#something something trust the author to make the correct choices

[merverse]

me watching some of yall complain about how we lost the plot bc suddenly percy has 4 pearls instead of one like we didn't hear him begging his friend to take his mom and leave him behind in the preview like. do u think rick is just going to forget the prophecy has to be fulfilled. do u think rick is not going to take every opportunity he can to make the angst worse??? that man is going to make them lose one or break it somehow so that way the choice of who stays and who leaves is even more devastating

[welcometogrouchland]

It's mostly the fault of poor editorial practices that B&R is so heavily misaligned continuity-wise w/ the main batman book. But walk with me for a minute:

You are Damian Wayne. You are 14 years old and have had one of the worst years of your life last year. Which is saying a lot.

Your brother, one of the people you were closest to, got shot in the head and forgot who you were. Your best friend went to space for a week and came back 3/4 years older than you, taking away your previously established dynamic and leaving you to have to bond all over again w/ a new one. You may or may not have gone wayyy too far with your new superhero team, who now all hate you, because you fucked up big time*

And worst of all, when you do try to do the right thing, you end up forced to watch Alfred, a father figure to you, the only one at your birthday that year, the person who has been so patient, loving and trusting with you, even when you probably didnt deserve it...die. you watch him die, and feel it's all your fault.

And your dad never corrects you on that last point. So you run away.

First to your mom who can tell something's up with you, she knows you don't give up that easy, you decide not to stay with her because you remembered how actually, neither of your parents are good at communicating with you despite their best efforts, so now you're 14 and flying solo.

And you do fly solo. For a while. Make new friends, new enemies. You think you're better off for it. You've got your best friend and your brother back. They're not around as much. It's fine.

And eventually your dad tells you that it's not your fault that Alfred died. Bit late but it's appreciated. Really. There's a bit of a hiccup where you get possessed by a demon and wage war against your father but after that, all in all, you two are...together again.

You start to think maybe you want to give him another chance, for the two of you to be father and son.

And in a change of pace, it works out! It's going good, mostly. He insists you go to highschool, you resist, feel like he wants you to be something that you're not (wants you to be normal), but eventually you acquiesce for your own reasons. He cheers you on at soccer and nosies around at your fundraising events with the other parents and gives you a stern talking to about your choice of girlfriend. Because he cares.

Except all the while this is going on, your dad is currently having his brain slowly taken over by an evil version of himself that he created and every time you look away he's slowly tearing your family apart (your brothers are just barely keeping it together. The ones who didn't get lobotmized that is Jesus Christ). You keep taking his side in these conflicts, for whatever reason. Maybe because he promised it would be different this time, and it isn't** and you're going to stick with him until he keeps his word for once.

But at the end of the day?

It's like your brother says. You're not the one who saves him. Broadly speaking, you've made things worse and needed others to come save you. And what else is Robin really for? You thought it was about redemption and teamwork but guess you're wrong. It's about saving your self destructive, apparently two-faced and erratic father. And you can't even do that right.

* TT (2016) by Adam Glass is a racist ooc mess, but unfortunately it's still canon so I'm referencing here, though like a lot of works authors clearly wish weren't canon but are, it's been subsequently glossed over. Win? Maybe? Or not?

** again Zdarky's characterization of Damian is so outdated as to be ooc, and considering the way he constantly and explicitly uses it to illustrate Tim's strengths as robin, I'd argue there's. Also implications there. But the batshit insanity of the main batbook compared to B&R rn is crucial for this post, so I'm attempting to justify it. This time..

[kradogsrats]

Aaravos, Leola, and the Entire History of Human Magic: Revisited

So I last dumped on this topic right after s5 released, and came up with a rough series of conclusions that were largely correct, as far as interpreting what information we had been given so far. Now that s6 has dumped some new delicious and crunchy twists into the mix, let's take another look.

The Unicorn's Gift

Going into s6, we had 2.5 accounts of the gifting of primal magic to humans: the Book One: Moon novelization, Tales of Xadia, and Ripples. In Book One: Moon, and Tales of Xadia, we learn that humans received primal magic from the/a most selfless and compassionate unicorn(s), against the advice of the elves.

Unicorns were always the most selfless of the Xadian beings. There came a time when, filled with pity, they desperately wanted to help the struggling humans. After all, it was not the humans' choice to have been born without magic. But the First Elves were wary. They warned the unicorns that kindness was not always returned with kindness; it would be a mistake to trust the species. After all, if humans were supposed to use magic, they would have been born with it.

— Book One: Moon

One heart took pity on the plight of humanity. A unicorn, unique among her own rare kind, saw the strength and ingenuity of the human spirit where others saw weakness and beastly ignorance. Her name was Leola. While elves warned that if humans were meant to wield magic they would have been born with it, she gifted the wisest humans with secrets: the language of the dragons and the runes that shaped spells.

— Tales of Xadia

What's interesting is how inaccurate both of these stories have turned out to be. We also don't even actually know whose stories these are. By the time of the series events, it's no longer even remembered that humans had primal magic, aside from primal stones. It's a truth forgotten on the human side, and either similarly forgotten or deliberately suppressed in Xadia. Despite the brightest, most constant star in the sky still retaining the name "Leola's Last Wish," neither Callum nor Rayla know who Leola was.

Ripples obliquely acknowledges the vagueness and changing nature of these stories, opening with:

Like all the oldest tales, time has bent its shape and blurred its color. It is a fable whispered on some tongues and shouted on others. While one may say it ends with a sunrise, another will insist it ends at nightfall.

— Ripples

So rather than directly telling the story of humanity's acquisition of primal magic, Ripples deals with the aftermath. We learn that humanity had been, implicitly or explicitly, forbidden primal magic, and in the wake of them receiving it, a star fell.

It happened long ago, when humans had only just learned to hold fire in their hands without burning. They nurtured their precious primal flames secretly—in the dark of night, beneath shadows and shrouds—as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters. Eventually, for the audacity of their fire, they were hunted, and—though they looked to the stars for salvation—the stars, too, looked down upon them with disdain. Humanity had been given something it was never meant to have. And so there came a calamity.

— Ripples

The story told in Ripples turns out to be the most accurate, based on what we have learned from s6. Humans acquired primal magic, and a star was cast from the sky. (A tiny star, if you want extra emotions.) It makes no mention of how humans learned primal magic, only that they did, and—unlike the other stories, where the elves caution against giving magic to humans but take no other action—the are hunted by monsters for it.

Elarion, fading bloom, afraid to wilt and dim and die, she searched the dark for but a spark and caught the dragons’ hungry eye.

— Midnight Star

Hmmmm.

The Order of the Stars

One of the main things, possibly the main thing, we learned from s6 is that we were given a glimpse of the stars as the god-like authorities that have been hinted at in a lot of Aaravos-related side content. It's not a good look. (It never was.)

It tells us succinctly why primal magic was forbidden to humans: in the timeless gaze of the stars, humans acquiring magic dooms the universe.

(Of course, it is the attempt at averting prophesied doom that actually brings it to pass, but that's just standard stuff. For all their omniscience, the stars apparently still lack genre-awareness.)

This "cosmic order" is likely what the stars have built that Aaravos seeks to destroy:

I hope the stars were watching. I hope they saw it: the moment their perfect reflections turned warped and ruined, churned to chaos by the touch of a single human hand.

— Ripples

And when everything they have built lies shattered, I will savor their fall from the sky.

— Patience

Snitches Get Stitches, Even Dragons

The other major curve ball s6 has thrown into the story as we understood it is the involvement of the archdragons, Sol Regem in particular. According to Aaravos, the testimony of a young Sol Regem is the only evidence against Leola.

At the time, Aaravos seems to take this at face value, and argues that anything Leola may have done was out of love for humans and the world, not defiance of the cosmic order. Maybe this is because Sol Regem/Anak Arao is an archdragon of the Sun, the primal source known for the light of truth.

I, however, have to wonder if he was lying. Taking a look at Ripples, again:

It happened long ago, when humans had only just learned to hold fire in their hands without burning. They nurtured their precious primal flames secretly—in the dark of night, beneath shadows and shrouds—as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters. Eventually, for the audacity of their fire, they were hunted, and—though they looked to the stars for salvation—the stars, too, looked down upon them with disdain.

— Ripples

Apparently, the first primal source humans accessed was the Sun. It could just be that Anak Arao was a rules-obsessed hall monitor and... but what if it wasn't Leola who gave humans that secret? We don't even see Leola doing any magic of the kind she's credited with giving humans—no runes, no spells of any specific primal. If someone did teach humans the runes and Draconic words for primal magic, it seems unlikely to have been her.

But as heir to some kind of position of authority, could it have been partially Anak Arao's responsibility to keep his primal source out of human hands? Was it maybe stolen out from under his nose, and he sought to shift the punishment away from himself? (And boy, would it sure be a real uno-reverse to have this story loop all the way back around to a literal theft of fire for humanity.) Or could it have been lost/given to humans by someone he wanted to protect from the same cosmic justice?

Hmmmm.

There have been hints about a larger human/dragon conflict in the past, most notably the Midnight Star poem. In a hiatus-era interview, Aaron Ehasz describes an early version of the setting as being essentially humans/unicorns vs. dragons/elves. The low-key emphasis on humans and dragons in opposition that we get from some of these materials is a) interestingly not mentioned in either of the "unicorns gave primal magic to humans" stories, and b) not actually what we see as the primary conflict in the setting, outside of Sol Regem's personal grudge.

It gets especially weird because, like... there's no reason to think all the other archdragons we're aware of (except Zym) weren't there, too. Sol Regem is cast as a bit older, but not "of an entirely different generation from the other archdragons"-older. So like, you'd think Zubeia would remember, at minimum, that primal magic was forbidden to humans by the cosmic order. Maybe, given the implied departure/loss of interest by the stars, no one cares anymore? Maybe dark magic was considered a much more serious issue, as far as perversions of the natural order are concerned. Or I guess it's possible that there was some special relationship between the stars and the line of the archdragon Sun King, and the other archdragons weren't privy to the machinations going on in the heavens.

Basically, there's been a big new mystery introduced as to the geopolitics of Xadia and the heavens in the distant past, in addition to Aaravos's personal relationships with all the archdragons.

Book and Key

So overall, I don't actually know what to make of this:

But I have a couple wild theories to put forth.

First of all, Aaravos has been referred to as "archmage of all six primal sources," and this is reflected in the pre-s6 promo art series featuring the book and key.

But, interestingly, we also see in s6 that in order to truly commune with the heavens, the Celestial elves have to remove themselves from the influence of the other primal sources, specifically the Sun and Moon.

So, as powerful as they are, I think maybe Startouch elves don't have automatic access to the other primal sources. Maybe not even the magic of the Star primal, as it exists harnessed by rune spells. The book is probably how Aaravos himself built connections to primal magic while in Xadia.

(This would mean that the reason it was at all believable for Leola to give the secrets of primal magic to humans is because Aaravos was exploring those secrets—something it could be that the stars resented?)

Anyway this could also connect up with any number of wild theories about the nature of primal magic or primal elves, though we see a Moonshadow elf among Leola's friends so it seems primal elves are already present at this point. Being me, if Aaravos and Leola's home was actually in what is now Duren, I at least personally want to believe that he was seeding the frontier with magic.

Anyway, as always: some answers, and even more questions. Catch y'all later when the post-release interviews and Q&As inevitably make everything even weirder.

[qqueenofhades]

what gets me is whenever any of these people says not to vote, and you ask them what the alternative is, they usually throw some tantrum about how it shouldn't be their job to fix this country and they're not expected to know (or start calling you a neoliberal or a bootlicker lmao) and i just. i don't get that? not voting, especially in the current climate, is a big deal. i don't think it's unreasonable to ask anyone who advocates for that what the alternative is. i'm not expecting you, online leftist, to magically know how to fix everything. i am expecting something from you if you're gonna tell me not to vote, especially when we both know that helps the gop. like, how dare we ask them to defend this big choice they're telling us to make?

their position boils down to helping trump and the republicans but any time you remind them of that they get upset. what is the alternative? what plan do they have? it would be one thing if there was another option that they'd come up with, but they haven't and don't seem interested in doing so. mutual aid and organizing is only going to take us so far and it'll be a hell of a lot easier to do it with biden in office than trump

The whole "it doesn't matter who's president/in charge of the government because mutual aid and organizing is the only valid way to do community engagement" is the leftist version of the Brexit nutcases who, and I swear I am not making this up, argued that it was fine if the UK left the EU trading sphere/single market/customs union with nothing to replace it, because "Britain is a nation of farmers and can grow food in our back gardens!!!!" Yes, because you're so devoted to your stupid ideology that you think the large-scale collapse of society, a major world power, a western democracy, and everything else will have no effect, and you can just do your little Facebook mutual aid groups and happily shout on Twitter at anyone who disagrees with you. Never mind the fact that this would obviously and immediately harm vulnerable people the most and that nobody, not even the Online Leftists themselves, actually wants to live in the Violent Revolution Total Anarchy World they masturbate to. Maybe this makes me a neoliberal corporate shill, but I'd rather that the world got better, instead of worse. I would actually prefer that myself, my friends, my family, my whole life, the whole country, and the rest of the world wasn't sacrificed on the Great Revolution Altar, but I shouldn't worry. We have mutual aid. At least as long as a) you have never said anything the Online Leftists even slightly disagree with, since they're sure as hell not the kind of people I would trust to have my back in any large-scale societal collapse, and b) I guess they'll all be growing food in their back gardens too, rather than using any of those dirty "government" or "society" things to supply their basic needs. We're saved! No need to worry. Bring on the anarchy.

Aside from the fact that Online Leftists, as I have said before, think that moral action begins and ends with posting the Right Opinions on social media at the correct timeframe and any other action or engagement with a flawed system or basic reality is heresy, they don't like being challenged -- i.e. "if we don't vote, then what do we do?" -- because a) it questions their authority as supreme arbiters of morality, and b) it means that there should actually be an action in place of cutting out something so consequential as voting, which likewise clashes with their "everything will be fixed by Magical Thinking" viewpoint. They don't want to be asked what to do in place of voting, or in anything at all; they want to think their correct thoughts and judge anyone who doesn't, regardless of how logically incoherent these things are or the inevitable outcome of those decisions, because nothing bad is ever their fault, or even the Republicans' fault, or anyone else at all except for the Democrats and/or "the West." I mean, yeah, if they're going around to preach the Don't Vote Because It's Actually Evil gospel, it's the bare fucking minimum to expect that they have something to offer in return besides Ye Olde Bolshevik cosplay fantasies. Since they don't, they get tetchy when you point that out.

Also, while I know it's the social media fashion that everything has to be the worst thing ever and we have plenty of the "Biden is also a genocidal fascist but I guess vote for him or something" utterly-minimum-standard posts going around, I will point out why that rhetoric is a) wrong and b) unhelpful. (Not that I expect it will make a single difference to anyone who has to get their internet cred by yelling about how Biden is a fascist, but still.) No, Biden is not a fascist by any logical definition of the word, you would have to do a lot of work to convince me that he is personally genocidal beyond what is demanded of any post-1948 American president who exists in an extremely complicated international sphere with long-standing alliances (such as, yes, with Israel) and indeed not quite a bit more progressive than literally every one of his predecessors, and it makes those actual words useless. If you claim that "Biden and Trump are both genocidal fascists," you are utterly effacing those categories as any kind of critical or useful distinction. You can't argue for any difference, you can't point out policy essentials or nuances, you can't make the most basic of empirical observances or come to a judgment on whether any part of that statement is true, because language has been deliberately stripped of meaning and used to score Cool Internet Leftist points. How can we explain what fascism or genocide actually are and what to do about them, if it's just what you call everyone as a matter of course whenever they disagree with you? You can't. That's the point.

Once again: I strongly disagree with the idea of just giving Israel/Netanyahu a blank check to keep committing atrocities, but I also need to repeatedly point out that Biden isn't doing that. His initial unconditional support of Israel after October 7 (which at the time was the correct response) has shifted to a much more measured and conditional approach where he has muted the overtly pro-Israel statements and started talking about a two-state solution and the need to protect the lives of civilians and trying to keep a lid on what could become a REALLY bad situation with all kinds of war-hungry powers eager to jump into the Middle East and blow it completely to hell. As I have said in my other posts, Trump will not do this. Trump will do the exact opposite. Which is why Netanyahu, who doesn't like having his hands tied precisely in the way Biden is doing, is trying so hard to get Trump back in. This also extends to the people who think that the West/the U.S. is the source of all evil in the world, but they're somehow the only people that can make actual choices or have real agency. Everyone else is just an American puppet; everyone is being lied to or manipulated by America/the West; nobody ever chose anything of their own free will; America/the West could roll in and put a stop to everything bad if they "really wanted to," but choose not to because etc. etc., Evil. As such, this completely fact-free belief is basically the central starting point for Online Leftism, which as I have also said, is now beyond useless and verging on just as deranged and actively dangerous as the fascists, especially since they are 100% willing to enable far-right fascism however and whenever they can because something something, That Will Show Us.

Anyway. Yes. Whew.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ SO SO SORRY for the late chapter! I was going through a lot these past weeks, and I was drained as hell, but I think I’m a little fine now.

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏: 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ You discover the gruesome extent of your powers. You open up to Miles once more— and Montrell makes a devious introduction. Inside your household, another catastrophe unfolds.

⚠️WARNING⚠️ This chapter consists of harassment and gruesome display [The reader is Venom], if you want to skip past it, scroll until you see a purple line. Reader discretion is advised.

FIC MASTERLIST

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“.. Never call me again.”

Beep.

… No, the proposal wasn't approved.

Your father called it a weird choice of an investment, and after hearing that you seriously wanted to buy the store, he hung up on you without the need of another explanation. So you stood by the gasoline stand, outside of the local bodega, with a blank phone in between your fingers, not a single connection to be found.

"Shit, I am so fucked." You sighed, pulling a palm across your face. "I am never going to financially recover from this, ever."

"You're a conglomerate heiress, you’ve got all the money in the world.”

"Strictly in name," You corrected of the symbiote. "As much as I am inheriting a lot of the money, I am not going to control over anything since that is Montrell's right, and my grandfather and father's will."

With that, you press your head against the flat of the glass door, a long and tiresome sigh dragging out your throat. ".. If only I were a boy."

"You're living in modern society, your father can't possibly be that old fashioned."

"Well, he isn't." You mumbled. "The only difference is that Wilson Fisk had a son, not a daughter. If I were a boy, or rather, if Wilson Fisk had a daughter— it would've been Antonne's problem, both mine."

"Then.. Do you think running away can fix all this?" Emerging from the bones of your back, a black matter materialized beside you with its white, dead gaze and spiky grin gleaming from the light of the street lamps. Though it unsettled you, nothing topped the hard glares that came from your parents. "As cunning as you are, when the people get angry, they won't leave you alone."

That was a well-made point— you weren’t free from the sins of your family. You indulged yourself in the wealth they stole from poor, and you chose to blind yourself from the truth. It doesn’t matter how much you try to make up for all the lives lost and all the money stolen now, it’s all too late.

But there was something about trying.

"They can find me in Amsterdam, I guess." You looked at the glass windows, pulling out your lipgloss from the pockets of your jeans and swiping it across the plump of your brim. "Once I leave this place, I'm never coming back."

"Then what about Miles?“

As you placed the gloss down, the alien's question made you think.

What about Miles?

Fooling him, lying to him, with the highest risk knowing he'd one day learn all about your secrets, you still managed to question: What about Miles?

How far would you go for your own survival?

You exchanged glances with the sight of New York. Without Miles, and being there all alone, made you notice the ultraviolet themes puckering out from the crevices of the darkness, a sort of dystopian hue of green-blue and pink-purple lying beneath the wicked façades of tall buildings and withering carcasses of what could’ve possibly housed hundreds of people.

There is no more ‘New York, New York’. It didn’t make you think of tall, slim rockettes with their shiny legs and glittery uniforms of gold and red, nor did it make you think of bussing bentleys with rich bachelors inside them, waving the fifty-star flag of blue, red, and white outside of their windows.

New York was desolate.

But Miles only made it warmer. Tolerable, you think. Through Miles, you managed to slip on a pair of rose-tinted glasses in the midst of this decaying city, and through him, you earned a sense of hope— or patriotism for a country you’d only ever really seen the worst of. You wanted to think you were capable of being compassionate for other people’s lives aside from your own, but there was only so much you could do, so much you could consider.

New York has warm places, was your conclusion.

And without Miles, New York would be a black hole.

And in a sparing state of delusion, you pondered about running away with Miles to Amsterdam. Married and settled in a home by the waterfront, where the both of you could walk to work everyday while taking in the sights of the tulips every spring. You wanted, needed to feel his hands entangle with yours every morning. For him to embrace you from behind every after frustrated sigh during every artistic block.

You were tired of being little Miss Americana. Perhaps you’d find a more loving life away from New York and in the heart of Europe.

ＳＬＡＭ.

“Hey, pretty.” A dirtied, damp palm slams against the glass before you. “What’s a girl like you doin’ out here all alone?”

The symbiote crawls right back into your skin as you processed the sudden rude disruption. Before you stood a couple of men with their yellowing teeth, grinning and laughing at your reaction. Instinctively, you tossed your head to the side out of fear of getting caught. Still, they knocked in intervals of three, knuckles pressed against the fogging wall of glass.

“You come here often? Got a man?” The man asks. “Don’t be so shy, baby. We don’t bite.”

ｏｈ、　ｂｕｔ　 Ｉ　 ｄｏ.

“Leave me alone.” You grumbled in between seething grit, refusing to look at any place other than the ground. You couldn’t count how many men there were, but they were a group of rusty late-twenty aged drunks. Something pulsed inside you, aside from a heart, it twisted like this beast-like gluttony that made your mind simmer.

Ｈ　Ｕ　Ｎ　Ｇ　Ｒ　Ｙ.

“Wow, ain’t you sassy?” They cackled, reeking like cigars and axe cologne. You turn to leave, but they easily block your way with their brick-like bodies. “Hey, hey, where’s you going? Can’t just leave me like this, baby, smile for us a lil�� bit more.” He cooed as though he were talking to a toddler. That only irked you even more, hearing the men’s devious giggles as you struggled to stride past him.

“I’ve got a boyfriend.” Was your attempt of a defense, the man only grinned. “Why don’t you call him then?”

“I will.” You choke, knowing you wouldn’t. “If you continue keeping this up.”

He lifts his hands up like a captured criminal, still amused— annoyingly. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone mami.”

Mami. It only sounds nice when Miles says it.

You swiveled your way to leave, prancing past their prying eyes.

ｓｌａｐ.

You jolted at the hit of your posterior, their cackles following right after like a mockery of your shame. Without even processing the amount of your anger and embarrassment, your hand finds itself latching onto the man’s neck without another word uttered.

The coarse flesh of his skin pricked at your pretty fingers, a growing stubble you hadn’t noticed as you were too busy ignoring him earlier. What stared right back was terror in his quivering, dark, and wrinkled gaze. It’s as though he could see his life flashing before his eyes.

Your arm was enveloped, rather, your whole body was enveloped by the wrath of what boiled inside you— dark and slimy, it growled with white eyes and spiky teeth.

You could hardly remember the flash and swiftness of how everything went off. You heard muffled screaming, and thundering footsteps— growing fainter with each passing second. The man struggled like a bird within your grasps, begging you to let him go. The thing was, he wasn’t all too knowledgable of what ‘no’ meant, and at that moment, you didn’t feel like teaching him what it meant.

You could hear it so faintly, his begs and curses tossed forcibly at you like a hurricane before silencing itself after a crack and a rip.

Suddenly, you weren’t so hungry anymore.

And along with the cracks of shattered glass, your little apparition of European folly broke too.

“.. I wonder what’s taking her so long.”

Peering from the aisles, the group searches for you in all throughout their long walk. Mostly, it had been Miles’ worries thwarting every question. Monique hummed, similarly turning her head. “Ain’t no way she’s lost. She ain’t ever been here before?”

“Ion think she’s been here before seeing as how she went straight to the exit. You sure your date didn’t just ditch you, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t reply, he was too busy dialing the hell out of your number.

“I can go check on the second floor bathroom, if ya want.” Monique suggested, earning an earnest and somewhat thankful stare from Miles. “Yeah, can you go check? M’getting worried, dios mio.” His occupied hand shifts downward, the other arm hugging both of your costumes’ bags close. He figured to pay for the both of your costumes, being the gentleman that he is.

Monique excuses herself from the group, making it her personal journey to search for little lost you.

Amadi and Voshon were the only ones next to him by the queue.

“.. You know when you first told me ‘bout how pretty she was, I didn’t expect her to be.. Like that.” Amadi chuckled, arms crossed before her chest. “To think she can afford to maintain looking like that.”

Miles raised a brow.

“You don’t see girls like that everyday.”

“Yeah, you don’t.” Miles managed to pluck out a smile. “I’m so lucky to have her, man. I can’t wait for our date tomorrow.”

Amadi nodded, seemingly getting gist of his excitement, until.. “Miles, I’m going to be honest with you.” She maneuvers the plastic bag into her other arm just to lean a little bit closer. “Your girl’s lookin’ like she hasn’t touched a spec of dirt her whole life— with a silver spoon in her mouth since the day she was born. And I’m worried for you, considering your whole thing with your Unc Aaron.”

Amadi, who’s completely like a sister to Miles, knew about him being the Prowler. They’ve been there for one another since they were kids, since her first coming out, since his dad’s death, and through thick and thin. Amadi, when she’d first heard about you, didn’t mind much initially. It was great for Miles to have a first love— he drowned himself too much in expectations he had for himself, when he could only do so little for the world. But the more he talked about it, the more her suspicions arose.

“Why’d she suddenly change her mind?” Was her first question. “Kissing you and then suddenly running off and then coming back to say yes.. Does your girl not know a thing ‘bout social cues or what?”

“She’s going through a lot.” He snaps back immediately. “Her family’s putting a lot of pressure on her. Ionno much ‘bout what’s going on in her home, but I ain’t judging her for being confused ‘bout her own pace. But I respect her decisions, and I ain’t going to say anything ‘til she tells me herself.”

Amadi took a step back, acknowledging that it was her mistake for speaking beyond her grasps.

“I’m just worried, Miles. Ion have a problem with her in particular— she seems sweet, kind even, but Ion want you getting hurt. No todo lo que brilla es oro.”

He cringes a bit after hearing the same words his mother would always tell him.

“No quiero hablar más de esto.”

Amadi shrugged. “Bueno, then let’s talk ‘bout something else.” She rocked forward along the line. “Who’s Tiya Rio going to be voting for?”

“She’s a hard Christine Brown.” Miles quickly replies, relieved at the sudden change of topic. “Better off than that nepo-shit, Barlowe.”

Christine Brown was a candidate for the upcoming election— an economist, hailing from the Bronx, with a mind bright enough to light up a room. Despite her popularity amongst the youth, however, the older people were less than willing to place their bets on her.

“Good for you. Papa’s goin’ full Barlowe.”

Miles snaps his head in distaste. “Que? Por que?”

“Said he couldn’t trust the any other candidates. Brown’s proposals are too good to be true, so he gotta go with whoever everyone else is going for.”

“Only thing special ‘bout Barlowe was his father’s legacy, but even then, a lot of people died all throughout his father’s bullshit doings— and don’t ever forget, Barlowe helped the Chávez’s cover up the media when the collapse happened.”

“Well, for the lot of us, that’s still a theory.” She mumbled. “Not everyone has access to sensitive information like you, Miles. A lot of us have lost hope, because either way, no matter who we vote for, we’re all going to be stuck working for the rest of our miserable lives. Papa said that maybe, Barlowe might actually do something like his father.”

With a furrowed brow, Miles snaps back. “Barlowe is riding off of his father’s achievements— man’s got nothing to his name other than his dad’s legacy.”

“Well we don’t know yet. He might be a good president.”

“Amadi, we can’t say ‘might’ when we’re voting for a great president. We need someone who will become a great president. Politics ain’t trial and error. Barlowe’s as good as a puppet for the elite.”

Realizing his heightened tone, Miles looked around to check if anyone was listening into their little talk. Amadi attempts to search for a rebuttal, but she fails miserably, leaving her only clutching onto the plastic of her costume with a gap in between her lips.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Without another second wasted, Miles picks up the phone, hoping to hear your voice. Instead, what rang was this haggard breath and a worried shrill.

“Miles, we’re at the second floor bathroom— [Y/n]’s sick, she’s been vomiting a lot. Can you get her some— some, I don’t know, water?”

And Miles bolted off.

Oh, God, you ate someone.

ＷＥＬＬ, ＴＥＣＨＮＩＣＡＬＬＹ Ｉ ＤＩＤ.

Shut up.

“Hurk!—“ And there goes the last bit of dinner, straight into a bowl. Beside you, Monique gently tugs your hair farther away from your mess. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” You incoherently babbled. “I just ate something really, really bad. I’m usually not like this, really, just— hurk!”

You are being dramatic. I was the one who ate the damn thing, not you.

Same fucking difference when you’re literally living inside of me!

“Don’t worry, babe, I called Miles. He’s going to arrive soon.” Monique cooed like a teacher informing her student that her parents were on the way.

That just makes everything so much worse!

“Thank you.”

You suddenly decided, you were feeling better. You picked your head out of the bowl, flushed everything away, and rinsed your tongue by the sink, only to realize that water tasted bad, and whatever was left inside your stomach threatened to resurge again, so instead, you stood there and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was all over the place, a bit of your mascara was running down, and your lipgloss was gone.

But hey, your highlighter didn’t budge. That’s one great brand.

I actually agree with you on that one.

From afar, you hear Miles calling out your name. Hurried and rushed. Monique heads right out.

“Hey, is she aight?” He immediately asked of her.

“Well, she’s better now. Stopped vomiting and all that.”

There was a small silence. You pondered whether to fill it in, but you were lost with hoping to hear Miles’ answer. Similarly, you were in a battle with your own wit; In a battle with the damn being inside of you. It was enough to drive you into madness— everything and everyone. You were used to going along with the pace of everyone else’s plans, but right now was like ricocheting you to the moon without as much as a warning, a suit, or a mathematical equation.

You heard a gentle swish of a bottle.

And when your gaze travels sideward, Monique appears before you with a bottle of water between her pink acrylics. Sealed and cold. Misty and likely just bought.

With a hushed thanks, you received the drink and swished it inside of your inner cheeks— the bitter aftertaste of whatever exited your body leaving after each spit. You washed your hands and washed your makeup off too— a few clumps of mascara remaining beneath your bags.

Miles calls out your name.

You don’t answer in a fit of embarrassment.

“I’m gonna buy our costumes now, I’ll pay for it, aight?”

Oh, but that was even more embarrassing.

You rushed out to greet him, messy mascara and all. “I can pay for my costume, darling, thanks for holding it for me.” And you snag it out of his hands, kiss his cheek, and beeline right out.

Miles blinked, and he looked at Amadi who shrugged. He didn’t know whether to think about the kiss or the way you stomped right out without warning.

Oh, she really doesn’t know what social cues are, huh? They think.

But that wasn’t the case, truly. You of all people would know you’ve been infinitely and unbearably awkward, but you had a deal to make. You didn’t want their pockets to hurt, so you forged a plan. Measly, small, nothing too grand of a plan. Something along the lines of using a black card and all of those things— attempting to falsify a coupon while insisting to charge your account rather than their money. This wasn’t a restaurant, so you couldn’t demand for a paycheck and pay the bill for everyone in advance, so when Miles and the others got back, you got this.

“Nathan?” You faked-recognized the cashier. A similarly blond, tall and ragged boy with calm leisure on his shoulders.

“[Y/n]? What’s good mama, long time no see!”

And within three minutes, you managed to stage a whole script with Nathan, the part-timer.

A little bribe was nice enough to let him in the job.

“You two know each other?” Miles asks, evidently piqued and disturbed at the idea of him calling you mama. “Yeah, he’s one of my older brother’s friends. Nathan, long time no see, indeed.” You ushered the costumes forward, plucking out the one from Amadi’s grasps and placing it by the counter.

Nathan plants a smirk in his lips, a hand on his hip. “How’s he, by the way? Haven’t caught up with him for months.” He asks, obviously not knowing who your brother was.

“He’s doing great, actually. All of us have been, and you?”

“Great,” The blond smiled. “Took up this part-time job to get ahead of my student loans. Thanks to your nice tip months ago, I managed to re-arrange a few parts of my fucked up life.” Well, that tip was non-existent. He was likely talking about the three-hundred dollar bribe you offered him just minutes ago. “Really, you’re.. The sweetest.”

Miles didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

“Well, Miles and I were just buying our halloween costumes for tomorrow. We’re going to be celebrating halloween together, you see.” Your hand creeped up against his arm, and Miles eases. “We have a date tomorrow.”

Nathan’s smile twitched. “Oh, really? Damn, good for you.”

Miles’ chest huffed up in pride. Fuck yeah, we’re dating, what’chu gon do ‘bout it?

“Your brother know all ‘bout it?”

“Oh, not yet. It’s our first date.”

Nathan starts scanning your stuff, keeping up the small talk while Miles listened in with a half-bored expression on his face. It was a façade, evidently. He wanted to know everything about this Nathan dude, and why he was smiling so weirdly with his crooked teeth.

“You know, I can get this for you.” Nathan suggested. “I owe you a lot. I’ll pay for your costumes.”

Good work for following the script.

“Really?” You airily asked. The blond shrugged. “Yeah. I can pay for your friends too, my treat.”

“Nah, keep yo money to yo self, big man.” Miles narrowed his gaze, slamming his wallet atop the counter. “I can pay for our costumes.”

“Miles!” You whispered at him.

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout it, man. Your girlfriend’s done a lot to help my family. Hell, I met Alicia through her too.” Nathan improvised. At the mention of another girl, Miles gradually lightens up. “So, really. This is hardly even enough. Let me just thank her this one time.”

You turn to Amadi, gesturing her a thumbs up and a wink.

.. Were you even aware of how much of a mess you looked right now?

Either way, you were somehow.. Still presentable in a way that it was enviable.

After wrapping up the prices, paying for everything, and sneaking your black card away from the man, all of you managed to depart and bid your farewells to your new friends. If you could even call them that yet. The tension was unnerving, and you could almost sense that they likely found you weird.

And you were weird. You have been acting weird, even you could admit that.

There was a fucking alien inside of you who fed on humans. It wasn’t the potential of cannibalism that irked you the most, it was the fact that you devoured a vile man who likely ate cigarettes for morning and tequila for dinner— if he could even afford it. You’ve seen a million gruesome scenes, before, so the latter of ripping someone’s head off from their body was hardly the worst of your memories.

In fact, there may have been more blood on your hands than anyone else would think.

But it did shake you. It left you trembling and silent. You were already thinking about demolishing the camera and having Liv take care of all the evidence.

Liv, yes, Olivia Octavius. You wanted to trust her for a short while, given her eccentric desire to run tests on you. She can find the answers to get rid of this disgusting piece of murky tar inside of you—

ＹＯＵ’ＲＥ　ＮＥＶＥＲ　ＧＯＩＮＧ　ＴＯ　

ＧＥＴ　ＲＩＤ　ＯＦ　ＭＥ.

You could almost snicker.

Fuck you.

“Hey, you feeling better?” Upon hearing Miles’ voice, you’re plucked away from whatever sour memories ingrained your mind. With a hopeful smile, you nod. “Yeah,” The reply came out a little raspy. “I’m doing a little better. I’m a bit dizzy, but I’m better now.”

He pauses in the midst of the street, facing you entirely. You pause along with him, evidently confused.

Gently, Miles lifted a finger and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “How can you look so messy and still be so pretty, huh?”

Unlike the encounter you had earlier, this made you feel utterly warm and safe. It’s like you could melt into the base of his palm and mark it as your home. His finger grazes beneath your lashes, likely wiping out all of what’s left of your mascara.

“Only you can pull off something like this.” Miles decided. “You can start trends with that face of yours.”

“And here I thought you’d start teasing me.” You laughed.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got the plague doctor costume just in case you start spreading your bubonic germs all o’er again, I can just bloodlet the hell outta you.”

You smacked his arm. “My blood’s precious as hell, thank you.”

“Said no hospital, ever.”

And there goes that heavy laugh of his, ringing in your mind. You adored it. The way he’d tilt his head and shift his eyes into crescents. You like how he crinkled his nose and stepped away from you as if to sink in your comedic and obviously pissed off side-eye.

You could stay there forever.

“I’m fucking leaving you here.” You attempted to stomp off. Miles hurriedly catches up with you in bated breath, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Nah, you ain’t going nowhere, my girl, you’s stuck w’me til’ we both drop dead when we’re eighty.”

You giggled at his statement.

“What? You don’t plan on doing that w’me?” He pouted.

“No, no. It’s not that, just..” You looked away. “Ionno if I’ll even live that long.”

Miles took the hood of your jacket and placed it over your head. “Well if you keep yourself out in the cold too much, ya prolly won’t.”

It’s not that, Miles. You think. I can’t live a day without feeling like I’m falling apart.

“You know, I don’t get why I’m so weak ‘round ya.” You kicked at the pebbles you came across the pavement. “I’m a fighter, y’know. Got it from my daddy, actually. I’m pretty strong, but when I’m around you I sneeze a lot… Prolly has sum to do with how anxious you make me feel.”

You paused. He paused.

The both of you stared at each other. Seeing that stupid smug smirk creeping up his lips made you want to bolt away in shame.

“So I do make you nervous.”

“You make me physically ill.”

“Cause I make you nervous.”

“Shut up.”

Miles looked like the happiest boy on earth. You wanted to deep-fry yourself in oil.

“Speaking of which, you never told me much ‘bout your brothers.” He suddenly mentioned. “You told me ‘bout you being the only girl, and I’m an only child but that’s nothing alike. What’s it like?”

“Well— I’ve got three brothers, actually.” You thought about calling them by their other names. Miles gulped. “The one who drove me here was Mon. He’s.. Like a big, fluffy, teddy bear. I think, out of all of us, he’s the most approachable one. He’s my dad’s favorite. He’s like the golden child of our family. He never has to study just to get good grades, and he’s always so smiley and smart.. But at the same time, he can be such a pain in the ass.”

Hearing you talk about him made Miles sense a sort of jealousy lingering behind your teeth and atop your tongue.

“How ‘bout your other older brother?”

Without missing a beat. “He can go fuck himself.”

Alright. So you had a sibling you were jealous of, and a sibling you couldn’t stand.

“The third one?”

And you softened entirely.

“Oh, his name’s Malachi.” You said his name with such sweetness and warmth, it melted even Miles. “He’s my little brother. Six years younger than me. I know kids his age are usually brats, but I love him to bits. He was my mom’s favorite. She used to read him bed time stories and bake him snacks.. Now, I’m the one who does all that for him.”

Was. Used. Now.

Miles wondered why you never spoke about your mother. The topic seemed.. Fraught, initially, but now that you’ve mentioned her, it sparked his interest.

And, ever so cautiously, he piqued.

“I thought you were your mom’s favorite.”

Miles eyes the way you subtly flinch, your smile faltering so slightly. As the both of you pause before a stoplight, you fish your vape out from the corners of your pockets.

“What made you think that?”

He shrugged. “I thought moms usually favor their daughters ‘cause they see themselves in ‘em.”

You parted your lips and spoke before taking a hit. “If my mom ever saw herself in me, I’d be traumatized.” As you blew, the smoke lingered in the air a little longer than it usually did. Must be the cold. “.. To which, I already am, because everyone talks about how much I look like her.”

Before you could take another hit, Miles softly latches his fingers on your wrist, bringing the gadget away from your lips.

“If you don’t mind me askin’, what was your relationship with her like?”

He guided you down the crossing lane with his hand still holding down your vape. You feel a little embarrassed, and you take the opportunity to place it back inside your pockets.

“.. Ionno if there’s even a relationship I can describe to you.“ You sighed. “.. Ionno what goes beyond a mother-daughter relationship when our relationship mostly revolved around my mama hating me for being her daughter. If that’s what being a mother is, then Ion want none of it.” You sense Miles grimace. “If that’s a dealbreaker for you, then I’m so sorry—“

“No, no, it isn’t.” He mumbled. “I once told myself that I’ll only go with whatever decision my future partner wants. If you want a kid, we’ll have a kid. If you don’t want a kid, then I can live with that too.”

“.. Well, why can’t you decide whether you want kids or not?”

“Because Ion want to force my future wife to have kids she don’t want.” Miles’ grip on your hand loosened. “A few things people do that I really hate is that they usually get kids because of baby fever, or they want to fix a marriage, or they just have it because they want to but not because they can afford to. Ion want my future kids to live on while I can’t or my future wife can’t handle ourselves financially and emotionally. That’s gonna fuck up the kid, and they’ll grow up to fuck up their kids, and so on, and so forth.”

“You know a lot about these kinds of topics, huh?”

“It’s ‘cause my mama taught me all ‘bought it.” He smiled. “My mama’s been through a lot, and when she and my dad had me, she wanted to make sure she won’t pass the pain she got from my abuela to me.”

You couldn’t help but feel envious.

What is it about me that my mother can’t stand to love?

My whole life, I’ve been homesick for arms that don’t even want to hold me.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You wanted to curse a hundred curses, but instead you took out your phone and answered. “What is it?” You answered, inching away from Miles.

“Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up.” Montrell seethed behind the phone. “It’s an emergency, we need you back immediately.”

“Me?” You couldn’t help but dumbly point at yourself. “What did I do? It’s my free time today, plus I’m not the one managing the— the house anymore.”

You hear your brother pause. You took a moment to glance up at Miles who was waiting patiently for you to finish the call.

“Well, to further inspire you, you’re right, Antonne is a fuck up.”

“Okay, and? Is that supposed to surprise me?” You sarcastically replied.

“No, [Y/n], he fucked up really badly, which is why we need an emergency meeting and I need you back immediately because everybody is looking for you.”

You took the moment to pull away from your phone and block the speaker. “Miles, what street is this?”

He answers something along the lines of being a couple blocks down. You take the answer back to Montrell who tells you to stay where you are. Well, being the smarter person, you ended the call and told Miles to go.

“Why?”

“My brother’s coming to pick me up.”

“Oh?” He straightened his back. “Oh, shit— he’s coming? Why?”

“There’s an emergency.” Not that it was alarming. Emergency, you say, but Miles could clearly see that you hardly gave any flying fucks. “I need to get back immediately before the house blows up.”

“.. There’s a bomb in your house?”

“Yeah, I call him dad.” You turn and peck his cheek one last time. “Before he finds out I’m missing, I’ve got to get back now or you won’t see me ever again. Stay safe on your way home, aight? Don’t get hit by a car, and don’t die.”

The boy stumbles. “But what if he gets lost? Do you know your way around Brooklyn?”

“I’ve got photographic memory.” You joked. “I’m kidding. Mon can do it, he’s smart, and probably has a GPS, so go! Go! Go!” You hurriedly ushered him away. Miles scratches the back of his neck, hesitant to leave you alone out of fear you’d get hurt. Unfortunately for the both of you, a slick, gray car pulls up by the curb with an abrupt halt. You freeze, watching its thick, black window roll down in a glacial, intimidating pace.

“… Mon.”

Montrell stared, unimpressed.

“.. Call him back.”

“… Call who back?” Was your stupid attempt to get out.

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“… You told me there’s an emergency.” You headed over to open the door, only to find that it’s locked. You faced Montrell, only to find that the both of you were mutually irked.

“There is, but it can wait. Call him back.”

“Mon, I will crawl through this fucking window.”

“Now.”

“Mon!”

“Don’t make me count to three.” He warned you like a mother. You grimaced at the way he used that insufferable tone. “I’m not a fucking toddler.”

“ONE.”

“Mon.”

“TWO.”

“MILES!”

From the corner of your eye, you see Miles toss his head over with a widened gaze. “Yeah?”

With your head still facing Mon, you told him to come over. Miles hesitantly made his way back slowly but surely. It didn’t help that his legs were so long that every step imitated a stride. Finally, after swallowing the lump in his throat, Miles greets your brother.

“Evening, Sir.”

By the driver’s seat sat a man. His gaze sat behind a pair of glasses, scrutinizing Miles’ entirety in a second or less. He was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, further accentuated by the fineness of his white, collared shirt and black vest. His features were sharp, but his eyes welcoming— quite softer than yours, actually. He looked clean, polished, and infinitely sophisticated yet it didn’t harm his charm. In fact, it made him look so gentlemanly that it made Miles insecure.

It’s like your whole family was genetically blessed.

“Nice to meet you, you must be Miles, yeah?”

“Yes.” Miles answered like he wasn’t aware of his own name.

“I’m Mon, [Y/n]’s older brother.”

“Nice to meet you too, uh— Sir.. Mon?”

Montrell looked at this boy, and he looked at his braids, his freckled nose, and his unrefined stature. He was slouched, and one of his hands was seemingly glued inside the pocket of his old, winter jacket. It didn’t look anything special. In fact, it looked unluckily ragged. The boy looked skinny too, seen clearly in the slight hollowness of his cheeks and dark bags beneath his eyes. Still, he was accommodating, like a waiter donning on his best smile. There was something attractive about him— maybe it was the way he appeared so grimly enticing.

Reminded him of you.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen, Sir. I’ll be turning sixteen this December.”

“Ah, is that so?”

You and Miles felt equally uneasy at the fact that Montrell didn’t bother to tell Miles to stop calling him Sir.

“How long have you known my sister?” He asks, a warning tone seeping past his smile. “Recently, she’s spoken about how much she likes you, so I’m curious how long you’ve known each other for.”

“Oh, we—“

“We met three months ago.” You cut him off, clutching Miles’ hand as though to signal him not to speak any further. “Can we go? I’m sure I still have plenty to attend to.”

Montrell ignores you. “Do you live nearby here?”

Miles looks at you, but you weren’t looking at him. “Yes Sir, I live around two blocks away from here.”

“That’s nice, you’ve got a part-time job?”

“Used to work as a cashier for a record shop. It was closed down months ago since the owner moved out of the city. Been working to get another since then but, it’s hard tryna find a job close to my school.”

Montrell raised his brows. “A hard worker! Just like my sister. Has she told you anything about her work?”

Silence.

Your nails scraped against the window.

“Well, from what I know, it’s a family business, right?” Miles looked at you for approval. For the first time in three minutes, you finally looked at him and nodded. “Catering business in an inn.”

Montrell held back a laugh. “Right. That’s exactly it. Say, Miles, do you have any plans next week?”

He shook his head. “Ion think so, Sir.”

“Well, you see— our family’s hosting an event. [Y/n] will be there, and she’ll be dancing tango. I think it’d be nice for you to go.”

“That’s not happening.” You flatly decided. “Our relatives will talk if I bring Miles to that party.”

“Not unless he’s my guest.”

“Mon, Miles.” You looked at them alternately. “He’s not going— you’re not going to that party, Miles, I forbid it.”

“But—“

“No one will talk about him if he’s with me.” Montrell sighed. “It’s Aunt Claire’s event anyway. No one will be focusing much on you or him. To be fair, they’ll all mostly focus on me.”

You gulped.

“Come on. Once you introduce him to dad, surely you’ll be able to meet him more freely rather than whatever the hell you’re doing right now.”

Miles lightened up upon hearing this, looking over to you with hope.

You wanted this conversation done with, now.

“Fine.” You struggled to speak. “He’ll go.”

Montrell finally unlocks the car. You lazily drag the door open and slam the door shut. With the window still down, you placed a hand over and intertwined it with Miles’. “I’ll text you tomorrow, alright? Just tell me what time.”

Montrell piqued. “You two meeting up tomorrow?.. How unfortunate.”

You exasperated. “… What do you mean by that?”

“Well..” Montrell started the car. “It’s a pretty huge emergency, and it might take you days to fix.”

“That’s fine.” Miles straightened his lips. “We can move our plans next week. I can always make time for her.”

“No, I won’t allow it. I’ll go on with my plans, I don’t care how big this emergency is—“

“Dad’s wrecking the place.”

And that shut you up.

You looked at Miles apologetically. “.. I’ll text you, alright? Stay safe.”

“Okay, you guys too.” Miles softened. “It was nice meeting you, Sir.”

“Nice meeting you too, Miles. I’ll see you next week.”

“It’s as though none of my children are competent anymore.”

Along with the click of your heel, your father swishes a bottle of brandy above his head, pouring it over his glass. You try to keep your head high, while noting the fact that the meeting was largely based off privacy. Antonne sat by the corner, his curls frayed away along with his collar. His head hung low, hand cradling his bruised cheek.

“What took you so long?” Your father asked, hardly even sparing a glance for you and Montrell.

“I was out.”

“Where off?”

“At a café, to make use of my idle time.” You cleanly lied. You watched his grey brow wiggle, eyeing the competence of your stature. You could’ve been everything he ever needed, until you weren’t. Your father stood tall— taller than the rest of you. You try to ignore the shattered glass beneath your feet. You wore heels for a reason, after all.

He trudges towards you and Montrell, taking note of every flicker of your wrist and fluttering of your lashes.

“Do you know the reason why I’m training all of you to handle the family business?”

It was a simple question, capable of being answered with a simply answer.

Why would one family keep most of its secrets together?

“Answer me, girl.” Your father pried.

You gulped. “Because whatever power the family has should remain in the family.”

It was an average answer— a textbook one in fact. Why were royal families the way they were? Why did they marry each other? Why did they remain so closely intact?

For power.

Or so you think, but it wasn’t the answer your father was searching for. It was more.

Your father places a hand against your cheek, caressing it so softly. “... For someone who has her mother’s stupid face, you’re quite smart. My young girl, I know the way you’ve been, because you’re just like your mother but bolder. I know that naïve and emotional front you put up, but mind you, [Y/n], I’ve done whatever façade you’ve put up and better.” He squeezed your cheeks so tightly, you could feel your teeth imprint on your bleeding flesh.

“I asked you for one thing, and it’s been three months. Why haven’t you brought it back yet?”

He spoke so condescendingly calm that it horrified you.

With a tiny whimper, you tried to lower your head to soften the grip of your father, to no avail.

“.. All three of you.” He seethed, calling out for Montrell and Antonne. “Do all of you want to end up like your mother?” He turns to you. “Do you want to end up like your mother, [Y/n]?”

“N-No.” You choked.

Your father shoved you right back, making you land down on the floor.

“… Then who did it? Who released the information about the warehouse to the black market?”

You winced at the glass shards that pricked your hands.

Ah, why do families keep their secrets together?

So that if one falls, all will fall along with him.

“Someone leaked the locations of the warehouses, and a few details about some of our deals with other families— if this gets out, we will lose credibility, and all the other families will drop us immediately like hot potatoes! All of us will get arrested, and everything we’ve worked hard for will diminish in a second. Now, WHICH ONE OF YOU STUPID BRATS DID IT!?”

His voice rang inside your ears. Helplessly, you try to help yourself off the floor when your father’s shadow darkens before you. With a step of his shoe, he stomps your hand back down on the shards. You resist the urge to yelp, tears pricking your eyes as you looked up.

“[Y/n]?”

“I’d have no reason to incriminate myself with something so stupid!” You cried out. “If I were to be in charge of the hotel and sell out information, I’d end up taking the most damage. Why would I do something so obvious?” Hesitantly, you dragged your bleeding hand away from the glass, only to find tiny bits of the symbiote plucking the shards away from your wounds.

It was one of your brothers. Montrell, maybe? Antonne, definitely.. Maybe even Malachi.

None of them uttered a single word.

Of course they couldn’t.

“Antonne?” Your father called out. Your brother didn’t speak, he simply stared on blankly. Montrell couldn’t bring it in himself to move or help. All of your father’s children were dead silent like mice.

ＣＲＡＳＨ.

Brandy and glass exploded onto the floor like fireworks.

“ＡＮＳＷＥＲ　 ＭＥ!”

“I don’t think it’s any of us.” Montrell finally answered. “There’s likely an outsider receiving information from an insider— it’s no wonder why we can’t track down the poster.” He looked at you, to be particular, he eyed you in a way that was so subtle but it sent a message you seamlessly caught.

And then it made sense.

Montrell was accusing Miles.



But you never told Miles anything. Hell, you’ve been hiding your identity for most of the time you’ve known him. If Miles knew, he wouldn’t have stood by you, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to fall for you— he would’ve crushed you into pieces.

But if he knew.

Ding.

Eddie Brock || Just now

hey

the warehouse is gone.

it’s all burned to the ground.

“Unc.” Miles jerked up from his seat, turning to his Uncle. “Eddie just texted. He told me the warehouses were burnt down.”

Eddie Brock, a journalist tipped by Miles and Aaron after the discovery of the Warehouse, was the only journalist who metaphorically had the balls to bring a camera and shamelessly enter the elite’s premises for the sake of unveiling the truth.

Most called him a hysterical theorist.

But he wasn’t a dead one.

“That’s fucking impossible.” Aaron couldn’t help but curse, uncontrollably snatching the phone off of Miles’ grasps. “They can’t just burn down one of their top investments— even if it was meant to cover up evidence, they couldn’t have had the time to burn everything so quickly.”

“Did we accidentally set it on fire because of the explosives?”

“A fire can’t go that large without gasoline.” Aaron tossed the phone back to him. “… It was likely an inside job.. And we were sent there to take the blame for the fire.”

Ding.

“Everyone else, except [Y/n], leave the room.”

Montrell flinched, eyes landing on you. Antonne finds the strength to pull himself together, limping his way to the front door. Montrell kneels down to lend you a helping hand, cautious of the broken glass, only for you to reject his notion and unsteadily stand up yourself. There, he marveled, how clean and uncut your legs were.

Huh.

Antonne cradled his cheek, his curls all over his nose. He tossed his head, spitting out a blotch of blood on the floor before wiping his busted lip with his arm. The both of you meet gazes, both similarly full of disdain and exhaustion.

The both of them left shortly after.

You could feel all of New York witnessing your misery like an audience— watching with prying and expectant eyes from behind your father’s large, glass window. Your old man had some stank in his eye. You wondered if that was the same look he had in his eye when your mother went.

“When will you get me that damn USB, [Y/n]?”

New York was glowing, but you wanted it to smolder.

“Give me two final weeks.” Your brow creased. “I’ll present you the USB on a fucking golden platter.”

Ding.

“Then what would they gain from burning down the building?” Miles fiddled with his phone, watching his Uncle pace around the room.

“If we think about the consequences, it’ll bring the Chávez’s the most harm. It’s a shared property funded by a lot of other people in the elite— that would mean a higher up sent us that information on purpose.. But who,”

+17479256640 || Yesterday

Do you recognize the girl beside him?

You closed the door behind you, eyes glued onto the floor.

There was this emptiness inside you. One that likely plagued your mother before everything that unfolded. You tucked your hair behind your ears.

You stared at your hands, watching as each shard fell off like leaves on an autumn day. Your wounds were healing so rapidly swift, that it was quite the show worthy of praise.

ＹＯＵ’ＲＥ　ＦＵＣＫＥＤ　ＵＰ．

That makes the two of us.

With a twist of your heel, you walked down the corridor to the drawing room nearby, finding your two older brothers with similarly calm exteriors. Antonne was sitting by the edge of one of the sofas, tending to his cheek with an ice pack. Montrell was the first to notice your presence. He was sitting by the make-shift bar, sitting down like a patron but hardly drinking anything at all. He gestured at the med kit atop the auburn coffee table, indirectly telling you to patch yourself up.

You pretended to need for it, unpacking some of its utensils and brashly pouring alcohol all over your limbs and wrapping it up with some bandages.

You watched Antonne glare at you.

“It’s fortunate that purple’s a good color on you.” You grinned at him. “Hopefully that bruise won’t make a guest appearance at the charity event next week.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Antonne spat.

You headed towards the remote to get the television noisy. It was enough to cause a migraine, but it was better off that way. None of your brothers commented on it, which was miraculous, in regards to Antonne.

“You guys care for a drink?” You tiresomely proposed.

Antonne took a second before looking at you. Montrell sat erect, his once crossed legs now uncrossed. Your sudden proposal likely surprised them, seeing how similarly perplexed and amused they were.

You gestured them to go to the balcony.

With each click of your heel, you made your way around the bar, grabbing the sweetest wine you could find and about three chalices. All three of you then hit the cold deck, the green bottle clamoring against the painted, metal table as you popped the cap open.

“It’s nice it ain’t a cork,” You rambled. “Might hit and break another damn window. Can’t be too sure.”

They only listened.

“Does it hurt?” You asked Antonne. “Where did his fist land this time?”

“Up my cheek.” He chewed, spitting out another at the trees. “Couple of mouth sores, might last me about a month.”

Montrell takes the bottle, holding up the title to his gaze. “Vietti Cascinetta.. Moscato d’asti.” He read in perfect Italian. “This was that wine we got from Veronica’s wedding. It’s still here?”

“Daddy hates sweet wine.” You poured him a glass. “Might take away all of what’s left of his masculinity, the sweets I mean.” After pouring yours, you held it up and gleamed. “Cheers.”

All three of you took consecutive sips off of your glasses.

This was an odd rarity. A moment where all three of you were siblings. You hadn’t had such a moment with them in about three years. Now, all of you were old enough to drink wine without coming off as classless bastards. Oh, how the times have changed.

Montrell took out a pack of cigars— new ones, considering how he had to peel off its shiny plastic cover. Antonne reached out for a stick and plucked, making you unconsciously go for one too.

“No.” Montrell warned, taking it away from your hands like a watchful sitter. You blinked at your vacant fingers. “You started smoking at sixteen, why can’t I do that too?”

Upon lighting up the cigar, Montrell casted one look at you, took a hit, blew, and handed you over the cigarette. “Alright, go try it once.”

And you did so, perseveringly, like how every little sister wants to impress her older siblings. You took a hit, and it burned your lungs stronger than vape could ever foster. Like lil ol’ Miles, it didn’t take three seconds before you started coughing up the smoke like an ill child.

“You’re as stubborn as ever.” They say. It was a nostalgic hearing. Stubborn little girl, a walking disaster.

“Perhaps that’s what’s so well-loved about my personality.”

You wondered where it all began— everyone thinking you were stubborn. Was it the insistent way you approached people whenever you had plans, or the way you’d do things out of spite?

“So stubborn about everything. The hotel, the upkeep, the warehouses.. Hell, even about that boy.” Antonne murmured, a gruffness in his sleepy tone.

You sipped.

“… That boy.. Is a hazard to our family name.”

None of them made a sound.

“Dad told me not to tell any of you ‘cause he feared someone else might know of what Miles possesses and they’ll take advantage of it.” You swished the glass. “And since I first discovered it, he placed me on the job.”

“What job in particular? What does that boy have?” Antonne impatiently snapped.

“.. When Mom betrayed us, she had a USB containing every transaction with the other elites, and each location of the warehouses and what they’re storaging. When we sent her off, we burnt everything in her room— including all her files and her electronics, but when I discovered she used one of my old phones to hide evidence, I discovered that.. Miles’ father, Jeff Davis, had a copy of those files.”

“Holy shit.” Montrell verbalized. “But why—“

“Why hasn’t that information been outed? Go place a bet. We even requested to have his corpse researched but he was cremated, which means if the USB was with him, it might’ve been in his uniform, but if it wasn’t— it’s in his house. And since all of us haven’t been arrested yet, father figured the USB is likely currently untouched.”

“… It’s not.” Montrell whispered. “It’s not untouched. The USB is with someone, and they’re releasing information about us bit by bit in the black market.”

“That’s right.” Antonne added. “And whoever it is, is likely watching us closely.”

“But why are you telling us this, [Y/n]? That’s a violation of the code of loyalty.”

You took a sip.

So I’d feel less guilty once you’re all dead.

[AN: Happy New Year everybody! ✨✨ I hope all of you are alright🫶 Take care of yourselves]

[Q&A open too if you guys have any questions in regards to the story]

[bwaybwaycwaycway]

Quick rant about Authority in Disco Elysium

I'm writing this because I had someone rightly call me out at work for second-guessing myself for not trusting in an answer I gave. Specifically, I was asked to identify a type of fire extinguisher from a distance, and even though I was correct, I wanted to check my answer by going up and reading the label. It reminded me about internal confidence in yourself and the things you say.

Authority is an underrated skill in Disco Elysium.

I get why people dislike it. Whenever Authority gets a failure, it has extremely violent, sociopathic responses to the situation at hand, like telling you to hurt people or, in a very famous scene, put a loaded pistol in your mouth. This kind of behavior upsets Kim, who serves as the moral compass for most players, so you stop taking risky Authority checks and don't bother wearing clothing that boosts the skill. You eventually think of Authority as a skill used by people who want to go the Fascist Cop route.

And then you get to the Tribunal. At the end, only one skill will save Kim. Authority. It isn't even you giving him a real order, it's mostly asserting that there is danger and that Kim must respond to it, and ignore your broken half-dead body. It seems like a weird choice that Esprit de Corps isn't doing this, as it's the cop-related skill, or Suggestion, as it is the skill best used to convince others.

No, only Authority will snap Kim out of his panic and make sure he survives the fight without serious injury. And that's because Authority is a skill that, when it succeeds a check, is about personal confidence in your ability as a police officer, and a human being living their life in Revachol.

Authority sure does get you into bad situations, and if you choose to go down the path of the Honour Cop, suggests thumb-fucking yourself to display said honour. But when it succeeds, Authority is barely there, just reminding you that you've got this. You know what to do, you've known all along. You're confident in your actions and accept responsibility for them when Authority is taking lead.

People don't trust cops with low Authority. Sorry Cops, as Kim says, are actively harmful to the reputation of the RCM. Apologizing and second-guessing yourself makes people lose faith in the government you represent and in your ability to solve the case or help them live their lives. A lot of negative modifiers are due to you appearing weak or lacking confidence when you first meet people, as they don't think of you as a trustworthy cop who can fix things.

Finally, the confrontation with Kim over asking him to share a secret about his past, involving the Eyebrow Off, shows that Authority is something that isn't abusive when used right. Kim uses his Authority to convince you to drop the question when you fail, but if you succeed, he share a little fact about his childhood that's of no consequence except it's slightly embarrassing to him. You learn on a failure though that Kim's Authority is immense, and it shows through his confidence in himself and his job as a cop.

Authority is about showing other people, sometimes even falsely presenting, confidence in yourself and what you're doing. When it fails, it pushes you to assert this confidence again, especially in the face of someone trying to assert their Authority over you. It wants you to be a good cop, but has such a narrow way of thinking that it can get you or other people killed multiple times.

[v3nusxsky]

Could you do these three prompts in one

35. "Fuck. You did not just do that"

39. "Kiss my ass. I'm not kidding get down and fucking kiss my ass"

47. "You did not just cum"

You can do this with Lesso or Larissa or both your choice my dear, maybe reader is disobeying and tics of either Lesso or Larissa, or both. And heavy with smut please, and reader is either doing something that pisses them off. Idk maybe a threesome, do whatever you want with the story request, I trust that you'll make it a good one like you always do. I really appreciate your work and your writing skills. Keep up the fantastic work. Hope you have a good day/night.

Needy puppy 18+

*Authors note~ I’m acc so excited to write this plus a happy Mars for passing her theory gets you smut ;) *

Trigger warnings~ daddy lesso (not sorry) soft mommy Rissa subby r pet name ?! Punishment mirror sex oral sex toys mastubating degrading kink praise kink Cum kink? edging

Prompt~see ask^^^^

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

“Fuck. You did not just do that” lesso hissed at you just after your hand made contact with her ass. It was rare you get bratty enough to even brat against your mommy so the fact you had choose your daddy out of the two filled lesso with delight, she always loved correcting her pet and now she had an amazing opportunity to do so. And the best part is judging by the look on your face you knew you deserved to be punished and wouldn’t even fight it. You’d do anything to get on her good side again.

You knew it was going to be a long night as Leonora took your hand stormed off towards your bedroom that the three of you shared when Leonora visited. More often and not you would refer to it as your play room as it was really only used with Lesso. You were immediately pushed to the ground in a signal to adorn your position at the door of the bed. “Stay put slut daddy will retrieve mommy” was all she offered before leaving you alone on the floor to anticipate what would come next.

When they returned twenty minutes later, you were soaked, dripping on the floor to the point the room was heavy with your scent. “Oh god Leo” the blonde whined but quickly shut up with a sharp look from the red head. “Up whore” had you stumbling to follow those orders. “What shall I do with you hmm? It appears mommy has been much to soft on you these days. I tell you now pet she won’t save you now” her voice dropped a tone or two and you immediately looked to Larissa with pleading eyes only to be met with a sorry expression. Yep you were fucked.

“Get on your knees and kiss my ass better” she demanded and you almost looked at her and laughed. Almost. “I’m not kidding get down and fucking kiss my ass!” Her hand found your head and forced you onto your knees. “Leo, don’t you think that’s a little harsh she didn’t mean to be a brat” Larissa mumbled trying to help you but only making it worse for you and herself unknowingly. Only when you’d actually pressed your lips to her clothed ass did she tug your hair to indicate she wanted you up. “Go stand in the corner pet. Apparently daddy and mommy need to have some time together” she all but purred and sent a smirk towards the blonde principal.

“Turn around pet nose to the wall, this isn’t a reward for you” she commanded and you couldn’t help but sulk. Larissa found herself under the redhead with no clothing on with a point of her finger. “Leo” she whined causing you to whimper upon hearing Lesso reprimanding the blonde, “It’s Daddy gorgeous girl. Are you going to be my good girl? Stop interrupting with the pets punishments? You know she won’t learn that way Rissa” she purred as her hands ran teasingly all of the blondes body. “I’ll be good Daddy. I promise I’m sorry please” the blonde was whining already and it went straight to your core. You were trying to subtly rub your thighs together in hopes of some friction only to receive an irritated huff.

“Don’t touch yourself pretty girl and daddy will reward you okay? I have to deal with that disobedient pet of ours” she whispered giving the blonde woman a sweet kiss before stalking around the play room once more. Only this time she managed to get her hands on what you call the suction dildo. Instantly you knew what she’d have you do. Once she had stationed it on the floor you were instructed to take the length inside your slutty hole and not to move. Oh no, you had to warm the faux dick and watch the display in front of you.

Crawling back over to the blonde with a sweet kiss to her bare chest the red head manipulated her body as if she was nothing more than a mere rag doll. Larissa ended up over lap with a squeal. “Count for my doll, do this for daddy and if will be the only punishment I give you. I know you want to be my little sweet slutty girl” she purred gently stroking the tall blondes back. “Safe words dolly?” Instantly had “blue pineapple and cosmo” tumbling from the blondes lips. “Such a good doll.”

With every spank Larissa thanked Leonora and with each hit the woman’s arousal doubled. And of course you had a front seat view for the show with one of Leonora’s more girthy cocks buried deep into your cunt. If you could just bounce a little you were sure it would bump the top of your cervix. But that would land you in more hot water than what you already were in. So you stay put until Larissa has makeup running down her cheeks and lesso takes pity on the blonde. After all it wasn’t hurt fault you played to her maternal instinct.

Larissa was carefully shifted onto her back in the middle of the bed, still directly in your view where lesso skilfully mounted her dolly and brought her mouth down to Larissa’s hairless pussy. “Oh doll you’re soaked! Let daddy fix it dolly you just lick daddy and daddy will make your icky thighs all better I promise you doll” she whispered against Larissa’s folds, the warm breath driving the blonde insane and causing her to devour Leonora like it was her last meal.

Soon enough both women were rocking, licking sucking at each other in desperation. The moans at the taste of the other were driving you insane and you couldn’t help but whimper and mewl for their attention only to be ignored. But when Leonora scrapped her pearly white teeth against Larissa’s hard bud, causing the blonde to cry out into the red heads cunt before plunging her long tongue into the tight hole which triggered Leonora’s climax, you lost all control and shamefully came around Leonora’s toy.

Only when Leonora had successfully licked Larissa dry did she let the blonde rest, whispering words of reassurance and praise until she gave in to her exhausted state. With one quick glance at you she knew, “you did not just cum?” She almost growled at you causing a whimper of “mommy” to be let loose only adding fuel to a raging fire. “Up now” was all she commanded before heading over to where her wall of mirrors were placed. You allowed the toy to slip from your soaking pussy and scurried over to the red head.

Upon arrival you realised she’d strapped up, a rather big double sided dildo that you hadn’t used before, “too big” you whimpered only to be hushed. Immediately being placed on your hands and knees she mumbled, “Daddy will make it fit now be a good pet and take your punishment” was the warning she gave before tugging your hair, your body slamming towards her as she wasted the head of her strap with your slick. “Daddy please I can’t” you whined as you felt the head of her dick entering your fluttering hole. “Can’t? Oh pet, look at how I’m splitting you in two. Making you take everything daddy wants to give, look in the mirror pet.”

Once you looked in the mirror to see her still pressing her incredible cock into your cunt you were a goner. “Oh daddy fuck so big so full” you mewled, her size stretching your sex causing stray tears to fall. “There she is, there’s my good puppy. Hello pup” she teased causing a whine to follow. “Look pup, look at how you’re taking me so well, look at yourself or daddy won’t move.”

During the conversation Larissa roused back to reality and caught the reflection on the mirrors. So naturally the blondes hand somehow found its way to her sensitive core so she could lazily touch herself at the sight. “Oh look puppy, you’ve got mommy do worked up she can’t help but fuck herself again, daddy is so deep inside you hmm? Tell mommy pup and daddy will move.”

“Mommy so oh good daddy fuck mommy please god fuck” you mewled getting distracted as Leonora began to move in and out of your tight fuck hole. “Puppy watch how this tight little fuck hole drags me back in, let mommy see, that’s it good pup taking daddy so well” she panted down your ear, using your hair to force yourself to watch as she drew out only to ram her way back inside of you. You were the first to fall over the edge and come back down, pleading for her to stop, only to have her hand cover your mouth had she picked up her pace.

Larissa was next upon seeing her beautiful Angel cry her release was triggered as she squirted all over the bed sheets. But Leonora kept going until you lost track of how many times you came squirting on the floor crying out in overstimulation. “Shhh pretty puppy, one more. One more for daddy, you’re so good for me, good girl. Now shut your mouth and take it like a good whorish pup” was what sent you over the edge in sync with lesso. The older woman working you down and slipping from your now gaping hole. “Shhh sleep pup daddy will take care of it all okay? You’re so so good darling I’m proud.” Was all it took for you to all but collapse on the floor with a satisfied yet exhausted smile plastered on your face. You didn’t care you’d fall into your own puddle of cum, no sleep was more important which had Leonora laughing to herself on what a dumb puppy you were. But her cute puppy none the less. Some magical clean up and you were all tucked up in the bed Leonora holding her girls as you slept before giving into sleep herself with a satisfied smile.

[physalian]

Exposition 2: Naming New Characters

This post is brought to you by one of the worst line deliveries in the history of Supernatural: Sam’s reveal of Ruby 2.0 in “Lazarus Rising”. Also a companion post to not playing The Pronoun Game.

—

Introducing new characters to a scene and figuring out the precise moment to announce their name without sounding clunky can be very tricky. So let’s break it down into three scenarios:

Name is known by the narrator to be given in narration

Name is either known by the narrator, to be given in dialogue, or known by another character

Name is not known to anyone in the scene but the new character

Scenario 1: Name via narration

Personally I don’t have any problem whatsoever with: “This is character, they do X.” It’s quick, inoffensive, and doesn’t need to get convoluted and over complicated.

Now, if this is meant to be a reveal to the audience, you’ll have to play the Pronoun Game for a bit until you pull the trigger (so long as it is motivated and reflects back on the characters and isn’t just because the author is bad at suspense), but I’d recommend reworking the scene so your narrator discovers this information with the reader for the lowest risk of confusing your audience.

Generally I think if you introduce a new character into a scene via epithet, then in the next paragraph have the narrator use their name, I think the audience is smart enough to pick up on: “new entity has arrived on stage = unfamiliar name must belong to them” so you can even skip the exposition tag entirely.

The cook returned from the dining room, freshly traumatized by a wild Karen. Tyler took a breath, steadied themselves, and resumed their station.

Scenario 2: Name via other character, or dialogue

This is the aforementioned Supernatural blunder. There doesn’t appear to be a clip for this specific scene on YouTube so the moment in question:

Ruby: [Walks in through the back door] “Getting pretty slick there, Sam. Better all the time.” Sam: [Sighs, and contemplates all his life choices that led to this moment] “What the hell’s going on around here, Ruby?” [Pause for dramatic effect and damn-near looks into the camera]

Ruby’s “Sam” is delivered seamlessly and is flavored with some dry wit, in character for Ruby.

Sam, on the other hand, not only pauses before saying her name, but emphasizes her name in a completely unnatural way. I didn't do it justice here explaining how clunky this is, just trust me.

Nothing sounds or reads quite so juvenile like awkwardly tacking on a new character’s name to dialogue when no real person would talk like that. The line serves purely as exposition and it’s glaringly obvious and uncreative?

How to fix? As I said in my other exposition post: Make it motivated. Have the name reveal come with either inflection, tonality, or dual purpose so it’s not just exposition.

Meaning:

Have speaker be trying to get the person’s attention, and call their name

Have the speaker admonish the person, using their name

If this is a happy reunion, have the speaker excitedly exclaim the name

If this is a bad reunion, have the speaker mutter, growl, whisper, or grumble the name

If this is a surprise reunion, have them speak the name like a question

Have the speaker use a nickname the new character doesn’t like, prompting a correction to their real name

Have the speaker blank, prompting the new character to supply it, while offended that they forgot

Have the known character introduce the new character after a few exchanges that isolate the narrator, prompting an explanation a la “Sorry, this is X, they’ve been my friend for years.”

Scenario 3: Name via new character

Very similar to above with the same advice: Make it motivated and double as clueing us in on something either about the new character, or about the characters’ relationship with the scene, or how they see themselves, or how they expect this meeting to go.

If they’re bold, sassy, or snarky, they introduce themselves like they expect their audience to be impressed

Or, if they expect that name to already be known, and are surprised or irritated that they must introduce themselves

Straight up, have someone ask them who they are if they’re not supposed to be there

Or have someone ask them in a social faux pas, blurting out the question and then being embarrassed by doing so

Have the asker be rude, demanding an introduction where it might otherwise not be appropriate

Have them introduce themselves with uncertainty, if they’re shy or unsure about where they’re supposed to be

You get the idea? Whatever it be, make it be in character, and you’ll pull double-duty (as most exposition should) both naming your character and immediately establishing a relationship between your characters.

Scenario 4: When plot demands you must wait

Bonus! This happens when asking for a name would ruin the pacing and be wildly out of place in whatever’s happening (like mid-fight scene), or the narrator is unable to ask for plot reasons.

In which case, this still can pull double-duty by having your narrator come up with their own way of identifying the person: maybe they come up with a cute or insulting nickname, or a unique feature stands out that they’re jealous they don’t have, or there’s an identifiable piece of clothing or uniform to call them by their profession (works well for a group of distinct unknowns), or they’re acting in a suspicious fashion and can be labeled with a derogatory adjective.

At which point, narrator can either sleuth out their name themselves or it falls into one of the previous three scenarios.

Point being, once again, you are establishing a relationship between these two characters as soon as they’re on page together. Your exposition is pulling double-duty.

[suratan-zir]

rambling about language, rats and dreams..?

Recently, for the first time in two years, I had to speak Russian. I had to remember how to speak Russian, or rather how to write in Russian. The things I do for love for my rats...

explanation for those who doesn't know me too well: I was born and raised in the eastern Ukraine (the so-called Donbas), in a Russian-speaking environment. Studied in the "Russian" school, which means that all subjects, except for Ukrainian language and literature, are taught in Russian. Everyone around me spoke Russian. People there can understand and speak Ukrainian, obviously, as everyone in Ukraine does. But it's not used in everyday life, due to the years of russification.

Then, as soon as we moved from Russian-occupied Donetsk, a few months before the invasion, we (my husband and I) completely switched to Ukrainian. We didn't want to have anything in common with those people. (and after the invasion, many Ukrainians also made this choice)

Anyway, one of my rats, Krobus, has a disease unknown to mankind. In all the years of keeping rats, I have never been in such a situation. Something makes it difficult for him to breathe through his nose, yet it is not a respiratory infection. His lungs are fine, he doesn't sneeze too much, doesn't have a runny nose etc. No antibiotics, nebulizer inhalations and even corticosteroids have any effect whatsoever. Vets specializing in rodents don't know what to do. Most likely, it's some kind of growths in the nasal passages.

After a lot of trial and error, incompetent and idiotic advices, I decided to contact our old and trusted vet in Donetsk. But I didn't want to explain to her why I switched languages, I didn't want to have any political discussions, especially with Krobus' health being at stake. So I had to write all the messages to her in Russian. And it was HARD. I don't mean like morally hard. No, plainly hard. I kept mixing up prepositions, word endings, etc., and generally had a tough time finding the right words.

You don't understand how huge this is. I don't know how to explain… Russian wasn't just a simple tool for me. I used to write poems and prose, long letters and essays. My favorite author was Russian. (Nabokov, probably the least Russian Russian but still). In my school years I was that one annoying girl whom the Russian teacher used as an example for others or selected for language competitions to represent the school/town. I know you can't tell that from my shitty English, because the teaching of English in Ukraine and Russia is generally at a terrible level, to the point that English teachers often barely speak English themselves.

Losing it, a giant part of my identity, one of my very few skills…it should feel terrible. But it's fucking amazing! Trying to speak Russian and sounding weird? Wonderful! Trying to write in Russian and forgetting the correct spelling? Fantastic!

In the modern world, learning new languages is a very common practice. But trying to forget a certain language? Now that's a somewhat unique experience that is now shared by so many Ukrainians. Not all of us give up the Russian language for moral or ethical reasons, although many do. And not only in order to correct injustice and the consequences of years of colonization. For some of us, the Russian language is simply a trigger for our trauma. It's a reminder of the pain Russia is subjecting us to. When Russian missiles fly over our heads, at least in they can't penetrate our minds. Eh, it wasn't supposed to sound this pretentious. Ew.

This whole language-switching thing confused my brain a little bit and now I dream mostly in English. So that's a fun side-effect? I don't know why not in Ukrainian though.

In case you're wondering, no medication is helping Krobus still. He feels and acts fine, it's not getting significantly worse for many months, but nothing makes him better. We'll keep trying.

[inlovewithalotoffandoms]

Ski lodge trip||Part 2

Steve Rogers x teen!daughter!reader

Natasha Romanoff x teen!daughter!reader

Other parings: Josh Matthews x reader

Warning: Overprotective Steve, kissing, cuteness.

Authors Note: Hi everyone! It's finally here! I am so sorry for the long wait. I have been really busy and haven't had the chance to finish this one, as well as not having the best storyline figured out at that time. But now that it's here, I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you all for reading my fics. I really appreciate it.

"What the hell is that?" You asked as Bucky brought out a book.

"This, this is a game we're gonna play. It's called the official guide to who belongs with who." Bucky replied.

"The book's gonna tell us?" Josh scoffs with an eye roll.

"No! I remember that book. That book, is evil." Tony states as his eyes widen in horror at seeing the book again. He then continued,

"The first question is 'If you could change your mate into one animal, what would it be' and the only answer is 'the falcon'."

Bruce and Peter look at him in disbelief.

Steve stares at Tony, "How would you know that?"

Tony glances between everyone in the room and exclaims, "Because I am the Falcon!"

"Of course you are," Nat mumbled. You and Josh glanced at each other, grinning.

"Let's play!" You state, walking over to the couch Josh was sitting on and cuddled up to him.

"Let's find out who belongs with who," Josh says, wrapping his arm around you.

"Don't do it, nobody do it," Tony exclaims, trying to stop this from happening. Only to be ignored by everyone.

"No one ever listens to the falcon." He says to himself as he sat down with everyone else.

"Question number one," Bucky started.

"If you could change your mate into one animal-" You interrupted Bucky, but he interrupted you back.

"Uh, that's not the question," Bucky states. Everyone looked confused, especially Tony.

"The first question is, 'The most important part of any meaningful relationship is, A, romance'." Bucky continued.

"Yes, romance. Isn't that the whole point of a relationship?" Peter says. Tony rolled his eyes,

"It says any relationship. It doesn't just mean you and MJ." Bruce nodded in agreement,

"Yeah, it also means relationships with your friends."

Nat sighed, "So if the answer isn't romance, what else you got?" 

"B, adventure," Bucky says.

"Yes, adventure. Break the rules." Sam nods. Bucky rolled his eyes,

"You don't have to break the rules to have an adventure."

"What do you have against breaking the rules, Sargent Barnes?" Sam asked.

"That's who he used to be, Sam. Cost him years of his life. I think maybe he's learned something." Steve states.

"Read the other choice?" Josh says to Bucky.

"How do you know there is one? " Bucky smirked.

"In multiple choice, there are always close answers, but then there's the correct answer, and as soon as you hear it, you know it's right." You state a matter of factly.

"And I don't think we've heard the right answer yet, so I know the most meaningful part of any relationship is C." Josh grinned.

"C, conversation." Bucky smiled. You and Josh smiled at each other, kissing for a couple of seconds, cuddling up to each other again after the kiss ended.

"I love these now." You say.

"How come?" Steve asked, knowing how you didn't really like hugs.

"Because Tanya and I have had so many good conversations now that I think she trusts me," Josh says. You smiled and mumbled a small, 'I do.' Seeing how sweet Josh was being with you warmed Nat's heart. Seeing her daughter with someone she feels happy and comfortable with makes her happy. Steve, while still being the overprotective father, was starting to warm up to your relationship with Josh.

"So the most meaningful part of a relationship is talking to each other?" Peter asked.

"And with the right person, sometimes you can talk all night," Tony states.

"Yup, maybe so. Well, if y'all will excuse me, I'm gonna go over there to maybe, I don't know, kick a tree." Steve states, getting up and walking outside. Bucky sighed, giving the book to Bruce as he said, "Will y'all excuse me? I'm going to go over there to maybe, I don't know, save a tree." following Steve outside.

"You know what? I'm through playing games. I want to talk to you." Pepper states.

"Who?" The people still in the room asked curiously, at the same time as she grabbed Tony's hand, dragging him to another room. You and Josh had a mischievous glint in your eyes as you smiled and ran upstairs to the room you were bunked in together.

"God help us all," Bruce mumbled as he rubbed his temple in utter annoyance and disapproval.

After a couple of hours, Steve and Bucky came back inside.

"Where's Y/N and Josh?" Steve asked. Bruce and Peter glanced at each other in second-hand embarrassment.

"Up there," Peter states, pointing to one of the rooms upstairs. Steve's eyes widen in disapproval.

"Oh, hell no!" He exclaimed as he ran up the stairs.

[pseudowho]

hellooo Haitch, how are you ? Wanted to drop by and tell you that I enjoyed rereading some Nanami pieces from you now that you've been reblogging them with new headers Also wanted to ask you 2 things : 1. Tips for becoming a better writer ? As in how to improve flow, narration, description (without becoming overbearing), how to make characters more human and less unidimensional 2. Favourite books you've recently read and that you'd recommend ? i've been rereading old favourites like Lolita and the Catcher in the Rye and I desperately need something new :( Thanks a looot

Hiii! I'm having a hard week. It's my grandmother's funeral tomorrow, and I'm horribly afraid. I'm getting by, though. Thanks for asking 💕

TIPS FOR BECOMING A BETTER WRITER:

Read more, and read-- I cannot stress this enough-- challenging and variable material. Difficult books. Classics. Crappy chick-flicks. News articles. Thrillers, romances, murder mysteries, philosophy books, fantasy books. Research pieces. All of them add to the reference library in your mind than you can use to compare to. These all help with flow, narration, description, because they all give you styles of writing to imitate.

Onomatopoeia is your friend. Not just, in individual words (crash, plop, honk!) but in sentence structure. Someone who is angry but calm may sound staccato, crisp-- their words, their sentences, should snip accordingly. You're describing a slow-flowing river? Languid, lazy, loose and fluid rolling sounds bring it to mind.

Trust your reader. Show them, don't tell them. If your setting is a coffee shop, with bright yellow walls, sunflowers outside, and wonderful coffee that always wakes them up, at their favourite table by the window? Don't TELL them the coffee shop is that way. Show them through the way your character interacts with their environment. For example: "Kento's hands grazed those sunny petals, always reminding him, curiously, of a Van Gogh piece his grandmother displayed in his childhood. Stepping into the shop, blinded by the sunshine splashed on the walls and the earth-roast aroma, he spotted his regular table overlooking the street, still free; his barista seemed to have anticipated his arrival, sliding his drink to the front of the queue with a smile." See? The story is moved along AND the reader can picture the environment. Trust them to see the things you infer, without having to DIRECTLY SAY "the walls are yellow, there were sunflowers outside, and this was Kento's regular coffee shop". Capiche?

Some idiot once said to keep everything to the point. Whilst this is true, to some extent, your words choices should be luxurious, in that there is ALWAYS the perfect word for a mood, a smell, a taste, a touch, a feeling. Each word you choose being just so makes a story feel rich and flavoursome. The fact is, if you are struggling to describe something and you find yourself piling sentence after sentence of almost correct words...leave it. Come back when the correct word is there.

If you Selfship, SELFSHIP HARDER-- talk to these people in your head. Build scenarios with them. Savour their reactions and their responses, don't see them through rose-tinted lens either. Cross-reference them with people you know, people you HAVE KNOWN, find the perfect words to describe them to other people.

Empathise harder. Empathy is the core of understanding someone's character. Walk a mile in their shoes. It helps, trust me.

FAVOURITE STUFF I'VE READ LATELY:

I adore Natasha Pulley's "The Watchmaker of Filigree Street" and its sequel "The Lost Future of Pepperharrow". The Ben Aaronovitch "Rivers of London" series is also excellent. If you want a great atmospheric, beautifully perfect scene-setting ghost story, go for "The Haunting of Hill House" by Susan Hill. "Pachinko" (I can't recall the author and I'm away from my bookshelf) is another favourite of mine. "The Poppy War" is the first in a trilogy by R.F.Kuang, and although it was her debut novel and there are traces of immaturity there, she is blossoming and I genuinely threw the second book across the room at one point because the angst and plot-twists hit me so hard.

Phew.

I'm no professional writer, so these are just my thoughts.

Mr Haitch lectures in English Literature and Creative Writing, so the "trust your reader" is one that he offered.

Good luck, thanks for thinking I'm good enough to advise you on this.

-- Haitch xxx

[starberry-cupcake]

You are 100% completely correct about the tagline not being an effective summary of the first book and flattening the scope of the series. I think that's a pretty common opinion in the fandom! I guess they thought "Genre-defying work of literary genius (but it's also very fun)" wouldn't sell and went for content instead. But I think the mismatch of the tagline and the thematic nature of the books is part of why TLT fans evangelize so hard. Lesbian necromancers in space BUT WAIT IT'S SO MUCH MORE! COME BACK!! LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE CLASSICS PARALLELS!!!

Anyway I'm truly enjoying your reactions and I look forward to your Harrow journey <3

You're giving me an excuse to talk about editing things, so I apologize in advance for the long response :') This is all my personal opinion as someone who's new to this (the books, not the editing part), so I'm sorry if I say something incorrect 🙏

The ebook doesn't have the back blurb, so I don't know what they did with that (maybe it's amazing!), but this book is imo an ideal candidate for the "quote from the book and absolutely nothing else" back cover blurb choice. Which is a risky move to some but has worked for best sellers in the past.

I think that because:

the very subjective third person the first book uses is just as good as a first person to provide the reader with an idea of the narrative perspective (maybe even more so, because the subjective third is a very contemporary thing)

the book works better without the reader being introduced to anything at all, not even the context of space, even if you're wondering what thanergy is and crying about it halfway, it enriches the Gideon perspective and encourages you to think outside the box

the author (in my ignorant opinion as a new reader) seems to be at peace with this and has a very high amount of trust in the book working without hand-holding the reader at any given time, and that the knowledge will come to those who care to continue trusting in it, which I think deserves just the same amount of trust from the editing choices

With the font choice for the title and the cover illustration, a quote in the back blurb would make this book absolutely good to go imo. Especially because Gideon is book 1 and Gideon wears sunglasses and the juxtaposition of her look with the sunglasses, plus her tone in a well chosen quote, is a good indicator of a lot of things.

ANYWAY, I hope that makes sense and explains a bit more of what I was thinking about when writing those comments. I'm a bit intimidated with giving opinions at this point, since I don't know much but here we are. Thank you for reading my silly ramblings and for being interested enough to keep reading them ♥

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

Saw someone say that the wheel of time show has nothing in common with the books and this is. So not correct.

If you want to see what a show looks like when it has nothing to do with the source material, watch Netflix’s take on the witcher. That’s what happens when not only do the people adapting it not care about the source material but the showrunner actually has stated on record that she dislikes the source material. The witcher on Netflix fucked it up so bad that the lead actor, a huge fan of the source material, walked after three seasons. (I have been informed he actually left due to onset conflicts and instances of being misogynistic to his coworkers. Still a bad adaptation but I rescind this point) Pretty sure the entire country of Poland has disavowed this adaptation and the author wants Nothing to do with it.

The wheel of time is the total opposite. It is Extremely clear that the people working on it and the showrunner love the source material.

This production is running off a shoestring budget. Amazon put most of their high fantasy money into the rings of power (and the effects for the volcano eruption). And rather than being given enough seasons to adapt the entire book series, they’ve been given 8. To adapt 14 Extremely long and complicated books. How many named characters are there in the wheel of time?? Over 3000.

They are being given a very short time frame to accomplish a LOT of plot. Of course they’re going to cut stuff. Of course they’re going to combine characters. Season 2 is covering both books II and III! But they are focusing on the arcs of all the major characters and making sure they are set up for all their major character beats, and setting up the power players and institutions that matter in the larger geopolitical conflicts of randland. Sometimes that means making one character have later parts of their own plots sooner than it takes in the books (Moiraine and Mat in particular so far).

There are a lot of people saying it’s a bad adaptation mostly because a. They’ve made any changes from the books at all and b. Too many characters are gay now. Admittedly most of the people complaining about the adaptation having too many gay characters and nonwhite actors are on Reddit, but still. Both of these are of course nonsense. Of course you have to make changes in making Any adaptation of any book but trying to do the wheel of time in 8 seasons is a Herculean task. That’s why RJ made it 14 books, he tried to do it in less and failed cause he was an adhd king.

Rafe and the other writers have their own particular interpretations of characters but they Are interpreting the original work in a way that holds all the core themes. This season in particular is doing a great job so far of establishing the threat of the seanchan and the trauma of when channelers are cut off from the one power, both of which will of course be central focuses of the rest of the narrative for all of our main characters. I’m Really looking forward to the introduction of the Aiel this season as well.

Also if you’re mad there’s so many queer characters Come The Fuck On. Siuaraine is book canon, go reread New Spring. And I think making the polycule an actual polycule instead of a Mormon sisterwife situation is a fucking Brilliant choice. Making polyamory overtly present in the world already with Alanna and her warders is so good! And given they’re already coding Min as bi I have high hopes for Aviendha and Elayne as well (and also Mat, Mat should join the polycule I am crossing my fingers and toes like I know he’s probably gonna marry Tuon still but Come On he deserves to be in the polycule). If there is one thing I trust Rafe and co. to do well with this adaptation it’s the queer stuff.

Like I get it I’m also sad Uno had to die to make the Seanchan look more badass (r.i.p. my favorite foul mouthed bastard). But they have to make changes in the course of adaptation and if your criticism is just ‘they changed something,’ then please look at the holistic context of the changes, and accept that every adaptation of every book will make changes in order to translate the story to film.

[scribeforchrist-blog]

In Step With The Spirit 

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK
=========================
+ Jeremiah 17:7: “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord.
=========================
VERSE OF THE DAY 
========================
+ 2 Corinthians 2:11   so that we may not be taken advantage of by Satan. For we are not ignorant of his schemes.
=========================
SUBJECT: In Step With The Spirit 
=========================
** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **
I AM IN STEP WITH THE SPIRIT 
I AM CLOSE TO GOD 
I AM FRIENDS WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT 
I AM A CONQUER 
********************************
THOUGHTS:
=======================
    We must be aware of satans schemes, maybe because we don’t see them, maybe some of us are a little naïve or maybe we don’t think this could happen to us, but however your viewing it, know that he is very cunning he’ll take your weakness and make them seem like they are an advantage to have, he will take people in our lives and use them to make your situations worse, this is what he supposed to do this is his job, some people say “he’s picking on me, or that their life is terrible because he keeps coming at them.
    Still, the more he comes at us, the more he is trying to cause us to become weak and to fall into his traps, and a lot of us have done it; we have fallen into it and stayed into it because we don’t know how to get out of it, we can't run from him we can't hide from him. We can pray to God; he will be a shield in a present help and any storm. He will be there even if it's late at night, even when we are too weak in our bodies, to weak in our mental state God will be there no matter what! 
  2 Timothy 2:26 And they may come to their senses and escape from the devil's snare, after being captured by him to do his will.
   We must understand that we can only fall into his trap when we are willing to beckon to the call of flesh when we are weak and not praying. We aren’t living a life of holiness. We are allowing the enemy in; we are allowing him to have his way and authority over our lives; we are no longer living a life of righteousness, and sometimes, when we stay in his trap, we don't even realize we are going the wrong way, because we are spiritually blinded. 
 Galatians 5:16 So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then, you won’t be doing what your sinful nature craves.
 That’s why we must pray to God daily and listen to him when he speaks. God will speak about our actions and words, what we must do, and what we should avoid. Still, if we continue in this way and continue to do what we feel is correct, we will never change. We will be stuck; God is the only one who can free us; no one else can save us from the damage we have done to our lives. 
    The damage is reversible. Go to God today and say, Father, I am stuck in this loop, I am stuck in this trap, I'm stuck in my sin, and he will show you how to come over, but we have to be the ones not to go back to the dry places, not to go back into the trap we must walk away from it.
 2 Corinthians 11:14 And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.
   Even sometimes Satan will make our sin look okay to do; we will be convinced there's no way this is a sin, or it's just a little bit of this or a little bit of that, or I only do this particular sin on the weekend so it has to be okay, my friends don’t allow Satan to disguise your sin as a cake when is its poison stop allowing the evilness of what we know is unrighteous to slow us down from being workers of God, every day we have a choice “Will I pick what I want to do, what my flesh wants me to do or will I pick God and his righteousness?
  Romans 8:14 so that the righteous standard of the law might be fulfilled in us, who do not walk according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.
 

Walking according to the spirit is something we have the opportunity to do every day, but if we fail, know that it’s reversible; we don’t have to stay in our sin; we don’t have to stay feeling guilty all we have to do is let go of the snares of the enemy and walk in the spirit we do this by, reading our word, praying, mediating, and most of all fasting, fasting will break yokes , fasting will give us strength to push through, but we must stay walking there, and this is not to say satan won’t come, this isn’t saying he won’t try, but it is saying we will have the strength to say no when we step with the spirit of God. 
•  Galatians 5:24 Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.

• Galatians 5:25 Since we live by the Spirit, let us walk in step with the Spirit.

• 1 Peter 2:11 Beloved, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from the desires of the flesh, which war against your soul
   When we belong to Christ, we aren’t dabbling in the flesh, but we are crucifying it when we separate ourselves from sin; we don’t walk in our way but IN STEP WITH THE SPIRIT.

***Today and every day we are warring with our flesh versus our spirit, we must claim victory in this by walking in the step of the spirit. We only know what the spirit wants when we seek and hear him. Do this today: seek him; we can get tired of praying, we can get tired of reading our word because the enemy will make us think; it’s an extra chore or something more to do, but this is protection against the flesh. Ask the Holy Spirit to show you how to step in the spirit. ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee
========================
PRAYER
========================
Heavenly Father, we come to you humbly as we know how, to ask for wisdom and knowledge and help us to apply this word to our lives. Every day, we want to seek you and put away the things of the flesh and focus on you; we want to walk in step with the spirit and not our steps but in his; lord, give us eyes to see and hears to hear; give us more of a discernment of spirit and awareness of what we do in our private time that could be blocking us in Jesus Name Amen 
========================
REFERENCES 
========================
+ Ephesians 2:3 All of us also lived among them at one time, fulfilling the cravings of our flesh and indulging its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were, by nature, children of wrath.

+ Romans 13:14 Instead, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the desires of the flesh.

+ Genesis 6:3 So the LORD said, "My Spirit will not contend with man forever, for he is mortal; his days shall be 120 years."
========================
FURTHER READINGS 
=========================
Proverbs 7
Ruth 3
Psalm 111
Exodus 19
=========================

[kitsunekat9]

PJO Show Casting

Okay so before I start THIS IS NOT A COMPLAINT ABOUT ANNABETH. Any of you racists who wanna complain about her being black, leave. That ain’t what this post is about.

Spoiler warning for Episode 8 of PJO

The actor for Zeus is black. And that’s a horrible decision made by the casting director. Looking at the power dynamic and hierarchy, Zeus is the god with the most power, whom everyone must bow down to. In the show’s own words, he’s “the one everyone fears and MUST obey” or something along those lines. Zeus is basically the epitome of white patriarchy. So in casting a black man to play his role, the PJO show loses that subtext of oppressed children fighting against a patriarchal system that abuses them. And yeah, maybe in the books Zeus isn’t ever really held accountable, but it was heading that way in Trials of Apollo. If you wanna argue that the show shouldn’t bring politics or whatever into a kids’ show, I’d argue they’d already did that by making the change with Medusa, and portraying her in a sympathetic light. We got to see Medusa as a victim of the gods, and the whole narrative of the entire show is that the gods are not the omnipotent, infallible beings they claim to be. It makes more sense for Zeus to be white because white men hold the most power in society. Making Zeus black in the show just falls straight into the Angry Black Man stereotype, and it also looks worse considering Hades and Poseidon are both clearly white. The show has made Zeus a power hungry, greedy, egotistical aggressor (which his character is, I’m definitely not arguing against that), but casting a black actor to play his role cheapens the allegory and subtly worsens people’s perceptions of black men. Yeah, you could argue it’s not that deep. However, it just doesn’t sit right with me that the show is (rightfully) making Zeus somewhat of an antagonist while also making him black.

It’s cool that Hades is kinda gay-coded and very clearly not evil, as the books intended. Hades is fair and it’s a correct portrayal, but making him the innocent (sorta gay) white man against Mean Dickhead Zeus is not a good choice.

Furthermore, I’m conflicted on their choice of actor for Percy. Don’t get me wrong, Walker Scobell is incredibly talented and he was able to pull off a lot of good emotional scenes. I’m just… torn about the decision to make him blond instead of dark-haired because we lose the ability to imagine Percy as a marginalized kid fighting against oppression and standing up for what he believes is right. In the books, it’s obvious that Percy and his mother are poor, don’t live in a great area, and don’t trust authorities like the police to help them. These are all experiences shared by people of color, and a lot of fans imagined Percy with darker skin, thinking he could be black, other POC, or mixed race, which makes Percy a great symbolic underdog that POC fans can project themselves onto. In the show, Percy is very, very obviously white. With dark hair, people could have at least pretended Percy was mixed race and white passing, strengthening the narrative about not fitting in and being of two worlds. He’s blond, and pale skinned, so that’s no longer possible. PJO loses that nuanced angle of a boy from a minority community rising up to become a hero by making Percy just white.

Annabeth’s casting, I have no problem with. It’s important for little black girls to see themselves in her role, because she’s the daughter of the wisdom goddess, which is not a trait stereotypically associated with black girls. Annabeth being black shows that yes, black girls ARE smart, and brave, and can be heroines too. Would’ve been cool to make her blond, since blond black girls are often seen as dumb and that would be a great subversion, but I’m not too fussed with it.

Anyways these are just some thoughts I have on representation in PJO. I have plenty of other thoughts about other subjects on the show, so feel free to drop by my inbox or just chat with me about PJO. :)

[ladinthehat]

I literally can't fall asleep because I remembered Wayhaven exists, and I am going to make this a problem not only for myself, but anyone else who sees this post as well. I don't even write posts but I really need to throw my thoughts out somewhere lmao

Warning: spoilers for every TWC book, what did you expect. Also talks about mommy/daddy issues and some mentions of harmful stereotypes about POC, both in media and real life. ALSO probably lots of mistakes and rambling, it's literally 3 am give me a break

Wayhaven is such a promising series of books that fell so flat with book 3, even though some could argue there were already issues popping up in book 2. I, personally, enjoyed it just as much as the first one, but that's up to anyone's opinion. Hold on, this deserves a whole list.

My personal and biggest gripe, MC's relationship with their mom. To write something so complex and then chuck it down to two choices (the choices being "forgive your mom" or "don't forgive your mom and everyone will make you feel like a piece of shit") feels so disappointing, especially if you consider what people with parental issues usually deal with irl. Of course there are people who choose to forgive their parent or not, but more often than not (and, as a result of that, what feels most realistic to write in a book) they end up somewhere in-between - it's a bittersweet relationship which you can either choose to continue or not, but the past memories and missed childhood can't just be forgotten and thrown under the rug. That's what MC's relationship with Rebecca could've been, too: a *complex* relationship that can either continue or get cut off completely, and it's a choice that should be respected, because a child that has been neglected has the full right to not trust their willingly neglectful parent again. And to some degree the author does try to achieve it, but in the end you will still have only two choices. And also, in Wayhaven you can literally feel what option author considers to be correct and not choosing that gets you punished severely, e.g. the carnival situation and every dialogue where you choose to not be cordial with Rebecca (the author never forgets to mention how you made everyone feel terrible. "Congrats you piece of shit, you ruined everything because you just can't accept that your mom wants to be buddy buddy again, ugh.") This pattern of turning complex situations into only having yes/no answers, with a negative choice having severe punishments, is such a recurring pattern throughout the whole book series that at this point it feels like a feature that I just didn't get (e.g you don't even get a choice if you want to join the agency or not, you just do, because that's the correct option). Also, I don't believe that literally no one, not even MC's best friends or partner, would try to see their side or god forbid agree with MC cutting contact with Rebecca.

You can literally feel that N and A are supposed to be the star children of TWC. While it was less obvious in book 1, it can't be ignored anymore in books 2 and 3. It does feel even more weird because M and F have the darkest complexions out of the cast, and are depicted as overtly sexual/flirty for absolutely no reason, to the point that sometimes it literally contradicts what the author established about the characters before (M can't handle most fabrics touching their skin and can't eat food because the taste of anything is too much for them, what do you mean they are hypersexual?? isn't sex one of the most stimulating things you can do that can literally be too much for a lot of people that don't even struggle with overstimulation on a daily basis??), but it doesn't feel appropriate to say too much on this issue as I'm literally as white as paper, not to mention that this topic has been brought up by many POC in the IF community who can have more nuance on this situation than I ever could. I can, however, talk about how inconsistent and over-exaggerated M and F's personalities are, compared to A and N feeling much more realistic and well-paced. I hate how M and F are mischaracterized in their own universe and all the meaningful things are overshadowed by "haha M likes sex and is lewd and aggressive" and "haha F is a silly lil' goober". Their romances suffer from it too, which brings me to-

The romance routes could be so much better. And I'm not talking about N or A obviously, even though that's another can of worms that I, frankly, don't want to open, but F and M. M is dumbed down to being aggressive, sexual and borderline feral at times, which are all GREAT traits to give all at the same time in your book to a person of color btw (they're not), but their scenes perform best when the author acknowledges that M is actually none of those things. Just them existing in the same space as MC and feeling at ease and relaxed (and, dare I say, vulnerable) feel much more intimate and rewarding than literal sex scenes, and I feel like that's what romance with M should've been about: two people, who are both lost and confused and overwhelmed in this new to them world (M from memory loss, MC from being thrown into the supernatural scene) bonding, finding comfort and familiarity in each other. Breaking all that buildup with innuendos and sexual propositions feels unnecessary, to be honest.

Continuation of the previous point, but the same could be said about F too. Poor F, the forgotten child of TWC; they're my absolute favorite, and it hurts to see them being thrown somewhere in the background as a comedic relief side character so many times. I feel like they could be the character who gets MC the most, even if they're not dating or particularly close. They have a difficult relationship with their mom, they're thrown into an unfamiliar world that's hard to navigate and it feels like everyone wants too much from them. You can't tell me that it's not some great exposition for a deeper connection between F and MC, both romantic and platonic, as well as an opportunity to explore anxiety and impostor syndrome/separation anxiety (not interchangeable, just feels like either one could fit F) in a seemingly optimistic character. But nah, they like Rebecca and are just a funny little fella. Definitely not playing into more media stereotypes of the only black character in the main cast being a flirty comedic relief.

At this point TWC is going to rival One Piece on the amount of meaningless fillers. And they wouldn't feel so meaningless if the author didn't try to mix slice-of-life and supernatural, or at least didn't mix them so poorly, but most of the time an occasional meaningless scene is thrown into the plot for some short-term tension for what feels to be absolutely no reason other than increasing the word count. Take the blood drive thing as an example of this: what was this scene for?? It started unnecessary tension, had a weird solution and just offered nothing to the rest of the book except for allowing Bobby to finally confront the RO of choice in a very awkward manner. I feel like the author promising 7 books (correct me if I'm wrong, but I remember something like that mentioned in the earliest tumblr posts) feels like a the author chewing off more than she can bite. And it sucks, because had she not had that amount of books (and subsequently a gargantuan word count) looming over her head, we could have had more actually meaningful and fulfilling scenes like ones in the bakery, literally my favorites. It could benefit the pacing, worldbuilding and reader enjoyment greatly.

I could write so much more but at this point I could just go on forever lol