#but no way would they make their entire personality be bending over backward to compare it to things like photography or digital art

[rise-my-angel]

I saw that you got into a scuffle with some Rhaegar stan that accused you of saying that Rhaegar abused Elia and their kids and even though you didn't say that, the stan is wrong....because Rhaegar 100 percent canonically did? Elia was reproductively abused, which destroyed her already fragile health. As for the kids, abandonment is 100 percent abuse, so yes by sheer virtue of abandoning his children he abused Rhaenys and Aegon. Fathers in ASOIAF get dragged for much, much less, but Dead Beat Rhaegar apparently is above critique. His stans are shambolic lmao.

I know exactly what they mean when they used the word abused. The only way in which they can conceive Rhaegar as being in the wrong, is if he is outwardly violent and hateful. He has to hurl verbal abuse at her and her children or physically hit her or the children. Otherwise, they will chalk the rest of it up under the label of "misinterpreting events".

I used the word mistreated, because I know it's a more broad spectrum of things that can fall under that category. The treatment of Elia to them, falls under "I can personally excuse it and therefore every other opinion disagreeing is wrong". Which is ironic, because they adamantly will try to excuse around putting Elia through two back to back life threatening pregnancies, despite the nature of Rhaegar trying to fulfill a prophecy meant he was having children as a means to do that. Not because of the terms of marriage.

You will notice they hardly ever bring up defences against the pregnancies, because they know it makes them look like they are victim blaming Elia for almost dying after simply giving birth to Aegon. The only other comment will be that maybe she was fine with it, which is an entirely speculated point of view based soley on the perception of she cant be a victim. They don't make grand arguments against the pregnancies because they know it makes them look bad, so they argue everything else.

And you are absolutely correct. Rhaegar abandoned his children. Other fathers do not have this claim, because they went out to fight a war for loyalty, oaths and duty. But Rhaegar did not leave for war. He took Lyanna in peace times, and then only after the war was already in full swing did he even join. Rhaegar's actions were the catalyst that led to war. From the moment he took Lyanna, he was no longer a figure in his childrens life.

Aerys let Rhaella take Viserys and flee to Dragonstone. But he forced Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys to stay. Why? Because at that point Doran Martell was furious how she had been treated and was starting to offer aid to the rebels and thus Aerys held her hostage in order to keep her family from abandoning the Crowns side entierly.

A man who refused to touch his own first born granddaughter in the public court because she "smelled too dornish". That's who Rhaegar left his children with. A man who cared for his grandchildren so little he refused to even play nice and hold her in public once.

Rhaegar did not care about their saftey. He did not care to consider what would happen to them under his fathers hatred and delusions, or what would happen to them if they lost the war. He did not do what a good father does and protect his children. His best Kingsguard were under his orders, too busy keeping a helpless teenage girl hostage in a tower his own wife gifted him.

Rhaegar stans regularly criticize fathers in this series for things they don't deserve. Ned gets so heavily criticized by them, because they do not like the idea that the Stark is a better father then the Targaryean. Even though he is. Or they try to compare them and pretend they at all did any of the same things, just so they can justify liking Rhaegar. "Look you like Ned and hes flawed, and so is Rhaegar so he obviously is good."

These people do not care about anyone but Rhaegar. They don't care about Elia, or Lyanna, or Rhaenys, or Aegon, or even Jon. They do not care, because they bend over backwards to paint Rhaegar in a light that no one but purposley biased characters speak of him in.

They are Rhaegars own self fulfilling prophecy. Not caring about anyone but The Last Dragon, regardless of what destruction to other characters that results in.

Rhaegar Targaryean is a fucking dweeb and I wish Robert Baratheon crushed him to death with an even bigger war hammer.

[thewoollyviking]

Ok, Steven Universe fanbase, we need to talk. Because there’s this issue that keeps cropping up when talking about the Diamonds and no one seems to really understand what folks are saying.

Don’t know what I mean? Allow me to explain…

Whenever I or someone else talks about how the Diamonds never really faced any real consequences for their actions, why is your first instinct to immediately say “but Steven didn’t forgive them.”

Yes, we know, pretty much all of us have seen future by now, or at least the scene of Steven almost murdering White Diamond that y’all most likely drop to provide context.

But that’s not what we’re talking about. I don’t care if Steven personally thinks the Diamonds are swell and takes them to Funland on the weekends. Because, get this, my judgement of the characters doesn’t depend on who among the cast Steven is giving the most ‘good boi’ points to.

This is such a frustrating topic to discuss with fans because it feels like y’all treat Steven as the ultimate judge of moral character. Newsflash, Steven is a CHILD! And by Future he’s an angry, emotionally unstable child!

Why do we keep circling back to this? Like ok, let’s compare this to another show, and to be fair I’m going to ignore the Owl in the room and pick something that is slightly less obvious, Avatar the Last Airbender.

Imagine if ATLA ended with Aang making Ozai promise to stop being evil and conquering the other nations… but did NOTHING to remove any of his power, either through his position as Firelord or even through taking his bending away.

Even if Aang said he didn’t personally forgive Ozai… would that honestly really matter? Because what did he ultimately accomplish then? Ozai still has all his power and the only thing stopping him is a disapproving look from Aang?

And don’t think I’m being unfair with the comparison here. Yeah, Steven’s a pacifist, but like… so was Aang, dude was literally a monk and was just as much of a child as Steven. And even he understood that even if he couldn’t bring himself to compromise his morality to kill Ozai, he still had to find another way.

And even if the show bent over backwards to make it seem like Ozai really was remorseful for what he did, would it not seem uncomfortably jarring compared to his behavior throughout the entire rest of the show up to that point?

That’s the point I’m getting at with the Diamonds, they ultimately suffered no real repercussions. Because there was no tangible effort to strip them of their power. If White Diamond woke up tomorrow, decided Steven was full of it, and just went around forcing Homeworld to backtrack hard to the point of just bleaching everyone to obey her to start colonizing planets again than who or what can really stop her?

Here’s a bitter pill that SU fans need to swallow, when bad people don’t face any consequences for their actions, than how do you expect them to learn ANYTHING?

Why change and become a better person if no one is going to stop you? Why not abuse your loved ones and cause untold death and destruction to everyone and everything around you if you aren’t going to pay for it?

You can still like the show, there’s still good stuff here, but we gotta accept that the finale sucked, regardless of whether it was a creative decision the crew took from the start or it was compromise that was forced because of CN.

[zippy-reacts]

Sonic the Comic Liveblog: Issue 42

Time for another extended size issue! Let’s see what this one has in store. (Although judging from the cover this is essentially the Christmas special)

Am I missing a reference or something here? Why does Sonic keep calling Knuckles ‘Curly’?

Huh. The cracks make it look like a patterned chocolate Easter egg

Nothing to say other than I like the pose Sonic has going on here

They’re definitely gonna cross paths again

I’ve joked before about Porker’s jacket with the logo being a gift from Sonic, but I firmly believe that HAS to be the case for Johnny because he does not like Sonic enough to make a jacket with his face on it of his own accord.

Gotta admit, I’m feeling a little sleepy as I write this so I can’t analyse this as deeply as I normally would, but these panels really do show in a nutshell just how broken of a friendship StC Sonic and Tails have.

Sonic says mean shit to people a lot in this comic, although when directed at his team, I think like 90% of the time he only means it as playful banter, even though the people around him don’t view it that way. But they tolerate it way too much- Johnny is seriously the only person who ever really calls him out on it to his face.

And we can see the effect it has on Tails here. StC Tails, like most Tails, has confidence issues. Afterall, he’s a little kid who looks up to a guy renowned for being a hero. However, while most Sonics would bend over backwards to support their little bro, StC Sonic, even if he might not mean it seriously, is essentially a bully to Tails, and because this is coming from someone Tails holds in high regards, he believes it, even though he has been a hero on multiple occasions.

While Tails definitely shouldn’t have lied in his letters, I don’t think he is entirely to blame for the situation, I mean, why did all these people from the Nameless Zone not only believe the letters, but decided it was appropriate to let a young child handle their problems?

Poor Tails. He really does not want to be involved with this shit, he just wants to help his friends. But because he’s a little bit of a doormat, he just can’t refuse firmly. I suppose it’s also a sign of his heroic nature that he doesn’t turn away from someone who needs help.

He’s so small compared to the office chair!

I have a feeling that the artist really enjoys drawing big robots

Don’t start theorising about lore, don’t start theorising about lore, don’t start theorising about lore …

I was about to say this is more humane than actual battery chickens but then I remembered this is Robotnik so yeah… there’s probably actual chickens trapped in that robot.

[beigehearts]

Yandere adult trio when you actually manage to land a hit on them Random drabble I came up with- needed to spoil yall since ive been gone- so ive got three drabbles Lemme know if you want Uvogin and/or Phinks- or if you want a nsfw version of this CW: blood, knives, stabbing

Illumi

Weeks have passed since you were taken from your comparably mundane life. You assume it's been weeks- it could have been longer. For the first time, you have woken up while man who has taken you is not home. He manages to stay at home until you're exhausted- since you won't sleep around him. That way once you collapse from exhaustion- he can escape to do whatever a man like him does.

It's been two hours since you have been stuffed into a kitchen cabinet. Your legs are cramping- and there's a sharp pain in your lower back. There's no way your body can handle being in this cramped position for another hour- hopefully he gets home soon. Or hopefully he never comes back.

You hear the unfamiliar sound of the front door opening, only after the multiple locks have been unlocked.

Click. Click. Click. His shoes tap on the cold floor with a methodical slowness. You hear him walk towards the room you are usually sleeping in when he gets home.

There are no more clicking of his shoes, just an eery silence hanging in the air. Your chance, this is it. You've learned how to silence your own actions- you had to in order to live with this emotionless monster.

Once you're standing upright, you sprint at him- knife in hand. He's quick but he also doesn't expect you to be just as fast. He moves so quickly that you can barely see him, but you drop to the ground, sliding against the wood floor. Your knife slices through his ankle, knowing that it could render his leg useless. There's no sound as you lay on the cold floor, a stand still between you and your captor.

"Interesting." His word is deafening. "I did not expect that of you." Illumi's voice remains calm. It remains calm as well when he grabs you by your arm, grip almost bone shattering. "It seems I have not trained you well." He says as if you're a dog.

You continue swinging, but it seems that Illumi doesn't even care about the damage you're inflicting on him. Cuts that are an inch deep- at least three of them. You glance down at his foot, seeing his pant leg soaked in blood, leaving a trail of it behind him as he drags you into the unknown. There's no humanly way possible he could be walking on a severed Achilles tendon. He should have bled out by now, or at least enough to go weak in the knees. The only answer is... that he's not human.

Your body goes limp- all fight draining out of you once you realize that there's no use. Illumi notices this, and pauses. "I'm glad you've come to your sense y/n." He bends down to your face, letting go of you arm and you fall against the floor. "It doesn't change what you've done." He points to his ankle, "It will take at least a week for my ankle to heal- my Achilles is completely severed."

Your eyes travel to the floor as he continues speaking, his words beginning to sound like fuzz. You snap back when a strong hand grabs your chin and tilts your face towards his. It almost feels as if his fingers are going to go through your jaw bones. "I expect you to look at me when I'm speaking."

Hisoka

He expects you to perform wifely duties. Well, mainly duties that take care of him. The eggs in the pan sizzle next to some greasy bacon. You're making breakfast like Hisoka told you to. He probably won't eat the food you make him, he just enjoys watching you make it.

The buzzing of the oven fan and churning of the coffee machine almost make it seem as if this were a normal situation. It's not though- the both of you know that.

It has taken you weeks to master the art of being unassuming. You've practiced doing something but showing no signs of that actions beforehand. Such as if you're going to pick something up that you don't look around for it first.

The tip tap of the magician's heels alert you to just how close he is to yo. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, "You look so good today y/n." He nuzzles his nose into your neck, inhaling your aroma, as if he can't get enough of it.

You pull a coffee mug from the cabinet above the oven, ignoring the man wrapped around you. The cup clinks against the counter and your heart jumps when you hear the coffee pot finish brewing.

The man releases you, perfectly on cue. You grab the coffee pot, spinning around and throwing the boiling liquid on Hisoka. You then leap forward while he's momentarily stunned, and bring the glass pot down on his head. It shatters and you take the chance to lunge for the door. You're stopped short when the man grabs your ankle and you face plant into the tile floor.

Your entire face will definitely be bruised in a few hours. Your head spins but the dizziness quickly turns into an excruciating pain all over your head. You crane your head backwards and look at him- somehow he just seems stronger. His skin is burned badly and is extremely red. He must have third degree burns. But he's smiling at you with crazed eyes. No, lustful eyes.

You yell when he pulls you to him by your leg. He straddles you and punches you in the neck. You yell turns into a heavy cough which turns into gasping noises. There will be no talking for the next few weeks.

"You're so cute when you defend yourself." You stare up at his untouched face and fear shoots down your spine. He leans down and licks a strip up the side of your face and brings his lips to your ear. "It only turns me on even more."

Chrollo

It’s as if the place you’re being held has no electricity. You’ve flicked on and off the light switches around the house but nothing ever happens. The windows are boarded up and no matter what you do- you can’t rip the boards away that are nailed into the window. Despite this extremely dark, and cold home, all of the furniture is quite nice. The bed fit for a king, soft and you just sink into it- which is where you spend most of your time since it’s the only place you can catch a fleeting sense of warmth. 

The warm bed doesn’t compensate for the fact that you’ve been kidnapped by a man that insists on your affection and your quality time. He leaves every night- and it’s simply too dark to try and find keys for the door. There was only one way you will be able to escape- surprise attack him the moment he gets home and run out the door. You’ve tried to attack him before but your punches are futile against the tall man. He can just grab your wrists and throw you in the bedroom- locking it until you stop ‘throwing a tantrum’. As he puts.

There’s no better place to attack him then at the front door- before he gets the chance to defend himself. Though your fists obviously hold no power against this man- you’ll have to find something to hit him with. For hours before he comes home (according to your biological clock), you scamper around the house, checking every corner of it for something sturdy that you can pick up. Eventually you find a set of handcuffs. While they’re not ideal- they have heft and a whack to the face would leave any normal person reeling. 

If your natural sense of time is correct, you only have a few minutes before he comes home. You stand next to the door and brace yourself- hoping that your reaction time is as good as you think it is. 

You hear the footsteps down what you assume is a hall to this apartment. They stop in front of the door and your heart begins to pound. Each lock clicking is deafening in the quiet apartment. The door opens with confidence and you take your chance. With a wide swing of your arm you nail him in the face. The sound of the metal against skin makes you cringe but there’s no time to waste. You leap out beside him, sprinting down the pitch black hall as fast as you can. When hands grab your waist gently you screech, fighting his grip. As gentle as he’s being you still can’t escape him. 

He brings your back against his chest, and he wraps one arm around your arms and torso, preventing you from hitting him. His other arm lays loosely around your waist. “You’re very resourceful y/n.” He purrs in your ear. “Thank you for trying your best and not holding back.” You continue squirming in his grasp but know what your fate is when he says, “Though it’s quite unattractive for a girl to be so feisty.” 

[samstree]

and baby makes four (or five)

(mpreg, pre-relationship geraskier, mutual pining, pregnant jaskier, vague mpreg setting, roach is also mom, baby horse, horse trivia, 1.5k, read on ao3) 

Jaskier pets the newborn foal’s still-damp mane and grins to himself. The tiny horse—Little Roachie, he decides—is laying on the ground, surrounded by soft hay and dozing peacefully. He deserves it after the ordeal—well, Jaskier believes it counts as one. The foaling almost gave him heart palpitations, but Geralt says everything went just as planned and both Roach and the baby are safe and sound.

And they are, finally, when the entire day has passed and the moon is high in the sky.

The witcher himself is feeding the mare their last apple. If the doting was bad before, it has definitely gotten worse since she became a mom. It’s not like anyone could fault Geralt, Jaskier reckons. Although the sight of the almighty White Wolf indulging his horse is way too precious, not that Jaskier will ever say it to his face. As much as he loves to see Geralt embarrassed, it might be unwise to upset his friend and get left in the middle of this backwater town in his current conditions.

Jaskier cradles the bump that is his stomach and feels his baby peacefully asleep too. Despite the barn being floored with thick hay, the sitting position is growing uncomfortable with everything weighing down on his midriff, and it won’t be long until his back starts aching again.

The foal jerks in his sleep, and Jaskier completely forgets about himself.

“Shh, it’s all right. Just sleep, darling. You must really need it if you’re so tiny. Look at how tiny you are.” His hand travels down to its leg and then the hoof. The hoof wall feels soft, or at least, less hard than what one would imagine for an adult horse. A soft gasp escapes his lips as his fingers reach the bottom. “Oh, Geralt! Come and see!”

The witcher hums absently as Jaskier picks out the straws and dirt obscuring his view and cradles the newborn foal’s hoof in his palm. There’s a layer of padding covering the sole. It’s … kind of spongy, and moist to the touch.

“Fascinating,” Jaskier muses as he pokes and prods the soft tissue, amazed at the weird texture and irregular shapes. When he looks up, Geralt is crouched beside him, leaving Roach to chew on the last of her treat.

“Newborns have those,” he explains.

“Will it hurt him when I touch it?”

“I don’t think so.” Geralt’s gaze falls on the small baby, the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “The cushions develop during the last term of pregnancy. It protects the mother from all the kicking, and later during the birth. They’ll wear off as soon as he learns to stand.”

“Wow,” Jaskier croons at the foal, “you are such a gentle baby, aren’t you? Know to protect your mum, huh?”

His arm tightens around his own expanding waistline. The bump has gotten so big in the last few weeks Jaskier still gets taken aback every time he walks in front of a mirror. Looking down on it, the worry that’s been churning in his stomach resurfaces, the dread rising inexplicably. Jaskier hates to admit it, but he’s so, so nervous about what comes after. Sure, he looks forward to meeting his child, but just the thought of pushing a person out of his body is enough to send a shudder down his spine.

Jaskier chews on his lips. The silence hangs in the barn.

It’s Geralt who breaks it first. He sits down next to Jaskier gradually and crosses his legs, making sure the sleeping foal is still in sight.

“All babies are as gentle, Jaskier.” Golden amber eyes meet Jaskier’s, and they are filled with warmth and unvoiced understanding. “You never needed to worry for Roach.”

“But anything could have happened. She’s never had a baby before and we didn’t even notice for so long. The whole thing just … came out of nowhere. If something had gone wrong—”

“Nothing did,” Geralt says, more firmly this time. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her. I was here to make sure of it.”

Looking at the sincerity on the witcher’s face, Jaskier knows neither of them is talking about Roach anymore, and he can’t resist the upturn of his lips. It is true that Geralt did everything he could for Roach, setting her up at this farm and making sure she’ll be cared for after. Even when the mare got anxious the past two days, Geralt has been nothing but patient with her.

“Besides,” Geralt adds, tilting his head, “She’s strong. She can get through anything for her baby.”

A lump suddenly forms in Jaskier’s throat. His eyes prickle but he won’t let the tears fall. Not again. Even pregnant, it would be too mortifying for him to cry for what must be the one-hundredth time this week, and he won’t let Geralt make fun—

A kick lands on his bladder and oh boy it hurts. Jaskier chokes out a breath and curls into himself. “It seems—ahh, this one is bad—it seems that my baby could use some tips from Little Roachie here.”

“You can’t compare human babies to horses, Jask,” Geralt chuckles but rests his hand over the top of the bump and starts rubbing little circles, soothing the tiny but anxious person within. As always, it does the trick and the kicking gradually calms down. Jaskier isn’t sure if he should be jealous of this apparent superpower of Geralt’s or just glad he’s here. “Also, Little Roachie? Really?”

The warmth of Geralt’s palm is nice, seeping through the thin tunic and into Jaskier’s taut skin underneath. It takes a second for him to respond, “Are you not naming him Roach?”

“Why would I name him Roach?”

“Because you name all your horses Roach?”

“But, Jask, he’s Roach’s baby. It’ll be confusing.”

Jaskier blinks, incredulous.

“That,” he pauses, “is confusing?”

“Yes,” Geralt answers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Six mares in a row having the same name was never a problem, but mother and son is where you draw the line.” Jaskier shakes his head. “Well, I’m glad there is a line somewhere.”

Jaskier lets out a string of giggles, bending backward and almost hitting the wall. When he finally ceases to find the witcher’s logic so amusing, Roach herself has sauntered near them. She’s probably heard her name and also wants in on all the fun.

The mare reaches down and headbutts Jaskier on his chest, almost touching his stomach. Geralt grows tense and ready to block her. It’d be sweet of him if the overprotectiveness isn’t so unnecessary.

“Oh, relax! Roach and I are the bestest of friends now.” Her muzzle touches Jaskier’s palm. “Motherhood has softened her. Look!”

“Hmm.”

He coos to Roach for a while until her attention returns to the once again unnamed foal. Jaskier finds himself completely knackered and ready to turn in. He yawns just in time.

“What a day, huh? Well, I don’t know about you but I could fall asleep in the next five minutes.”

“Oh.”

Geralt stands first to pull Jaskier up with steady hands, the movement so effortless it even makes Jaskier feel less bloated and sluggish.

“Will you—” Jaskier adjusts the hem of his tunic. “Will you stay with me? Like yesterday. It’s—I, um, I’ve been having trouble with all the kicking, as you know, and last night was the first time I got any rest in weeks.”

Geralt stares, his golden amber blown wide.

“You don’t have to, I mean,” Jaskier adds too quickly. “You help. Like just now, and you’ve been helping me for the past few months, even with everything going on with Roach. I don’t want to burden you further, but I just … I think the baby likes it a little better when you are there.”

And Jaskier likes it a lot better.

That part he can’t say though.

“Of course,” Geralt says, and a weight Jaskier didn’t know was carrying lifts off of his chest. “If it’s more comfortable for you.”

“Right. It is.”

“And, Jask … I know I might be overstepping. The baby is only yours after all.” Geralt swallows nervously, if witchers can get nervous talking to a simple bard. A simple bard who never expected to be pregnant and is terrified. “But if you need me, I can stay with you. Through everything, this … and after, as long as you need me.”

The lump returns. Jaskier meets Geralt’s gaze in earnest and all he can see is the devotion, the safety. Because that’s what Geralt is, his best friend and protector. The world may disagree, but Jaskier knows better from walking by his side for so many years, from never having been abandoned despite all the threats. He knows from the way Geralt leads him back inside with a hand on the small of his back and a smile in those amber eyes.

When the baby moves again, Jaskier can’t wait to drag Geralt’s hand over his stomach. Geralt looks awestruck, like he’s watching a miracle unfold before his eyes when it’s no more than a little person reacting to his touch.

“I think,” Jaskier says. “I think we’ll be just fine.”

“Of course. Both of you will.”

And for the first time, Jaskier might start believing it.

---

I leaned that thing about baby horsies in this youtube video. Please feel free to correct me if I got some facts wrong. I love horse trivia! <3 

[piccolina-mina]

Our girl is thriving this season, but what the fuck is this Wyatt plot? I need your thinks about this one. I just knew you'd be six posts in on this by now. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

*sighs* For fk's sake, nonny. I don't even like talking about it because I get ranty.

What do you want me to say? Honestly, everything you can imagine I would feel about this, you're probably right. Because you know, I'm that b*tch always getting ranty about racism and stuff.

In short, I hate it. I think it's unnecessary, tone-deaf, random, pointless, lowkey offensive, and illogical. I legitimately find it triggering AF. And it doesn't make sense.

It's Unnecessary. There is a fraction of a chance that it will connect to something more significant, but even if that's the case, I'm confident that end result or connection could've taken place without this random reform racist Wyatt storyline. This series has struggled enough as it is properly utilizing all of its primary characters as well as providing them with decent screentime and arcs. It literally makes no sense to spend any of that time that could be used elsewhere on primary characters on a recurring guest star.

This isn't actually about Rosa, it's about Wyatt. Following up on the previous point, this specific arc caters to Wyatt. Revolves around Wyatt. Rosa is just a passive participant and vessel for this Wyatt storyline. So again, the arc itself is about a recurring character. At least when they did something similarly bringing back Cam to siphon time and arcs away from its main cast they found ways to implement it better and tied her to multiple main characters, so it wasn't a total waste.

The intended Wyatt/Rosa parallel is illogical. I know what they're intending to do with this storyline, drawing parallels between Rosa's experience coming back from the dead after ten years and trying to make sense of that and atone for things before and having this second chance to make things right and go down the right path and so forth and Wyatt losing his memory and his racist ways and having to reconcile with who he was to who he can be and all of that. I understand the concept they're trying to sell. It just doesn't work. Rosa's addiction is not equivalent to Wyatt's racism and violence. Her mental illness isn't either. It's dangerous to invite the comparasions with this storyline.

It's not successful redemption. True redemption is Wyatt knowing and remembering his actions and then trying to atone for them. It's not the convenience of amnesia wiping out his memory only giving him distance from his actions rather than really facing up to them. Because of the amnesia, to Wyatt, it's like he's hearing about another person. It's a cop out. He doesn't Actually have to do the work to redeem himself or atone or learn or grow. IF we're supposed to compare it to Rosa, she knew what she did and remembers and knows how she hurt her loved ones or whatever and she's actively trying to make amends for that as part of her program... a program that Wyatt isn't working or anything BTW.

They've contradicted themselves too much and are rewriting their own work and thus twisting everything up just to make this storyline work and it still doesn't. The timeline is all fkd up... what they established already all of it..The Longs were racist before Kate's death. Kate was racist. To suggest that a 10+ amnesiac blackout clean slates and erases all of Wyatt's racism is just wrong. As in it literally doesn't even make any sense. That is not how the amnesia works but they keep playing both sides of it trying to make it work. To sell us what they're claiming, he would have to have ALL of his memories wiped and have forgotten who he was completely.

Wyatt is behaving like he's shocked by racism in this town but they're also trying to argue that he was born into it. Wyatt was surrounded by racists and his friends come from racist families but he's acting like the very concept of him ever being ingratiated in it is some huge surprise. Wyatt looks affronted by things like Confederate flags. Wyatt being steeped in and surrounded by racism predates his amnesia period.

Kyle mentioned that line about Wyatt putting Whites Only on water fountains, and it sounded like a school prank. It also sounded like something Kyle was reminding Rosa of as if she was alive when that incident happened. Therefore, Wyatt was doing racist stuff before she died. Kyle would've been out of school by then so how else would he know that or why would he bother retaining it?

IF Wyatt and Rosa really were friends before (which holy retcon), then it makes no real sense that he would get psychopathically angry about his "friend" who does drugs getting into a car accident with his sister who does drugs. He would've mourned them both not jumped to severe racism and violence. But both he and Jasmine's family (who are MIA for all of this) did that... jumped to racism. So was Wyatt indoctrinated by his family or indoctrinated by message boards and shit? And if Wyatt and Rosa were friends than why was Kate such a racist bitch to Rosa?

They're backdrafting history JUST to make this storyline that we don't need with a character who isn't even a main one to work.

By not actually addressing that Wyatt has to unlearn racism and giving him an out through amnesia, there is the very realistic issue of that latent racism to come out at any given time. What happens when he's drunk? What happens when he's really angry at a POC?

Tying Wyatt's redemption with his clear affection for Rosa is again dangerous and irresponsible. I know we would all like to think that love is the way and through love it can heal racism, but that puts the responsibility on the disenfranchised person to be "lovable." Because if Wyatt WAS friends with Rosa once then that means the second Rosa did something unlovable she was just another *insert racist slur of choosing* right? It means that there's a possibility that if his feelings for Rosa dwindle or things go sideways in some way there's a chance that he could revert back to those racist ways. Loving Rosa(linda) and pinning all of his wanting to be better on her because of her makes his actively learning to be anti-racist conditional. Right now he's not doing this for him. He's doing it because of Rosa.

This entire storyline has placed the burden of forgiveness on Rosa, his victim. Without him ever having to actually make amends. It's this turn the other cheek BS that means there's nothing too big or harmful that can't result in forgiveness. It relies on Rosa and all that she represents to extend an inhumane level of mercy and grace to their tormentor and oppressor that was never once extended to them. It's such a consistent and problematic thing projected on disenfranchised parties that ONLY benefits the majority and makes them feel good. It's a narrative of meeting someone halfway when the playing field was uneven and the minorities are in actuality doing more work and making a longer trek. Halfway and meeting in the middle only works if both sides were even. They are not. It's the reaching across the aisle both sidesms when one side was clearly and actively more harmful than the other and than calling that peace and equity. It is not.

This storyline was meant to scintillate some viewers with this "what if" notion and teach others a meaningful lesson or be this poorly thought out gateway to exploring a complex storyline but it came at the expense of other demographics who actively have to deal with racist crap. And because of their problematic approach what is simply "just entertainment" to some who has the luxury of not having to think about it beyond that, is just gross and insanely triggering and uncomfortable to others. The others who deal with the reality of the subject at hand.

They wrote themselves into a corner with Wyatt so trying to dig him out of that no matter the cost or logic is absurd. This storyline could've worked better if Wyatt's racism didn't also include conscious, constant, extreme violence. But they spent all of this time making Wyatt the face of violent racism and now are trying to redeem him with no real effort. He wasn't just using slurs or making microaggressions. He wasn't some insensitive or aloof white person. He is a murderer. He has killed people. He technically murdered Liz in cold-blood. He knew she was in the crashdown when he shot up the place. The lights were still on. He beat up Arturo so badly he nearly killed him well after his friends even stopped. He attacked and intended to kill Rosa. And his handiwork was a constant thing, enough for Jenna to comment on it. And now we're supposed to ignore all of that because he has amnesia and has puppy dog eyes?

The fact that we can entertain (and for some succeed) Wyatt in all of his hot white dudeness' redemption after everything he has done slips into the inherent racism of society in the first place and is enraging. Because systemically and culturally and inherently society will bend over backwards to find a way to absolve a hot white guy no matter his actions. Flint and Noah couldn't get this type of redemption... So their intended storyline about evolving from racism STILL plays into the racist structures set up in society.

And because some people like it, there's this slippery territory of NO everyone who genuinely enjoys this aren't racist for enjoying it. But yes, this entire storyline and how it is playing out is at the very least racially insensitive.

In order for this storyline to work they would actually have to show Wyatt doing the work. They don't have enough time to dedicate to such a delicate storyline. It's been a C and D filler storyline with 45 second to a minute scenes. That's not enough time to explore this properly. We would've needed to see Wyatt returning home from the hospital. We would've needed to see Wyatt with his friends and it not feeling right and his discomfort. We would've needed to see Wyatt going through his yearbook and googling himself and the horror and disgust he felt. We would need to see this through his eyes. But we didn't have the time for that and we wouldn't have anyway because he's not a main character. We only get Wyatt through Rosa's eyes and they haven't even dedicated enough time to that for it to work. Rosa isn't conflicted at all. She didn't struggle to forgive him. She was reduced to a school girl with a crush and an insane level of grace and they just threw that at us with no buildup whatsoever. I don't know where Rosa's head is and how she got to this to place. Not really. And the only thing working about this is the chemistry between two actors who are allegedly dating so of course there's chemistry.

It literally feels like another instance of a favorite actor being shoehorned into a storyline just for the hell of it. Just because they didn't want to let Dylan go or something. Just to give him something else to do.

[shihalyfie]

A guide to the 02 kids’ personalities and overall demeanors

I’ve already covered the deeper details of each 02 kid’s character arc and development throughout the series, but I figured I might dedicate a more specific post about the complexities of their outer personalities, and their behavior patterns on a day-to-day basis. 02 is the kind of series that doesn’t really spell out what the characters tend to do or don’t tend to do, or what boundaries they will and won’t cross, which means it can be a bit of a challenging task to track their behavior over fifty episodes and figure out the patterns. Fortunately, these characters are written remarkably consistently over said episodes, so we have a lot to work with!

Disclaimer before we continue: In general, all of my 02-based meta is specifically written for the Japanese version in mind, but this especially applies to this one, because the majority of the nuances of the demeanor and personality traits described below were not retained in the American English dub at all (please see this post for more detail). As a result, please understand that if you’re working from the perspective of having only seen that dub, and the contents of the below post sound completely different, that would be why.

Daisuke and V-mon

Believe it or not, I would say that Daisuke is actually the most difficult to nail the nuances of out of this entire cast. This is probably a really weird thing to hear when the usual fandom mantra is that he’s “flat” or “lacking in development”, but I think the deceptive part is that while he’s simple-minded and himself doesn’t think in complex terms, analyzing his behavior as a whole and how he approaches things actually involves a lot of very delicate balances, and getting that exactly right can be very easy to mess up. Daisuke’s not a rude jerk who looks down on anyone, not in the slightest -- but he’s also not a saint who can do no wrong, either!

I think the easiest analogy (which I’ve brought up several times on this blog already) is that Daisuke is like a puppy, but not just any puppy -- a tiny puppy that barks very loudly at anything it perceives as threatening (regardless of whether it’s actually threatening), makes its feelings very clear with obvious likes and dislikes, and can do some phenomenally stupid things in a bid to please others, but in the end means no malice and only wants you to be happy.

This is to the point where I’m just going to have to bullet-point this, because there’s so much going on at once:

Excessively emotional: One of Daisuke’s earliest profiles refers to him as having “an excessively large range of human emotions”, and really, a lot of the humor surrounding him has to do with the fact he has incredibly dramatic, overblown reactions to nearly everything around him. So if he gets a little annoyed or suspicious of people making fun of him, he tends to get really dramatic about being upset, and when he experiences only a minor setback, he acts like it’s the end of the world, and when he’s emotionally hurt, he sometimes even gets set on the verge of crying (you can especially hear this in Kiuchi Reiko’s delivery). Even Daisuke himself doesn’t tend to get caught up in it for too long and gets over things surprisingly quickly, so you can take it as him just constantly being too wrapped up in the mood -- but when it really is a serious situation, he gets truly emotionally invested in it, too.

Too easy to read: Because Daisuke wears his heart on his sleeve and is dramatic about everything, he’s awful at hiding anything. Any attempt at trickery or trying to disguise his intentions quickly blows up in his face because he’s too simple-minded and too transparent.

Not malicious: Daisuke only ever lashes out or gets angry at others when he thinks others are doing something he disapproves of, or when he thinks he’s being attacked; he’s very warm and kind to everyone otherwise (even in the earliest parts of the series, when he’s at his roughest, you might notice he’s very soft around Chibimon, as if understanding that his partner is now in a very small and delicate form and needs to be treated accordingly). In other words, Daisuke is very quick to get defensive, but he has no malice or reason to be condescending towards anyone otherwise, and he’s perfectly friendly with people even when they’d provoked him earlier (because he doesn’t really hold grudges). He doesn’t attack people without reason; even when he voices dissent against what someone is doing, he very rarely, if ever, insults a person or their character directly. Even when he’s trying to state his opinions (such as when he bids for the others to accept Ken), he never forces them down others’ throats and accepts that they disagree with him, even if he’s clearly not happy with their disagreement.

Easily critical and suspicious: Daisuke is a very bluntly straightforward and honest person, and he seems to get most set off by people who act suspicious; note how his early-series outbursts towards Takeru tend to be when Takeru’s acting evasive, and in Hurricane Touchdown, he catches onto Wallace’s shady behavior even before he starts flirting with Miyako (Daisuke’s own method of trying to seem attractive to others involves just “doing something cool and hoping it’ll impress others”, so he seems to dislike the concept of flirting as a whole). Because of that, he catches easily onto “things looking off”, so he tends to call it out (even if sometimes he’s overdoing it and there isn’t actually anything significant to be upset about).

Supportive and adoring of others: Other than the moments when he gets set off, fundamentally speaking, Daisuke likes other people, is perfectly willing to acknowledge them or heap praise on them when they do something awesome, and generally cares for their well-being. He’s easily defers to others when he understands they’re better than him at something, and he even has a decently realistic scope of his limits (see how he’s perfectly aware he’s likely to lose the soccer game in 02 episode 8, and figures he might as well enjoy the experience). This is even taken to its logical conclusion in the Kizuna drama CD when he “credits” his friends for giving him amazing and insightful advice when all of it was actually pretty ordinary stuff they’d done offhandedly. It also means that, given his penchant for getting emotionally invested in everything, he has a huge emotional stake in making sure his friends are doing okay, and supports them accordingly.

Deferential to seniors/elders: Tying into the above, you may notice that Daisuke takes a properly respectful and soft tone towards his elders and seniors in nearly all occasions, even to the point of occasionally using proper polite-form language around them. All things considered, Daisuke is a pretty well-behaved kid.

Constantly getting strung around: As much as Daisuke looks like he’s aggressive, in actuality, it’s very easy to get him to back down if you argue against him strongly enough, and since he has such a “the heck is that?!” attitude all of the time, you can see him constantly getting strung around and at the mercy of things happening around him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have enough will to put his foot down when it becomes a really important subject (especially in the second half of the series), but it’s very often when he’ll be talked down by others around him and shrink with an “oh...okay...” In fact, this is why a lot of his actions aren’t nearly as reckless as they might be otherwise; as much as he’s a bit hot-headed and likes to lead the attack, he also has a sense of self-preservation and intimidation when things look a bit too dangerous, and will only push forward in such a case when there’s something he really believes in at the other side of it.

Lacking in self-awareness and insecure as a result: While Daisuke doesn’t have any signs of persistent self-hatred (on the contrary, there are times he arguably comes off as overconfident), it also seems that he has practically zero awareness of how he himself is doing -- which means that he ends up rolling over like an idiot trying to get others’ approval and trying to impress them, even when it’d be clear to anyone else that he already has that approval. This also likely ties into the fact that he’s perfectly capable of acknowledging others’ accomplishments and skills (see above), so you might even think that the problem isn’t so much that he thinks he’s bad as much as he keeps comparing himself to people he perceives as being that much more awesome. (Perhaps symbolic of this, he apparently has a complex over being shorter than Takeru and Ken, despite the fact that he seems to be of perfectly average height for a kid his age.) It seems that his only bar for how he’s doing is dependent on everyone’s reactions around him, hence why his ridiculous antics are significantly less pronounced when he has proper emotional support and friends to keep him in check. It’s also important to consider that this applies to his apparent crush on Hikari as well; his crush mainly manifests in wanting her approval very badly, and it’s mostly visible in terms of him losing a ton of brain cells in her presence and bending over backwards to please her or impress her. He never actually says in words that he’s interested in her, nor does he ever show signs of intending to seriously ask her out, so it’s something that’s only apparent because of this behavior, and it’s very likely he hasn’t even seriously thought through what would happen if she actually accepted him in return. You can basically see this as an extreme version of the way Daisuke tries to get approval from everyone else, and this trait of his noticeably dies down whenever there’s more important things at hand, or when he seems to be in the midst of getting proper validation from those around him.

Simple-minded and pragmatic: What’s usually referred to as Daisuke being an “idiot” comes from the fact he doesn’t play well with complex thinking, tends to settle for very simple explanations or answers, and more thoughtful types like Ken or Iori will often have to fill that part in for him. However, because Daisuke is so simple-minded, he’s sometimes the most pragmatic person in the group, because he doesn’t overthink things or get principles of theory caught up into everything. So if Ken is clearly not showing any indication of doing bad things anymore and is actively working to help, Daisuke believes he should be allowed to help regardless of what he’d done in the past, and if they’re dealing with the situation of potentially having to kill a living enemy, Daisuke points out that hesitation would have resulted in even more casualties. In essence, in a situation where everyone’s running mental loop-de-loops, Daisuke will usually be the first one to snap them all out of it and go “uh? Guys?” Moreover, this trait of his makes him very good at spotting glaring threads or asking questions about the elephant in the room, because since he works best with things that are right in front of him, he can’t not notice it.

Enjoys the little things: Because Daisuke is so simple-minded, it’s very easy to please him (this is why his chosen career path is something as simple as ramen making). Daisuke likes his friends, and appreciates even simple things around him, so he’s happy with even simple pieces of happiness -- hence, why he’s fine with potentially losing the soccer game in 02 episode 8, because he’s ready to simply just savor the experience of getting to play against a respectable and formidable opponent.

Note that the main reason Daisuke never seems to bring up any of these issues with himself within the series proper is simply that he doesn’t seem to be aware of them -- he’s too simple-minded to understand what’s going on with his own behavior in depth, and hence, this is how he can say he’s not worried about too much by the time of 02′s finale, especially since by that point he has a proper support group that’s already helping him deal with most of his issues anyway.

Daisuke also has the roughest speech pattern out of any of the 02 group (similar to Taichi and Yamato in Adventure); he has a tendency to shorten words a lot and use “rough” variants of words (for example “-nee” instead of “-nai”).

Mischievous, friendly, and playful, V-mon is pointed out even by official sources to be much like his partner (far more so than usual), and it’s likely a byproduct of the fact that Daisuke himself is very honest and straightforward about his emotions and thoughts, and so since he has nothing to hide, V-mon is pretty much exactly like him -- with the major difference being that he’s a little more outwardly friendly and less likely to lash out angrily. So he’s effectively Daisuke without that very thin abrasive exterior, and because both of them are so like-minded and friendly, they get along extremely well (albeit with quite a bit of comfortable bantering on the way there).

Ken and Wormmon

Ken is the more intellectual type that Daisuke isn’t, and even after his stint as the Kaiser, it’s clear that he’s still quite studious and naturally interested in studying things. Looking closely at his style of dress and way of carrying himself (note how he lays down his chopsticks in 02 episode 36) indicates he’s also a rather tidy person in general. Being someone who’s capable of thinking things thoroughly, this makes him able to have a lot of deep insight into both intellectual and emotional issues, but because he takes things too seriously sometimes, he can sometimes come off as a bit overly stickler or insistent (note Daisuke and Ken’s Shopping Carol, where he subjects Daisuke to a long-winded lecture about the history of Christmas, because, really, he’s a nerd), or lead himself down the wrong direction when he’s having a hard time being straightforward (such as when he comes up with some very flimsy theories about why Jogress might be dangerous in 02 episode 28).

In fact, Ken’s disposition could be considered to be the opposite of Daisuke’s in many ways; while Ken is much softer and more conciliatory on the surface, he’s actually much more assertive and strong-willed by default, and it’s made clear that, even after his reformation from the Kaiser persona, he could still be vicious if he wanted to, he just doesn’t enjoy it because he doesn’t like it and it goes against his belief system (note that he even offered to "dirty his own hands" in lieu of the other kids if push came to shove and Archnemon had to be killed in 02 episode 29, even though he clearly wasn't enthusiastic about the idea). In fact, he has a very strong sense of responsibility and believes heavily in making up for what he’s done -- recall that 02 episodes 26 and 49 involved snapping him out of it by reminding him that there were things that needed to be done, and that he himself still had many things he wanted to do that wouldn’t be addressed if he’d stayed fixated on his past. Thus, Ken doesn’t deny nor avoid anything he’d done, and he isn’t even all that prone to self-pity -- it’s just that his tendency to put too much responsibility on himself means that he also takes a while to accept everyone’s support, too, because he doesn’t like the idea of putting burdens on others.

Because Ken is actually one of the more straightforward people in this group and a fairly honest person (at least, as long as he’s not lying to himself), he might hold himself back a little bit in order to not be rude, but he doesn’t do it nearly to the same degree Takeru or Hikari would and is much more willing to speak his mind when he has an opinion he wants to voice or needs to sort out his thoughts on something. Conversely, he’s not nearly as cold as Iori can get when criticizing things (he’ll certainly be firm, but not as incisive). Most post-02 materials also indicate that he’s not above being a tease or even a little mischievous (see Armor Evolution to the Unknown, Diablomon Strikes Back, Daisuke and Ken’s Shopping Carol).

Ken uses a speech pattern that’s slightly more casual than Takeru’s, but not nearly as rough as Daisuke’s. While anime will often have speech patterns substantially change between different personas of a character, other than Park Romi’s delivery of a more condescending tone for the Kaiser and a significantly softer one for Ken, nothing about his speech pattern is substantially different between the two personas (not even the first-person pronoun), indicating that, in the end, they’re really the same person after all, just manifesting the same personality traits in different ways.

Wormmon is affectionate and clingy, unfailingly loyal to Ken, and his biggest advocate during a time when Ken is trying to relearn how to love and accept himself -- meaning that he ends up very important to providing Ken the initial support he needed before Ken allowed other friends into his life. Wormmon isn’t all nothing but clinginess, though -- he has some insight about the weight of his experiences when prompted (02 episode 46), and in fact is more than capable of calling out Ken’s behavior when he’s being unreasonable or throwing himself into denial (see 02 episodes 27, 30, and 49).

Miyako and Hawkmon

Miyako approaches everything she likes with an attitude that makes her come off as constantly having bubbles and hearts around her. When she likes something, she says so. When she doesn’t like something, she says so (and she will go off when she’s on a roll; see 02 episode 14). In fact, part of the reason she so infamously voices her opinion on people being cute is, quite simply, that it’s her honest opinion. (Note that she never actually tries to ask them out or anything -- she just wants to make it very clear that they’re attractive.)

For the most part, she adores the people around her, and, like the others in the 02 group, she’s perfectly respectful towards elders.  She also loves poking her nose in others’ business and trying to be as helpful as possible, which is good in that she ends up being a huge help to others, but also not good in that sometimes she overdoes it a bit (when Hikari calls her out for being a “handful” in 02 episode 31, the word she uses is one that literally means "a little too overly involved in others' business").

Miyako is the one who gets everyone up in high spirits by being cheerful, and whose cheer rubs off on everyone else around her (see her cheerfully leading the charge into the Digital World with her “Digital Gate, open! Chosen Children, let’s roll!” catchphrase). This is something the rest of the group catches onto very quickly, asking her to supply the “usual cheer”, and the later episodes of the series especially drive home the fact that her presence and antics bring happiness to those around her.

Miyako has a similar “chaotic, sloppy, and straightforward” demeanor to Daisuke, but there are some key differences. Unlike Daisuke, who’s bluntly honest about his opinions mainly because he doesn’t really hide things in general, Miyako’s opinions will be out of her mouth before she can control it. In other words, she has a nasty case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. In addition, while Daisuke tends to have a very thin skin and lashes out defensively out of instinct, Miyako takes things much more at face value and doesn’t blow a fuse nearly as easily, but because she’s significantly more assertive and aggressive, she’s much more prone to doing what she wants on her own whims instead of backing down to anyone. In fact, Miyako is significantly more emotionally sensitive in the long run, so while Daisuke tends to blow a fuse more easily, he’s also able to shrug it off and move on more quickly, whereas Miyako has a thicker skin, but when she does take emotional pain, she takes it much more deeply and harshly. She also tends to get overwhelmed easily by stress and panic, which makes her one of the more prone to running around in circles and doing frantic things in the midst of it.

One thing you might notice about Miyako is that she’s actually more critical of herself than anyone else in the group is; most of the time they act with mild exasperation at her antics but don’t tend to criticize her directly, whereas Miyako is very aware of her own shortcomings and is constantly either criticizing herself or comparing herself negatively to others (see: 02 episodes 10, 14, 18, and 31 especially). If she slips up and does something that stepped on someone else’s toes, it doesn’t take her long to realize that she’s messed up and want to do better. So while she generally tends to act the most in-your-face and aggressive, she also doesn’t necessarily want to be this way, and suffers from self-confidence issues and a poor opinion of herself.

Miyako uses a feminine speech pattern that’s a bit more casual than Hikari’s (she noticeably is willing to use the word anta for “you”, which has a bit of a connotation of being abrupt and in-your-face, especially with Daisuke). She’s also the most likely to physically manhandle things, both in the affectionate (hugging people) and aggressive (grabbing things and jumping on them in order to attack) senses.

Hawkmon is repeatedly referred to as being like Miyako’s “knight”, since he has absolute loyalty to her (in spite of her ridiculous antics often meaning he gets strung around by her) and is effectively in charge of minding her so she doesn’t get too out of control. While his overly polite and gentlemanly demeanor initially seems like a sharp contrast to Miyako’s aggressive and messy personality, you might also notice that, at their cores, the two aren’t all that different -- both are unfailingly loyal to others, and both also have a penchant for dramatic theatrics and being a bit overly proud of themselves.

Iori and Armadimon

The key thing to know about Iori is that he’s not stoic because he’s not feeling fervent emotions, but rather because he’s constantly holding them back (this is especially apparent if you look carefully at his facial expressions and Urawa Megumi’s delivery, where you can tell his facade is often “slipping” even when his words would indicate otherwise). Since Iori is trying to live by the ideal of being a model citizen, especially under the very formal environment he was raised in, he comes off as mature for his age, but it’s very important to not forget that, underneath all that, he’s still an impressionable nine-year-old child with the wide range of emotions and immaturity of one, and when he does emotionally fall apart, everything tends to burst out (see 02 episodes 16, 44, 47, 50). In addition, Iori is never condescending about the fact he usually acts more mature than the others; the impression is that he’s much more strict with himself than he is with others, and in fact still does look up to his elders in the 02 group even when they’re obviously a lot messier than he is.

The “need to be a model citizen” is something looming over Iori’s head at almost every moment, and it’s the easiest way to understand the way he acts in a nutshell. Iori is focused on the idea of “becoming a proper adult”, which means that he’s adhering to all of these principles because he feels they’re necessary to live a proper and honest life as per the formal manners that his family background trained him into. But like a young child who insists “you have to do this because those are the rules!” all of the time, Iori is over-applying all of this, and even his own grandfather advises him that he really needs to chill (02 episodes 5, 24). In short, he struggles with thinking flexibly and understanding that life isn’t all that clear-cut, because he’s a young child. Since he also tends to bring out these things in relation to “what my father would do/say”, it’s implied that he’s basing all of this off of having only hearsay to work off of in regards to what his father was actually like, to the point of aspiring to an impossible, saintlike version of him he’d created in his head.

Note that Iori’s “rules” have less to do with institutional rules (that would be more of a Jou thing) and more to do with self-imposed personal rules; for instance, he doesn’t mind sneaking into school during a holiday when it’s obviously not hurting anyone (02 episode 6), but he struggles with things like wasting food (02 episode 3) or not formally introducing himself to an elder (02 episode 5). So in other words, his adherence to principles has heavily to do with “the right and proper way to live” more than anything, and what he believes is the right thing to do in a given situation.

Iori’s journey in 02 is largely fueled by the fact that, as an inheritor of sorts of the Crest of Knowledge, he has a sense of “I want to know and understand more” whenever he sees something that makes him curious, but unlike Koushirou’s desire to learn more about the world around him in terms of its technical workings, Iori mainly wants to know more about people. The reason he begins to let go of his inflexible mindset is that he has the humility to understand that he still has a lot more to learn and understand, and when he sees behavior from others that doesn’t make sense, he does his best to learn more about it -- hence how his aggressive probing into learning more about Takeru allows them to reach an understanding and eventual Jogress, and how he’s able to eventually reassess his own view of human morality and emotions.

Iori sticks out in that he almost always uses the formal variant of Japanese in most situations (nobody else in the 02 group does this). However, formal in this situation doesn’t necessarily mean polite; Iori doesn’t believe in flattery and will bluntly state his opinion in said formal tone, and will be very cold towards something he sufficiently disapproves of or doesn’t have any respect for, which can make him even come off as passive-aggressive at times. (Noticeably, while he still asserts his own opinion, he does refrain from criticizing the others in the 02 group too much, presumably because he respects and looks up to them a lot as his elders, regardless of how chaotic they can sometimes get.) In addition, because a lot of his demeanor comes from him restraining himself, when his emotions are sufficiently pushed over the edge, he loses grip on the polite form and starts “lapsing” back into the casual one.

Because Iori was so young during 02, and because the events of its story ended up really upending his view of the world, the huge eight-year gap between 02 and Kizuna makes it difficult to predict certain things about his demeanor at the time of Kizuna (especially since his own voice actor commented on the difficulty of conveying the nuances of Iori’s character, thanks to only being able to work with the limited time frame of a movie that doesn’t put him in the kinds of emotionally drastic situations that push him to his limit). That said, everything we’ve seen of him in the movie itself and the drama CD makes reasonable sense; now that he’s much older, he comes off as having much better restraint on his emotions and coming off as genuinely calm, but he’s still not one for flattery, and you can still see very minor slips in his facade every so often.

Armadimon also initially seems like a sharp contrast to Iori in terms of demeanor, in that he’s much more casual and laid-back, and he’s indeed a huge factor in reminding Iori to chill once in a while -- but, much like Iori, he prods and asks questions about anything he’s curious about. This initially seems to be out of simple-mindedness because, being a Digimon, he doesn’t understand human society that well, but his very basic questions often end up snapping Iori back to reality in realizing that he’s getting hung up on things that don’t actually make practical sense. Urawa also felt that Armadimon fills in some of the void that Iori’s late father left behind, in that he provides Iori with unconditional love and helps guide him.

Takeru and Patamon

Takeru is the kind of person who seems to dislike major disruptions to the status quo, so he doesn’t say anything inflammatory that’ll rock the boat. It’s very difficult to get him to talk about serious topics related to his deeper personal feelings (02 episode 17, 35, Spring 2003), and even when it’s clear he might have more misgivings on the situation, unless it’s an urgent situation where it needs to be brought up, he won’t voice his misgivings too clearly for the sake of not causing trouble (hence why Daisuke is so unsure what to make of him in the early episodes of the series, because Takeru constantly fails to clarify his own position in favor of a “good for you” or “sure, you keep believing that if you want” attitude). This also makes him the most likely to awkwardly change the subject or try to distract with small talk, and it means that, even when he’s saying cheerful, pleasant things, it’s very likely there’s pain or uncertainty under that initial facade. (Note that while his suspicions of Ken during 02 episodes 25 and 27 aren't nearly as vicious as Iori's turn out to be, we learn that he's still willing to quietly accuse Ken of working for his own self-satisfaction in the latter episode, but he never brings this up to anyone but himself.)

Because Takeru isn’t  necessarily doing this to be consciously dishonest, it does mean that he also has positive applications of this tendency to take everything in stride and keep the peace, because he ends up keeping the more extreme personalities in the rest of the group in line and acts as an effective mediator. You could say that he has a pretty high amount of tolerance and a capacity for taking everyone’s points of view in mind. However, since it’s also very difficult to tell what he himself is thinking, his use of this as a poor coping mechanism for his personal trauma leads to a tendency for him to suddenly explode in a mess of emotions whenever something gets too personal, leading to sudden conflict, and with others at a loss in terms of how to deal with him (the most extreme example being 02 episode 19, but also present in 13, 11, and 34). This “two-sidedness” is why it ends up having to be the more consciously methodical Iori who steps up to try and understand him better as his Jogress partner.

Fortunately, Takeru shows signs of becoming more straightforward in the aftermath, although you can see that he still has a penchant for mild flattery and “trying to hold back for the sake of not being rude” all the way up to Kizuna (but, again, this can’t be said to necessarily be a bad thing when it means he has a valuable skill as a mediator).

Takeru has a fairly neutral speech pattern that comes off as casual but not too aggressive or assertive (not as absurdly polite as Iori’s, but slightly less assertive than Ken’s).

Patamon initially still seems to be “immature” in the same way he was in Adventure, which initially seems to widen the gap in personality between him and Takeru, but looking closer reveals that the differences aren’t as big as they seem; Patamon seems to have gained a capability for slyness and active trolling behind his playfulness (see 02 episode 7), not entirely like Takeru starting to use his evasiveness in a teasing-like manner. Moreover, Patamon does actually seem to have gained a bit of proper maturity in the meantime; see how he instructs the Baby Digimon on convenience store food in 02 episode 3, and in general seems much more willing to take independent action in ways he didn’t always in Adventure. Noticeably, Takeru’s difficulty with his own convoluted feelings means that he can’t even have a proper heart-to-heart with him about it on the situation (most glaring in 02 episode 34, where it’s implied that Takeru would rather leave Patamon to be happy right now instead of bothering him about it), especially because he’s clearly having difficulty even working it out with himself. However, despite their ostensible differences in mentality, Takeru and Patamon have no difficulty getting along at all in 02, and, other than Takeru pampering Patamon a bit, there isn’t all that strong of an impression of them being so mismatched -- perhaps because, in the end, they really aren’t all that different.

Hikari and Tailmon

Taichi stated in Adventure episode 48 that Hikari has a problem where she's so selfless and thinking of others that she'll never speak up about her own problems. Hikari states in 02 episode 31 that she compulsively cannot speak out about her own feelings even if she wanted to, to the point she’s jealous of Miyako for being able to be more open (even if it means being overkill at times). As a result: if Hikari’s talking about “the right thing to do”, or something for everyone’s sake, or something that’s relevant to other people and what’s best for them, she will be extremely vocal and quick to act, and she’s not above even chipping in with criticisms (see: 02 episodes 19, 32, 44). In fact, she’s fully capable of being playful or toying with others if she really wants to (see how she casually manipulates Daisuke into calling a lunch break for everyone in 02 episode 6).

The moment the issue at hand is about herself, though -- her own feelings or pain, or something that might hurt others’ feelings (hence the presumable reason she dodges Daisuke’s affections rather than proactively doing anything about it), or something that would put a burden on others for her own sake -- she completely clams up and refuses to do or say anything, and when bad things start happening to her, she resigns herself to her own fate and concludes she can’t do anything about it. Hence, why she takes such a defeatist attitude towards the Dark Ocean swallowing her up in 02 episodes 13 and 31, and why it’s such a big deal if she even so much as asks for help. 02 episode 31 indicates that Miyako reaching out to her is an important step in breaking her out of her shell, and the Kizuna drama CD -- which has Hikari assertively declare something she personally wants -- heavily implies further that Miyako was instrumental to this becoming possible.

Hikari is compassionate for others to the very end, expresses pity for BlackWarGreymon as early as 02 episode 31, and catches on quickly to Ken’s feelings on himself in 02 episode 37 (and even back when she’d been more skeptical about him in 02 episode 25, she never seemed to have real personal distaste against him as much as she still wanted to make sure he was trustworthy first). But although she’s one of the most compassionate in the group, she’s also one of the most assertive in the group. This leads to something that initially seems like a paradox: she’s actually more fervent about the need to fight than the more aggressive Miyako is. Miyako is, ultimately, emotionally caught up in everything and briefly falls apart at having killed LadyDevimon in 02 episode 44 (even despite knowing how horrible of a person she’d been), but Hikari is the one who points out that there would have been more victims if they hadn’t. 02 episodes 25 and 43 had made it abundantly clear that Hikari didn’t like it at all, but she states in 02 episode 37 repeatedly that they need to prevent there from being victims -- meaning that she values the importance of protecting all lives, including those who would be hurt in the process, and thus has some of the more resilient guts when it comes to the prospect of fighting to save others. Again, her hesitation only comes into play at its worst when it has to do with herself; working to save others is a no-brainer.

Hikari uses a casual feminine speech pattern that’s less in-your-face than Miyako’s, but she’s still a bit more casual than she was in Adventure, when she used the more polite watashi instead of atashi. Interestingly, Tailmon herself seems to have mirrored this as well, presumably because now that she’s had more time to recover from her miserable life under Vamdemon, she’s able to enjoy her life a bit more freely. This means that, while Tailmon is still the most mature and put-together of the Digimon partners in the 02 group, she sometimes acts a little more casual and playful in a similar way to Hikari, and while she has a certain degree of stuffy personal pride (see how she wasn’t very amused at how frivolously the other Digimon were playing around in 02 episode 3), she’s still open to enjoying herself a little more freely. Hikari, for her part, becomes surprisingly like-minded with her during those times -- see them in 02 episode 12 -- and, as stated earlier, it’s not like Hikari isn’t up for making tough decisions when they’re needed, either.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Sick Day (Demon x Reader)

Pairing: Gender Neutral Reader/ Non-Binary Demon

Genre: Urban fantasy, Domesticity, Established relationship

Warnings: Mentions of sickness (fevers, body chills, headaches), but nothing graphic

Word Count: 2008 words

Summary: Your demon partner isn’t sure how to play doctor

A/N: Based of this prompt by @monsterkinkmeme

“It’s the first time you’ve dated a demon and it’s also the first time you’ve gotten sick since you’ve been together. A fever paired with a throbbing headache has you hiding in bed for most of the day, trying to sleep whatever bug you caught, off. Your demon lover, on the other hand, is beside themselves and has turned to Google and WebMD on how best to take care of you. They now think you are dying because of your symptoms and are devising a way to save you.”

The minute I saw this prompt I was immediately awash with PINING for a large demon partner to cuddle with and I knew I had to write it.

A week after finals, 7 months into your relationship with Motholg, your immune system gives up.

You had been leaving work, thinking the heat in your cheeks and the ache in your bones was a product of a 6 hour shift, walking to Motholg’s apartment for date night. The past two week had you cooped up, anxious and studying, meaning you barely were able to make time for your partner.

You probably should have expected it, it’s happened every finals week since high school; A couple days into break you get a high fever and are stuck in your bed for a solid 48 hours. But you thought that, perhaps, this year was the exception. After nearly passing out when handing Motholg their fresh-made lasagna, you knew you weren’t so lucky.

“Darling?”

You groan from your blanket burrito, eyes and sweaty forehead barely peeking into the dim light of Motholg’s bedroom. The thought of forming a coherent thought makes your brain pound, so you don’t even try.

“I’ve made you some...uh…”

The door creaks open, Motholg automatically ducking their head so their long horns don’t hit the frame. Their red, slitted eyes narrow at something steaming in a teacup. “Yas-mine? Jasmeen? Uh-some herbal remedy I ordered from your virtual shopkeep. It was touted by several women named “Brenda” to  be the best thing for human illnesses.” Motholg’s hooves tap against the floor, just below the line of “too loud” for your migraine. You give another non-committal hum as they sit down on the bed. Despite being custom-made for their 7-foot stature, the bedframe still creaks under their weight. The top of your blanket sarcophagus is pulled back, revealing your disgruntled face.

Motholg helps you prop yourself up and hands you the teacup. You take a sip, quickly realizing it’s still quite hot, but power through anyway. The scalding water melts from your mouth down to your toes, abating your shivers, if only temporarily.

As you drink, Motholg’s fingers card through your messy hair, massaging your skull before resting their palm on your cheek. Their hand covers almost the entire side of your head, spotting a glimpse of a frown between their fingers.

“You’re even hotter than before and still quite sweaty. Would you like me to take the blankets?”

You shake your head, setting down your cup of tea.

“No, it’s probably just my fever breaking. It’s actually a good sign, despite how shitty I feel.” The warmth of your cocoon is beckoning you, your exposed chest and arms already shivering. “The blankets are good for my chills, but a big glass of ice water would be nice.”

Motholg raises an eyebrow, clearly perturbed by your backwards human symptoms. But they pat your head once more before sitting up.

“Of course, dear.” Motholg leans down to kiss your forehead, but is intercepted by the palm of your hand.

“Uh-uh, I don’t need you getting sick too.” Motholg scrunches up their face, then blows a raspberry into your skin. You retaliate by pushing away their face feebly.

“As if your human illness could fell me darling.” The sigh dramatically, pushing your hand away. “Though you are very sweet to think it could.”

You stick out your tongue and shove them. Motholg relents, blowing a kiss as they back out of the bedroom.

Your brain is beginning to drift into sleep when a glass clinks on the nightstand. Not bothering to open your eyes, far too tired, you mutter a “Thank you.” Motholg whispers a “You’re welcome,” as they lay on the bed once more. Their warm fur tickles your neck as they cuddle up behind you, arm thrown around your side and nuzzling their face into your hair. A hot breath and a slight nip of their extended canines only wills you to dreamland faster.

Motholg won’t go to sleep, only needing a full 8 hours every 4 days, but are rather content to lay beside you. They lovingly stroke your arm and sidle farther down under the comforter, whispering occasional sweet nothings and rocking you into unconsciousness.

--------

The dull red of the bedside clock pries open your eyes, a stark contrast compared to the pitchblack of the bedroom. Your brain is still in a fog, but given then the 3 AM flashing nearby, you’ve been asleep for about 9 hours.

And I’m about to sleep 9 more.

Motholg had left the bed at some point, but their warmth still lingers on the blankets. You close your eyes and snuggle in.

Slam!

But then the door slams open.

On a normal night, the noise might’ve jerked you upright , but your eyes simply roll over to the doorway. Your brain already misses unconsciousness.

Motholg stands, their new smartphone in hand as they breathe heavily.

“Darling, what did you say your body temperature was?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, slowly giving up on those peaceful 9 hours.

“99.7 last time I checked.” You tap your forehead with the back of your hand. “Probably less now. The sleep has been helping a lot. Good night.”

In an instant, Motholg is over to the bed, placing their hand on your forehead. You let out a disappointed sigh and try to go back to sleep anyways. The click of their hooves on hardwood, Motholg’s jittering shakes of your shoulder, and the strong smell of iron quickly eliminates that as a possibility.

You turn towards your partner, now noticing the sheen of liquid covering their hands. Red streaks follow their fingertips on their smartphone.

“Babe, why are your hands soaked in blood?”

“Goat’s blood, technically.”

Before you can even respond to that baffling answer, Motholg grabs your shoulder. The blood sticks to the short sleeves of your pajamas.

Damn, now I’ll have to wash this tomorrow.

“Here, it says the ritual-”

“The what?”

“-needs to be completed at 3:30 AM on a new moon.” Motholg pauses, checks their phone, then continues, “Yes, a new moon.”

Motholg begins to walk away, your arm still in their grip, but your resistance stalls them.

“Okay, Motholg, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? How the hell did you get goat’s blood at this hour?”

Motholg sighs and rolls their eyes, “Unimportant-”

You give Motholg a dissatisfied look, finally making them relent in heir tirade. They turn towards you.

“I fear for your life. I’ve consulted your online physician and your symptoms fall in line with many fatal illnesses.”

Now accepting that this is officially a conversation, you throw back your blankets and sit up.

“Do you mean WebMD?”

Motholg nods furiously and shows you their phone screen, tapping the glass with a long claw.

“See here? Full body chills are associated with pneumonia, so is a high fever. There’s also the possibility something is wrong with one of your organs. Not surprising, considering how squishy they are.” Motholg flicks their screen upward, a myriad of diagrams flips across it.

“Now, I know a couple of ceremonies my father used to perform to curse others with these illnesses, so I thought if I reversed the procedure-” Motholg pauses again, flipping to a new tab on their phone, “-So, I did some googling-”

Motholg pauses when your hand rests against their cheek. Their red eyes, which glow just slightly in the dark, look to you. You brush your thumb across their face, just barely grazing against the fur which starts at the base of their neck.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern really, I do. But these websites…” you pause, slowly pushing Motholg’s phone down and out of eyesight, “They really only show worst case scenarios. Honestly, they kind of just scare you into going to a doctor in person.”

Motholg’s eyes dart between your face and their phone, now pressed face down on their bed. They give off an aura of anxiety and stress, their hands fidgety and their hooves lightly tapping against the floor. “Here,” You pull up the covers, opening up the spot next to you. “Do you want to lie down with me for a while?”

“Oh, I don’t need to rest.”

“Just because your body doesn’t require it doesn't mean it won’t feel good. C’mon.” You pat the bed. “I think it will give you some peace of mind, keeping an eye on me.”

Motholg’s eyes shifted back to their phone, their brow furrowed. You pout your lips and slide your fingers up their chest. Their fur sticks and tussles under your touch.

“Babe, I would feel better if you relax, seriously.” You reach down to the bedside drawer, pulling out your sleep mask. “You can even bring your computer and get some work done.”

Hesitantly, they nod. You sigh in relief. Their hand unconsciously twirls your hair.

“I suppose….You would know about these things.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Motholg leaves to get their things, while you slip back under the covers. Before you put your sleep mask on, you shout to them.

“Make sure to wash that blood off!” You look down at your damp sleeve. “And could you get me a wet wipe as well?”

Motholg makes an affirmative noise, and you finally lay back and close your eyes.

Their body heat lingers above your as they sweetly wipe away the blood on your arm. You mutter a thank you. The bed dips as they down next to you, mattress bending as they adjust their laptop and fluff the pillows.

“Darling?”

“Hmmm?” You murmur, face still stuffed in your pillow.

“I just wanted to apologize for waking you. I feel very foolish for acting so paranoid.”

You flip your head to their side, keeping your mask on.

“No need to apologize, I get it.”

“Thank you for your understanding, but still, I feel so silly. To think a tiny sickness would force my emotions to overcome me.”

You slowly push up your mask, eyes peeking out from under the duvet. Motholg sheepishly picks at their keyboard, avoiding your eyes,

As disgruntled as it made you at first, Motholg’s droopy gaze stirred guilt in your gut. You wonder how many scenarios had run through their head while they googled, how helpless they must’ve felt. There might be a hole paced into the floor of the living room, given how flustered they were when they barged in.

You reach out to Motholg’s wrist, brushing your thumb over the back of their palm. Their red irises look over, and you think you see the tinies remnants of tear tracks at the corner of their eyes.

“Emotions aren’t a bad thing, they’re natural.” Grabbing the top of the blanket, you roll over to Motholg’s side. Their large body dwarfs yours and when you curl up against them, the tips of your feet barely meet the top of their calves. Their black fur is soft against your face, like a  mixture of a plush carpet and a goosefeather pillow.

Oh good, they used the Tea Tree soap.

“I’d probably do the same if you got sick.” You reach your hand up to their chest, cording through their thick fur. “We’re just gonna have to trust the other’s okay, huh?”

With your chin tucked into their ribs, Motholg smiles down at you. A claw runs up the back of your neck, stirring up goosebumps but relaxing your muscles.

“I believe so, darling.” Their fangs jut out from their lips as they continue to rub your neck. It’s quite goofy looking, for a demon, and gets a chuckle out of you.

You crane your neck and Motholg meets you halfway for a kiss, consequences be damned.

“Good night, I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetling.”

You fall asleep with Motholg’s fingers curled in your hair, the slight tap of their claws on the keys, a simmering contentment in your heart.

--------

A week later, when  you’re back to full health, you and Motholg are making dinner when-

“Ah-choo!”

You stop stirring the pasta and furrow your brows at Motholg. They’ve stilled, mid-movement while setting out the plates. Their face burns with embarrassment.

“A silly human sickness, huh?”

[pairofmelaninkweens]

Shrine of Lies

Characters: Preist Tamaki x Y/n

Word count: 6131 

By: @sweet-darling91

TW:CW: Marking, biblical references, sacrilege, demons, corruption, marking, biting, mutual masterbation, cunnilingus, blowjob

This Peice is a part of the 𝐀 𝐒𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛 please check out the other works here, and mind the content warnings!

The work of an exorcist was arduous, traumatizing and even life-threatening. You and your team, a young group of exorcists, continue to train and aid the remote village in Japan from the rising number of possessions and assaults from demons. Tasks range from blessing homes, tending to the ill, cleansing a home from a demon assault and exorcizing the demons from a host body. Even after exorcizing the demon and banishing it, the responsibility of tending to whatever damage the fallout was also fell on you.

 At first nothing phased you, you got into this line of work to help and support others as best as you could. Your views on the locals were expressed when you rolled your eyes and accepted their old fashioned and unfounded tips with underhanded comments of your own, it still weighed on you and formed a jaded view on the locals. No matter what you did for them, they would praise your name for 5 minutes, then resume their onslaught of demands and eventually returned to the sins that drove them to darken your doorstep with sullen expressions waiting for you to clean up their mess all over again. Jaded, was one way of expressing your feelings towards their hypocritical and backwards demands. You were here to help, not to be a slave to their crooked crusade. At this rate once you were perfectly happy having your guard up, only being contacted when necessary. All the other exorcists except Tamaki followed suit. The village favorites the young priest for his pious nature, he was always diligent in his tasks relating to the church and listened carefully to whatever they had to tell him through his slight fidgets and the blush that spanned his entire face.  What’s more is the way he would carry himself, with dignity that compensated the social awkwardness. His habit of mumbling and soft introverted nature was endearing and explained why he would pair with you. You were a buffer between him and those who blindly idolized him, drawn to his purity. You weren’t into socializing with the locals either, but your straightforwardness aided you in taking the lead, and keeping the dreaded social interactions to a minimum for him. He was more inclined to completing the tasks. Whenever you witnessed him performing them, he was a natural genius in the way he made it look so effortless compared to your peers, and in some instances you would swear you would see a fleeting glimmer of darkness in his eyes with the slightest smirk at the sight of the possessed hosts, or  hear a sarcastic chuckle he tried to supress with his mutterings when you were retreating to the confines of your sanctuary. It was clear to you that he was hiding something and on days like today where you paired up to gather supplies in the village gave you optimum time to pick up on some of the habits he would mask with his mumbling and fidgeting, either Tamaki was a pious man, struggling against his own sinful nature, or a wolf in sheep’s clothing, either option was exciting, but you were secretly hoping it was the latter.

 Back on the church grounds you were welcomed with a notice that there was an impromptu meeting with Tashiro, and the other members. Exasperation escaped your lips in a sigh and grumbling as you made your way to the meeting, slamming yourself in the furthest chair from the group and closest to the door to hear what Father Fat gum had to say. When the large, muscled man made his way through the entrance and stood at the centre of the room he cleared his throat and scanned the faces gathered, mentally taking attendance.

“Glad that you were all able to make it to this meeting, it is a bit of an urgent matter to remind you of why we are here, what are roles are and what is expected of us during our stay.” He begins, noticing you huff and roll your eyes then settle yourself to sit quietly and give him your attention. It’s not Fat gum that stoked your irritation, it’s what comes next that tests your patience.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have better news to share with you all, but it seems that the villagers have some concerns that worried head office and now we are instructed to fall into some of their rules if we are to stay here.” He casts a side glance at you as his lips thin in concern of your reaction. Wipes his head and proceed in a neutral tone. “We are supposed to be the example of what they are to follow, so there is going to be more scorn and burden on our part in how we carry ourselves. Namely how we carry ourselves when we are not on duty. I’m not going to spare you the unnecessary details and get to the point. We are to no longer pair off in coed partners unless said partners are married. Interactions with others need to be held to a minimum. So, no touching while we are out. Dressing should be modest.” He pauses to clear his throat, must be from spewing the absolute bullshit they are having him repeat. “Even if your bodies are shaped a certain way, clothing is to conceal not reveal. Now finally the last and most important part is, abstinence. We are to remain pure to these folks to be taken seriously, and before you berate me. I have rung off their phone, bargained and argued with every supervisor leading to the head. Unfortunately, these mandates are not going anywhere, and we have to practice them effective immediately.” He finishes with his eyes on the floor and his mouth sunken into a frown.

 “That sounds like complete and utter puritan garbage.” you spat your disapproval and looked away in disgust.

 “Sorry, it’s what we have to answer to, Y/N. Apparently, this will make us more trustworthy, more reliable in the eyes of the community. Honestly we don’t need to make more waves given the dismal situation they are already in.” Tashiro reassured,

 “It’s still garbage, the whole no sex till married, and no sex for priests and exorcists? It’s ridiculous, no” - you smirked cruelly.  “a divine comedy, that the same ‘community’ thinks they have a say as to what we do in our personal lives, when it’s their vices that cause us to risk life and limb!” You retort with such passion Tamaki looked straight into your eyes. “Tama,” your sudden attention gave him a start. “Yeah?”

“Aren’t you tired of this strain? These incessant rules? They forever give themselves over to the very said demons that they fear whenever they need something. Just last week we had to fight against one of Beelzebub’s lower grade minions because two merchants surrendered to their own greed-'' At the mention of that incident made Tamaki bow his head and pointedly look at the floor, to others that looked as if you were making him uncomfortable. Had that been the case you would have backed up, but that little shit was suppressing a smirk, you were sure of it because that was the same way he would stifle his laughter whenever you studied scriptures on the blind leading the blind, how man-made rules and ideologies lead the people of the past straight into the hands of the same demons they feared. The irony was all too much for him not to grin at, but his reputation allowed him to get away with these mannerisms. The perfect disguise, you thought much like that of one of the princes of darkness. Tashiro cuts you off with a warning look and an irritated noise from clearing his throat, he must be tired of your outbursts whenever you called shit for what it was, and unlike Tamaki, your reputation was less than pious, but your skills were what saved you from being booted from the clergy. “I did warn you of how primitive this neck of the woods can be in certain customs. Celibacy happens to be one of them.  Let’s try not to make any waves, yeah?” he finishes with a hard look of finality and concludes the impromptu meeting, sending everyone to their quarters. You lag to walk with Tamaki. The trip is silent, but you pick up on the way his breathing gets ragged when you catch close in on him, eyeing the rouge color creeping up his neck and the way he bites his lip and hunches his shoulders. As you are round the corner to your rooms you stop him just short of his door in the cranny shielding the two of you from the view of any onlookers, but just barely.

 “Tamaki, this sounds like garbage to you too, doesn’t it?” you whispered to him with a sad look in your eyes that he can’t place. “Y/N, I’m sure it’s a hassle that will pass, just remember to be in check of your emotions so as not to make yourself vulnerable when we go out to exorcise demons ok?” he says hoping it brings some sort of ease to you. He’s surprised when you smile at him and wrap your arms around his middle. Closing his eyes he relaxes in the feeling of your warmth, the smell of your shampoo tempts him to lean into the hug and then he feels the softness of your breasts squeeze into him. “You could do that for me, can’t you….Tama~” your breathy whisper floods his face with warmth, and he leans away when  you release him, meeting his gaze you clasped one of his hands and squeezed it between your smaller ones. You were pushing him, baiting him out to bend the rules.

“Y/N what are you doing? You can’t be touching me here in the open, the hug was risky.” He stammers, turning his head, fixing his attention to the stained-glass windows.

 “Tamaki~” You purr, trailing your finger down his temple, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw, turning his head forcing his gaze to return to meet yours. Tell me, do you honestly think complying to the forced celibacy rule will make us better at our job? Answer me honestly and I’ll let go.”

Tamaki’s body grows rigid, large hands grasping your shoulders and pushing your body against the wall, causing you to pout at him. “That’s not nice.”

 “I don’t agree with them, but I’m not getting into trouble either. I have been able to suppress my desires for years, and despite what you think. We can get in trouble just by being this close.” He mutters.

 “Then are we gonna sort through these feeling together?” you close the space between you and palm the growing bulge in his pants. “You know I like being around you, I like how gentle you are. I especially like how excited you get to see me.” You hum, but he stands upright. “The rules have just been made y/n. I’m not going to break them on the first night.” He asserts and brushes past you  with his hand on the knob of his chamber door, but before he opens it you hear him mutter in a deep, darkening tone that makes your hairs stand on end. “Don’t go knocking on the devil’s door, he might just answer.” You smirk to yourself as he disappears into his room and locks the door. That was his answer, but you could see he didn’t mean it. The rigidness and the fumbling of his hands were tactics in keeping himself busy from grabbing you, that didn’t escape your observations, and you have been watching him for some time, picking up on these behaviours, sparking your curiosity and pushing you to find out where these clues lead to. Repressed urges, or wolf in sheep’s clothing. You were determined to find out, despite his warnings.

Pulling yourself off the wall with a disappointed huff you make your way into your room, slipping out of your robes and walking over to your dresser to get a change of clothes when you heard it. A soft whimper rung in your ears. Tamaki sat on his bed on the opposite side of the wall stroking his aching length, eyes closed and imagining your smaller hands barely able to wrap around his length stroke him from base to tip, playing with his tip. Squeezing his eyes to suppress the frustration that melted away when he heard your voice, through the walls. “Tamaki~ please.” Your sweet moan made him buck into the air unconsciously. His pointed ears twitched listening to you but there was no mistaking the sounds of you fingering yourself. “I can hear you, you don’t have to answer me, but let me do this with you.”  You whisper through the wall. There was no time to think of any reason to reject you, you were moaning so sweetly for him. Helping him through his time of need right? Surly this one transgression would be overlooked. Scooting closer to the wall, secretly kicking himself because it could have been your body, he was scooting closer to instead. “Go faster” he ordered, matching his strokes to the squelching sounds of your fingers plunging into your wet swollen pussy. Fuck he wished it was his cock splitting you open, watching your essence coat his cock before it disappeared deep inside you. “I’m close Tamaki” you mewled the pace of your fingers sped up, the sounds were all he could hear, all he focused on when he fucked into his fist, then finally shooting silken ropes of cum up his belly, as he heard you stifle you moan as you reached your climax. He reached over to grab a cloth to clean himself, smiling over at the wall. Not daring to say anything to urge you to do anything impulsive and get you into more trouble. Then drifted off to sleep, his head pressed against the wall, with you mirroring his actions on the other side.

Then next morning you were sitting in the pews watching Tamaki bless the crosses and refill the holy water bottles for the other priest on duty performing exorcisms in the village. When his hands were busy, it was easy for his mind to focus on the task at hand. The look of total concentration and his steady hands stirred something wicked in you, wanting to push his buttons and shake his resolve. This, moments when he was busy fulfilling his duties rendered his morale struggle and indiscretions invisible in the eyes of the others but you weren’t the others you thought to yourself abandoning the Pew, you join him on the opposite side of the altar tracing your fingers over the cherry oak. “Anything I can do to help… Brother Tamaki” you whisper leaning forward just enough for him to be able to spy your cleavage. Smirking when you see the colour rise from his neck to his hairline, dropping the bottles and stumbling back stuttering. “Ttt-too close y/n”. Pouting with a finger to your chin you slip around the altar to his side. “ooo Tama-kii~”, are you ill? Your rather flushed” you coo, feeling his forehead, making sure to press your chest into his. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips when you feel him instinctively move to grab you, but instead stiffens his entire body, planting himself in place. “You know you can grab me, cus...I’m not going to break.” whispering the latter half you pull back with a wink “unless you want to break me. That would be fun too.” you smile, unable to hide your mirth, but he shushes you with his finger against your lips. “can’t do this y/n” he mutters and slams your hands down to your sides before retreating to his quarters. Well, there is something to be said about that stubborn resolve he has, once he made up his mind on something he sure gave his all in standing by it. Too bad you were hell-bent on making sure that “belief” he had unraveled, it was satisfying to see that look of impending defeat cross his face. You finished his task for him and headed over to your quarters, which are conveniently neighbouring Tamaki’s. With your bed to the wall, you could hear him trying to suppress the low moans and whimpers, as he no doubt was stroking his cock falling apart as he fucked his fist. What was he thinking about? Well, you certainly accompanied him in reaching down your garments and rubbing slow tight circles into your clit, imagining how full his thick fingers would make your cunt feel, how he could mute your voice with two of his digits in your mouth. Hoping that he would give in and come through your door to sink his cock into you and fuck you into the mattress. What you didn’t see was the changes to his appearance he was stifling, as his restraint began to unravel, the fluctuations in his voice and the protesting groans in response to the change of his mass.

 Weeks had passed since you last gotten to work with Tamaki, the confines of the Chapel began to get on your nerves, the frustration of not having your whispered moments in the night, glancing his expressions when you brushed close to him, offered yourself to him only to see the struggle with his own ideals and the orders that were forced on you. The villagers seemed to be well pleased though the visitors never ceased to utter their pleased opinions of how much better you were carrying yourself. You had to bite your tongue when they asked you. “Don’t you feel much better now that you look the part?” they wouldn’t know what looking the part was if it was right before their eyes. From all the secret looks you would cast Tamaki in the brief moments in passing you knew that he wanted more than this. He was full of potential, overlooked for his quiet agreeable nature, but if you took the time, like you have been with the secret nightly routine guiding each other to release, you could see that there was a powerful darkness, a dominance in him that you wanted to feel.  Smiling to yourself you placed in your request for practicing the ritual for confessions after an exorcism. Knowing Tamaki would be the one to answer that request given that he was the most skilled at the task, the one that was always requested by popular demand. It was almost eerie the way that he was revered, naturally drawing the villagers to his side, like moths to a flame.  Always in awe as he banished some of the top tier minions haunting homes, reining havoc from a deal gone awry, and it was the last Exorcism that confirmed your belief and answered your hunch.  A villager’s daughter who was possessed by a lesser demon had made eye contact with him and addressed him with reverence before being slain. You could not ignore the unmistakable look of disdain in his expression, the way his body stood with the confidence of a certified leader. Then of course the muttering of in the distorted tone, “should have executed you long ago.” Approaching his side, you asked. “Did you know that demon?” The question made his eyes hone in on you as if gauging you to decide on the best answer, then dismissing it with an awkward wave of his hand with the attempt of masking the event with his false timid nature, and sheepish voice. That was enough, you just needed him alone, and to stay in the room long enough to get what you wanted. Based on what you witnessed lined with what you studied in The Grimoire of Pope Honorius, the appearance, skills and abilities aligned with Tamaki’s quirk and the way the population of the area perceived him. One of the ancient demon kings was known for his ability to shift from man to creature and even a mixture of the two. As well as the hoarse voice, the demanding presence of a leader since he easily led sixty legions of lesser demons complete with skills to use invisibility, and popularity. The latter lining perfectly with how he was able to hide in plain sight yet being revered by the masses. Indeed this “lesson” would be one to remember.

 When the time came you dressed the part perfectly, not a hair out of place, robes freshly starched and ironed. However, it was the same robes that the village requested you not to wear because of how poorly it concealed your curves. If anything, the garment that would have offered a baggy fit on others, proved to be snug on your frame. You even pushed the envelope in neglecting your tights to cover your bare legs. You were not in need of concealing anything you thought with excitement. Barely containing yourself when you heard the doors swing open.

  What is it that you need my help with y/n?”

 “Oh, you know, just running through the steps of confession, nothing major.” 

His pulse rises, his gut tightens with anticipation; he knows that you were exceptional in what you were doing, but his curiosity and the allure of seeing what you had up your sleeve excited him. He was so good for so long, depriving these forbidden pleasures for years. Years that stretched longer than your lifespan. Surely if he slipped just this once, it could be overlooked; if he could just see what it was you were up to, he could sate his curiosity and retreat to his quarters before anything serious transpired. Closing his eyes and refocusing his attention on you, he asked, “ ok, let’s practice receiving the forgiveness of sins to confess. Y/n I need you to get down on your knees and recite the initial line.” Your lips tugged at the corners into a small smile. “I’m a wretched sinner that needs your sanctification,” you purr, sinking to your knees, palms pressed together, doe eyes looking up at him through lashes barely masking the glimmer of mischief as you open your mouth and stretch out your tongue with a lewd moan, parting your thighs.” Tamaki’s eyes widen in shock at your downright lewd actions in the middle of the pulpit, no less. He could feel lust heat his blood, coursing through his body, tightening the coil in his core, and his mouth salivate. Fuck, that moan sounded so good, so sweet; as bratty as you were, he was sure you could be good, you could behave. He could make you behave with his steady hand. He knew it, was sure of it he thought as he forced his body still to allow him to take the bread and place it on your waiting tongue. He watches you capture his thumb between your lips, pulling a small gasp from his throat witnessing you pulling his thumb in your mouth. Swirling your warm tongue around it, savouring the salt on his fingertips, and humming in pleasure all while holding his gaze. Tamaki’s mouth drops open, watching you, feeling his cock twitch to life, and before he was conscious of what he was doing, he hooks the thumb in your mouth pulling you close to his growing bulge. Not ready for him to take the opportunity to come to his senses, you reach for his hips, smoothing your hand down his thigh, pressing your nails down as you go, dragging them back up and finally palming his growing erection. 

 Tamaki yanks at your jaw so harshly it makes you squeeze your eyes shut, then look up at him. “ You, filthy temptress.” his voice held a deep dark timber that amplified in his chest, his eyes starting to glow with a light of danger as his pupils began to dilate. Once again, he surprises you with that resolve of his when he shakes his head, pulling away from you and raking his fingers through his indigo strands, exhaling as if that would force the temptations out of his mind, wipe the lewd actions and sounds you made from his mind. You couldn’t let that be the case, where was the fun in that? You stood up and made your way to the altar, taking a seat and whistling over to him, getting his attention. “I’m sorry, Tama, but tell me. Do you honestly think that depriving your needs to the point that your mind spirals into insanity will save you? Who do you think your prayers go? And what deity do you think these pitiful actions will appease?” you mock.

 Tamaki’s ears grew hot, and his eyes narrowed. “You think my actions are pointless?”

You pretend to mull over his question. “I never said that. I just think you forgot who you are and are trying to awaken your full potential. You need to stop suppressing it, Tamaki~” you purr his name the same way you do when you touch yourself in the shroud of darkness, to the sounds of him fucking into his fist and spilling his cum all over himself. Tutting at the memory, you lick your lips and hope that this time, it would be your throat he cums into instead of his fist. “Everything I do has a purpose.” irritation heats his word, his canines elongate as he sneers at you, approaching with an unhurried pace. “What potential do you think you can unlock in me and how?” he asks. Finally, he is asking the right question. Spreading your legs and hiking up your robes, you begin to ask, “well, you can manifest what you eat; what if I tell you, I have something that will manifest your truth if you have a taste?” He stops and stares; the look of conflicting thoughts span across his face, but you call out to him. “You know I have never hurt you; why would I start now?” You pull your panties to the side and run your finger up your slit, spreading your lips and curling the finger of your free hand over to him. As if caught in a trance, he closes the distance between you and kneels between your thighs, finally close enough to appreciate the sweet soft scent of your skin and the slick glistening on your lips. Before he could stop himself, he licks a hot stripe up your quivering cunt, moaning in response to the sinful sound coming out of you. The taste of you dances on his tongue, the sweetest and most sinful flavour he has ever had, clouding his logic and corrupting everything he has ever known, tarnishing every practice and need to stop like aged silver. His muscles contracted, and his nails grew into talons that bite into the plush of your thighs, sending sharp pricks of paint ebbing into pleasure as he prods his tongue into you, groaning when your walls flutter around his tongue and squeeze down onto him. He begins to lose himself in you, worshiping you with a hungry mouth, searching tongue, and holding onto you like your cunt is the only salvation left in this life. The feeling of him contorting his tongue in you was overwhelming you, you have had men tongue fuck you before, just not the way Tamaki was actually prodding deep, swirling his tongue against the convulsing walls of your pussy. Your moans rose in volume, pitch and with a tone of neediness. His tongue felt like it was actually stretching you, as he rocked his face back and forth. Nodding when you bucked your hips into his mouth. His eyes rolled back feeling any sense of restraint evaporate, being replaced with the need to claim you, mark you, and consume you. He wanted to ruin you, and why shouldn’t he? If no good deed goes unpunished. Then he’s ready to deal with whatever the wages are for this transgression. His tongue elongates inside of you, the friction it causes has you whimpering from the ways it made you writhe in pleasure, as you submerge into the warm pulsing bliss of your orgasm. Tamaki’s assault on your fluttering walls does not stop, he continues contorting his tongue in you despite your efforts in closing your legs from the feeling of overstimulation, but the force he uses made his talons bite into your thighs pricking you with sharp stings of pain. Pulling back his head and pulling his tongue out of your dripping lips, he laps at the swollen flesh, looking at you with blown pupils almost making his eyes look completely as dark as the night sky outside. 

 Licking his lips clean of you, he leans in close to breathe against your clit. “ Well done, y/n. I think I know what it is you want me to realize, but before we get to that task, and before you get to cum again, why not reward me? nothing is free, so why don’t you go ahead and take a taste for yourself?” He releases his hold on your thighs letting them droop to the altar like the tendrils of a jellyfish. Watching Tamaki rise to his feet made your mouth fall open to see his new height, and the ways his toned body had filled out his robes, threatening to tear at the seams when he moved his arms. You were surprised the effects of his quirk were working so quickly but the time for realizations was cut short when he let his pants and boxers pool around his ankles revealing his veiny erection. He wrapped his hand around his length and fisted himself giving himself a few pumps to alleviate the throbbing need building up. Your mouth watered seeing the way pre began to seep from his swollen tip. Sliding off the altar you make your way before Tamaki, who now caresses your face letting you relax into his large palm so he can sharply grab your cheeks and pull your face close to his. “I’m your God now.” Though he never asked for it, you nodded your understanding. Both your heart and your pussy fluttered with the excitement of his transformation. “Now it’s time for you to worship me as such'' he breathes. Voice so low it resonated in your core, flashing goosebumps across your flesh. “Tch, if you want me to bless you, you have to serve me, nothing is free '' The command shoots down your spine and pools into a tightening cord in your core. When he snaked his hands through your hair, gripping your strands close to your scalp and bringing you to your knees observing intently as you wrap your lips around his cock, slipping your eyes shut and wrapping your hand pumping the length that didn't fit down your throat. Tamaki flexed his thighs and groaned in pleasure, slowly pushing his hips forward as you pump him, swirling your tongue along the underside of his cock twitching in your mouth and moaning around it, letting the vibrations of your moan pleasure him further. Taking advantage of your relaxed muscles he thrusted into you brushing your hands away, content with your actions making you look like you were uttering a lewd prayer on your knees, eyes closed, and hands clasped around the base of him. Fuck you were so eager to please why did he deprive himself this pleasure for so long? Your moans began to sound more desperate, as his pace increased fucking your throat raw. Barely giving you time to catch a breath before his thick hot seed pooled on your tongue. His large hand slipped down from your hair and wrapped around your throat lightly squeezing the side gathering your attention to slide open your eyes. "Don't swallow, show me" he ordered as he slipped his slickened cock out of your mouth, biting at his bottom lip at the sight of your fucked out expression. The sound of tearing fabric filled the otherwise silent room and made you widen your eyes to see what was happening. Tamaki had manifested wings, shredding his robes and you realized he also had claws growing from his hands. You should be panicking, yet the euphoric feeling of excitement floods your bloodstream with dopamine, dilating your pupils, reducing your irises to thin strips of e/c. Lapping up the cum and looking up at his Ruby irises you curl your lips into a smile. "I knew you were something more, a wolf hiding in sheep's clothing. Baal." You mused.

 "And you have done well seeing who I am, obediently recognising me, constantly offered yourself to me despite the persecution you received." He says stroking your hair then grabbing the nape of your neck pulling you up to your feet, then scooping you up into his hold. "Your body is a beautiful offering I accept with contentment." He whispers against your jaw, freeing you of your remaining clothing, effectively removing anything that would prevent him from making direct contact with your heated skin. Carting you over to the altar and spreading your thighs so he could slot himself between them. You stare up at him in a heated gaze, pulse thrumming in your ears, goosebumps line your skin, and your waiting cunt are already slick and quivering. Ready for him to fuck you into the afterlife, and he does. He lines his head with your swollen lips, slipping his hardening cock through your silken folds, relishing the sound of your mewls and stifled moans. It’s cute to see you tremble beneath him, bucking your hips with impatience. He laughs at your futile attempts and slaps his length against your sensitive swollen clit, pulling a small squeal of surprise from you. Seeing how frustration creased your eyebrows, pouted your lips and welled tears threatening to breach your waterline and streak down your face. When you feel his head breach your entrance and you clench down on him, feeling how deliciously he stretches you as he sinks deeper into your warmth that welcomes the intrusion by clenching down on him. The feeling is mutually divine: the burn from the stretch as he bottoms out inside you melds into pleasure almost instantly when he starts to pull out and plummets back into you with so much force you gasp out breaths each time he repeats the movement. Your clit tickling against the dusting of groomed pubes sent pleasure signals shooting through your nerves. Your back arched as Baal dug his talons into your sides creating shallow scratches and lapping at the blood that sprang up. You felt light headed at the mixture of pain from how he was slamming his hips into yours, scratching and marking your body, then feeling pleasure when he licked and soothed the wounds, when he brought his lips to your ear and praised you for taking his entire length how beautiful you are  and how sweet your voice is pleading for him not to stop as your are swept away in the shocking current of  your orgasm. Placing your palms up and nibbling at his bottom lip to deepen the kiss he presses against your lips he chuckles and grabbed onto the altar’s edge and delivers sloppy punishing blows of his hips into yours making your see glowing stars dancing in your field of vision and hearing a splintering noise muted in your ears and  then feeling like you were falling, only to be caught by a pair of large warm hands that offered stability, a safe space to fall apart in, and so you did. Cumming hard, covered in sweat and exhausted from taking the fucking of a lifetime from the Demon king brought you back to your senses to realize you were spit on Tamaki’s dick, while he held you up with no effort, making you feel tiny compared to his now towering form with extended wings, fangs extending from his lips, claws that threatened to pierce your flesh with one wrong move. His legs were thickly muscled and feet hooved in his signature appearance. Despite the changed exterior you could still make out Tamaki’s personality mingled with the dark deity as he brought his lips to your temple, nuzzling you and smiling when he felt your weak hands caress his cheeks. The intimate moment was interrupted with the door creaking open, revealing the arrival of a shell-shocked Fat Gum, other lower ranking priests and exorcist staring at the sight of your joined bodies in the center of the pulpit and the destroyed alter that Tamaki fucked you on now laying in splinters scattered around your feet. Well, now that they see, maybe now they will believe, not everything was what it seemed.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

i feel like it's been so long since civil war at this point s*mb*ckies have forgotten that sam really never fully understood why steve even bothered with bucky and treated him like a lost cause that steve was foolish to try and save, pretty much the only other people besides steve who have ever extended any real compassion to him were t'challa and shuri

Anon, you’re so right!

It's an absolute injustice to the potential of Sam's character as a trained healer of both bodies and minds not to have him see what Bucky truly is.

I didn't mind Sam saying 'he's not the kind you save, he's the kind you stop' (or words to that effect) in CATWS.

After the freeway fight but before he'd ever had a chance to read Bucky's casefiles.

But years later?

When he's been with Steve, hunting Bucky around the globe, and, y'know, would've been in a position to see Hydra torture chambers up close in person (and note the lack of revenge-corpses put there by Bucky, proving his current non-violence!)

Put also in a position to read Bucky's horrifying medical history, (which Sam would understand best, of anyone on Team Cap!) and to hear stories from Steve about the person Bucky is, and from Natasha about how life under Russian brainwashers is...

To have Sam then act as if Bucky is a write-off, still, is just shonky characterisation. 

(Doing things like, for example, being a dick to Bucky because the Winter Soldier just punched him; when Bucky was being electrocuted, screaming for Zemo to stop. 

Sam’s expertise should have him being neutral to Bucky, at least. 

But instead he’s saying, eg. ‘oh and just like that we’re supposed to be cool?’ Yes, Sam, just like that! 

It’s supposed to be his specific area of expertise, above anybody else’s, to be able to distinguish between the Soldier and the victim screaming in agony. 

Even if he personally doesn’t get along with Bucky, and doesn’t intend to help him with counseling like he did (stranger) Steve, if Sam is in character, he wouldn’t be treating Bucky as untrustworthy or criminal; simply because he would know, as a professional counselor, that he’s not. 

It makes you question why the writers think Sam is even there, if he doesn’t believe in the possibility of Bucky’s innocence? 

His purported background should mean he’s there because he can professionally recognise that innocence, and because his morals tell him that helping Bucky is therefore the right thing to do. 

Not because Steve thinks it’s right and Sam’s merely going along with it. 

The show had Sam strenuously objecting to going around with Zemo, because he’s a bad guy, and he acts the same about Bucky in the films. 

So why would he be friends with Steve at all, if he believes Steve is friends with bad guys? Why would he help Steve look for Bucky for two years, if he still sees Bucky as indistinguishable from the Soldier? 

It just doesn’t make sense.

Here’s an analogy: Robotics is Tony’s whole thing, so imagine if he ignored a robot or couldn’t recognise it as one. 

That would be bizarre, right? 

Never mind whether Tony liked that specific robot, or intended to help fix it. Robotics is his main skill, so at the very least he would be able to spot a robot when he sees one, if he’s written IC. 

Sam being mean to Bucky right out of the gate, before they’ve even spoken to each other, (telling him ‘I hate you’ within a couple of hours of meeting him), as if he believes Bucky is a bad person, is a failure of Sam’s specific stated skill set; comparable to Tony not being able to recognise a robot. 

It would be fine if Sam was a naturally unfriendly person with no expertise with counseling POWs or veterans; but it’s not fine if he is gregarious and kind and is supposed to have that specific innocence-recognising expertise.) 

So: it’s OOC. 

Bad writing. 

It makes it seem as if Sam being a Pararescue and a Counsellor was only tell and not show; because he's only shown giving bad advice, unless it's to a famous man whom he obviously admires and wants to impress. And doesn’t care about a veteran POW friend of a friend?

As a V.A. counselor of ex-POW and people with PTSD, if Sam were as good as his job as we're expected to believe (oh dear, we've got another Peggy Carter situation here) he should've been the person most likely, after Steve, to be able to see Bucky's innocence, and subsequently treat him neutrally and/or well. 

(Actually: Cap Quartet, Sam and Nat should've got it in a way no one else could, albeit for very different reasons.)

We see this neutral/benign treatment of Bucky from T’Challa, who isn’t an expert recogniser & rescuer of POW veterans, isn’t Steve’s friend, hasn’t dedicated two years of his life to rescuing Bucky, and isn’t as well-informed about Bucky as Sam is. 

(And then the writing has Sam giving T’Challa attitude, too, for no damn reason?! Why are they writing Sam like this?? 

It seems like they’ve just gone ‘well they were in a fight with him 5 mins ago so Sam must automatically hate them, right?’ without knowing that it contradicts Sam’s personality & backstory. 

But hey, who gives a shit so long as it’s funny, right?) 

Yet as soon as Bucky allegedly shows up planting a bomb at the UN (even though he's a sniper, not a demo expert, ffs! not to mention 50 lbs heavier and twice the width/height of the guy in the video!) Suddenly everyone, Sam included, (and Nat!) is trying to dissuade Steve from going to stop his childhood friend being shot in the head... 'while resisting arrest.' For a black man not to have empathy for that, at least, beggars belief. Sam could recognise the Accords would be abused but not recognise the injustice of this? BS!

And no one ever seems to point out that it was Sam who decided to tell Tony where Steve and Bucky were, when Tony had just been doing his damndest to fight them -- as if Sam would just turn around and trust the rich white guy who shot him out of sheer spite like half an hour ago?? 

(Again, it’s Sam shown being friendly and bending over backwards for a famous white man, even when it’s most illogical, just because the creators like Tony.)

I wonder how Sam felt when he saw how beat up Steve was, when he came to the Raft, because of him telling Tony where to go? (Or rather the writers, stupidly, having him tell Tony.)

I bet they'd never write him apologising to Bucky for costing him an arm?

So... yeah.

Even after FATWS, when you realise Sam didn't actually welcome Bucky to visit him...

(And only allowed him a- not even a bed, just a couch!- to sleep on because he was jockeyed into it, and his sister and nephews had already met Bucky and warmed to him. And then gave Bucky the same dangerous shitty victim-blaming advice they put in the mouth of that Annabelle Lecter.)

...Bucky is still in a situation where only Steve, T'Challa, Shuri, and Ayo, have ever showed him any real compassion. 

(Although you can tell the FATWS writers think what they’ve written is Sam and Zemo being compassionate).

After co-headlining an entire series?

It's fucking heart breaking.

[ilcaeryx]

Cascade [Gojo Satoru/Reader]

Summary: Satoru picks you up after a wild night in Tokyo’s party districts. While he’s dying to be more than your close friend, he won’t act until he’s certain you want him, too.

Tags: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Cute, Fluff, Humor, Slight angst, Nightlife, Pining, Pre-relationship

Word Count: Almost 2k

Author’s Note: Feels good to complete something. I listened to The Rose’s cover of ILYSB while writing this.

---

Gojo Satoru’s 1AM drive to one of Tokyo’s nightlife district was strictly for serious business. While he would fit into the crowd of youthful people enjoying the neon stinging their eyes and body contact with at least four strangers at all times, he had zero intentions on partying. Indeed, his sole mission was to retrieve a package – that package being you.

Lulled into rumination by the car engines constant humming, Satoru pondered about your occupation of his mind. Even though his days were busy, he would associate the concept of you with quite literally anything. Bickering with the higher ups? He could envision himself cranking up the drama as he told you the story, smiling smugly inwards at you cooking him comfort food to soothe ‘his stressful day’. Whenever something hilarious or crazy happened, he would automatically think ‘I’ll tell Y/N this later’. One would expect it would annoy him but it was not the case; Satoru was entertained by his daily fantasies, very much enthralled by the walking-on-clouds-feeling his body would produce during his mental escapades. If one Y/N thought equalled one endorphin molecule, he was experiencing a cascade.

His first thought after awakening every morning was your face between his palms, his fingers frigid against your temples. If things between you two ever developed, one day your face would be his first experience that day, every day for the rest of his life. Right now, Satoru would pin your relationship as close friends. As much as he would overinterpret your behaviour towards him, he was quite certain you were not interested in discovering whatever else could unfold between the two of you. Not yet, his positive inner self protested. Maybe never, his negative inner self retorted.

Despite his conflicting emotions, he gathered himself up into a presentable version of himself while he walked to the nightclub your friend had mentioned. Your safety was his number one priority right now, regardless if you were into him romantically or not.

~~~

“Text me when you’re home!” you yelled over the pulsating music, bidding your friend farewell by blowing her a kiss. In a dramatic motion, she caught the invisible kiss in her palm and clutched it against her chest.

“I will! Stay safe, bitch!” she screeched back before submerging into the human current outside the club, her cursed energy swashing to and fro like a solar flare.

Even though his evening had been a cozy movie-night in his bedroom, Satoru’s limbs felt heavy from looking at you. With your shoulders drooping and hands massaging your left thigh, you were finally punished from dancing non-stop all evening. Indeed, your hair clung to your forehead, neck and upper arms, intermingling with the shining perspiration on your skin. Nevertheless, you seemed to relish in whatever banger was playing inside as you were gently swaying side to side.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said, pre-emptively shushing him with your index finger in the air. ���But I’ll take a shower once I’m home.”

“I was actually thinking that I should’ve brought a towel, considering that your sweat’ll soak the car seat,” he said and tucked some slick strands away from your face. Your mortified look cracked him up. “It’s fine, I’ll lend you my jacket.”

“Your expensive-ass jacket? Thanks, I’d rather freeze to death.”

He rolled back his shoulders as he slid his jacked halfway down his back, hands still in his pockets. A little disappointment tinged his tongue. “Are you sure? I warmed it up just for you.”

“Yeah, stop stripping and let’s get the hell out of here.” You smacked his back with an open hand, pushing him onwards. “God, I can’t wait until we get home. I’m so tired. Are we going to your place?”

Let’s not read into anything, Satoru thought. ‘Anything’ meant both your off-hand comment about his place and the fact that your hand remained steady on his back even after you two joined the crowd. Physical closeness wasn’t anything new between you but the context provided another layer of complexity to read into. Suddenly, being the completely sober adult in charge seemed like too heavy a responsibility for him...

Without meaning to, his back tensed up. “No, you weirdo. You can sleep off the alcohol in your own bed.”

You either weren’t bothered by his tenseness or you didn’t notice, as you shifted your hand around his waist. You carefully leaned against his arm. “Sounds boring. Don’t you want to talk all night?”

Like always, your presence burned his arm, enough that he was unable to feel the strangers he bumped into on his other side. This was a sign, right? Or were you flirting as a friend? In the past, he had people confess their ‘love’ for him and apparently they thought his teasing and touching meant he fancied them. Being extremely lovable wasn’t easy, especially not when any platonic affection could be re-constructed as romantic by the other part. You, too, were extremely lovable and affectionate… Had he been in your shoes, this proximity wouldn’t have had any romantic subtext. But unlike him, you had a good personality… This could be the night you two finally spoke about whatever was between you two.

Or the night where you lose a friend because of your stupidity, his negativity brought up.

It had a point. Yeah, you were a good person and a terrific friend – he’d be an idiot if he lost you. Compared to his co-workers and allies, you were awfully soft; he liked how you doted on him, even when he was a pain in the ass. If you rejected him now, your dynamic wouldn’t be the same and his life would be much harder for it.

“We can talk later today,” he said, his arm automatically shooting out to stop an accidental elbow-right-into-your-chest-accident. He settled his arm around your shoulder after giving the guy the evil guy through his glasses. Watch your limbs, man.!

“That was close,” you said, sighing. “Thank you, Satoru! I’m sorry about having to call you out this late, by the way. Did I wake up you?”

He both cursed and rejoiced on the inside now that you changed subject. “Couldn’t be helped that your friend had an emergency. Next time, try to wake me up later for an early breakfast instead.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us.”

His lips faltered slightly, smile not feeling as genuine. He adjusted the collar on his jacket to hide it. “To the nightclub?”

Your index finger jabbed into his side accusingly. “Anywhere! Last time we hung out was… uh…”

This was the first time in a few weeks you two had spoken in person by yourselves. As you both mostly met together with your friends, you tended to invite him whenever the gang planned something. He admitted to himself that he often declined because he only wanted your company, but you never offered to join him instead. Whenever he invited you out, you’d be perfectly alright with hanging out just the two of you, though.

“Two weeks ago?” He squinted into the lights of an incoming car. “It’s because of work but-“

“I’m not a hikikomori, you bastard – I’ve got a job too, but I’ll make time for you, you know?”

You’d make time for anyone, Satoru thought, somewhat discouraged.

The crowd thinned out as you entered the parking lot, though the place was jam-packed with cars. Both of you remained quiet as you passed by couples on the way to Satoru’s car. When you detached yourself from his side, he rustled your hair. You stood on your tippy-toes to return the favour, messing up his hair worse than he did yours. He liked seeing you struggle to reach his head, so he didn’t mind.

“I missed you, scarecrow,” you said, pinching his cheek. He elongated his smile to feel one knuckle touch his lips. “What is the gremlin and scarecrow duo without the scarecrow?”

~~~

Slumped against the window, you were peaceful the entire ride home. Every so often, Satoru would catch a glimpse of your sleepy face and his heart would clam up. He made the right decision in picking you up, even though he aged weeks in those twenty minutes you two had spoken. Your interactions followed a pattern: he’d look forward to meeting you, creating fantasies and expectations of what could be; when you were with him, he would attempt not to ruin your current friendship to the point where he’d feel sick; and whenever you two parted, he’d overindulge in his memories. In two days, he’d be prepared to undergo this rollercoaster once again.

He drove into your street and called your name.

You immediately woke up and looked outside. “What time is it?”

“Almost 2AM…” he exhaled deeply, hands falling into his lap. He still had to drive home, so he’d be in bed in 30 minutes.

“Everything hurts,” you said, bending forward to readjust your high heels. “My legs are killing me… I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. I’m not sure I can walk now.”

He understood what the lilting tone at the end of your sentence meant and with great effort he stepped out of the car. Your giddiness as he opened the car-door on your side was intoxicating, as was the feeling of seeing you stretch your arms towards his neck. He cradled one arm below your thighs and one behind your back.

“Watch your head,” you chided softly into his ear, covering the top of his head as he carried you out of the car.

“Gimme keys.” Satoru leaned slightly backwards to account for your weight as you handed him the key to your apartment. With your bare arms against his neck, he would be surprised if you didn’t notice how his pulse rose.

Your apartment door opened and he stepped into darkness, shutting it behind his back.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, heading for your bedroom with his shoes on. Your teeny apartment had a teeny bedroom with a single sized bed.

“Say, Satoru,” you said, your cheek pressed below his ear, “are you sure you don’t want to stay and talk?”

“Just go to sleep, Y/N.” Satoru leaned over your bed to carefully lay you down. Your grip on his neck loosened and he thought you’d comply until you kissed his neck, his soul almost as soft as your lips.

“What about now?” you asked and released your arms, falling onto your bed. Your hair spilled around you, a gloria around your tired face. “I’ll let you sleep in my bed, if you want to.”

Honestly, he wanted this. Everything he’d thought of earlier this night could become true if he gave in, which was insane enough to send his head swimming. He’d endure this cramped bed for you, even with his feet being colder than hell and his back aching from sleeping on his side. Gojo Satoru was more than ready.

However, he did not want this to backfire. What if you were simply too horny, lonely, exhausted or intoxicated to consider the consequences right now?

You rolled towards the wall, leaning on your side. Your eyelids fluttered weakly, your exhaustion almost overtaking your body and yet you found enough strength to pat the empty space beside you. “See, there’s space. I’ll always leave space for you.”

Ah, fuck it.

Satoru’s personality was bad; his attitude was self-indulgent; his morality was concrete grey; and his discipline when it came to you near non-existent. If you awoke tomorrow and found that you had fallen asleep with the love of your life – then great, you were both on the same page. If he had completely misunderstood your intentions, he would absolutely bullshit his way out of trouble, like he always did. Whatever, everything’d be alright someday.

---

If you enjoyed this, give me a like/follow/reblog/comment/scream into the void. I hope everyone had a good New Year and let’s hope that 2021 is kind.

Started this 22/11/2020, finished 10/01/2021.

[theevangelion]

Red Bottom: Red Kryptonite D/S Supercorp Story (Complete)

Prompt Fill for Gabs: Redk!Kara wanting it fast and hard and lena fucking her gently until she's in tears? With lots of praise kink pls

*OR*

Under the effects of Red Kryptonite, Kara has to be kept somewhere secure. The L-Corp Laboratory is about the only location with enough lead lining to hide her heat signature while the DEO worries about bigger threats. Kara’s frustrated arousal and darkened mood is nothing compared to her girlfriend, Lena Luthor’s.

There’s a dark and evil side lurking inside Lena too. Always there, always out of sight. With Kara under the influence of the Red Kryptonite, Lena finds herself indulging in her own primal dark side in order to quell Kara’s own.

“Again?” Lena’s eyes fly wide open at the DEO circus.

“The red kryptonite particles went up with the explosion last week,” Alex says, overseeing the transfer of her sedated sister to the secure L-Corp laboratory. “And what goes up must come down. Jesus, I can’t believe we didn’t account for the rain.”

“Wouldn’t she be safer at DEO headquarters? It’s just, her safety should be the priority.” Lena doesn’t want to seem too eager to palm off her girlfriend.

“If the DEO headquarters were still secret, sure.” Alex rubs her temple, now suddenly thinking of other problems.

Her hazel eyes find Lena with a sense of exhaustion, as though there are too many things being juggled in the air and she needs someone to take Kara out of the equation.

Alex continues, “The League caught intel about our security protocols. Ironically, the one place Lex will probably not look is the place right beneath his nose. The building has enough lead-lining to hide her heat signature?”

“More than enough,” Lena confirms.

“Well,” Alex pats the chief executive’s shoulder. “I’ll call you tonight, and I’ll leave her in your capable hands for a few days.”

Lena laughs suddenly, the uncomfortable noise barely escaping through her tight teeth. “Please don’t.” She eyes Alex cautiously. “Just maybe let’s workshop this idea—”

“It will be fine,” Alex promises. “Just don’t listen to her, put your headphones in, think of it as babysitting duty. I’ll owe you one, big time.” Alex stares as though she means it regardless of the complications it might cause later down the line.

An unconditional favour from one of the higher-ups in the chain of command at the Department of Extranormal Operations… That could certainly come in handy one day.

“Not the holding cell. Put her in the observation suite, the glass is resistant to her heat vision.” Lena points to the clear glass room opposite the laboratory. “Extra restraints, green kryptonite lamps—”

“Green kryptonite could kill her,” Alex balks.

“In larger quantities, sure.” Lena nods. “In a smaller, medicinal dosage it nullifies her power for a short time. Like the small amount emitted by the kryptonite lamps your tech team developed last year in the event of…” Lena pauses, quirking her crimson lips as she searches for the right word. “Something unexpected.” Alex instantly closes her eyes. “Bring them, bring all of the equipment. And extra restraints too, please.”

“Why extra restraints?” Alex lifts her brow, confused.

Lena rolls her eyes, then turns to her personal assistant. “Jesse, clear my entire schedule from now until Tuesday. Alex, trust me, I’m doing you a favour, but I need the restraints and the kryptonite lamps. For my safety, you understand?” She glances at her girlfriend’s sister.

“Whatever you need, Lena.” Alex doesn’t ask further.

***

Kara awakes slowly and feels the tension in her arms. They’re captured around her ribcage, as though she is trapped in a suffocating hug. She shifts her shoulders, wiggling, unable to get herself loose from the poor, rough excuse for a blanket that has entwined her.

“You’ll forgive me for being cautious,” Lena says through the speaker. “It’s for your safety, mostly.”

Kara opens her eyes and simultaneously rolls them when she sees the applied restraints. Her arms are secured in a white strait-jacket, the tan leather straps buckled tightly, with another strap of leather secured between her nude legs to stop her wiggling out of it.

“For my safety or yours?” Kara flexes against the strait-jacket.

“Alright,” Lena levels seriously over the speaker. “For mine then.”

The strait-jacket isn’t torn to pieces when Kara flexes a second time, which strikes her as strange. She wiggles again, harder, flexing, stretching her arms as far as she can against the secured sleeves.

“Sorry baby,” Lena says, walking in to view as she stops in front of the glass door that separates them. “Another precaution. I can survive your bad mood, but only when we level the playing field.” Her emerald eyes glance to the industrial spotlights that emanate a low, dark green colour over the observation suite.

Green Kryptonite.

“If you think there’s such a big bad monster lurking inside of me—” Kara stops, heaving furious breaths. “Why risk it the other three-hundred and sixty-four days a year? Am I not capable of tearing you apart then, if I wanted to?”

“There is always a monster lurking inside of you, baby.” Lena folds her arms over her black cashmere sweater. “But you are the strongest, most level-headed woman I know. You would never let it hurt anyone.” Her eyes flicker with love. “The other days of the year, of course.” She pushes a small smile, but then it disappears as she dips her head.

Kara narrows her eyes. “Oh, you want to talk about monsters, Lena?” She can’t help but laugh.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you know the one that claws inside of your ribcage is so much more violent and hungry than mine.”

“Don’t do this, please,” Lena pleads. “I know you can’t help it, but could you… try and help it?”

“Sad, poor, angry little girl—lost and unlovable,” Kara scoffs, her lips forming an angry smirk. “How does it feel knowing that I am the only one capable of loving a creature as tortured as you?”

Lena’s mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

Her face is beautiful and smooth like porcelain, but her eyes are utterly empty and her jaw flexes with the tiniest slip of anger. To Kara, she is still beautiful, still the finest human she has ever met, a bride to be made fit for House of El yet.

It’s simply a case of subjugating her first, Kara thinks. To teach Lena who exactly her better half is, metaphorically and literally speaking.

“You’re still pretty when you want to cry,” Kara says coldly, unbothered and unconcerned. “You should know that.”

“Funny,” Lena doesn’t skip a beat, her tone equally cold. “I’ve always thought the same of you.”

There’s a flash, a tiny strike of lightning. It hits Kara right in her belly and sends her flying backwards. The pain is the least of her concerns. She doesn’t understand what it was. Kara pants and opens her eyes, curled in the corner of the glass cage with a tight grimace.

“For my safety,” Lena explains, lifting the remote that controls the shock pulses. “In case I feel threatened.” She smirks slightly.

“You always feel threatened,” Kara laughs despite the painful ripples in her body from the electric shock. “Always threatened by other powerful women, always worried you’re too small, too unimportant, too weak to compete—”

“Whoops.” The powerful shock hits Kara again and makes her whimper. It leaves her crumpled and curling, sweating and gritting her teeth. “My finger slipped,” Lena says, unamused.

Despite the red kryptonite, despite the hubris it imbues her with, she is completely defenseless and that only compounds her anger. Kara wrangles as hard as she can, until she nearly dislocates her shoulder trying to get free from the pathetic little strait-jacket that on any ordinary day could be ripped apart with a sneeze.

The door alarm rings out. Lena steps inside the lion’s den, her Blahnik heels clicking quickly over the cold hard floor. Kara refuses to look at her, she tucks her sweaty head away as the pencil skirt gracefully bends at the knees to appraise her closer, as though she is some kind of small animal.

“See,” Lena whispers quietly, moving the damp blonde hair off her face. “Still so pretty when you want to cry, baby, I told you.”

“Don’t start a war you cannot win, Lena,” Kara growls with gravel in her throat. “I will still have my power and might when the weekend is out, and you—”

“Will still have mine, too.” Lena slips her hand over Kara’s bottom, pulling the curled up little monster close like a pet to be made tame. “Why don’t you be a good girl and let that nasty tongue of yours rest. I don’t want to sedate you. There is so much more productive fun to be had when you’re awake.”

Kara’s ears lift at that.

“Fun?” She looks at Lena with a craned eyebrow.

Lena looks different. Kara isn’t sure whether it’s the effect of the red kryptonite, or whether her girlfriend has always had that air of cruel arrogance and she’s only just noticing it now. But Lena’s eyes glean her as though she’s a wolfish little whore, a thing to conquer. Her crimson lips pull into a small smirk.

“Fun for me, yes.” Lena pets her damp, long blonde hair softly. “The way I see it, Kara Danvers, is that I’m going to marry you one day. That means for better or worse. And, if I can’t find a way to handle you at your worst—” Kara hisses when slender fingers yank her hair tight in a tight fistful. “Then what business do I have enjoying you at your best?” Their eyes lock seriously.

“You think this is me at my worst?” Kara’s eyes grow wide with indignation. “Oh just you wait. The Hell I will reign down upon you—” Material is quickly stuffed inside her open mouth as gag, stifling the threats.

The material is slightly damp, heady almost, the feminine taste that is so distinctly Lena Luthor coats Kara’s tongue… Kara realises that this isn’t a traditional gag.

“Hold my panties for me like a good girl,” Lena whispers and stuffs them a little deeper into her mouth. “Don’t spit them out, otherwise I’m going to push them in another hole. And believe me, I have such better, bigger plans for your pretty tight holes…” Her manicured fingers slipped over the tanned leather strap between Kara’s sweating thighs.

When Kara’s blue eyes fly open in surprise, the question doesn’t even need to be uttered. Lena can practically read her mind. The executive peers down at her with a loving smile, her palms gently taking each side of her face and cradling it close to her own.

“The red kryptonite cannot be chemically neutralised. That means I need to find another way to control you when you’re… under the influence of dangerous substances.” Lena trails her hand through Kara’s long hair, her nails dragging and gathering it neatly. “That means I need to condition you to see me as your handler, to prevent my brother ever using the red kryptonite compound as a weapon.”

“My handler?” Kara scoffs through the panties between her teeth, laughing. “You couldn’t handle a guinea pig without help—” The sentence is slapped out of her mouth, hard.

“Your ears work, how reassuring.” Lena remains blank-faced. “Now, come with me, let’s see how reward-motivated you can be, little one.”

The fingers entwined in the back of her scalp tug, pull, coax her to follow on her knees across the glass room towards a desk with a laptop on top of it in the corner. There’s a soft, plush cushion beside the chair. Kara realises too late what exactly her girlfriend has planned.

“No, no.” Lena stops when Kara stops, glancing down at the ravenous little creature digging her feet into the floor. “Wouldn’t you rather feel good, sweetheart?” She swiftly takes the panties out of her mouth.

Kara thinks, too optimistically, that it’s so she can reply clearly.

Instantaneously, Kara feels all of her muscles tighten at once. Something has started vibrating inside of her—quite literally, vibrating inside of her—it’s pressed deep inside of her folds, right behind her clit against that perfect spot that made her cunt feel tight and hot. The panties were removed from her mouth so they weren’t a choking hazard, she realises.

Then, it dwindles away to nothing.

“I am going to hurt you in ways you cannot fathom,” Kara growls furiously at the denial of her pleasure.

“No, you’re not.” Lena cranes down and pecks her temple. “Because I will crush you before you ever get the chance, little girl,” her soft voice becomes a stern tone against the ear, the responsive slither of crimson red kryptonite emanating from Kara’s temple not going unnoticed.

The moment Kara snatches at Lena’s throat with her teeth—she is made to learn the hard way around why it’s a regrettable idea.

A sudden shock of electricity hits her, but not externally, this time it’s deep inside of her cunt, attacking the back of her clit with needle-like precision. It hits her so hard that Kara squeals and releases Lena’s throat before the slightest amount of pressure can be applied with her teeth.

Unlike the earlier electric shock, this one is prolonged and hateful almost. Kara curls on her side and cries, clenching her thighs, yelping like a wounded little animal. Lena stands over her calmly, hands clasped in front of her neat black pencil skirt while her thumb continues to press the remote control.

“Please!” Kara squeals. “Please make it stop!”

“Good girl,” Lena whispers and lifts her thumb off the trigger. “Manners will get you everywhere, sweetheart. I would advise that you don’t ever try to hurt me, otherwise I will have to rectify the situation with some sense of equalism. You understand?”

“Yes,” Kara spits the affirmation between her clenching teeth.

“Yes Ma’am,” Lena insists.

“You have lost your soft little fucking mind if you think—” Kara wails a sharp sob that cuts her off, squirming her thighs together again as a small jolt hits her deep in the back of the cunt.

“When you’re like this, Kara, I don’t see my girlfriend,” Lena says firm. “My sweet, gentle, strong Supergirl... She would never try to hurt me, would never hurt a fly even. But you?” Her tone is suddenly accusatory. “You are not my Kara. You are the monster that lurks beneath the surface, and you will kneel and be made tame or you will be crushed into dust. I’m not your girlfriend, your little human, or your subordinate. I am the only authority in your tiny fucking insular world and you will obey me.” It isn’t posed as a question, simply posited as fact.

“We’ll see about that, Ma’am,” Kara growls sarcastically.

“Good girl,” Lena’s tone is suddenly praising, her eyes narrowing with pleased surprise. “You don’t have to enjoy saying it, baby, you just have to do as you’re told.”

Instinctively, Kara wants to protest and be difficult. But whatever Lena has buried deep inside of her cunt…it begins to strangely swell, filling her, vibrating and pulsing against her slick hot folds in a way that is entirely pleasurable. Kara understands too late what game they’re playing. Lena is operantly conditioning her. A game of punishment and reward.

The corner of Kara’s vision glitters, almost. The red kryptonite heightens everything, her emotions, her mood, her aggression, and apparently her arousal too. The wolfish creature can’t help but gasp, closing her eyes and unable to form coherent words.

“I think that’s enough baby,” Lena whispers softly.

Slowly, the strange new toy inside of her cunt recedes in size and slows its vibrations. It feels like a knot growing smaller, then a love egg, then it’s too small to be descriptively felt any more. Kara can still tell something is inside of her but it’s the smallest, most inoffensive intrusion. There, but not there, like a tiny pill-sized probe of sorts.

Kara glances down to the  leather strap buckled tight over her slit. She had assumed it was there to stop her slipping out of the strait-jacket, but Kara now understood it was also there to keep something buried inside of her.

Kara shifts slowly on the floor, twisting her hips, trying to feel out the sensations in her body that no longer seemed to exist without Lena deciding they should. It makes the chief executive smile this wolfish, chipper grin that looks strange on her usually dour face. Her beaming white teeth are on display with the breadth of her smile.

She looks beautiful, Kara can’t help but notice.

“What-” Kara blinks, completely confused. “What did you put inside of me?”

“A very, very special toy.” Lena gently takes her by the chin, guiding her shying face to meet her authoritative eyes. “I made it especially for you, though the punishment features were certainly a last-minute revision. If you’re a very, very good girl I’ll show you just how nice it feels when I decide that it should.”

“And if I’m not a good girl?” Kara lifts her brow defiantly. “If I don’t want to be your unconsenting little fucking pet slave?”

At that Lena’s eyes widen slightly.

“Baby,” Lena whispers with a knitted brow, her voice slow and loving. “I’m trying to help you here. The green kryptonite—” She nods at the deep green spotlights that cast the room in dark shadows. “I don’t know how much exposure is lethal, but I know that if you ever posed a risk to the general public then the DEO would ask questions later after they had put you down like a feral animal.” The theoretical possibility seems to make Lena tight with worry. “You don’t have to like this. It’s non-lethal, it’s for your own good, and my Kara would perfectly understand why it was necessary.”

“Then your Kara is a submissive little whore, and you probably know as much.” Kara glares at the unshakeable human she had underestimated.

Lena tucks a long weft of blonde hair behind Kara’s ear.

“Come along,” Lena instructs, turning on her heels to walk to the desk in the corner of the room. “You can either come willingly or I will give you a damn good reason to regret being so difficult.”

***

To Lena’s surprise, Kara did as she was told. Lena sat down in the chair and opened the laptop, her thumb on the shock button, ready to hit her girlfriend where it hurt once she reached zero on her mental countdown from ten.

But Kara crawls forward as best she can like a wounded little animal, her arms secured by the strait-jacket, her cheek pressed to the floor as she pushes forward indignantly on her knees.

The miracle happened. The pigs flew over the sky. The chickens had come home to roost. Lena felt her smile widen proudly, her fingers slipping around Kara’s neck and tickling the nape.

“Good girl,” Lena hushes, then she slips her hand around Kara’s jaw and brings her cheek to her lap. “There you go, just kneel there and show me you can be good.”

Lena rewards her in tangible, felt ways. The bullet-like toy inside of her cunt was activated with the remote, Lena’s thumb slipping over the control trigger to increase the swell in size, then the vibrations too.

Lena kept it on the minimal settings, flexing her thumb back and forth, giving her girlfriend just enough to coax her submission. She imagined that it probably felt like a pulse inside of her tight slick cunt, a pressure that grew and pressed into the back of her g-spot with delicious accuracy, then receded into nothing.

“Say thank you, princess.” Lena idly traces her fingertips on the panting jaw pressing to her thigh.

“Go fuck yourself you arrogant, precious little cunt.”

Lena just closes her eyes and presses the button.

Tense and tight and squealing, the wolfish little creature slumps to the floor and wrestles against the strait-jackets straps. Lena opens her eyes and peers down at her, guilty, curious, aroused beyond words and not ready to take her thumb off the trigger yet.

“Please!” Kara yelps with tears streaming down her red cheeks. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry, what?” Lena lifts her eyebrow, waiting for the appellation.

“Oh go fuck yourself—” Kara regrets it instantly.

It was thrilling to bring a god to her squealing, tightly curled-up kneels. Lena knows it’s wrong, that it’s villainous in all the ways she holds herself to be morally higher than. But all Kara has to do is be polite, it really isn’t that hard. She increases the electricity until it feels like a thousand tiny needles digging and prodding, Lena has no doubts about it.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am!” Kara sobs. “Please make it stop, I’m sorry!”

“Good girl,” Lena hushes and takes her thumb off the trigger. “There’s a good, good girl.” She pets her long damp hair. “See, it isn’t that hard baby. You just have to do as you’re told, you just have to be a good girl.”

Lena replaces the pain with a flood of pleasure. It takes her girlfriend off her centre of gravity. Kara slumps again, her toes flexing and curling, her belly tightening until she is curling like a little kitten. Lena makes sure to show the submission an abundance of reward, her thumb flies upward on the control trigger and gives Kara a brief taste of how good obedience can truly feel.

The toy swells so big and wide inside of Kara that her weeping baby blues fly open, entire constellations mapped in the whites of her eyes. The vibrations are so powerful that Lena can hear them — thrumming, pulsing, mechanically growling away like a revving engine. She brings Kara down slowly, gently, backing her away from the cliff edge of a quick hard orgasm.

“Please!” Kara whines and brings her cheek back to Lena’s lap, kissing and digging her nose into the top of the chief executive’s thigh. “I’ll be good, I’ll behave, please just let me cum.”

“I think I’ll leave you right here.” Lena settles on a low, gentle vibration setting — enough that Kara can feel it stirring her orgasm, but not enough to push her over the edge. “If you’re still being a good girl by the time I’ve finished my ordinance paperwork, we can revisit things.”

“Please,” Kara whimpers, her voice barely a choking whisper. “Please, please, please—” She buries her face into Lena’s lap.

Lena ignores it and gets on with her tasks. It takes longer than it usually does, she’s more aware of the ticking time. The panting little mouth pressing to her thigh whimpers and moans, but Kara’s face is entirely slack and resting on the leg as though she has no energy to hold it up of her own volition.

“Please Ma’am,” Kara whimpers, “Please, Ma’am, make it feel good.”

Lena says nothing, offers nothing in response, but she pushes the trigger upwards and increases the vibrations and swelling size of the toy, incrementally and almost procedural. Then, she clicks into her emails for a quick update on the minute notes from the meeting she missed.

Ten minutes pass, if that.

“I need to cum,” Kara pants. “Please?”

“No.”

“Please Ma’am!”

“I said no—ow!” Lena glances down to where Kara had nipped her with teeth, hard. “What did I tell you?” Lena asks calmly, her fingers catching the shying chin. “I was fair, I warned you Kara, all you have to do is be a good girl and do as I tell you to.”

“Please no more shocks, I’m sorry—I didn’t, I didn’t mean to!”

“I’m not going to shock you,” Lena says reassuringly, closing the laptop lid. “You want to be fucked? You want to be pleasured? I’m going to show you exactly why you wait for my freely-given permission. You think this is degrading? Oh baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

***

Kara cries so hard it makes the veins in her throat bulge and stick out. Her legs thrash and kick, her arms wrangling desperately against the tight, taut sleeves of the jacket. Externally, it looked as though she might be in the worst pain one woman could possibly experience. Lena almost felt guilty. But, Kara wasn’t in pain.

She was in terminal pleasure.

“Spread your legs,” Lena only has to whisper the instruction.

Kara does as she’s told instantly, as best she can, opening her shaking legs as far and wide as she possibly can. Her cunt is pink and swollen against the wet leather strap, bucking desperately for an orgasm she isn’t permitted to have.

Whenever she gets too close, Lena dials the toy down—or gives her a tiny shock—depending on whichever is necessary to keep her an obedient and well-behaved girl.

“What a pretty girl,” Lena croons, brow furrowing deeply as she leaned against her chair and crossed her leg. “Tell me again, what are the rules baby?”

“I do as I’m told,” Kara pants. “That’s all I have to do, exactly as I’m told to do.”

“You’re such a good, obedient little girl.” Lena dials up her vibrations almost imperceptibly. “I wanted to break you in gently, Kara, but if you need to be brought under the thumb with ruthless efficiency then that works for me too. Come, hump my foot like a good pet.”

The red kryptonite glows and ebbs under her skin, everywhere, pulsing, from her temples to her toes, the slithers of red slip and glide beneath her skin and then reappear a moment later somewhere else. Lena surmises that her body, her primal aggression, it’s fighting her from the inside out and telling her this is wrong.

Kara ignores it and does as she’s told.

“What a good girl!” Lena cranes down and kisses her temple as the slick leather strap begins to work the top of her bare foot. “What do good girls get, Kara?”

“Rewards, Ma’am,” Kara whimpers.

“And what does the good girl want?”

“For you to fuck me hard, Ma’am,” Kara breaks into a sob and grinds her hips harder. “Please, please, it’s too gentle.” She dissolves into hiccuping tears.

“You’re sure you want a big hard orgasm?” Lena furrows her brow, as though she doesn’t understand. “Wouldn’t you rather a nice, soft, gentle little orgasm that just takes you over the edge—”

“Please let me cum hard,” Kara squeals, her face dipped down and cradled between her handler’s thighs. “Please, Ma’am! I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

“No baby,” Lena says calmly. “Just a tiny soft orgasm tonight. If you are good, I’ll let you have a big one tomorrow.”

“Ma’am please!” Kara yelps as though agonised, her fingers digging tight into Lena’s kneecaps. “Please, please—”

It’s important that Kara learns the size and depth of a reward is Lena’s to call. She won’t get her own way all of the time, that’s Lena’s rationale with denying her. Lena dials down the vibrations incrementally, then makes the swell of the toy just a little bit smaller. Responsively, Kara sobs and bucks harder as she loses the pressure on her g-spot.

“The more you push the more pressure I’m going to take away,” Lena is stern because she feels that she has to be. “Are we going to be a good girl or a ruined girl?”

“Good girl,” Kara whimpers and bucks. “Can I cum, please? I’ll be a good girl, I’ll be obedient.”

“Chase it. I’ll cut you off when you’ve had enough baby, don’t you worry.” Lena cruelly smiles.

Kara bucks and grows silent for a moment, her pained expression slackening as the orgasm creeps up gently—nowhere near as forceful as the wolfish little thing desires it to be—but that will come in time, Lena thinks. She cups Kara’s chin and stares down at her, appraising, judging perfectly, grinning when the wild little thing comes undone with a sob and clutches at her leg like a humping little pet.

“There we go,” Lena whispers, turning the toy off suddenly just as Kara hit the peek. “What a very, very good girl. I’m pleased, Kara.” She cranes and pecks her temple, her tear-stained cheek, then her panting lips. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Kara stutters.

“Good, good girl.” Lena cradles her cheeks. “Let’s get you comfortable in bed. You’re not going to give me problems, are you?” Lena teases her thumb over the shock trigger.

“No Ma’am!” Kara shakes her head frantically. “No problems!”

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear.” Lena kisses her more fervently this time.

It was a gamble with her life that paid off, Lena thinks with relief.

The green kryptonite lamps had died hours ago, the room was completely dim and dark save the backlight from the row of monitors opposite the other side of the glass. Unbeknownst to Kara, she had slowly regained her powers, or certainly enough of them to beat Lena in a fight if she so wished. But, she had been such a very good girl.

Lena had no concerns now that her little wolfish pet could be brought to heel.

FIND MORE STORIES/SUBMIT ME YOUR IDEAS HERE!

[crossdressingdeath]

Why are people bias against JFM? Madame Yu is a woman, she is strong, yes. But at the end of the day both are at fault for their children's upbringing. Putting all the fault on JFM is unfair because in the case where Madame Yu is constantly slandering his image by constantly reproaching him of being unfaithful, it is tiresome to deal with someone who just won't listen to you. It's like talking to a wall. Of course JFM will walk away. He prefers to avoid accidentally snapping at his wife in anger, or frustration. Him walking away is him being considerate enough to not agitate his wife further in front of their kids.

In the manghua, in the scene after the cave, he asks Madame Yu to speak about the matter of his supposed love for Wei Wuxian's mother in private. He tries to be considerate to his son. He doesn't want Jiang Cheng to hear his mother insinuate he favours Wei Wuxian because of his rumoured love for his mother.

People love Madame Yu and might be bias because she is strong and fearless, a rare representation in the books from what I've noticed, but they should see that it is not entirely JFM's fault that Jiang Cheng turned out this way. If we look at every husbands, we can see that JFM is actually decent, even better than everyone else. Particularly if we compare him to Jin Guangshan who mind you cheats left and right.

If we were to try and apply their personality in real life, who would you really prefer to have as a friend or partner? Madame Yu who is according to fans, a tsundere but I don't think the author confirmed this fact? Someone with whom you have to walk on eggshells with becauss she will criticize you for every single thing that you do? Trust me I live with someons like that and I can tell you it's not easy. Or with someone like JFM? Someone who is passive to a fault, yes, but who won't dishonour you by slandering your name constantly? Someone who will only criticize you when only when you deserve it? I believe that if circumstances were different, about his marriage and his partner, JFM wouldn't be that terrible as a father. He gets along well with people who have a similar personality to him and we can't blame him for that because it would be hypocritical since according to fans who defend Madame Yu's character, we are supposed to accept her as she is. Living with someone like Madame Yu is not easy and I can understand why JFM would be avoiding her. He is trying to make himself as small as he can to avoid getting scolded and reproached at. I feel for him in that way because I try to avoid conflicts in general with people like Madame Yu because it is exhausting and has a tendency to set off my anxiety.

So if we are to start blaming people left and right, completely ignoring that while parents can influence your personality, children don't always turn out to be as abusive as them because they generally want to avoid recreating that pattern (Jiang Cheng could have changed himself. No one told him to be like his mother. He was old enough when he went to Gusu to have healthy interactions with others. You are right to blame the parents but also let's keep in mind that not every child who was born into a family where the father was an alcoholic will become one as well. It is all up to the individual to in the end change the pattern. Sometimes they need help to change and that's okay. Because they know they need to change.)

Sorry for my long post but that's how I see Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu. It's very tragic that it turned out this way, but Madame Yu maybe shouldn't have pushed the engagement so much on her side too. JFM knew they weren't compatible but she wanted to marry him (honestly though...who wouldn't when you see all the other clan leaders at this time? Nie Mingjue is younger than JFM and Jin Guangshan and Wen Ruohan I think. So he wouldn't be their classmate.) JFM realistically when you meet everyone else, is the best choice as husband. It's really just seeing who is the least terrible of all of them.

First off yeah, NMJ is the next generation down from JFM and YZY; they would’ve gone to school with his father, who died when NMJ was young. YZY maybe could have married his father, but... well, she didn’t. And JFM very much did not want to marry YZY; her family forced him into it, and he only gave in when CSSR and WCZ (who were likely his only support) left the sect.

Yeah, it really is this Thing where people are like “Oh, JFM was so horrible to JC!” when... his only real fault was not stopping YZY. He doesn’t even avoid her! She avoids him! She hangs out in her pavilion refusing to do her job as the sect leader’s wife! The most he does to her is try to stop her from using her children and JFM’s head disciple as weapons in her pointless, petty war against the man she forced to marry her! And even then he’s not trying all that hard; I mean, she’s still permitted to whip WWX for complete non-offences. JFM could put YZY in seclusion permanently or just divorce her outright; instead all he requests is that she not be blatantly cruel and petty in front of him, and apparently even that’s too much for her. Also like. she didn’t have to marry a great sect leader, now did she? There are loads of minor sects; she’s from one of them. But no, only one of the most powerful men in the world would be enough for her, and the fact that they were entirely incompatible was unimportant.

Basically JFM was distant, sure, but wasn’t actually a bad father or husband. It’s just that 1. YZY made everyone miserable and JFM didn’t stop her so apparently it’s his fault and 2. the bare minimum requirement of “don’t be horrible to literally everyone including children in front of me” is apparently way too much to ask of YZY so that cruel demand is tantamount to abuse. It’s a lot of bullshit caused by people bending over backwards to find excuses for the woman who whips a child because she hated his mother, essentially.

[hyperbali]

Agatha Harkness Was Right, And Here’s Why

Alright. Finally had to sit down and write my way out of this quiet, internal temper tantrum, and a few people were interested in seeing what I had to say, so I present to you:

Agatha Harkness Was Right, And Here’s Why

Disclaimer: MASSIVE spoilers for the entirety of WandaVision, and I am not nice about it.

I’ll start off by saying that, for all its foibles, WandaVision was genuinely a good example of a property within the MCU/Disney umbrella that stepped out of the usual ‘good guys fight bad guys action extravaganza’ in a way that pushed the envelope. The pseudo-horror aspect of the first few episodes is something I would really love to see engaged with on a more thoughtful basis in future projects.

I would say that it proved to be more than a vehicle to promote toys, but… well…

Yeah. Anyway.

I’ll assume that you watched WandaVision if you’re reading this, but quick recap: In the aftermath of ‘the Blip,’ Wanda is left broken and alone with no one in her corner. Her biggest mentor willingly abandoned his team to get his own ‘happy’ ending (do not get me started on Steve, that’s a document in and of itself), her other biggest mentor is probably off enjoying his family while ignoring the incredibly racist killing spree he’s been on for the past five years, and her lover is dead. When she goes to claim the body, she’s told nuh-uh, that’s government property, please leave.

So she goes to a plot of land in the middle of some nowhere town in New Jersey, which Vision apparently bought despite the fact they were living a pretty decently comfortable life in Scotland, where she looks at the deed that Vision drew a heart on and wrote ‘To Grow Old In’. Very sweet. Kind of weird, considering nothing of this caliber had ever been suggested for either of their characters and they’d been actively running from specifically the U.S. authorities? But sweet.

She has a breakdown and, in her grief, contains the entire town of Westview and all 3,892 of the people in it in her own personal paradise, where nothing bad ever happens beyond sitcom hijinks, no one dies, and every problem is tied up and neatly dealt with by the end of an ‘episode’. Except we learn that this is only paradise to Wanda, who apparently shares the aspect of having to relate everything to her favourite pop culture with Tony, because everyone else in Westview is more or less being psychologically tortured by the incredible amount of pain she’s in, forced to be puppeted actors to make her happy.

Bear in mind, Westview might have been bigger at some point - we have no idea how many people survived the Blip, or how many have been brought back to life within the past few weeks of the current setting. Either way, this is a town that has already dealt with a lot of trauma being dragged into yet another awful, much more specific kind of emotional damage, thanks to ‘the heroes’. Nice.

Agatha Harkness, a witch who’s been up to who-knows-what in the 340 years since she drained the coven that tried to kill her for getting a little too ambitious into jerky, feels the massive expenditure of magical power and decides to investigate. All the while, she carefully uses her own magic to try and peek into Wanda’s psyche, her motivations, all while keeping up appearances and not letting slip that anything is amiss.

I’ll point out that she’s no saint here, either - she specifically keeps one Westview resident at her mercy, and knows what’s happening to the rest of them, but doesn’t attempt to stop it. I’ll chalk that up to her pragmatism; their ‘sacrifice’ was fine to her as long as she could figure out how Wanda could have done something so unheard of in terms of power.

What we come to learn over the course of the show is that, given everything that happened, Wanda didn’t mean to take over an entire town and tool it into her own personal slice of heaven. She very quickly became aware of it; we know that she knows it’s her own personal bubble as soon as episode three, when she’s confronting Monica about how the latter could possibly know about Ultron. Wanda is made further aware of how much damage this is inflicting on others in episode five, when Vision himself tells her that these people are scared. But still, she has everything handled! It’s okay! The outside world is worse, trust her!

Her handling of the question, ‘where are all the children of Westview,’ is one that bears some thinking - and, y’know, kind of more than a little concern. They’re allowed to walk around as part of the ‘Halloween special,’ but as Vision walks further and further out towards the edges of town where Wanda doesn’t have as much full control, people are just frozen in place, or conducting the same few seconds of action over and over. And fully aware of being trapped.

How are they being sustained? Eating, sleeping? If someone isn’t part of her storyline, is she just locking them down into a coma? What made Wanda decide that keeping the children ‘out of the way’ was somehow kinder than involving them, especially given her later argument that she’s been trying to keep the entire town safe and happy?

The fact of the matter is, she only actually starts to feel remorse for any of this after she’s confronted with the fact that, after weeks of being at her mercy, the townspeople of Westview would rather be dead than endure another moment of having to play nice for her enjoyment. She finally opens the ‘bubble’ to let them out - which leads to the ‘epic’ finale of three different entities trying to take down Wanda and her happy family: the S.W.O.R.D. military led by Hayward, the White Vision, and Agatha.

Winding back to how we got here: after Agatha uses her own trapped resident, Ralph Bohner (who, given his casting and the props in place during the last episode, I’m willing to bet is actually the missing witness protection person Jimmy was looking for) in an attempt to lure out Wanda’s reasoning - and fails - she’s pretty much done pretending. She tricks Wanda into her basement, nullifies her powers, and makes her face her own past to get to the truth of the matter.

Not going to lie, favourite moment of the show. Kathryn Hahn killed Agatha’s slightly-amused-slightly-irritated observations about Wanda’s coping mechanisms, and the whole arrangement was extremely meta. I would have paid real money dollars to see her do the same thing to the likes of Tony, Strange, and Loki. Hell, even just having her meet the rest of the Avengers? Augh. If wishes were fishes.

When Agatha comes to the conclusion that Wanda is the vaunted, nigh-indestructible force of nature that she’s literally spent her entire life reading about is the ultimate source of chaos magic and will likely bring about the end of the world, she’s pretty understandably taken aback. To that matter, the fact that Wanda… has very little control over any of it, and is using what she does understand to play housemaker? After how long Agatha has spent learning control, hiding in plain sight, just to be child’s play compared to what Wanda has at her fingertips? I’d be pretty pissed off, too!

The way that WandaVision handled both of the major ‘fights’ - Vision versus White Vision ending in philosophy, and Wanda ending up beating Agatha at her own game of deception - is excellent. A little grating that they had to go with the beat down angle before they got there, but this is MCU; punches and thrown cars had to get shoved in somewhere. And, given that this series very much played with the idea of grey morality, I was sort of hopeful that Agatha would end up in a not-quite stalemate arrangement with Wanda. She’s not as powerful as the Scarlet Witch, but she has the know-how that Wanda sorely lacks; in recompense for her own deeds, she would be able to teach what she knows while also kind of scheming on her own time.

Y’know, like what they did with rehabilitating Loki?

Except that Wanda, who has just gone through the entire rigamarole of coming to terms with the fact that she trapped thousands of people into a nightmare scenario against their will, rendering them helpless to her mercy… traps Agatha into a nightmare scenario against her will, rendering her helpless to Wanda’s mercy.

That moment actually shook me. Oh, my god. We’re supposed to still look at Wanda as a good guy after this?

This isn’t even covering the incredibly awful confrontation with her and Vision where she tries to gaslight him into believing that everything is A-OK, or the fact that the person she gets most violent with (apart from Agatha) is Monica Rambeau, a black woman who spends most of the show bending over backwards trying to say that what Wanda is doing is understandable, justified, and just needs a gentle touch to be dealt with.

That could be its own document, too - how Monica, much as she’s incredible and definitely looks to be a really exciting addition to the MCU roster, more or less gets used as the Good One to absolve and enable Wanda’s actions. One of her last lines to Wanda, after seeing how the people of Westview (rightfully) look at Wanda like she’s monstrous, is “they’ll never know what you sacrificed.”

Sacrificed what? The fake husband and fake kids she made out of her own compulsion to pretend that everything is okay? None of that would have existed if she’d been given the proper resources to actually cope with how much loss she’s had to deal with. None of that would have existed if she hadn’t caused this problem in the first place.

In the end, Wanda flies off in her fancy new gear before the FBI shows up, avoiding any real consequences to her actions - which has pretty much been the running theme of her character ever since she was introduced to the MCU in Age of Ultron. The worst kind of direct consequence she’s ever gotten was being grounded to her room for a while, then kept in the Raft for, like, maybe a day - and both times, she was broken out post-haste.

Meanwhile, she worsened the issues in Sokovia (which, I will say upfront, was Tony’s fault to begin with), unleashed the Hulk on Johannesburg, got a pretty significant amount of civilians killed as bystanders in Lagos (hey, how come Wanda keeps turning a lot of black people into casualties?), and stood back in Wakanda to let their people try to fight off Thanos from getting to Vision until it was clear that there was no other option than for her to get involved.

Great Power Comes With No Responsibility At All, Actually.

Wanda, in the several years she has maintained her identity as an Avenger, has proven time and time again that she takes on innumerable risks without any full understanding of what they mean, allows others to take on the brunt of the fallout for her, and looks sad until she’s forgiven and moves on to the next problem. She has no business casually throwing around the kind of power that being the Scarlet Witch entails, not until she’s actually made any kind of headway into making reparations for what she’s done and tried, really tried, to get a handle on what she’s capable of.

Which she’s apparently doing in the last post-credits scene, astral reading the literal Book of the Damned on her lonesome in the mountains, but… without anyone to guide her, or give her any kind of boundary?

[I ran out of images I could post, but you know exactly what image I am referring to here]

Agatha Harkness was right. And that should terrify everybody that has to deal with Wanda in the future.

(P.S. Do we know if she actually even killed that dog? We never see her holding anything but a blanket, and characters go in and out of that show all the time. Granted, she wasn’t great with the cicada-turned-bird... hmm.)

Additional Notes:

“Well, you’re a Tony Stan, of course you think Wanda’s a villain”

I like Tony because he’s such an awful mess, and the narrative isn’t exactly kind about telling him what a piece of shit he can be! He reaped a lot of problems, created practically half the villains in the MCU, and ended up dying a martyred hero. Thanks to being the tent pole by which this franchise hoisted itself into a cultural powerhouse, he will always be their golden savior. If you want to read about how he’s the true villain of this entire affair, feel free to look up any number of takedown pieces about him that are out there. He’s a dick. I will never “uwu sad baby who did nothing wrong ever 🥺” him the way people do about Wanda.

“Why are you so pressed about this”

Because something as good in concept as WandaVision could and should have been about anyone other than the whitewashed, antisemitic take on Wanda Maximoff that MCU brought upon us. They put crucifixes on her wall in Civil War, for fuck’s sake!

“Weren’t you mad about them not including Aaron Taylor-Johnson”

At this point, I am almost kind of relieved the real Pietro wasn’t resurrected for this, because god knows they probably would have killed him all over again just to inflict that much more pain on his sister.

“Anything else you’d like to tell us, turbo nerd”

This was literally itching at me all weekend to write, so it’s more or less just to get it off my chest. If you powered your way through it, uh… thanks? Sorry if I yucked your yums, but I tried to be as clear with the disclaimer as I could. 🤷‍♂️

[thelittlequeerpumpkinwitch]

Oh, for the ship ask, how about 💖 and 😒 for roloceit?

Hello this came out absurdly long. Also I started, stopped, and forgot this twice because I had to go out for dinner, and then the new Asides dropped.

💖- How do each of them feel about pet names?

I think it goes without saying that Roman is just about the biggest fan of pet names and quirky nicknames there is. He probably dedicates an entire journal to lists of nicknames for each of the sides, and makes little marks and notes to indicate which ones got particularly strong reactions. This one made Janus laugh, use again. Logan was frustrated he didn't understand this one, do not use. He's a dork, is what I'm saying.

Janus gets a lot of snake and scale themed nicknames still because Roman actually thinks his scales are lovely and wants him to know that, always. References to musicals, plays, and mythology are common place in his nicknames. Space themed nicknames are Roman's favorite for Logan, because they're romantic and fit so well, and he loves when Logan reacts to a new nickname in a way that lets him go off on a passionate ramble where he compares him to the sun and the stars until Logan is beet red and mumbling for him to please have mercy and stop his gay heart can't take this?? His nicknames are often themed around novels, sci-fi, science, and also mythology. Roman will also add specific references to Logan's current hyper fixation.

When it comes to simpler, more common terms of endearment Roman's favorites are things like my love, my treasure, my heart, my muse. Sweet and classic, and letting his loves know in a casual way that they're important and beloved and invaluable to him. As for being called pet names? Roman loves it. He's weak for being given affection in any form, honestly, but pet names give him this warm wobbly feeling in his heart. Janus's casual endearment, like loving Roman just comes so naturally and effortlessly to him, makes him melt. Logan's carefully curated nicknames, that he puts so much thought and effort into because nicknames don't come naturally to him but he loves his boyfriends so much that he wants to try anyway, always leave him beaming.

Janus is the second biggest fan of pet names here, because of course he is - he's just as much of a dramatic flirty theatre boy as Roman is. His arsenal of affectionate nicknames is smaller than Roman's, because he doesn't really plan them out like Roman often does. He'll make them up on the spot most of the time, just say whatever comes naturally at the moment. He's made up plenty of little situational nicknames that are almost forgotten as soon as that situation passes, until he says it again like four months later and it immediately reminds Roman or Logan of that exact situation and they start yelling (affectionately). He has a set of favorite nicknames for each of the sides, though, that he uses most often. Roman is his Prince Charming, his Braveheart, his ... terms themed around royalty, bravery, creativity, and charm. Janus is good at this, I am not. Logan can expect to be flustered with My Starlight and My Night Sky fairly often, and also Sherlock Holmes and references to his curiosity, because Janus finds that particularly endearing about him.

Janus's favorite pet name is darling and he uses it constantly, but he can also frequently sprinkle in terms like my beloved, my sweet, dearest, dear, dove. A lot of classic and sweet nicknames, which again, he uses often because terms of endearment just kind of come naturally to him. As for being called pet names, he's fond of it, and certain ones can fluster him, which his boyfriends love. Mostly he enjoys the simple reminder that he's cared for.

Logan's thoughts on pet names are a bit more complex but hey, he's a complex side. He's not good at nicknames, and he admits this. He's not that much better at terms of endearment in general, really. That kind of thing doesn't come as naturally to him, and he tends to express his affection in other ways. He knows, though, that Roman & Janus both enjoy them, so he does make the effort to use them every once in awhile, to cheer them up or just to see them smile. Because he thinks he's bad at them, Logan puts a lot of thought and genuine research into a nickname before he'll use it, because he wants it to be accurate and expressive and liked. Roman & Janus appreciate the effort he puts into them, especially because he doesn't really have to.

Logan always considered himself fairly neutral on the idea of nicknames and pet names, maybe even leaning towards dislike. He has a perfectly acceptable name and there's no reason not to use it, thank you. But that changed pretty fast when Roman & Janus started flirting with him. It flustered him for awhile, because there's a world of difference between pet names and the kind of mocking nicknames he's used to, but once they're all together they just kind of ... make him feel a bit warm and fuzzy.

😒- Who is more protective/gets jealous more easily?

Well, I can tag Logan right as the least protective and prone to jealousy. Not that he isn't protective at all, because he can and will shutdown anyone upsetting his boyfriends, but he has confidence that they can handle themselves and he's pretty good at being level-headed when he's not, you know, angry. He doesn't get jealous often and when he does it's mostly that insecure type of jealousy where he turns it in on himself.

Janus is very protective once he's attached to someone, and obviously his boyfriends are at the top of his list of attachments. He's protective in the way that he won't let anyone talk shit about them, only he can do that, how dare they? And he's very protective of like ... their excitement? If something is really important to them, Janus will bend over backwards to make sure no one else fucks it up, or he'll ruin their lives. He's like ... moderately prone to jealousy? He doesn't particularly like anyone outside of the circle flirting with his boys, and if he spots it he'll usually sweep in and out-flirt the offender and offer some scathing sarcasm and passive-aggression. Sometimes he gets caught up in the fear of being pushed out again and left alone, and he gets snappy and defensive.

Roman is a lot more protective in the physical ways. He's the one that would start a fist fight in public because someone got handsy with Logan or said something especially nasty to Janus. If someone or something is a threat to either of them? Roman will throw down at a moments notice. He'd take a bullet for them, but he's also definitely jumped in front of frisbees and tackled a wild Remus for them. Jealousy ... that's a bit of an issue for him. We all know his self esteem is in tatters, and that can get in his head and in the way of his relationships. He can caught up worrying that Logan & Janus love each other more than they love him, or that they're interesting in someone else and want to replace him, and why wouldn't they, he's so easily replicable-- Roman has definitely cried over his jealousy before, and him starting fights because of it is definitely a bit of a problem early in the relationship, though it is one that's eventually dealt with because of healthy communication and also therapy.

Uh, final verdict is Janus is the most protective but Roman is the most insecure, and Logan loves these fools.

BONUS HEADCANON.

Logan & Roman both own an absurd, insane amount of notebooks and journals dedicated to a vast variety of topics, including nicknames and relationships and random interests. Janus finds it such an amusing thing for them to have in common, and starts keeping a little relationship journal of his own where he keeps notes of all the little things and moments that made him think "wow, I love this person" and presented it to them on their anniversary. They loved it.

[blushing-starker]

Insanity brings me truth and you

can you guess what Peter's doing to not be understood by the guards?

It's not easy, being crazy. There are expectations to run away from, a bar to limbo under, a specific number of people one has to betray and scar. The unknowable becomes knowable, so you have to skirt the edge of that Venn diagram very carefully. Or very recklessly. Either way, it's a complex thing except for when it's not. Jesus, how infuriating to think about. The point is, the paradox that crazies carry on their shoulders? It's a fucking hassle, a tricky one and Peter is tired of it.

He sighs, lets gravity bend him backward, legs slipping dangerously off the blanket he's hung as a hammock inside his cell. Act like a psycho and you're predictable, don't act like an ax wielding murderer and whoops! Predictable. It's the downside of being insane; you leave the weary capitalist consumer mask out in the world, probably set that shit on fire and make yourself sick with the fumes. But you just replace it with the one labelled 'danger to society' and get forced to play along with that. He did what he did to avoid the world and its predetermined fate, its standards.

Peter closes his eyes, thinks of the nauseating smell on his left. Rupert, the guard that dared graze him while he came back from the shower naked, has a broken nose thanks to Ned and his loyalty to him. The idiot barely cleans the open wound and the whole cell reeks of pus because of it. He does the math of how long it's been going on for and shudders in disgust. His bare calves slip a little more.

An inhale near the front of his cage. Slow, but controlled. Not the usual. Thank God for a circus family and heightened senses.

The doctor is paying attention to him.

"Doctor Stark. Gnittor gnihtemos llems ouy nac?" Rupert grumbles from his perch on the second floor, curses a hare brained psycho that's incomprehensible. Peter hums, pleased to know that after ten months, nine days, twelve hours, and...

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on sinking deeper into nothing, into a yawning void. The blanket shakes and his thighs are starting to tremble. Blood is rushing to his head, veins most likely beginning to protrude. Irrelevant.

His favorite guard Stan wears a Swiss watch his wife got for him on their fortieth anniversary. It sings to him now, smooth and cool like a river. A skipping stone is thrown, tic, a fish heads towards the sound, toc. Above all the other stimuli in the room, the watch announces itself. Ten fifteen.

Ten months, nine days, twelve hours and twenty minutes into a game, his tiny gnat still hasn't caught on. Not like the charming doctor. He sees him then, behind closed eyelids, as clearly as a sweet nightmare. Tall, taller than Peter, but less strong. Wide shoulders that morph into a slim waist and a delectable ass he aches to sink his teeth into. Shapely calves from running, curiously delicate looking ankles.

Down and back again. A full head of dark hair with a dusting of silver. Dangerously clever mouth, what his aunt would call a noble nose. Agreeable cheekbones. Piercing eyes that tear his walls down, rip apart the bricks and mortar until he's scrambling on the other side, desperately, clumsily attempting to reinforce them for the millionth time. Those eyes saw the trick, the mirror reflection on his second day here, Peter offhandedly talking in reverse with Ned when they passed the new doctor. A dark gaze had pinned him in place, a spider fixed in place with its own silk against the cold dissection table.

Ned had rambled on, Peter had met a worthy playmate and the doctor had seen all he needed in that eternally prolonged glance. That very afternoon, a psychiatrist signed on as his very own voyeur.

Doctor Stark seems to be as interested in cutting him open to peek inside as Peter is in taking a dagger and comparing their hearts. He does this a lot; wonders how fate and the absence of lucky fate led them here. On opposite sides of a prison when perhaps it should be the other way around. Or perhaps there should only be Peter and Doctor Stark.

He feels himself falling, plummeting ever downward into fantasies and hazy dreams. It's not until the good doctor sharply calls out his name that he realizes he's also plummeting towards the floor. Now, MJ had warned him; had specifically said that the hammock being ten feet off the concrete ground was a bad idea. Ned had said he'd be fine and Peter loves the guy, ok? He has to do everything he can so that his best friend wins a bet over his other best friend.

Peter slightly regrets that when he's forced to arch his body backward, flip right side up in order to hit the floor on his feet instead of his face. The impact chokes the air right out of him, shakes his bones, but he doesn't react. Cracks his neck and that's all. Most of the guards were kind, some shade of understanding. They weren't harmless, though. He knows what he looks like, knows how many hours these men are cooped up with the scum of the earth.

"To answer your question," Peter leaps onto the bars of his cell, slithers higher than any sane person would and somersaults off the vertical slits, sinks into his trustworthy hammock with its trustworthy knots (MJ and Ned had tied them, one each), "yes, I do. It's less potent this time."

He stills, frowns. "How? There haven't been any changes. External or internal." No need to act like the Mad Hatter when the conversation could be had normally. Quicker and more reliable with meanings. But the doctor pauses, enunciates his next words slowly.

"Ti koot uoy erom emit yadot." God, he loved hearing Doctor Stark talk that carefully and smoothly. It was as comforting as it was uncomfortable. (He and sex don't particularly get along. It's like a headache that comes and goes; with the right medicine it can dissipate and evolve into something soothing, pleasant. With the majority of medicine, it blossoms into pain and soreness, a dry throat clogged by a thick syrup that won't leave him be no matter how much water MJ and Ned encourage him to drink. Peter isn't yet completely certain which side of his scale the doctor falls on, but he's guessing it's likely the first.)

(The man seemed to live in the grey areas; fitting that with this, too, he'd reside in the in between.)

The reverse effect is in play and he grins, genuine and wide, when he catches it. "Monsters are visiting more frequently, taking up space in the light." His nightmares had intensified recently, and they're starting to accompany him even in moments Peter knows are real; shapes drifting by the corner of his eye. As a coping tactic, he rips parts of his nails off. Not entirely, just the corners. His mind could concoct lots of things, but in his dreams his hands are always pristine.

(He hasn't caught up with it, hasn't noticed that although his nightmares have a clearness to them, a bright intensity, Peter can't shift enough focus to realize his hands aren't his own. They never are. But he usually has more pressing bodies to deal with than the good doctor's.)

Another pause, this one being done by Tony Stark, doctor and healer of men, instead of Doctor Stark, curious keeper of deranged souls. "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe this will help." Peter peers over the edge of the grey hammock, watches with interest as the doctor approaches his cell with a glass bottle of clear liquid sloshing inside. The other man stops an inch away from the bars, looks up at Peter.

There's a slow tension simmering between them, something as thick and addictive as honey. There's scientific curiosity, a desire to seek out and maybe comprehend the unknown lurking inside their mirror image, as other and as alike as oneself. But there is also a gleam of something he's afraid of acknowledging in Doctor Stark's eyes. A madness once tucked away steadily unraveling itself with each glance they share.

Peter returns the look, unblinking and thinking. " 'If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.' " A lesson Nietzsche offered to those wise enough, sane enough to live blind.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, is otherwise still. Sometimes, if Peter considers their current predicament for too long, his grasp on his masks loosens, and the Spider begins to spin its deadly thread round and round its very own body. He sees a guard exchange money with a partner; the crazy quota has, he guesses, been filled for the week. And they had such a nice streak going on, too. Oh, well. This web is unavoidable anyways.

He pitches himself forward, is the one who controls the descent instead of gravity this time. Letting the air rush up to meet him, he inhales, tastes a distinct sharpness around him. Crouching, Peter takes it all in, every last detail. Looks, really looks, at the doctor and suspects.

As if he were none the wiser, he calmly heads to the front of the cell. Meets the doctor at the divide and wonders what it'll be. Wonders if he'll rise higher than ash and flame, an acrobat testing the fates by flying just seconds ahead of death. Doctor Stark hands him the bottle and he can see now, tiny pieces of lavender. A distraction for the guards. "That should keep the monsters in the dark. Use it before you got to sleep and tuck away your hair."

Like a schoolgirl with a crush, he self consciously brings a hand to his curls. They're getting a bit long, but the warden only allows haircuts once a month or two. "I don't have anything to use." Digging into his lab coat, the other man retrieves a single black stick.

Well, to everyone else it's a hair pin. Peter knows the truth though, can see it and smell it and very nearly touch it. As it is, he gently plucks the items out of elegant hands and refuses to look at them. Looking draws attention. Doctor Stark gazes at his face, eyes flickering in a rehearsed way around his own, but not into them. That's alright, he understands.

"The lack of movement around your face should also help." The question of why is out before he can reel it in and act as a sane, normal person. Christ, he could handle crazy, not rude. He would have to practice being in control so as not to slip up when the doctor is around. Said doctor cocks his head, doesn't have to do anything more for Peter to get the message: go on, ask the devil why he made the deal.

Peter B Parker does not back down when intrigued. "Why are you helping me sleep better?"

Why help me escape?

"It's my duty." Three words. Not the explicit declaration of affection typical, normal, dull people receive from an admirer or partner. Not a grand proclamation of wanting what the heart wants, or a sonnet regarding the connection between star crossed paramours. Simple, short, concise; enough to turn to religion, to sanctity and salvation if it means hearing it again. He'd do anything, including putting on a discarded mask from his past if it gets him what he desires. Peter would suffer through sanity for this man. He would if it means hearing what sounds silent to those around them.

You're my duty. Whatever happens tonight, Doctor Stark believes it's his duty to see it through. To see him through, in a way.

"Why would you accept?" Ah, silly doc thinking any of his principles have changed since the first time they met, since the first time he brought fire to life and gave death in return. Peter smiles, brings forth the prisoner that had not seen the light of day in almost a decade.

(His uncle often said Peter's greatest gift to the world was his smile, his true smile. His aunt said it was the final move needed to capture a king and make him his pawn.)

"Why, doc, you know I hate to be bored." Call him a psycho, a freak, a sick, pitiful creature. Call him anything and everything and maybe those words would ring true. But Peter will never allow himself to be bored, not when there's so much fun to be had. Especially with a doctor as crazy as he is. "This looks...promising."

" 'He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.' " The first part of Nietzsche's warning.

"Nietzsche didn't understand; those who fought monsters were already fated to become what they struggled to defeat. They believed salvation could be found by killing the monsters outside, but all they did was feed the ones inside."

Anthony Stark, the truest version, grins at him, all glinting eyes, sharp teeth and a crooked smile. Peter Parker, armed with a match, gasoline and soon to be glass shards, grins right back. In this instant, being crazy isn't such a hassle. After all, he has someone to share the crazy with now.