#blue period exposition

[levbolton]

Me when i realise that yamaguchi going on maternity leave means that hacchan’s cover will be delayed

[pedrito-friskito]

disobedient - miguel o’hara x fem!reader (spidersona)

do you get off on disobeying me?

a/n: I regret fuck all folks. part 1 of 2 (no clue when part 2 will happen but it will). special shouts to @psychedelic-ink, @inklore, and @splendiferous-bitch for feeding my miguel obsession and being the best ❤️‍🔥

word count: 6.5k

warnings: oh mama. sex pollen, unprotected p-in-v, rough sex, desperate miguel, multiple orgasms, in a shocking twist a whole lotta exposition cuz I gotta make the fucking make sense, y’know?

✨@friskito-library for new works✨

You’re not supposed to do this.

You’re not supposed to be here, period, but the notion hasn’t stopped you thus far. It’s just gonna make him more pissed off than he normally is, but pissing Miguel O’Hara off has quickly climbed to the top of your list of talents, and you’re content to continue doing as you please.

Especially if it means he’ll keep glowering at you with those eyes of his.

+

It threw you off initially — him, in general. Unfairly large, all rippling muscle and too-tiny waist, the hip-to-shoulder ratio of a Dorito chip and retractable claws you’ve seen more than once now. Not to mention an ass that looks like it was sculpted by a god. But it was the eyes that caught your attention, when you caught him glowering at you from a shadowy corner, like a predator hunting its prey.

“You gonna keep gawking,” you’d asked, “or come say hello like a normal person?”

Neither of you fit that category — normal people, boring — and he’d ignored your quip, actually growling at you as he stalked out of the shadows and brushed past you, bumping your shoulder in the process, and your brow had lifted at the way his suit seemed to ripple with the impact, forming and reforming against his skin. You saw it all, thanks to your spider-tacular vision, and your next thought after I want to sink my teeth into that ass, was I need to get my hands on that fabric.

Six months later, and no dice. You’ve been bouncing between Earth 928 and whatever dimension suits your fancy since Miguel first brought you here. How you convinced him to hand over one of his fancy bracelets, you’ll never truly know, but you have a distinct feeling the nature of your first meeting was what prompted him to give you access to the multi-verse — along with a slew of rules you more often than not turned your nose up at.

It also probably has something to do with the fact that you didn’t leave Nueva York for the first month. You holed up in the room he provided, ate the food he left by the door, and slept your days away, ignoring the too-bright world outside the windows, content to waste away to nothing. You couldn’t go home, what did it matter anyway?

Enter Miguel O’Hara and his incredibly bite-able ass.

When he first found you on the rooftop, cornered you near the fire escape, you’d gone snarky, despite the rumble in your bones, the betrayal that had cut you to the core, the looming fact that shit had just hit the fan and nothing was ever going to be the same again. 

And then Mister Grumpy steps through a fucking portal and tells you he can save you. He can’t fix what happened, but he can take you somewhere they won’t find you again, a haven of sorts. For a moment, you reeled — how could you know for sure that you could trust him? You almost asked him as much, but then the blanket of realization swept over you: there was nothing left for you on Earth 374. The spider on his chest was clue enough that you were on the right track. Sure, his was bright red on dark blue, whereas your own was navy against slate grey, but the similarities were close enough, namely the giant fucking spider.

The door to the rooftop had jiggled and Miguel swept a hand out, shooting webbing at the handle, keeping it shut. “Clock’s ticking, princesa,” he told you, the nickname said almost tauntingly. “Offer’s about to expire.”

You knew there had to be other spider-people out there in the universe, you just hadn’t imagined them to be so…large.

Or demanding, you’d learn later. Or asshole-ish. Sigh.

“Get me the fuck outta here,” you answered, and that was that. You were standing in his lab in Nueva York a moment later, and the jolt of multi-dimensional travel had you puking your guts all over the glossy floor. Faintly, you’d heard Miguel’s grunt of disdain.

“Lyla, get someone to clean this up,” he said, and his hand curled around your arm a moment later, hauling you to your feet like a rag doll. “You’ll get used to it,” he told you. “The jumping. I did the same thing after my first time.”

You were too out of it to know if he was actually being nice, or if the subtle lift to the corner of his mouth was just amusement at your expense.

“Yeah, well, warn a girl next time, would you?”

But you did get used to it. Once you managed to get your ass out of bed and back into your suit, you were soon away from the Spider Society more than you were there. For the first couple weeks, Miguel hadn’t said a word, apparently content to let you go where you pleased, barely questioning you when you deigned to return. Then, it was like a switch was flipped, and he was up your ass — and not in a fun, sexy way. He wanted reports on each of your jumps, timelines and activity breakdowns. He wanted lists of targets, reasons behind them, background checks. All things you knew he could easily get himself, but you also didn’t have the guts to tell him that since he’d saved you from Earth 374, you hadn’t actually…helped…anyone.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. Your first solo jump you’d managed to find a few bank robberies and a mugging happening within a few blocks of each other. Clearly, you’d picked a gem of a universe, and while you’d managed to web up the bandits in the vault, something in you had frozen when you tried to track down the mugger. The scene unfolded on the street below and you just…shut down.

The rest of your trips were spent just exploring. You swung your way through cities, camped out on rooftops, just watching the normal people go about their lives down below. You noted the differences between that universe and your own, tried to remember where all the puzzle pieces fit, even though you were looking at a different picture.

And it’s that curiosity, that quiet desperation to know more, that has you padding out of your room in the Spider Society tower, overriding the elevator that’ll take you up to Miguel’s lab. His currently empty lab. The man himself has been away on a scouting mission for nearly forty-eight hours, and you’re not expecting him back for another twenty-four, which gives you more than enough time to satisfy that annoying voice in the back of your head that wants to know how they’re doing.

It’s late. The world outside the tower is dark, the sky an inky black, streaked with light shades, dotted with stars. You’d be a fool not to find Earth 928 and Nueva York beautiful in their own strange, overly modern ways, but even six months in, it’s hard to think of it as home.

But you know why. It’s because it’s not. 

You’d lasted a few days before you started glitching, and being cooped up in your room, you assumed you’d be able to hide it from Miguel. Part of you feared that if he knew something was wrong with you, he’d send you back to 374, and then what would happen to you?

You went to sleep worrying it over in your mind, and woke up to a complicated-looking watch sitting on the nightstand beside your bed. A hastily scrawled note stuck to it.

Put it on. It’ll help.

As soon as you did, the device beeped to life, a holographic screen jumping up, telling you the date and time and a myriad of other pieces of information. And then—

“Hiya, toots! I’m Lyla.”

You were confused as hell by the AI at first, but you quickly realized how useful she was, even more knowledgeable than Miguel, not that she’d ever admit it. And, in all honesty, you were a fan of the gab sessions. When Miguel wasn’t working her overtime, she’d beep her way through your watch for a good chat, perch herself on your pillow in the days you were still a shut-in, and when you started to make your way through the multi-verse, she was quick to point out the must-sees wherever you were.

She ran out quickly when she realized you were visiting the same place, just a different universe.

+

The doors to Miguel’s lab whoosh open at your approach, bare feet padding along the glass floor, and as you pause, getting yourself a cup of coffee from the forever-full carafe he keeps far away from the supercomputer, your watch pings to life, and the AI herself glitters into existence.

“What d’you think you’re doing?”

You ignore her at first, fixing your coffee the way you like it, flicking the stir stick into the trash before bringing the cup to your lips. It’s not until you start toward the computer and the large platform that houses it, that you answer her.

“Nothin’.”

She groans. “That’s a load of shit and we both know it.”

“He’s not here,” you say, shrugging a shoulder as you step onto the platform. The screens hum to life as you drag one hand across the infrared keyboard and when you glance over your shoulder, Lyla’s staring at you over the top of her heart-shaped glasses. “What he won’t know won’t hurt him.”

“And you really think doing exactly what he told you not to do is the best idea?”

You sigh, sipping your coffee as you sink into the chair, rolling yourself close to the computers. Miguel rarely uses the chair, apparently content to just stand and stare all broodingly at the screens. You only watched him — caught him — do this once, but when you caught on to what was happening, you filed the information away. He’d given you hell for snooping around, though you teased that he was just pissed you’d managed to sneak up on him, and according to Lyla, nobody does that.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you pause. He did tell you, rather specifically, not to do what you’re about to do. He didn’t tell you why, wouldn’t give an inch when you pressed him, but he was firm.

No good will come of it.

+

Earth 473. Not an identical twin to your home universe, but a very close sibling. The differences were so small, so scarce, that you truly thought you’d stumbled back to 374 accidentally, and you’d nearly jumped back to Nueva York, heart in your throat. But then something caught your eye, and you froze.

Across the way, teetering at the edge of the rooftop, was Spider-Man.

His suit was the opposite of yours, the spider grey and the suit navy. You could feel him staring right back at you, even at the distance, and as you stared back, he lifted his hand. For a moment you thought he might wave, your own fingers twitching to return the gesture, but then it continued up, gripping the back of his mask and yanking it from his bed.

You saw his mouth form the words, heard them like a whisper in the air.

“You’re alive.”

Your frozen heart dropped into your toes.

It was Peter. Your Peter, the one you’d left behind on Earth 374, your best friend, the one who…who…

You didn’t have it in you to finish the thought. It was all the evidence you needed to know that this universe was not yours. You were the only Spider-Person on 374, and your Peter wasn’t…he couldn’t…

You’d stumbled backward, blindly grabbing for your watch, suddenly desperate to be back in the SS tower. But then you paused, your fingers twitching on the dials and digits.

And you almost went exactly where you weren’t supposed to. Like a reflex. Shaking yourself, you punched in 928, everything in you twisting and turning as you stepped through the portal.

Miguel was waiting. He’d been watching you, paying close attention to that particular jump, and had used the link through your watch to see what you saw. The opposite-but-mirror image on the rooftop.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, his voice low, that deep timbre that still managed to catch you off guard. “The multi-verse doesn’t work that way.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” you spat back, shrugging off his hand when he tried to grab your arm. “You have no idea what I’m feeling.”

His face had gone feral. Those carmine eyes flaring, staring down his nose at you while you just stared right back, defiant. You went to step past him, and he caught you again, this time his longer fingers wrapping around your forearm, the tell-tale prick of his talons biting through your suit.

“I know a fuck load more than you seem to think,” he snarled, dragging you close to he was in your face. “In case you forgot, I’ve been at this a hell of a lot longer than you have, and what you saw out there, what it means to you, I know exactly where your mind went. And I am telling you: the multi-verse does not work like that.”

“What am I thinking?” you spat back, ignoring the pinpricks of pain that shot through your arm as you got even closer, leaning up on your toes. “If you’re so fucking knowledgeable, tell me.”

He released you, then. The pain in your arm dissipated as quickly as it had come, and his eyes went…soft. Thoughtful.

Sympathetic.

“You’re thinking,” he started, inhaling deeply, rubbing two fingers between his brows as he spoke, “that you could go back there, to 473, and make a life for yourself. The same family, the same friends, the same life. They lost their version of you, so why not fill her shoes? Find some semi-logical explanation, hide your powers, live your life. Am I close?”

You almost stumbled backward, the truth of his words sending you reeling. You bumped into his desk instead, knocking a cup of coffee over, and neither of you said a word as the dark liquid spread across the desktop, dripping off the edge and onto the floor.

Miguel took a half-step toward you, then turned slightly, looking over the curve of his shoulder at you. Something in you longed to press your forehead against his frame, search for some kind of support, but you stayed stuck still.

“I know,” he continued, turning his head, staring straight ahead, “because I did exactly the same thing. And I lost everything.”

+

His words echo through your mind now, the deep tone you’ve gotten very familiar with, and you shake your head, clearing away the cobwebs he’s left in your head. “This is different,” you say aloud, partially to Lyla, partially to yourself. “I’m not going there, I’m just…checking in.”

The AI rolls her eyes at you and snaps her gum. “I said it once and I’ll say it again: load of shit.”

Your fingers fly over the keyboard, typing in the codes to find what you’re looking for. You haven’t been back to 473 since that jump; Miguel had forbade it after your spat, and even went so far as to block your watch from taking you there. You thought he was being unreasonable, and he reiterated that he was actually trying to keep you safe.

No good will come of it.

You hit the final key, and the images start to fade in. You can just barely make out the shape of her — of you — when the screens go black. Your breath catches in your throat as a large hand comes down on your shoulder, gripping tightly, though you don’t feel the pricks of his talons.

“Do you get off on disobeying me?”

The words are almost a purr, the opposite of the tone you’re expecting, and from the corner of your eye, you see Lyla blip from existence. It makes goosebumps rise on your skin, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as he leans in, hot breath on your ear.

“If I make you cum, will that make you more obedient? Hm?”

“What the fu—” you start, trying to whirl around, but his grip on you is solid, warm palm following the curve of your shoulder until his fingers are wrapping themselves around your throat. It’s a welcome weight, sparks of electricity shooting down your limbs, your thighs rubbing together to relieve the instant pressure. “Mmm.”

His thumb presses down on your racing pulse, and you’re suddenly aware of how warm he is. He’s…too warm. But you have to admit, the way he’s holding you…it’s nice. Really nice.

“Miguel,” you start, trying to turn again, but he fits his face into the bare side of your neck, lips grazing the thin skin. “You’re not supposed to be back yet.”

“Mission went south,” he mumbles against you, his tongue darting past his lips and dragging along your skin. It makes your eyes roll back, but…

Where is this coming from?

He should be furious with you. He caught you red-handed, no questions about it. You weren’t expecting him to find you in the first place, but now that he has, you’re expecting a screaming match, toddler-level foot-stomping and possibly being thrown over his ridiculously large shoulder and being tossed into your room like a rag doll. Locked up like Rapunzel until you start listening to his brand of reasoning. You’re expecting a blowout.

You’re not expecting this.

He huffs in your ear as his lips graze the sensitive skin beneath it, his words spoken into the shell, tongue catching on your earring. “You smell delicious, cariño.”

The pet name makes you shiver. “Mig,” you say again, your hand covering his as his other arm wraps around your middle, pulling you back against his chest. “What are you doing?”

His heart is racing, so hard that you can feel the heavy thump of it against your spine. It’s too fast, even for him, you know that much. His fingers curl against your stomach, talons poking out and shredding your shirt to strips. You gasp as the fabric falls away.

“Miguel.” You make your voice as stern as possible. It’s not that you don’t want him to touch you like this, it just seems so sudden, so out of character, and you—

He wrenches himself away from you, the heady warmth of him suddenly gone, and you whirl, hand flying up to grip your neck as the sound of him crashing into the wall reaches your ears. His fingers are leaving indents in the metal, talons scratching deep, and you gulp as you realize you’re lucky he didn’t just accidentally slit your throat.

Whatever’s happening, he’s not himself.

“Mig,” you call, wiping your bloody hand on your sweats, crossing the distance he’s put between you. “Would you just talk t—”

“NO!” he roars, throwing a hand out in front of himself. You can see his large frame shake as he sinks down against the wall, long tears in the metal forming in his wake. “Keep your distance.”

Your brow lifts. “Says the man who was literally crawling up my ass three seconds ago.” You ignore him, taking another step, ignoring the way his words ring through your head. Do you get off on disobeying me?

Yeah…maybe you do. Just a little bit.

You crouch down low, getting on his level. “Mig, tell me what happened.”

“Don’t call me that,” he spits, staring you down for a moment before forcing his head to the side, an action that looks like it takes a lot of effort. “Just…go to your room, leave me be.”

“You telling me not to call you that just makes me wanna call you that more.” You shift onto your knees, inching a little closer. “I can’t leave you be, not when you just put a bunch of holes in the wall,” you lift your hand to your throat, where the scratches he left are already almost gone, “and almost in me. Tell me what happened.”

He tilts his head back against the wall, still turned away from you, one crimson eye looking your way. “Mierda, you’re stubborn.”

You roll your eyes. “Like you didn’t know that already. Talk.”

“Earth 1365-7,” he starts, eyes fluttering shut. His eyelashes are unfair, you think to yourself, the way they fan out across his even more unfair cheekbones. “I ended up in their version of OSCORP, some testing centre. Different serums and gases and…they were trying to weaponize a kind of paralytic that’s found in certain spider venom.”

His tongue pokes out after he says the word venom, tracing the tips of his fangs, and you swallow hard.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

You shake your head, silencing the thought.

“And you stopped them?” you prompt, when he doesn’t go further, instead inhaling deeply and scrubbing a hand down his face.

“I did,” he tells you, but there’s no trace of triumph in his voice or on his face. “But I stumbled into one of the other labs, and as soon as I did…” He trails off, body shifting against the floor, and it’s impossible to miss the ripple in his skin-tight suit, the way he props one knee up, blocking your view of his crotch. “It was some sort of plant that they’d been researching. The pollen, it raises a person’s heart rate, skyrockets it, and muddles their senses. If left untreated, it can kill them.”

You stare at him hard. “What’s the treatment, Miguel?”

“The side effects,” he continues, ignoring your question. “Heightened blood pressure, extremely sensitive skin, lowered inhibitions, and…”

“Mig, would you just tell me?”

“Arousal,” he finishes, and you freeze. “Intense arousal. I didn’t mean to jump on you like that, I just…The only way to treat it is to…”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but the implication is clear, along with the intense reminder of how he was pressed against you.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, shrugging a shoulder, trying like hell to look non-committal, like your skin isn’t still tingling in all the places he touched you. “Lowered inhibitions, like you said.”

He doesn’t say anything so much as hum in response, his head lolling to the side again. His eyes are fire when they open again, landing on you and pinning you in place. It makes your breath hitch again, palms lowering to rest on your thighs.

“You need to get out of here, cariño,” he murmurs, his voice low, husky, fingers tapping against his bent knee. “I need to deal with this.”

You’ve inched a bit closer to him, you realize, your traitorous body giving you away.

“How are you gonna deal with it?” you ask, barely above a whisper. Every inch of you is tingling now, not just the places he touched, and the way he tilts his head back again and groans is not helping matters. “Maybe I should…help.”

His eyes flash to you, pools of red, pupils blown big as dinner plates. “You want to…help.”

“You said this could kill you,” you continue, leaning forward until your palms hit the floor. “Someone should…keep an eye on you, y’know. Make sure you…y’know, don’t.”

“How articulate of you.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbly, but you don’t miss the way his shoulders shake even after the laughter has stopped. His breathing is shaky too, you can hear it from where you’re crouched. Worry threads through the lust that’s seemingly replaced your blood, and you slide even closer to him, until there’s maybe two feet between you.

“I don’t want you to die.” The words hang heavy in the air and the truth of them twists your guts. Stubborn ass he may be, but he’s done nothing but protect you since he found you back on Earth 374. You…care. You care a lot.

“Lyla can keep an eye on me,” he spits, but you just get closer.

“So she can wipe her hard drive and clean her eyes with soap afterward?” you joke. “I can’t leave you like this, Mig. Can AIs even use soap?”

“Don’t call me that,” he says again.

“Let me help you,” you say, the words coming easier, firmer. “You know that I can.”

You close the distance completely, your knees bumping the side of his thigh and your hand covering his on the floor. The fabric of his suit recedes, revealing his hands, and your fingers brush over his knuckles. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” you tell him, leaning back on your heels, lifting your other hand to pull his bent knee straight. “You need help, and I’m offering it.”

He groans again.

“I’ve owed you, this whole time,” you continue, resting your hand on his shin as his leg rests on the floor. It takes everything in you not to let your eyes wander up to the space between his hips, but you manage. “You saved my life; let me save yours.”

The spider made you strong, made you fast, but Miguel…He’s so large, so imposing, and the moment his hands land on your body, you know he’s been holding back from you.

He maneuvers you into his lap, your knees resting against his hips. In an instant you can feel him, the hard prod of his cock against your cunt, separated only by the thin fabric of your pants and the rippling material of his suit. Miguel groans as he fits his face into your neck, talons pressing into your hips as the suit melts away, every inch of his golden skin suddenly on display. It’s overwhelming and your blood heats, unable to bite back the moan that slips free when he pulls your hips against his, the pressure between you exactly what you need it to be.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he grits out, his hips lifting off the floor as he chases your body, as you chase each other. “This is just…”

“I’m helping,” you breathe out, your hands curling around his shoulders as you settle into his lap. Well, not so much as settle as twitch, the fabric of your shirt riding up as his hands move up your sides, curling around your ribs. “This is only about keeping you alive.”

“Alive,” he repeats, and you bite your lip, feeling his fingers curl into your shirt. “You have no fucking idea how…”

“God, shut up,” you groan, gripping his face in your hands, claiming his mouth for your own. The sound of tearing fabric reaches your ears as your lips meet his and he growls at you, shredding your shirt and tossing the fabric away, leaving you bare from the waist up. His hands drop to your ass then, tugging at your pants and you bite his bottom lip. “You could just ask nicely, you know.”

He just grunts in response, effectively splitting the elastic band and pulling the rest of your clothes away. You’re completely naked now, perched in his lap, and your skin heats in every spot you’re pressed to him. Which is basically everywhere. “I’ll get you new ones,” he grits, and you roll your eyes, biting at his lip again. 

There’s little ceremony to it. Miguel drags you along him a few times, the feel of him prodding between your legs lighting a fire in you. You can feel how big he is, but you busy yourself with his mouth, your knees pressing against his hips. One of his hands skims down your back, curving around your hip and sliding two fingers through your folds. It makes you keen, a moan ripping from your throat when he presses those fingers into you.

“Wet,” he grunts against your mouth, his breath stuttering as you clench around his digits. You rock your hips into his hand, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging until his head tips back.

“Take what you need,” you say, and for once, he listens to you.

The feeling of his fingers pulling out leaves you aching, but you’re not left waiting for long. He presses against the small of your back, tilting your hips, and then he’s inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. The sheer fullness that sweeps through you is almost too overwhelming, and your breath whooshes out of you as your chest slams into his. You can feel the way his heart is racing, the rapid thump beneath his sternum nearly vibrating against your own.

This doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, circling your hips as he plants his feet, bends his knees. He holds you up slightly, giving just enough space between you for him to thrust up into you, hitting a spot that makes you see stars. This is just…helping. I’m just being helpful.

You’re just…quickly reaching the most intense orgasm you’ve had in a hot second.

He keeps hammering into that same spot, the lab filling with the sound of his skin on yours, your panting breaths, and Miguel’s grunts. It’s fucking euphoric, your head falling back between your shoulders. “Mig, I—”

“Not yet,” he growls, and suddenly you’re being lifted, the heavy weight of him still pressed inside you. Your grip on each other is firm, and Miguel moves quickly, sweeping you out of the lab and through the door that leads to his room. You barely get a breath in before your back hits his mattress and he’s towering over you, his big hands curled around your thighs, kneeling so he can prop your ass up. The angle lets him drive deeper and you throw your arms over your head, curling your fingers in his bedsheets, trying to find some leverage.

One of his hands moves over you, palm grazing your stomach before moving down. He thumbs at your clit, dragging another moan out of you, his brow going hard. You have a better look at his face now, his expression pinched, eyes trained on where he’s pounding into you. His skin is damp with sweat, a sheen on his forehead, his mouth hanging open. You swear you can see his pulse jumping in his throat.

“Want you to cum, princesa,” he nearly begs, and the hitch in his voice makes goosebumps rise all over your body. “So. Fucking. Tight.” He punctuates each word with a deep thrust and everything in you goes impossibly tighter.

“This is about you,” you pant out, clawing at his sheets. “I don’t need—”

But you do. You really fucking do, but something about admitting that to him right here and now feels…wrong. It twists your gut in a not-so-fun way.

“I don’t care, I need you to cum,” he growls, releasing his grip on your thigh to grab at your chin, forcing your eyes on his. “Now.”

Suddenly, your body is not your own. It responds instantly to his command, a string threading your muscles drawing tight as a bow before snapping entirely. Your back arches against the mattress, so hard it just brings you closer to him and Miguel drops his head, dragging his nose up the middle of your chest. It courses through your entire body, your hips lifting entirely off the bed to chase him, to keep him buried within you.

He groans as you cum, the sound the only thing you’re aware of besides the pleasure setting your body on fire. There’s a ringing in your ears, your muscles going lax as you start to come down, but he doesn’t stop. One of your hands floats to his hair, tangling the sweat-damp strands around your knuckles and you can feel his growl shake your ribs.

“More,” he grits, raking his hands down your sides, gripping your hips again. You inhale sharply as his head turns, skirting across your chest to take your nipple between his lips. The pace is relentless, your body growing tight again with his movements. He’s playing you like a fucking fiddle, and you’re the first to admit you’re loving every second of it.

You manage to open your eyes, the pleasure receding just enough for you to regain some of your faculties.

He’s staring right back.

It makes you flinch, jolting in his grasp as his lips draw back, revealing one pointed fang. You shiver as he drags the tip of it around your nipple.

“Again.”

And again, your body obeys. This time it sneaks up on you more than barrels through you, making you throw your head back against the mattress. “Fuck, Miguel.” Your nails dig against his scalp, tugging at his hair, revelling in the noise it pulls out of him. You want to record it, put it on repeat, set it as your fucking ringtone. How the fuck is he doing this? This was supposed to be about him.

Not that you’re not enjoying yourself. Quite the opposite.

He’s still staring at you, peering up at you from where he’s bent against your chest. There’s something in those ridiculous eyes, something you have no name for, and you force your eyes away, moving them down his body, to where you can see him still driving into your cunt, the length of him slick with you. The sight alone makes you clench, and when you do, he curses under his breath.

“Where…?” he grits, the hoarseness in his voice drawing your eyes back up to his face.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your heart twists in your chest at the sight, reaching up to swipe your hand across his sweaty forehead. “Does it hurt?”

“I need…” He trails off, leaning into your touch, turning his head and nipping at your wrist, at your pulse. “Where can I…?”

“Wherever you want,” you pant, gasping as he drives as deep as inhumanly possible, moving you further up the bed. “Whatever you need to—”

You’re cut off by the roar that echoes through the room. He buries his face in your neck as it happens, most of his weight dropping onto you, hips pinning yours to the bed, chest pressed to yours. He pulls out at the last second, cock sliding through the hinge of your thigh, cum spurting hot against your stomach. He doesn’t seem to care about the mess he’s making of you both, his entire body covering yours as he shudders his way through it.

It feels like it lasts forever. His limbs go taut and then loose, his breath quickening and then slowing against the shell of your ear. You don’t know what else to do except hold him through it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, one hand finding his hair once more. It’s like his release is chasing the pollen from his system, his superhuman body returning to his brand of normal. He babbles through some of it, grunts and moans and something that sounds almost like your name murmured in your ear.

You just hold him.

Eventually, he seems to come back to himself. You’re loathe to admit you’re revelling in the feel of him against you, the way his hands are tangled in your hair against his pillows. The weight of him is…it’s nice. It’s really fucking nice.

It’s too nice.

You wait a few minutes, wait for him to find his bearings, to peel himself away from you, but it never comes. He’s a solid weight on top of you, and while you’ve been listening to his erratic breathing, waiting for it to even out, you realize that it’s gone…slow. He’s asleep.

“Mig,” you murmur, barely above a whisper, tugging softly at his hair. Nothing. Not so much as a twitch. He’s dead to the world, his slow breaths turning to quiet snores in your ear. Carefully, inch by inch, you slide your way out from under him. You freeze when he rolls onto his side, his breath hitching for a moment, but it evens out again and you slip off the edge of his bed.

Your clothes are toast, the shreds of fabric scattered on the floor of the lab, so you slip into his closet, finding a t-shirt that’s way too big for you. You definitely don’t inhale the scent that clings to it as you slip it over your head.

Your steps are quiet as you pad back into his bedroom, leaned up on your toes as you peer at him. Still asleep, hasn’t so much as moved from the spot you left him. You draw closer, your fingers curled around the hem of his t-shirt.

He doesn’t move an inch as you reach for his wrist, easily slipping the watch off his wrist and replacing it with your own. The too-big band of his adjusts to your size as you close the latch around your wrist, turn on your heel, and scurry from the room, through the lab, shooting a web up at the ceiling and launching yourself up to the next floor, the level your room is on.

You don’t make a sound as you pack your bag, reluctantly shrugging out of Miguel’s t-shirt to put your suit on, stuffing it into your bag with handfuls of clothes, whatever random shit your muddled mind has decided you need to take with you.

It felt too nice.

You know what would happen, you’ve decided, if you stay. You’d drift off, there in his bed, enveloped by his broad frame, half-drunk off the scent of him. You’d get the best sleep of your life, and when you woke the next morning, he’d be there, staring down his nose at you, the desperate man that had pulled pleasure from your body like it was his damn day job replaced with the grumpy fuck that plucked your last nerve like a guitar string.

The problem was that you knew exactly what he’d say to you:

This doesn’t mean anything.

The problem is that you’ve grown to care too much for him, grumpy, desperate, and all things in between.

Lyla makes an appearance as you sling your bag over your shoulder, keying in the universe you want to jump to, Miguel’s watch not locked out the same way yours is. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

You lift a brow as she cocks her digital hip at you. “You want me to answer that? So you can tell me I’m full of shit?”

“Ideally, yes.”

“Can AIs make promises?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Technically speaking.”

“Don’t tell him where I am,” you ask, pleading. “Please?”

“He’ll find out anyway,” she tells you, shaking her head, heart-shaped glasses slipping down her nose. Her eyes are big as she stares at you over the rims. “He’s smarter than you give him credit for. I know he’s a grumpy asshole ninety-nine percent of the time, but he—”

“Lyla, please.”

She sighs, sliding the glasses back up. “He won’t hear it from me.”

“Thank you.”

The portal crackles to life, that familiar tug in your stomach as you step toward it. Lyla fades from view as you take another step, and you ignore the echo of Miguel’s voice calling your name, and step through completely.

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Your characterization is so good, it honestly feels like I’ve known them for more than 18 pages. If you still want to, I would love to read more about them! No pressure, of course.

Thank you, I'm flattered you think so! I used more exposition and tell, rather than show--I was trying to ape a certain period of straightforward, gritty 70s-80s pulp novels. Here is another subsequent scene under the cut for you.

***

Randy was perversely happy when he saw the blonde girl's–Sarah Lee? Jenny Jane? No, it was Heidi Lou–belly resting against the slack fabric of her gray cardigan. She had stopped covering herself in thick wool blouses and dresses, and no longer cared that her bastard pregnancy was out in the open. Now as he took her wrist and led her up the steps to his apartment, she was wearing a modest white button-up shirt and knit cardigan, over a pair of jeans that had at one time ridden high on her hips, but now dipped low below her swollen belly.

She'd all done away with her swishy seductive lace dresses, and dressed like a proper woman now. But Randy still might make her wear those dresses in the bedroom. Yeah, even when her belly got too big from the kids and she started wearing those dowdy sloppy dresses old housewives like his mother wore. But he'd still make her wear lace when he had her bent over his bed and fucking her with her swollen stomach hanging beneath them and that little lace dress hiked up above her waist. That lace dress would always remind him of that fated day when he pinned her to the floor and fucked all his rage into her, and fucked every last remnant of superciliousness out of her. It would always remind him of her blue eyes staring blearily up at him, with her legs spread and his hatred leaking out of her.

It had taken a while to get to this point, but Randall was a patient man. A few times each week–"dates" he liked to call them to her face as she dissolved into sobs. Often it was under the bushes near his newest job site, with his hands pinning her arms to the ground as he hammered her from behind and muffled her screams with his arm.

Sometimes it was at night when he threatened his way into her bedroom, climbed into her window in the sea of faceless moonlit suburban houses, and forced her to run her soft fingers across his hard body as they laid beside each other and his prick jutted into her abdomen. He loved the way he could force her to take his length of cock in her trembling hands and guide it to her terrified clenching pussy.

Once or twice, he'd even snuck her into his rented room while his roommates were raucously partying next door. He'd fucked her against the wall then, warning her that each sound she made would lure them over to take their turn with her. He adored the way she tightened up inside with fear. She really was the perfect woman. He thought of his mother, that fucking fishwife with her dull, shiny hair tied up with a scarf and folds gathering on her waist, always nagging his father to throw his beer bottles away. Heidi was a real wife and mother, someone you could show off to your golf club, someone who kept a tiny waist and pert tits even after she'd birthed five kids.

After a month or two, the hatred he'd pumped into her had made a little tyke swell in that flat belly. Randy had been doing her from behind in his apartment bed when he noticed it. One of his arms had been scrabbling for her breasts and the other looking for purchase on her hips as the girl instinctively tried to buck him off from behind. His hand had gripped onto her stomach for a second to steady himself, and the small pooch below her navel fit perfectly into his palm. That was when he realized.

Randy stood still then, trapping her squirming body between his strong, tense legs with one hand sealed over her womb like a knight's iron greave. He was frozen as a statue, then started to fuck into her harder and harder. The thought that there was a baby inside her excited him immensely–a tiny thing that was half of her and him, the living proof of his final domination over her. A little Randall Puchalski junior that he could teach to fix cars and teach to ride a bike– something that his own father had never bothered with–and that he could send off to school with the brand new fire engine red lunchbox that he had always wanted. A kid he could teach to be a man, who could scrape the serial numbers off a gun and sweet-talk a woman and lie with a smile.

Randall fucked himself deeper and deeper into her twitching canal, his heart thudding spasmodically between her shoulderbones. He came longer and harder than he ever had before, so hard he gasped as every bit of energy sapped out of him into her womb–even if it was fruitless to release his seed in her now. When Heidi Lou rolled over sobbing on his moldy mattress, face flushed and hair messy, he batted away her flailing, pushing arms and pressed the side of his greasy black head into her tummy. He could detect only the slightest curve of her midriff as she laid flat on her back, but it was enough. 

You start moving around soon and kicking, son. You're gonna be a tough little guy. You'll give your Mom no end of trouble when you're inside her, just like your Dad.

"Heidi," he told her dispassionately, "you've got a bun in the oven."

The girl wept and wailed and went into hysterics about that, but a few punches to the face–not the belly–quieted her down immediately.

Heidi Lou sat with one arm around her folded leg, the other on her bruising face, staring blankly at the floor as Randall pulled his weathered jeans above his limp cock. "Go tell your parents about it. Right now. Get out of this apartment and march right into your daddy's law office–or wherever that rich cocksucker works–and tell him some dirty trainhopping tramp knocked you up."

"I don't–I can't–"

He slapped her open-palmed, feeling merciful enough not to punch her this time. Her face was constantly puffy with bruises, and he wondered how she kept explaining it away to her parents. Soon, she wouldn't even have to.

"Can't what?" Randy taunted. "Are you gonna flit around like the airheaded cunt you are and pretend everything is hunky dory until you're ready to pop? Denial is a river in Egypt. 'Oh, muddah and faddah, it was just a one-night stand'–but you don't have those. You're a GOOD girl. 'It was just my old boyfriend'–except you don't have a boyfriend either, because you're a GOOD girl. You only have me."

That sent her into another full-blown sobbing fit, and Heidi Lou wailed as she grasped and tore the sides of her ragged red hair. He helped her along by gripping the back of her scalp and yanking her face to meet his.

The black coins of his irises met her disintegrating, disbelieving blue eyes.

"I don't think your mom and pop are too big on bastards, especially when it comes out of their perfect golden child. So I think it would be better if you told them now you've found a man to shack up with. I don't give a shit how you explain it to them. Tell them I helped you look for your dog and we got busy in the bushes. Tell them you met me at the mechanic's and we did it in the back seat. Tell them I raped you on the floor of your house. I don't care. You're going to walk down the aisle anyway."

"I'll get rid of it," Heidi Lou hissed in a sudden display of defiance.

Her words made Randy freeze still. Heidi Lou's eyes had hardened into chips of ice, and she drew her legs back and tucked them under her to lean forward on her wrists and look him in the eye. "I'll get an abortion. It's gonna be legal soon anyway, with that woman's case making its way through the Supreme Court. I'm not going to have your disgusting child. You can shove your filthy cock as many times into me as you want, but I'll never birth whatever degenerated thing you force into me. I'll do whatever it takes to rip it out of me–it will be like squashing a tadpole underneath my heel, do you hear me?" He had never heard such hardness and cruelty in her voice before, and it shocked him into an uncomfortable silence.

Back in Chicago when his parents still dragged him to St. Stanislaus Church, he remembered the priest telling him something very clearly. Father Janek with the mole on his cheek, and his whispery voice that made the hair on his arms stand up, making him shift and fidget in the pews until his mother whispered he would be sorry when they got home. It was just after the little M's died, when he had approached the priest to ask if his little siblings were in heaven.

“Randall, I am sorry,” said the stern little man. “When babies die before they have a chance to receive God's eternal light, they cannot come to heaven, or know the light of God's love. You see, they have not been freed from original sin--they haven't been baptized. So they… they live in limbo. It's not a good place, or a bad place. They're not hurt–God would never do that to a baby–they just… exist.”

That stunned Randall and haunted him for weeks afterward, listening to his mother sobbing over his little brother and sister that had died before they were born. Their rooms had been right beside each other, and Randall had stayed awake for hours listening to his mother crying and praying. Why did little Mark and Mary go to limbo? He had wondered as his brother snored beside him. They're just little babies. Why can't they go to heaven?

Randy thought about a piece of him, a part of his body, his blood. He thought of his frown and lips and cheeks, floating forever in purgatory and crying alone into a vast dark space. Something that belonged to him; something that was she was predestined to carry inside her womb as a woman should. But this woman was spitting bile, denying her natural place in life and threatening to send his child–that part of him– to a thankless, godless place forever.

Randy didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.

He reached down beside his mattress, into the pocket of his green army jacket, and took out a rusted revolver. He leveled it against Heidi's sobbing crinkled forehead.

In a quiet voice, he said, "If you get the scrape, I'll fucking kill you for it. I'll put a bullet into your empty blond head and you'll go to hell for it. You'd go to hell for killing your baby."

"If I go to hell," Heidi said quietly, "Then I'll meet you there. And you'll never meet your child there either."

His words sent him into an internal spasm. He remembered the streets of Chicago, the Rican kid gurgling on his blood, the dago's face puffed and purple until it looked like a Halloween mask as he dealt the finishing blow to his neck with his boot, the lady at the shop who screamed as he pulled the trigger in the midst of a robbery, and the old black man crumpling facedown on the street when he took too long to get his wallet out, his blood spreading in a pool over the concrete. He thought of his baby torn so soon from Heidi's womb, those genes that were his, that belonged to him. Never being able to hold it in his arms.

This was his last chance, and he had no other choice.

In a roundabout way, Randall's cold, self-centered mind realized that this was his only chance at salvation and a normal life. Cheating and crime were second nature to him, and he would never take an honest way if there weren't a quicker and more illegal one. Ironically, that was the reason it made so much sense to him to do what he realized he would have to do. Becoming a hard-working man, contributing to his community and living an honest Christian life would ensure his survival. Fire and brimstone lit up in his mind again, like he was back in St. Stanislaus Church with Father Janek.

Neither did she.

He lovingly rubbed the barrel of the gun against her blond head. "Are you sure, honey? You sure you want to die? I've killed a lot of people. You would be just another tally on the board. Imagine… a little blond woman found in a flophouse with a hole in her head leaking blood over the floor and a cunt full of cum. What would such a good girl be doing there? Obviously she'd come to sample some working class dick and paid the price for it. The Sherriff would seal your file, especially if he knew your daddy. Everyone would quietly brush your life under the rug. Aunt Heidi? She died before you were born. My daughter? She died unexpectedly. You would be a black mark on your whole family."

Randy pressed the barrel harder into her crying face. "Would you rather die than have my kid?"

In a fraction of a second, he jerked the gun to the side and fired once. A bullet buried itself in the thin plywood an inch beside her head.

Heidi stopped crying abruptly, her high-pitched sobs ceasing with an eerie finality. She looked into his eyes with a dead understanding–the same look she had given him on the floor of her kitchen that one fateful day. She said nothing, but he knew her decision had been made.

He cupped her face between his calloused hands and kissed her gently on her pursing, twisting lips. His tongue slipped between her wet lips to lave softly at the inside of her spasming mouth. He tasted the salt of her tears, and it made blood pump through his dick.

"Go and let your parents know, and your preppy brother, and your pig uncle. You're gonna marry me and have my baby. And see if you can convince them soon enough so that you won't have a bowling ball for a belly as you walk down the aisle."

[egittae]

Celebrating TOA and the people who contribute to make our group what it is.

Repost, don't reblog. Only fill in what you feel comfortable sharing!

Happy anniversary, TOA! Here's to many more years spent together.

Name: Dewa/Dewba

Pronouns: She/Her

Birthday (no year): October 2nd, same as Rua!

Where are you from? What is your time zone? France, CEST

How long is your roleplay experience? I always say 10+ because I sincerely have no idea anymore just A Long Time

How were you introduced to roleplaying as a whole? My Little Pony OC roleplay with my DeviantArt friends in Join.me art streams

How were you introduced to TOA? An ex-member kept talking about it to me until one day I decided to give it a go!

Do you have any pets? Two cockatiels!

What is your favorite time of year and why? (Season, holiday, general period) Winter...I love winter. I love snow.

What is your IRL occupation? I'm a design + marketing master student with focus on the luxury industry! I'm also a freelance artist.

Some interests and things you like/enjoy? Sports, building scale models, drawing

What non-Fire Emblem games do you play? Pokemon, Metal Gear, Megaman

Favorite Pokemon type & Pokemon: Flying type. I love Cutiefly.

Tell us some funfacts and trivia about yourself! (Optional bonus challenge: if you filled this out last year, try not to repeat what you said back then!) My work was personally acknowledged by Hideo Kojima, and I was an advanced-level figure skater for 6 years doing public skating shows.

How did you get into Fire Emblem? Marth and Ike in Super Smash Bros Brawl was my first exposition to FE 😔 THO what got me into FE was 3H

What Fire Emblem games have you played? :) FE Warriors: Three Hopes and FEH EZGNFXGN

First & Favorite Fire Emblem games: Just 3H for all options

List your 5 favorite Fire Emblem characters across the series! Dimitri, Constance, Dedue, Idunn, Lambert

Who was the first character ever to make you go “ooh I like this one in particular” and why? Can be any context and reason! Ingrid, actually! She was the first character in 3H who actually caught my eye, both because I find her design very pretty and because I liked the serious knight girl + pegasus rider combo.

Any Fire Emblem crushes? 😳 Mycen. I won't elaborate.

If you’ve played (or are familiar with) the following games, who was your first S support? Who would you S support nowadays? Three Houses Hopes: Ingrid

Favorite Fire Emblem class? Pegasus Knight!

If you were a Fire Emblem character, what would be your class and stats? Would you be playable? After a bizarre chat with some friends I realized that my full IRL name's meaning literally translates to "cavalier messenger angel of the fortress" so I guess I'm your good ol' Pegasus Knight recruit who's a light magic user

If you were a Three Houses character, what would be your affiliation? (Black Eagles, Blue Lions, Golden Deer, Church of Seiros, Those Who Slither in the Dark, unaffiliated civilian, other - for example Almyran) What I want? Blue Lions. Realistically? Church of Seiros, considering my track record with being under religious learning institutions.

If you were an Officers Academy student, what would be your boons, banes and potential budding talent? Boon: Flying, Authority Budding talent: Faith Banes: Gauntlets, Heavy Armor

If you were an Engage character, which nation would you originate from? (Firene, the Kingdom of Abundance; Brodia, the Kingdom of Might; Elusia, the Kingdom of Knowledge; Solm, the Queendom of Freedom; Lythos, the holy land of the Divine Dragon; Gradlon, the desolate land of the Fell Dragon) What I want? Brodia. Realistically? I am brazilian. So I would be the brazilian equivalent of Elyos, aka Solm. Come to Solm.

How do you pronounce TOA? 🤔(separate letters, to-ah, other?) Toe

Current TOA muses: Lambert and Sylvain!

Past TOA muses? Dimitri, Seteth, Hapi, Idunn, M!Byleth, Percy

Who was your first TOA muse? If you no longer have them, can you see yourself picking them up again? Dimitri! Honestly, right now nope! Not only he'd clash with the fact I'm already playing Lambert, but he's also receiving much well deserved love from another mun right now. I'm happy like this!

Do you believe you have a type of character you gravitate towards writing? (If you filled this out last year, has this changed in any way?) Anything that's from Fódlan, good people who have gone through hell and haven't even begun their road to recovery, lil weirdos.

Do you have characters or types of characters you don’t think you can handle writing, but wish you could? Smart characters. Because I'm not smart. Also characters who are canonly very verbose and have very flowery language, I don't have the vocabulary to make it seem natural.

What kind of scenes, situations etc do you believe you enjoy writing the most? (If you filled this out last year, has this changed in any way?) I have no idea honestly....whatever brings joy at the moment.

Do you have any scenario in mind for your muse(s) that gets you thinking “man I hope I get to write this one day”? Lambert in his full kingly glory (softsmile), Sylvain showcasing his true, raw self to someone.

Favorite TOA-related memories? Byleth losing HP while fighting a fish with Arden's Frederick in order to impress fishermen, breaking his hand on a table, and then getting kicked in the nuts. All in the same event.

Present or past tense? I don't really keep track of this at all actually oops- past I suppose?

Normal size text, small text, no preference? I default to normal size.

Got any potential muse delusions to share? 😉 Mila. And every time I open 3Hopes I get Annette flashbangs. But mostly Mila.

[decaflondonfog]

ten first lines ✨

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

i feel like i did this a few months back but with wips rather than posted works (?) i can't find any evidence of it because tumblr is a black hole lmao kiiiiiiiiiiiinda worrying because my memory is bad and i haven't written that much sooooo there's a chance i've done this exact thing before? i'm a mess, sorry!!!! thank you to my sweet @nv-md for tagging me on this though! i'm passing it along to @moondal514 @nanatsuyu @thetrojeans @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin and @jaywalkers, if you guys fancy doing it <3

a stark trail of blood on fresh snow | aftg, riko/neil, M, 12k

Neil Josten hadn’t been born with the gift of prophecy, but when he woke up abruptly in the middle of the night, he knew that was the last time he’d ever see the bed he’d been sleeping on for a few years now — ever since his mother disappeared into the dead of night, much like he was about to.

transferable skills | aftg, jeremy/jean, E, 11k

In the first six months of Jean Moreau wearing gold and red instead of black and red, the USC Exy team is given their first ever seven yellow cards.

the fear (of living in headlights, the hunted, the deer) | aftg, andrew/neil, M, 2k

The first time you meet him is on the best day of your life.

do not disturb the cats | aftg, kevin/andrew, E, 3k

They’ve been kissing against the kitchen counter for… well, Kevin’s lost track of time, really. 

growing pains | omgcp, bitty/parse, E, 50k

In the beginning, everything that can possibly go wrong goes wrong.

by wand or by knife | carry on, simon/baz, M, 1k

When Baz asked me not to make any plans for today, I didn’t question it. 

the benefits of a broken air conditioning unit and other summer lessons | aftg, andrew/neil, E, 3k

The curtains don’t quite reach the windowsill in the bedroom Neil and Andrew share.

a wreath of white lilies | aftg, kevin/allison, E, 4k

There is not enough waterproof mascara in the world, is the thought I’ve been playing inside my head, on a loop, for at least sixty hours now.

kaleidoscope | aftg, fem!andreil, M, 5k

Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Purple.

celly | aftg, gen, T, 800 words

There are times in which Andrew thinks he could potentially enjoy Exy.

ooooooof. what have we learned? that i need to chill when it comes to both titles and first lines because some of these are stupidly LONG. my god. otherwise idk really? i think "do not disturb" and "benefits" have my favourite openers. the openers for both "benefits" AND "kaleidoscope" are motifs that get repeated all throughout the fic, it's fun to realise i've done that twice in a short period of time!!! "celly" in general i think is my fave of all of these fics and i'm very very fond of that line, even if i think it isn't super strong as an opening line. i can't find a pattern for these at all. some are very punchy, some are nothing, some are super exposition heavy... variety, baby!!!!!! lol

[syrena-del-mar]

Folklore of Flowers: Wisterias in 'Be My Favorite' Episode 6

I've finally caught up with last week's episode on the eve of the next (better late than never) and it was one hell of a ride. This episode really upped the excitement for me about the series as a whole, so much of this episode provided exposition on why both Pisaeng and Kawi tick the way they do.

I'm always a proponent that flowers are utilized in background shots not only for the visual aesthetics that their natural beauty and colors bring to the table, but also a way to enhance story telling. Depending on the flowers used, they can set the tone for the scene and create a desired mood that the Director is looking for. They make not only the frame more visually dynamic but they also provide contextual clues to the emotions of the characters. And I find that Be My Favorite incorporated flowers, wisterias specifically, in a significant moment where Kawi is allowing himself to be emotionally vulnerable to Pisaeng.

Historical Background on Wisterias

Wisterias are native to East Asia, but soon became popularized across the globe for the delicate flowers that would bloom. Each country placing its own significance on the flowers, but across the board, when it comes to the language of flowers, Wisteria flowers typically symbolize an invitation of love and friendship while maintaining it reputation to overcome obstacles and bring prosperity.

In Japan, there's a Kabuki drama, "Fuji Musume", where a young maiden in a painting waits for her lover under a blue wisteria tree. Tired of waiting, she's the moves out of the painting to meet the young man that has been admiring the painting which she came from. She falls hopelessly in love with him, yet it's futile because he does not hold the same feelings towards her. Jilted she returns to the painting and waits for a lover that never arrives. As a resulted, pink wisterias are used to symbolize that you love them. In Shin Buddhism, wisterias are utilized to represent humility and an pen and welcoming mind and heard. The humility derives from the way the flowers hang upside down, as if it were heads hanging down.

In Korea, the flower represents a devotion that transcends death due to legend that comes from the Silla Period. According to the legend, there were two sisters that fell in love with the same man, not knowing that they loved the same man until he went to battle. Rumors flew that he had died in battle, so they in their despair they decided to drown themselves in a pond. Yet, the man that they had loved had actually survived and was overcome with grief about the story of the two sisters, that he also drowned himself in the pond. The two sisters were reunited in death, one the twisting stem while the other became the wisteria flowers. The man also joined them and became the nettle tree in which Wisteria vines grown on in Korea.

When the Wisterias spread into Victorian Europe, the Wisteria vines earned fame for the clinging growth pattern. Culturally, in Victorian Era, a cluster of delicate Wisteria Flowers were used to send a message of desire and passion. They were used to say "I cling to you", just as the Wisteria plant would cling onto the branches of other trees.

Kawi and Pisaeng positioned in front of Wisteria Flowers

Humility and humiliation are two sides of the same coin, literally deriving from the same Latin root word humus (meaning earth). Humility is often defined a simply a low view on one's personal importance, but a better definition for humility typically engages with the idea of acceptance of personal flaws and shortcomings. Humiliation deals more with the idea of shame about the possibility of shortcomings and failure. For the first time, in this episode, we're seeing the beginning of Kawi's shift from humiliation to humility.

It's important to understand the context of what occurred prior to Pisaeng and Kawi's confrontation in front of the wisteria flowers. Without Kawi's knowledge, Pisaeng spoke to Pear in preparation to help Kawi breach the topic of finding a second medical opinion for his father. He's angry and embarrassed because of his pride, it's not a secret that Kawi has a complex about getting help from others. He doesn't know how to accept help from others, much less ask for it, especially not from friends. So he lashes out, because Pisaeng went behind his back (even if it was with good intentions) to the girl he likes and has been rejected by. Now add in the conversation that Kawi has with Max at the bar, where Max directly asks about Kawi's feelings towards Pisaeng and Kawi practically gives a non-answer.

Before Kawi could even say anything, when they're in front of the Wisteria flowers, Pisaeng tells it to him straight. He won't apologize because he doesn't see anything wrong in attempting to help Kawi. And Kawi is aware of that, but when they first argued he was humiliated and angry, because he hates being dependent on people for things that are out of his control. So we see a shift in Kawi in the way he portrays himself to Pisaeng. He's apologetic and humble, he explicitly recognizes his fault and how his pride led to the shouting match that they had in the hallway of the café. Kawi is quite literally hanging his head down when he reaches for Pisaeng's arm. He's still dealing with his personal shame and his pride, but for the first time he's directly communicating the reasoning behind his reaction to Pisaeng. Kawi is self-aware and can barely make eye-contact with Pisaeng because of what he deems to be his shortcomings. The humiliation came with the anger, the humility is developing with the acknowledgement of his misplaced anger and will continue to develop when he fully accepts that sometimes people need help.

Pisaeng didn't get himself involved for Kawi expecting something in return. Pisaeng is interested in Kawi, yes, but he also cares for him as a friend. Pear has keyed us in that while Pisaeng might be surrounded by tons of people, barely any of them are people Pisaeng would deem to be more than mere acquaintances. He's a mirror of the maiden in the Kabuki painting, where he goes out of his way for the man that he's learned to care for. He's fallen for Kawi, but he's also intrigued by him as a friend and as a human, because he's different to the other people he has come across. Unlike the maiden from the painting, whose love goes unreciprocated, Kawi is developing some sort of feelings for Pisaeng, even if he doesn't fully comprehend what they are at the moment. It's telling that he was unable to come up with an answer for Max. Pisaeng said it himself, he's patient enough to wait for Kawi. He's not going to become a jilted lover, because Kawi will eventually realize that just maybe those conflicting feelings he's already having signifies that he reciprocates the same love that Pisaeng had once declared for him.

Rumors play a role in Pisaeng's journey of self-discovery thanks to his mother. For Pisaeng, he's not all of a sudde n learning about the fluidity of his sexuality thanks to Kawi, here the kicker is that he already knew. His mother was well aware and forced him back in the closet. While she may utilize queer issues to push forward her political career, she manipulatively convinced her own son to keep his sexuality a secret. She silently surveils and controls Pisaeng through the usage of her employees to report to her when he appears in queer locations or any potential moment that he interacts with the queer community. She's weaponized what otherwise should be safe spaces for Pisaeng and forced him back into the closet. She utilizes these rumors behind false pretenses of worry for him while not realizing how detrimental it is to him as a person.

When it comes to Kawi, we were able to see the rumors that were surrounding him thanks to Not and Pear's conversation. Not easily speculates about Kawi's sexuality, which is bad enough, but the crux of his reasoning stems from that he's not like other straight men. When the people are confront­ed with what they don't understand, people immediately improvise reasonings, so that they are able to give the confusing situation an explanation. Some rumors turn out to be true. Other rumors turn out to be totally false. There are rumors which are sometimes partially true. The thing about rumors is that no matter the degree of truth or falsity behind them, they still leave behind casualties in their wake.

And the most obvious parallel of all, Kawi (for the first time) clings onto Pisaeng both consciously and subconsciously in this scene. The moment that Pisaeng moves to leave him, Kawi swiftly moves to hold his arm, keeping him from moving further away. Kawi wants Pisaeng to hear his apology and he doesn't want to alienate him due to his lack of a filter and the arguments he picks with him. Pisaeng is angry and hurt, Kawi is more than aware of that, he holds onto him so that he has a chance to explain himself. He knows that he's starting to lean on Pisaeng more (he says it himself, "Because what you do for me means the world to me") and I think that level of dependency scares him. He's a man that had been isolated for more than 10 years, he's still learning how to depend on people and he knows that he unfairly blew up on Pisaeng, but that doesn't negate that he's still learning to really socialize. He's scared that he might have pushed Pisaeng away past the point of no return, like he had done with Max the first time around. Like they say, a drunk mind speaks a sober heart.

Then he subconsciously allows for Pisaeng to hold onto him the moment that he feels unwell. He lets himself fall onto Pisaeng, knowing that Pisaeng would be the one to care for him, just like he has before. In return, Pisaeng holds onto him and holds onto his head, as if protecting him. It's a protective stance that Pisaeng has taken in response to Kawi fainting on him, not only protecting him from his fall but also as protecting Kawi from his own thoughts. A shield where Kawi could feel secure. By both allowing one another to cling onto each other, they're establishing a new level of tenderness, closeness, and vulnerability within their relationship. Kawi's subconsciously learning to seek comfort and Pisaeng is more than willing to provide a safe and nurturing space for him to find solace.

Final Thoughts

If I'm not mistaken, Krist mentioned before in the interview that P'Waa was very particular and intentional in every shot that he directed when they were working on 'The Gifted'. It's not far-fetched to think that he's just as intentional when directing 'Be My Favorite'. While the wisterias were solely in the background, the bright pink color and the hanging flowers kept drawing my eyes to them. Wisterias are often used in films due to their elegant and aesthetic beauty, specifically because of how they are able to drape and cascade down, creating a dreamy and romantic atmosphere. Here, in my opinion, I think the wisterias are also being used as a way to provide more exposition for the journey that Kawi and Pisaeng are taking both together and as individuals.

[shummashum]

Since I first got into this game in Feb 2023, I've somehow managed to watch the story from Season 1 to Season 5, from Elias Goldstein to Mel Glover (thx youtube)

So? I'm going to write some reviews about them

1. 13-day System

The main story, from Season 1 to Season 5 (hereinafter Previous Seasons), takes place during Liz Hart's period as a provisional student at the academy

The story consists of a total of 12 days + 1 ending day, of which Day 11 is divided into 3 parts... Exposition, Complication, Crisis, and Climax — everything has to be done in 11 days

Therefore, the narrative flow of previous seasons is bound to go relatively shallow

This is where problems start to arise

The so-called fateful love or love at first sight tends to occur in a short period of time, and as WH Sekai is a world where magic exists, relatively dramatic developments can happen... But how many people can reveal the backstories buried deep in their hearts to someone they've only known for a few days

Of course, Solmare must have known about this. So what was suggested as the solution was...

"The World of Images" (I mean 心像世界 but I don't know how to translate it properly)

It's simple: it's difficult to unravel the character's mystery and develop the main plot in just 11 days, so let's uncover the hidden truth and emotions through The World of Images — interactable landscapes that reflect the psyche!

I'm not meaning The World of Images itself is a bad thing; if used well, nice and dramatic results can be achieved. But I felt The World of Images of previous seasons was so focused on conveying hidden facts and backstories that it didn't really touch me

That "time travel" in Klaus 1 route was not bad at least. Honestly the keyword itself feels a bit out of the blue, but I'm somewhat satisfied with it because the foreshadowing itself exists (I'm not telling about the quality)

But the way I see it, the problem starts with Azusa

The World of Images began to unfold under the name of 〈Time to explore a parallel world with a mysterious butterfly!!〉, and I guess the writer must have felt that this was really good to use, she(he?) started using it for everything including Joel, Vincent, Leon, Glenn, etc…

Although it disappeared in Season 5, the description of learning all the hidden truths at once in a short period did not change — and it was the biggest problem, dammit

But this isn't the only problem

While the stories of Season 1 and Season 2 progress along the lines of individual desires, the keyword "world destruction" begins to appear in any form from Season 3 onwards. And we must remember that all parts of the story (except the Falling Action) have to be completed within 11 days

Can a story that deals with the destruction of the world in 11 days be of good quality? I cannot give a positive answer to this

Come to think of it, in Season 1 and Season 2, where Luca and Azusa act as villains with their individual desires, the world will continue to run fine even if those two achieve their goals. Even if Luca gets the Dragon Eye / even if Azusa gets the unicorn horn, there will be no change for ordinary people not related to them

But signs of the destruction of the world began to appear and… At this point, I cannot help but think the plot is going too far

(And if it's a matter of the world's survival, shouldn't the Ministry of Magic handle it? Why is Liz, who is just a provisional student, solving everything? Why is the Ministry so incompetent huh)

Aren't these problems ultimately a limitation of the game structure itself, the 13-day system. There are bound to be limits to unraveling the increasingly large main plot in a short period of less than two weeks, and in the end, the backstories are revealed as if running out of time, and it becomes difficult to get immersed in it

Is it not so? I feel somewhat detached

As far as I know, from season 6, it is divided into Chapters instead of Days. Of course, even if it is a chapter system, the amount of story for each character won't be very different from the 13-day system

Still, wouldn't the quality of development be better if the time passing within the story was longer

And I heard that the story of Season 6 continues beyond that, so maybe much deeper developments that require a lot of time will be possible (please tell me I'm right)

2. Reviews for Each Season

Season 1: The Tower of Sorrow

tsundere(tm) + playboy-like + curse/eyepatch/transform… classic classic

Elias was the one I played the first. He was the character at the top of the list, and I wanted to watch the story from the beginning. But it was 100% tsundere from shoujo manga in those days so I was a little freaked out (it's not that I didn't expect it though)

btw why is he like that on his route when he's like a trustworthy friend on other routes. how much pressure did he feel about his grades and so on, I mean it's understandable though

Yukiya was honestly great, I say his story is worth reading. A bit of a cliche, but reminded me why clichés are used: provide a stable taste

However, it is a bit disappointing that the settings regarding his curse are not unified. It's not a curse but just a contract with Seth in the main story, so why did it become a curse in the sequel?

And the villainous, Luca

I interpret him as a character who is unable to withstand the discipline that restricts him in any form because of being locked up as a child, and who longs for freedom but feels only emptiness even in a "freedom state" that arises from ignoring the rules

Okay, this is good... But I was scratched and I don't know why. Luca in Season 2 onwards is a great supporting role, but Luca in Season 1 keeps scratching my mind and that bothers me

Season 2: The Spring of Unicorn

This is my favorite and the reason is clear

Klaus… What do I need to say about him? His story tasted very familiar; the plot goes exactly according to the standard of shoujo manga (It's not that it doesn't taste good though)

Eh… actually I don't have much to say. I liked that there was a bunch of Azusa's villain behavior. Hmm

Randy, I mean Serge, was definitely great, his story is also worth reading

I think the true protagonist of Season 2 is Serge; The tangled events of Season 2 are centered around him, and in the timeline where Liz is connected with Serge, Season 2 comrades eventually find some comfort at least!

But one thing I can't agree with is his catchphrase, "There is no failure or right or wrong answers in magic." Isn't it a bit weird for someone who lost his best friend to a "fail" of magic to say something like that

Erm… I don't know

And another villainous, Azusa

This must have happened:

A: Now let's make up Azusa's route

B: But isn't deceiving and taking advantage of Liz a pattern that has already been used with Luca

A: Hmm… now that I think about it, you're right

C: They say young kids these days like spiciness! If we add some capsaicin, it'll be good

A: Let's fucking go

But they fumble while rolling the dice

To be honest, I don't like this kind of shallow salvation. I like the flow of emotions colliding with each other, but smashing "twisted love愛 built up over years" with "romance恋 built up about 10 days"? Well…

And Solmare, please, why are you eager to justify him okay I got it I understand he has his own reason (and I like the reason) but please please don't I don't want this asshole to be labeled as "just a poor guy with a broken heart" please??

oh well

Season 3: The King of Fairies

A: I'm tired of one of the romanceable characters being a villain. Let’s make the main antagonist a non-romanceable character!

So the fairy king Oberon appears

Joel was honestly quite good… I like that kind of damn personality. The argument between Joel and Eress was very funny, I really like it when those with a damn personality fight childishly

btw his concept was the forgotten childhood friend, he's bound to lose every time a new romanceable character comes out then... he suits BSS so well omg

In my personal opinion Vincent's visiting student concept is fucking ×3 unreasonable and stupid... In other stories except Season 3 (as far as I know), he appears as just a Ministry of Magic agent 1. And it was much better that way honestly

And Liz is so helpless in his route!!

okay, it might have been to highlight Vincent's attributes as a knight… but I don't like it

and raising a baby dad? What the fuck is this It's fucking ×3 creepy omfg

If there's anything worth noting in Season 3, it's related to Leon: All of the events in Season 3 happened because of Leon's actions, but he doesn't act as an antagonist

Personally, I'm not a fan of those "teaching emotions" stories, but his happy/unhappy endings are fuck dammit Those saved his whole story I dare say, his ending was the global maximum of the previous seasons

Season 4: The Princess of Crystal

Season 4 feels similar to Season 1 and Season 2? There was quite a bit of the story that unfolded in the classroom, providing glimpses into the narrative of a Season 1 comrade as well (such as Yukiya being despised by his classmates), and the formula of a romanceable character taking on the role of a villain was applied too

Cerim was, well, I thought he had quite a damn personality because he stabbed Liz in the neck with a wand in the preview… I was a bit surprised that he was nicer, milder, and more normal than I expected

But! I don't agree with making him confess, kiss, and propose first while giving him that insensitive attribute

Guy was quite good, I enjoyed it

But on one hand, it feels like the full potential of his story was not revealed because he was with the positive queen Liz??

I mean, a genius pretending to be an ordinary person ← This is a very good element to stimulate feelings of inferiority you know... Liz just thought "Oh he's awesome!" and moved on, but think about how he would interact if paired with an ordinary person with an inferiority complex

Yeah?

But!! I was very, very disappointed in Glenn

I honestly had really high expectations for this story, but why the fuck did the story unfold like shit. Why did that fucking rabbit suddenly jump out, why were they recklessly delving into his backstory with the necklace he dropped without his permission — besides it's just ridiculous, it was revealed so hastily. Why on earth do they let me know nothing until Day 10 and then say it all at once on Day 11-1 hello??

And I was dumbfounded watching Aster vanished with that fucking song

wait what WHAT Is this the end? Seriously? What will happen to Guy if we get rid of Aster like that? Oi? You guys are taking away his chance to untie the knot in his heart like that? Is this right??

Uh… Anyway, it was a bit disappointing, I didn't expect the climax would be this unremarkable

Season 5: The Sol Maiden's

Looks like Solmare made a big decision… because in Season 5, the main instigator behind all this only appears in the final route

Leslie was easy to watch, he had no hidden story at all, plus I like his damn personality

But all the stories were Leslie is amazing~ Leslie is awesome~... eh seriously

Sigurd was, actually, I saw a review about him before starting his route: "The writing is sick, but the plot is shit."

After reading the whole story, I really understood what it meant… I really don't have anything more to say than that

Mel was, what can I say… Wasn't he a nerd? Why is he acting so sly

Mel's route provides an answer to the question of why the villain did not appear in the other routes in Season 5. Kate, the villain in Season 5, was gathering power from all worlds, and her plans were foiled by Liz in other timelines so she couldn't reveal herself… that was the case

I didn't think Kate was a villain because she appeared with too much villain vibe. Since Mel showed an uncooperative attitude in Sigurd's route, I thought Mel would be the antagonist and Kate would act as a helper... But she WAS a villain (duh)

What? She has the ability to cross alternate realities? You just throw such a big fact without any foreshadowing? Are you insane Solmare

Well, I did like the twist that the voice of the magic tree that was continuously heard was actually created by Kate (I saw through it in advance though — I didn't trust the tree because it didn't teach me how to help; it just fucking complained about needing assistance)

And please stop with that damn transformation gimmick PLEASE why do you guys keep changing Liz's clothes like a magical girl, dammit it's not cool at all, it's just stupid as fuck

3. Overall Review

I really think these stories in previous seasons have potential. They could definitely become a highly stimulating and delicious story if it were done a little more… but it doesn't work out that way

And why the FUCK are they already getting engaged after just meeting each other. Is this how all Gen Z live these days? Or am I just fucking narrow-minded

Erm... I decided to look forward to Season 6. It'll definitely become more interesting since the cataclysm occurred. Right?

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group K Round 2: #K1 vs #K2

#K1: A state auditor finds himself the center of a coup

#K2: A show where any universe/plot is possible

Details and poll under the cut!

#K1: ACCA: 13th Territory Inspection Department (ACCA: 13-ku Kansatsu-ka)

Summary:

ACCA—a national body of the kingdom of Dowa that provides public services to the citizens of the country—was established as part of the peace settlement between the king of Dowa and the 13 states of the country during a revolt. One hundred years later, Dowa is in a period of unprecedented peace, due in part to the ACCA system. However, rumors of a coup d'état start to surface. Jean Otus, the second-in-command of the inspection department of ACCA, is charged with inspecting all 13 state branches. What will he discover as he performs his audit?

Propaganda:

Acca-13 is a master work of political intrigue neatly wrapped up into 12 episodes. Every moment in the show has meaning, every textual personal preference ties back to some larger plot point, and every character has their own goals, values and machinations that at first seem overwhelming but in hindsight are crystal clear. Despite very little time spent on exposition for this fully fictional 13-district country with a unique governing system, it’s well-built and by the climax of the show the audience knows exactly who and what are at stake. The plot twists are SUBLIME—that perfect combination of a blindside and inevitable.

That’s not to say that it loses out on characterization in favor of plot! The characters are human and down-to-earth, with the show using a realistic, simple style of animation that allows wonderfully subtle expression. Both the sub and the dub are excellent. I have watched this show at least eight times, and EVERY SINGLE TIME I have picked up another layer of plot, another thread of characterization that I’d missed before but had carried and explained a moment of the narrative.

Also, there is ZERO fanservice. ONLY food service. Watch it with snacks handy. For the trailer I'm actually linking the opening, one of the best anime OPs to ever be made.

Trigger Warnings: Smoking

#K2: Beryl and Sapphire (Xiaolü He Xiaolan)

Summary:

The series is based on a manhua where the main characters are drawn as stick figures, so they can be placed in any situation, essentially making different AUs canon while any genre is possible. Some of these stories have overarching plots (they’re sort of like actors), some are more slice-of-life, and some have more hard-hitting moments of angst or occasionally cute, romantic stories between the leads: the mild-mannered Beryl (Green) and the easily-embarrassed Sapphire (Blue).

In this show where each episode is set in a different world, how would they encounter each other time and again?

Propaganda:

It’s genuinely just such a cool concept! Getting to see these characters in practically any story/setting while still featuring the (usually same) main characters means you still get attached to the main cast, but you really get a diverse range of plots and ideas.

You may find yourself getting super attached to one (as I did for the Robo-Beryl arc, because I liked the character of Robo-Beryl but I also found Sapphire’s shyness/crushing adorable), and many of even the shortest ones are really interesting.

The OP even features them as actors and the title cards are film clapboards, which is such a cool way to tie in the main set-up!

Plus, because the manhua features them as stick figures, Ocarina (the original creator of Beryl and Sapphire) has way more room to explore deep ideas or just silly jokes; the flexibility of stick figures means we get lots of deep, philosophical writing/dialogue, and the donghua adapts that quite well.

Beryl is fun and Sapphire is super cute, and I love seeing how they interact in different universes/stories (and yes, they are very shippable!). Their default design is technically male, but sometimes they’re female too.

Some of the storylines are also super creative and really really do just punch you in the gut with feels. I don’t think I’ll ever forget some of the more tragic arcs…

Yet at the end of the day, Beryl and Sapphire is a really cute donghua, with a lot of feel-good stories to it! It even finally came back after like 4 years with season 2, which focuses on one of the over-arching arcs (the Demon King Beryl one), and we’re still getting discussions of deeper ideas alongside comedy, and Beryl and Sapphire are as cute as ever!

The new art style is quite pretty and hey, if you’re a fan of the playful, teasing (yet still can be rather emotionally reserved) type and the easily blushy type, Beryl and Sapphire may just be for you! 😉

Trigger Warnings: None.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

[tapwrites]

How to Write Dialogue

A lot of a story is told through narration: action, description, exposition, and so on. But a big part of characters interacting tends to be speech. In prose, we call this "dialogue."

The key to what happens in the scene for this is...

People communicate in their own way.

To a new customer entering their store, a gruff character might say "What do you want?" Whereas a more personable character might say "Welcome in! Can I help you?"

Maybe the character would use body language, with a wave as they speak. Or only use body language to communicate in this moment, with a polite nod and smile to the customer with no dialogue.

If they share some knowledge with character they are communicating with, they may speak differently, with an unspoken shared context for their conversation. Compared to speaking to a character who doesn't have that knowledge.

If both characters have the shared context of knowing Frank is coming for tea at 6, it would be odd if one said "Frank is coming for tea at 6." Because the person they are speaking to already knows that. (Unless they have some reason to believe they've forgotten.)

But it would be natural for one to say, "When was he coming, again?" or "I hope he doesn't start smoking like he did last time," without even declaring who they're talking about, or what the situation is. Just the new stuff. Just like people do in real life.

Think about why the character chooses to speak at this time, not before, not waiting until later? What do they want to communicate? How do they want to communicate it, how do they phrase it, what other things go along with it like tone, volume, body language as I mentioned earlier?

And of course, all of those things are affected by the character's personality, their mood and emotions in that moment, their relationship to the people they are communicating with, and the subject they are talking about.

A lot of times all of that just comes naturally from our understanding of the character, and we don't have to think through each of these one at a time. But if you're stuck, making it more of a "process" can help you get rolling.

And now, onto the mechanics of dialogue in the prose itself...

To mark text as being spoken instead of narration, it should start and end with double-quotes, "like this." There are novels that use single-quotes, but this is a rare exception and tends to be more common in older books. But if that's your thing, you do you.

Apparently, the UK flips this and starts with 'single-quotes'. I've lived in the UK all my life, and was taught to use double-quotes. So... I guess your mileage may vary, I don't know what that's all about... 😅

If a line of dialogue ends with a complete sentence, it will normally put the punctuation before the last quote. There are exceptions, and stylistic choices, but that's the general rule for dialogue.

"The sky isn't blue."

You can have quotations within the dialogue, marked with single-quotes. And, in theory, the further down the rabbit hole you go, it switches back and forth between single and double quotes.

So, a quote within dialogue has single-quotes. A quote within a quote within dialogue has single quotes again. And so on...

"And he said to me, 'Go over there and tell them, "Frank said, 'The sky is blue, darn it!'"'"

Yes this does look weird, and yes it can be confusing keeping track of the layers of quotation. Which is why it's very rare, in fiction at least. Instead of making a direct quote, a speaker normally paraphrased, or rewritten in other ways to simplify the structure of the dialogue.

"Frank said to tell you the sky is blue."

If the dialogue ends its own sentence, but the sentence as a whole continues with a dialogue tag, the full-stop/period at the end of the dialogue becomes a comma.

"The sky isn't blue," Geraldine said.

This is because a dialogue tag is actually part of the same sentence.

A dialogue tag is like a luggage tag tied to the end of the dialogue to tell us more about how it was said.

In the example above, there is a dialogue tag to tell us the character who said it: Geraldine.

You could write the dialogue tag in a couple of other ways:

"The sky isn't blue," said Geraldine. Geraldine said, "The sky isn't blue."

But this is uncommon in modern novels, and makes it have a different old-timey vibe that may be confusing or distracting for readers. So bear that in mind if you want to try it out.

Now, if it's part of a longer piece of dialogue, you could leave it to the end of the spoken words to have the dialogue tag as normal. But the reader will be wondering through the whole thing... "Yeah, but who's even saying all this?"

To avoid this, try to have the indication of the speaker sooner rather than later. You can use any of the methods from this article to do so. But one example would be:

"Fourscore and seven years ago," Lincoln said, "our fathers brought forth, on this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal..." (and so on)

For longer text like this, you can actually have paragraphs within the dialogue. The paragraph doesn't end in a quotation mark because the dialogue isn't ending. But then the new paragraph does have a quotation mark to remind the reader it's still dialogue.

"Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. "Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure."

Again, confusing to read, and rarely needed or used in modern fiction. But something to know about. A better way would be to break up the dialogue with some "Blocking"--a stage term for people moving around the scene.

This would be a new paragraph, as it focuses on something else, and then another new paragraph continuing the dialogue. If we focus on a different character with the in-between paragraph, you might want to remind them who is speaking when they continue.

Lincoln stood for a moment, taking in the crowd. Then drew in a breath. "Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." The crowd looked uneasy, a low murmur floating across them. Lincoln shook his head. "Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure."

Going back to dialogue tags... Other verbs can be used instead of "said," to better describe how it was said.

"The sky isn't blue," Geraldine muttered.

There is a general tip that the same word shouldn't be used over and over in quick succession, because it draws attention to itself. But this doesn't apply to all words. Structural words like "a" and "the" shouldn't (and often couldn't) be replaced with a new synonym every time they're used.

This is because they simply fade into the background; the reader knows that they are common words and don't matter to the meaning of the sentence so much. So they just sort of brush over it. "Said" is one such word.

Don't be afraid of "said."

Some writers still try to not use "said" much, and instead use "thesaurus words"--synonyms with the same meaning--throughout their writing. However this actually draws more attention to it that using the simple "said," which people brush over anyway.

Take a look at the following examples:

"The sky isn't blue," Geraldine said. "The sky isn't blue," Geraldine stated. "The sky isn't blue," Geraldine explained.

Is "stated" describing how the line was said better than "said"? Not really. And is "explained" adding anything to the story that isn't from the dialogue? Nope.

If there is a line of dialogue, then it was said/stated/explained/said in reply/asked, depending on what was said and the context. We know what was said. So when a character asks something, the verb "asked" doesn't do anything that reading the question didn't do. So you may as well put "said."

"The sky isn't blue," Geraldine smirked. "The sky isn't blue," Geraldine yawned.

And if you go too far with it, trying to incorporate an action into it, you can get yourself into a real mess. Smirking is not saying anything. You can smirk while saying something. But if the action you are performing is a smirk, or yawn, or laugh... you, my friend, have uttered no words!

These are known as "said-bookisms": words used to avoid writing "said." And named after a book that was written listing such words for writers to use (you may have seen similar posters/graphics on the internet). But as we don't need to avoid writing "said," we can safely throw out the book!

Earlier we used "muttered" instead of "said." Was that okay? Well, did that add to story? Does it tell the reader more about what was said? Yes! Now they know the words weren't simply spoken; they were said quietly, muttered under the breath.

Anything that tells us more about how the dialogue was said is fine. If the character shouted or screamed, or they muttered or mumbled, or slurred... they aren't necessarily obvious from the dialogue. So if they fit, and they describe the utterance of words, then go for it!

Sometimes writers have entire actions as a dialogue tag.

"The sky isn't blue," Geraldine moved over to the window, peering out.

That action isn't describing the act of saying that dialogue. So it doesn't make sense for it to be part of the same sentence. Just split it into its own sentence, and you should be good.

"The sky isn't blue." Geraldine moved over to the window, peering out.

However, these things may be indicated earlier in the paragraph, before the dialogue begins.

Geraldine looked up. "The sky isn't blue."

Because Geraldine has been established as the focus of this paragraph, any dialogue will be assumed to come from Geraldine.

Here, the first sentence describes an action the character took. But it could be a narrated thought. Or an expression. You can indicate the focus of the paragraph in many different ways, but however you do it, that can be used by the reader to infer who the speaker is.

You can of course add a dialogue tag anyway, using the pronoun of the character.

Geraldine looked up. "The sky isn't blue," she said.

The tone of the dialogue--the way it is said by the character--can also be implied by the context in the paragraph up to that point.

Geraldine laughed. "The sky isn't blue." Geraldine gasped. "The sky isn't blue."

Whatever context the reader has before the dialogue will colour how they "hear" it in their minds as they read.

Geraldine whispered, staring up in awe. "The sky isn't blue." Geraldine screamed. "The sky isn't blue!" Geraldine staggered through the door, drunkenly. "The sky isn't blue."

In the last example, the character's general state or attitude is shown. So as you read what she says, you'll naturally imagine it being said differently. That's the beauty of writing...

The final story in the reader's mind is made from the teamwork between writer and reader.

You can actually get away with having no indication of the speaker at all, in particular circumstances.

Geraldine smiled, her nose wrinkling. "The sky isn't blue." "I think you'll find it is, Gerry dear," Frank muttered, packing. "No, no, you don't understand... the sky is not blue!" "Poppycock." "Look!"

Did you have any trouble knowing who was saying what? If not, why not? Because we had other context clues.

The first couple of lines had the speakers clearly declared. And, as they're the only two characters that are in the scene, it's natural that they'd each take turns--going back and forth in their conversation. Also, if this is in the middle of a book and you're used to how the characters talk differently, that can help too.

Just be careful to not rely on this back-and-forth effect for too long, because it will get confusing after a bit. Just pepper in something to remind the reader of whose turn it is--the character does something as they speak, or a simple dialogue tag is added. And the reader will keep up better.

[sneerjuri]

Help Finding an Old Fic

Probably a long shot, but I’m hoping someone can help me find a Powerpuff Girls fic I remember reading on FFN years ago.

I think the title was ‘Butterfly Effect’ ? Basically, it was a semi AU where the girls initially are involved with some shady government entity who end up killing the Professor. This period of their lives is covered in exposition; the meat of the story takes place a good while after the Professor’s death, when the girls are high school age and have successfully thwarted the organization’s attempts to recover them. They have given up all superhero’ing, going so far as taking Antidote X in order to better go undetected, and are basically in hiding (A plot point I remember is that Blossom wears blue contact lenses)

The Rowdyruff Boys, sent by the organization, enroll in the same school as the girls. They’ve never met before (???), and the story is basically Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup trying to maneuver around the boys and not out themselves as the Powerpuff Girls. I remember that Blossom first encounters Brick during gym class while she’s doing a routine on the balancing beam. She falls, and Brick takes her to the nurse’s office. Cue tension.

... again, I know it’s a long shot, but does any of this sound familiar? Even though it was incomplete, I’d love to read this fic again.

[levbolton]

When you have 1 (one) good picture

[chroniclesofamber]

Sign of the Unicorn — Turning Point in an Emotional Landscape

Turning point in the narrative

‘Vialle’s insightfulness may exist primarily to help Corwin understand himself, but she possesses a degree of agency that is not the rule among other female inhabitants of Amber. Although many female characters play prominent roles throughout the first five novels of the series, it would be difficult to argue that many are ever at parity with the male characters. Corwin’s various sisters are as ruthlessly enmeshed in the quest for power as are his brothers, but it is the brothers whose actions propel the story, and none of the sisters is a serious candidate for the throne. The women outside the royal family are, variously, forces of supernatural opposition, sounding boards for Corwin, or seductresses — in the case of Dara, all three.

Still, Vialle’s compassionate perception provides a crucial turning point in the narrative. Thereafter, and for the remainder of the series, Corwin’s goal is neither power nor vengeance but repair and preservation: stopping the dark forces of Chaos, stabilizing his family, and making Amber whole again.

This shift in Corwin’s priorities caught the attention of Alexei and Cory Panshin. In their F&SF review of Sign of the Unicorn, after condemning Zelazny’s recent work as consisting of “one bad novel after another,” the Panshins dismissed the first two Amber novels . . . But they saw Unicorn as a return to form, praising the “redemption” of the sequence with Bill, hailing the revelation of the true Amber as a rejection of solipsism, and going so far as to declare the novel “Zelazny’s best book since Lord of Light. Zelazny is back! Hooray! Hooray!” That two of the leading critics of the day would, on finding merit in a new Zelazny novel, erupt in cheers — language not far removed from [Jo] Walton’s teenage sf fan, who “squealed out loud” when she discovered the new Amber novel in a bookstore and swore she “would rather have Sign of the Unicorn than all the boys in the Valleys” — demonstrates that Zelazny still mattered as much to the readers who used to love him as he mattered to those who still did.

“An Emotional Archetype”

The focus on Corwin, however, raises an interesting question: What about Amber? Throughout the series, almost as striking as the overpowering presence of Corwin is the absence of the city. As Gary K. Wolfe points out, we know “little about Amber itself,” a place that “often seems to have no population other than its royal family . . . no streets, no economy, no network of social organization.” For Wolfe, the fact Zelazny presents Amber not as a constructed environment  but as “an emotional archetype” is fully in keeping with fantasy literature’s ability to “sustain our interest in impossible worlds simply by making these worlds emotionally meaningful to us.”

In this context, it is striking that much of the sense of physical setting we do have in these novels is not the world of Amber, much less its infrastructure, but the corridors between Amber and elsewhere: the shadow worlds through which Corwin periodically hellrides, early on to pursue his quest for power and vengeance, later to preserve Amber itself. These are the passages where, even in the exposition-laden later novels, Zelazny allows himself to get lost in language, as in this description, from The Courts of Chaos, of Corwin’s journey to the Courts (all ellipses are in the original):

            Turning, pacing . . . Red now the ferns, wider and lower . . . Beyond, a great plain, pinking into evening . . . Forward, over pale grasses . . . The smell of fresh earth . . . Mountains or dark clouds far ahead . . . A rush of stars from my left . . . A quick spray of moisture . . . A blue moon leaps into the sky . . . Flickerings among the dark masses . . . Memories and a rumbling noise . . . Stormsmell and rushing air . . . (503)

That which in a different kind of book would have been mere “carpentry scenes” — transitional sections whose function is solely to move the action from point A to point B — Zelazny writes with the poetic fragmentation that was often a signature of his earlier work. To apply Wolfe’s concept, what matters is emotional meaningfulness — not how the cities function but how the journeys between cities feel.’

— Cox, F. Brett, “A Series of Different Endeavors 1972-1979”, Roger Zelazny: Modern Masters of Science Fiction, 98-99, Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2021

[circumference-pie]

Writing patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern! @thebansacredbanned and @junemermaid tagged me!

Feiliu eagerly digs his chopsticks into steaming rice, plates full of bamboo shoots and wood-ear mushroom, steamed egg, wild quail. (wind in the leaves, Nirvana in Fire)

This is a study of the academic practices of the Preservation Alliance, a small collective of planets outside the Corporation Rim. (The Old and the New: A Study of Academia on the Preservation Alliance, The Murderbot Diaries)

谁在乎？/ 我在乎。/ Who would care / I care. (our yesterdays have lighted fools, Love Between Fairy and Devil)

As a gesture of goodwill and a thank you for not flattening our kingdom with your combined powers, the emperor of Shuiyuntian has graciously allowed Xiao Lan Hua and her husband the Moon Supreme to go to Arbiter Hall and collect any items that she may have left before absconding so abruptly. (picture-perfect, Love Between Fairy and Devil)

The metal pot is big and shiny, filled with warming water and placed over a burner in the kitchens of the great airship Castle Wulfenbach. (Castle Wulfenbach: Adventures with Gil and Zoing, Girl Genius)

Ran could pinpoint exactly when it started: Tuesday, lunch period, in the school cafeteria, facing Sonoko and Sera across a homemade bento (hers), a cafeteria sausage roll (Sera’s), and a much more expensive homemade bento (Sonoko’s). (bad luck blues, Detective Conan)

The skies and waters in his Sea of Emotion are calm, waves lapping at the island of soft grass he and the ancient god sit upon. (A Shade of the Deepest Blue, Love Between Fairy and Devil)

“Mou, Shinichi, why did you drag me out here in the middle of the night? It’s cloudy and we can’t even see anything.” (your eyes at night, Detective Conan) * * actually this was co-written and I can’t remember which one of us actually wrote it. I think it was me, though.

“Was it all a lie?” (a bullet but not of silver, Detective Conan)

They find Shinichi’s body in an alley behind Tropical Land. (Follow you into the dark, Detective Conan)

See if there's a pattern...hmm. It looks like I mostly like throwing the reader directly a moving scene, whether it's through description of action or dialogue (1, 5, 7, 8, 9). The rest is exposition of a situation (4, 6, 10), a canon quote (3), or some consequence of a nonstandard format (2). I think this mix has been fairly stable throughout my fic-writing career. (Which is five years old now! Dang.)

I tag @sassybluee and @nemainofthewater.

I wonder how many of my fics total open with canon quotes and how many are in epistolary format. Let's see...

Canon quotes: deepest blue*, our yesterdays, wings of ash, two hugs, connect with friends -- 5/35 Epistolary: old and new, wings of ash**, tide, liang-wudi, shuffle romance -- 6/35

* "deepest blue" gets put on the list because it opens with a canon scene, even if the first line isn't strictly dialogue ** "wings of ash" is half-epistolary and half-narration.

So, about a sixth of my total fics for each, and I used to do more of both than I do now. Checks out.

[jackoshadows]

Murder mysteries seen so far this week:

Black Snow: The setting and story is very interesting, it’s well acted, the intermingling of past and present along with a nuanced telling through the protagonist’s eyes of Australia’s brutal history in how it’s indigenous people are treated.

Glass Onion: While Benoit Blanc is always fun, I thought this was a fairly simple murder mystery including the identity of the culprit. Janelle Monáe as Andi/Helen was the highlight of this one.

The Pale Blue Eye: The setting and characters are interesting, the atmosphere is great including all the period piece set designs and costumes. I thought the pacing was really off including all the info dumps and exposition and how the story is edited together. Edgar Allan Poe is a character in this and the twist at the end did manage to surprise me - I just wish they filmed it differently, again a pacing issue.

[messrsbyler]

Hi hi! Byler question for you - what do you think their hobbies/extracurriculars would look like now (modern time)? I feel like will would always be our artist no matter the time period but curious to hear your thoughts‼️

hi!! oh will is most definitely part of the art and crafts club. it's the time at school he looks forward the most. i picture will having this amazing art teacher. will admires her so much and sometimes stays behind in the classroom to talk to her and hear about her art and small expositions she's put together. she is extra interested in will's art because she can see the passion will puts behind each drawing and i imagine it's this teacher who nudges will into trying other medias like painting and sculpture.

in my opinion mike would be a theater kid and no one can shoo me from this cliff. he would join with dustin. mike would keep trying to give his input into the scripts they work with annoying the hell out of the kids that take the role of director and especially the three girls who are in charge of writing the scripts and doing all the adaptations for the plays. but then one day the drama teacher decides to hear mike's suggestions and he loves them so much he makes mike part of the writing team while keeping him as part of the acting team. basically mike getting too much on his plate but he does what he can to do it all.

then when a play is coming closer, the art team will go to the drama room to work on the scenography and ofc byler would be stealing glances at each other, hanging out in between breaks, will smiling and blushing seeing mike going through his lines because it brings memories of all those campaigns mike acted out. will would be mesmerized seeing will painting some of the scenography because he's always loved the way will's eyes go through the painting he's working on, so focused, and the way his mouth purses a little and how he tilts his face and absently taps the brush against his cheek getting blue painting over his face that then mike points out and with a laugh cleans with a wet rag while the both of them blush and try to act cool about it hshshs

thank you for the ask!!

[faye-tale]

Now your turn! 🩵

14: Top 3 romantic dates

15: Top 3 kinds of flower

17: Top 3 OTPs

32: Top 3 aesthetics

49: Top 3 favorite literary devices

Hi lovely!! 🧡🧡

Aww TY! 🫶 wow what a list! Okay let’s dive in!!

Top 3 romantic dates

Oh mannnn I’m not really into romance tbh, errr I’m already struggling haha… it’s also been more than a decade since I went on a date 🫣

1. A meal at a nice restaurant

2. But I’d love theatre, as long as it’s a comedy/something lighthearted OR standup

3. A walk in nature/big park maybe…?

Jeez I have no clue, do I? 🤣

Top 3 flowers

1. Lily (but I can’t ever have them in the house cos I have cats)

2. Daffodils (I think they are just so pretty in spring)

3. Bluebells (I love blue flowers and grew up surrounded by fields of these in Kent)

Top 3 OTPs

Oh maaaan again this is so tough as over the years i fandom hop. First 3 that come to mind…

1. Nick & Jess, New Girl

2. Niles & Daphne, Frazier

3. Anthony & Kate, Bridgerton TV (I had to right?)

Top 3 aesthetics

Errr I’m still not clear what this really is tbh. I hope I got this right

1. Scandinavian hugge

2. Art deco

3. Minimalism

Top 3 favorite literary devices

Hmm this is tough as what I like to read is sometimes different to what I like to write if I’m doing my silly throwaway nonsense lolol. I wonder if here they really meant tropes instead of literary devices in the technical sense? Anyway let’s go narrative/conceptual devices:

1. Exposition- good for shorter stories to give an immediate sense of where things are. When writing I like to try to do this as economically as possible lol.

2. Colloquialism - I love to put in narrative that is of it’s time period, so I write very different speaking patterns in modern vs historical pieces.

3. Dramatic irony - I’m not great at writing this, but who doesn’t love the tension this provides in a story?

If we are talking fic tropes:

1. Trapped together - especially if it includes only 1 bed lol

2. Enemies to lovers - who doesn’t love sparring before it boils over into passion? Or if longer story enemies to friends to lovers

3. Fake dating - perfect tropey shit ‘oh no we have to kiss to make this believeable.. oh god this feels so good’ etc etc

Thanks for your ask lovely 😁🧡🧡