, boy-crazy.

How can you tell a story about Barbie wrestling with the culture of patriarchy, and not talk about that? How can you depict Barbie falling victim to the patriarchy and have it look nothing like that?

...the movie does bring up the specter of Vapid Consumerist Barbie, briefly. When Margot Robbie's Barbie first comes to the real world and meets with the sullen teenage daughter character, she has a litany of That Thing thrown in her face, and it makes her sad. But nothing is ever done with it, and it goes nowhere.

IX

And it could all have fit together so well. That's the hell of it.

You can imagine the version of the story in which Ken conquers Barbieland with patriarchy, because the Barbies are actually vulnerable to patriarchal narratives, because Vapid Consumerist Barbie is the chthonic serpent that gnaws at the foundations of Senator Astronaut Veterinarian Barbie civilization. He successfully makes them all forget that they're senators and astronauts and veterinarians, and turns them into airheaded teenage fashionistas who think that math class is tough.

And this avails him, and the other Kens, nothing. Even within the "patriarchal" version of Barbieland, Ken is still an afterthought and an appendage. He still gets treated like dogshit, just in a different idiom.

Because the thing that has always been true of Barbie, though every age and every phase of her mythos, is: she is the main character of her own story.

This is what the movie was telling us all the way back in the horrific 2001-pastiche prologue, right? Even when Barbie was just a swimsuit model, the point was that she let girls tell stories about themselves (or idealized/aspirational versions of themselves), not about boys or babies. That is a truer, and more powerful, feminist message about the meaning of Barbie than any message the movie actually bothers conveying.

The gag scene practically writes itself: the brainwashed Barbies are sitting around in a giggly slumber-party huddle talking about how dreamy Ken is, and actual Ken cannot get a word in edgewise, he can't even get them to notice he's there, because even Vapid Consumerist Barbie is fundamentally centered in her own life. Her narrative is not about a boy, it's about the experience of being a girl (mostly engaging with other girls) who likes thinking and talking about boys. Which is very much beside the point, if you started out with the complaint that your girlfriend never paid any attention to you.

Patriarchy hurts men too, indeed.

X

The movie ends, as I've intimated, in a disappointing squidge of thematic confusion. Barbie announces that she never really loved Ken, and leaves him, because...well, because these days the smart-set target audience is allergic to romantic narratives that Produce the Couple, as far as I can tell. Then she goes to the real world and becomes a real girl, a move that means nothing and is nonsensical even by the standards of the Barbie metaphysics, because the storytellers don't know how to end her arc and Becoming a Real Girl is the sort of thing that feels like a meaningful conclusion.

The Kens...sigh...the Kens ask for equal rights in Barbieland, more or less, and get told, "nah, but we'll throw you some bones." And they're happy with this, more or less, because they're dumb and don't really care. The narrator says, approximately, "maybe someday they'll make as much progress as women have in the real world." Haw haw.

It's probably too much to hope for a movie like this to be willing to say something substantive about responsibility and kindness in relationships. It's almost certainly too much to hope for a movie like this to be willing to say something about the nature of love symbols and love narratives. But all the pieces really were there, laid out very conspicuously. The movie could have wrapped up with: Ken doesn't need to be more important than Barbie, he doesn't even need to be as important as Barbie, he just needs to be treated with human decency. And if little girls are going to play with Barbies, and fantasize about having cute guys hanging all over them -- maybe they should have functional models of romance and human connection in which to root their fantasies, and not terrible ones.

[comicaurora]

Have you seen the new Superman show on adult swim? Himbo Clark Kent rights

It's off to an extremely encouraging start! Thoughts under the cut!

I like how they portray Clark's super-strength and how comfortable he is flying and using super-speed. They really feel like innate characteristics of his body rather than powers he switches on and off - things he keeps toned down when people are watching, but things that are always present regardless. The number of times I've pulled a push door or shoved something that was stuck and thought "if I had super-strength I wouldn't get a Take Two on this because my hand would've gone straight through that" is clearly something the showrunners have also thought about. This Clark lives in a world of cardboard and physically cannot stop himself from putting his hand through it at least once a day.

There's a physicality to the way Clark takes hits that really communicates how little he feels them most of the time. Eyes open, mouth closed, immediately getting back into the fight after getting punched into a crater. This is stuff I also think about when I draw supernaturally tough characters in combat situations, and it's cool to see someone else doing it - especially since one of my very few complaints about the older DCAU is that Superman always took every hit like it was a fully incapacitating blow, which Worf'd him pretty constantly.

I also like that we have so far never seen Clark angry. We've seen him scared, flustered, disappointed - but not angry. Even in fights where he's taking serious hits, he's only motivated by wanting to protect and save people, even his opponents - he so far has never been motivated by a desire to destroy. That feels like very good writing for Superman.

It's currently a little unclear how exactly his powerset is scaling - it looks like the blue-eye-glow-and-suit-emblem thing is a legitimate powerup that lets him hit harder and recover faster than his normal baseline, but how exactly that works isn't clear yet - although that is very obviously going to be a plot point later, since they keep giving him little flashes of the story of Krypton's destruction and what shenanigans they were getting up to when it exploded.

On that note, Kryptonian tech has never looked or felt so otherworldly. I love the distorted electronic backward-voice choir they use exclusively for when Clark is on the ship. I love that hologram Jor-El can't speak English, but can clearly understand Clark - also this is the coolest Jor-El has ever looked. Some comics wax poetic about how Clark is an alien space god who only pretends to be human, but I like how this show is firmly putting Clark on the side of the audience with regards to how unsettling the "alien space god" vibes truly are. He can't understand the nature of the ship or the words of its holographic inhabitant, he's not really interested in what it means or where it came from - he just wants to know who he is, or rather who Superman should be. And I like that he concludes that Superman should be him - the heroics he was already doing, except this time on purpose. Superman should not be this spooky glowing alien god thing, even if that's the vibe we get from Krypton itself.

I like that the ship gave Superman his modern no-underpants-on-the-outside suit and Ma Kent was like "we can do better than that" and added the underpants back on.

I also like how much setup there is for future plot stuff that a DC-familiar audience can see coming. Clark hasn't used any of his vision-based powers yet, and it's possible he doesn't know they exist. No sign of Lex Luthor or Kryptonite yet, two problems we know will become more severe with time. We've already got Amanda Waller being stoically nefarious in the background. Young Hot Deathstroke is a hell of a design choice and I am Here For It.

I also appreciate how many little referential jokes are packed into the dialogue, ranging from the obvious "it's a bird it's a plane" to some hella deep pulls like Jimmy Olson's youtube channel.

And fundamentally I love how this show starts from the jump with the thesis that friendly, humble, Normal Man Clark is the real person, and Superman is the job that Clark Kent does. The title of the show is "My Adventures With Superman." The POV character is Clark. He is the "my" in that title. This is Clark's story about Superman.

I really, really hope Batman eventually shows up, because this Superman would make that hilarious.

[moodymisty]

Request: Guilliman / fem!reader and some sexy size difference 👀 trying to navigate the logistics of taking a primarch are either kinky or a nightmare 💫

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: The logistics of fucking a primarch or even just doing pretty much anything nsfw or not is a nightmare. I decided to add in a little Guilliman pampering in this one, since it kinda worked out. Enjoy.

Relationships: Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Oral(male receiving), Size difference, Porn without plot

Guilliman feels warm- almost overwhelmingly so - as you lay against his side.

He’s still asleep, the sun has just barely started to rise and as of yet he’s allowed himself some reprieve, if only for a little while. His ability to do this, just lay down even if only for a little bit, is such a rare treat.

In this warmth however it’s a bit too hot for you; Terra is beginning to heat up and the massive primarch’s body temp is a bit stifling. You don’t have any blankets on the bed, and while you lay in your thin and airy nightdress, Guilliman wears a thin pair of trousers and nothing else.

He looks so peaceful when he sleeps; the wrinkles on his face soften just a bit, now that his brow isn’t permanently hard set. It's a habit of his and sometimes you joke that his face will stick that way forever at this rate, and you'll either get told to shush, or he'll joke back that perhaps it already has.

His chest raises and lowers with his slow breaths, and for a moment you almost wish that the galaxy wasn't the way it was, so you could enjoy this more often. You’re also nearly tempted to climb onto his chest, until you look downward towards his legs that run far past your own.

With one leg out straight, Guilliman has the other one partly bent to the side, and through the thin fabric of his trousers you can clearly see that he’s half hard.

It’s something that just happens, you know, but it still makes your mouth water and piques your interest. Going back to sleep suddenly seems a bit less interesting now. No one has come to retrieve Guilliman either, be it one of his legion or one of his fellow primarchs, so you suppose there's time.

Painstakingly slow you pull away from his side, sliding downward until you make it to his hips. You consider crawling over his one leg to sit between them, but you’re too worried it would wake him up early and ruin this. Then again, it's entirely possible he's waking up or already is, and is simply letting you feel like you're being sneaky. You don't doubt the primarch is far more keen than baseline humans, even in his sleep. Then again while him being a light sleeper would make sense given his duties, he rarely allows himself sleep to begin with unless he's sure there's nothing to be done, so in these moments he takes solace in being not only safe, but uninterrupted; Knocking out like a light.

Your hands oh so gently grasp the top of his trousers and pull downward, watching his face turned to his left side as he sleeps. He doesn’t flinch surprisingly, and you’re able to gently grasp his cock with one hand and pull it over top of his waistband without waking him.

After you succeed in doing it, you swiftly realize that what you had in mind might have more logistical problems than you had thought in the height of your growing arousal.

In the moments you've managed to steal with him, those time are few and your relationship is new, it sometimes took hours before he managed to slip over half of his cock into you. With your mouth, you now have to try and fit at least some of him into your mouth without choking. A tall order, as Guilliman's tall stature has more than caused him to be proportional.

You are nothing if not persistent however, and accidentally choking yourself is more than worth the satisfaction of gifting something Guilliman rarely experiences.

leaning forward your lips softly brush over the tip of his cock, watching his face intently. He only shifts slightly, and so your lips part and you slowly try to take as much into your mouth as you can while one hand wraps around the base of his shaft, and your other hand keeps you from falling right over.

You don't get much farther than that, as once your head begins to slowly bob, he groans as he rouses from sleep; Blurry eyes blinking open.

“What…?”

His eyes focus and watches you lay at his hips, hand around his cock. He watches you struggle to take him into your mouth, spit pooling in the corner of your lips. One droplet trickles down your chin slowly.

“You never cease to surprise me,” He says tiredly, gravely voice laced with sleep and the just barely audible hint of arousal.

Any other time you might’ve attempted this Guilliman would have surely refused, not wishing to inconvenience you or waste time he needed to use elsewhere. He was a busy man, and he often time disallowed himself so many things for the sake of efficiency. As much as he might want to, he wasn't allowed to be selfish; As well as not knowing how to ask for such a thing in the first place.

But now, he’s been so worn out by the past few weeks that he finds himself victim to you curious games, and for once allows himself to be on the receiving end of your affection.

Your lips slide farther down his shaft and the tip of his cock presses against the soft palette at the back of your throat, causing it to tighten as you try to avoid gagging. Guilliman groans at the feeling but raises a hand towards you.

“Careful, I,” His voice hitches as your lips pull back slightly. “Don’t choke.”

You heed his warning but only slightly, still treading the line between taking as much of him into your mouth as you possibly can, and not choking. Occasionally your eyes flick upward to see his still sleepy expression change as your tongue and lips glide along his cock- the wrinkles on his face for once not exaggerating with anger or irritation. He's watching you so intently that it's almost embarrassing, but to see him unravel is worth the feeling of your face and neck feeling like they're on fire.

You hear Guilliman uncharacteristically swear into the quiet room, the only other noises being the sound of blankets rustling and the wet noise of slopping spit. The sun is just barely spilling into the room, you can see the beginnings of sunrays pooling on the bed and Guilliman's skin.

The primarch as far as you know has never been at the receiving end of things like this, so you seek to please him no matter the difficulty of the size difference. Your jaw hurts and your mouth waters from how full it is, but your body feels hot and stomach tight. You'd slip one of your hands downward to rub your clit if one wasn't holding you upright, and the other wrapped around the base of Guilliman's cock that you couldn't fit into your mouth. So it throbs begging, cunt clenching around nothing as you briefly imagine the cock in your mouth being stuffed inside of your cunt instead.

Later, perhaps.

With a groan Guilliman lets his head fall back, throwing his weight and making the bed shake. It accidentally bounces your head in his cock for just a moment and barely tickles the back of your throat, a feeling that makes the primarch have to prevent his hips from thrusting upward to chase the feeling even at the cost of you choking. He feels the vibration from your throat as you moan, trying to relax your jaw as your hand touches what of him you can’t fit. You swallow some spit mixed with precum that's pooled in the back of your throat, and the movement makes him noticeably jump.

You can feel he close, his cock twitches in your mouth and when you hear him mumble near incoherently in some sort of attempt to perhaps warn you, you prepare yourself as he fills your mouth only moments later.

The shaky, pleased groan is something you’d love to hear more of, and you already have a million and one ideas on how to do this again as you swallow his cum. In an embarrassing thought you realize just how much he has, it's a struggle to swallow it all at first and prevent it leaking down your throat.

He leans up on an elbow to look at you, his pupils still wide and face noticeably red. His lips are slightly parted as he pants from exertion but not the kind he's used to, brow furrowing once again.

“You will be the death of me, you know,”

He says as you pull your mouth of his cock fully and rub your sore jaw. You stretch it wide and wince at the ache, knowing it will hurt for a decent while now. You still smirk at him anyways and wipe the spit away from the corners of your lips.

“Is that better or worse than dying in battle?” Guilliman doesn’t answer, and you can see his mouth shift as he tries to hide his emotions.

“Come here.” He leans forward and grips your hip before gently tugging, emphasizing his words. When you don't move right away, he leans fully upright and grasps your waist, easily moving you with no effort on his part. Your difference in size can be quite advantageous to him, in that regard.

“Let me return the favor.”

[theminecraftbee]

Thought for making the Jimmy Shipping horror "feel" less mean re: shipping and dating games- throw in some other stock characters for people to get warped into, for people that aren't usually shipped with jimmy. Like, Mumbo becomes a generic Jealous Rival for Grian and Scar's attention, or Martyn gets flattened into a user interface "ask me anything!" hint fairy

okay so first off, property police, come on, martyn isn’t a tutorial fairy he’s another love interest,

second, this is a good point! the jealousy and rival angle is inspired. I also think maybe as a reference point I could go read some of the pre-existing like, “oh no I’m the villainess in a dating simulator!” genre for a baseline (if anyone has any suggestions) or see if I can find a good dating simulator example that isn’t a subversion like doki doki literature club (the problem is that most dating sims I see get big in western fandom are already subversions and/or jokes and if I want to be true to the genre I need an example played straight; not sure if cobbling together zero escape, ace attorney, and modern fire emblem s-rank supports actually gets me something that feels true to form).

the REAL answer to this is actually the hard thing though: take it seriously. and honestly that’s part of what would make the horror work; i’d need to still do very strong character writing even with the warped characters! like, I still need to capture what makes those ships COMPELLING… just warped in terrible ways. part of the horror is that gap there, after all, between ‘what this could be if we could accept the actual flaws in it’ and ‘what is presented in an “ideal” world, stripped of that’. so it’d definitely have to do with how strongly this can still be plotted out…

(also, a little getting over my constant push-pull between “loves writing things that are a commentary on fandom tropes” and “INTIMATELY aware I have 11k followers and like, god, I want to be responsible about that”. I could do it I just need to figure out how to do it in a way that satisfies the bees in my brain about that,)

[lemon-russ]

I have finally made more of The Gays (tm). And now with smut!

Bone apple teeth~

Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye (And i didnt have taglists before but since i tagged you guys before i assume you wanna know lol @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual)

Emperor's Saint (Pt. 3)

Prev || Next || Ao3

Fem!Custodes x Fem!Reader

CW: GAY, SUPER SAPPHIC GAY, FxF sex, Fingering, Eating out, what you expect from women fucking, plots real thin today ngl

Summary: Hera and The diplomat return to the ship and have a very normal evening of gals being pals in her quarters.

Word count: 4,290 (women take so long to fuck this is so much quicker with astartes)

“Thank you as always, Ambassador.” Guilliman says as you hand him the signed contracts. You made it back in one piece to the flagship, your new golden guard standing happily vigilant near a wall of Guilliman’s office.

The Primarch glances up from his work as he takes the paperwork, then knits his brow. “Hm? Are you well, Ambassador?” He asks as he studies your face.

You suppress a groan as you hear Heraclast suddenly push from the wall she was leaning on, now alert. You had been blushing and flustered the whole way to his office. Hera had been on a tangent on the way over about how she would wrestle with her custodes siblings for fun and how they always did so in loincloths only, to make it harder to get grabs in.

Needless to say the imagery had set your mind on fire. You could barely manage to reassure Hera your faintness and flushing was not a medical emergency, and now here was Guilliman, saying Hera’s trigger words again.

“I’m fine.” You tell the Primarch, trying to keep your voice even. “Just a little warm.”

“My Lady-” Heraclast says quietly, already behind you and placing a very unhelpful hand on your shoulder. “Will you not humor me and go to the medicae? Just to be assured of your health?” She pleads softly, her voice lower and sweet with concern.

Guilliman raises his brow as you flush even harder, his eyes going to Hera’s hand, then back to your face. He has the faintest smile as he processes the situation.

“Maybe your Shield has the right idea.” He says with a small chuckle, smirking a little in amusment. You grimace as you feel Hera’s grip on your arm tighten slightly. Betrayed by your own Primarch.

“Sir, I really am fine-” you try to argue, but it’s too late. Hera is already urging you out the door.

“Come, my lady, it will not take long, just to make sure you did not pick up any foreign illnesses in your journey.” She says, looking down at you with a soft frown and worried eyes. The sight makes your heart stutter again, and you shoot a glare back at Guilliman.

He is smiling, leaning back in his chair and chuckling to himself as you are hurried out his door. “Take care, Ambassador. You shouldn’t let your Shield have to worry so much.” He teases, and he actually has the gall to wink before turning back to his papers.

You scowl at him as the doors close. Betrayal. Cruel, backstabbing betrayal.

____________________________

“Hera I'm fine” you reassure her once again. She was pouting, sitting and watching you from the corner of your now shared quarters. You’d gone to the Medicae and were given a clean bill of health, much to Heraclast’s annoyance.

You sat at your vanity mirror, taking out the intricate braids Hera wove for you earlier from your hair. It seemed to take you more time to unwind them than it did for her to make them, and they kept tangling due to the complexity.

Hera huffs a bit, “Baseline medics, they haven't an idea what they're doing.” She grumbles as she pulls her chair with her, sitting behind you and gently moving your hands from your hair. She starts undoing the braids easily, still pouting to herself.

“They didn't even check for strange diseases, or take your blood, they barely looked you over.” She complains quietly.

Her hands gently tugging and running through your hair makes your shoulders slump in relaxation. You chuckle softly. You've never seen a custodes sulk before.

She huffs, and you watch in the mirror as her soft green eyes follow her fingers as they untangle your hair. You’re momentarily mesmerized by the way her hands move, the twitching of her forearm muscles as she works out the knots, and the way her pout makes her tense her sharp jaw.

Her eyes flick up from her work to meet yours in the mirror, and you suddenly find the chipping paint on your vanity veryinteresting. But not before Hera could clearly see the admiration in your eyes. You feel warm crawl into your cheeks as she softly smiles.

“Though, maybe I'm just worrying about the wrong causes for you always turning red and flustered, hm…?” She teases gently, running her fingers down your scalp and through your now free flowing hair.

Your eyes widen and meet hers in the mirror again, and she grins mischievously back.

“I have no idea what you mean.” You mumble, glancing away.

Heraclast's grin softens to a warm smile. “Oh, of course, My Lady. My apologies.” She chuckles, rising from her chair and stretching. She walks back to her bed- a large cot brought in after she showed up, She doesn't use it to sleep, but appreciated the thought- and starts unclasping her armor.

As she takes off her shoulder armor and places it gently on the floor, and you find yourself entranced again watching her muscles flex as she carefully lays each heavy piece down.

You turn around to face her, “aren't you going to do a tripple parameter danger check or something before getting defensless?” You ask with a nervous chuckle. She makes such a big deal about always being ready to protect you at a moments notice, it’s odd that she’d just get unarmed.

“Aboard the Ultramarine flagship?” She returns with a smirk. “Don't worry, I've done my research on all the marines currently aboard, and accessed all security records for the area and cross checked them with their schedules. They all behave as expected, and I do not worry about your safety from them.” she says with a gentle chuckle, finally stripped down to her under layer. She pulls off her tight silk top and you have to look away again.

There was a small knock on your door, drawing both of your attention. You start to stand but Hera is already at the door.

A somewhat Surprised Ultramarine stands in the doorway, brow raised as he has to look up at the massive woman. “Ah- apologies, I was looking for the Ambassador…?”

You sigh and join Hera at the door. “Hello, Andred.” You say politely. Your former bodyguard looks between the shirtless, massive, only dressed in a chest wrap custodes woman and your messy haired, slip wearing self.

“M-my lady.” He says, clearing his throat as his cheeks grow pink. “I, um, did not mean to intrude, I will come back tomorrow-”

You blink a couple times before your own cheeks warm, “oh!” You cover your mouth, “No no, it's not- Andred, this is my new bodyguard-” you say quickly.

His shoulders relax and he lets out a held breath. “Ah- of course, apologies, my lady…” he says nervously.

Hera grins, clapping him on the shoulder with enough impact to force the marine to balance himself. “Heraclast Ossian, Aquillian Sheild.” She introduces herself cheerfully. “You must be who's job I took! Don't worry, I have her fully protected for the foreseeable future.”

The marine gives a tight smile. “Andred Cestean. It is an honor to meet one of the saints of the Emperor, Sister Ossian.”

Hera tilts her head with a confused smile. “Sister? I do not believe we share any parentage.”

Andred knits his brow. “Oh, um, apologies again. Do Custodians not use familial titles?”

“No? Why would we.” She says with some amusement. “I refer to other custodians as a whole as kin or siblings, but metaphorically. We share no genes. Nor do I share any with you, Cestean. You may call me Heraclast, as all others do.”

Andred gives an apprehensive nod, “Right, of course. A pleasure to meet you, Heraclast.” He flances back to you. “May I borrow the Ambassador alone a moment?”

You smile and nod, happy to have a momentary break from your constant surveillance, but Hera shakes her head, fluffing her short undercut around her chin. “Alone? No. But you're welcome inside. I won't make a peep.” She chuckles, retreating to her cot. You roll your eyes and follow, sitting back at your vanity and brushing your hair.

Andred stands awkwardly just inside the door. “Alright, I suppose…” he mumbles before clearing his throat. “Lady Ambassador, I wanted to ask something of you.” He says, suddenly standing straight and at attention.

You smile and chuckle under your breath. Andred always was a little overly formal with you, but he was kind and respectful, and until Hera was here, he was a good bodyguard while you went about your diplomatic duties. “What is it then?” You ask, looking at him through the mirror as you tied your hair. If you didn't know better you'd think he looked nervous, but astartes don’t get nervous.

He pursed his lips into a line. “My Lady, since I am not in charge of your protection anymore, it would no longer be… a conflict of interests-” his voice actually cracked a little, making you raise an eyebrow, “-for me to ask, would you… would you care to spend more time together?” He finally managed, swallowing hard. “As in, well- romantically?”

You straighten in your seat, eyes going wide.

“Andred, I- I mean, I had no idea-” you stammer slightly as you turn to look at him. You feel the color in your cheeks drain a bit. You had no idea he had romantic feelings. You had no idea astartes got romantic feelings. You really wish he didn't. You considered Andred a friend, but, dating? The thought never once crossed your mind.

As you stammer and stall, Andred slowly deflates, frowning softly as he reads your expression. “Ah. I seem to have… miscalculated.” He says softly.

“No! I mean, well, yes- but-” you try to say, standing from your chair. You reach out to comfort him, but pull your hand back, realizing denying it would hurt him more. “It's not you Andred, Really.” You add a bit softer.

He looks away, taking a deep breath. You can see him trying to hold his heart together in his expression. In the corner of your vision you see Hera watching the scene with rapt attention, chin on her fist and leaning in like she was watching a cheap holodrama.

You try to ignore her. “Really Andred, it's not you, I really consider you my friend, I just-” you press your lips into a line. Your eyes dart back to Hera, and he doesn't miss the look, pressing his lips into a line.

“It's just… there's someone else.” He says softly.

You shake your head, “No, not that- I mean…” you sigh, grimacing as you force yourself to look into his sad eyes. “I just don't see you like that. I'm sorry, Andred.” You say apologetically.

His shoulders fall, deflating from all the confidence he was trying to hold himself up with when he came in. “I…. I see.” He says, glancing at Hera.

Heraclast doesn't even try to pretend she isn't fully engaged in the melodrama, chin on her hands and grinning. When Andred meets her gaze, she at least has the decency to pretend to look sad for him. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

“I'll leave you to your…” he looks you up and down quickly, taking in your state of undress, “…evening, then.” He finishes, trudging to the door.

You frown, scrunching your brow and taking a half step toward him. “Andred, you don't have to go-”

He holds a hand up slightly to stop you. “It's ok. I just misread things and… well, I need to go lick my wounds. I'll be fine.” He says, giving a half-hearted smile.

You frown deeper as he leaves, the door sliding shut behind him and latching with a noise.

Hera giggles impishly from her cot.

“Well, that was interesting.” Hera says with a little too much levity. She flops forward on her bed, head on her hands. “Why’d you turn him down? He seems to like you a lot.” She chuckles.

You sigh, giving her a tired look. “I just… don’t like him like that.” You say, trying not to stare at her chest as the wrap fails to contain her as she lays on her stomach.

She smiles and tilts her head. “Was he right? Is there someone else?” She says teasingly, scooting up on her cot.

You feel your cheeks warm again. “No.” You deny a little too quickly.

Hera blinks, tilting her head the other direction. Her eyes narrow as she studies you, sitting up and leaning forward, making you flush more. You cross your arms and turn away, trying to escape her dissecting gaze.

A playful grin slowly spreads across her face and you see a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Heraclast…?” You rasp, praying to the Emperor silently that she isn’t thinking what you think she’s thinking.

She chuckles, springing up from her cot to stand right in front of you, forcing you to crane your neck up at her. She’s smiling ear to ear, and you freeze as you feel her hand touch the bottom of your chin.

Your whole body feels on fire suddenly, and she’s so close that you’re surrounded by her scent- sweet spice and incense and a little rosewater-

“Is it me….?” She asks in a soft, low voice. Her eyes are warm as they meet yours, half lidded and just a little apprehensive.

You feel like the air has been sucked out of the room, momentarily worrying there is a hull breach siphoning the oxogen from the ship. You can’t lie to her, so imposing and so close and by the throne how can eyes be so green-

You try to swallow, failing to sooth your hot, dry throat.

“Yes.” You manage to squeak, voice barely above a whisper.

She lets out a deep held breath, gaze softening into a tender look. Her eyes flutter down to your lips, and her hand trails from your chin up your jaw, gently caressing your cheek in her calloused palm.

“Good.” She rasps, and your breath is stolen again as her lips envelop yours.

You melt. Her free hand splays over your back, pressing you against her as she cups your face in her other and hungrily moves her lips against yours. Your head feels dizzy, but you finally return her eager kiss, which earns a happy purr from the Custodian.

She moves you with her, the edge of the bed meeting the back of your knees and making you fall back on it as Hera eagerly pushes you back, finally breaking the kiss. You gasp for air, but only get a moment to catch your breath as Hera scoops you under the arms and moves you back farther on the mattress.

She leans over you, catching her own breath in soft pants, warm tanned cheeks darkened with a blush. She smiles playfully, running a thumb over your lips.

“I thought you blushed an awful lot for someone who wasn’t sick.” She chuckles.

You giggle, shy at being caught. “W-well, You keep getting all close to me and saying things and-” you stammer defensively.

She grins, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “And you’re so shy. Never letting me see you undressed, never letting me help bathe you.” She teases in a warm tone. “I feel silly not seeing it, but I suppose it has been a long time since I spent so much time around baselines…” she hums as she trails kisses down your jaw.

You see stars for a moment as her lips pepper your jaw and neck in soft kisses. “In your defense-” you mumble, hands snaking over her toned shoulders. “I was very subtle…” you giggle.

She lets out a low, rumbling chuckle from her chest, pulling back a little to smile down at you.

“Super subtle. So subtle Guilliman sent you to the Medicae to get checked for a fever.”

You laugh shyly, “Okay, well, maybe not very subtle.” You say, sighing as her mouth finds your shoulder, pushing your slip away to plant kisses down to your collarbone.

“Mm, I got there eventually. Only took seeing you completely uninterested in a kind handsome man, and seeing you very subtly look straight to me as you tried to deny having feelings for anyone.” She murmurs against your skin with a chuckle.

You giggle quietly, melting under her and running your hand up the back of her hair. “So… now what…?”

She smiles against you and slips your thin dress further down your arms, exposing more of your chest. “I figured that would be rather self explanatory, My Lady.” She purrs as she follows your dress down with her lips.

You look down at her, suddenly feeling a little bashful. “I mean- now?” You squeak. “Shouldn’t we, like, talk about things…?”

She scrunches her brow, picking her head up to look at you. “What? Why? You like me, I like you. There is a suitable bed for a little baseline here…” she says sweetly, lowering her head to your neck to nuzzle against you.

You bite your lip, head spinning as her hands ran over your waist. “That’s just all you need-?” You rasp, flushing warmer as she nestled her leg between your thighs.

She chuckled, gently nibbling at your neck, “Well, I bought you lunch. That’s a baseline courtship thing, right?” She teased.

You laugh, losing the battle of trying not to fold immediately to the heat pooling between your legs as she gently pushed her knee against you. “Technically, that was my money you paid with.” You chuckle.

She lifts her head again, grinning playfully. “Then you bought me lunch. Thank you, I accept your courtship proposal, My Lady.” She says with mock formality before returning her mouth to kissing the top of your now partially exposed breast.

You moan a little as her hand runs under your slip and over your sensitive nipple. At the sound of you folding to baser needs at last, Hera chuckles and takes it as permission to stop holding back.

She pulls your slip off, surprising you and drawing a soft yelp as it’s pulled over your head and tossed aside. She sits up, caging you in with her arms and admiring your now exposed body with a hungry gaze.

“By the throne…” she Murmurs, running a hand over your stomach. “You’re breathtaking, My Lady.” She says it with such soft admiration, her eyes raking over you so reverently, it causes your mind to wipe blank a moment. The way she calls you My Lady as she’s nestled between your legs like shes kneeling at an altar sends heat straight through you.

You swallow, and reach up to touch her toned arm with a shaky hand. You give her a shy smile, and she sighs and melts as she meets your eyes.

“I like you. And you like me. Your right. That’s enough for me too, Heraclast.” You say gently, squeezing her arm a little.

She lets out a low sigh, leaning in to give you one more soft kiss on your lips before pulling back with a smile and scooting back. She runs her hands from your waist over your thighs and up to your knees.

“Then, allow me to show you how much I have been admiring you, My Lady.” She teases with a smirk, pushing your knees apart gently.

You let out a small squeak as she takes you by the hips, easily lifting your ass up so she can pull your underwear off with her teeth, growling playfully as she slides them down your legs and tosses them aside. Before you have time to blush shes back between your thighs, and you’re taking by surprise again as you feel Hera’s warm tongue running up your center.

Your eyes nearly roll back as she laps over your clit, and she groans a happy sound that vibrates through you. “You taste amazing-” she purrs as she gently bites at your inner thigh. Your hands find the back of her short hair again as a moan escapes you.

She smiles against your thigh and chuckles at your noises, then laps at your lips again, devouring you like your wetness was ambrosia. You fist her hair as she wipes your mind with her mouth, and while you’re being worked into a stupor, the moans and gasps she makes between your legs makes you wonder if she’s somehow enjoying this even more.

Maybe something to do with Custodes competitiveness? The joy of a job well done perhaps? You chuckle internally at the thought before she envelops your clit with her soft lips and you forget how to think again.

She circles your hole with her eager tongue, chuckling into your pussy when it makes you whimper and pull her hair, grinding your hips up to her mouth instinctually.

“By Holy Terra, the sounds you make are so beautiful, My Lady-” she murmurs between lapping at your entrance. “The sweetest symphonies of the finest remembrancers could not capture the melodies of your noises-” She moans into you, drawing another whimper from your chest as she prods her tongue into you and her thumb starts rubbing your aching clit.

You arch your back up, one hand fisted desperately in her warm brown hair, the other grasping at your sheets. You could feel your stomach clutching with heat as she increases her tempo on your clit.

“That’s it- good girl-” she gasps against you. She returns her mouth to your nub, carefully working a finger around your entrance. You moan weakly, feeling her huge finger gently working into you. You never stopped to imagine how a 9 foot tall woman made of 99% muscle mass might be a little harder to get fingered by, but you don’t have time to think about much as she finally pushes it carefully into you.

She licks and sucks at your clit as you whimper and roll your hips on her hand, and she pushes a second finger in as she starts curling them up to meet your inner spot as you buck your hips with increasing desperation.

“Hera-” you gasp, gritting your teeth at the onslaught of sensations. You’re at the edge, breath catching in high, airy cries as she pumps her fingers into your clenching pussy. “Hera, close, I’m-” you plead.

She groans, increasing her rhythm into you and lapping at your clit in long, slow licks. She looks up at you from between your legs with burning emerald eyes, half lidded in ecstasy from being buried in your sweet pussy.

“Good girl-” she grumbles, “Let go, let me serve you-” she hums as she sucks your clit, gently letting it graze her teeth. She meets your eyes as she laps up your lips again. “Come, My Lady. Don’t hold back.” She purrs. She pushes her fingers deeper, stilling their pumping as she pets your gspot while sucking hard and rhythmically on your clit.

You’re pretty sure you die for a moment, eyes rolling back as she pushes you over the edge. When your ears start ringing less a few moments later, you realize you’re screaming her name. Your body trembles as she works you relentlessly, riding out your orgasm and making you cry out for her again as you clench hard around her fingers.

When your moans turn to whimpering she finally lets you collapse. She pulls her fingers out, making you twitch at the empty feeling, and props her chin on your lower belly, mouth soaked and grinning as she pants to catch her breath.

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy that nickname?” She murmurs, planting a languid kiss inside your knee.

You hum out a mmm? Weakly. She chuckles warmly, smiling reverently down at your fuck drunk face. “That nickname you gave me. Hera.” She clarifies.

She pulls herself up next to you, pulling your head to rest on her chest and petting your hair. “The name you call out when you come, the name you say so sweetly when you’re annoyed with me.” She chuckles softly.

You blink as your mind slowly pieces itself back together, looking up at her from where you’re nestled between her breasts. “What do you mean…?” You mumble.

“No one else calls me Hera. Just Heraclast, or Ossian.” She says, smiling sweetly and brushing fingers down your cheek. “You calle me Heraclast when you speak to others, or when we’re being formal. But I adore that when you fluster and blush, I’m Hera.” She leans down and kisses the top of your hair.

You giggle softly, nuzzling into her soft chest. “I didn’t realize I was doing that…” you say with a contented sigh.

Hera hums into your hair. “Mm, I know. That’s why it’s so cute. You gave me a pet name almost immediately and then pretended not to be head over heels for me for days.” She teases, rubbing your back soothingly.

Your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, nestled against her chest and being soothed so gently. “Mmm… I was… very subtle…” you protest drowsily.

She chuckled, making her chest move around your face. “Yes, very subtle, My Lady.” She said with a soft sigh, right as sleep overtook you.

[mcytblrconfessions]

I once read a fanfic on wattpad where capitainsparkles was thrown into minecraft dungeons and made his way throught and it was kinda nice tbh.

Like, most fandoms have a tantible setting with constant characters&plots but because mcyt fanfics are so tied to rpf, we dont really have that.

I need more cc in dungeons/legends/storymode fanfics because there is an already lorebuilt world in those games, cool locations and characters/ennemies. And using them as the baseline for a fanfic is great, because you can understand how your fav react to this story, how they change it.

TL;DR : make more minecraft-dungeons/minecraft-story-mode fanfic AU

‎

[droughtofapathy]

Hi there! I read your review of Cabaret and saw that one of your main complaints was that a lot of Jewish culture was staged/written out. I’m not Jewish and don’t have that baseline understanding of the religion/culture and was wondering if you could elaborate further?

Hi Anon, I'd be glad to elaborate a little more, with the caveat that I'm not Jewish either, but I do know a thing or two about the history of this show. I'm also long-winded, so... buckle in.

I don't believe the production team intentionally went into it and took an eraser to Judaism as they went, but I do believe that being an English team with far less Jewish influence in their culture and society has made them blind to the inherent Judaism of the story beyond the glaringly obvious. As I've said before, this is a revival made by gentiles for gentiles right from the very conceit. In centering the show on this nightmare puppet spectacle of a cabaret, it does a disservice to the real heart and moral of the story's true epicenter: the boardinghouse and Schneider and Schultz and the grounded people around them. The very fact that it's officially been retitled "Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club" (frankly redundant) shows that this production is no longer about the actual book, but about the frivolous hedonism. Schultz's Jewish storyline is an afterthought hastily plopped down into the cabaret setting. Because of this staging, the focus is never away from the now-very goyish cabaret. Cliff, Schneider, Schultz, and even Ernst were very much given the "I don't care much" treatment by this director who wants everyone to ooh and ahh over the exorbitant pre-show gimmicks and whatever the fuck the Emcee and Sally are doing, and to hell with the actual plot.

Everything from the direction to the marketing to the creative tone seems to scream out that no one on this creative team actually understands the message. The nightclub might be the titular setting, but it's a looming figure in the shadows. A seedy little joint in a back alley where everyone's just trying to survive. Vaudeville could be bawdy, certainly, but the staging and choreography here is vulgar and tiresome, and says to me that the creatives also have little to no knowledge of that artform either.

Cabaret is an inherently Jewish musical. The three original creatives (Joe Masteroff, John Kander, and Fred Ebb) were Jewish men who were all alive during WWII and old enough to understand the horrors happening around them and overseas. Director and producer Hal Prince was Jewish. Revival director Sam Mendes is Jewish. Both Joel Grey and Alan Cumming are Jewish and/or gay. Eddie Redmayne is the first major Emcee on Broadway (baring a few late-run replacements, in the other runs, I'm sure) who is neither. Rebecca Fracknell is not Jewish and beyond the fact that I just don't think she's a good director of musical theatre (which is an incredibly hard artform that differs from directing straight plays), she has no inherent understanding or trust of the rich material already in place. She chose instead to create spectacle without actual spectacle, and focus all the time and energy into the Emcee--a character who was never meant to be the protagonist. The charisma and iconic performances of past Emcees have elevated this role in all subsequent productions, yes, but always as a centrally Jewish (and subtextually queer) figure. By having that representation and interpretation, Cabaret remains a centrally Jewish musicals. By stripping this particular Emcee of that, we get a goyish nightmare puppet, not a man. Not a Jewish man hiding or highlighting his Jewishness. We get a re-centered gentile production dead behind the eyes.

Antisemitism in Weimar Germany takes on a featured role in what should be a starring turn. Fracknell clearly sees herself as Sally, and she's made it all about the Sally in a painfully white goyish feminist way (don't get me started on a rant about the "girlbossification" they're trying to make happen), but the VERY CLEAR intent of the material is that we should not want to be Sally. We should not be proud of being this willfully ignorant girl who doesn't care about the rise of fascism all around her, and actively states that it has nothing to do with her. We should be horrified at her complacency and shamed that we might have gone in feeling the same way. And Schneider says it, she says it right there in what's meant to be the scene, that Cliff and Sally can just run away when the going gets tough without a care in the world, but she can't. When a show takes a Jewish story, written by Jewish men, and turns it into a gentile funhouse carnival and refuses to acknowledge its Jewish-centered book characters and actors (notice how Bebe Neuwirth and Steven Skybell were almost entirely excluded from promo materials until late into the Award Season publicity) to instead prop up a white gentile man and a white gentile woman...well, that's just blatant Jewish erasure.

[haikyu-mp4]

(closed) now hiring! event

To thank you all for this follower milestone, I want to write shorter fics where the reader works in a café and you can choose the love interest + what inspires the plot!!

1. Pick a character (preferably one per request)

2. Pick your first qualification (setting)

3. Pick a second qualification (plot point) depending on your first choice

As an example: "Applying with Bokuto, I am outgoing and flexible" will get you a drabble about closing up the café with your coworker Bokuto.

Another example: “Applying with Tendo, I am organised and a problem solver” will get you a drabble where Tendo is a regular at the cafe and finally finds a way to or the courage to ask you out.

Please limit adding extra details, as it will be easier for me to complete more requests if I have some creative freedom. Use the "make a wish!" button on my profile to let me know what you'd like to see me write.

For the option where you’re coworkers (outgoing), you can also ask for it to be suggestive (add * at the end). The baseline will still be fluffy, but making it suggestive means that the reader and the character already know the other party is interested and I might include some touching/smooching.

A huge thanks to the gamemaster herself @cottonlemonade who inspired this and helped me mould the ideas into reality<3

(if you have previously sent me other requests, those are still in my drafts, so do not worry. I just want to celebrate this milestone before I get back to those!)

[drivelikescooters14]

⭐️Mario & Luigi Soundwave Stars⭐️

(AKA: My Mario & Luigi series fangame concept!!)

This game feels like it’d be in between Dream Team and Paper Jam, but I can always change that!!

So basically, here’s the plot!! Mario & Luigi get a call for help from Music Kingdom. The ruler of the Kingdom, Prince Motif, knew that they could fix his current situation. Motif is a nervous, fearful, little man, but he tags along with the Mario Bros because he wants to prove himself to his kingdom. He has his own abilities that benefit the Bros during the game (more on Prince Motif here, but if you want to know more, please let me know!!)

Apparently Bowser and the Koopalings stole the kingdoms most prized possessions, the Genre Gems. They’re gems that give the kingdom its musical energy, and they are supposed to be on the princes crown. The most all of them are separated, the kingdom falls into more disarray. (If that makes sense, lol) Each gem is a different music genre, which are the following:

Folk, Funk, Pop, Techno, Swing, Metal, and Classical.

With seven gems, each Koopaling has taken one to gain its power. The bosses will go as the following:

Wendy-Folk Music

Morton-Funk Music

Lemmy-Pop Music

Larry-Techno Music

Iggy-Swing Music

Roy-Metal Music

Ludwig-Classical Music

Bowser- Multi Genre (Final Boss)

Makes sense baseline. Each battle will have very music based attacks, with most attacks focused on timing that coincides with the music. (I also wanted to have a funny gimmick where each Koopaling forces Prince Motif to dance with them, with the exception being Ludwig. Though, that part is explained later..)

I know what you’re thinking: “Why does the Koopa Kingdom even want to invade?” Good question! The answer is quite simple: Him and Ludwig are rivals (though, the rivalry is very one-sided.) They used to be friends, but had a falling out due to miscommunication. Ever since then, Ludwig’s been quite bitter about it, so he planned this invasion.

This is already a lot of information, so I’ll leave it at that for now!! If you want to know more, or ask about certain things, let me know!! Thank you!!

[the-copycat-hero]

Villain Monoma: thoughts?

what do you think he'd be like? how do you think he became a villain? or just generally, any thoughts on Villain Monoma? 👁️

initial thoughts: YOOOOOOOO

longer thoughts: tbh as it stands in canon i could never see Monoma becoming a villain because of just how determined he has been to stand out as a hero - and also because he is a Kind Boy who i can't imagine would ever be willing to harm innocent people. that said, there are a few AUs where i could see him fighting for the other side, and i think that the general concept is SICK AS HELL.

(going to put the rest of this under a read more because as i am typing this i can already tell that this is gonna be a long one)

HOW MONOMA BECOMES A VILLAIN

Option #1 - Classic Case of Kidnapping: an AU where All-for-One isn't a massive dumbass and realizes that acquiring a kid who can literally copy quirks like a smaller, less lethal version of himself would be a Very Good Idea. he yoinks small child Monoma soon after his quirk manifests and raises him like he did Tomura. not really my favorite AU though, since Monoma would likely be a very different person were he raised to hate hero society from the start.

Option #2 - Siblings (Doomed by the Narrative): Monoma and Toga are related, and he defects to the villain's side because he cares about her and is stupidly loyal to those that he cares about. the problem is that he also cares about his friends at UA, so he generally has a terrible time of it all. (this is basically the plot of Blood the Color of Pomegranates).

Option #3 (my favorite) - the League of Villains Adopts Another Child: kind of like option #1, except someone else from the league (maybe Compress?) takes Monoma in after some traumatic event in his life and treats him better than his biological family ever did. i may actually make a separate post about this AU (or at least a similar one) because the idea haunts and vexes me.

HOW MONOMA BEHAVES AS A VILLAIN

it really depends on the circumstances that lead to him becoming a villain, but in any AU i'd write, i think he'd behave a lot like he does in canon. just like... 20% more unhinged.

very loud and dramatic at his baseline, but occasionally drops a line that is so serious and borderline heartbreaking that it gives pause to whomever he is fighting. ("Surely, you've felt that way before... how the hopes and dreams of childhood now grow heavy as burdens. It's as if we are cursed." WHAT KIND OF HIGH SCHOOLER SAYS SHIT LIKE THIS? WHO HURT YOU???)

loves monologuing, but is incredibly smart about it; he never gives away any information that could help the heroes, but he does occasionally drop misleading clues / red herrings that they inevitably waste their time pursuing.

fantastic strategist. sometimes, he'll copy a hero's quirk just so that he can study it and figure out its weaknesses.

still provokes his opponent during fights, but he gets even more personal with it somehow. he reads the heroes to filth, and unlike in canon, he genuinely means every word that he says.

i like the idea that Monoma can use a diluted form of someone else's quirk as long as he has access to their hair, so as a villain, i could see him cutting a chunk of hair off of anyone that he's downed.

incredibly OP and lowkey terrifying because he has access to the most busted quirks ever. imagine how nightmarish it would be to have two Shigarakis on your ass. TWO ALL-FOR-ONES. (Monoma steals quirks and then they disappear with his copy of AFO.) the heroes are so cooked it is not even funny.

would not endorse targeting young kids, even as a villain. if there is a little kid in the vicinity of a fight he's involved in, he WILL relocate. (it's easy with Kurogiri's quirk at his disposal).

wanted to be a hero at some point, and sometimes wishes that things could be different. but once he's found his place in the league, he'd be far too attached to ever consider abandoning them.

POSSIBLY COULD PLAY THE ROLE OF UA TRAITOR? (food for thought).

stopping here but i will be plotting

[inthefightgarden]

so umm i just finished mother of learning in like 5 days, and my brain is now full of wriggling squiggling worms. i'm also just starting a re-read with the audiobook and it is already giving me even more questions and ideas! so here i am to share my wormy burden ^_^

anyway, here's something chapter 1 started me thinking about...

do you think zorian's mother knows about their bloodline? (also her name is cikan. i had to look it up, so saying it here incase anyone else needed reminding)

we know that cikan really hated being associated with zorian's grandmother, but she was still immersed in witch culture at least somewhat in her home life. we don't really know how old she was when she first started to reject those practices, so it's hard to judge how much she would have learned before she went out of her way to avoid it, and we also just don't have enough context about the witches' traditions for raising their kids to make guesses about her knowlege level.

we do see later on in the series (what comes to mind is the confrontation in koth) that cikan doesn't have much knowlege about magic as zorian knows it (eg. what you can expect from certain spells used for travel), but given that the witches are an separate spellcasting tradition from the ikosians that doesn't necessarily tell us loads about what she might have picked up from her mother.

also, knowing you have a bloodline is pretty important information to have, so even with the antagonism you'd think zorian's grandmother would've at least made sure cikan knew about that... if SHE knew, anyway, cause that's also not something we can really take for granted is it? there are a few ways i can picture it being

option 1. most of what we see in the series is not typical from an empathy bloodline. archmage zorian is an outlier and should not be counted. and even daimen, the more "normal" natural mind mage is still a whole magical prodigy, which isn't exactly baseline for most people with empathy either. so yeah... zorian's grandmother may not have known that she had a empathy in her family in the first place.

option 2. we do hear (i don't remember when or who from. maybe one of the teachers? was it ilsa? idk) that empathy is a pretty common form of natural magical ability, and it's kind of a mild plot twist that it's a bloodline thing if i remember correctly. so even if zorian's grandmother knew about an empath in her family history she might not have known that meant it could pass down.

option 3. part of the reason in world that empathy isn't usually thought of as a bloodline thing (again, if i'm remembering right) is because it's so comparatively common, so it's entirely possible that empathy bloodlines (and possibly to a lesser extent bloodlines in general) are just quite common for witches to the extent that it's not really something that needs to be said explicitly, or at least wouldn't have been if cikan hadn't done so much to assimilate with the dominant culture and distance herself from witch tradition and knowlege

BUT, those options are thinking about the reasons cikan might NOT know about their bloodline... so again, does she know? even if she doesn't think of it as a bloodline she might be aware that her family has a history of empathy. so now for some thoughts on what the situation might be if she IS aware of the family history.

(note. i'm pretty damn sure cikan herself isn't an empath. zorian would be able to tell if she was "open", and she just doesn't have that understanding of how other people feel. but if you think otherwise, or just want to think about a "what if", i'd love to hear about it ^-^)

(oh and same goes for kiri and fortov)

cikan might know that there's a family history, but not really know what that means in practise. as i mentioned earlier she doesn't seem very knowlegable on magic, so she might not have any clue about the signs and how it typically presents.

she also might be in denial about the possibility that her kids inherited something like that from her, given what we've seen of how she thinks about her heritage. or she might have focused any concern about the possibility onto kirielle, who seems to be where much of her trauma goes, and not considered that the boys might get it. especially considering the witches' beliefs about sex and magical lineage.

but she also might know or suspect that zorian and/or daimen is an empath. which if nothing else is certainly the option with the most potential drama.

personally, i doubt she knows that daimen is an empath. he put a lot of work into hiding it, and i feel like it would probably affect how he sees him. given how much baggage she has about her witch heritage i just can't see that knowlege not somewhat tainting her golden boy, you know? like i know she's fine with him being a mage and really proud of his prodigy status, but i just can't envision her seeing empathy the same way, and i think it would come through in a slightly colder attitude to daimen. especially given the cultural stigma against mind magic when she's worked so hard to become socially acceptable.

but i'm just not sure whether she knows about zorian or not! on the one hand i could totally see her just being oblivious, in denial, not having the right context, whatever, but I can also kind of see the way she treats him (specifically in relation to him socialising and stuff), through the lense of knowing he's an empath.

like he straight up told her as a child that crowds caused him physical pain. he had tp stop going to church because it made him actually pass out! that is some pretty intense stuff to just ignore... we're never told that he saw a doctor or anything about this via his parents (as far as i remember, please let me know if i'm missimg something!) so did she have some idea about what was going on or was it just plain neglect?

and if she did have some understanding of the situation, how did that affect her behaviour? did she think if she ignored it he'd just adjust and never find out? did she just not want it to be associated with her family history if/when he did find out? did she think that if she forced him into triggering situations he'd eventually realise? or that he'd learn to control it subconciously? or did it just not matter how he felt as long as he was still functional when it came to his political use? did she hide it more out of personal shame, or a legitimate conviction that she was protecting him like with kiri?

like i said, i'm not sure what my headcannon is, but the topic fascinates me. as you can probably tell from how long and rambly this got. sorry ^_^'

but yeah, i'd love to hear what other people think!