#and her characters are always in the side that is morally right in the books but is morally abhorrent in real life

[acotarfrustrations]

Honestly we could REALLY get into the fact that a lot of the insanity in Acotar is an excellent exercise in why you can't really separate the art from the author.

Sjm's zionism is OBVIOUS in the text. The ic destabilize governments to the detriment of people they will never have to care for, steal artifacts from other countries, displace people, cause invasions, commit war crimes for 50 years "for the greater good" all while their own people are living under unchecked brutality and poverty.

They are rich megalomaniacs that care for no one but themselves and their own emotional and material satisfaction and they are PRAISED for it. In fact anyone who even remotely disagrees with the IC is almost always one of the villains in the story (Beron, Tamlin, etc) as if to condition the reader that asking questions that are critical of the IC puts you on the wrong side of the narrative morally.

All of that sounds REALLL familiar huh?

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

yooooo!!! you’re my favorite ethan winters artist i just wanna say that first and foremost, thank you for the wholesome content of my comfort character and father figure 🥹🫶

i’m really curious bc i feel like i see a lot of people against mithan (not me personally, i’m p neutral on them!) but i’m curious to know all your thoughts on them! thoughts on their canon relationship, their fanon portrayal, the backlash against them/mia accusations, and your headcanons? i’m just really interested!!! hopefully that’s not weird :”)

have a good day!! sparkle on!!! ✨💖

i heart mithan... i think that they can be so cute...

i personally hc them t4t and i like to think that the dated in highschool before they both had fully transitioned

mia likes to bake and ethan likes to scrap book and he always likes to take pictures of mias cakes/ baked goods and has a album for them 😭

i am a multishipper so i draw a lot of ethan ships so my girl is left out sometimes and im sorry mia 😔

i actually really like their relationship, its a really complex dynamic that i like to talk about with my friends

i think the issue is that when talking about mithan or mia in general, theres just SO MUCH misinformation that its honestly a pain the butt to talk about

people still think that she was responsible for the creation of eveline, people still think that she experimented on eveline, people still use examples of her attacking ethan as if she did it on her own will instead of being mind controlled

in reality she was just someone who oversaw the transportation of evie. im not excusing her or anything because obviously she knew what she was doing, but people really try to accuse her of doing something she didnt and it bothers me alot lol

the problem with the fandom is that people either try to water her down to girlboss who did nothing wrong and fail to acknowledge the complexity/ moral grayness of her character and the other side is misogynists 😭😭😭😭

its hard to talk about her without people either going "stop trying to villainize her and make her look bad!" or people ACTUALLY villainizing her and acting like heisenberg would have treated him better 😭😭

mithan is such a sad relationship because they loved each other so much and that ended up being the reason their relationship fell apart (sort of... its not like the broke up... ethan kinda just straight up died)

i get a lot a trouble for saying this, but mia is a selfish person.

its not a bad thing! well i mean it is but it doesnt make her some evil witch who is somehow worse than the guy how made a werewolf american ninja warrior. its just a major character flaw she has! which is good! mia being a flawed person who makes mistakes and morally gray decisions make her a more interesting person!

she is selfish in the way that she wants to keep her family with her no matter the cost. even if it means lying to ethan about her job so that he wont think different of her. here is a interrogation from the re7 DLC, which is easy to miss!

she isnt necessarily trying to apologize for the things she has done, she is more of a, "u wont need to forgive me in the first place if we just forget it all and move on"

she doesn't try to redeem herself for what she has done, she tries to move on and return to the normal life that she wants so bad. which is fine! everyone copes a different way and she has to right to move on from her trauma. the problem that lies in this is that she has a shared trauma with ethan who still has no idea what went on in dulvey and still effects him till the present (he is mold! this is a important thing to know! most people would want to know if they were a walking corpse)

she played a direct part in what happened in dulvey, and im not referring to the email, she did not send that. she never wanted ethan to come in the first place. she tried her best to send a video to him, begging him to forget about her because she wanted to protect him, BUT it didnt send.

he got involved because she was involved. its honestly a series of really really unfortunate events.

THOUGH! she did know what she was getting into. im tired of seeing the narrative that mia was innocent and didnt know what was going on or was simply a bystander. she knew what she was doing, she knew eveline was a bioweapon, she knew eveline was a child. she used a MACHINE GUN! she knows how to use weapons and was obviously trained for it.

she tried her best to keep everybody out of the mess, ex: warning the bakers not to take them in, warning ethan not to find her, sacrificing herself for ethan in the later half of re7

but again, those are the consequences of HER actions

her consequences just happen to get really big and end up hitting ethan on the head like a metal sheet 😭

their relationship is really so interesting, it makes me really sad to think about sometimes 😭they both went through something that nobody else would ever understand, in the end they really only have each other. they get moved to an entire different country and the dulvey incident gets covered up with a "gas leak"

its really tragic because their marriage definitely had some flaws and bumps. and i know im repeating myself but its because people always take this in the worst way possible but just because i say their relationship was rocky doesnt mean im saying they dont love each other!!! thats the entire basis of mias character!! saying she doesnt love ethan would destroy her entire character!

you can see in the re8 DLC how fondly ethan talks about mia! he loves her so much, though im not sure if his comments in the DLC are him narrating current (post re8) or his thoughts before everything went down and he died (pre re8)

everything mia did was because she LOVED ethan. she would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, she is not a cruel person. she hides the truth of her job from ethan pre re7 because she loves him and doesnt want her job to drive them apart. she CONTINUES to refuse to tell ethan the truth post re7 because she wants to move on a live a happy normal life with him and knows something like her being directly associated with the connections would probably cause (more) problems. she refuses to tell ethan that he is mold because again, hard to live a happy marriage with your husband after you tell him hes a bioweapon.

obviously i dont think it was right that she did this, thats what makes her selfish! she did it for herself! she did it for her family! she thought it would work out, she thought that they could move on and be happy together.

the issue is that ethan didnt want to forget. he wanted to know what happened, he wanted to know the part mia played, he wanted answers! which is reasonable! he knows to some extent that mia was partially responsible for his involvement and he was always suspcious that mia was lying to him about her job which is implied when mia says "you were right, i did lie to you"

she doesnt learn, she doesnt stop lying, her lies get bigger and worse and it sucks yeah but it makes her so interesting!!! she keeps doing stupid things under the idea that this is whats best for her and her family, that if she hides this everything will work out and it will be for the better but its not!

just because telling your husband hes dead and a bioweapon is a hard subject to bring up doesnt mean you DONT bring it up. people shouldnt use that as a reason to excuse mia 😭, its a very bad excuse and honestly highlights how horrible their communication skills were. you cant just not tell your husband that he is actually infected with the mold and not tell him for the tree years between post re7 and pre re8.

im not saying these things to put mia down, or try and villanize her. these are all just actual things her character does! she isnt evil, but she isnt a knight in shining armor either. we need to be able to have talks about complex characters without crying everytime someone points out a flaw. characters have flaws! and mia just happens to have a lot of them!

im not mad at her, i dont dislike her because i think this way of her. shes a fictional character! you can like characters that are morally gray, or villains that drink blood and make corpse soldiers. they are fictional! pointing out the flaws of a character does not mean i dont like them.

i wouldnt call her "the real villain of re8" but i wouldnt treat her like a damsel in distress either. she is a competent person, she knows what shes doing, she has her reasons for doing them. she made bad descions with good intentions behind them! they can coexist and we should let them!

i like mithan! its a complex relationship because they both love each other so much but hurt each other in the process

talking about them is just a pain in the butt because talking about mia is a pain in the butt lol

i really hate how she keeps getting sidelined, its super frustrating to see mia get put in a cage in every game 😭

its even more frustrating that mia straight up just disappears???? in the shadows of rose DLC... like she just stops taking care of rose and theres nothing said about it. no reason or explanation. i dont think mia would ever ditch rosemary because she didnt care about her, but we probably will never know because capcom sucks at writing and they probably forgot the mia ever even existed.

all in all, i think the fandom is really just full of misinformation which make people either think mia is some horrible evil person, or its full of people who think that saying mia messed up is the equivalent of comparing her to wesker lol.

i really love mia, shes a incredibly fun and complex character, its just hard to enjoy her sometimes with the people in the fandom haha.

also ive got no idea what u meant by "the backlash against them/mia accusations" so sorry if i didnt answer that!

thank u for the ask! sorry for the long response!

[jolenes-doppelganger]

uuhhhhmm hi!! i was wondering if you’d be up to write a (smutty?) story about rose the hat!!! nothing specific but (i assume) you kind of know how rose is… and maybe incorporate that in the fic? and the whole steam thingy? yeah…

anyway! have a great day!!

[Hi! Thank you for the request! I really leaned into her more sinister qualities that were explored in the book, specifically her fascination with blood. She is a dark character, so this fic is reasonably dark. ]

The Debt

Rose the Hat x f!Reader (NSFW- RATED EXPLICIT)18+

Summary: Returning to the windy city was always a trip Rose dreaded. Not for the drab blocks of concrete, but for the memories that lingered. A child she’d let get away, a meal that had escaped her. The cost of that lapse. What happens when the familiarity of the city converges with the familiarity of a touch?

Warnings: Dark themes (threat of bodily harm, threat of murder, depictions of post-murder situations, etc), graphic sex (oral R receiving and giving, 69, penetration via fingers R receiving, breast worship giving, near smothering of R, light spanking receiving, blood kink, brief bondage, biting), !! Dub-con/coercion !! [Moments of straight M/F interaction between Rose and Crow, allude to nudity, brief touching, but not any more graphic than the novel itself described these interactions.]

A/N: Once again, this fic is not indicative of my moral code, I would NEVER condone someone pursuing a similar relationship, especially if the themes of dub-con/coercion are in any ways similar or amplified. *To be reasonably true to the characterization of Rose is to understand that she is an evil person and wouldn't show up to your door with a bouquet of flowers and a home-cooked meal.*

Word Count: 3.669k (hehe 69)

Rose hated Chicago. Chicago meant traffic, smog, disorder and weird looks. Traditional caravans sailed right by the town, so driving through it with the True Knot's troop of motorhomes would be both a nightmare coordination-wise, most certainly drawing unnecessary attention. The Knot camped out in a trailer park, using cars to drive into the city while a few stayed back to ensure the safety of their caravan; prime members slept in hotels in the city. Rose and Crow were assigned to a suite, sharing a King bed and a bathroom. Sleeping in a hotel meant access to a shower and larger amenities, but the wide open spaces bothered Rose. She preferred the coziness of her Earth Cruiser over the opportunity to shower at any given moment.

"Rosie, whatcha got on your mind?" Crow asked, chest bare, lounging in the bed after their coital affair.

Rose snorted, tits out and unashamed. Her hat was set off to the side, hair tousled from their passion.

"I hate Chicago, that's what's on my mind."

Her lover nodded, trying to remain considerate, but he was really focusing on the curve of her breasts.

"It's temporary. We'll get the kid by the end of the week. And in the meantime..." he smirked, reaching to bring her in closer.

Rose rolled her eyes, playfully swatting away his advances.

"As if you were hard again." she protested.

"What if I was?"

Rose reached down. He was flaccid, predictably so. They hadn't fed in a while. He was like any man in his mid-50s, capable of lasting one round, needing a little blue pill to sustain an erection for longer than a few minutes.

"We need to eat." Rose grimaced.

She got up from the bed, walking into the large shower. She was tired. One look at herself in the mirror and Rose saw just how weak she was getting. They needed that kid. Her crow's feet were growing more pronounced, her belly sagged, so did her breasts. Cellulite littered her thighs, and her upper chest had that ugly scaly look that developed in older people exposed to the sun. It was unbearable. She turned the light off and showered in the dark.

<------------->

It was done. The little girl with the braided pig tails was limp in front of Rose; the child's body had given up. Normally she'd be feeling extra frisky right now, leaning into Crow's advances as he felt her up under her bloody shirt, but she just felt hollow. Giving out cleanup duty was easy. Crow pressed on the child's chest, pushing the last bit of steam into the metal cannister. Rose cut off the friendship bracelet the child had on, tying it around the cannister. Crow sensed something was off, and he followed her into the Earth Cruiser. She put the cannister away, looking up at him with vacant eyes.

"What's wrong?"

Rose walked into the bathroom, using the reserve water to fill the sink, stripping her clothes off as she washed away the blood.

"The kid. The one we lost ten years ago."

Crow sighed.

"The one that disappeared after we followed her into Joliet?"

Rose nodded, lost in her own thoughts.

"I want to borrow your truck, head into the town. I need a night for myself."

Crow frowned. Rose only ever went out alone in dire circumstances. She was upset, and it perturbed him.

"That can wait 'till morning, let's spend tonight-"

"No." she cut him off. "You have a hallway pass, go fuck someone else tonight."

Now Crow knew something was off. Rose was possessive, unreasonably so. If he so much as looked at another woman, he'd hear about it eventually. But offering a hallway pass unprompted? Something was up.

"Rosie, stop. We're going to talk about this." Crow planted his hands on his hips.

"No, we're not."

Rose pulled on a fresh pair of clothes, jeans and a sweater. The topper came with her, obviously. Crow attempted to block her as she left, but he was only a few inches taller than her. With the top hat she had the odd ability of appearing a head taller than everyone atop of her 6' frame.

"Move."

Rose exited the cruiser, Crow's keys in hand. She jumped into the vehicle, speeding out of the campsite. She had one destination in mind, one person in mind.

"Alright you little snot." Rose fumed, focusing her attention on an energy signal she'd been trying to pinpoint for the last decade. "You want to play games? Don't you know what you cost me?"

For the first time in decades, Rose was speeding. The True Knot never violated traffic laws. It drew attention, but in Rose's current state of mind, pushing 80 on the highway was the only reasonable balm to her anxiety. Through the midst of her anger-fueled aggression, she felt it. A little sensation, a prick of energy so damn familiar it made her stomach flop. She slowed down, pulling into the far right lane, focusing her energy on that little bubble of energy.

"Oh honey, you're still here, huh?" Rose whispered. "(Reader) was your name, wasn't it? But that's not what we called you, little minx. You're a Pandora's box."

Rose drove through the suburbs of Joliet, drawing closer and closer, running Crow's gas tank down to the last quarter. It didn't matter, she was close. The little buzzing in her head continued, until finally it was unbearable. Rose grinned, pulling off to the side of the road in front of a cute little red brick house. She didn't do anything, not yet at least. Instead, Rose adjusted the rings and bangles on her left hand. Left for receiving, various 'lucky' charms she'd collected. The right hand she kept bare. It was her dominant hand, she liked it bare. That and it was the 'giving' hand. She didn't need any sort of energetic enhancements, more likely hindrances upon her.

"You're alone in that little house, Pandora." she smirked.

Creeping toward that house like a wanted visitor, Rose waved to a few neighbors who were walking about. The only malicious element that could even tickle the minds of observers was that hat. Tipped at that weird angle, barely hanging onto the crown of her head, like a poorly perched bird. Rose reached for the knocker; she didn't need to try the doorbell to know it was broken. A soft click as the door opened.

"Well, hi there." Rose smiled.

You didn't have time to fasten the dead bolt before she'd forced herself in, towering over you and pinning you against the nearest flat surface.

<------------->

She'd tied you up. The deranged woman with the most certainly semi-cognizant hat had tied you up on your childhood bed.

"Who the fuck do you-"

"Shut up." Rose demanded, slapping her hand over your mouth. "You're gonna listen, you're gonna stay quiet, and if you scream I will sew your mouth shut."

She moved around the room, closing the curtains, locking and barricading the door. Nothing was going to interrupt this, no one was going to stop her from getting that revenge she'd been dreaming of for a little over a decade.

"Three True died because of you." Rose sighed, settling on the bed in front of you. "They starved. We were all starving, but they couldn't hold off. And you? Look at you." she snorted. "What are you, a teenager? No, you might even be in your twenties. I've forgotten how old you were when we were tracking you."

The heinous monologue ended there. Rose pulled out a pocket knife, focusing on digging out the dried blood she hadn't gotten out underneath her nails.

"Are you a cannibal?" you asked, quiet.

Rose snorted.

"I mean, sort of. We don't eat flesh, but we eat. And you... God, you would have been tasty. Now you're grown up. Age ruins all the goodness of steam, it spoils, tastes rotten."

You swallowed, staring up at the woman with the knife.

"So by not being able to find and eat some part of me... People died."

"Not people, dear. True Knot, my family. The most important people alive."

Rose's personal fable was inherently narcissistic, unyieldingly ignorant of the world around her.

"So you're better than me because you eat... Kids?"

Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing your face.

"I'm better than you because I'll live for centuries. The oldest of us have seen empires rise and fall, we've seen society advance, society crumble, all of it." she whispered. "We are the chosen few, the best. You're... A rube. A stupid, forgettable little tick."

She seemed awfully presumptuous, you thought. But your small judgements were out of place with the extreme fear that clouded most of your higher processing abilities. The animal brain was clawing out from it's cage, and you knew that this meant the odd things would start happening. Ever since you were a kid, it had been the same. You were normal, happy, unbothered, and then once someone put you in a corner, it was like something out of a paranormal movie. The ropes at your wrists got loose. Then the ropes at your feet. They were spinning out, moving with every rapid beat of your heart. But your telepathy was no match for Rose's abilities.

Blinding white pain filled your head as Rose pressed two of her fingers into your left temple. Hands reaching up inside your head, hands clawing and tugging at the animal bit of your brain, shoving it down, pinning it into a corner. It was brutal, and it left you groaning from pain.

"Naughty little thing. But talented, so talented. Telepathy? At your age? God you would have been tasty. Maybe you still are..."

In your state of wooziness caused from Rose's rape-like invasion of your head, you hadn't noticed her reaching for the pin off of her hat. And then that pin was being pressed through the flesh of your clavicle, hitting the hollow skin there. It stung, badly. With a horrid scream, vapor sprung from your lungs. The woman inhaled it readily, her eyes flashing bright blue. And then she sputtered. She removed the pin, coughing and hacking violently.

"You taste... Disgusting." she winced, her face screwed up in disgust.

Blood trickled down from the wound on your collarbone.

"God I need to get that taste out of my mouth, it's like spoiled milk." Rose complained, looking around the room for something to rinse out her mouth with.

Her choices were scarce. Half-stale soda, water, (which wouldn't do a damn thing), or... Now that would do.

"Mnm." Rose smiled, licking the blood from your clavicle away.

Her tongue was revoltingly wet, and it stung where she licked you. Rose's face was screwed up in a light smirk, watching with interest as your body reacted against your ever-rational mind. Her tongue was soothing, and there was a degree of sensuality to her movements, the way she leaned down, rolling her tongue slowly over the wound. She was straddling you, a hand on your shoulder, the other behind your neck. And the tongue continued to work, the papillae of her tongue drawing a light friction over the wound. It was... Arousing.

"Did I tell you that you could touch me?" Rose smirked.

Your hands were resting on her back, drawing unconscious patterns.

"... No."

Rose chuckled at this, nipping lightly at your neck.

"You're enjoying this... Twisted little girl."

The bite went straight downwards, causing your pelvic floor to clench involuntarily.

"I'm not. Well, I am, not because I want to-"

Rose's lips crashed against yours, tongue immediately pressing through your lips as you gasped. Claiming, tasting, exploring. She coaxed your tongue out slowly, her hand cradling your head, massaging gently.

"Give me your tongue." a voice sounded in your head.

It was feminine. You obeyed, sticking it out. Rose's lips enveloped the muscle, sucking wetly. The result was immediate. Your hips twitched, your core clenched, and you let out a desperate moan into her mouth. Rose let out a low hum of approval, continuing to suck your tongue in and out of her lips, imitating oral sex. The suggestion was arousing, and when you pulled away, the look on her face said it all. Rose was pleased. She knew she was sexy, she knew what she was doing was hot, and the fact that you were confused, horny and scared, all against your will, it only served to pad her ego.

"Poor thing... Are you worked up?" Rose crooned, stroking your sides. "Tell you what... I'll make it better, but then afterward you and I are going to brainstorm a way to work off your debt."

Your words caught in your throat. You didn't want to owe her anything, that would be very bad, but you had a feeling that it wouldn't matter what you decided. She'd laugh if you told her you didn't want to fuck her, and probably fuck you anyways. But then again, to make the best out of a bad situation... Who would blame you?

"Mhm, you'll come around." Rose hummed, licking a stripe up your neck. "And it will be reaaaaal good."

Your hands were resting on her back again. She didn't scold you this time. She took the topper off, setting it to the side. Her hair was a little frizzy, but it really didn't matter. She looked like a fallen goddess either way. Her hands reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it off. Pert, large breasts jiggled with the movement, unencumbered by a bra or other garment. You wondered why you hadn't noticed it before. Rose wondered why she was wasting her best window of performance on a rube.

"You like what you see? Oh I know you do." Rose smiled, resting her elbows on either side of her face. "Kiss them. Give them the attention they deserve."

You obliged, angling your head up to kiss one of her nipples. Tentatively at first, and then a little surer. Rose pulled down your bottom lip, silently beckoning you to open your mouth. She pressed her nipple into your mouth, sighing in delight as you obediently swirled your tongue around the areola.

"Beautiful. A little suction, not too much, I'm not a cow." Rose sighed.

Adding increasing levels of suction, you stopped when Rose let out a low moan, her hips bucking against your stomach. You alternated swirling your tongue and sucking, drawing the sweet noises from Rose's mouth.

"The other side now, my other girl is feeling left out." Rose breathily gasped.

As you swirled and sucked the other nipple, she reached up to pinch the previously worshipped breast. Her hips twitched erratically, and judging by the increasing frequency of her little gasps and moans, she was getting more aroused. Finally she pulled back, her nipple sliding out of your mouth with a wet plop. Rose pulled at her jeans, sliding them down her knees and onto the floor in one swift motion. Whether she took off her panties at the same time or was never wearing any, you couldn't be sure.

"Stay put." Rose ordered.

You leaned back against the bed. She put a knee on either side of your face, lowering herself as she spread her labia open. The sight was both daunting and arousing, her inflamed clit pulsing angrily amidst the pink strip of her inner labia. You opened your mouth as she lowered her entrance over your mouth.

"Lick." she breathily moaned.

You licked a stripe up from entrance to clit, tasting her for the first time. It wasn't anything pungent or otherwise remarkable, but it was good. She fisted her hands in your hair as she rocked against your tongue, pushing her clit into your nose.

"Stick your tongue in, fuck me with your tongue." Rose rasped.

Obeying, you punched your tongue in and out of her hole, catching her secretions with your tongue. Rose moaned emphatically, continuing to grind her clit over your nose.

"That's it, just like that..." Rose praised. "Pull me against you."

Grabbing her thighs for support, you pressed her down into your mouth, alternating between licking stripes up her labia and fucking her with your tongue. Her moans grew louder and more emphatic, pressing her clit into your nose until your nostrils closed, preventing your ability to breathe. She worked faster against you, riding your face with reckless abandon, either unaware or unconcerned with your lack of air. In a last ditch effort to prevent suffocation, you pistoned your tongue in and out of her earnestly until she let out a howl of pleasure, squeezing her thighs over your face.

...

"Hey, wake up!" a voice echoed, muffled and unclear.

A sharp sensation, someone shaking you. Things came into clarity, bit by bit. Rose was over you, shaking you and slapping your face. She came into focus slowly, her face flushed.

"Fucking finally." she swore.

Arms pulled you up, stripping you of the sweaty shirt that clung to your breasts. You weren't wearing a bra, who could blame you? It was midnight on a fucking Tuesday. Or Wednesday, you guessed.

"Are you awake now? I'm not done with you."

You frowned, still adjusting to being awake after nearly suffocating to death between the woman's thighs.

"Naughty thing. Lay over my lap, I'll get you awake again."

You groggily obeyed, breathing steadily. Rose's hands caressed your back gently, pulling your pajama bottoms down. You were still uncomfortable, although your arousal had significantly dulled following you passing out. Her hand caressed your panty clad bottom, squeezing and pulling the flesh expertly. You let out a soft hum of contentment.

"Wouldn't have been a bad way to go, you know." Rose teased, continuing to knead your buttcheeks.

You gave an unconvinced hum in response. Rose let out a low chuckle, giving you a playful smack on the rear.

"Let's try this again. This time you can be on top, huh?"

Rose helped you up, after taking off your panties of course. She laid upon the bed, and you moved to straddle her face.

"Nuh uh. Turn around, the other way."

You obeyed, facing her legs.

"Now lean down. Hold my legs open, that's right, princess."

Princess. The name felt more intimate than the other titles she had given you, most were insulting. You found yourself looking forward to tasting her again. Her clit still remained engorged, and you busied yourself with licking at it as Rose drew her hands back and forth over your thighs.

"Pretty pussy you've got." she crooned.

A sharp bite to your inner thigh. It shocked and aroused you, and your core clenched involuntarily. Rose gave a low chuckle at the sight.

"Is she this wet for me?" Rose cooed. "Might need to have a taste."

Her tongue parted your labia, circling your entrance. Your hips bucked into her mouth, and she smacked your butt in jest.

"Naughty."

To make up for your unintentional disobedience, you leaned down, spreading her labia and exposing her engorged clit to your tongue. You circled it a few times before pulling the hood back, sucking softly. Rose's reaction was immediate. She groaned, kneading your thighs tenderly.

"Mhm. Good girl."

Her tongue returned to your entrance, licking lazily, occasionally rolling over your clit. Enough to stimulate, not enough to really please. It was infuriating, but you doubled your attentions in the hopes she would reward you. Taking her clit in your mouth, you sucked it, drawing it back and forth between your lips like she had done earlier with your tongue. Rose moaned, letting out a few words that you didn't understand, a foreign tongue. Then her mouth was at your clit, her tongue drawing steady circles over the nerve. You felt her thighs clenching, and you held them open as she reacted accordingly. Her mouth abandoned your clit, and she moaned out, her hips thrusting against your mouth. Then her mouth was sucking violently against you, two fingers roughly penetrating you. But just as her orgasm subsided, just as a familiar clenching began in your abdomen, she pulled away.

"No!" you whined.

A harsh smack cracked over your ass.

"Shut it."

She pushed you to the side, sitting up. She used your shirt to wipe the mess off her face.

"If you want to come, you'll crawl over here and ride my fingers."

Much to your utter dismay, (and deep humiliation), you saw the truth in her eyes. Crawling into her lap like a discarded puppy, you winced as the pushed two of her fingers into you once more. But that was were her roughness ended. A hand encircled her waist while her thumb rolled gentle circles over your clit.

"Put your arms around my shoulders, princess."

The soft praise and gentler look returned to her eyes. She smiled softly at your obedience, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck.

"You've been good... I suppose I should reward you."

Her fingers moved gently in and out of you while her thumb moved in that soft pattern. It was good, a gentle stimulation to push you up to a gentle climax. You had the feeling that if she wanted you to squeal in pleasure, she'd do so, but this was an allotment, not a reward. Her kisses on your neck turned into soft, tender bites, matching her tone. A slow build up to climax began, and you wrapped your arms tighter around her.

"I.. I'm gonna-"

"-I know you are. Now moan my name, 'Rose'."

You felt your lower muscles slowly starting to clench, and you let out a soft whimper.

"Rose!" you obeyed, feeling your pelvic floor clench and unclench erratically.

It was fulfilling, but not by much. In truth, you'd been most stimulated when you were pleasing her, a truth that made you aware of a darker truth. Rose was toying with you. She wiped her hand off nonchalantly, putting her hat back on. With that one action, she went from uncommitted lover to sinister debt-collector.

"Now. About that debt."

<------------>

A/N: This is really just a one-shot, I don't see a part two or continuation, but I would be more than happy to write a similar story or use a similar template to create a series. Feedback is always welcome. :)

[navarice]

horror and psychological thriller in tgcf was done so incredibly well that if the beautiful and touching love story wasn’t incorporated into the book, I would be fully convinced mxtx decided to switch to another genre.

no one really talks about her fascination with the descent to madness and the morals surrounding humanity. at least one main character of each book goes through it. for lbh, it stemmed from the fear of abandonment and the emptiness that follows when the people you care most about decide you aren’t worth being chosen. for wwx, it was the outside in. society deemed him a monster so he had no other option available to him. no way to prove them wrong, and no way to convince himself he’s not either. anything he would do, despite his most well meaning, sincere, and self sacrificing motives, will always be twisted by the world who likes to paint others the devil. for xl…it was such a defeating combination of the two that it was near impossible for him find a way out. no family nor friend to turn to, no place to hide or run away, continuously forced to confront dilemmas beyond anyone’s capacity that sawed away at his already frayed sanity. worse was him having to confront godhood doesn’t mean omnipotent, nor does ascension mean free of suffering.

the way i choose to see it as this is her commentary on human nature, in both freedom and fallibility. ascend to heaven as a human, yet those in heaven are still human. wants, desires, fears, traumas, love, hate, selfishness, self-lessness, kindness, compassion, sacrifice, loss, hubris, duty, family, friends, hierarchy, power, and, above all, free will are all things that make humans what they are. are we wwx and xl? sacrificing ourselves time and time again only to have it all thrown back at our face? never once chosen or understood unless when it’s something short of a miracle? or are we the masses? afraid of the sinister, the disease, the wars? afraid for our young and old, for the talented and lame? for our lives and legacy? what are we, if not forever doomed to be helplessly flawed and hopelessly human?

the way she sees it, we have always been, and always be, both sides. because to her, they aren’t mutually exclusive, but rather each reflections of the other. both never wrong, but never quite right either. convoluted and confusing, mundane yet a tale as old as time.

mxtx writes her beautiful loves stories seamlessly. but she displays her talent best of all by weaving tales of hope and humanity into the threads.

[mclennie]

A thing I really love about TBOSAS is its exploration of human nature through the characters, using the ideas of philosophers like Hobbes, Locke, and Rosseau. In fact, it's so important to Suzanne Collins that you make these connections that their most famous works are quoted in the novel's epigraph.

Gaul represents Hobbesian thought in the story, believing humans are hardwired to be cruel, selfish, and willing to kill each other to ensure survival. She tells Snow that the arena is "humanity undressed" and that even Snow, who had the right upbringing and education, quickly becomes a murderer inside the arena (tbosas 243).

It's always been interesting to me that she likens the arena, an environment controlled by the Capitol, to the State of Nature Hobbes writes about.

First of all, the State of Nature is supposed to be a place without any sort of interference, and in an arena, that's just not true; the Capitol controls weapons, food supply, and dangers like mutts. Secondly, the State of Nature was never a real place but more of a thought exercise, but Gaul seems to take this exercise at face value.

In Leviathan, Hobbes says that in the State of Nature, there exists a perpetual state of war, with no moral right or wrong, and to escape this "nasty, brutish, and short" life, humans must create a strong central state to impose order.

Snow's journey in the novel is to decide which worldview he ascribes to, which makes the arrival of Lucy Gray Baird into his life even more important.

Now, Lucy Gray is more in line with Rosseau's view that humans are naturally good, but society is the one that changes that. This is her line of thinking when she tells Snow: "People aren't so bad really[.] It's what the world does to them. Like us, in the arena. We did things in there we'd never have considered if they just left us alone," (tbosas 492).

What I like about TBOSAS is that unlike other prequels centered on the villain, it's not preordained by fate that Snow was meant to be an authoritarian dictator. He has a choice. He meets Lucy Gray when he's leaving childhood, stuck between two forks in the road, and he can choose whether to stay on the right side of the line, as Lucy Gray later mentions. But he decides not to.

He chooses wealth, fame, and power over love and goodness.

It's very telling to me that out in the woods with Lucy Gray, before their relationship quickly sours, he wonders what they should do after they meet their most basic needs. What would they do without books or music? What's the point of survival for its own sake? He even discounts having children with her because he says it would be "too bleak" to condemn a child to such an existence (tbosas 496).

Love is not enough. Not if you subscribe to a worldview where individuals are inherently cruel and if you think control is the only thing preventing chaos. When he turns his gun on Lucy Gray it's the ultimate rejection of her worldview, and his complete turn into Gaul's influence, one where it's every man for himself.

[familyvideostevie]

ok but meeting remus lupin during the end of nov and admitting how melancholy this time of year makes u feel and that's it ur invited to all the marauders events over the holidays and spend new years together

my first attempt at remus! this really ran away from me, but i hope you like it! i am still finding my footing with him but this was great fun. | fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, nye kiss, 3.3k

You meet Remus at a local book club, of all places.

A flyer on the bookshop notice board tells you the group meets every other week -- a bit frequently, in your opinion, but you've got the time to read so you figure you'll give it ago. Moving to a new place means you haven't got many, or any, really, friends, and you could do with getting out of the house more. The days are getting shorter and you find yourself a bit more lonely with each passing day.

The group, when you go for the first time, consists of eight elderly women (though, they are sure to inform you, sometimes numbers swell to as many as 15), you, and Remus. They ask for your name and your age, which they all titter at.

"I, uh," you say, crossing your legs and shifting in your folding chair. "I'm really happy to be here," you say. "Thank you for letting me join." That seems to soften them, and they all are a bit more smiley as they introduce themselves.

It is clear right away that they adore Remus. It's not surprising -- he's handsome in a tired way, a ragged way. His face is a mash-up of sharp edges and tight scars that slash across his nose, but his eyes are soft and warm. You want to inspect every inch of him, so naturally you look away. 

It takes three meetings for you to say much. After four, you see Remus at the grocery store twice in one week. You wonder if he lives around here. By the fifth meeting, you're fairly sure you've got your footing. You chime in more often than not, and they're going to let you pick a book next month. It's the last meeting before you all break for the holidays and you are quite sad to not have these to look forward to for the next few weeks. But you push it down and instead focus on your impassioned defense of the unlikable narrator in this week's novel.

"It's the edge that makes the story so compelling," you say. "We get to judge her because we recognize her, but we don't know why until too late. It's because she's normal, and we're meant to see ourselves in her." You've gone on for too long, and after you finish, you don't know where to look. Remus is smiling at you, as he always does.

"Brilliant," says Florence, the bookstore owner and facilitator "What a way to end! I can't wait to see what you come up with in the new year, dear." She hands out the plates of cookies that she made for everyone and the ladies begin to go their separate ways. You're juggling your book, bag, and the plate while you try to shove an arm through your coat. A hand appears in your vision to grab the items in your grip.

"You alright?" It's Remus. He smells like chocolate and something earthier. You've spoken a few times, but not much apart from a hello here and there. He complimented your sweater last meeting and the words burned in your brain for days. You nod, quickly sliding into your coat before taking your things back. His fingers are warm where they brush yours.

"Thanks," you say. The bookshop is almost empty.

"I agree with you, by the way," he says. You've noticed that when Remus talks to you, even if he's responding to something you've said in the group, he looks at you the whole time. His attention does not waver. It's both warming and unnerving.  "What you were saying about the narrator. I hadn't been able to put it into words like that, but I think you were spot on."

You start for the door and he follows. "I just think it's easy to fall into the trap of putting every character on one side of morality or the other," you say.

"Exactly!" He nods emphatically. "With a writer of this caliber the text encourages you to read about her with nuance and to consider that she's not just one thing." He holds the door for you and you both spill out into the chilly night air. The town has wrapped every lamppost and tree in lights that cast everything in a warm glow.

"Listen," Remus says. He looks especially lovely out here. You hug your plate of cookies close to your chest before you reach out to push away the lock of hair that's fallen across his forehead. "I know this is probably not going to come out well, so feel free to tell me to shove it."

You blink at him. What?

"I've seen you at the supermarket around the corner a few times," he continues. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he's being shy. "And I figure you live around here?" You nod. You've no reason to believe he's anything but a nice guy, but you know nothing about him. Even if you have also noticed him at the same store.

"Well," he keeps going. His smile is tight, the creases at the corner of his eyes deep in a way that screams nerves. "I was wondering, if you don't have plans that is, if you wanted to come to the pub with me? I'm meeting a few of my mates and I--." He runs a hand through his hair, fixing the piece you can't stop looking at. "Well, we don't get to talk much during club and I'd uh, like to get to know you?"

"Are you asking me to be friends?" you blurt out. Probably not the best thing to lead with, but he's really so handsome and he seems nice and you haven't got much to look forward to in your empty apartment and this is just a little bit overwhelming. His shoulders creep back down away from his ears and he grins.

"Yeah," he says. "I am."

"Okay," you say. "Lead the way." Remus doesn't strike you as someone who wears his emotions plainly, but his grin softens into something lighter and you think that you want to figure out how to read him.

You fall into step beside him. "It's not far," he says. "I do want to apologize in advance for my friends, though," he says.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, they're great. Don't get me wrong. I love them to pieces." He sighs. "But they're also a bloody pain."

You laugh loudly and suddenly. It feels nice. "Well, that's a ringing endorsement. It's alright though, I could use some friends."

Remus looks over at you and tugs on your elbow just once to tell you to turn with him. "You just moved here, yeah?"

"Well, a few months ago now, but I haven't had much luck with people." Between working and trying to keep your head above water, you haven't figure out how to add socializing into that yet. "And I don't really like...all this." You wave your hands in the air, gesturing at the lights and ribbons adorning the street.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," you say. "It all makes me feel a bit sad." You start to feel embarrassed. "Oh Remus, I'm sorry. We've barely spoken and I'm being all melancholy." He knocks his shoulder with yours and you look over at him to see he's still got a small smile on his face.

"Darling," he says. "I am as melancholy as they come. You're speaking my language."

---

The pub is crowded and noisy and you like it immediately. Remus takes your hand and leads you through the throng to a back corner where two guys are taking up an entire round booth with what seems to be an arm wrestling match.

"Surrender, Potter," one of them says. He's got a knot of dark hair tied into a bun and tiny hoops in each ear and one nostril.

"Fuck off," growls the other. You can tell right away that he's tall, maybe as tall as Remus. He's got messy hair and round spectacles. He is not winning the match.

"Idiots," Remus mutters. He lets go of your hand and places his palm on your lower back. "Hey, knock it off!" This distracts the boy with glasses, allowing the other one to slam his arm down on the table.

"Shove it," he cries. Remus rubs the bridge of his nose. You don't think they've noticed you yet.

"Where are the girls?" he asks. More friends? you think.

"They're coming," says the boy who lost. Potter, you think. His eyebrows climb up his forehead once he notices you standing next to Remus.

"Marlene called and said they had to stop at home first," adds the other one. His eyes find you and his gaze is sharp. "And who is this?" he says, eyeing you.

"Uh," you say. Remus's hand presses a little harder into your back. "Remus and I do book club together?" You put the plate of cookies down on the table like a peace offering.

"Merlin's beard," glasses boy whistles. "She's real."

The one with piecing looks delighted. "James, you owe me a fiver." He holds out his hand.

"Fuck off, Sirius," says...James. "Wait are those cookies?"

"As you can see," Remus sighs, "these gits are James and Sirius. Are you two about finished?" You look at him and his cheeks are a little pink but he's doing his best to look bored. James and Sirius break into roars of laughter as they scoot to make room for you both. Remus ushers you into the booth. "I'm going to get drinks," he says. "What would you like?"

"Whatever you're having," you tell him. You tug off your coat and don't know what to do with your hands.

"I want a stout, Remus," James says.

Remus doesn't even look at him. "I wasn't asking you, dear." He winks at you and turns on his heel, heading for the bar. You feel a bit strange to be left with two guys you just met, but this is how you make friends, right?

"So what's this about me not being real?" you ask. Sirius raps a tattooed knuckle on the table before reaching for a sugar cookie.

"Well," he drawls. "Lupin told us about his book club when he started going earlier this year but we don't hear much else about it. And then a little while ago, he comes to drinks and he says there's a new girl."

James says your name in a poor imitation of Remus's accent. You twist your fingers in your lap. "And he says a few things about this new girl," Sirius continues, until James elbows him.

"Keep your limbs to yourself, Potter," he grumbles.

James leans in, elbows on the table. "Remus hasn't made a new friend since like, grammar school. So naturally we thought he was having us on when he said you two were friendly."

"Oh," you say. He's been telling his friends that you're friendly? It makes your chest tight in a nice way, like you're being hugged. "Well, thank you for letting me crash your pub night," you say.

"Are you kidding?" Sirius deadpans. "We've been begging him to invite you for weeks." Remus returns before you can reply with two pale-looking pints. He sets them down and slides in next to you, close enough that it's clear you know him the most, even if that's barely true, but far enough that you're not touching except for your knees knocking under the table. He stretches an arm across the top of the booth behind you. You hope you're not staring.

"So how were the books this time?" James asks. His eyes say mischief but he seems to be willing to let you off the hook for now. You and Remus recount the drama from today's meeting. The boys ask you basic questions like what you do for work and how you like the city and what club you support, but none of it feels stale or disingenuous. In fact, it really feels like they want to get to know you.

"Well, surely you've been to the skating rink in the park." Sirius is interrogating you on what neighborhoods you've visited. You shake your head and he gasps like you've slapped him. "What about the market?"

"I don't really do the holidays very well," you say, a bit softly. He raps his knuckles on the table again and Remus presses his thigh into yours on purpose. "I just haven't got my footing yet. I haven't been here that long and I don't have a guide."

"Well that won't do," James says.

"You do now," Remus says. You turn to him and find that he's closer than you realized. His eyes bore into yours and he looks rather serious. "Have a guide, I mean. You'll just do everything with us." You blink. Is it really this easy? Making friends? A handsome boy wants to facilitate your holiday season and you don't really know what to say.

"Brilliant idea, Lupin," Sirius says happily. "I always say you're the smartest of us."

Remus kicks him. "Okay," you say. "That sounds nice."

"I'm sure Remus has your phone number," James says cheekily. "He'll sort it." Remus does not, in fact, have your phone number, but you remedy that by passing him your mobile. He taps away at it with one hand, the other still hovering just over your shoulders.

"Where the bloody fuck are the girls?" Sirius grumbles. It seems he can change moods from one moment to the next faster than anyone you've met before. "Marlene has my nice suede jacket from last week."

"And we need Lily here so James stops looking so put out," Remus says, not looking up from your phone. "Lily is his girlfriend," he adds for your benefit. "Are we not good enough for you, Jamie?"

James ignores him.

"More friends?" you say quietly. Remus nods.

"You'll like them. And they'll adore you." You've been friends with him for all of one night, but his tone is sincere. The pub lighting makes his scars softer and you fight against leaning into him as he talks.

"How do you know?"

His mouth curls up at one end in a smile that makes you shiver a little. "I just do."

__

It wouldn't do to develop a crush on your first real friend in town, so you try your best not to over the next few weeks. You fail miserably. How could you not like Remus? He carts you around the city with his friends -- your friends too, he insists -- going ice skating and drinking mulled cider and market shopping and every time you are struck by how lovely he is. He holds your hand a lot and sends you photos he manages to take of you without you noticing. You meet the rest of the group -- Lily and Marlene and Dorcus -- and you love them, too. You see lights all over the city and laugh a lot and smile so much your cheeks ache. His friends tease you and you end up in multiple group chats and things start to feel good. Even when you go back to your apartment alone, you feel warm. You are just excited for whatever you're going to do next.

And then it's New Year's Eve.

The pub you've become a regular at is having a party and Lily was timely enough to book your regular table for the whole crew. You're running a little late because you could not decide what to wear, but you make it, shoving yourself through the crowd to the back booth.

Someone -- you're not sure who -- spots you and screams your name. You recognize a lot of the people here, but it's not until James enters your field of vision that you relax.

"There she is!" he cries, looking over his shoulder. "Remus, she's here!" Remus emerges from the crowd and scoops you up, pressing his lips to your cheek in a quick hello as he grabs your coat and pulls you in for a hug. He's warm and smells like beer and something spicy.

"You look lovely," he says. He's had at least one drink judging by the color of his cheeks and his general handsy-ness.

"So do you," you say. He wrinkles his nose at you.

"Go sit in my seat and I'll get you a drink. The usual?" You nod. He gently pushes you towards the table and disappears into the crowd. You slide into a space Remus has clearly vacated next to Sirius. He's got some sparkles on his lower lids and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth as he shuffles a deck of cards. Everyone at the table is flushed and ready.

"Hey, you," he says. "You in?" You've no idea what they're playing.

"Next round, Sirius." He shrugs and you watch something that looks like Hearts happen in front of you.

Remus returns before the round wraps up and you stand to give him his seat. He looks at it and then at you and then back at the bench before he slides in, setting your pints on the table before wrapping his long, slender fingers around your wrist and tugging just enough so that you stumble towards him and end up in his lap. Everyone at the table is fighting smiles and Sirius wraps up the round and turns to you both. He puts the cigarette behind his ear and manages to look extremely bored with your antics.

"Now are you playing?" You nod, breathless. Remus's arm wraps around your back, hand settling on your hip so that you won't fall off of him.

A hand moves your hair off of your shoulder and you feel lips on your earlobe. "What are we playing?" You turn and all of a sudden Remus's face is incredibly close to yours. He does not move away.

"No idea," you say, forgetting that you do know what you're playing. Your brain is a little fuzzy right now. Which is probably why you lose horribly, Remus laughing underneath you as you desperately try to shove aside thoughts of kissing him so you can focus for just one second.

And then it's almost midnight. The energy in the pub changes to something a bit more exuberant and someone passes out champagne in classes of all kinds. You end up holding a whiskey tumblr of fizz and the booth around you empties as everyone gets to their feet, ready to chant in the new year. Remus maneuvers you gently so that you're no longer totally in his lap, just next to him with your legs across it. His arm is a warm band around your shoulders to keep you close. The pub increases in volume as people start to sing.

"Have you got anyone to kiss at midnight?" he yells into your ear, lips brushing your skin again.

You pull back to look at him. He's flushed, but his eyes are clear. "I think so," you say. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he sets down his own glass and grabs your jaw. His thumb rubs over your lower lip.

"Lucky bloke," he says. The countdown chanting starts around you. You cup his jaw for the first time and run a gentle finger along one of the scars on his jaw. He shudders.

You can't wait a second more so you lean in, pressing your lips to his. He gasps just a little bit before responding, tongue tracing the seam of your mouth. His fingertips dig into your party dress and you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and everyone is cheering and you think some of it might be for you two.

You have a feeling that this year isn't going to be so bad.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Your thoughts on this? Anti maikos seem so convinced lol

"He vallues his sense of honor/morals/what's right over his relationship with Mai" HOW IS THAT BAD????????? Uncle Iroh gave Zuko the cold shoulder after the Ba Sing Se fiasco, does that mean he does not love Zuko? To properly show you love someone you can't have a mind and voice of your own?

This person is either 13-years-old or the kind that doesn't understand not every romance in fiction needs to be "I'll give up on literally EVERYTHING ELSE just for you" - hell, I like that kind of romance a lot, but not all love stories need to be that.

That's part of what makes Maiko feel more realistic as a romance to me. Zuko was banished and had to see a different side of the world, Mai wasn't. Zuko is a person that naturally NEEDS to speak, or shout, his mind, while Mai was taught to basically blend into the background.

Of course they're gonna have disagreements. Of course they won't always be on the same page. Of course their idea of what their relationship and life, both as couple and individuals, should be like.

That doesn't mean they can't find a middle ground, or realize the other was right, or go "I have no fucking clue why this means so much to you, but I love you and trust your judgement."

Zuko and Mai had a ton of issues, but they worked through them - that's a far more solid foundation for a relationship, both IRL and in fiction, than one that is based purely on infactuation and never has to be tested.

As for the "he broke up with her over-text" come on, he had good reason. Mai had never given any indication that she wanted to change sides and was friends with Azula. If Zuko broke up with her in person she could have done something to try and stop him. He couldn't aford that - there's a reason he only confronted Ozai at the last second, with the fucker unable to firebend.

And for him "never sparing a thought for her" - we see the flashbacks of Zuko alone that clearly foreshadow their romance. It was HIS memories. He had not seen her in at least 3 whole years yet the time his sister pulled a prank on them both to embarass Mai for having a crush on him still stuck. He also brought her up when talking to Sokka, when he didn't know he was about to see her again.

Zuko didn't bring up Aang basically offering to be his friends in book 1 for the longest time, yet he still clearly remembered it. He did not bring up Azula until the season 1 finale, but he clearly remembered he had a sister. He never explicitly talked about his mother to ANYONE until the day of the eclipse, and we only see her in two episodes, and once again none of it was in book 1, but he still clearly loved her.

The characters don't need to bring up everything that is important to them in every single episode to show that they care because good stories tend to assume the audience doesn't have amnesia.

[galedekarios]

You don't have to ship it, but they do have their similarities—enough that it really isn’t any two white dudes shoved together (unlike one pale elf and another wood elf are). Their personalities, alignments, and histories make them very different people, but some of their goals, struggles, hobbies, motives, requirements, and unpopular moral opinions align in ways that they don't with other origins. I think what similarities they do have are the reason why they butt heads at first, and why Gale later on softens up to Astarion as he becomes more comfortable with himself. They check a lot of the requirements for mirror characters, and it's a ship that's at its best when people hone in on that rather than using it to write out their yaoi punching bag Gale x perfect pained princess Astarion fantasies.

i was debating not answering this because this isn't really something of a debate for me or something that i will change my opinion on.

they share the same levels of surface similarities with everyone else in the roster, if you truly want to put your mind to it.

my point is not "don't ship" or "ship", my point is these sorts of shallow parallels can be drawn between any and all of them. it doesn't translate to them being "made for each other" or "written for each other" or being "narrative foils" or "mirrors".

some of their goals? which ones exactly? getting rid of the tadpole? regaining agency? learning to live the life they feel they lost? again, that's something all of them share.

what struggles? overcoming an oppressive relationship? again, that's something all of them share.

what hobbies do they share? reading? because they share the same reading animation despite ast*rion never talking about books?

what motives? motives for what?

what requirements? consuming something? karlach needs infernal iron in order to survive.

what unpopular moral opinions? about what? in which respect?

people mistake where gale's "unpopular moral opinions" come from in opposition to ast*rion's: in the beginning, they come from pragmatism and being smart enough to recognise that the group is facing a seemingly unwinnable battle against an unknown entity that is controlling an entire army to later finding out it's a legendary elder brain with a macguffin on its head. it's not about hubris nor is it about being unhinged or selfish. it's pragmatism against insourmantable odds and it's selflessness by act iii that makes him offer his sacrifice even if you have convinced him to live. if we are speaking about the crown, the boat scene beats you over the head with it stemming from gale's loss of faith in m*stra and wanting to be better than her in order to help - themselves and others.

they don't check "requirements for mirror characters" in any way that the others do not. i could take any and all of these "mirrors" and apply them to every other companion in the game if that is the level of "depth" we are using.

if we look past the shallow parallels you can draw for basically all of them, we see gale shooting down ast*rion's manipulation tactics right away ("i do enjoy our walks together. don't you, gale?" "uh sure. in silence."). we see their different approaches to what the journey throws at them. gale enjoys helping people, for no gain at all, and diplomatic solutions (arabella, mirkon, mayrina, zevlor, etc.), he needs someone who is on his side, someone who is willing to accept him for who he is. gale is genuinely good-hearted and kind. that is why they butt heads early on. not because they are similar. in opposition to that, ast*rion delights in cruelty. he is so needlessly and often. towards those in need, towards children, towards animals. he is out for no one but himself. he shows little emphathy to anyone, with the exception of himself always ("the problem with what cazador has done is that he did it to me.").

ast*rion in particular is often downright cruel and degrading to people around him, he's cruel and degrading to gale, to the problems he faces and who he is as a person (just a few examples from the top of my head):

from the moment when gale reveals his backstory ("why isn't this netherese jack in a box a blip on the horizon already?") to the mystra reveal (being more focused on what it means re: controlling the cult than gale's impending death), and his casual dismissal of who gale is as a person at every other turn ("i don't care what's in every mind flayer colony, gale - nobody does. except you.").

are k*rlach and gale foils because they share a bomb in their chest?

are sh*dowheart and gale foils because they share religious trauma?

are w*ll and gale foils because they share having a relationship with an incredible power imbalance with a female entity?

are h*lsin and gale foils because they both have a library?

are w*ll and gale foils because they have their tents set up next to each other in act i?

to wrap it up: they are completely incompatible to me.

they are "mirrors" or "foils" in the same way that karlach and gale are. or gale and wyll. or gale and shadowheart: at the most there are parallels you can draw that are tenuous at best and shallow at worst. the broad same general narrative structure doesn't create narrative foils.

i've tried to engage with this ship to see what people are doing with it and the relationship usually starts in the same way over and over again in a way that gale's character a disservice.

gale isn't someone who cares about physical attractiveness, nor is he someone who is into one night stands or sleeping with someone for the sake of it. ast*rion's entire romance set up hinges on the fact that you are being manipulated by him, sex and attraction as a springboard. gale's entire romance set up hinges on the fact that you accept him as he is. it's a slow burn. mystra's missive forces his hand into confessing early and sharing himself with you in what time is left to him - sex is a component of a greater whole.

gale also isn't someone to just take insults or abuse or dismissal and then still run after said someone to have a relationship.

i'm not even going to touch on the 'dubcon' aspect i've also seen a lot of forcing 'favours' from gale because he needs magical artefacts because that's a whole different can of worms.

again: this is not a don't ship post. you are free to ship what you want. this is solely a this relationship doesn't work for me, much less as narrative foils, post, and i have seen nothing that would convince me otherwise in the game or from the people who do like this ship.

[hauntedmoors]

spoilers for ep7 below the cut, beware that I discuss power balances, abuse and assault with book spoilers. I mostly discuss siuan, moiraine, rand, lan and elaida.

sooo much discourse about siuan and it’s personally very disturbing that people think it’s alright for the show to radically deviate from her established characterisation* (1. which is specifically, purposefully IN CONTRAST to elaida in the books 2. violates its own canon about siuan trusting Dreams, foretellings and prophecies wrt to the dragon more fervently than moiraine herself) or that she was reaping the consequences of her actions when she was deposed in tsr, ignoring how siuan isn’t unique in keeping secrets as an aes sedai or how gawyn and galad are intentionally treated like spoiled, privileged children who think they’re cleverer than they really are when they act without considering the consequences of their actions or how the books frame the whole sequence as a tragedy of errors on all sides. I’m pretty sure @/amemoryofwot made the breakdown on the black ajah to non black ajah sisters in the hall and it was very revelatory about the exact significance of the stakes set up against siuan. I also think it’s important to not ignore the gender dimension involved in the way people approach rand and mat as opposed to moiraine or egwene or siuan - male characters are always better tolerated when they make morally questionable choices while women are systemically taken apart and derided for being foolish.

that said. it’s very telling that the show is solely interested in moiraine almost to a fault; we’ve had 5 different expositions with significant screentime about moiraine pushing people away from alanna, anvaere and verin - and at some point it just becomes very bad writing. viewers are not juvenile. they don’t need to be rapped over the head over a concept that the show catches and chooses to explore.

this analysis segues into another conversation that we should be having - I do understand that framing lan and siuan in context of their relationships to moiraine as the protagonist of the series is inevitable, smart writing. but after laying the foundation for their characters in s1 and establishing their motivations there was absolutely no need to continue to frame them in context of their relationship to moiraine almost to the exclusion of all other facets of their characterisations. liandrin was clearly afforded a lot more generous writing and screentime and it’s a Problem and also very bad writing when an antagonist is afforded more screentime than your ACTUAL PROTAGONISTS. some of these writing choices are really racist, period.

with regards to discussions about assault and abuse in this episode I will say this once, and only once:

moiraine transferring lan’s bond to myrelle in the books was an act of desperation undertaken only because lan’s life was at stake. moiraine ACTUALLY asking alanna to forcibly take lan’s bond is akin to threatening him with assault. it’s bad writing meant to make her seem a lot more colder to justify the intervention that we see later on. lan offering an apology to moiraine at the end of the episode without any apology in turn displays the writers’ sheer lack of sensitivity in handling the whole conversation.

the show using the oath rod flippantly is another angle that really boils my blood because it clearly would’ve enabled worser amyrlins to exercise power with impunity. ELAIDA was famously the amyrlin who wanted to extract oaths of allegiance from her sisters.

ELAIDA was also famously the amyrlin who gave orders to have rand transported to the tower so that she could use him as a weapon and deny him any agency. the tower *has* no rules for dealing with the dragon in the books and the show chose to manufacture it to no real benefit except awkward, badly executed conflict. siuan and moiraine may have often attempted to control rand in the books - and they were at least partly right sometimes because they had more worldly knowledge and experience than he did - but it’s important to the story that they choose not to deny him his agency and give him plenty of leeway and that elaida specifically thinks of him only as a tool. rand also being physically restrained by the shielding weave and possibly sleeping in that position uncomfortably reminds me of the box sequence in lord of chaos.

siuan compelling moiraine to follow her orders, as a partner she’s been intimate with, is akin to assault. rosamund pike made very specific acting choices that are jarring and difficult to ignore. moiraine gave that oath to siuan in 1x06 implicitly trusting her with her bodily and psychological wellbeing and siuan specifically chooses to violate it. it’s a step away from using the weave for compulsion (which is explicitly also stated as being forbidden btw!)

rand’s scenes when he’s shielded by siuan being juxtaposed against egwene’s scenes with renna was a very bad choice and the editing was so fucking awkward. if the choice was intentionally meant to generate conversations about autonomy it was a very bad one to make.

you know what the kicker is? lan’s exposition to nynaeve about the damane deserving to be free in WH (or was it CoT or KoD? I don’t remember very well) because it was every human’s right despite the harm that they might be capable of causing explicitly positions ELAIDA as a bad person. what does it say about siuan after this episode? any person able to wilfully participate in taking away another person’s autonomy is not a good person, full stop.

theories about siuan being under compulsion (by liandrin) are. fine. it doesn’t explain the showrunners basically speaking from moiraine’s perspective of the tragic turn that the romance took or ignorantly comparing it to the kind of assault ishamael performed on moiraine without any selfawareness or the disconnect in liandrin apparently trying to get rand back in the tower because lanfear and ishamael clearly want him in falme but whatever (unless speculation that another forsaken is free is true). I won’t dismiss it right now, but I don’t think they’re correct. there’s enough clues in the show to make it a plausible theory, but not necessarily a probable one - and it doesn’t explain siuan’s faith in her judgement about treating rand like weapon earlier in the episode.

I’m just…. lol. exasperated. I’m indifferent to her but there’s a very obvious sense of people condemning tuon for being a horrible person in the fandom - and like yeah she IS a horrible person but that’s still textually acknowledged. what is also textually acknowledged is the difficult process involved in deprograming people. when your show can’t understand the textbook definition of assault I’m a lot more unlikely to trust the showrunners actually!

*characters like ishamael, lanfear and min obviously needed overhauling because they were very badly done but their fundamental, core characterisations and motives still remain intact so they work. siuan and lan aren’t even afforded the grace of well-considered changes to their characterisations.

[aurorawest]

I finished The Mars House last night and have been trying to gather my thoughts beyond ADJFAWEHDHA; and AHHHHHHHH. Let's see how this works out.

In a lot of ways this is a pretty typical Natasha Pulley book, which makes you love complicated people who have done bad things, possibly for good reasons and possibly not. The love interest is to all appearances a xenophobic nationalist, but you better believe I loved Gale pretty much immediately.

In other ways this book is different from her past work—obviously there's the far future setting, but it's pretty clear that Pulley wanted to Say Something about gender with The Mars House. This book is a response to and shots fired at the terf ideology and it is not at all subtle about it. And of course, it's a Natasha Pulley book, so there's still empathy for the far-future Martian terfs.

So I would definitely call it the most...political? of her books, which for me was not at all a bad thing. It has everything that I love about Pulley novels—her gorgeous use of language, her ability to wring beauty and pathos out of the small and ordinary, the gay pining, the morally dubious main characters. I've seen reviews say both that the science is ridiculous and that the book is hard science fiction, and I would come down on the side of the science probably being a bit ridiculous, since it's definitely not hard science fiction (lol at the reviewers who are throwing that term around and not knowing what it means). I actually have no idea if the science is plausible or not and I honestly don't care, because that's really not the point of the book.

Anyway, now I'm just going to list things. Doing a read more for spoilers! And I'm not joking, I'm going to spoil the whole book under here so really, if you haven't read it and you care about that, don't keep reading.

The worldbuilding was so good. I mean, this is one of Pulley's strengths, but I had wondered how it would stack up in a sci fi novel versus her historical fiction. As usual, everything was so visceral and textured. Tharsis and Songshu feel like real places I could visit.

THE MAMMOTHS OMG OMG. When they decided to ask the mammoths for help pulling up the gravity train, I almost jumped up from the couch yelling (I would have, but I couldn't disturb my cat who was on my legs). The entire idea of communicating with mammoths and studying mammoth society almost made me cry. Having spent even a tiny amount of time around elephants in the wild, all of that rang 100% plausible. And true in my heart.

I need a sequel where River and January go to Alpha Centauri to talk to the aliens that the Penglai mission is going to find there.

I'M ABOUT TO SPOIL THE ENTIRE BOOK SO DON'T READ ANYMORE IF YOU DON'T WANT THAT.

Speaking of River, yeah I guessed that "Aubrey" was actually River. The clues were well done and I felt smug when I was right.

But!! I actually thought River knew more than they did! A literal chill went up my back when River revealed they had NO IDEA AUBREY WAS LITERALLY IN THEIR ROOM WITH THEM.

The scene in River's bathtub had me screaming crying throwing up.

Is Natasha Pulley working through something re: waifish orphans? I knew Yuan was going to end up being adopted into House Song within pages of their (his?) introduction.

I love that we never find out if River is biologically male or female. I love that January says it doesn't matter and he means that and never tells us.

Speaking of gender abolition, can I have that please for myself.

All of the animals were, as always, a delight. Shoutout to the puffin at the beginning who we never see again, as well as Shuppiluliuma in her basket.

The ancient Mediterranean references littered through this book (see above) were also a delight.

When you think about it, both of Aubrey's consorts fell for River, and that's funny.

The flashes of love between River and Aubrey were devastating.

The haptic implants are a dystopian nightmare and absolutely a realistic prediction of where we're going to end up.

Mori and Daughter!!

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hobie can't find Diane. He hasn't seen her in days. And sure, he's not one to worry. But how could he not? He checks everywhere, and then as a final resort - he asks Miles.

"You've seen Di?"

Miles gives him a sympathetic look. "Hobie, I'm really sorry." He says, and for a second Hobie thinks something is wrong. But no, it's even worse than he can imagine.

"I...I got her into this anime and now... I don't know man."

Miles introduces Disco-Spider Diane to Anime

[Aka Diane loves Gojo and writes smut on the DL]

Now Hobie has NEVER been jealous in his life. He'd be damned before he lets himself get jealous.

But when your girl is laid up on the couch watching JJK for two weeks straight and you walk in on her staring at this on the screen???

Going "Gojo~ 🥺 ... Sigh..."

🤨😐

When she starts watching BNHA, it's game over.

She's always talking about how cool Dabi is and how she wishes she had a hot morally questionable superpowered boytoy to squeeze.

Meanwhile Hobie is sitting besides her like 'I guess I'm just chopped liver, ain't I 😭. Might as well take this bloody guitar and end my misery, why don'tcha?'

She sees one photo of Mirko and goes 'Oh my god, Bie. She's literally just like me right? Babe, she's just like me? I remind you of her right? We like.. the same person 🥺'

And then THE COSPLAY BEGINS. Not that Hobie is complaining about Diane walking around in sexy cosplay outfits. It's just weird when he compliments her outfit, and she's like "Thanks! I got it from-"

And then proceeds to show him the most ridiculous anime character ever.

It starts leaking into real life.

They're in the middle of fights and whenever they win she stops to do a Jojo pose.

She wears Sailor Moon cosplay to Spider Society HQ and loudly proclaims "I'm a Sailor Scout. Not a Spider-person."

(Spider-Scout, the half Sailor-Scout, half Spider-person is not amused)

She says very loudly during a meeting "OMG isn't Miguel like, Levi from Attack on Titan but tall? Like he has to use the lazer webs to fly in the air the same way Levi needs the wires to kill Titans and-

And everyone is like GIRL WHAT and Gwen, the only other person who has ACTUALLY seen AOT is like "No?? Diane. What are you talking about??"

It all comes to a head finally when one day Hobie comes to eat lunch with Diane.

He's always fashionable late within reason, but he walks into the cafeteria to see Diane hunched over a notebook, writing away.

That's rare.

With her dyslexia, Diane hardly ever writes - typically Hobie reads books outloud, recording them on cassette tapes for Diane to listen to later. But here she was, scribbling away.

And even in her twisted tiny handwriting he could make out the words

'Gojo x Black!Reader: Eyes like Oceans'

Hobie has no idea what the word 'Smut' means, but she's written it all over the page with the words "MINORS DON'T READ!!!!"

When he asks what he's doing, she jumps out her skin.

Hobie fights back a smile. And maybe even a laugh. "You writing fanfiction?"

"Maybe. No. Yes."

"What? You think Imma tease you? Can't be that bad can it-"

Cue Hobie reading most raunchiest, detailed, hoe-ish Gojo smut imaginable while Diane sits there like

Meanwhile Hobie side-eying the hell outta her 😭😭

She's like "We don't need to talk about the blindfold part-"

"And the part with the spankin-"

"I SAID WE DON'T NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT."

Finally, after weeks - Hobie caves.

He agrees to watch ONE anime with her and Miles, cause he wants his girl back wth 😭😭

Miles gets to choose - and he chooses one he thinks Hobie will like: Death Note.

Hobie doesn't just like it - HE LOVES IT.

Except....

"Oi, why's this L coming after Light? Mans is in the right."

"Uhhh?? No??? He's killing people with a magical notebook. L is in the right."

"And I kill people with a guitar, ain't no difference."

"Yes there is-"

"Oh but when Jogo kills people it's fine but when I-"

"FIRST OF ALL his name is Gojo and second of all Do NOT bring up my man. Hobie we will get to brawling right now, don't test me-"

Meanwhile Miles is like "WILL THE TWO OF YOU SHUT UP 😭😭😭😭 GODDAAAMMNN."

.... They agree to disagree. And Miles regrets his decision.

Now Everytime Hobie catches her watching anime Hobie will point at the screen at Diane's character crush and go "Bet I could beat his arse" - just to establish dominance.

Is he jealous? NO! Is Gojo his mortal enemy because he stole his girl without even being real? YES!!!

It's okay Hobie. Just cosplay as Sasuke Uchiha and you'll have her back right away. Maybe.

[putnamcapital]

s1 ep 6 rewatch notes

[yeah i am still doing these essays, everyone copes differently OKAY]

I wish i had the words to convey my love for the Simon-Rosh-Ayub dynamic when they’re sitting on his bed trying to talk about his video, not the Kim K. video. it’s an instance of one of the things i ADORE about YR, namely, the importance of the love and support of friends - “the gang is back together”. contra a lot of the teenage and adult movies that put romantic love on a pedestal and everything else goes to the dogs.

That shot of Wille set against the sky when the Queen leaves = is it the apocalypse or is it heartbreak and i'm not the only one seeing the religious imagery right?

“we haven’t done anything wrong.” Simon’s moral clarity, his unbreakable backbone - it’s a moment where it’s obvious the Court has no idea who they are dealing with. I’m not sure Wille even knows then.

Frida doesn’t get enough praise for her acting. that side eye of August as they cross in front of him loafing on the picnic table: sublime.

Another parallel I hadn’t seen before: Sara dresses up before dinner; she likes the image she sees of herself in the mirror. She is “someone she is not”, according to Simon (later that night), but she wants that false countenance. In S2, that same move will devastate Wille. But we have another Sara-mirror scene, in S2. Leaning on the Wille-Sara parallel, there’s something being done here about becoming who you are through artifice (dressing up ‘in costume’) or through love (revealing your true self). August (as opposed to Simon, i think …) ends up being a false or traitorous ‘coming into self through love’ for Sara.

Related … when Sara went to see August to confront him about the video, i have retrospectively imagined her as having planned what happened. But if you look at the scene as it happens, both Sara and August seem to just be playing the situation as it arises. Sara starts off by not even intending to tell August, I think that was honest. When she then confronted him about the video, she first asks why did you do this to Wille and then, how do you have the right, you destroyed Simon? none of it is about her. it’s when August asks her ‘what do you want’ - that i think the idea comes to her. And i think that explains her face after she kisses August - her revulsion at herself. it seems like a situation that spiralled out of control very fast.

i can’t really talk about the Sara-Simon fight scene because it’s my Point of No Return in terms of “This is a nice program to watch of an evening” and “These characters have become my entire waking and sleeping existence, is there treatment for this.”

in the scene that starts with them sitting on the floor in Wille’s room, there is that tender moment by the door, and one of the top two kisses and hugs in the whole of season 1 and 2 combined, punctuated with the forehead tap. and i’ve always thought it so lovely until this time i saw the “red flag” - the towel hanging on the hook - and it reminded me of the red ‘flag’ we see in the locker room every other time things go south.

the scene with kristina and wille in the car starts simply with him saying, “WHAT?” which a) comes straight out of fanfic; b) is hyper-realistic adolescent approach to dialogue but also c) actually shows that they are really close. as in, Wille might loathe his mother by the end of this episode, but also he knows exactly what she’s thinking and they can just skip all the usual staging aspects of conversation. it links, i now see, to the book scene, where wille admits that he can’t just throw out everything he’s been taught, b/c he’s internalized it so well

when K is lecturing W about all the public attention he’s going to get now, and how it will be even worse, it’s the same shot of him looking out the car window wishing he could be literally anyone else as in the first few minutes of s1ep1, after the club fight. and we see his reflection in the window, so we get him 'in double' - who he is IRL, and who he is seen to be by the viewer. very clever. very clever.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

What makes you interested in book!Aegon? (didn't read the books)

Thank you for asking this anon!

There is a LOT I could say about book!Aegon. To start, I think if you haven't read F&B it's kind of hard to understand that even moreso than with ASOIAF, there are almost no "good" characters unless you count people who are the completely innocent victims of other characters' actions, so choosing a character to like isn't really some moral or ethical issue the way a lot of show fans seem to make it out to be. In the actual historical Anarchy, I 100% think Matilda was done dirty and should have been queen. She was usurped by one of her cousins, not a brother, a guy who wasn't even the oldest male of his family, and beyond being her father's choice, her legal claim was stronger and she was a pretty impressive woman in her own right. But Rhaenyra is no Matilda, and F&B as a whole just doesn't have any Brienne of Tarths, or even Robb Starks. Hell, it's even pretty low on Jaime Lannisters. The most social-justice minded character is a five year old bastard and his lesbian sex-worker mothers who try to put him on the throne. You have characters who do one good or heroic thing like Addam Velaryon, and characters who are blandly inoffensive, like Jacaerys, but they are not really compelling dynamic characters either. You also have a lot of really loathsome assholes. Book!Aemond, for instance, doesn't even have the childhood bullying backstory to soften him, he's just violent, and often a liability. Aegon is one of the very few characters who actually has a dynamic character arc and a few redeeming qualities. He changes over the course of the story, shows a lot of resilience and tenacity, and ultimately, what happens to him is tragic. (This is long, I'm sorry. I'm incapable of being concise on this topic and I honestly could have said even more. Also, book spoilers ahead, obiously).

Just to get it out of the way, the show did Aegon pretty dirty in adapting Mushroom's accounts about the "guttersnipes" selectively. Mushroom talks a LOT of shit, and the stuff he says about Rhaenyra is almost more abhorrent than the stuff he says about Aegon, and he was actually on her side. Is Aegon a good, decent, honorable guy? Not really. Aegon is written as a hedonist. He's a drinker, he's gluttonous, and he sleeps around. The more neutral non-Mushroom sources say that Aegon was handsy with the maids (not great, to be clear), and we know he has a couple of bastards and likely at least one paramour, but there's no really credible suggestion that book!Aegon is some serial rapist. Is it plausible that he could have been? Sure. I'll give the haters that, it's not a huge stretch to say a guy who was handsy with the maids might have taken other liberties, but I'll also say this: George does not have a problem outright stating that someone is a rapist or an abuser when that is his intent, even characters he likes (hell, book!Tyrion is explicitly written as a rapist and George loves him), but he did not have anyone but Mushroom say anything like this about Aegon. But Aegon's got a lot of vices, and they start pretty young. If we look at other Targaryens, drinking problems are pretty rampant. Aegon is also called "sullen," and "pouty" but Aegon is in a unique position. He's the eldest son, but his father chose his elder sister as heir, and this is pretty unheard of in this world, an eldest son who gets second son treatment. And unlike other second sons, like, say, Daemon, he doesn't even have an advantageous marriage arranged for him. Daemon might not have liked Rhea or wanted that marriage, but the point of it was to give Daemon holdings of his own and lands he could inherit so that he would not always be beholden to whomever sat the throne. There is just zero provision made for Aegon or his siblings' futures. Instead, Viserys (not Alicent) marries Aegon to his sister, sealing both Aegon and Helaena's fates. It means that when Rhaenyra becomes queen, he and Helaena will be entirely at her mercy, and will basically have to be charity cases, dependent on her continued willingness to support a brother that she hates, who poses a considerable threat to her rule, and his family of dragonriders, all of whom are legitimate unlike her older sons. And book!Rhaenyra is not a great person, the show softens her considerably (I won't get into Rhaenyra in this post because it's not about her, but I have Rhaenyra thoughts too), so there's really no indication that she'd do this. But, in spite of all this, Aegon is not particularly keen to take the throne. He does it because he becomes convinced his family's safety depends on it (and in my opinion, this is true, except taking the throne also, ironically, dooms them. This is a no-win situation for Aegon and his siblings).

Aegon is a reluctant king who is young and inexperienced and he makes mistakes, but he does his best to step up for the sake of his family. And he suffers greatly as a result. There's this idea that gets thrown around a lot that Aegon didn't care for his family, but there's really no suggestion of that in the book. Was he a hands on, present dad? Was he in love with Helaena? I mean, he's an alcoholic teen dad whose father made him marry his thirteen year old sister at sixteen, but he clearly did love his kids. Aegon is devastated by Blood and Cheese. He has to be stopped from immediately taking off on Sunfyre and storming Dragonstone and is forced to wait while Otto keeps trying to win supporters and make alliances. During this period Aegon "drinking and raging." He's upset. But when Helaena falls into depression and can't take care of Maelor due to the guilt of having chosen him to die, Aegon is the one who notices and puts Maelor into Alicent's care. And Otto's lack of decisive action after B&C is what leads to him firing Otto and naming Criston as Hand, and then Aegon joins battle himself and winds up horrifically injured as a result. And Aegon battles back from injuries that really should not have been survivable, which leave him in incredible pain. There are points he's begging for death, the pain is that bad, and no one really thinks he'll survive at first, but he does, he fights back, and when King's Landing falls he and his children are spirited away.

Where does that well of strength come from, if he doesn't have anything or anyone worth fighting for? He shows incredible resourcefulness and resilience, rehabilitates himself and his dragon, kicks milk of the poppy, and infiltrates Dragonstone, Rhaenyra's stronghold. And at what should be his moment of triumph, finally taking Dragonstone's keep, he's injured again by Baela, and his dragon, which he worked so hard to rehabilitate, dies after being wounded in that same battle. Aegon will live out the rest of his life disabled and with chronic pain. By the end he has lost nearly his entire family including both his sons, he's ill, he's drinking again, he's disabled, and he's got an entire clownshow of a council at each others' throats and pulling him this way and that, and still he doesn't give up. Then you get a lot of frankly ableist nonsense (again, mostly from Mushroom) about how Aegon was sitting on dragon eggs and watching other people fuck because he couldn't, there's a strong effort there in Gyldayn's narrative to build up his poisoning as being somewhat justified because Aegon was "not a well man," but it's tragic what happens to him.

Finally, and I might catch some slack for saying this, but in a war that is notably devoid mercy, book!Aegon is one of the few characters that shows any, even when he has every reason to be vengeful. Does he spare Rhaenyra? No. But she would not have spared him at that point either. He does spare Aegon III and Baela, some would argue to his own detriment. He spares Gaemon Palehair, and he grants Trystane Trufyre's last request to be knighted before he dies. His more ruthless actions are also relatively justified in the context of Westeros compared to some of the other completely wanton killings that we see from others in the Dance on both sides. Again, is he a great person? No. He's a impetuous young man with a lot of issues who was not raised for the throne, making some questionable decisions but also showing a lot of bravery, resilience, and yes, mercy.

And you know, just to get it out there, I've been accused of being a book purist and of being oh so above it all by anons before, but it's not that I think the book!Dance is really all that great. F&B has its problems too, and I know that if an adaptation were to follow it completely faithfully, it would not be a very good show. But Aegon is one of the more complex and interesting Dance characters, one of the few who is present and active until the end, and it's a pity that a lot of show watchers and wiki readers have written him off because how the show handled Aegon in season one. (tagging @aifsaath on this in case she'd like to share Aegon thoughts!)

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 10 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Everything you need to know about Peter Parker.

words: 10.6 k

warning: graphic descriptions of violence and gore, including murder. *implied animal cruelty/killing*, dubcon situations, voyeurism, masturbation, references to domestic violence

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sensual/sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coersion. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is far from canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't remember drinking yoohoo in a school cafeteria, keep it moving.

a/n this chapter starts with a time jump, and does a lot of skipping around.

Back to Part 9.

Part 10

EIGHT WEEKS LATER

If there was one thing she could tell you about Peter Parker, it was that he was always more than one thing. He had two sides to him. Two identities. Two names. He was hot and cold. Up and down. Ebb and flow. Darkness and light. Love and rage. 

It made her head spin. It drove her crazy. Paralyzed her with paranoia. Made her question everything going on inside and outside her head, dreading that she had read this chapter before. This was just another page out of the same book.

John was that way too. For a while. Until she could eventually see him for what he singularly was: a sociopath. A family man in the sense that he would be a family annihilator one day. A horrible mistake, and a misjudgment of character. A false messiah. He was the Devil She Knew, in every sense of the phrase.

Not everyone had been taken by John’s charms. Rita seemed to know. Rita Nimitz was the 74-year-old woman who lived across the street from the Walkers in Loudoun County. A Westie breeder. Widowed. Former LDS, or “reformed,” as she liked to say.

She knew. She probably saw Mrs. Walker limping to take out the garbage, and she knew. She must have heard shouts coming from inside their home while walking her dogs one day, and she knew. When Rita came to her door, asking for some baking soda (which was probably just a ruse) and saw the poorly-plastered concealer on her face in a futile attempt to cover bruises, she knew. 

She knew, and she tried to do the right thing. She called the police. She didn’t know it would be John’s friends who responded to the call. 

A week later, Mrs. Nimitz was found dead in her home. Her dogs too. No foul play suspected. And Honey knew in her heart it was because of her.

There’s a saying about everyone having two wolves inside of them. The one that survives is the one that you choose to feed. That’s bullshit. No one should have two wolves. No one should have one wolf.

Why does everyone have to have two sides to them, some sort of ulterior motive, or alter ego? She wasn’t like that. What you see is what you get. Why couldn’t things be simple? Be nice to everyone. Smile. Tell them to have a good day. Remember their names.

Miguel Ferrer O’Hara. Son of Conchata and…actually, who really knows. Probably some daddy issues involved there, she was pretty sure. Had a cushy job at Alchemax before he supposedly got canned for “substance abuse” and lost everything.

He was quick to anger. Cocky, but never callous. He’d take a bullet for his crew. Loyal. Practical. Fair.

“Peter Parker saved my life,” he quietly explained to Honey as he sipped on a beer. “Helped me get clean. I owe ’em.”

She’d learned this during an aside one night, before one of Peter’s meetings at the penthouse. It wasn’t often that Honey got any one-on-one time with Peter’s crew, especially after the Peanut Butter Cookie Incident. (She also noticed that every form of peanut and tree nut had been removed from the kitchen).

But she’d use the opportunity to ask people about themselves and about Peter. To satiate her curiosity. Harmless questions, FYIs. Just for her knowledge. And for John’s.

Despite his loyalty, she’d witness Miguel and Peter butt heads constantly. The two of them always seemed to argue about strategy. About the right path for “the business” to take. About the endgame. Peter always won. 

“Whatever you say, Boss,” Miguel would concede with tight lips.

“He helped my sister get out of a tough spot,” Johnny Storm told her. “Helped her disappear.”

Apparently, Johnny Storm was his real name, much to her disbelief. Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm, from a little town called Glenview on Long Island. Mother died in a car accident. Father died in prison. He inherited the looks and charm from his dad, as well as a passion for mechanical engineering. When not working for Peter, he owned his own shop fixing up cars. It was a passion of his, and also a convenient way to smuggle drugs across the border.

Johnny was the only one allowed to touch any of Peter’s cars. She wasn’t sure if Peter made that decision out of admiration for his skill, loyalty, or pure paranoia that he’d end up with a bomb under the hood.

“I’d do anything for the guy,” Johnny stated emphatically, while Honey watched him install a radar jammer into his boss’ Gentian Blue Porsche 911. She hung out in the garage along with Miles and three of the guards. “Love ‘em like a brother, y’know?”

This conversation occurred three weeks after an incident near a shuffleboard table in Peter’s game room. After securing another victory, and this time beating Honey, Johnny reached over and warmly patted her on the shoulder, giving it a little consolatory, slightly-flirtatious pinch. Suddenly, he ripped his hand away, face turning white like he’d stuck a fork in a socket. Honey looked over to spot Peter glaring daggers at Johnny.

Johnny quickly excused himself with a great game, champ, catch ya later!, and hadn’t shown his face without a direct invitation from Peter since then.

In Felicia’s words, Johnny was “the biggest slut in the tri-state area” and had a problem getting into trouble with the women in his life. Particularly their boyfriends. And husbands. Peter wasn’t either of those things to Honey, but the point was made. And Johnny wasn’t stupid. 

“Pete gets his knickers in a twist every now and then, but he’s a softie, deep down,” Felicia explained to her. “He’s smart, 90 percent of the time. The other 10, he’s just a sad sack of boring. And a giant dork, 100 percent of the time.” 

Felicia Sara Hardy, daughter of Lydia and Walter. Her father was a thief and she followed in his footsteps. It started with small schemes — credit card fraud, petty theft — and progressed into multimillion-dollar artifacts and jewels being stolen and sold on the black market. Honey learned that drug running was just a small portion of Peter’s business. It was her work in stolen goods that was pivotal to the enterprise. 

She was an expert in hand-to-hand combat, with or without weapons. In her spare time, she liked to skydive. And rock-climb. And street race. She was a trained gymnast too; almost went for the Olympic circuit. She didn’t take shit from anybody, not even Peter. Unlike the rest of the crew, she wasn’t afraid of her boss. Or of anyone, for that matter. 

Honey deeply admired that. Felicia also terrified her. Made her heart flutter whenever directly talking to her.

Felicia acted as Peter’s equal. Peter treated her as such. Honey felt embarrassed that her first impression was that she and Peter were a romantic couple, as it seemed to imply that’s the only way Felicia rose to her station. 

Such a distasteful, ignorant assumption. Sex wasn’t the only currency a woman had to offer. Despite her past choices. Despite the things she had to do to escape them.

However, occasionally, Honey still wondered if there had ever been something romantic there. Maybe they kissed once. Maybe they fucked. 

Why would she even care? Why would she think too hard about it? It’s not like she was jealous. 

No. There was some other reason that Felicia pledged her loyalty, she suspected. Something painful that was kept hidden. 

“I have a debt to repay,” is all she’d ever say. Honey respected that.

Peter Parker was protective of the people he cared about. Ferociously so. He’d told her as much. And more than a little possessive.

Honey witnessed it the night Johnny stepped out of line. 

In a tone that was more of an order than a request, he gruffly told her ‘time for bed,’ having sought her out wearing nothing but a delicate chain holding two modest wedding rings, and a tight pair of trunks. She ignored the heat rushing to her face as she attempted to avoid looking at his endowment. The prominent outline in the dark cotton of his underwear made her heart race embarrassingly. 

She argued that it was too early for bed, she had had too much coffee, she was getting to a good part in her book, and how she didn’t appreciate being commanded like a dog.

“You’re not a dog,” Peter plainly answered back, not relenting an inch. “I don’t own you. You’re not my pet. There’s no collar around your neck.” He fixed her with a patient stare, unfazed by her brattiness. “During the day, your time is yours. Do whatever you want, as long as you’re safe.” 

Then, his eyes grew darker. He leveled a stern gaze at her. “But you’re kidding yourself to act like you’re just a guest. And at night, when you go to bed, it’s next to me.” 

He set a dominant stare on her that made her stomach weak. “That’s the deal. Understand?”

She didn’t argue further. 

Not that night, or the ones after it. 

Every night, like clockwork he’d come looking for her in the dark. It was a wordless exchange. She didn’t need to be told. She’d take the hint and follow him obediently into his bed. 

On nights where he wasn’t home until late, she’d section herself off on ‘her side’ of the bed and wait for his arrival. Staring at the ceiling. Patiently. Thinking about how he didn’t ask her to wait for him, she just did. A subservient role she slipped into, as good as any collar around her neck.

She thought about how much she regretted kissing him. Kissing him was a mistake. It made things complicated. Particularly for her. 

She lay awake and tried not to think about it. The images searing her brain. The taste of him lingering on her tongue.

Possessive. Protective. Especially when it came to her.

A few days after returning from her trip to the hospital, she got into a spat with one of Peter’s faceless guards. She’d entered the penthouse, trailing behind Peter, with her hands buried in her pockets.

One of them stopped them, stepping in between them. “I’m sorry, sir,” he explained to his boss. “We’ve detected an unknown signal. We need to search you both.”

She looked panicked. The guard took a step towards her and she practically shrieked, “No! Don’t you touch me! I don’t want you touching me!” He wrapped a beefy hand around her forearm. “Let go of me!”

“Sorry, miss, it’s for security—”

The guard suddenly went flying. Peter stood in between her and his men, nostrils flaring, fists balled, eyes blackened with anger. The wolf in a defensive stance, defending his territory. “What the fuck is the matter with you,” he snarled, glaring down at the guard at his feet. 

Although it wasn’t directed at her, his sudden anger made her quake behind him. 

“Didn’t you hear what she said?” his voice bellowed. “She asked you not to touch her.” He looked up at the rest of his flustered guards, a warning flashing in his eyes. “Next one of you that lays a hand on her is gonna lose it, got that?” 

They avoided looking directly in his eyes, looking anywhere else.

Peter glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze gentle and placating. “You good?”

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She nodded rapidly, trying to calm her nerves. Trying not to think about how close he was. 

Or her proximity to death.

Fire and ice. Always two sides to him. The bad man and the blustering boy. Fists that could damage. Fingers that ached for gentle connection.

Peter Parker was a man of many skills.

On a rare quiet evening at the penthouse, Honey’s exploration led her to the parlor. She was seated on the bench of an eight-foot Steingraeber baby grand with an ebony glaze so polished that she could see her own reflection in the dim light. Shyly, with the silent reverence she once took into cathedrals, she gently pressed on one of the white keys. The note came out as a gentle whisper as she tested the weight of the Japanese spruce and Ivorite bar.

“You play?” His voice startled her. Her head popped up to see Peter leaning with one arm propped up the edge of the sofa. He looked cozy wearing a wool crewneck patterned with a bold black-and-white exploded houndstooth. Watching her quietly, with a half-smile on his lips, he looked uncharacteristically soft in the dim lamplight.

“Jesus,” she hissed beneath her breath, heart skipping. “You need a bell.” His grin widened as he casually approached the piano. Her heart rate struggled to return to its previous rhythm. “Um, no...” she answered his previous question, sheepishly. Almost embarrassed. “We could never afford piano lessons.”

He hummed with acknowledgement, leaning playfully over the rim of the piano at the lid prop. “I got lucky, the lady who lived a couple’a houses down the block taught outta her living room.” He gazed down at the luxurious instrument, running a gentle hand across the finish. “Well, lucky now. Hindsight. At the time, I was pissed about it. Told Aunt May it was cruel to make me waste my whole summer.”

A gentle laugh warmed his chest, but the further it traveled away from him, the more his smile faded. Like using a tiny flickering taper candle to heat up a castle. Nostalgia played in the depths of his honey-hued eyes, as he watched ghosts in the distance.

He sharply inhaled, snapping himself out of his lament. Pushed a smile back on his lips. “Ah.. it was nothin’ this fancy, though,” Peter remarked, gently tapping his knuckles on the cabinetry. “Can’t even remember why I bought this thing...”

The sentence faded away into contemplation. Peter Parker was contemplative. Honey could see it, an entire lifetime of choices whirling behind his eyes. A pathway that led him to who he is today. Whoever that’s supposed to be.

“Do you still remember how to play?” she asked, hoping the question would bring him back out of the dark.

He met her eyes with a boyish smirk, nodding. “A little.”

She scooted off of the bench, her eyes bright with curiosity. Gestured hopefully at the keys. He tried to hide the blush in his cheeks. “Okay, okay,” he groaned, his voice trembling with nerves. 

They shuffled around and switched spots, with her now looking down at his trembling hands as they mapped the keys. He refamiliarized himself with the instrument, a delightful tinkling sound filling the space. Honey noticed the way her cheeks stretched into a dopey grin. Her face was beginning to hurt from it.

His wide hands and lengthy fingers organized themselves into chords. First the bright G major. Then adding an F#, deliciously melting it into Gmaj7. Swooping down to a discordant G7. Upswinging to C major, and conversely dropping back to Cmaj6. Up to G major again. The pitch swung playfully back and forth, a pendulum between two extremes.

“You’re just too good to be true,” his normally deep voice was lifted up into a higher register. Her breath hitched, simultaneously recognizing the song and stunned that he was singing to her. She’d never been sung to before. 

“Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

She flushed with heat building beneath her face. The bourbon of his eyes poured over her.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch... I wanna hold you so much...”

The slyest of all smirks played upon his lips.

“At long last, love has arrived... And I thank God I’m alive...”

The longer she held his gaze, the more she felt something breaking open in her heart. His sweet croons pierced her, leaving behind a helpless, delicious agony.

“You’re just too good to be true... Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

She was fucked.

Peter Parker could be cold and calculating, but could also be a Casanova. Charming when he needed to be. 

Not just with her, either. 

She saw it with her own eyes during a particularly tense visit with an associate of his. Oddly enough, it was broad daylight. Next to a parking lot in the FiDi, specifically in front of a taco truck parked on the curb called Tacos El Guero. 

This associate would frequent this truck, apparently. She and Peter got in line at the end of the lunch rush. They made it all the way to the front before she realized that the person they were meeting actually owned the taco truck. 

Wearing a grease-stained apron and some kind of red-and-black, full-body, zentai suit with a hood over his face, she watched in awe as he diced up Guajillo peppers while simultaneously stirring a stock pot of birria. She admired the sombrero sitting atop his masked head, embroidered with the cheeky phrase ‘My pork tastes better in your taco.’

This—??? —was the infamously-deadly hitman that Peter’s crew nicknamed “the Merc with a Mouth.” “A nut job,” some would say. “The Crispy-Fried Freak,” (which was a little insensitive once Honey learned that supposedly he had burns beneath the mask). And sometimes they’d call him by his chosen name, “Deadpool.” 

Peter had his own terms of endearment.

“C’mon, Wade, it’s just one job,” he pleaded, looking up at him with doe eyes as he accepted his order of carnitas street tacos. Honey was midway through her cochinita pibil taco. It did not disappoint. 

The truck line had cleared out, and most of the the stragglers were guys taking a break from a nearby construction site, distracted by their own conversations.

“Just one job?” the masked man scoffed, offended. He hung out of the window of the taco truck, like a colonial-era judge looking down at them with disdain. “Webs, you’re sending me into battle to take out Hammerdick—”

“—head—”

“Jesus, Pete, getta hold of yourself. There are ladies present.” 

Multitasking as he spoke, he shoved the diced peppers off his cutting mat into the stew. “You’re asking me to take out Hammerhead and his whole crew,” he whined, “without even the courtesy of a reach around!” 

Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t lose his good natured grin. 

“What about my needs, huh?” the assassin grumbled. Despite the mask, Honey swore she saw the outline of a pout. “You promised me I’d get to be your mafia princess and you’d sail me on a yacht to your safe house-slash-Mediterranean villa in Ischia! When will it be my turn, huh?”

“I don’t have a villa,” Peter coyly shrugged, kindly apologetic. “Or a yacht.” Their rapport was unique, to say the least. It was like she was watching Peter interact with a horny old woman who lived upstairs with a bunch of cats.

“Well, isn’t that just typical!” he spat bitterly. “When you said you’d take me for a ride, I didn’t realize it was a euphemism.” He crossed his arms across his chest and sulked. 

The mob boss sighed softly, running a hand through his soft waves, “You’d be doin’ me a real solid here.” 

“Nuh-uh! Dirty talk won’t work on me this time.”

Peter gazed back up at him wearing his own brand of pouting. He pinched the cherry flesh of his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Neither will any of your other ruthless ploys, Bambi,” Wade, er— Deadpool— bitterly countered.

Peter tilted his head, wounded, but the amused grin never falling from his face. The masked man’s resolve remained solid. “Next time, put a ring on it, Parker.”

“Wade,” Peter purred, his voice dropping to a lower octave. “I don’t forget favors. Or the people that do them for me.” His heated whiskey eyes glowed — Jesus H. Christ, was he actually flirting with him? omigod he’s really flirting right now? whats happening here do i need to leave— with an almost seductive flame. “You know that.”

Honey nearly choked on her taco. Stunned and uncomfortable, she blinked several times, watching the rising tension between the two men. 

Wade let his shoulders drop, slouching in defeat. “I bet you say that to all the YNs,” he grumbled, barely audible. She watched the masked man shoot her a dissatisfied glare from his window perch, whisper-shouting at her. “Usurper.”

Later that night, as Honey stared up at the ceiling, feeling the heat radiating from Peter’s half-naked body, a million questions filled her mind. 

Did Peter have that kind of tension with everybody? Was it just in his nature, or was it a tool he used to influence people? Was he trying to make her jealous? Did it work? Did that make her the possessive one?

If he was so confident, then why did it seem like he was flustered around her sometimes? 

Did he swing both ways? Was he a top or bottom? Is that really something she should be thinking of while laying next to him in his bed? 

She was wrong to have kissed him. It was wrong to lead him on. It was wrong to catch feelings for him. What was wrong with her?

Choose to feed the one you want to live. She only had one wolf. Right? 

She built a wall of pillows in between them, fortifying their separation and the ‘no touching’ rule.

Peter Parker was a criminal, after all. A criminal that followed the rules. Mostly.

Honey startled awake on a different night, hearing the panicked sounds of heavy breathing beside her. Peter was raging in his sleep. Again. 

This time it seemed worse.

A sheen of sweat coated him. She watched as he twitched and pleaded incoherently, mumbling pathetic sobs into the darkness. She sat up, quietly observing his distress with a worried expression. 

Breathless nothing-words spilled from his mouth. She could see his pulse in his neck, the cords of his throat pulled tight. Wherever he was, he was fighting for his life. He was losing.

Timidly, she lifted her hand, gently bringing it closer to him. She settled it down on his chest, feeling the rapid hummingbird beat beneath her palm. 

With a gasp, he shot awake, wet eyes full of terror. He roared, teeth bared. He seized her wrist with bullet-like speed and aim. Clutching it in a crushing hold.

She cried out, flinching in pain. “Peter, it’s me!”

The hold loosened immediately. His lashes fluttered with confusion as he blinked away the remnants of his nightmare. 

He looked up at her, stunned. Terrified. Eyes full of remorse. Tears building. She heard a choked sob escape his lips, his voice shattering. “Gwen…?”

He dropped her wrist in horror, like it was a serpent. Turned his head towards the pillow, racked with grief, and let out an agonized cry.  She sat there holding her wrist to her chest, the first signs of bruises beginning to form on her forearm. Perplexed by whatever it was that had just occurred. 

Gwen. 

Who was Gwen? She’d never heard that name uttered once. 

Gwen. The girl of his dreams.

A jealousy crept up inside of her that she didn’t understand. She sat quietly, listening to him attempting to control his shuddering sobs. He cupped his palm over his mouth, trembling into an almost-fetal position.

She had no idea where that jealousy came from. Nor could she source her urgent need to comfort him. 

She broke the ‘no touching rule.’ Cooed gentle words into his ear. Let her fingers card soothingly through his hair. The touch seemed to pacify him. And only then did she feel the slightest bit of relief. When he settled, he finally faced her, laying on his side. Tear tracks stained his face. His lip trembled.

“I-I didn’t mean—” he began with a shaky voice. “I-I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

She shushed him, also leaning on her side. She reached across the gap between him, taking his hand. Squeezing it tight. Threading her fingers through his. Their first real ‘touch’ since the kiss, as chaste as it was. Drifting off to sleep. Together. Hand-in-hand in the safety of his den.

Getting information was the hardest out of Eddie, simply because he made himself sparse. She felt horrible about this. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault that she tricked him in order to escape. It wasn’t his fault that she’d almost died. 

She wasn’t sure what Peter said directly to Eddie following the escape attempt, but he didn’t come around for several weeks. It was good news to some of the group, particularly Miles, who had an uncharacteristic contempt for him. 

“You know how some people are nothin’ but trouble?” Miles explained to her. Honey knew intimately. “He’s nothin’ but a disaster. I don’t even wanna get into it.”

The next time Honey was present during a meeting, she prepared a batch of cupcakes for the whole group. But really, they were made for just one person.

“No nuts in these,” Honey nervously blurted, with an apologetic half-smile tilting her face. She handed Eddie a chocolate cupcake with a Hershey’s kiss center, homemade buttercream frosting adorning the top. It was presented to him on a napkin, on which she’d written ‘I’m sorry. :-( ‘ 

Eddie wasn’t impressed. Rejected, she placed the dessert and napkin on the bar next to him and left it alone. 

Maybe it was a burned bridge with no hope of repair. Maybe the cupcake was in poor taste. There wasn’t really an appropriate consolation gift for ‘sorry, I almost got you fired.’ Or ‘sorry, I almost got you whacked by your boss.’” 

By the end of the night, she was pleased to see that he took the cupcake and napkin with him on his way out the door, licking the icing from his fingertips as he left.

Regardless of how the others felt about him, Peter kept Eddie on the team. He’d argue that Eddie always had everyone’s back. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. And sometimes, in a war, that’s the kind of person you need. 

The way Eddie told it, it was the other way around.

“I owe Pete a lot,” Eddie told her one afternoon on the rooftop patio of the penthouse. He leaned back in a redwood armchair, smoking a joint, enjoying another batch of cupcakes. Lemon cake this time. “He’s a good guy.” 

Edward Charles Allan Brock, originally from San Francisco. Used to be an investigative journalist of some kind, according to Felicia. Covered the crime beat. Ended up leaving town in disgrace. 

“I was in a rough spot,” Eddie said cryptically, taking another drag. “He helped me control my demons.”

Everyone on the crew had a testimonial like that. Each one of his friends had a story. They were all indebted to him, in some way.

“He saved my uncle’s life,” Miles explained passionately. “He saved my family.” 

Honey sat with him in the game room after finishing a round of Mario Kart. She listened as he spoke with reverence. 

“He’s a hero,” he declared. “But he’d never say it about himself.”

Indeed, the term made her raise her brow. 

Miles Gonzalo Morales, son of Jeff and Rio. Smart kid. Wants to be an artist one day. Maybe. Or a game designer. Or something. He’s weeks away from finishing his GED early. Wants badly to go to ESU, but Peter is lobbying for him to choose Stanford.

His father was a former cop, his mother a former nurse. His Uncle Aaron was a career criminal who got mixed up with the Kingpin. Aaron’s mistake was believing he could get involved and just walk away. Foolishly, Aaron tried to escape, but that led Kingpin to his next course of action: punishing Aaron’s brother and his family.

Kingpin sent his goons to kill Jeff and his wife at their home. Jeff killed the intruders, but not before Rio took a bullet to her spine. Not before those goons kidnapped Miles, then only a 13-year-old boy. 

Kingpin attempted to use Miles as a hostage to draw Aaron out. It was Jeff who made the connection between the attack on his home in Brooklyn, and a similar attack that happened in Queens years ago. 

It was Jeff who sought out Peter’s help.

Peter Parker saved the day. He helped Aaron fake his own death. He helped cover the cost of Rio’s lengthy rehabilitation, although money was little to compensate for never walking again. He made the family a new identity, provided protection, and secured them a home with nursing services far outside of the city.

He also rescued Miles from his captors. And then he beat the men that kidnapped a 13-year-old boy to death with his bare hands. 

The act of savagery would’ve terrified anyone else, especially a child. But Miles didn’t see it that way. 

As kind as Miles was, as pure of heart as he was, there was a reservation about the way the teenager recanted his story. A quiet part that suggested that a brutal death was, in this rare case, justified.

Peter was Miles’ hero. 

There’s also a saying about never meeting your heroes, because they’ll eventually disappoint you.

“I said stop lyin’!” 

She heard Miles’ voice raised in anger one night. It cracked like thunder, sharp and bright with blinding heat. Honey sneaked down the stairs to see Peter and Miles heatedly standing toe-to-toe in the foyer. The teenager’s chest was puffed up, standing off against his mentor, his dark eyes brimming with hot tears. “You think I’m stupid?”

“No, Miles,” Peter stated calmly. He remained passive, refusing to react with the same rage being tossed at him. “I’m not lying—”

“I know you, man!” Miles sneered with a betrayed tone, throwing hands in the air. His body crackled like a lightning bolt. “You can fool everybody else in here, but I see you! No jodas! You’re on that shit again, aren’t you?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Este hijo de puta, I told you he was trouble!

“Enough!”

The older man’s voice echoed. The tension reached a boiling point. The two of them glared at each other, unblinking, with a stillness that made her sick to her stomach.

“Nah, whatever—I don’t need this,” the teenager hissed, breaking the standoff. “I’m outta here, man.” He stormed past Peter towards the exit, slamming the door as he exited. Peter was left standing alone in his foyer. Stoic. Still. Steady.

Then he put his fist through his brick wall.

Black and white. Ebony and ivory. No patience for gray. No mercy for it.

“I have to say, this is a little unorthodox.” 

Peter and Honey sat at a small table across from a silver-haired man with a graying beard and his lovely wife. Both were probably in their 60s or 70s, but Janet van Dyne looked as if she was maybe 50. 

Honey couldn’t take her eyes off this woman’s nearly-immaculate face. The only sign of age on her plump skin were a few faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Long, icy blonde locks flowed in wispy waves down her shoulders. Her neck, ears, and hands were dripping with multiple-carat diamonds. She was the definition of eye candy, and the jewel in the crown of her husband, Dr. Hank Pym.

Dr. Pym was well-known as a brilliant scientist, but an even more lucrative businessman. Having chosen fields in both neurobiology and pharmacology, he was also President, CEO, and controlling stakeholder of Pym Pharma, the most profitable drug manufacturer in North America.

Honey recognized the name from the news. Allegations that his company was pushing their opioid products on patients made them come under recent congressional scrutiny. It was no surprise that Pym’s private lawyers contacted Peter discreetly. 

When she asked why they would reach out, Peter explained to her that Pym wasn’t worried about an investigation. There was a pinch of bitterness as he said it. Gravel in his voice. Pym could easily pay the politicians off. 

What Hank really needed from Peter was a new distributor.

“I wish you’d have come by the lab first,” Hank said sheepishly. “I could’ve given you the grand tour.” 

Peter and Honey were also elegantly dressed for the night out. He wore another black-on-black ensemble, a Saint Laurent suit with wide satin lapels. She wore an Oscar de la Renta dark-floral-print, tea-length gown, with a fit-and-flare cut and 3/4 sleeves. Her favorite feature, however, was that the dress had pockets. 

They practically had ambushed Hank and his wife at their private dinner. It was at one of Manhattan’s most exclusive, 5-star restaurants. A favorite of Janet’s, particularly. It was the Pyms’ 40th anniversary, and after several months of planning, Hank had bought out the entire restaurant just for their dinner. 

He was obviously surprised to see Peter there. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, though. It was Peter’s restaurant.

“I’ve been to your lab, Dr. Pym,” Peter smoothly explained, as a waiter he knew by name refilled the wine glasses at the table. A 1990 vintage Giuseppe Quintarelli. 

Honey figured she was supposed to be Peter’s ‘eye candy’ counterpart for the evening. But she couldn’t keep her eyes away from him. She was hypnotized.

Somehow the candlelight made him look even more suave, more dangerous. Adding an enchanting, sunset glow to the intoxicating bourbon of his eyes. The shadows played enticingly on the sharp lines of his suit as well as the lines of his jaw. “But when I’m considering entering a partnership with anyone, I’m more interested in getting to know who they are. No frills attached.”

Hank chuckled warmly, fondness in his eyes. “I have it on good authority that you know your way around a lab, Peter.” Apparently they were on a first-name basis now, she noted. “One of your early mentors was an apprentice of mine—Curt Connors.” Peter’s jaw locked at the mention of the name. “He’s still a close friend even to this day,” he added with admiration in his voice. “He told me you’re brilliant.”

Honey glanced over to catch the light dimming from Peter’s eyes, melancholy peeking through. “That was a long time ago,” he replied. 

Honey turned to address Hank and Janet. “Did you get t-boned?” 

The detour in conversation caught them all off guard. The couple stared at her in confusion. 

“Like, were you crossing an intersection and, like, someone hit you from the side?”

The couple flicked their eyes towards one another. Buttoning up an amused smile, Hank gazed down at Peter’s companion. “Nothing that dramatic, no,” he answered gently, with a tone reminiscent of telling a child there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. “Thankfully. The car’s a loss, but it could’ve been worse. Right, dear?”

Janet agreed with a simple hum of acknowledgement. She sipped on her wine, lifting the glass with her non-dominant hand. Although concealed by the bell sleeves of her evening gown, Janet’s other forearm was swollen and wrapped in a fresh, bulky cast. A fractured radius. A nuisance, more than anything, Hank told them.

Honey gazed at Dr. Pym, blinking at him with confusion. “What kind of car was it that hit you? Were they speeding? Was it a drunk driver?”

Hank’s next response sounded more like an uncomfortable chuckle. He gave Peter a look, but Peter said nothing. Instead, he passively observed the line of questioning.

“A pick-up,” Hank replied, clearing his throat, “I believe.”

“What color was it?” she asked, fully invested in the story. “Were you in the driver's seat—?”

“You know, it’s funny,” Hank answered swiftly, his agitation bubbling up in his chest. “Sometimes after a traumatic experience, like a car accident, the details get fuzzy. It’s called dissociation. It’s a common occurrence.” 

Honey pulled her chin back, frowning. She was vaguely familiar with the term. 

Dr. Pym spoke slowly, and chose short words purposefully, as to not confuse her further. “All of these details are being handled by the appropriate authorities, I assure you,” Hank said with a plastic pleasantry. “But we appreciate your concern.”

He looked back at his wife, who shed a tiny smile behind blood red lips. Hank brushed aside the conversation and turned his attention back to the other man at the table. “Now. Peter—”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m just... I don’t understand,” the younger woman cut in again, more persistent this time. Hank fixed her with an impatient glare. 

“Sorry, I know it sounds like a dumb question.” She pressed urgently, undeterred by his frustration. “If you both were in the same car accident, then why is she the only one with bruises?”

The silence that followed was deafening. 

Janet went still, like she had become a mannequin. Hank looked like a deer in the headlights, his heart rate increasing steadily. Blood pressure rising. Honey watched a twitch form on his top lip as he forced himself into a smile.

A wine glass slammed on the table so hard it was a wonder that it didn’t break. Janet came to an abrupt stand. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, flashing her teeth. “I’m going to freshen up.” 

The smile she wore as she hastily left the table looked painful. It likely was. Her split lip had opened back up.

Uncomfortable silence passed between them, with Hank attempting to recover while avoiding shooting a dirty glare at Peter’s nosy little whore.

“I need to go too,” Honey announced, jumping at the chance to exit. She laughed nervously as she stood. “Broke the seal.”

When Honey entered the washroom, she saw Janet anxiously dabbing powder at the shadowy ridge beneath her right eye. The light did her no favors, harshly revealing cracks in the facade of her almost-pristine face. The illusion vanished. The tungsten light revealed caked canals of far-too-much concealer that clogged her pores. Like heavy plaster attempting to cover up the stains of purple, yellow, and green.

Honey knew those stains. She knew those canals like the lines of her own hand. It’s not enough to cover them. You need to correct them, applying complementary colors to cancel them out. Yellow for purple. Orange for blue. Green for red. 

She knew.

Janet’s gorgeous blue eyes found hers in the mirror, burning a hole through her reflection. Honey frowned at the familiar sight, her heart swelling with sympathy. 

“Listen,” she began gently, “I can help you—”

“No,” Janet spun on her red-bottom stiletto, glaring down at the younger woman. Acid spewed through her lips. “You listen. Who the fuck do you think you are,” she hissed with an icy tone, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve got some nerve, embarrassing me like that.” 

Her mouth fell open in shock, struggling to find the right words. She wouldn’t have had the chance to use them. Janet was right back at her with another devastating blow.

“You think you know something about my life?” she challenged lividly. “About my marriage? About me?” She glowered down at the younger woman, the way an exterminator observes a cockroach. “I’m not some goddamn damsel in distress, you stupid slut.”

Honey felt the first inkling of a sting in the corner of her eye. 

Janet lowered her tone with seething disdain, injecting venom into every word. “You don’t know shit. You’re just a perky pair of tits and a wet pussy for him to shove a couple of babies into. If he even lets you keep them.” 

Honey swallowed dryly.

“Regardless,” Janet continued, skewering her with sharp words, “once you’ve served your purpose, he’ll be on to the next one. Step out of line, and he’ll take you out with the garbage. Because at the end of the day, you’re just common.” Eyes narrowed, her voice softened like a feather, as she added, “And we’re nothing alike.”

The younger woman trembled in her shadow. The dressing down shook her to the core. Ripped out her insides. She felt like she was going to cry. And she loathed herself for it. 

“Stay out of my business,” Janet muttered, almost sweetly.

Honey’s vision went blurry as she disappeared from view. She heard the clacking of her heels growing more distant, until the sound disappeared beneath the door of the washroom. She bit her lip in an attempt to stop her tears. 

Anger burned inside of her. Rage. A hurricane in her heart she wasn’t used to. 

Fury that made her feel crazy. Bitter contempt. Like she wanted to run after Janet van Dyne and slap her. Shake her by the shoulders. Let her know she’s so stupid for staying in an abusive marriage. Choke her. 

Honey was crying again. Rageful. Goddamn it. 

She pictured herself, a foot taller, screaming at the rich lady’s bruised face. Are you insane? He’s going to kill you one day! You know that, right? How could you let him manipulate you after all this time? You fucking pathetic moron, you’re going to get yourself killed and no one’s gonna save you—

“Honey?” 

The soft voice jolted her out of her downward spiral. She realized that she was standing alone in the women’s washroom, her whole body trembling. Tear drops that she was numb to streamed down her cheeks. She felt hot, and cold, and clammy, and nauseous all at once. 

It was Peter who had come to find her.

The second he saw her face, his brows stitched together with concern. “What happened?” he questioned, a mixture of worry and outrage carving out his voice. His hands instinctively flew to her cheeks as he studied her, thumbs wiping away tears. He looked immediately on edge, hackles up, ready to punch a hole through whatever force caused her pain. He asked again, more akin to a demand, “Who did this to you?” 

It was unclear to either of them whatever this was. She felt floaty again, in that terrifying, untethered sense. A stray kite that would come crashing down at any moment. Her stomach dropped out from the Earth’s gravitational pull.

“I...” Honey stuttered, dazed. “I... don’t...”

“Honey,” Peter implored. His voice was gentle. And firm. “Tell me what happened. Please don’t lie. Are you hurt?”

She swallowed hard. Shook her head ‘no.’

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he urged, placatingly. She felt warmth from his lungs on her face. Whether it was from the heat of his passion or his fury, she didn’t know. Her eyes shut, bringing her fingers up to his wrists. Gently, she pulled away from his hold, putting those very important inches between them.

When she opened them again, he looked pained by her action. His lips were in a straight line. He gazed down at her, rejected. Took a long breath, swallowing whatever pain he was feeling. “Tell me what happened,” he repeated, calmer now. “Did somebody put hands on you—?”

“You can’t help him, Peter,” she blurted out. Her mind was also reeling, struggling to get back on course. “He’s... he’s n-not good.”

Peter raised a brow. “Pym?”

“You can’t trust him,” she swallowed, hard. Tried to stabilize the tremor of her voice. “He’s bad. Please. You have to believe me. I know.”

He fixed her with a suspicious gaze, apprehension growing. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s a monster!” she cried out in a pathetic whimper. She bit down on her lip to stop it from quivering, tasting self-hatred on her tongue. “His w-wife, she... He—”

“He beats his wife,” Peter finished her sentence, stoic and solemn. 

She blinked up at him with wet lashes. He stared at her with an empathetic frown, matching the sympathy of the one she wore when she confronted Janet. He sullenly scowled, “I know a right hook when I see one.” 

Her brows pinched together, confused. 

“The second I saw her face tonight, I knew. I’m just sorry you had to see it,” he explained, regretfully. Affection warmed his gaze. “I’m proud’a you, though. For calling ‘em out. Always knew you were a brave girl. Bastard looked like he was gonna shit his pants.”

She gulped dryly, stunned by his reaction. He was... proud of her? And... he knew? And... what was he going to do with that information?

“Peter,” she licked her chapped lips, trying to find her voice. “You can’t be on his side. I-I know I don’t know anything about your business, or-or any of that stuff, but-but y-you can’t help him—”

“You don't need to say it, Honey, I know,” he reassured softly. She was frozen, wondering what else he knew. “I don’t deal in stuff that destroys lives. And I damn sure don’t work with assholes that beat on women,” he stated with resolve, echoing a promise he made the night she first met Peter Parker. “The deal was dead before we even sat down.”

There she went again. Another out of body experience. She looked up at him, swelling with disbelief and a strange sort of pride. 

He handed her a handkerchief from his breast pocket. 

He put her mind at ease that it didn’t matter to him how many billions Hank Pym was worth. Peter had principles that weren’t for sale.

Peter Parker was a man of integrity. And of debauched perversion.

Peter and Honey spent their time split in multiple places, although the majority of it was in the Queens penthouse. One weekend, however, they traveled back to the cabin in the Catskills. She was surprisingly excited to return there. The property and house was beautiful, and it was still her favorite thing about her new life. 

She learned later that Peter had chosen the location because it was near the site of an old campground. The remains of which were on land that was now his. It had been a popular summer destination decades ago, and the place where May Reilly and Ben Parker first met.

Romantic. And a realist.

Small changes had been made to the cabin since she had last been there. Housekeepers had cleaned up the mess left behind from the peanut butter cookie incident. There was now an epipen in every room, and a trusted doctor who had been relocated to a separate house on the property, no more than a half-mile away. 

The house was once again spotless, but had also been fortified. Electronic steel locks on the windows and doors. Areas of the home that you needed a key card to access. Cameras visible in every room. Almost every room, she noted, except for the bathrooms and the closets.

It was invasive, she thought. Paranoid. Borderline voyeuristic. 

She was bothered by it. Distressed at the idea of Peter watching her through camera lenses. Or so she thought.

Later one evening after dinner, she wandered back into the expansive closet. Her intention was to take another closer look at the wardrobe and choose pieces to take with her back to the city. But as usual, she got distracted. Stuck at the lingerie chest.

It was worth looking over, now that some time had passed and her extreme modesty had eased a bit. She was even wearing shorts to bed instead of sweatpants. 

She was never really a fancy lingerie girl. It was an unnecessary expense, as she’d found that the few people she’d slept with were more than willing to fuck her in an oversized t-shirt.

These items didn’t really belong to her, anyway. She recalled feeling like they were someone else’s. Accessories for dolls manufactured for the male gaze. Costumes, like little sweaters on cats or dresses on dogs, transforming her into whatever her master desired. 

There was one dress, though. 

If she had to choose one that she’d ever think of buying. It would be that one. The one that felt most like her. Or, a version of her that lived in some sort of alternate universe.

It was the lavender silk babydoll dress, the one with the plunging V-neckline and soft pink French Chantilly lace floral accents. Each lace flower created a cut-out effect in the dress. It felt like a cloud in her fingertips. She examined the stitching carefully. It was likely handmade.

Holding it up in her view, her first thought was that there wasn’t very much of it. It was enough fabric to still be called a dress, but the backless, halter cut reduced the weight. The item shifted and flowed with the breeze. Cloudlike.

When she tried it on, curiously she found it felt light and airy on her body too. 

Standing in the closet in front of a full-length cheval mirror, she turned every which way, studying the way the dress moved. The V-neckline was kept modestly intact with three dainty ties, preventing any accidental ‘nip-slips.’ The dress was belted into an empire waist with a similar stringed tie, with dainty bows gathering the fabric on either sides of her torso.

From the belt, the fabric cascaded down her hips, rolling down her curves like fog on a mountain crest. It was a waterfall of silk and lace that flowed down front and center, tastefully crashing just above her knees. The skirt was split at the sides, two high slits rising just below the crest of her hips. It was enough to tease just a peek of the matching lace string bikini beneath.

It was beautiful. Soft and feminine. Tastefully enticing. And comfortable. She felt comfortable wearing it, much to her shock. Gazing at her reflection, she didn’t feel like she was looking at someone else. And yet, it looked like it was made for a fairy princess. 

It suited her. She liked the way it looked. She liked the way it looked on her. It was, much to her disbelief and astonishment, in a word—

“Beautiful...”

A deep murmur startled her. With a gasp, she turned to see Peter’s lithe form leaning against the doorway of the closet. His head was tilted to the side, with hungry, heavy-lidded eyes trained on her.

In an instant, she was a fawn. A frightened rabbit. Stunned still. Rendered motionless. Trapped in a hunter’s gaze.

His darkened eyes dragged across her body shamelessly. Drinking her in, intimately, in a way that was unapologetically obscene. Irises blown black with lust. The molasses hue was gone, crystalized. Seared off by the fire of his gaze. 

His soft lips were parted into a thirsty pout, ravaged red from being licked dry. Desire pulsed through his veins. Want filled his airways. His chest heaved raggedly in slow, shallow pants. He looked feral. Starved for her touch, her taste.

And impossibly hard. She blinked, eyes trailing low. Past the exposed, carved muscles of his torso, down to the bulge at his trunks. She had wondered about his size before. Peter in his underwear was no big surprise. 

But now, seeing the way the fabric stretched tightly over his erection, a straining outline of a neglected piece of him that was painfully awakened by her, it felt lewd. It made her squirm. Shiver. Triggering an uncontrollable drip down into her panties.

Had she stopped breathing? She felt dizzy all of a sudden. Why was he looking at her like that? When had her breathing gone shallow?

Suddenly, she flinched, reaching for the fabric covering her chest. She’d been overcome with the irrational fear that maybe she had been exposed after all. Some kind of curse, like in The Emperor’s New Clothes, where the dress had been an illusion. 

Or maybe it was some kind of new experimental fabric that turned invisible when it reached a certain temperature. 

That was the only explanation, she surmised, for the current look on his face. Like he could see through her clothes. Like she was presenting her naked body to him. Thread by thread, layers being cut away and unraveled with just a look. Slowly taking her apart in his mind. Penetrating her with his gaze.

She gulped, feeling a bolt of heat shoot down her center. The room was suddenly cold. And hot. Sweat beaded at the nape of her neck. Her nipples prickled beneath the fabric, behind her trembling arms. Gooseflesh breaking out across her skin.

She was faintly aware that she had begun babbling at some point. “Pe-Peter, I... you... wha—you can’t—”

“Can’t what?” His eyes trailed up to hers, radiating with challenge.

She was so fucking dizzy. “You... you... You can’t—”

He lifted his weight off the doorframe, stepping through the threshold. “What can’t I do?” 

Closing the tiny space between them. She felt her abs tighten. Pelvic muscles flutter. He stalked towards her, eyeing her the way a tiger stares down its prey.

Why was she panting? Why was she so hot? “Please—”

“Shhh... It’s alright,” he whispered, his chest rumbling so deep she could feel the reverberation under her skin. His pacifying voice only fueled the lightning down her spine. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Peter stopped, just an arm’s length away from her. She felt tiny beneath his gaze. The weight of his lust was pushing down on her chest, restricting her ability to breathe. To think straight. 

She wanted to faint. Fall right into his arms. Wrap herself around him.

A thousand lewd images flashed through her mind with a blur. Puzzle pieces scattered out, distressing her with their mismatched, disorganized state. She was almost afraid to put those pieces together. To see firsthand the erotic image they would create. Afraid. But curious.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, himself lost in a wet dream. How did he always seem to know what she was thinking? Was she stripped that bare? “It’s okay. I’m just... looking.” She had to peel her gaze away from his pecs, away from the ridges of his torso, away from the pornographic vision of her tongue trailing down his front until she was on her knees in front of him.

“Nothin’ wrong with wanting to watch,” he breathed. She could feel the heat of his breath. There was a glimmer in his eye, a hidden smirk. He took another step towards her. She had to bend her neck to look up at him. 

Mesmerized, she was too enchanted to look away, but too terrified to look directly at him.

His voice dived deeper beneath the waves of his lust. “I knew you were there that day. Watching me in the shower,” he crooned with a dangerous whisper. She felt her heart skip a beat, eyes going wide. “Nothin’ wrong with looking. Especially if you like what you see.” He half smiled. “Did you?”

Her voice had left her as swiftly as the air from her lungs. She stood in front of him, dumbfounded, and shaken, and dripping with her desire. He licked his lips, like a cartoon wolf. They stood quietly like that, as he continued to rove over her. He was mocking the ‘no touching’ rule with only his gaze. Eventually, he met her eyes again. He took a step backwards. Then another. 

“Just came to tell you,” he said innocently. “Time for bed.” He backed himself up towards the door, letting him have one last deliciously-sinful look. He then turned and strolled out of her room, like he was going for a walk in the park.

She trembled in his wake. Both arms reflexively concealing her nudity. There were two wolves inside of her, after all. Both of them were howling. Both wanted to fuck him.

She shouldn’t have kissed him. It was a dumb thing to do. 

It was dangerous, toying with him like that. It was dangerous, imagining herself being ravaged by his hands. Split open by his tongue. Letting her fingers do the work of soothing her growing frustration, secretly giving into the ache he left her with, while breathlessly panting his name in the shower. 

Peter Parker was dangerous. There was no alternative.

She heard heated voices coming from the parlor. Then a crash. Shatter. A shout. A roar. It made her hair stand on-end. Rushing towards the source of the sound, she tiptoed up to witness a witch hunt in progress.

The room smelled of sweat and stress. Familiar faces pulled taut, as Peter’s friends stood around anxiously. The pack was huddled together. Heads down, bodies folded up. Giving each other silent glances of concern. 

Peter Parker didn’t have any friends. Just people that were indebted to him. Allies in fluctuating phases of fear. Soldiers forced into servitude. Houseguests under the illusion that they weren’t actually prisoners.

Fear settled thickly over the room as Peter raged through it, rabidly pacing, eyes wild with anger. 

“There’s a rat in my house and I’m gonna kill it!” he roared, in a state she’d never seen before. The fury in his voice made her want to run and hide under the bed. By the looks of it, she wouldn’t be the only one.

From the side, Felicia fixed her with a warning glare. The slightest shake of her head. So subtle that Honey barely saw it. Before she could think to respond, the whole room jolted.

Peter picked up his foot and shoved the side of the baby grand. It traveled across the room and crashed into the opposite wall, with the ease of a soccer ball landing in the net. The elegant instrument shattered, wood flying and strings popping. 

Now she was frozen, like everyone else. 

Miguel muttered urgently, his voice barely louder than his racing heart, “Pete, let’s talk about this—”

“What is there to talk about?” Peter shouted, wheeling on him with a glare that could impale. “Hobie is dead!” 

Her breath caught in her throat at this information, remembering the friendly Brit with the punk-rock style. Suddenly, she connected the source of his untethered rage.

“He’s dead! Not coming back! Ever!” Peter rampaged on, spitting poison and bitter contempt. “I say let’s honor the old ways, yeah? And eye for an eye. A life for a life.” He barked an order without looking at whoever would receive it. “Get ‘em in here!”

Honey jolted as the doors swung open. Two of Peter’s faceless guards were dragging in the one face she did recognize. It was the man who attempted to frisk her weeks ago. He was bloody. His suit torn. His face beaten, rearranged like a Picasso. Stumbling as he was dragged in front of the court.

“On his knees,” Peter coldly ordered. His guards didn’t need to do much. The man dropped to all fours in the center of the room. He was shaking. Terrified. Tail between his legs.

“We should do this in private,” Miguel protested. 

“Let ‘em see!” Peter roared back. “Let ‘em be scared! No one ever got anywhere by bein’ friendly. Let ‘em know! You know what happens to friendly people? They get cut down with bullets! Just like Hobie!” The room went deadly silent. 

Peter stepped up to the broken man in front of him, like he was stepping up to the batter's plate. She remembered The Sandlot. Tried to remember that version. Not this ruthless animal in front of them.

He narrowed his eyes, glaring down. “You were the only one who wasn’t telling the truth about where you were. You know how I feel about liars.” There was a horrifying calm in his voice, but his obsidian eyes were anything but. He seethed. “Tell me. How did the Feds know where they were?”

Honey felt like she was going to throw up.

The guard trembled. “Si-sir, I-I don’t—I don’t know—”

Peter reached behind him, pulling a gun from his waistband. Honey covered her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. The disgraced guard gazed at the barrel helplessly. He looked up at Peter like he was a god. He was on his knees, praying for salvation.

“I-I-I swear it! I-I swear on my life!” he begged.

“Poor choice of words,” Peter said, words clipped and bitter. 

“No, no, please—I, I can tell you... I can tell you...everything... I... I-I...please—” The man broke down, sobs racking through his body. Piss staining his pants. 

“How did the Feds know where they were?” Each word was sharp. A stab between each for punctuation. “How’d they get to you, eh? What’d they promise you? Who’s hands have Hobie’s blood on ‘em?”

“I-I-I don’t know what happened,” he blubbered. “I don’t know, it— No one was supposed to get hurt!”

He cracked an unamused smile. “Good intentions, right? See you in hell.”

Both of Peter’s hands came up to the guard's face. With a ferocious crack, the man’s head went sideways. A full 180 degrees. The sound of every bone in his spine twisting, ribs snapping off all at once, like buttons popping off of a shirt.

Horrified gasps erupted from the crowd. It didn’t hide the awful sound the man’s body made as it hit the ground. It wasn’t a sound that a human body should make. It was a tumble. A collapse into a pile of limbs. His spine reduced to a wet noodle. 

Faces unable to conceal their sickened expressions turned away from the shockingly violent sight. Johnny brought the back of his hand to his mouth, swallowing back bile. Miguel flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, turning his back in disgust. 

Only Felicia remained still. Her eyes were wide. Forced open. Tears brimming. She’d witnessed an execution and the death of a dear friend in the same moment. The convergence and end of two lives.

Peter Parker did pest control. Honey thought back to that joke. The ‘rat’ was dead. 

If there were two animals inside of her, at least one of them was a rat. 

She sat quietly on the floor of the bathroom, leaning back against the freestanding tub. The lights were on and the faucet was flowing. Anything less and it would’ve been suspicious. Anything less, and she wouldn’t have been able to conceal her pitiful sobs. 

She bit down into her arm, trying to silence them. Trying to push them down. Trying to drown whatever creatures lived within her.

Everyone had two sides to them. Everyone was an animal. She was no different.

She killed that guard, just as much as Peter did.

She killed Hobie, just as much as those bullets did. 

Blood was on her hands. On her sharp teeth. On her mange-ridden fur. You can't trust an animal. Animals will do anything they need to survive.

The phone in her pocket buzzed again, startling her. She looked around out of habit, making sure that no one could see her in her hiding spot. Nausea pushed up her throat as she gazed at the 202 number on the screen.

The phone unlocked for her, and she read the message:

> that’s not what i asked, peach. 

> do you love him?

Her heart fluttered, but her face didn’t flush red this time. She was getting better at lying. 

<<< don’t be ridiculous

His question was wildly inappropriate. Intruding on the strictly business nature of their arrangement. Crossing boundaries that she needed. 

She was kidding if she thought she had any control of the situation at all.

> its a yes or no question

... > [IMG_0320.jpg]

She expanded it, always terrified of what she would find. But this photo was from a set she’d seen before: A candid of Bella, having the time of her life with Ariel, with shimmery scales on her cheeks. Mickey Mouse ears on her head.

She bit her tongue. Swallowed back bile. Tapped out a reply.

<<< of course not

<;<< how could i ever love a monster like that

One animal is a rat.

The other is a snake. Slithering in, belly to the ground. Lying through a forked tongue. Destined to consume her soul’s animal counterpart, and everything else, until it chokes on its own tail and dies.

The key was holding onto a fraction of truth in order to sell the lie.

How could she ever love Peter Parker? 

She couldn’t even love herself.

Continue to Part 11

[back to masterlist]

a/n - i'm excited about the next arc of this story. and i'm also excited to tell you that no one has predicted where this is going. yayyyyyyy. we're gonna get violence. we're gonna get more walker (he's really bad in this yall). we're gonna get more naughty. hang in there!

also, have you listened to THIS amazing playlist from @raindropstearsandtea??? it's partially inspired by sugar and vice and i can't believe that anyone would ever make art from my art and a;lkjsdfjl;kfdlk;jalkjdf

there's also my 'official' playlist on Spotify, which is just too fun.

thank you so much to everyone who gave me feedback! i can't tell you how honored i am that you're enjoying my nerdy attempt at hack exploitation of shameless tropes!

Reblog to be tagged in the next part!

[agnezluf]

Elixir of the Sun

The Plot : 8/10

The yandere : 8/10

The artwork : 9/10

Artist : Song Yi

Author : Solddam, KONN, One (둥그라미)

I love my yandere to unconditionally infatuated with their love interest. I mean, there can be a reason or a trigger that kickstart their fascination, but down the line, “unconditional” love is what makes a yandere for me. This, of course as selfless as a yandere can be. I mean, how unconditional can a love be if he would rather confining you in a cage rather than letting you go?

However, yandere’s act of “selfishness” in my book is always rooted from their fear and inability to part from their love interests. This is the key of what makes a yandere for me. That is why, I am not 100% sold with Dhan, the main male character of Elixir of the Sun, being a pure-bred yandere man. I will tell you why.

In the Great Sun Empire, there is a tale of healer goddess called Siyo who is destined to be murdered and betrayed by her slaves. The slaves and Siyo have perished but their descendants are still living around the empire and its surrounding kingdoms. Bayan is an outcast in a Siyo village. She has different attributes and minimum healing skill. But fate brought her to the doorstep of the mad emperor of the Great Sun Empire, Dhan.

The plot itself is quite detailed and interesting with fantasy background. The earlier chapters are quite heart-wrenching, and successfully setting up Bayan’s tragic backstory. She will not meet Dhan until 20 chapters in, but I love slow burn when it is done right.

With the original Siyo’s traitor servant’s blood in his body, Dhan is cursed with the everlasting thirst that consumes his body. Not a single second in his life, he’s able to quench this thirst, until he got a taste of Bayan’s blood. Now, imagine you are in perpetual withdrawal and a person literally has a drug blood that can relieve the symptom. That is who/what Bayan is for Dhan initially.

I mean it is a nice set up for drama and angst, but not a satisfying yandere construct for me, especially when the yandere man is told to be in this state until the last few chapters. There also seems to be a minimal moral dilemma from making Bayan/siyo as a drug livestock.

Their relationship feels organic though. As a character, Bayan is a little bit of Mary Sue. A likeable Mary Sue, but still. I get why people love her. I get why Dhan seems to fall for her right from the beginning. Although I am not sure if it is mainly because of her blood… or perhaps both. Dhan is refreshingly pragmatic and smart, and I love it when the writer is showing these things rather than telling us.

Anyway, as a standalone story, this manhwa has a nice arc to follow, unique story line and a possessive as hell (but progressive) male lead. It might not be a satisfying yandere read for me due to the foundational flaw above, but who knows… you may like it more than I do as I tend to have some quirks about a story that are unusual.

So don’t let it deter you. Read it if you have not already. It is already completed and we are currently entering the side stories.

[merrivia]

I’ve finally read Pet and am kicking myself I didn’t read it sooner!

I’ve measured out the short stories like I’m nibbling on chocolate, Charlie Bucket style, and I was leaving this till last partly because of that, and partly because I didn’t feel that interested in Ancel (sorry Ancel, I take it back).

It’s fascinating reading about events that occur in Captive Prince but not from Damen’s POV. The idea that everyone has complexities under the surface, and that things aren't always as they seem, is only understood by Damen negatively in the first half of Captive Prince I think. Veretians are untrustworthy and slippery and Machiavellian. And that's not, not true! The Veretian court IS a pit of vipers. But people are also still human, and it's that extra step of understanding the humanity underneath even these acidic, performative snakes which is interesting. Ancel is sharp and smart (and really needs to be taught how to read forthwith). Berenger is morally admirable, and isn't actually sleeping with him. Vannes cares about Berenger in her own small way. Laurent emits a great deal of power and is "instantly commanding" to others (but not to Damen, which must have really infuriated him).

Here’s some more snippets of my thoughts in general:

Waxing is canon! So interesting. Why does no grown man ever shave in the books also? Why isn't attending, also shaving? I think we'll just have to accept that as Pacat's choice. Maybe the only blade she wanted between them was the ghost of swords from a long ago fight/swords in the present?

Isagoras the writer/poet- any connection to Isagoras the historical figure who was embroiled in a power play in terms of Athenian politics and democracy? Who Aristotle called ‘friend of tyrants’? Obviously he’s not meant to be that figure but is it a sort of irony and foreshadowing for the political choices Berenger has to make?

And Akielon writing/poetry is popular among men with status? Interesting. You wonder if Laurent approved a poem waxing lyrical about Ios, or really anything that suggested the Akielons aren't barbarians.

I feel as if Damen would know this poem, and read it to Laurent as part of courting him 🥺

Interesting to see a first impression of Laurent from the viewpoint of someone not instantly obsessed with him- severe and harsh, but no mention of his beauty till later.

I mean this nicely but Damen really has no idea how naturally arrogant and superior he comes across as in this situation, does he? I mean, it’s completely understandable if you think of Akielon society, and how he’s been raised and treated; in fact it would be implausible any other way based on his character traits too. He’s just so bad at pretending to be a slave even as his life is at risk if they find out he’s a prince 😂 oh Damen /pets his curls/. And oh, a *lion* you say....

Just really bad at acting servile, it's so funny. Love him.

Speaking of Lamen, it is a little unsettling how quickly Damen starts to fall for Laurent in Captive Prince and how Laurent truly does hate him, yet…is clearly on some molecular level, attracted to him, I think? It’s just a really heartbreaking and stressful dynamic. His "complete attention" on him...let's face it, if Damen had looked like Govart, Laurent wouldn't be fixated in the same way (I mean this nicely).

Oh my baby Laurent. You know this isn’t right. Are you reenacting a past trauma? Making him suffer what you suffered? Even if you aren’t, your flaw is letting your hatred and anger blind you to your morals. (Lucky a man is going to fall in love with you who is pretty much always on your side even when you don’t always deserve it…). Damen will help you be more honourable /pats blond head/

"Locked” is an apt word isn’t it, considering all that ties them together (and not to mention the gold cuffs and collar…) and oof, Laurent's sexual domination in this scene is quite apparent.

and…

I mean, we all know this is sex by proxy and so does Ancel, who just met Laurent and Damen!

And lastly, I am team Berenger. He's a Good Man and would probably get on pretty well with Torveld and Nikandros, the other dark haired, loyal and responsible men in the trilogy.

Nice to see someone see commoners as people all year round (not simply when their villages are being massacred and their humanity is thrown into stark relief by it)!