#one strike is not inherently more important than the other

[transannabeth]

*

[nohoperadio]

I want there to be a website similar to Genius, for annotating song lyrics (and poems and public domain texts and whatever else you want to do with that tech), but instead of each song having one page that just shows the "consensus" annotations, each user would have their own personal page for each song they annotate. So I would have my page with my annotations about Source Decay by the Mountain Goats and you would have your page for yours, and there'd be no such thing as the page for Source Decay by the Mountain Goats that just houses the top-voted contributions (or however it works on Genius, I think it's slightly more complicated but w/e). (Actually there would be a version of "the page" for each song but it wouldn't work like Genius, more on this in a sec.)

Genius is often very good at providing the kind of basic factual information that can't possibly be controversial (the song mentions a town, the annotation mentions that the songwriter lived in that town briefly during 2008, whatever), and it's often very good as a place to collect quotes from interviews of what the band has to say about each song, but on the whole Genius is not as fun to browse as it should be, and I think that's largely because the wiki-like structure prevents it from channeling more than a small portion of the passion and interpretive creativity of, say, songmeanings.com, a once-active site that Genius largely killed and replaced, but it still exists and if you check out old comment sections you can find a lot more rambling and theorycrafting (and crucially, a lot more bad ideas, which are vitally important to any kind of interesting conversation about art).

You will find some of that more speculative stuff on Genius, it's not just for factual background, but the fact that space is inherently limited and everyone's annotation is in competition with everyone else's does not make this impulse thrive. The least weird contributions tend to win out. If you want to add your idea about a particular line, but someone else has already annotated it, your options are: a) "propose an edit" to their annotation that incorporates your own ideas (awkward!), b) try to write your own annotation and have it displace theirs entirely as the thing that comes up when you click the line (you'll feel like a dick even if you're successful at this), or c) leave your thoughts as a "comment" on their annotation (Genius hides the comments by default and doesn't make the button to open them at all conspicuous, but even if that weren't the case your "comment" would still be lower in the hierarchy than their "annotation", and implicitly framed as a reply to the latter).

In my vision nobody's annotation would compete with anyone else's, the annotations are (what they mostly are when made in physical books remember!) more for the writer's benefit than for any other reader, and unconstrained by the responsibility implied in the wiki-ish project of contributing to a public resource you would be free to pursue whatever interpretive rabbit holes strike your fancy, fill each page dissecting evidence for how this record that definitely wasn't intended as a concept album is actually a concept album, fill them with entirely personal connections like how this line reminds you of a weird thing you saw in your Grandma's attic when you were ten, do whatever you want. Other people can come and leave comments on your stuff appreciating your brilliance/sending you death threats if you choose to enable that option, the way I'm imagining it this would actually be a big part of the life of the site and if all went to plan it would actually feel something akin to a social media site some of the time, but that side of it would be secondary to the main goal of each user having a place to house their own thoughts about songs in an organized, presentable, public way.

The site should make it easy to discover the annotation pages of other users writing about stuff you're interested in, the "main page" for each band and then each song would be a sort of hub for accessing other people's pages who have made annotations for that. If it had any substantial userbase this might benefit from some mechanism whereby the community identifies people who are writing particularly interesting stuff and makes those people a bit more visible, although I'd want this to be more subtle than a list ordered by likes/upvotes/whatever, and I'd want there to be some way to show off the range of different ways of using the site, with some people being more diaristic/personal on there, some people doing something like real scholarship (perhaps sometimes on a more ambitious scale than actually-existing Genuis allows for), some people might be doing something more spiritually akin to fanfiction.

I know that this site would be fascinating for (at least) me to browse if it existed and was active; I'm unsure whether there'd be enough interest to make it active. I think it's possible. There's a bunch of you guys I'd like to follow on there if it existed and if you were doing it.

[mingus-archives]

Saviors, Suffering, and Isolation in Across the Spiderverse

Something that really stuck with me from Spider-Man Across the Spiderverse was the theme of suffering inherent in the hero narrative (and specifically the spiderman narrative) and how we can perpetuate suffering in our justification of it.

In the intro to the movie, Gwen gives background into how she became Spiderwoman. She explains the traumatic experience of inadvertently causing her friend Peter’s death and says that because of this she can’t have friends. We see how this has caused her to further suffer, forcing a wedge between her and her band, her and her father, and her and Miles. She is obsessed with not letting a loved one suffer at her hands in the same way again. Furthermore, she is okay letting herself suffer through isolation as long as her loved ones are safe.

Then, we meet Miguel, Spider Man 2099, who fervently defends his and his organization’s behavior as making sure some suffering occurs in order to prevent larger suffering. Miguel took over a different dimension’s Miguel, allowing him to have a daughter and live a happy life. However, this dimension fell apart because he was an anomaly and caused that dimension’s timeline to not flow as it should. After this, he forms the Spider-society, which is intent on making sure that anomalies are taken care of and, more importantly, that canon events happen.

This is where the main conflict of the plot arises, as a canon event in the timeline is the death of the police captain, who in Miles’s universe happens to be his father. Miguel insists that Miles has to let his father die, and rages that Miles has already helped another Spiderman (Pavitr) avoid that fate. This is not a surprise to Miguel’s character; he is tormented by his attempts to lead a happy life and therefore believes that suffering is necessary. 

However, what is striking is that all the spider-people seemingly stand by Miguel except Miles. The characters we know, namely Peter B Parker, Jessica Drew (Spiderwoman), and Gwen all support Miguel’s perspective. This seems wildly out of character for these individuals who we’ve seen be insistent on saving people if it is in their power to do so. But it is important to note that, besides Gwen, they’ve already suffered that canon event of the police captain dying. For them, that was a necessary trauma in their lives that allowed them to be who they are today. It is in a sense a passive justification. They did all they could, but the captain had to die. But for Miles (and Gwen), the death of the captain is something they’re being forced to allow or even facilitate. They have to make the active choice to let their captains, both their fathers, die. Miles is insistent that this is wrong, and that there is another way to live.

As a story centered on characters of colors (and minority characters given Gwen is implied to be trans in the movie), this can be seen as a message about how some communities or people of color treat suffering. That is, the belief in many minority communities like mine (Hmong) is that suffering is a necessary evil to endure for the good of everyone. They suffered, so their children must suffer as well. However, this mindset moves from a coping mechanism to harm when, upon finding no or a lack of suffering, we fabricate suffering onto others like us because we believe this is necessary for success. Instead of finding help, lifting one another up, leaning on each other, we lean into the suffering, the pain, and the isolation. We are unduly harsh to our children, or we don’t try to disrupt the unjust systems that harmed us, or we just let bad situations be.

The Spider Society may be a group of spider-people, but there is surprisingly little care being given to one another’s wellbeing. Instead, they all look at each other and empathize rather than offer real care. I understand rather than let’s understand together. The coldness of this community is made clear with how  harshly Jessica treats Gwen when she screws up, with how cruelly Miguel treats Peter (”I’ve had enough of you”), and most humorously with the therapy scene where the therapist spiderman rudely remarks, “Let me guess your Uncle Ben died?” The spider-people are all heavily traumatized individuals, and instead of healing they’ve worked themselves into a web of control and fatalism. By accepting that suffering as inevitable, they create the suffering of Miles.

As a daughter of a refugee, I grew up hearing the message that suffering made us strong, that it allowed them to be successful. Children who didn’t suffer were spoiled and grew up to be ungrateful wastes to society. I heard stories in my LGBTQ+ community about how young queers take things for granted and don’t understand how hard it once was. And when I suffered myself, I felt a similar urge to say that this suffering made me a better person. And this is so hard to fight because if you acknowledge the suffering wasn’t needed, that means you shouldn’t have had to go through it, that it was unjustified, that it was a random cruelty of the universe. And that is a tough truth to accept, because that means it didn’t have to be that way. Uncle Ben didn’t have to die for Spiderman to live.

In order to let our stories continue, instead of repeating the past, as well as help our communities Across the Spiderverse asks us to let go of the suffering and the belief we needed it. It is not what makes us heroes. It is not what makes us good. Instead, like Miles and Gwen (by the end of the movie), our heroism is in our love and our loved ones, and in the belief that there is a better way.

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

Nuanced and Multifaceted Conflict vs. “Good v. Evil” in fiction

So. This is another thing I’ve wanted to talk about for a while. I promise I won’t always be focusing on Helluva Boss in my critiques, and I actually have quite a few other series I want to talk about.

There’s a big chance that I’ll be saying everything other people have already said, but I can’t help but WANT to talk about this specific character in regard to the story’s conflict. I think that it’s important to recognize when a character is written to be a complex person, and when a character is written to be an enemy to be defeated, and how not following through with your set-up can affect your story.

And HB does that A LOT in my opinion.

So. Let’s get into it. This time I’ll be talking about complex conflict between characters vs. black and white conflict, and I’ll also be touching on story set-ups and audience expectations.

I want to talk about a character who could have really made some of the internal character conflicts have so much more depth and intrigue. I want to talk about Stella Goetia

*as a side note this post is MUCH longer than I intended but I really wanted to get into a lot of the background and reasons for how Stella’s character development has actually completely changed what HB’d story conflict could have looked like. I’ll try and sum up everything in the end in a TLDR for y’all

So. Most of the reviews of her character I see talk about how she’s been “ruined” by the writing team revealing that she’s always been very abusive towards Stolas

I have to start off by saying I actually don’t think that Stella or her portrayal was “ruined” by the writing direction her character has been taken in.

In fact, this critique bothers me, because it doesn’t really get to what I think the actual root of why people are disappointed in Stella’s characterization, and the type of conflict that now exists between her and Stolas.

The main reason I believe people are unsatisfied with Stella is because they believed that her character was being set up for a complex and nuanced conflict between her and Stolas, and then that turned out not to be the case.

A quick disclaimer- I do think it’s possible to subvert audience expectations about story and characters in a satisfying way. But it has to be done in a way that respects the audiences intelligence and willingness to think about the story.

If your plot-twist, unreliable narrator, subversion, or what-have-you is done well, the audience should be able to either figure out what’s going based on the little information you’ve given them, and if they don’t, the change or subversion should still make sense and CLICK in hindsight.

Otherwise, your subversion will end up feeling cheap or confusing. Or worse, like a lie.

And this is one of the MAIN issues I think people have with Stella.

As the audience, we were NOT given enough information on her or her character before it’s revealed that she’s just “evil” and always has been, apparently since she was a literal child.

Again, I don’t think it’s an inherently bad decision to have a flat or pure evil villain. I’m fine with Stella being one, even if it’s less interesting to me personally.

But it’s definitely very different from what was initially implied and set-up, and the audience can pick up on that.

Before S2E1 “The Circus” we see Stella a total of 3 times in person, with one time being a flashback.

I’m going to go over those times to analyze if anything set-up in Stella’s appearances points towards her being. Well, totally and irredeemably awful and abusive I guess.

The very first time we see Stella is in the same bed with Stolas—Octavia calls for her parents, both Stolas AND Stella. Stella grumbles and refuses to get up and tells Stolas to go. This doesn’t immediately strike me as a sign of her being a terrible person. That exact scenario is present in a lot of family comedies, kids’ movies, and sitcoms.

Nothing about this screams that Stella is a terrible parent or an abusive partner to me. It just tells me she’s tired and doesn’t want to get up, which again, is not uncommon.

The next time we see her, she’s yelling at Stolas, and she throws a servant at him in anger.

Now, there’s no excuse for this, her behavior here is not okay, regardless of her feelings. But we understand why she’s acting the way she is--she’s furious with Stolas for cheating on her. At this point with the information we have, it’s also very reasonable to believe her feelings have been hurt.

Later Octavia talks about how her parents didn’t used to hate each other, and the way Stolas’ tries to explain their failing marriage to her comes across like his relationship with Stella is one that’s always had difficulties that they have tried and failed to overcome.

None of this information is enough to really convey or hint that Stella is and has always been abusive or evil. It shows that Stella and Stolas have a very rough relationship, and that Stella most likely has anger management difficulties, but you have to do lot of extra work to come to the conclusion that Stella is completely at fault here.

The next time we see her though, things have clearly escalated, because it’s revealed that she’s one that hired Striker to assassinate Stolas.

Now. Usually. Yeah. That would be a HUGE red flag. And I mean. It still obviously is.

But, and I never thought I’d use this uno reverse card, this is one of the few times where the explanation of “But it’s hell, what did you expect???” actually makes sense to me.

Because yeah, it is hell. It’s the end of episode 5 when we learn this, and our protagonists have killed and assassinated multiple people. Taking a hit out on people really doesn’t seem to be that uncommon of a thing in hell.

Even the next scene after the reveal that Stella is the one who hired Striker makes light of how serious this is, by showing that Stella was basically yelling her assassination plot right to Stolas’ face.

This is played for laughs! I genuinely am not sure if the writers intended for this to be foreshadowing of Stella’s abuse or not because if so, they turned her attempting to kill her husband into a joke!

If you cannot keep your themes or tone consistent, how is the audience supposed to follow your story?

There is subtle storytelling, and then there’s tacking information and character points later on in your writing. And this can have two causes.

Either your audience has to do the work of story-telling for you and make up their own reasons for what’s happening to make the story coherent OR they will be disappointed and dissatisfied by the final product.

I think that’s the main reason why S2E1 of Helluva Boss felt so jarring story-wise, and why Stella, to me at least, suddenly felt like a brand new character.

Like I haven’t been this confused by a character being suddenly evil since Hans from Frozen.

(like seriously why the hell did they put this scene in if not to just trick the audience. This isn’t giving us any plot info it’s only giving us contradictory info on his character. Like I talked about before, Hans’ heel-face-turn doesn’t feel like a twist. It feels like a lie.)

Okay so, how does any of this actually affect anything? Who cares if Stella is evil, that doesn’t automatically make the story bad!

Well. Yeah, of course not. Ironically, having the main conflict your story being a battle between “Good v. Bad” characters is neither good nor bad. It’s just a story decision. And ultimately at the end of the day, the writers of Helluva Boss can choose to tell their story however they’d like.

But, depending on how this is executed, good v evil stories can be a lot less interesting than morally grey or complicated conflicts and characters.

I am more interested in the version of the story where Stella and Stolas are imperfect and messy people. I am more interested in the story where Stolas has an affair to escape being in an arranged marriage, and Stella overreacts by arranging a hit on her husband (unless calling out a hit is normal in hell, but we can’t know b/c there is no baseline for what is considered normal in hell)

I am so much more interested in the story where Stolas and Stella are both depicted as being in the wrong, as being incredibly hurt by each other’s actions, and as not knowing how to repair their broken relationship for the sake of their daughter.

That story feels very real to me. It’s one I want to engage and invest in.

I want to see if these characters can grow to accept their mistakes and learn and change for the sake of Octavia and having to co-exist with each other, or if they’ll slip back into mutual destruction and toxicity.

But that’s not the story we’ll get to see, because it seems like the writers are more interested in keeping Stolas from having to grow as a character. And because of that, Stella has been turned into an evil obstacle that must be defeated, instead of a nuanced and real person.

I also feel like I have to say. I know I would be MUCH less frustrated by this if I hadn’t seen an HB crew member talking about how their show is similar to Bojack Horseman.

Because. It’s just not. I’m sorry, I’m not saying that to be mean, or condescending, or rude, but the way characters are written in Helluva Boss is almost completely black and white at this point.

Regardless of the writer’s intent, the vast majority of the choices they have made in Season 2 come off as explanations to excuse the protagonist’s mistakes, and give them a “get out of being potentially in the wrong” free card.

Compared to the writing decisions in Bojack, which almost always has characters confront their wrongdoings, for better or worse, HB honestly feels like it’s the Anti-Bojack.

It would take a TON of character development and time to make HB’s characters as interesting, fleshed-out, and as real as Bojack’s are, and at this point that’s I don’t think it will ever happen.

Again. Having black and white conflict is FINE. It is a choice in story telling that can be done very effectively. But if you are making a black and white story where one side is always terrible and evil, and one side can do no wrong, you can’t act like you’ve written something that is deeper and more emotionally complex and grey than that.

And the first time the writers gave Stella more than 3 sentences to string together, they made it very clear that any chance of her being a more complex and engaging character was being tossed out the window.

————

TLDR:

The main reason people are upset about Stella being shown as abusive in S2E1 of HB is probably because the initial depictions of her didn’t give us enough information on her character to tell that she was just evil/a terrible person.

The way the story was written in S1 to set up the possibility of a very interesting and complex conflict between Stella and Stolas, and when it was revealed that she’s just. The worst. There were people that were disappointed by this, because they expected more.

Audiences actually aren’t idiots, and when you subtly foreshadow something and then completely change things, that can be frustrating.

It’s MORE than okay to write a straightforward good v evil story, but it depending on the way it’s written and executed, it may not be as interesting to mature audiences as a more morally grey story would be.

If you can’t write characters confronting their flaws and being in the wrong, please don’t compare your writing to Bojack, I mean. C’mon.

[rosesloveletters]

all is fair in love.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 10,261

Warnings: sexual content / smut.

Summary: The holidays are Wonka's busiest season and his work keeps him away from reader much more than either of them would like. After hours, the two spend a passionate night together as they both make the necessary arrangements to be attentive to each other's needs and empathetic of the complexity of maintaining a healthy romantic relationship that neither reader nor Wonka are accustomed to.

Author's Note: my smut fics are always between 6-10k haha so enjoy. I edited this the best I could, but for some reason I kept switching between first person and second person pov for reader (I don't know why since I always write in second person pov.) I think I fixed most of it, so if there's any parts I missed, I'm sorry. Also, I'd like to mention that Christmas isn't inherently important to the events in this story. It is used as an element only to convey why Wonka is so busy during this time of year, because most people like to buy chocolate and candy as gifts. I know Gene was Jewish, even though I believe he said he wasn't exactly religious. I have no intention of trying to be offensive/belittle/make light of anyone's religion or beliefs and I apologize if it comes across that way because it is without a doubt not my intention. 

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

You’ve always believed that if you truly love someone, then you keep it a secret. 

You would let that feeling freeze me down to the core – to love the way a person is meant to, but it is that same love that, inevitably and irrevocably, suffocates. 

You cannot satisfy that craving the same way one might satisfy a sweet tooth. Once given a taste, it seeps down into your skin, infecting both body and mind, pierces the heart and tears it wide open. 

The thundering beat inside your chest cannot be silenced. The fingertips of fate trace the spider-like, lightning-strike veins that split your heart right down the middle. 

A broken heart takes love like a beating.

It all comes boiling to the surface, bubbling up and out in the breath of a second.

The truth always comes out, one way or another. 

Because if you don’t let the heart have its’ way, then it will tear itself right out of your chest.

***

The days were short, but the hours were long. 

You spent much of your time by yourself, as this season kept Willy preoccupied. Time marched onward and the weeks themselves seemed to drag; it was nearing Christmastime and that meant very little to you in the grand scheme of things, except that you’d be seeing less and less of your lover. 

Traditionally, the holidays were a time of celebration and joy, gifts and laughter shared between friends and families alike. 

However, you lived a nontraditional life now, and Willy had unwittingly shown you that the life of a chocolatier was a solitary one. You knew that the busy holiday season was what pulled him away, but his lack of attentiveness made you wonder…

The only thing that kept these thoughts at bay was the way in which he looked at you when he was around. 

Willy was a difficult man to read. Whether that was intentional or not, were you still trying to determine. The only dead giveaway were his eyes – startlingly intense and piercingly blue – that bore no resemblance to subtlety. 

The vastness of the heavens, it seemed, were contained within those swirling galaxies. On dark nights when the cloud cover was too thick, you traced the constellations in his eyes to guide you into his morning light. 

You could see yourself peeling back the layers of his heart to get to the source of how he truly felt.

Deflect from it all he might – “I’m a trifle deaf in this ear. Speak a little louder next time–” you saw right through him and sometimes that only made him steer clear of you for longer. 

It wasn’t that he did not care for you; it was quite the opposite. Perhaps the extent to which he cared was a bit overwhelming for him at times. He immersed himself in his work during these times, else his mind inevitably carried him to places he would rather not visit. 

Willy Wonka’s mind was not a place any person, sometimes even himself, should ever go without a guide or a distinct way back. 

Though anyone with half a brain could tell that the amazing chocolatier was a troubled man on occasion, his true nature shone through in his creations. Something about this season’s batch of chocolate was a touch sweeter than ones previous. It would go undetected by those who did not have a refined palate, but like the saying goes, a true artist would put their blood, sweat and tears into their work and Willy Wonka was a mastermind. 

He knew exactly what he was doing and what he meant to convey, if only between himself and one other: the world’s most famous chocolatier was in love.

***

You sat on the plush sofa in the personal wing of the factory, a book in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other. You were nestled beneath a thick-knit, purple blanket as you read and waited on Willy to return to your den for the night. 

You saw less and less of him the closer it got to the holidays, but such was the nature of his business. Christmastime was one of the busiest seasons and the one in which he made most of his money (the second being Valentine’s Day.) People bought exorbitant amounts of candies and chocolate during the holidays and so Willy was forced to expedite production (though never sacrificing quality) and work long, difficult hours preparing new and exciting treats for the public. In fact, it was no well-kept secret that Willy Wonka unveiled his newest creations around this time of year and that very news was plastered in every newspaper, magazine and bulletin across the world as people anticipated the exciting, brand-new sweets there would be to try. 

You knew the excitement and rush of the season fed into Willy’s own excitement over his work. He was thrilled to be working on new ideas and expressing himself through his creativity and imagination. It meant the world to him and so you did your best to stay out of the way. You did not want to make the situation about you and, after all, he always made it up to you.

 He was aware that his absence bothered you and he tried not to think about the fact that he may or may not be doing irreparable damage to your relationship. 

Not every difficult time or situation was an attack against you. It wasn’t personal, nor was it anyone’s explicit fault. Willy had a factory to run, Oompa-Loompas to manage and ideas to manifest into reality. Sometimes, your relationship would take a backseat and if you were serious about being with him, then you would have to be alright with that and you were, although that did not mean that it didn’t hurt from time to time. 

It would have been nice to relax and enjoy the season with your lover without his work getting in the way. You would have loved to curl up with him, sitting at opposite ends of the couch and enjoying lots of hot chocolate and hours of warm conversation. If you had your pick, you’d gladly have him here with you now, trading the book in your hands for his warm body, his fingers linked perfectly into the spaces between yours. 

You reasoned that this was just how things would have to be for now. No sense in adding more pressure on him by complaining. He was aware of how you felt, but sadly there was nothing to be done about it. You never would have dreamed of asking him to pick between his work and you. That would not have been fair or right. You could handle this, for now, but deep down you missed him terribly. 

Even if you chose to spend time with him inside the factory part of the building, he would be working the whole time. There simply was no time for much of anything else. He did like when you would drop by because you were his faithful little taste-tester. Better to try it out on you before selling it to the masses – that would seem cruel, knowing that his candies have had certain negative effects on people in the past, but rest assured, Willy had never given you anything that might harm you. 

Any candy which made its way to you had been tested and re-tested to perfection before it ever passed between your lips. 

He wanted feedback on his candy before it left the factory and you were more than happy to offer it to him, to which he was enthusiastically grateful. The only problem was, true to inventor fashion, he asked for feedback on everything. He wanted your opinion and was asking for it increasingly often these days. When you didn’t show up to the inventing room on certain days, he’d bring a whole box back to your shared living space and eagerly watch you with anticipation of your positive remarks as you were asked to try every piece. 

He was always so grateful to you for that and, honestly, you didn’t mind. You liked candy and chocolate, so there was no reason you couldn’t afford him this act of kindness.

The only thing you really felt like you were missing was him and it plagued your mind most often while you were alone, which was of course very often. You kept yourself busy and occupied your thoughts with other things as much as you were able, but when you settled in for the night, your loneliness crept in and took up the space beside you that would have otherwise been occupied by your beloved chocolatier.

You didn’t mind your alone time, but too much of it was not ideal. 

Too much of a good thing came with a price and now it seemed you were paying it with interest. 

The sound of a door opening and shutting pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced down at your book to realize you’d just had it propped open against your knees this whole time and hadn’t read a bit. You marked your place and closed it with a huff, setting it down on the end table beside you, your mug of half-drank cocoa with it. 

A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall – thank God he hadn’t cut that one in half – showed that it was ten minutes after midnight. 

It did not come as a surprise that Willy was so late. It was only your wildest guess as to what he had been working on, but that point was moot. You did not really care what he was working on. 

That thought seemed harsh and you frowned; no, you were adamantly against resenting him for his work. That path was one you would not let yourself go down, a trap of codependence, you told yourself, but why couldn’t he just be a little more present with you? Surely it wasn’t too much to ask. 

Perhaps you would ask. 

It would make the most sense to be upfront with him about how you were feeling and to be as direct as possible. 

You did not move from the couch. You waited on Willy to come and find you, unlike the many days and nights when you might have greeted him at the door. 

Several quiet moments passed between yourself and your thoughts before Willy entered the room. He had shed his purple coat at the door, as well as his hat and cane, “there you are, my dear,” his gentle tone made your stomach clench as warmth pooled in your abdomen. Even troubled with doubts, you were still delighted to see him.

You watched as he approached and dropped himself on the opposite end of the couch. He nudged your knee with his, silently asking for a bit more space which you politely gave, “I would have been back sooner, but I’ve been so busy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, it is that time of year,” you replied coolly. You didn’t want to jump into the meat of the discussion too soon, otherwise he might take offense where there was none. 

He seemed in a good enough mood that perhaps this would be the perfect time to strike. 

“Yes, my dear, it’s the holiday season which does wonders for my business and I couldn’t be happier.”

His pride in the work he was doing warmed your heart. You listened to him for a while as he recounted what he had been working on that day. 

He cared so much and spoke so passionately, yet your mind began to wander.

“Is everything alright, my dear?”

His tender voice captured your attention and you blinked slowly, “yes, I’m fine. But, there is something I would like to talk to you about.” 

His lips hitched into a faint smile, then flattened into a serious line. It bothered you, not being able to read his face.

“There is? Well, you know that you can always talk to me about anything on your mind.”

You didn’t want to overwhelm him, not when he was already so fully immersed within his work. He needed time and space to focus. He did not need you hindering his creative flow by hanging all over him and demanding more attention. He already gave so much; how could you even dare to think that he owed you more?

“I know you’re busy this time of year, but do you think it would be possible for us to spend a little more time together?” My voice cracked as I added, “I…really miss you, Willy.” 

You hadn’t meant to speak with words that were laced with such pain, but in fairness you did miss him terribly. By the time he made his way to you most nights, you were already in bed or heading there and in the mornings before you’d woken up, he would be gone. It bothered you to not see him and you wanted him to hear it. He needed to know the truth if you meant to be honest with him, you only hoped he’d be able to understand that you didn’t blame him. 

Conversations like this always made you second guess yourself. 

By this point, you realized that he had not responded. He was probably just thinking about what he would say, but usually it didn’t take him this long to reply. 

“Willy?” you gently urged him, reaching out to place your hand on his arm. 

Whenever he felt the gentle graze of your fingertips against the fabric of his shirt, he glanced down, admiring the tender touch with a wistful smile on his face before he looked up at you and the emotion held inside of those ice-blue eyes was almost enough to send you over the edge and into uncontrollable sobs of relief. 

You felt the tension in your shoulders beginning to dissipate. Good, he felt the same way. 

He was still staring at you like there was something more on his mind. That was the way things were with Wonka and you’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought on more than one occasion that it’s a good thing you weren’t a mind reader because there were things that went on inside his head that should stay there. It was better that you didn’t try to trace his Machiavellian ways or make sense of the enigmatic man who so frequently surprised you with small glimpses into how he really thought and viewed the world. It was fun getting to know who he was, but the true wonderment was in not knowing him at all. 

He tested your mind and all your senses, but never pushed your boundaries. He could knock you off your stride in seconds, then act as if nothing had happened. You were playing his little chess game and he was already three or more moves ahead. It had only been a matter of time before you had fallen into his hands like this. 

Things were as they were because Wonka wanted them to be. His quips and wisecracks often went over people’s heads, especially because of how well-versed he was in literature and culture. He could make the whole world fall in love with him at once, then forget him as soon as they were no longer in his presence, but you believed the world adored him much more than he liked to think it did. 

“I didn’t say anything sooner because I didn’t want it to seem like I was being insensitive, since I know you’re not intentionally ignoring me.” 

This statement made him smile for some reason, “where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; where little fears grow great, great love grows there.” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)

At first, you didn’t know what to say. You had a bit of trouble discerning what he meant sometimes, missing the larger picture for deciding why he chose a specific quote at a specific time. 

Seeming to read your thoughts, he let out a polite chuckle, “This is to say, even in love do the smallest doubts scare you, but when you are afraid of such little things, you are still in love, too.”

His explanation seemed to help, if only for a second. 

It was true that you had your doubts, but those doubts only stemmed from love. That fear which grew inside of you had taken root, but when enough time had passed, it was the love which had bloomed from it. 

Both the fear and love would come with a connection as strong as this one.

In the beginning, Willy had never dreamed of having a romantic partner. His solitary lifestyle simply lacked the means necessary to cultivate a long-term relationship. He had never desired romance or human connection of any kind. He had his factory and the Oompa-Loompas to look after; he was stretched thin as it was.

It was with sickening rapture that he sought the reason for why his heart seemed so content within your hands. He had to know the true meaning behind what he felt, even if he had to wade out in to the wild, dark depths up to his neck. He was barely treading water, sinking still, feet kicking desperately and hands reaching, clawing for purchase but there was nothing for him to grab onto. No way to steady himself as his soul careened toward what he had been running from for so long, a runaway train on the track towards trust and away from self-preservation. 

At first, you wanted to be the one in control. You had your fair share of demons and setting the pace for the relationship yourself was very important to you, but neither of you wanted to go too far too fast. 

You became acclimated to his world quite quickly. 

You just seemed to fit right in and, with time, Wonka found himself closer to you than he had ever been with another person. 

The two of you had been together for quite some time now and the red string of fate binding your hearts together was pulled taut. 

It seemed that you both knew you were in the right hands and the love that grew here was stronger than any fears or doubts which gripped you. 

“What scares me the most is that you’re pulling away from me,” you confessed to him, and that revelation made his eyes widen perceptibly, “sometimes I think you don’t even realize that you’re doing it.”

The conversation had shifted and Wonka realized that you were no longer just discussing his absence in light of the holidays. There was deeper emotion and meaning laced within what you were saying to him now. 

He was used to being alone, as were you. The only difference was that while you had never lost hope that the right person might come along, he had done everything he could to close himself off. His heart was a precious thing and that was what the world had been after. Yes, he had closed his factory because of theft, but he put his whole heart into his work and, if anyone were to steal his heart, then there would be nothing left for the one whom it belonged to. 

He made sure he guarded his heart all these years, even if he didn’t know the reason for it. It was easier to deny the very fact that love was something every person desires, even ones who have become so layered and complex that it would be difficult to imagine what a true love might look like for them. 

Wonka was not afraid of anything. 

However, if one thing made him apprehensive it was the idea of anyone finding him out. 

Not that there was any chance of that; no one was able to think quite like him. But if anyone came close, that meant he’d cling to them forever, holding on for dear love. 

His gaze shifted down to your hands that were folded in your lap and reached for one. Long, delicate fingers gently wrapping around your right hand as he brought it to his mouth. 

A kiss for each finger, you counted, one two three four five…

Then, his lips made contact with your inner wrist. The sudden and unexpected brush of lips against your sensitive skin made your breath hitch.

“I promise to be more attentive,” he whispered on your skin, his hot breath tickling the inner area of your wrist, “the only one pulling me anywhere is you and I am only moving forward.” 

“You’ve got to go forwards to go back.”

He had believed that, in more ways than just one, in relation to his factory and to people, but there was no going back now. Even if that were an opinion, he wouldn’t have wanted to.

Within half a second, he dropped your hand and tilted his head, leaned in close and pressed his warm lips to yours in the most sensual, tender kiss your lips had ever known.

Your heart fluttered in your chest like butterfly wings beating against your ribcage, desperate to free itself and get to his. Your soul sought the kind of connection that your mouths were getting and jealousy was an understatement. 

If this was his way of making it up to you, then let it be known that you wanted nothing else for Christmas this year than a clear mind and the taste of your lover left over on your cupid’s bow. 

It was all electric, body and soul alight, glistening brighter than fairy lights strung up for the season. 

He tasted sweeter than his own candy and you smiled into the kiss at the very thought. He ate a lot of his own sweets, if only to test the taste, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the sugared kisses, your sweet tooth craving satisfied only by his honeyed lips. 

Somewhere in the haze you found the opportunity to grip handfuls of his tawny tresses, fingers digging into the soft curls that drove your heart mad with desire. You loved his hair and so infrequently did he let you touch or comb it. It was about as unruly as he was, wild, untamed and free, just like the man it belonged to. 

Your gentle tugging on his hair elicited a soft grunt from him and his lips attacked yours more feverishly, taking on a more aggressive quality now that you had accepted and encouraged him. 

There was no rhyme or reason for anything that occurred while you were with him, except what was happening now.

Wonka did everything on a whim. Sleeping, eating, working…no schedule, no routine, no nonsense. 

“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”

Perhaps the most nonsensical thing that had ever happened in Wonka’s factory was your fear that he might leave you. 

Strike that. Don’t reverse it. 

You didn’t want anything to change. There were more twists and turns in this man’s head than there were in his factory and you had lost yourself trying to find your way out. You never left his mind, not once. Even while he worked or spent time alone, you were in his thoughts, whether it was subconscious or not. 

Your own mind didn’t register your movement as you crawled closer and sought out more of his sugary sweetness which was more potent than any nectar of the gods. Your lips devoured his, tasting every inch of the same mouth that poured prose and poetry into your ear each night that you laid with him.

He hummed pleasantly against your lips. His gentle sounds teased you; so rare was it that he ever made a sound during these moments of intimacy. Oh, how you tried, and your futile attempts filled him with great satisfaction. He had more discipline than you ever imagined; living alone for so many years without the warmth of another had taught him to go without, but desperation clung to his bones and manifested through each fervent, heated kiss. 

Willy wouldn’t have described himself as needy, but he appreciated physical intimacy when it occurred and sometimes it was as necessary as any other proper communication. He wanted more than a quick romp; he craved human connection. It was completely unfounded for someone like him to want to share a connection with anyone, but here he was asking for it with his mouth on yours and your reciprocation of that same need meant everything to him. 

You tested the waters, grazing your teeth along his bottom lip to determine how far he might be willing to go. He didn’t stop you. His lips simply parted, allowing entry of your tongue. 

The only sound he made was a little gasp, which you swallowed as your tongue delved in to taste the inside of his mouth. Your hands were still holding the sides of his head, fingers buried deep within his unruly curls. 

He helped maneuver your body closer to his, unabashedly bringing you to sit on his lap. As you settled on top of him, one of his large hands moved down to the small of your back and held you firmly in place. 

You could feel the heat of his hand through your shirt. You had no grasp of how long the two of you continued to kiss like that. The passage of time, though a precious thing, was unimportant in the current moment. The only thing you demanded more of was him and you would greedily take all that he had to offer you. 

You were enchanted by him. He surprised you at every turn and, if it had been anyone else, you’d have questioned where you stood with them, but wasn’t that the point? The less anyone knew about Willy Wonka, the more exciting it felt to be in his presence. 

It was impossible to know whether the things he revealed about himself were true or not and there was beauty in that alone. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then he had the upper hand here.

You did not stop to see why his hand had suddenly been removed from your back, but any questions you might’ve wished to voice were answered when you noticed him reaching for one of the top buttons on his vest. 

The steady progression of events had led you here and you were too immersed within the moment to stop him, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. You were entranced, enthralled, enraptured by the whole of him and his heart belonged to yours. 

The wet graze of your tongue against his cupid’s bow spurred him further, lips tangled tantalizingly with yours as his fingers worked open the buttons on his vest. 

The threshold had been breached. 

The moment was yours for the taking, if you wanted it and you knew that you did. 

Lost somewhere between drunk on lust and in love, you began to help him unbutton, starting at the bottom of his vest and continuing until your hands met in the middle of his chest. You followed this same pattern for both rows of buttons.

Coincidentally, this journey ended right above his heart, but another one was merely beginning. 

Your hands were shaking with anticipation as you looked up to notice him already gazing at you lovingly. A tender smile curved his lips like a crescent moon and the sunlight bleeding out through the cracks in your soul made the stars in his eyes sparkle. 

You cupped his cheek and pressed a gentle kiss onto the bridge of his nose. His arms encircled you, holding you flush against him and his shirtsleeves rode up on his forearms, exposing just a fraction of skin with a fine dusting of sand-colored hair. 

You let him hold you to him as his lips attached to your neck. You imagined when he pulled back that there would be an imprint of lips, a tattoo of his love painted across your collarbone, signifying that you belonged to him alone. 

You tilted your head to give him better access and he thanked you by delivering a loving nip to the column of your neck. 

You hadn’t forgotten your intention. 

With hands still shaking, you reached for his vest and pulled it open. His lips detached from your neck in an instant and long, elegant fingers wrapped around your wrist, effectively stopping you from undressing him. 

His eyes were crystalline pools of skylight, airy and substantially quantified by the depths within them. They had a mirror-like quality and you could see yourself reflected in them as you held his gaze for a heartbeat too long. 

“Only if…this is something that we both want…”

Willy’s words of brevity filled you with wonder. 

“If I’m being honest with you, Willy…I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more than I want you now.” 

That single sentence melded with and fused into his soul. In a breath-to-breath admission of consent, your words had tied his tongue with cursive letters. 

He breathed a sigh of relief and held within that exhale was his own consent. You had granted him permission, assuring him that you were not offering yourself out of obligation or for complacency’s sake and that thrilled him perhaps as much as the act itself would. He felt the blood rush to his groin and he moved beneath you, shifting your body weight more onto his thigh. 

Willy nuzzled your cheek, dragging his nose along your soft skin. His arms had yet to unravel themselves from around you; he wanted to take his time. However, he was increasingly aware of his own sense of desperation. It had been some time since he had last gotten into bed with a lover. 

Actually, the last time he had gotten into bed with anyone was with you. 

Willy had a low sex drive, but on occasion it would crop up and remind him that he was, in fact, human and had needs, whether it was simple biology or heightened by the desire to connect with the one he loved. 

Whenever he thought of a lover and what had previously been just some nameless face at the forefront of his mind, that vision was now you. Yours was the love he sought; your hands were the ones meant to hold his heart. 

He let go of you and shrugged off his vest. 

Your lips captured his once again and he imagined this was what dreams tasted like. 

He went to stand up and you quickly took the hint and moved off his lap. He got up and began unbuttoning his white undershirt while you watched. He could see the fire burning in your irises, your pupils dilated with desire as you watched his delicate fingers pop open each button. 

You knew better than to rush him; a treat as sweet as him was meant to be savored. 

You took this opportunity to slip your own shirt off your body. With your skin exposed, his eyes traveled across your midsection and his fingers hesitated, fumbling the button he was on. His breath hitched and you swore you heard him whisper the word “beautiful” as he gazed upon you. 

Once he had recovered, the swiftness with which he finished removing his undershirt made your head spin. In his haste, he had forgotten to remove his bow tie and unbutton his sleeve cuffs, which made you giggle. He seemed flustered, his cheeks reddening once he realized, and perhaps this was the first time you had ever witnessed him with a blush on his cheeks. 

You reached out to help him and a soft chuckle dripped from his lips like maple syrup, “It would appear I’ve gotten a bit ahead of myself, my dear.”

You chuckled as well as his bow tie and undershirt were removed, “well, I’ll take it as a compliment…that you seem so eager to have me.”

Your words were spoken as if in jest, but his response was anything but. 

“Doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt that I love,” he quoted, his smooth baritone steeping you in the tea of his desire. (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)

It was enough to quiet your mind and when he said it, you felt your entire world get a little smaller. Your heightened senses had inflated your soul and carried you to the clouds. You were a runaway balloon stuck in a tree and his words were the hand that enclosed around your string. You had seen vast lands and known love in its many forms, but never until this moment had you felt so much in the presence of one. 

His heart knew yours better than it knew itself and the cracks left by heartbreak were filled in by your endless love for each other. 

You moved in to kiss him again and his hands cupped your warm cheeks. His breath tasted as sweet as the chocolate he made, which only made sense because of how often you saw him sampling it. He kept a bit in his coat that he’d pull out and nibble upon and often would you go sifting through his pockets for little treasures and treats that he had left over. Sometimes you found such delights that it had to have been no accident that they had been left behind. No, he knew your guilty pleasure was his chocolate and he made sure to satisfy your cravings, both for chocolate and for him, as often as possible.

Your tongue slipped inside his mouth and he finally graced your ears with a very delicate moan. 

His hands moved down the length of your arms to finally grab your hips. He pulled you in, your pelvis against his, and you could feel the hard press of his bulge against your thigh. 

While you kissed, he began to walk you backwards toward your shared bedroom. 

You could not have torn your lips apart to look where you were going even if you wanted to. 

You trusted him to get you there safely, perhaps more than you had ever trusted another person or at least you hadn’t trusted anyone this deeply in a very long time. Too many others had taken a hammer to your jawbreaker heart and smashed it to more manageably sized pieces, but once broken, it could never be put back together without its’ once-pristine surface now marred with jagged cracks. 

At least the breakage let the light of your soul pour out into his hands…

Willy was stained by your brokenness, his heart bruised the color of your trauma. 

He had been burned before, broken in a very real way, and therefore it was never a question of if you would trust him, but how much and when. He knew how long it could take a person to truly open up if they wanted to, but for you, he was willing to wait an eternity and then some. 

Time stood still and Willy had the presence of mind to remember how it felt to cradle your body to his when the only things that cemented your souls was an equal share of trust and love for one another and the mutual decision to take just one more chance. 

You sighed with relief when the backs of your knees connected with the mattress. 

Willy didn’t push you or press for more. His lips left yours in favor of your neck and several chaste yet sweet kisses were left along your collar bone as if his lips were asking for permission without the accompaniment of words. 

 In between you, you reached for his belt. 

He felt your fingers wrap around the waistband of his trousers and a gentle smirk crossed his features, “after something, are we?” 

His coy response made the tips of your ears get hot and you huffed, “well, it isn’t my fault that I’ve gone and gotten all excited…”

“I hope you’re not implying that it’s mine,” he replied as his smirk widened. 

“I wasn’t implying anything,” your time spent with him had sharpened your wit, “I’m saying it.”

His eyes shared in your mirth, twinkling with laughter at your response. He wrapped an arm around your lower back and pulled you in. With his cheek to yours, lips near your ear, he whispered, “shall we make use of your excitement, then, dear?”

You felt a shudder run down your spine as he spoke to you, the dulcet undertones of his honeyed voice pierced you like a knife through the delicate flesh of an orange. You wanted to sink your fingers into his heart and peel it apart to devour the pieces, sustaining yourself on his love. 

You nodded and he deemed it appropriate to continue. He gently pushed your hands from his belt and took on the task himself. He pulled it from the loops and laid it on the chair nearest to him. 

When he turned back to you, you were already removing your pants. He smiled to himself, stopping in his tracks to admire you as you undressed. He almost wanted to help you, but held himself back. Mutual trust came at a price and he would not want to overstep any unspoken boundaries. You had not explicitly told him not to help, but you hadn’t told him to do it either and so he decided it was best to let you indicate what you wanted from him and how comfortable you were with the situation. 

Neither you nor he were particularly trusting individuals. Your experiences with people who took advantage of others made you wary and skeptical, through no fault of your own. Maturity and wisdom came with age and while you had both grown and learned, you had built walls around yourselves both figuratively and literally, in Wonka’s case, to guard your hearts and protect them. 

Now, you were bearing your souls to each other.

It was an unlikely thing, but you were both ready. You had known Wonka for a long time now and you had no doubt that you and he were meant to be in each other’s lives. There was a reason that you were here. Even though you might have needed a bit of reassurance from time to time, it was never because you truly thought he might leave you. Giving word to that unreasonable fear set you free, because in your heart of hearts you realized that you were not afraid at all. 

You were lonely.

You had forced it down for years, but acknowledging it now was cathartic, because never again would you find yourself isolated like you had so many years before. 

Willy was no stranger to isolation either. Though he had reasons other than your own, he empathized. 

It was difficult, at times, for the two of you to find a rhythm. Both of you had been alone for so long that it took time to become acclimated to sharing your lives with each other, but in this moment you both knew that there was no person you would each rather share a life with than each other. 

Willy was never at risk of pulling away. He was simply learning how to love you. 

As soon as you pushed off your pants and stepped out of them, he was kissing you again. In a flourish of limbs and bare skin, you fell backwards onto the mattress with him. His hot lips descended over yours as his fingers linked into the spaces between your own. In all ways except for one, your two bodies were unified and, if either of you could help it, that would soon be remedied. 

The mattress dipped and shifted beneath your shared weight as Willy crawled on top of you. You held his hands for as long as you were capable of doing before you needed to feel him more solidly at your fingertips. You dropped his hand, grabbed his shoulder and dug in your nails to hear him hiss into your ear and nip at your neck. 

He couldn’t even finish undressing because you demanded every ounce of his attention. 

Your spirits were engaged in this battle of carnality and you had consumed him, corrupted his mind and possessed him body and soul, but all’s fair in love and war, both of which you had waged fervently on his senses. 

At risk of ruining the moment, he pulled away and got up to finish removing his trousers. Your chest heaved as you took a moment to catch your breath, propping yourself up on one arm. 

“And here I thought…we were just getting to the good part,” I quipped. A teasing smile bloomed on my face as he turned to look down at me. 

“And I thought you liked my kisses,” He replied without missing a beat. 

His lopsided grin made you giggle, but the sound of his zipper being pulled down tore your attention away from the witty banter. The fire of fierce need had begun to burn bright inside your belly once again after being extinguished to mere embers only seconds ago. 

You watched him kick off his trousers and make no move to pick them up.

He moved back down onto the bed and leaned into you. You met him halfway and pecked a chaste kiss onto his lips. Your bodies fit together like two immaculately chiseled sculptures whose delicate features appeared to be made of something much softer than stone. 

You knew what he wanted from you now and you felt goosebumps rising on your flesh as you anticipated his caress. 

He cupped your head, holding you to him as he lowered you back against the pillows. He liked to take charge of this part himself and you let him, despite the anxiety you felt at relinquishing control over yourself. You didn’t like feeling out of control, especially of your body and Willy knew this. He tried his best to make you feel comfortable and safe, never moving forward without verbal consent. 

“Shall I touch you, dear?” 

You reflected on his question before you nodded, swallowing thickly before you could make a sound, “yes.” 

You knew that he would check in with you frequently to make certain you still wished to continue. 

With your consent, his fingertips grazed the length of your arms. His warm touch sent pleasant shivers through you and you fought the urge to arch into him. He had a way of making you feel everything he wanted you to feel with just one touch. It was like magic, the control he had over your body and sometimes you wondered if his creative abilities branched into other realms as well. 

His hands slid down your sides, massaging your warm skin and admiring your supple curves, the angles and indentations of your hips. Before he traveled lower, Willy wanted to devote some appreciation to the rest of your body first. His hands moved to your back, working underneath you to swiftly unclip your bra. He had a way of doing things so fast that you barely had time to register what he was doing before it was done. Perhaps it didn’t seem possible, but impossibility did not exist where Willy Wonka came from; if there was a way to do the impossible, he had already figured it out and told no one. 

With your unclasped bra no longer pulled taut, he delicately pushed the straps off your shoulders and plucked the hindersome piece of fabric away from your chest. It dropped unceremoniously to the floor and his blue eyes glittered with mischief when he looked upon your exposed breasts. 

You wanted to cover them, but he held your arms at your sides. True to the creative genius he was, he had to admire beauty where and when he saw it and you were a masterpiece. His tight smile had relaxed as he gazed down at you beneath him and he practically cooed with appreciation for your form. 

“You’re very beautiful,” he whispered heatedly, like it was almost difficult for him to get the words out. He was overwhelmed with all his attention focused on the body before him. 

You wanted to thank him for the compliment, but all that came out was a soft squeak. 

He chuckled at your little sound and bent his head. He placed a firm kiss on your left breast and you sighed in pleasure at the gentle touch of his plush lips on your pillowy skin. His lips traced the curves of your breasts before encircling one of your nipples, suckling lightly as if it were a piece of candy. 

You mewled and arched into his mouth, desiring more from him and as quickly as possible, but Willy liked to take his time with you. He never left you unsatisfied, but you could expect nothing to be fast paced. 

His fingers wrapped around your hips to hold you in place as he moved to your other breast and did the same thing. His hot tongue teased your candy pieces to hardness and he hummed his appreciation, sending waves of pleasure down to your core. 

You squirmed in his grasp and whimpered pathetically, “please, Willy,” you begged him, “I want you now.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have me, dear,” he reassured you, his thumbs rubbing placatingly against your hips, “when I’m ready for you to.” 

His teasing remark made you huff in irritation until his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your cotton panties and paused you in your tracks. 

You whined as his fingers barely breached the fabric barrier before he removed them. His hands moved to your inner thighs and spread your legs apart for him to nestle in between them. 

All you could do was watch as he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to your navel, just below your belly button. His kisses traveled lower and lower down your pelvis to your pubic bone and finally to your core. You writhed in pleasure when his mouth found its way to where you wanted it, but your panties were still in the way and you groaned with frustration. 

Heat emanated from your core due to your arousal and the crotch of your panties were damp with your wetness. 

Your head dropped back against the pillow as he used the tip of his nose to brush lightly against your clit through your panties. 

You were so pliant to his will and responsive to his touch that he almost felt powerful. If it had been anyone other than him, he would have, but all he felt in this moment was an overwhelming feeling of love. The fact that he could give you a comfortable experience of vulnerability and pleasure perhaps did enflame his ego a bit, but he loved you even more for it. To see you enjoying yourself because of him was almost too much for him to handle and he could feel his cock swell to attention. 

He placed a couple of open-mouthed kisses to the crotch of your panties before he dragged them down your legs. He would have liked to tease you more, but he was already beginning to lose patience and he didn’t want to rush through too quickly. 

With your panties removed, he could admire your glistening folds and the sweet juices that had dribbled out of you. His mouth watered as he delved in for a taste, his tongue tentatively flickering against your opening. 

You let out a cry and bucked your hips, desperate for him to fill you. You needed friction and fullness to achieve release and Willy knew you couldn’t get either of those things without his compliance. He smirked at that and lowered his head between your thighs. 

Your hot core pulsed as more of your honey leaked onto his tongue. He moaned in satisfaction, savoring the taste of your sweetness and the delicious sounds you were making for him. He had never tasted anything this sweet except for his chocolate and if he could have only one of those two things right now he would have picked you without a second thought. 

It was almost too much for him to pull his mouth away, but he knew that he must if he were to indulge in the ultimate act of pleasure with you. You both wanted that more than you wanted air to breathe. A greater craving than candy, your existing love and soul connection a stronger aphrodisiac than chocolate. 

With a final flick of his tongue against your clit, he dragged his mouth off you. You whimpered at the loss, but in the back of your lust-flavored cotton candy mind you knew that your shared night of pleasure was just beginning. 

He got off the bed again and opened the nightstand drawer. He withdrew a small tinfoil packet and a small clear bottle of lubricant. 

You were still sprawled out on the mattress, your hair a halo around your head. The darkened room made it difficult to see what he was doing, but your eyes had adjusted enough for you to see movement.  

You felt eyes on you and before you glanced up from the object he was holding, his voice broke the silence, “are you comfortable continuing?”

Driven by lust and lover’s greed, you nodded your consent. Willy did not respond at first, waiting on your actual acknowledgement and proper agreement. Your voice was shaky as you replied to him, but you knew what you wanted and were certain in your response, “yes. I want this. I want you, Willy.”

The sincerity in your voice convinced him and he tore open the condom wrapper. 

Excitement thrilled you and coursed through your veins, carried into your heart by blood. Your body was singing with sensation as you wanted nothing more than his solid body atop you, his hard length buried in your tight heat. 

You watched him with barely-concealed enthusiasm – well, perhaps the only concealment was from the darkness in the bedroom – as he took off his underwear and rolled the condom on. He then squirted a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and coated his cock. 

You could hear him jerking himself off and the obscenely slick sounds from the generous amount of lube. He had yet to give himself any physical stimulation up until this point and you were eager to repay the favor. 

In the dark, your reached for him and he came to you, ready to meld together and fill you full of himself. 

He positioned himself on top and guided your legs around his hips. He propped himself up with one forearm flat against the mattress so that he wouldn’t rest his entire body weight on you and the other guided his condom-covered tip to your entrance. 

He gave your forehead a tender kiss as he pressed in. Your lips parted at your sharp intake of breath and your muscles tightened and seized around him. Willy kissed your face, calming you and keeping you still and relaxed until he bottomed out. 

He nuzzled against your cheek and moved his free arm behind you to cradle your head. 

You tilted your head back and captured his lips. The two of you kissed lazily for several moments as your bodies adjusted to one another. Your walls twitched around his cock, sending jolts of electricity down to his toes, into the pit of his stomach and behind his eyes. Everything felt fuzzy and seemed out of focus except for you. 

The one thing that was clear to him was his love for you and the appreciation he had for you being a part of his life. If he could not trust a single soul with his legacy, he knew that he could trust you with himself and that was more than enough. 

For once, nothing made you question Willy Wonka; his intentions were clear.

Your fears were just that: fear. It was irrational and based on nothing of consequence. However, the very fact that you were afraid let you and he both know how much you cared. 

You would never take Willy, and he would never take you, for granted. 

He would reassure you that though he was not used to sharing his world with another, that you were his world now and you would share in every aspect with him and reap the rewards of a unique and whimsical life with perhaps the greatest chocolatier who ever lived. 

Take out all the fantasy and spectacle and you were left with only love and imagination. 

All these people thought the most fantastical thing about Willy Wonka were his creations, but what took your breath away, and had since the beginning, was the man behind those creations.

 You had fallen in love with him as much as you had with his brain and his intellect, his body, his soul. You wanted to dip your fingers into him like if he were made of melted chocolate. You would lick the essence of his existence off your fingertips to taste his candy-coated soul and sugared thoughts. There were not many candies or chocolates of the Wonka brand that you hadn’t tried, but none were sweeter than the man himself. 

If he existed only in your mind, then your mind was alive with the thought of him. 

All too soon, your thoughts abandoned you as you felt him begin to move. 

He slowly pulled out, angled his hips and pushed back in. 

The sudden movement jarred your body and you clung to him tighter. 

As he began to set a pace, you rolled your hips down onto him each time that he pushed in. This seemed to please him, witnessing you thrusting with him, your bodies moving in unison toward a shared release and reciprocation of pleasure. 

He grunted softly in your ear with the effort of thrusting into you. His soft curls tickled your cheek and you bit back a giggle. A particularly rough thrust ripped the sound from your throat and you laughed aloud. 

His brows furrowed in amusement at your laughter, but he grinned with you nonetheless. 

His thrusts became harsher, deepening as you adjusted and conformed to the rhythm and pace he set that was creating a delicious friction between your legs. You moaned shamelessly into his ear and he thrusted harder, encouraged by the sinful sounds you were making. 

Willy kissed you, his lips feverishly moved against yours as he held you in his embrace and your skin blazed with red hot fervor. A thin sheen of sweat clung to your bodies and you could feel the heat rolled off him in waves. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, but it didn’t bother you as you kissed him harder, demanding more intensity out of your shared intimacy. Your core pulsed, muscles gripping and clenching tightly around his cock. 

Your moans began to take on a higher pitch the closer you got to your release. Willy could tell that you were close now and he was eager to send you over the edge. Sex was, at least for him, about mutual enjoyment and gratification, not domination, exploitation or manipulation. It was about individuals who loved each other enough to put aside their individuality and become one, just for a moment of bliss. 

His forehead pressed against yours as he thrusted into you harder than before, his pace becoming erratic the closer he came to his own release. 

As he panted, you felt his breath fan across your face and he smelled of chocolate.

You balanced on the edge of oblivion as your feverish coupling would soon send you into orgasm. 

After a few more hard thrusts, Willy slipped a hand between your legs and gently rubbed your clit. Your release seized you, your body shaking violently with hurricane force winds of equal parts pleasure and zest. It was as if the air had been knocked out of you and you were falling down into his waiting arms. Ecstasy radiated from your core, carried in waves throughout your body. 

You were alone with your pleasure, waiting on your lover to join you in the afterglow. 

You cried out his name as he thrusted into you through your orgasm. He lasted several moments after you came before he released, filling the condom with several hot bursts of his seed. 

He had just enough strength left in his body to pull out and collapse beside you. His harsh panting soon turned to gentle sighs as his heartrate decreased and his body cooled. His strawberry blonde curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat and were sticking out at wild angles except for the top which was always a bit flattened from the way he wore his hat. 

You reached out and petted his frizzy hair, your fingers delicately massaging his scalp. He let out a quiet little moan and you smiled at him. 

With a deep inhale, he sat up and peeled the sticky condom off his softening prick. He tied it up and tossed it in the wastebin, then snatched his underwear off the ground. He picked yours up as well and handed them to you for you to slip on. 

You got off the bed and put your panties back on, then crossed the room to the bathroom. A few moments later, when you returned after you had cleaned yourself up, you found him lying in bed waiting for you. 

He smiled at you as you approached and extended an arm out to let you curl into his side as you got back on the bed with him. He already had a blanket laid out to pull across your nude bodies so that you could cuddle in modesty and without getting a chill. 

He looked down to watch you settle in and you met his gaze for a moment, appreciating his features. His gorgeous blue eyes were like pools of galaxy speckled with stars. His aquiline nose, which most people thought was too big for his face, looked proportionate in your opinion and beautiful just the same. He had the softest features of any man you had ever seen, slightly chubby cheeks, a round face and curved jawline. He was exquisite in every sense of the word and just looking at him made you fall more deeply in love. 

As attractive as he was to you, his personality spoke to yours in a language only the two of you spoke fluently. 

His appreciation for literature and culture was unique and inspiring and, because it tied in with your own, you learned a lot from each other. His quick wit and casual snide remarks that often passed over other people’s heads made you laugh as though you were enjoying your own little joke with each other.  

During your private appreciation for this man, you concluded that you had no reason to ever think he might be pulling away from you. 

In surreal Willy Wonka fashion, he seemed to read your thoughts as he finally spoke, “I’d like to see you in the Inventing Room with me tomorrow. I want you to be as involved with the holiday busy season as I am.” 

He addressed your insecurities by offering a solution to the problem and your heart felt a bit lighter. He wanted you to be involved in his work so that you didn’t feel so isolated or lonely. He had promised to be more attentive and he intended to do just that, but you could offer him aid and visit him while he worked. True love was buoyed by compromise; you’d see to it that you did your part to keep your relationship strong. 

“Forgive me for not being as attentive as I should be,” he continued, “I’ve been so busy, not to excuse myself.”

“I understand,” you replied. 

He seemed surprised for a moment, as if he half-expected you to still be upset, “and it isn’t entirely your fault. I should come around more if I’m missing you. We’ll find a solution. We have time.” Willy put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close so he could kiss your head, “time is a precious thing, my dear. Never waste it.”

Between his words, you heard what he was not saying. 

And while he had a point, what you did have was now. 

You could agree just to exist for a moment, sharing in the silence of the universe and listening to nothing but your dreams and the sounds of your hearts. 

You would fall into each other the same way that you fell in love: accidentally and achingly slow. 

One day you would both look up and see how far you had come, but for now, you still had a way to go. 

You knew his heart belonged to yours and that was enough to keep trying. Once the busy season calmed down and you had more time to focus on the two of you, you would ease into it like lovers were meant to, but right now you had an obligation to yourselves not to let the fear of failure drive you apart. 

It might seem fatalistic to ruin a relationship before it had run its course, but you’d seen it happen and the last thing you wanted was for that to be yours. 

You knew deep down that it wouldn’t happen. 

Your love was as strong as your imaginations were wild and no mind would ever dare dream the two of you apart. 

[saintsenara]

sirius black/nymphadora tonks

thank you very much for the asks, anons!

so - first things first - harry "unexamined bisexuality" potter being convinced there could be no other explanation for tonks' melancholy during half-blood prince than her being in love with sirius [despite the fact that she's a frontline soldier in the war that horrifying news is being reported about every single day; despite the fact that her aunt is one of the most prominent death eaters and she and her family are, therefore, in enormous danger] is one of the single funniest things he ever does.

[harry low-key thinking tonks is annoying, and that sirius could do better, is another.]

but - outside of harry's sordid little fantasies - i'm actually going with... potential winner, if some very careful wrangling with the characters is done.

it's quite striking in order of the phoenix that sirius and tonks barely interact with each other - tonks spends a lot of time with lupin [unsurprisingly] and kingsley, as well as with ginny and hermione, both of whom clearly adore her, but she and sirius never actually speak to one another outside of an operational [an order meeting, an order mission] context.

[which is why harry should have listened to ron, who is the only person to point out in half-blood prince that it makes no sense for harry and hermione to think that tonks' grief - as enormous as it is - might relate to sirius, who she barely knew.]

but there's a plausible explanation for the distance between sirius and tonks in canon which i think could get very interesting in the right hands...

which is that the tonks of order of the phoenix is... kind of unserious about the war. she's introduced as a bolshy, vibrant, loud, chatty, cocky young woman - holding her own and standing out among a group of people who are all much older and more battle-worn than she is. she takes up space and she shows off [her taking requests to transform at the dinner table! iconic!]. and - while she clearly recognises that the order's mission is dangerous and important - she also clearly thinks that being in a secret resistance society is... cool.

this is not - in any way - how the post-azkaban sirius - a man whose attitude towards being in the resistance is that the main thing worth doing for your cause is dying for it - understands things.

but it clearly is how the sirius of the first war thought.

the inherent tragedy of james and sirius' young adulthood is that they both clearly believed themselves invincible. there is a carelessness woven through their [very real] commitment to the anti-voldemort cause - in how james and lily behave when they're in hiding; in the secret keeper swap; in how, as sirius says, "the risk would've been what made it fun for james" - which directly contributes to james' death and sirius' earth-shattering grief.

i think there's something incredibly compelling which could be done with an exploration of this dynamic - sirius thinking that tonks doesn't take being in the order seriously as a manifestation of his own immeasurable guilt; tonks thinking that sirius' nihilism is just as dangerous as arrogance, thinking that, when the odds are against you as it is, you need to be cocky enough to believe that you can wiggle your way out of anything - particularly in the way it might start to chip through the layers of sorrow which surround sirius during order of the phoenix and help him begin - tentatively - towards forgiving himself for his role in james' death, finding his grief an easier burden to carry, and accepting that - while, yes, there are things worth dying for - there are things worth living for as well.

harry would be shaking though, i fear.

[chuplayswithfire]

thinking about ofmd again and one reason i think season 2 will be angsty about emotional stuff more than physical violence is that. this show doesn't really much care about violence, or our casts capacity for inflicting violence. it cares about how characters feel about their capacity for violence and how they engage with their own violence, but it doesn't generally impact moral value to violence.

roach tortures people for relaxation. buttons is actively seeking opportunities to practice cannibalism. frenchie has thorough suggestions on how to torture and mutilate prisoners. spanish jackie keeps a nose jar (and other body part jars). stede watches an entire crew of innocent people be murdered and their corpses ransacked and mostly notes "the gusto!" of it all. lucius beams jim over the head with a stick and knocks them out cold. jim traps lucius in a trunk for days (which oluwande knows about and doesn't interfere in).

the framing of the toe scene is striking because its so dark and serious, but it's not because the show is suddenly saying that violence is wrong. its because the show is pointing out something wrong with the emotional beat of the characters. it's the same reason the scene of stede being pelted with rocks is serious, the same reason jim's recounting of their family's murder is serious, the reason the scene of ed killing his father is serious.

using violence is not inherently a great evil in the narrative world of ofmd. it's people's reactions to and motivations around the violence that tends to be important.

[cosmicjoke]

Levi and Eren: Learned violence vs Innate violence

I was thinking again about the recent preview pages we got from the upcoming story about Levi’s childhood, “Bad Boy”, and thinking about the title too, and how I think it’s meant to be interpreted as ironic, in a way, or even misleading. Levi, of course, has the appearance of a “bad boy”. He’s a former criminal from the Underground, known to be very stoic and seemingly unemotive. Known, also, to be violent when he has to be. Levi and violence, and his relationship with violence, is an intrinsic part of his character, and understanding his character necessitates examining this relationship.

I’ve spoken a lot about how Levi’s violence is a direct result of his upbringing, and the environment and circumstances of his childhood and young adulthood. About how Levi’s violence was never something inherent or innate to him, but rather something learned, both through the desperation of his circumstances and through necessity.

Looking at the preview pages of the upcoming story, and I was most struck by the unmistakable parallel in circumstances to the early pages we get of Eren’s childhood, when he kills Mikasa’s kidnappers, and how sharply contrasted the situations and, particularly, both Levi’s and Eren’s responses to the situations are.

Both Levi and Eren are the most violent characters in AoT, but the nature of their violence couldn’t be more different. And I think that difference is powerfully demonstrated by comparing the two, above mentioned scenes.

Eren kills Mikasa’s kidnappers, and he does so with brutal violence. Now, it’s important to remember here that this is, as far as we know, the first time Eren has ever engaged in, and even been EXPOSED to violence. As far as we know, up to this point, he’s lived a sheltered and safe existence. And yet, upon encountering these men, his first instinct, and indeed, his unhesitating reaction, is to murder them. To violently attack and kill them. And he does so with shocking ease for someone who has no experience in it. Compare this to Mikasa, who’s lying on the floor in a catatonic state of acceptance. The sort of response you would expect from any normal child who’s grown up in a loving and provided for household.

And then there’s the scene we got a preview of from “Bad Boy”. The parallel to the circumstances of Eren’s scene is obvious. Only Levi is the one being attacked in this scene, his role more similar to Mikasa than Eren. Levi in fact is being threatened with the exact same horror that Mikasa was. That is, being sold into a child sex trafficking ring. We see Levi being beaten up by these men and offering no resistance to their mistreatment of him. He’s a passive and undeniable victim of their cruelty and violence.

What’s really interesting to consider, though, is that this most assuredly is NOT Levi’s first encounter with or exposure to violence. Unlike Eren, Levi was born in a place where violence is a daily part of one’s existence. A place where violence and brutality are normal and even encouraged by the environment. Further, by this time, we know he’s been taken under Kenny’s wing. Kenny, who himself is a violent man, a serial killer, who made no secret of the ways in which he taught Levi violence and how to kill others.

And yet, in this scene, when Levi is being directly threatened, attacked and physically hurt, we see him reacting passively, cringing away and curling in on himself, even cowering away from these men. Levi doesn’t initiate the violence. He’s simply a victim of it.

This is a marked contrast, then, between his response and Eren’s.

Eren isn’t the one being attacked. He in fact seeks these men out specifically to confront them. His father had told him to wait for him to contact the proper authorities, but instead he strikes out on his own with the sole intention of killing these men. His natural instinct is to do the attacking. His natural instinct is to kill.

Levi, by contrast, isn’t seeking out the men who attack him, isn’t looking to get into a fight, but is simply trying to get back an object that belonged to his mother. He gets hurt because he misses his mom.

The natural assumption, based on both Levi’s and Eren’s respective circumstances growing up, is that it would be Levi who’s first instinct is to attack, and Eren who’s first instinct is to cower away.

But it’s the opposite.

Eren is instinctively and naturally inclined toward violence, while Levi’s natural inclination, as shown here, is passivity.

I think this is a brilliant and deeply revealing parallel, because it gives us a look at the two most violent characters in AoT as children. It gives us a look at them in their most uninfluenced states. And it draws a sharp contrast between them.

The title “Bad Boy” would suggest Levi to be just that. A “bad boy”. But we see in the very opening pages that Levi is no such thing. He misses his mother and wants to retrieve an object of hers as a means to remember her by, and for this, he’s brutally attacked and beaten up.

And indeed, we see throughout AoT that Levi is no such thing. That, indeed, he’s actually a most deeply compassionate and kind man.

Eren, by contrast, very much is a “bad boy”. A boy and a man who purposefully seeks out violent confrontation. A boy and a man who very much wants to hurt others, and eventually does so on a mass scale.

Eren is a natural fighter.

Levi is not.

It’s ironic, then, that Levi was born into a world in which he was forced to become a fighter, ironically the best fighter, humanities strongest. It's ironic that he was forced to become violent in order to survive, while Eren was born into a world of safety and peace, yet naturally sought out violence and confrontation, unsatisfied with the boring ease of his existence.

It’s also deeply tragic, for the way it demonstrates how our circumstances in life can force us to action and behavior which isn’t at all natural to us. That’s demonstrated through Levi. While what’s demonstrated through both of them is how our circumstances in life don’t, ultimately, determine or affect our natures, what’s in our hearts, or who we are deep down inside.

We see who Levi really is, at the end of the anime, when we're left with that final image of him, handing out candy to children. That's who Levi really is. A gentle man who wants to help others. We see it throughout the story, in moments between the fighting and violence, when Levi demonstrates again and again a selflessness, gentility and kindness that is simply unique to him.

I think “Bad Boy” is going to really emphasize the tragedy of Levi’s life by showing us how he was always, at his core, a gentle and passive man, forced to become a violent man by circumstances out of his control. By showing us how Levi was never a bad boy at all, but instead a good boy who’s life forced him to take on the role of someone and some thing that isn't at all reflective of who he truly is.

[thestobingirlie]

steve facts we know from canon if you’re willing to actually pay attention to his character:

his interest in his hair. (which you tried to frame negatively?). also just his appearance in general. we know steve puts a lot of focus into the way he looks (e.g. him refusing ice cream in s3 because he’s watching his figure). “hair” isn’t just one thing we know about him. it informs us about other aspects of steve’s personality. he doesn’t care about using “girls” hairspray, but he also doesn’t want other people to know about it. he’s very conscious about the way he’s perceived by others, but he’s also willing to put that aside when he wants to help people! he teaches dustin how to do his hair and helps him with it!!

sports. (odd that you reduce this down to just “sports”). once again “sports” isn’t just one singular trait. steve likely has a routine in sports, it’s likely part of him maintaining his appearance, along with the hairstyle and not eating ice cream. we know he was in basketball, he had a baseball trophy in his room, he was a swimmer (and good at it!!!). these are his hobbies!!! (they may not be d&d, but they’re still hobbies!!!)

now. if you pay attention to the music steve listens to in canon, it’s very easy to realise that he likes rock music!!! obviously some songs depend on whether they’re diegetic or not, but either way that’s the genre steve mostly listens to. queen. corey hart. modern english (more alternative rather than rock, but we move!). etc.

again. if you pay attention to canon it is very easy to gather that steve enjoys tom cruise movies. risky business. all the right moves. he also explicitly states four movies he enjoys in s3! star wars (the one with the teddy bears), animal house, fast times and back to the future. (though admittedly with the last we know he was high while watching and may not have gone to see it again). we also know that he knows michael fox by alex p. keaton. which means he watches family ties!! at least well enough to know his full name.

“girls” is an odd choice of a trait to list but sure!! steve’s relationships are actually important in understanding steve more deeply. in s3 we see he’s striking out more and feeling like shit about it because he feels like an embarrassment. he hates his job. he hates that he didn’t get into college. he hates the stupid outfit he has to wear. he feels humiliated!! he feels like if he can do something, if he can flirt with a girl and she reciprocates, he’ll regain something he’s lost. but by s4 we see he’s over casual sex and he wants something deeper and more meaningful! that does say something about his character if you care enough to think about it for more than five seconds.

eddie does not have more inherent depth as a character than steve does, you’re just more willing to extrapolate canon into telling a story with eddie than you are for steve.

i can reduce eddie down to two traits if i ignore everything those two traits tell me too, look:

music and d&d. there. i just summed up eddie munson. seriously.

[whompthatsucker1981]

real actual nonhostile question with a preamble: i think a lot of artists consider NN-generated images as an existential threat to their ability to use art as a tool to survive under capitalism, and it's frequently kind of disheartening to think about what this is going to do to artists who rely on commissions / freelance storyboarding / etc. i don't really care whether or not nn-generated images are "true art" because like, that's not really important or worth pursuing as a philosophical question, but i also don't understand how (under capitalism) the rise of it is anything except a bleak portent for the future of artists

thanks for asking! i feel like it's good addressing the idea of the existential threat, the fears and feelings that artists have as to being replaced are real, but personally i am cynical as to the extent that people make it out to be a threat. and also i wanna say my piece in defense of discussions about art and meaning.

the threat of automation, and implementation of technologies that make certain jobs obsolete is not something new at all in labor history and in art labor history. industrial printing, stock photography, art assets, cgi, digital art programs, etc, are all technologies that have cut down on the number of art jobs that weren't something you could cut corners and labor off at one point. so why do neural networks feel like more of a threat? one thing is that they do what the metaphorical "make an image" button that has been used countless times in arguments on digital art programs does, so if the fake button that was made up to win an argument on the validity of digital art exists, then what will become of digital art? so people panic.

but i think that we need to be realistic as to what neural net image generation does. no matter how insanely huge the data pool they pull from is, the medium is, in the simplest terms, limited as to the arrangement of pixels that are statistically likely to be together given certain keywords, and we only recognize the output as symbols because of pattern recognition. a neural net doesn't know about gestalt, visual appeal, continuity, form, composition, etc. there are whole areas of the art industry that ai art serves especially badly, like sequential arts, scientific illustration, drafting, graphic design, etc. and regardless, neural nets are tools. they need human oversight to work, and to deal with the products generated. and because of the medium's limitations and inherent jankiness, it's less work to hire a human professional to just do a full job than to try and wrangle a neural net.

as to the areas of the art industry that are at risk of losing job opportunities to ai like freelance illustration and concept art, they are seen as replaceable to an industry that already overworks, underpays, and treats them as disposable. with or without ai, artists work in precarized conditions without protections of organized labor, even moreso in case of freelancers. the fault is not of ai in itself, but in how it's yielded as a tool by capital to threaten workers. the current entertainment industry strikes are in part because of this, and if the new wga contract says anything, it's that a favorable outcome is possible. pressure capital to let go of the tools and question everyone who proposes increased copyright enforcement as the solution. intellectual property serves capital and not the working artist.

however, automation and ai implementation is not unique to the art industry. service jobs, manufacturing workers and many others are also at risk at losing out jobs to further automation due to capital's interest in maximizing profits at the cost of human lives, but you don't see as much online outrage because they are seen as unskilled and uncreative. the artist is seen as having a prestige position in society, if creativity is what makes us human, the artist symbolizes this belief - so if automation comes for the artist then people feel like all is lost. but art is an industry like any other and artists are not of more intrinsic value than any manual laborer. the prestige position of artist also makes artists act against class interest by cooperating with corporations and promoting ip law (which is a bad thing. take the shitshow of the music industry for example), and artists feel owed upward social mobility for the perceived merits of creativity and artistic genius.

as an artist and a marxist i say we need to exercise thinking about art, meaning and the role of the artist. the average prompt writer churning out big titty thomas kinkade paintings posting on twitter on how human made art will become obsolete doesnt know how to think about art. art isn't about making pretty pictures, but is about communication. the average fanartist underselling their work doesn't know that either. discussions on art and meaning may look circular and frustrating if you come in bad faith, but it's what exercises critical thinking and nuance.

[queerism1969]

Madge Syers is one of my exhibits in my argument that sex-based divisions in sports exist less because of legitimate physical differences and more because men lose their shit when they get beaten by a woman.

Here are a few more examples:

At age 17, pitching in an exhibition game against the New York Yankees, Jackie Mitchell managed to strike out both Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Babe Ruth proceeded to throw a fit about women not being suited for baseball. In response, Mitchell’s contract was voided, and women were subsequently banned from Major League Baseball.

Skeet shooting had been a coed sport with both sexes competing side by side, until the 1992 Olympics when a female athlete won the gold. Women were banned from competing in skeet shooting at the 1996 Olympics and when they were allowed back in at the 2000 Olympics, skeet shooting was divided into Men’s and Women’s. To further soothe men’s egos, women were also given fewer targets to shoot at, so they could feel more secure in their inherent advantage over women.

And in the run-up to the 2012 Rio Olympics, numerous male swimmers reported being utterly demoralized by Katie Ledecky’s performance, and how badly she was smoking them in practice. Meanwhile, Ledecky said she didn’t even notice them because she was too busy, y’know, practicing.

Feel free to add any other examples to this list if you have them. Suffice to say, the Right’s newfound concern about the sanctity of women’s sports is particularly rich, given that even in the post-Title IX era, women’s sports are still critically underfunded and women athletes are still greatly underpaid compared with their male counterparts. For a while, a player for the US Men’s Soccer Team actually made more money for losing a game than a female player for the US Women’s team made when they won a game. Even last year, when the US Women’s team were literally the world champions, while their male counterparts finished third, the women still had to pitch a fit to get paid fairly.

Glad to know that the Right is finally paying attention to this important issue. Maybe we could get some meaningful legislation or regulations passed addressing this sex-based disparity.

But I have a feeling that’s not going to happen.

[hyatoro]

what class would the yans be in a fantasy rpg setting!! feel like kayden gives warlock vibes…

Wonderful question! As a Dungeons & Dragons player I’ll be referring to a lot of the 5e system here. 

So you were close, but because Kayden Nguyen’s powers are inherent to him he’d be a Psionic Soul Sorcerer. He could take some levels in warlock, especially with you as his patron, but his base class is definitely sorcerer. He was born with his powers and had them even before he met you, the reader. 

Augustine Carver is the second obvious one as a Paladin. Your knight in a shining suit of armor that would gladly smite someone in your name. His oath can depend on how his life plays out. Think either Oath of Vengeance or Oathbreaker. He could go either way based on how you, the villainess, view the royal couple. Vengeance for himself, Oathbreaker so he could be your sword. Let him dirty his hands for you. 

Franklin Russell is an Arcane Trickster Rogue with super high charisma and dexterity. Big on illusion and enchantment magic, but he’s also a sneaky little shit. You might mistake him for an innocent bard, and that’d be what he wants you to think. Like you’d only know if you think about his mechanics, not just how he presents himself. 

Hwang Minsu, if we're being brutal, is a plain commoner.  If he had to have a class though then it’d be something like a Ranger. He is not adventurous and is mostly a victim of his circumstance. The bow is what feels most comfortable in his hands, where he’s away from the danger.. If he were to be forced to get good enough to subclass then he’d be a clumsy Gloomstalker Ranger. A weird combination I know, but he’s very uncomfortable with it all and it shows. 

Now I’m imagining them as a party and it is rough. Specifically because they’re wildly different levels in comparison to each other. 

Minsu is 3rd level, specifically giving him Umbral Sight making him “adept at evading creatures that rely on darkvision”. 

Kayden is 6th+ level, plenty of room for growth, but having Psychic Strike is important for his character. His early growth is fast but then he plateaus. When the reader meets him he’s like level 3. 

Franklin is a 9th level Arcane Trickster for Magical Ambush. In a world where death is a lot more normalized then that would be his preferred method of removal just because of how permanent it is. He lives in some middle-low populated place, so not a lot of resources nor the skilled personnel for reviving people. Works out fine for him. Plus an invisible mage hand is very useful.

Augustine pre-timeskip is around 7th level. Post-timeskip he’s pushing 13th to 15th level. He just has that much more experience compared to the others, hence the huge gap in levels. 

If you’re wondering why Franklin is higher level than Kayden, that's because he’s much more comfortable with his role and his class. He found it all on his own and is capable of a lot narratively. Kayden has more potential in terms of pure magic, but it’s not always about that now is it? These are just their classes and levels based on how I introduce them in their posts. 

[eretzyisrael]

Confrontation with Iran: Who Won?

The West likes its Jews passive, dependent, and weak. When American officials say “Israel has a right to defend [herself]” they mean that they will allow her, and even assist her, to ward off the blows of her enemies. But their “rock solid support” does not extend to Israel taking offensive actions. Israel is allowed passive defense, but not to take the war to our enemies. And don’t even think about preemption.

Insofar as Israel obeys her Western “allies,” she is placed at a great disadvantage for several reasons. The most obvious one is that an entirely passive defense does not deter enemies from attacking over and over again. Why shouldn’t they? They have nothing to lose. The opposite: they will learn valuable lessons from their failures, which they can apply to the next round. And everyone is encouraged to keep trying for the honor of being the one who finally broke the Jewish state.

Then there is the relative high cost of defensive weapons. Each Arrow 3 missile like the ones used to intercept missiles fired at Israel on Saturday night, costs $3.5 million. Each Tamir interceptor used by the Iron Dome system to destroy the cheap Qassams of Hamas, the Katyushas of Hezbollah, and the drones of Iran, costs $50,000 (and two are usually fired at every enemy weapon). Each Iron Dome battery costs $50 million. The cost of using F-35s to shoot down drones is also high relative to the cost of the drones. Passive defense is expensive.

A purely passive defense strategy is so expensive, in fact, that no small country can afford to sustain it for a long period of time (and passivity guarantees that it will be needed forever). As a result, there is no alternative but to turn to one of the great powers as a sponsor. The price is loss of control and ultimately of sovereignty. It is already clear from the way American officials talk about Israel (e.g., President Biden is often described as “furious” with Israel), that Israel is seen as a satellite at best and a satrapy at worst.

Finally there is the message that is inherent in passivity. Shooting at Jews, because there are no consequences for it, becomes normalized. The Jews, people think, must deserve being shot at because, after all, everyone is doing it with impunity. This is particularly important in the Middle East, where honor is a paramount element in most cultures. Individuals, tribes, or nations that are hurt by an enemy must strike back or suffer a loss of honor, a mark that invites others to victimize them as well. Even in Western cultures – well, at least in the recent past – children were taught that failure to strike back at a bully invites more bullying.

An active defense, on the other hand, creates deterrence and restores lost honor. Nobody will attack Israel if they know that retaliation will be swift and disproportionate. If they are hurt badly enough, they will think twice about attacking again – if they have even retained the ability to do so. There is also an economic advantage: offensive weapons, like drones, rockets, missiles, and artillery, are far cheaper and simpler than technological marvels like Arrow and Iron Dome.

Israel has come a long way down the road to losing her sovereignty to the US as a result of her increasing dependence on military aid, in part to finance astronomically expensive systems of passive defense, and in part because she chooses to adopt other super-sophisticated weapons systems that are “free” even when they may not be optimal for her needs (e.g., the F-35). She has developed a culture at the top of her military hierarchy which is as loyal to the American military-industrial complex as it is to the State of Israel. The American government has, for its part, extended its influence deeper into all the affairs of our state, and in particular her management of her wars.

After the horrific atrocities of 7 October 2023, Israeli leaders had no choice but to adopt the strategic objective of removing Hamas from power and destroying its military capabilities. The US opposed this from the start, forced Israel to delay her ground invasion, and now – for several months – has prevented her from entering the last Hamas stronghold, Rafiah. The US has pushed for an extended (in effect, permanent) ceasefire, and has tried to turn Gaza over to the corrupt, terrorist, Palestinian Authority, a step which would nullify the gains made by the IDF at great cost.

After Iran attacked Israel with hundreds of drones and missiles on Saturday night, President Biden called for Israel to treat its success at intercepting most of them as “a win,” and not retaliate. The media in Israel are trumpeting the success of our air defense array, which – with some significant help from the US, the UK, and Jordan – managed to down 99% of the weapons before they could land in Israel. This is a remarkable technological achievement, but it was an expensive operation, estimated to cost 5 billion shekels, or more than $1.3 billion.

Israel has not yet retaliated, and it is clear that the price demanded for accurate American intelligence about the impending attack and assistance in defending against it was that any retaliation will be at best symbolic – and certainly not include an attack on the Iranian nuclear project.

But the 99% figure is not as “phenomenal” (Israeli media love this word) as it looks nor is it likely to be repeated. Respected Israeli analyst Yigal Carmon wrote that the whole operation was choreographed by Iran with the cooperation of the US in order to allow the Islamic Republic to come down from the tree of needing to retaliate for Israel’s recent assassination of an Iranian general:

Iran wanted to retrieve its deterrence after the killing in Damascus of Iranian General Mohammad Reza Zahedi, who, by Iran’s own testimony, was the mastermind of the October 7 attack. … [The US] coordinated with the Iranians so that civilians would not be struck. Arab media are already reporting this coordination. Iran made it easy for the U.S., Israel, Britain, and Jordan to know what it would and would not do, and where it would do it. Israel was not part of this coordination. …

The Americans played Israel and they are continuing to do so by preventing an Israeli reaction. In fact, they began the pressure on Israel not to react even before the attack took place. CENTCOM’s commander General Michael Kurilla went to Israel on April 13 and pressed for prior coordination with the U.S. of any action by Israel. Now President Biden said it himself: You were not hurt, they failed. Do not do anything. Do not escalate because you will be dragging us into a war. We protected you and no one was hurt. The answer will be diplomatic.

What did the various parties gain and lose from this exercise? Iran’s top priority today is to avoid triggering a serious confrontation that might result in damage to her nuclear weapons program, which is on the verge of completion. However (unlike Israeli leaders), the Iranians understand the psychological importance of at least appearing to get revenge when they have been injured, and this massive attack achieved that end. At the same time, the coordination with the Americans insured that Israel will not strike back, and therefore will lose points in the calculus of honor that is so important in the region. Israel also lost an opportunity, perhaps her last, to take action against the Iranian nuclear project before it becomes operational.

The Americans gain exposure for their defensive weapons systems, establish themselves as the protector of their allies, and increase their influence over Israel and her dependence upon them. Israel will have to replenish her supply of American weapons and ammunition, and the military aid is an important subsidy for the US defense industry. The Biden administration also maintains its (still inexplicable to me) policy of protecting and even encouraging Iran’s drive to become the nuclear hegemon of the region.

Carmon also notes – and this is a critical point for Israeli planners – that the 99% success rate in interceptions is not likely to be repeated in the event of a real surprise attack by Iran.

Israel can’t continue on the path of subservience to the US, because American objectives in the region are inconsistent with the continued existence of a Jewish state. She must reduce her dependence, develop her own defense industries, approach other great powers (e.g., China), and become a “nonaligned” nation rather than a satellite of one side or the other. In the short term, she must enter Rafiah, crush Hamas, repel Hezbollah, and keep Iran from becoming a nuclear power.

May Hashem give our leadership the sense to see this and the strength to act.

[levieske]

(𝟏) 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ≠ 𝐬𝐡𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Inumaki may be quiet but that doesn't mean he wants to.

toge inumaki x ofc

[ aged-up characters, awkward flirting, inumaki is a menace, sexting, confessions, incorrect use of cursed techniques, more mature in future chapters, crack and fluff heavy in this one ]

ao3 link - masterlist - next

Anyone who had met Inumaki Toge knew that the sorcerer possessed a formidable talent that was also his greatest hindrance. His cursed speech was a powerful ability on the battlefield, but it sure did come back to bite him in the ass when it prevented him from speaking with his friends.

One wrong move and anyone could end up injured.

So, Inumaki had to use his words very carefully. He resorted to limiting his vocabulary to tasty and harmless onigiri ingredients; allowing him only the most basic of communications: greetings, agreements, disagreements, and expressions of concern.

One might assume Inumaki himself was uninteresting, boring even. However, this assumption would be incorrect.

To make up for his lack of spoken words, Inumaki would spam everyone via text. If Gojo was being a nuisance during training, Inumaki’s fingers flew across his phone’s keyboard, sending witty retorts to the group chat. Yuji and Nobara mimicking Gojo’s behavior? They, too, were targets of Inumaki’s digital mocking. And when Megumi was gloomier than ever, Inumaki had just the right words to lighten the atmosphere at his expense.

If there was one person he’d rather not annoy that would be Maki. The weapon user wasn’t amused whenever he chose her as one of his victims and would definitely smack the stupidity out of his head. So, no, Maki wasn’t a regular. After the skirt incident with Nobara, Inumaki also had crossed out the redhead until further notice. Panda and Itadori, on the other hand, would indulge him as his jokes were on the same IQ level as theirs. Megumi usually just um’ed and huh’ed, not reacting much to whatever he did. As for the older sorcerers, Gojo would turn around his shenanigans, ruining his fun, and Nanami was Nanami.

Give him a break, will you? Nanami already had to deal with Gojo, Inumaki didn’t want to make his life even more insufferable.

That left sweet and sassy Inumaki with only one potential victim: Rin, the beautiful blue-haired first-year Inumaki had a crush on, also known as Itadori’s best friend. She was the kind of person who could kick ass and be a total sweetheart at the same time. She was fiercely protective of her friends, but still would beat them all every single sparring session they had. Inumaki admired her strength, her wits and her cursed technique, not to mention her striking appearance.

Her long blueish curls, large black eyes, and radiant smile captivated him. Towering over him by four inches, her hourglass figure was accentuated by anything she wore. Her casual attire, the black kimono top and flared pants of her uniform, or her workout gear made her look wonderful.

Occasionally, Inumaki found himself gazing at her, hastily concealing his flushed cheeks behind his high collar when caught by Nobara and Maki’s stern looks or Gojo’s playful, blindfolded gaze. Fortunately, Itadori, Fushiguro, and Panda remained oblivious to his infatuation, or else poor him would be bombarded with questions.

Inumaki was not inherently shy; he just forced himself to be quiet. This led the first-years to mistakenly equate his quietness with timidity, a misconception shattered when they witnessed his sharp-tongued persona through text messages.

Rin only needed that one (1) time to realize her mistake.

One morning when Gojo wasn’t out there on a super important and dangerous mission, the teacher decided to have the first and second-years spar together. No cursed energy involved, emphasizing the importance of hand-to-hand combat skills for situations where cursed techniques might be unavailable. It definitely wasn’t just an excuse for Gojo to slack and eat whatever sweets he had brought during his last trip.

After the students glared at their questionable mentor figure, they gathered in pairs. Rin ended up with Nobara, who guessed her friend wouldn’t take their training seriously as Gojo was devouring numerous kinds of candies in front of them, not paying them any attention. On the contrary, Rin wanted to end it as soon as possible, knocking Nobara over after the ginger had just thrown a couple of half-assed punches. The defeated sorcerer didn’t take long to complain, which was the reason why after her whining the students and the teacher received a text message from their group chat.

The group chat, initially intended for mission-related communication, had quickly snowballed into their everyday means of interaction Itadori sent memes, Kugisaki showed them whatever cute outfits she had bought, Panda texted them fun-facts about real pandas and they all sometimes teased Gojo when he sent them photos from his trips. Inumaki’s participation was rare, although his new friends knew he sometimes communicated via text. The first-years just didn’t expect him to roast anyone in their group chat.

After mocking Kugisaki for her quick defeat by Rin, Inumaki felt comfortable enough to annoy everyone every now and then. Rin became his new focus, not because his friends failed to react as he hoped, but because Inumaki struggled to properly talk to her.

Inumaki wasn’t shy, but that didn’t mean nothing could make him nervous.

Rather than engaging her in casual conversation, Inumaki resorted to playful teasing. As much as Rin tried to conceal the heat on her cheeks, she couldn’t help it and sometimes her usual self-confidence wavered. It wasn’t because Inumaki was being insulting, no. Quite the contrary, she was taken aback because he complimented her. Rin could reply to an insult, but she didn’t know what to say when the cute second-year innocently praised her during training or complimented her when all of them hanged out of Jujutsu HTech.

Discovering Rin’s vulnerability to flattery, Inumaki adopted this tactic as his new strategy, capitalizing on her initial impression of him as an innocent, shy individual.

On one of these many occasions, the first and second-years were training together again. They were doing a two versus one combat and Satoru was actually doing something teacher-like for once.

Yay.

As Megumi and Yuji talked with him about whatever tips he had to give them, Rin sparred with Inumaki and Panda.  Maki and Nobara cheered from the sidelines, awaiting their turn.

Rin positioned her feet, getting a curly strand of hair out of her view as she sized her opponents. Panda and Inumaki were good, but so was her. Although she had no cursed energy of her own, she could take it from those who had it, both curses and sorcerers, like some kind  of siphoner.  She had a great experience in hand-to-hand combat and her abilities were definitely heightened, since she had the opportunity to get some cursed energy in her system during a mission earlier that week. It invigorated her, as an athlete on steroids of sorts.

The students could tell that when she avoided Panda’s fist without batting an eye. She was usually fast, but when she had cursed energy in her it was nearly impossible to follow her moves. Panda was big and strong enough to make Rin have some trouble knocking him down, but the fact that he moved much slower than her was all she needed. Behind her, Toge threw a punch in her direction, making her move her upper body to her right. Turning around, she faced him. Inumaki was retracting his fist when she caught his arm midair and spun him. Tripping with her foot as he tried to escape her grip, Inumaki fell down to the ground followed by Rin.

If they could use their techniques, the platinum-haired sorcerer would have the upper hand. It wasn’t that he wasn’t strong in hand-to-hand combat, Rin sure did feel his muscles when he straddled him, he just seemed distracted . Plus, his technique was quite effective against hers.

But that wasn’t the case and now Rin had him pinned down, his chest pressed to the ground by the hand that twisted his right arm. Inumaki tried to fight her with his other hand, but she quickly caught him by the wrist, completely immobilizing him.

Oh, well. At least it was Rin the one over him, he thought as he ignored Gojo’s chants.

“Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!” The teacher counted, enthusiastically gesturing as Yuji counted with his hands beside him. “Perfect, Rin! Inumaki has lasted two minutes, not beating Nobara’s record of forty-five seconds.”

The redhead grunted at the remainder of said training session. Rin shook her head and got up, making Inumaki miss her closeness internally. She helped him up, offering her hand with the apologetic smile of hers. Toge gave her a thumbs up and joined Nobara and Maki, who praised Rin once he sat next to them.

Now defeated, Inumaki used that time to inspect her moves from the sidelines. The stolen cursed energy gave her enough stamina to fight Panda effortlessly. She had knocked Inumaki down quite easily; he was sure he’d never hear the end of it from Maki. The weapon specialist admired Rin both for her determination and her similar condition, so she would no doubt remind him of this loss frequently. Not that he was complaining, as it hadn’t been a clever idea for him to be thinking about the way the sunlight kissed her skin, or how her athletic attire fitted her, accentuating her form.

He really shouldn’t be thinking about that when he’s supposed to fight her, the sorcerer chided himself as he crossed his legs uncomfortably, trying to hide the tightness in his pants. 

The match before him continued with Panda grabbing Rin and lifting her. Before he could throw her to the ground, the woman used his arm as a swing to send her legs to his neck and pull Panda with her legs and arms in a chokehold. He fell on his side and Rin fought to keep him on the grass, making the chokehold tighter with the grip of her legs. Her arms tried their hardest to keep him from moving, but Panda wiggled trying to get away. Gojo started counting, making Panda’s moves more erratic and Rin to hold on to him for dear life.

Her triumph squeal was met with Panda’s disappointed Panda-like groans, but her smile softened the blow. She got up and approached Toge, Nobara and Maki, just as the two girls left their seats for their own turn to spar. Maki nodded to Rin, pleased with the result of her combat, and Kugisaki wiggled her eyebrows as she made her way to Inumaki. She dropped her body on the spot on his left, laying down on the grass, mildly tired. Thankfully, by the time she got there, the cursed speech user’s little problem had subsided.

Sometimes it seemed Rin could never exhaust herself. She didn’t even sweat as a normal person would do after practice, Inumaki noticed. His eyes never ceased to stare at her, watching her take some deep breaths before sitting up. She looked at him in worry, the feeling washing over her face.

“Hey,” she called out, “you okay? I wasn’t too harsh, was I?”

“Bonito flakes!” The man was quick to shake his head, replying with a clear negative. He then gestured to his phone.

Rin took hers too as he started typing. , and opened his chat.

   Inumaki

   don’t worry i’m good

   you were quite fast

Rin started writing her reply.

   Rin

   i’m sorryyy

   i should have waited a little

   gave u a chance against the almighty Rin hehe

Inumaki looked up from his phone, a sly smile forming on his lips behind his high collar. If she was going to tease him, it would be only appropriate for him to return the favor.

   Inumaki

   haha yes yes

   btw

   your leggings look really good on you :)

And… Well, there it was, the heat on her cheeks and ears. Rin fidgeted with her fingers before lifting her gaze to meet Inumaki’s. His eyes looked at her without any remorse, like he hadn’t just said that. His innocent, Bambi-like eyes looked at her. Rin felt her heart pound hard in her chest.

Had he been looking at her ass…?

No, this couldn’t be it, could it? This was Inumaki, he must have not meant it in that way, right? Rin didn’t believe that for a second, but a part of her wanted to know. No, she needed to know. This wasn’t the first time the quiet boy complimented her, nor the first time she felt her body heat up because of his words. Maybe she was just dirty-minded and the fellow second-year didn’t mean what she thought he meant; but as much as she wanted to believe that, Rin swore she often felt him smile when she was all flustered.

The younger sorcerer cleared her throat.

“Inumaki.” She called him, her face going away from him as she gulped. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Were you… looking at my ass?”

Rin kept playing with her fingers, not knowing what she expected from him. Their gazes met again her black irises clashing against his violet ones. Rin bit her lip, as she waited for a response. Inumaki nodded a few times.

“Salmon, salmon!”

This bitch.

The blue-haired sorcerer couldn’t help but watch him in utter confusion, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. Her reaction was actually quite amusing for him, relishing in the fact that he wasn’t the only one feeling a bit embarrassed by his feelings. He had confessed his attraction, maybe in the worst way possible, but he had. Beside the platinum-haired sorcerer, Rin was still processing what he just voiced. Needless to say, she wasn’t expecting him to admit something like that.

Was there even a proper way to confess such a thing to begin with? Rin believed there had to be at least one normal way to say he was attracted to her…

The woman let out a chuckle at the thought, hiding her face with her hands. Inumaki didn’t try to continue their conversation, a choice Rin appreciated since she didn’t think her redness would subside anytime now. She didn’t even know how she was supposed to bring up what just happened later, as much as she wanted to. She could feel the weight of his gaze, gentle and concerned, perhaps worried she was about to die from mortification because of his teasing. Inumaki was often a silent presence, his impact felt through texts rather than spoken words, but his influence was undeniable. Rin had made the mistake of forgetting he was a little shit sometimes.

Rin wondered why it was only her, the one getting complimented by Inumaki, but didn’t want to get her hopes too high.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and suddenly it was their turn to spar again. Having spent the last few minutes inside her head, she didn’t register the time flying. Inumaki got up and offered her his hand. Rin’s heart raced as she accepted, her legs tingling with a mix of nerves and excitement. They approached Maki, who stood ready, her spear resting on her shoulder. Panda and Nobara took their places to watch, one visibly more worn than the other. They still could hear Nobara huffing in the distance when they got beside Maki.

Inumaki took the two spears Nobara and Panda had left behind, handing one to Rin. Maki nodded at her, pleased to spar with her. If Toge was going to be the easy target he had been in their previous combat, that would leave Maki and Rin for the one on one they wanted. Of course, that only would happen if Rin herself stopped feeling nervous whenever she locked eyes with Inumaki.

The platinum-haired sorcerer noticed her hesitation and couldn’t suppress a knowing smile. The three of them prepared their defenses, but he sensed Maki’s intention to step back, leaving Valerie to focus solely on him. And with her current state of jittery anticipation, he was confident of his victory -after a bit of playful sparring, of course.

As expected, Maki retreated, taking some steps back. Rin’s gaze shifted from her to Inumaki. Her first blow was weak, unfocused and easy for him to stop. She frowned, her frustration evident as she took notice of the glint in his violet orbs. Her next attacks were fast and sharp, making it more difficult for Toge to dodge. He lost balance after a particularly hard hit and his spear slipped from his hand, something Rin took advantage of. She pushed his chest with her spear, kicking his lost weapon away from him. With nothing to grab onto, Toge fell down. Rin straddled his tights, the proximity of their bodies sending a rush of heat to her cheeks. She was hesitant to let her body weigh fully down on him, her thighs briefly skimming his crotch area. Inumaki held a breath, biting his lips behind his collar.

Rin disregarded her own weapon and lifted her gaze, finding Inumaki looking at her with his raised brows, challenging. She rolled her eyes, ignoring the beat of her heart as she caged him. She gripped his wrists and let her body be a complete deadweight on him. Locking eyes, she felt herself drawn to the other sorcerer, distantly hearing Gojo start to count.

“Your lips look kissable.” Inumaki whispered, the words clear despite their softness.

It was a rare moment, hearing him speak so candidly, his voice not commanding but admiring. It was the first time she had really heard him talk, and it was because he thought her lips looked-

Before she got time to process it or erase the stupefaction from her face, Inumaki had reversed their positions. Now their chests were pressed together, their breaths mixing because of their closeness. Rin looked at him with wide eyes.

“Nine?” Gojo’s voice trailed off, his count paused by the unexpected twist. “Huh, didn’t see that coming! Good one, Inumaki!”

After cheering on him, their teacher started counting to ten once again. Inumaki didn’t loosen his grip, which had cost Rin her win. Even if she wanted to, her mind couldn’t process what was going on and fight Toge. Her mind was frozen, unable to react or push against him. His nearness overwhelmed her senses. When Gojo reached ten, Inumaki released her, allowing her to breathe freely once more. Not too far away from them she could hear Maki complaining about her loss.

Rin blinked when Inumaki’s hand came into her vision. He offered it with feigned innocence. She accepted it, her cheeks aflame, her heart pounding with a newfound fervor. He pulled her to her feet and, in a tender gesture, lowered his collar to press a kiss to the back of her hand.

It left Rin wondering if he really meant it.

˖ ⁺ ‧ ₊ ˚  ♡  ˚ ₊ ‧ ⁺ ˖

ao3 link - masterlist - next

comments and suggestions are highly appreciated!

ty for reading <3

[kustas]

Thinking of that previous post about the fandom ignoring the flaws in the characterisation of the dunmesh cast. That sort of realistic distribution of personal views of the world (including biased/bigoted ones), varying tastes in everything and unpleasant personality traits is something I consider essential to writing a good cast myself to the point where it often sets apart what series I consider good and what series I consider standouts

A series with mediocre plot writing with a cast of characters who feel like real people with the range of complexity that comes with it will always strike me more than something with an excellent plot and characters who are too artificial. That is of course my personal opinion, but following it I have to say it's very common in manga for stuff to be the latter and it's one of the reasons I don't like a lot of popular series who objectively have merit

The most obvious example I can give on this blog being WHA. WHA is so deeply allergic to making characters both unpleasant and important actors, it vouches for the reader's pity by justifying distasteful actions with personal tragedies or gives the unforgivable traits to side characters you are supposed to entirely hate. Where that disturbs me (on top of just not feeling well written) is that it does so while trying to make points about inequality including tying it to real world issues. No one's perfect in real life and I believe you cannot start drawing lines between what makes someone Good and what makes someone Bad in relation to how they should be treated by the state and by others because there's an infinity of human experiences and putting conditional limits to your human rights inherently means you are not giving these rights to some

[autism-alley]

alright sorry to be a bitch about casting, but i’m gonna bc i do think it’s important to illustrating the feel of a character (if you come to me to bitch and whine about black annabeth get the fuck off my lawn). myself and others have already talked at length about the writing of the series, so if you’re looking for more weighty criticism, just scroll thru the pjo crit tag, now is my time to be a stickler for details, and this is a live action show, a visual medium, the casting is important for reasons beyond an actor’s ability to deliver lines. embodying the character purely in an actor’s personality isn’t enough—they need to physically feel like they could be this person to really sell it (there’s also something to be said abt not having to cast someone who supposedly feels like the character they’re playing just as themself—it’s called acting for a reason, but i digress).

just. take in the official viria pjo art of sally jackson.

look at this woman. look at her!! that is MOTHER. that is the woman who worked herself to the bone to single handedly raise perseus jackson, flaws and all. that is the woman who rocked up to the battle of manhattan with a shotgun and A WILL. that is the woman poseidon himself called a queen amongst women and offered a palace to. with warm lighting only outshone by her reassuring smile and the candle of percy’s blue birthday cupcake—that’s sally jackson. the composition of it, her pose and welcoming smile, makes the viewer feel like we are percy jackson, and it’s our birthday we’re being beckoned to join in the celebration of, a special moment between mother and child.

now look at this woman.

i feel like i’ve had this english teacher before, asking me why my autistic ass was tweaking out in the middle of her lesson on iambic peranimeter. i’m sure she’s a nice lady in real life, it’s nothing against her as a person or her skills as an actress, to me she just lacks the warmth and gentleness crucial to sally jackson’s feel as a character. that is my own subjective take. she doesn’t make my shoulders relax at the sight of her. her smile doesn’t make the tightness in my chest go away. looking at this sally jackson, i feel everything her character ISN’T meant to embody. i start feeling stressed out. like everything is somehow a lesson and she has grand expectations of my answer. and the script does NOT do her any favors with lines like “you decide how ugly this gets” at VERY MINOR “outbursts” of percy’s. paired together, the script and the casting, we get what feels more like all the chastising teachers in percy’s life rather than his loving and patient MOTHER. and i don’t wanna hear another one of y’all defend this depiction as more accurate to parents of ND children or i’m gonna lose it.

now finally, look at this woman.

we can bash the pjo movies for all their inaccuracies and adaptation flaws, but if there’s one thing they nailed, it’s sally jackson. the kind eyes. the welcoming and reassuring gaze. a tired yet inherently trustworthy face. she’s so open. she feels so special, so giving, even if she herself has little. i can see myself laughing in her kitchen, making seven-layer dip or blue cookies. i can see her handing me an extra few jelly beans after a long shift at the candy store. i can see myself as percy jackson, able to put aside another school expulsion because that’s my mother and she’ll never let me doubt she loves me. i can see why poseidon, god of the sea, would fall in love with her in a way he hadn’t in thousands of years. i can see him offering her the world.

i don’t know if this casting impacted the official art, it did come first, maybe that’s a well-known fact and i just sound like a jackass—nor is official art is the end all be all (looking the og official pjo art dead in the eyes)—but this woman just deeply strikes me as the same sally jackson as the one in viria’s art and the pjo books. she’s sally jackson in ways show sally vehemently just… is not.