#the major plot lines? cannot be changed

[probablygayattorneys]

He’s such a sad mad

Haunted by ghosts who are still alive and dead alike

I just want to hug him tight and never let go and tell him it’ll be okay

That he is strong now

That Bradley loved him and even if he betrayed him the love was still there and that matters

That his dad is resting in peace

That his mom can take can of herself

That Mila and Rachel have each other and are more than capable and he doesn’t have to be superman all the time

That I’ll never let Nintendo do to him what they did to Ashley

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:01」 — x.minghao

» seventeen menu | the8 menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ half-dragon!Minghao × fem!Reader wc: 7.3k summary: After inheriting an estate deep in the Bavarian Alps from his maternal grandfather, Minghao arrives to find the estate has survived the war unscathed and that deep underground is a vault full of historic and old art dating back to the 8th century. He decides to hire an appraiser to inspect the collection but becomes enamored with her. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller, historical; non idol au, monster idol au, historical au, post-ww2 au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, mentions of: food & alcohol consumption, supernatural & horror themes, post ww2 in Europe, allusions to the Nazi party; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglist! taglist for kinktober is CLOSED. Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this was a rough time to get started and i have to restart twice, once after completely redoing the plot. it was difficult but once i changed the plot, things flowed so much more naturally! but here we are baybee! kicking off Kinktober 2024 with dragon!Minghao in the 1940's post WW2! i did minimal research on this cause I'm a stickler for world building but I hope you all enjoy the first part of Kinktober. one day, 30 to go! as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), mirror sex, sex photos, unprotected sex (don’t do this lol), use of pet names (bao bei, beibei, sweetheart, etc.), oral (f receiving, m receiving), fingering (f receiving), and that should be all but let me know if I missed some! kinks: mirror sex + sex photos dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Don’t cover your mouth, I want everyone to know how good I make you feel. ❜❜

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Whether it was the scenery itselves or the dragon blood in him, Minghao loved the serenity and peace that seemed to accompany traveling through the mountains. This drive was a vaguely familiar one though he hadn’t been on this road since he was a young child.

He looked out the window as the car climbed higher, the trees on one side giving way to the view of the valley below. It was a picturesque scene, a beautiful lake at the base of the mountains surrounded by a forest of oranges, reds, yellows, and greens. He turned his gaze away as the car turned, following the curve of the road as the mountain flattened out.

The road was lined on either side with trees, providing cover from the cloudy, gray skies as the car drove along. Minghao caught a glimpse of the manor through the tunnel of trees, intrigued to see what state it was in since the hospitalization and death of his grandfather.

He hadn’t been to this estate since he was a young child, visiting with his mother until he threw a fit about going again. Since then, he had not stepped foot on the grounds, preferring to spend the holidays with his mother instead in their ancestral home.

Now he was in his late twenties and returning to the vacation home of his maternal line after being bequeathed the estate in his grandfather’s will. The car broke through the line of trees, taking a slight curve, forest on one side and a stone wall that dropped into a lower valley on the other.

The manor was just as he remembered, imposing and gray with gothic overtones and the facade made almost entirely out of stone. The angled roofs curved at the base and sharp spires at the ridges along the roofs. The majority of the stone was limestone, edged with a darker color of stone.

As the car pulled up, a light wind blew, the mix of orange gold, and brown leaves blowing across the stone, hitting the wall overlooking the valley. Minghao settled back in his seat, looking up at the imposing mansion, wondering the state of the interior. Outside, the place looked well kept but the inside could be an entirely different story.

The car pulled to a stop, the engine cutting and silence falling over the interior as the driver got out. He made to open the door himself but the driver beat him to it. Minghao got out, buttoning his coat as he looked up at the manor, thanking the driver. Up close, the estate looked almost immaculate. The windows had the curtains drawn, not allowing him to see inside the house.

The front door opened and a rather serious and proper looking man exited the house, followed by an equally serious and proper looking woman. They waited as Minghao turned to look at the driver unhooking the luggage from the back rack. Minghao walked over to greet the couple.

“Good afternoon,” the woman said, curtseying while the man bowed his head. “You must be Minghao,” the man asked to which Minghao nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. “You’ve grown quite a bit since we last saw you,” the woman spoke. “I used to attend to you when you were a child,” she continued. 

“Your bags will be brought into the red room,” the man interjected. “It’s the only renovated room.” Minghao nodded. “And you two are?” Minghao asked. “I’m Klaus,” the man introduced before gesturing to the woman. “And this is Renate.”

The woman nodded, giving Minghao a kind smile. “Please, come this way,” Renate said, gesturing to the house. They walked in silence to the house, up the steps and into the foyer. Minghao looked around, taking in his surroundings with an impressed air.

The foyer was small but spacious enough with a small coat room off to the left and to the right was the library, the door opened. “That library was your grandfather’s favorite place in the house,” Renate said, noticing Minghao’s wavering attention. “How many bedrooms does this place have?” Minghao asked, changing the subject.

“Ten,” Renate answered as the driver and one of the staff started bringing in his trunks. “Right, this way,” Klaus said, gesturing to them to follow him, leading them through the foyer and entrance hall and disappearing through an open doorway.

“Shall I give you the tour or would you like to rest?” Renate asked. Minghao looked around once more before turning to look at her. “I think a tour would be nice,” he said. “Will give me an idea of the condition and state of the house,” he continued, looking around once more. “Yes. I think a tour is in order.”

Renate took him around the house, showing him the different rooms. From what he could see, only a handful of the rooms were in need of renovations and a few could use upgrades but were not in dire need. The kitchen was functional and cozy with a large dining room attached.

Also off the kitchen and next to the dining room but not attached, was a decent sized sun room. On the opposite side of the house from these rooms was a guest suite where his things had been brought. “I had this room made up for you since it’s the only guest suite on the main floor,” Renate said as Minghao looked around. “It’s also the only one that has been renovated.”

Minghao stopped and turned to look at her. “It’s perfect,” he replied. “I think I’ll freshen up before dinner,” he continued, crossing the room to where she stood in the doorway. “If you could please produce a set of keys for me, I would appreciate it,” he added. Renate’s smile fell. “Why?” she asked.

“Because I’m the owner of the estate now,” Minghao answered. “I don’t want to have to seek you out to unlock doors in my own home.” Renate nodded, clearing her throat. “I shall see if I can’t locate the other keys. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere,” she replied. “Dinner will be in an hour.”

She left, closing the door behind her and allowing Minghao his much needed privacy. He moved over to his luggage and opened the top trunk, finding some of his clothes. He would unpack later, first he would explore the guest suite and see what he could find and if there were any secrets.

The guest suite was large, a massive four poster bed stood in the middle of the room, the headboard pushed against the outside wall. Thick, velvet drapes hung from the intricately carved wooden frame. Standing at the foot of the bed was an ornate bench carved, stained, and lacquered just like the rest of the furniture. Minghao walked over to a small seating area past two pocket doors that shut to close off the area from the bedroom.

On the opposite side of the bed from the sitting room was the entrance to a private ensuite bathroom with marble floors, two pedestal sinks sat under golden framed mirrors. A massive soaker tub with golden clawed feet stood opposite the sinks. A pipe protruded from the wall above the tub, curving downward and providing a shower head.

Minghao returned to the bedroom area and walked over to the bed, falling onto it and staring up at the drapes. Though he vaguely remembered this house from his childhood, nothing about it had seemed familiar since entering and he wondered how much had changed from when he was a child.

A knock at the door interrupted his train of thoughts and he sat up as the door opened, a young maid poking her head into the room. “Begging your pardon, sir,” she said softly. “I’ve come to unpack your luggage.” Minghao relaxed. “I see,” he said simply. He had assumed, incorrectly, that he might be allowed to unpack his own luggage but he was proven wrong again and again.

“Knock yourself out,” he replied, gesturing to the collection of trunks waiting at the end of his bed. The maid opened the door and Minghao realized it was not one but two maids. “We’ll work quickly and when we’re done, we can show you where everything is,” the first maid offered. Minghao nodded and got up as they started to get to work. “I’ll just get out of your way,” he said, walking towards the door and slinking out of the room.

He still had time before dinner would be ready so he decided to explore the first floor a bit more. As he walked past the foyer, he noticed a door with a round window and walked over, peering into the window only to see nothing but darkness. “The elevator,” a voice said, making Minghao jump. “Your grandfather lost a lot of mobility before he was hospitalized so he had this installed to make getting from the ground floor to the top floors easier.”

Minghao turned to look at the door once more. “Does it only go up?” he asked. “Sir?” Klaus asked. Minghao looked at him. “Does it go downstairs, too?” he asked. Klaus nodded, grimacing. “Indeed it does but there isn’t much down there except storage and cobwebs.” Minghao snorted and turned back to the elevator door. “Does this even work?” he asked, reaching for the door.

“Don’t!” Klaus snapped, making Minghao retract his hand quickly, almost as if he had been burned. “My apologies,” Klaus said, regaining his composure. “The elevator is turned off and very dangerous when not operated properly.” Minghao nodded, wide eyed. “Duly noted,” he said. “Is there another way downstairs then?” Minghao asked. Klaus gave him a surprised look.

“I’d like to see everything,” Minghao added. Klaus nodded. “I’m sure, sir,” he explained. “But you have more than a day to do so,” he continued. “How about you focus on relaxing today and tomorrow you can tackle the basement?” Minghao stared at Klaus but conceded. “I suppose the basement could wait,” he said softly. “Good. Dinner should be ready soon,” Klaus added, giving Minghao a nod and turning on his heel in the direction of the kitchens.

Dinner was a private affair as Minghao sat at the formal dining room alone. After eating, he returned to his room where the maids showed him exactly where they stored everything and even packed his luggage away. He thanked them and called it a night, getting ready for and settling down into the oversized bed.

Falling asleep in a new environment was always difficult no matter how comfortable things seemed and only after tossing and turning for hours did Minghao finally manage to drift into a dreamless slumber.

The following morning, he was woken by Renate. He cleaned up, dressed, and had dinner before he decided to explore the rest of the house, starting with the upper floors. He made a mental note of which rooms he wanted to renovate before finally being given a set of keys; a skeleton key for all the interior doors, a key for the exterior doors, a key to the storage sheds and garages, and a key for the attic which coincidentally also worked for the basement.

Minghao was more than pleased to be allowed to finally inspect the basement and Klaus had been right. It was a storage place for old furniture, all coated in a thick layer of dust, with cobwebs in every corner. As Minghao worked with some of the estate workers to shift the furniture aside he discovered something no one had mentioned to him. A massive vault door.

When asked, Klaus and Renate admitted they knew of the existence of the vault but that they didn’t know what was inside it. Neither also claimed to have knowledge of a combination. Minghao stood in front of the door for hours, trying to figure out the combination, trying several different ones but none of them seemed to work.

Days passed by and he grew more and more restless at not being able to open the vault. While inspecting the library for a book to occupy his time, he found a bright blue book, a copy of On Blue Water by Edmondo de Amicis. It was placed amongst a shelf of brown bindings and looked oddly out of place. Minghao walked over, inspecting the book and carefully removing it from the shelf.

He flipped through the pages, finding blue ink circling parts in the book. Starting from the first instance, he saw the number eighty-seven. The next was forty-two, followed by seven, ninety-nine, sixty-three, and finally four. He walked over to the desk, grabbing a pen from the stand and a blank piece of paper as he wrote the numbers down, taking into consideration the arrows drawn below each number.

When he was done, he returned the book to the shelf he found it and quickly made his way downstairs to the vault door. He followed the combination, hoping it would be correct and when he heard the click, he nearly cheered in relief. He lifted the handle, releasing the mechanism holding the door shut and pulled it open. Whatever he had been prepared to find beyond the metal door, it was not this.

Inside the vast vault was a collection unlike anything he’d seen. A collection of art. As he realized what he’d stumbled upon, he shut the door quickly and headed upstairs to seek out either Klaus or Renate. He needed to make a long distance call.

When you received the call from Germany, you could hardly believe it. A colleague of yours called to explain he had suggested your name to a potential client. Someone had just unearthed a rather large collection in an estate in the Bavarian Alps and needed an expert eye to evaluate and appraise the pieces. They were willing to pay handsomely as well as fund your trip from Portugal, where you currently called home.

You jumped at the chance to set your own price and also for travel to the remote location in Germany. The trip was long, arduous and by the end, you wanted nothing more than to never step foot on a train or ship again. You arrived in Innsbruck, Austria after taking train after train in Italy and that was only after taking a ship from Lisbon through the strait of Gibraltar into the mediterranean and to the Italian capital of Rome. You still had a drive from Innsbruck to the remote estate in the mountains but a car ride where you could sleep off your trip was more than welcome.

You woke up as the sun was setting, the car climbing into the mountains and you could see the valley below was bathed in shadow from the sun setting behind the crest of the mountains behind you as the car turned, following the curve in the road. A tunnel of trees lined the road, wind starting to whip violently as the car drove on and soon the forest opened up to show a massive mansion nestled in the mountains.

It was impressive with the dark storm clouds looming overhead, the light from the sun blocked by the mountain to your left yet golden rays of light hit the clouds behind the estate, making them look ever so darker as the car pulled up next to a blue Roadmaster.

You opened your door, refusing to wait any longer. A bed inside the estate was yours and you were ready to collapse into it and sleep off your travel. The driver unpacked your things, setting them down by the back of the car as the front door opened. A stern looking older woman greeted you, introducing herself as Renate. She had one of the young men from the garage carrying your things and welcomed you to the estate, guiding you inside.

The foyer was grand and dark with white tile flooring. The door to your right was open, displaying a few coats hanging up in what you surmised was the coat room. The door to your right was shut. As the door closed behind you with a loud click, you walked further into the house. “Your rooms have been drawn for you upstairs,” Renate said, guiding you towards the stairs.

You followed her up the sweeping staircase, looking overhead and taking in the details of the intricate and massive chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Once on the landing, you followed her down one of the halls to a door which she opened for you. “This will be your room for the duration of your stay,” Renate explained. “Your things will be brought up to your room and the maids will unpack your things,” she explained. “I will take you to meet the owner of the house now.”

You followed her back down the hall to the stairs as a door opened, revealing an elevator and the driver bringing your luggage upstairs. You continued down the steps to the ground floor and followed Renate through another hallway to a door where she knocked before opening it. “Sir, there’s a Miss Y/N here. She’s just arrived,” she announced, stepping aside and gesturing for you to enter.

Inside the room was a dark parlor decorated and furnished in the Victorian style. It was a cozy room, a massive fireplace with a roaring fire took up a great deal of wall space with built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace. Sitting in front of the fireplace was a seating area, two couches facing one another with a low table between them. Perched on one of the couches was a young man.

He had reddish brown hair, a slender build and was currently immersed in a book he held. At the mention of your name, he looked up and your breath caught in your throat when his gaze met yours. His eyes were red and orange, like fire. The pupils in the middle were vertical slits. “Perfect,” he said, snapping the book shut and setting it down on the table.

Renate gave a curtsey before exiting the room and shutting the door, leaving you alone with the man who now stood before you. He had his hands tucked into his pockets. He wore a simple black turtleneck under a thicker sweater with a v-neck. His trousers were a medium brown and made of what looked to be tweed. He wore simple brown plain toe derby shoes to complete the look. 

“Based on Renate’s introduction, I can assume you are Y/F/N Y/L/N?” he asked, a neutral expression on his face. You nodded slowly. “And you are?” you asked, walking forward, intent on shaking his hand. “Minghao,” he answered as you held out your hand. Xu Minghao,” he added, taking your hand and shaking it briefly. “I assume you know why you’re here?” he asked and you nodded once more.

“For my expertise,” you answered. “I doubt you’d  invite me here based on my good looks,” you joked. Minghao let out a chuckle, returning his hand to his pocket. “So,” you said, looking around the room. “Where is this collection?” Minghao smiled again, gesturing for you to take a seat on the couch across from him. You did so as he sat back down.

“Before we get into the thick of it so to speak, I’d like to set your payment, something you agree is fair and we can sign off on,” he explained. You nodded, narrowing your eyes. “My usual rate is a twenty percent cut of the collection, were you to sell it,” you explained. “Only twenty?” Minghao asked, tilting his head. “The more priceless a collection, the more money I get,” you added.

“If your collection is only worth a million, I would get two-hundred thousand. That’s a pretty fair price for evaluating and appraising the pieces. Especially with the amount of research I end up doing,” you said as Minghao nodded along. “I understand that,” he explained, leaning back against the couch. “I think what you do is worth more,” he added. “I’m willing to go up to thirty percent.”

Your brows rose, eyes widening. “Thirty percent? Goodness, you’re generous,” you said, your lips pulling back into a smirk. Minghao mirrored your expression. “So we’re in agreement?” he asked. “Thirty percent?” You nodded in response. “Sounds reasonable to me,” you answered. “Good,” Minghao replied. “Dinner should be ready,” he added. “How about you get changed and join me?”

You returned to your room, changing out of your clothes and into something more appropriate for dinner. You returned downstairs to the foyer where you were greeted by a stern looking man you had yet to meet. “I’m Klaus,” he introduced himself with a small bow. “Dinner is being served and Mr. Xu has asked me to escort you to the dining room.”

You followed him through the halls until you reached a door which he then opened and gestured for you to enter. Inside was a large dining room with a table large enough to seat 12. Sitting at the head of the table was Minghao. When you entered, he stood up quickly as Klaus exited, shutting the door behind him. “Please,” Minghao said, gesturing to the seat adjacent to him.

You walked over, thanking him and moved to sit. Minghao was quick to pull the chair for you and move it again when you sat down before returning to his chair. You thanked him as the door behind you opened and a small service staff entered, setting a few platters down on the table in front of you and Minghao. “I asked them to make something new,” he explained as they removed the lids, showing a vast array of dishes that all looked amazing.

“Something with goat,” he added as he inspected the dishes. “Please,” he continued, gesturing to the food. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” You thanked him, digging into the food in front of you, not realizing that you were ravenous until the food was in front of you.

Silence fell over the room as you ate, no conversation was being had until Minghao spoke up. “So you traveled from Portugal?” he asked as he cut his meat. You nodded, wiping your mouth before speaking. “Yes,” you answered. “I had an apartment just outside Lisbon.” Minghao looked up at you.

“Had?” he asked, picking up on your use of past tense. “Yes,” you answered. “I travel for work and often only rent places for as long as I’m there,” you explained. “The job in Lisbon lasted for almost a year,” you continued. “The collection I was tasked with evaluating was massive and ended up being worth a whopping eighty-seven million pounds,” you added. Minghao’s eyes widened. “Eighty-seven million pounds? Good gracious,” he said softly. “And you got twenty percent of that?”

You smiled, picking up your glass of wine. “It’s not a bad business to be in,” you explained. “It certainly isn’t,” Minghao said with a chuckle as you took a sip of wine. “My father was an appraiser,” you said suddenly. But he never made it a lucrative business like I did. We struggled a lot and he would disappear for months on end, never so much as sending a letter or calling,” you continued.

“My mother, God rest her soul, worked 12 hour shifts at the local textile factory just to make sure we had food on the table.” Minghao kept his eyes on you as you spoke. “As soon as I was able, I started working. Mainly bookkeeping and typing,” you continued. “I was able to put myself through college with a combination of working and scholarships,” you said with a smile. “I immediately made a name for myself, assessing art collections left and right in America until my first overseas assignment in London.” 

Minghao couldn’t help but smile. It was clear you took great pride in your work. Your smile, nostalgic, slowly fell as a memory came into the forefront of your mind. “That’s where I was living when the war broke out,” you said, a bitter tone in your voice. 

Minghao couldn’t help but feel a similar anger and hatred towards the war. He’d been living in China at the time, deep in a remote area and away from the cities for protection. The war hadn’t hit him but you, living in London, he could only imagine how it affected you. The destruction and danger lurking around every corner.

“I worked as an air raid warden during the first few years but in the last couple, I was promoted to evacuation officer,” you explained. “It was stressful, being in the midst of all the bombings and trying to keep my cool and help direct evacuees,” you continued. “But I learned a lot about the world and myself in those years.” Minghao took a sip of his wine. “I can only imagine what you went through,” he said softly, making you look towards him.

“I was hidden away in China,” he continued. “We didn’t see much war where we were,” he added. You smiled sadly. “China is a pretty big place,” you replied. “I’m sure places like Beijing, Shanghai, and Hong Kong saw most of the action,” you added. Minghao nodded. “I’m sure they did. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Especially so far from home.”

You shook your head. “Home is wherever I rest my head,” you replied. “My family is all gone now. It’s just me.” Minghao felt his heart sink slightly. He knew what it was like to be alone in a sense but he still had family that was alive, he was just estranged from them so it wasn’t entirely the same feeling. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied but you smiled, dismissing his apology. “It’s all right now,” you answered.

“Less to worry about,” you added as you picked up your utensils. “Dinner is delicious by the way,” you added, changing the subject. Though you maintained this calm, unbothered air, Minghao could see right through it. One of his many talents as a draconian descendant.

He wouldn’t push it though. It wasn’t his place. If you wanted to talk about it, you would.

The next couple days, Minghao showed you the house so you could familiarize yourself with the layout. On the third day, he finally took you to the basement, opening the vault and showing you the contents. As you entered, carefully examining the works with gloves, you cataloged things slowly.

“So,” you said, returning to Minghao who was standing outside the vault. “I have good news,” you said softly, lowering your clipboard. “Everything is labeled and there is a box full of documents, which I can only assume are the auction and purchase records. Whoever owned this collection took great care in keeping records which makes my job much easier,” you said with a smile.

“Lunch is almost ready,” Minghao replied. “Shall we eat first and then you can go over the records after?” You nodded, smiling at him. “Sounds superb.”

After a quick lunch of soup and sandwiches, you returned to work, pulling out the record boxes and going through them, matching the papers to the items. “This is incredible,” you breathed, pouring over the records. “Not only are the dates of purchases listed but the prices are also listed. This is an incredibly well documented collection.” Minghao smiled as you flipped through page after page.

It took a few days but you finally had a partial appraisal for the ceramics. “Two hundred thousand?” Minghao asked when you showed him your numbers. “Two hundred and forty-three thousand, six-hundred and fifty-seven to be precise,” you answered. Minghao let out a laugh. “And that’s just the ceramics?” he asked to which you nodded. “I expect that to be the lowest number of this collection,” you answered.

Your assumption was proven to be correct when you came back with the values for the other categories.

Minghao stood, reading over your numbers as you sipped whiskey from a crystal glass. “Are these numbers accurate?” Minghao asked. You nodded. “I’m nothing if not accurate,” you replied. “Are they lower than your projection?” you asked, suddenly worried about his response.

During your time at the estate, you’d taken a liking to Minghao, something you normally never allowed to happen with clients. It was easy to like him. He was handsome, charming, well-spoken, intelligent, and incredibly witty. He was good company during your meals and late at night when you were working on your estimates. You’d become very close with him, especially after he told you about his parentage and his nature as a half dragon. You’d never met someone like him before.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re higher,” he added. “I expected a much lower number.” You smiled at him, setting your glass down and getting up to join him, taking the paper from him. “A great number of these items date back as far as the 8th century,” you explained. 

“Like this one,” you said, pointing to an item on the list. “A silk print from eighth century China,” you said. “Or this one. A nineteenth century watercolor. There’s only one of these in existence. And this thirteenth century oil painting? The art community thought this was lost forever.”

“A lot of these items are worth even more because of the war,” you continued, handing the paper back to him and picking up your glass, downing the rest of the amber liquid. “A lot of art was lost, destroyed by the Third Reich. The Nazi stole a lot of art and we’re still trying to recover it. Most of the stolen art may never be recovered,” you continued.

Minghao held the paper in his hands but his eyes were on you. “A lot goes into appraising,” you explained. “Condition, rarity, age, authenticity, subject matter, and size are a few of the things I look at when appraising art collections. Many of these items are unique and only a few versions of them exist,” you continued, moving to the bar cart to pour yourself another drink.

“And every single one of these artists or sculptors are dead,” you continued, popping the top off the decanter and pouring more liquid into your glass. “Which makes these even more valuable. They can never be replicated by the original artist.” You placed the lid back and turned to face Minghao, holding the glass in your hand. He was still staring at you, a look of something you couldn’t place in his eyes.

He set the paper down and stalked forward slowly to where you stood until he had you caged in against the bar cart. “You know,” he said softly, eyes dipping down to look at your lips. “You’re incredibly sexy when you talk about this,” he said, tilting his head to the side. You swallowed nervously. “When I talk about art?” you asked, feeling a heat settling in the pit of your stomach.

“No,” he replied, taking your glass and drinking it in one go before setting the empty glass on the cart. “When you talk about something you’re passionate about.” He leaned in closer, lips inches from yours. You felt a shiver run up your spine, desire mixing with the sexual tension that hung in the air.

“I’m passionate about a lot of things,” you said, one of your hands moving up his arm to rest on his bicep. “Oh?” Minghao asked. “Like what?” He was teasing you now, the smirk on his face gave it away. He wanted to see how far he could take this. How far he could push you before you gave into him.

“Art, cuisine, fashion,” you said softly. “Photography, travel… sex.” 

The next moment, Minhao closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours as his hands moved to your waist. You kissed him back with as much hunger, hand grabbing him desperately. Your lips parted, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss as you felt one of his hands move down, cupping your ass and squeezing. Minghao pulled back, looking into your eyes, breathless as he spoke. “Maybe we should—”

“Take this somewhere else?” you asked, hopefully finishing his sentence. He nodded, pulling you into another kiss. “Your room or mine?” you asked as he left a trail of kisses down your neck. “Mine’s closer,” he murmured, his long fingers swiftly undoing the tie at the top of your blouse..

“Lead the way,” you said, pushing him back playfully. Minghao’s fingers instead closed around your wrist, pulling you from the bar cart and dragging you from the parlor, across the foyer to a pair of double doors you’d seen and knew was probably his room. When he parted the doors, he quickly pulled you into the room before shutting the doors.

You only got a brief look around the room before he was on you, kissing you and pulling at the buckle of your skirt belt, quickly undoing it and unzipping the skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a pool at your feet. You stepped out of the mess of fabric, letting him pull your green blouse off and tossing it to the floor with your skirt leaving you in your lingerie.

You felt slightly self conscious under his gaze as his eyes wandered, taking in your figure. You slowly moved back, taking a seat on the edge of the bed still in your heels. Minghao moved over, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your cheek, lips trailing down your neck to your chest. He glanced up, meeting your gaze before he started kissing his way down your stomach as he slowly knelt down.

He worked slowly, removing your shoes, one by one. You glanced up, eyes widening as you caught sight of your reflection in a massive mirror that stood across from where you sat. “My, that’s quite a mirror,” you said softly as Minghao continued to remove your shoes, humming in response.

Once your shoes were dealt with, Minghao’s hand slid up your legs, undoing the clips of your garter belt and then sliding your stockings down your legs, dropping both of them on the floor with your shoes before he got back up, climbing onto the bed over you as you scooted back. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, hands moving to slide your garter belt off along with your panties.

You let out a gasp as you felt two of his fingers spread your lips, finding your clit and muttering softly under his breath about how wet you felt. You tried to say something, to bite back, but your words failed you as he drew his finger in a languid circle around the sensitive nub.

You whined, hips bucking as he took his time, teasing you with long, drawn out massages. He chuckled, kissing down your chest and stomach again. He settled between your thighs, moving his fingers and pushing them into you slowly as his tongue descended onto your clit, tasting you with a groan.

Your thighs tried to close on his head but he pulled back, lightly smacking the inside of your thigh with his free hand. “Keep them open,” he growled before going right back into it. You moaned loudly, unrestrained, quickly reaching up to cover your mouth. Minghao reached up, grabbing your wrist and pulled your hand from your face.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t cover your mouth. I want everyone to hear how good I make you feel.” You nodded slowly, moving your hand down to the sheets and gripping them as Minghao returned his attention to your clit, his fingers moving inside you. He pumped them at a steady pace, stopping to curl them up and making your back arch as you moaned again and again.

“That’s it,” he said softly, watching as your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. “Does it feel good?” he asked. You nodded with a whimper. “Yes,” you breathed. “F-feels so good!” Minghao smirked as he continued to curl his fingers, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. “You gonna be good and come for me, sweetheart?” he asked. Your thighs had started to tremble, the tension in your body ready to snap at any moment. You whined in response.

“I need to hear you say it, bao bei,” he murmured, drawing out his motions, making them as slow as possible. “Yes!” you cried. “M’gonna cum!” Minghao resumed the same quick pace, rubbing against your walls as he drove you over the edge and your orgasm crashed down on you. You gasped, spewing out a slew of curses mixed with his name as he helped you ride out your high.

“Good,” he said softly. “Good girl.” You attempted to push his hand away when it became too much and sensing what you were silently asking for, Minghao removed his fingers, giving you a break. He cleaned his fingers, getting up from the bed. You heard him move around the room but were too exhausted to open your eyes and see what he was doing.

He returned to the foot of the bed and when nothing else happened, you finally opened your eyes and saw him standing at the foot of the bed. He held something in his hands. “I’d like to ask your permission for something,” he started.

You looked at the item in his hands and noticed it was a camera. You looked up to meet his fiery gaze. “I’d like to photograph you,” he continued. “Like this,” he added, gesturing at your posture. You pushed yourself up. “You want to photograph me naked?” you asked, slightly amused. Minghao chuckled, lowering his gaze to his camera. “No,” he replied, shaking his head before looking back up.

“I want to photograph you in the middle of sex.”

To say you were surprised was an understatement but you weren’t entirely turned off the idea. “And these would be for your eyes only?” you asked softly. Minghao nodded as he prepared the camera. “I plan on turning one of the bedrooms into a dark room,” he explained, raising the camera to look through the viewfinder and pressing the shutter button, before lowering it and smiling at you.

You leaned back, spreading your legs. “How do you want me?” you asked playfully as he raised the camera again, snapping another picture. You laughed and sat up, moving to the edge of the bed and grabbing at his belt loops, pulling him closer to undo his pants, starting with his belt. You unzipped his pants, pulling them down enough to pull his cock free from the confines of his underwear.

You wasted no time in taking the head into your mouth, surprising him into letting out a groan, his head falling back, exposing his long neck. You took more of him in your mouth, keeping your tongue flat against the underside as you took him further. You heard the snap of the camera and pulled back until just the tip was in your mouth, tongue swirling around the head.

You heard another snap followed by the automatic wind of the camera and kept going, each time taking him further and further into your mouth as you drew him to his full length and hardness. “Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” you heard him groan, snapping another photo. You pulled back, moving your hand up and down the shaft and looked up at him.

“You gonna fuck me already?” you asked mischievously. Minghao tossed the camera onto the bed and pulled his sweater over his head, discarding it on the floor before pulling off his shirt and adding it to the growing pile. You scooted back to the middle of the bed, removing your bra and tossing it aside as he climbed onto the bed, trailing wet kisses up your stomach, stopping to nip at the skin under your breast. His tongue brushed over your nipple, swirling around it before he continued up your chest, running his tongue over your skin.

At the junction of your neck and shoulder, he sank his teeth into your skin, making you cry out and your body jerk suddenly. He used your movement against you, moving closer and taking his cock in his hand. He guided the head to your folds, rutting against your for a moment before pushing into you, letting out a growl as your warm walls enveloped him.

He grabbed the camera from its resting spot and sat back, holding it up to snap a photograph, aiming the lens at the place where your bodies met. “Oh fuck,” you gasped as he thrusted into you, bottoming out and his cock nestling against your cervix. He snapped another picture of your nude body before tossing the camera aside once more and grabbing your hips.

He neither eased you into it or warned you but started a rough, brutal pace immediately, hips snapping forward and burying his cock into your cunt repeatedly. You cried out in both shock and pleasure at the intensity at which he started right away. Your fingers curled into the sheets, thighs spreading more as he pounded into you. “You’ll cum if you go too fast,” you mused, eyes fluttering shut as you felt him throb inside you.

He chuckled, a breathy sound as his grip on you tightened. “I have more stamina than that, beibei,” he said softly. He gave you another harsh thrust, enjoying the way your breasts bounced with each snap of his hips. The room was full of the sound of skin against skin and your moans. It almost drowned out the sound of the rain outside. Almost. 

Minghao slowed his pace before pulling out of you. You protested but he simply grabbed your hand and pulled you up as he shifted behind you, pushing you on to your hands and knees as he re-entered you from behind. You moaned, head dropping as he grabbed your hips, resuming that same merciless pace only now he was hitting even deeper.

“Look up,” he murmured in your ear. You did as he said, raising your head until you met the gaze of your own reflection. “Oh shit,” you gasped, walls clenching around him. He grabbed your chin, pressing his chest against your back as he leaned over you. “I want you to watch me fuck you,” he growled into your ear. “Watch yourself cum.” You moaned but maintained eye contact with him through the mirror. In the darkness of the room, his eyes glowed and he seemed even more dragon-like than before.

You pushed back, meeting his hips and thrusts with as much force as you could muster but you were getting weaker with each snap of his hips against your ass. His cock seemed to swell inside you or maybe it was your walls clamping down and not wanting to let go but he filled you so deliciously and with each rut, you were pushed closer and closer to your climax.

“That’s it,” Minghao said, his breath hot against your skin. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let go.” His freehand moved from your hip to between your thighs, working your clit in time with his thrusts as he propelled you over the edge. You came with a scream as a loud clap of thunder shook the house and the very mountain it stood on.

Minghao fucked you through it, chasing his own high as he finally released inside you, painting your walls in his hot thick cum. There was more of it than you could initially comprehend, filling your walls and no doubt every crevice of your womb. Pregnancy was the last thing on your mind and you moaned, pushing back onto him, milking him for every bit of cum he had.

“Careful sweetheart,” Minghao purred into your ear, moving his hand to your throat and holding it firmly but not squeezing. “We have all night,” he continued.  “I’m not done with you just yet.

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[genderqueerpositivity]

I absolutely cannot wait for this election cycle to be over because genuinely what the fuck. I keep drawing parallels to the 2016 election because there are just so many similarities, but what I haven't said much about yet are the ways in which things are worse.

Having the majority of people I know or randomly encounter be Trump supporting Republicans is absolutely wild now, because sometimes they will just drop the most unhinged comments you could possibly imagine into casual conversation as if they're simply commenting that the grass is green or the weather is nice today, and every time it gives me this bizarre sensation like I am somehow the one living in a different plane of reality.

The Democrats are intentionally bringing undocumented people into the country and giving them drivers licenses so they can vote in the upcoming November election, and unless Donald Trump wins and is allowed to carry out his mass deportation plan the United States will never again have a Republican Christian president.

Joe Biden has been using the US military to release chemicals into the atmosphere for the past four years which have the ability to affect the weather in order to trick the American public into believing that climate change is real.

The attack on Donald Trump at his rally was rally a plot enacted by The Deep State, a secret group of powerful liberals who are running the country behind the scenes, and they don't want Trump to win in November because he is too powerful for them to control.

Joe Biden was replaced by a secret identical body double when he allegedly had Covid several weeks ago, and the double is the one who really dropped out of the election, gives all of his speeches, and does all of his interviews now for him.

Those are just the ones I heard last week.

And the reactions I get when contradicting these wild takes range from rage to mocking to a bizarre persecution complex. In 2016 and even in 2020 I was able to have a lot of productive conversations with many people who disagreed with me greatly on major issues, and that is largely not happening this time. If I dare to disagree, they turn to anger, attack me personally, or cry immediately that I'm denying their right to free speech. When bringing up my actual lived experiences with certain issues, I've been dismissed immediately as emotional and brainwashed. There is no room for discourse or discussion anymore, it has broken down.

I know that we've been going out of our way to call them weird, but we're not really talking about fringe weirdo conspiracy theorists anymore, we're talking about your neighbors and my coworkers and your aunt and the guy behind me in line at Aldi. These people are everywhere, they're 100% serious about believing in this shit, and they're voting Republican in November come hell or high water, truth be goddamed.

You know, the lives of millions and millions of women, LGBTQ+ people, undocumented people, and other marginalized peoples are at stake in this election but it feels increasingly like reality is at stake too.

"Alternative facts" sounded outrageous seven years ago...now they've made it a way of life. Unless we can correct course, and rapidly, it isn't going to get better.

[ukelele-boy]

I was rereading some of my posts from 2021 and was reminded of how much meta I used to write so imma share my crazy headcanon/ theory which i thought up as plot for a revolution fic:

RR verse is on the "Olympus will fall" timeline and Zeus' actions are speeding it up.

In the recent decade there has been several great prophecies back to back. And people have remarked how weird it is that there have been so many. What if the reason is because of Zeus?

Remember, in greek mythology there is a major theme of how Your Fate Cannot Be Defied. And Zeus, king of Olympus, has a major Fate: being overthrown. However he managed to "defy" it by eating Metis.

My idea is that he has been forcefully clawing out a future where he is still king of Olympus. By doing this, he is literally changing the flow of fate. And obviously fate wants to correct itself, so the harder he fights it, the more counterforce he triggers. All prophecies meant to lead to his overthrowing are suddenly sped up. Olympus begins to lose power. Zeus is aware of this. He is also aware how people are becoming suspicious. And he needs a scapegoat. And who better than the god of prophecy who is also a threat to the throne?

Apollo mentions that Zeus blamed him for his oracle revealing a prophecy "too early" and therefore causing it to happen early. However, everyone knows it's not possible to actually cause a prophecy to happen early...so why would Zeus even have this weird line of thought? everyone probably dismissed it as Zeus being irrational, but there a juicier theory this ties into:

Apollo being the one to overthrow Zeus.

The idea of "fall of the sun, the final verse". What if this is the final prophecy that is meant to happen before Zeus is overthrown? And what if the fall this speaks of is actually when Apollo fell close to chaos? When he pulled himself together there?

What if he reformed different from his original godly form. He was literally almost gone, his body was disintegrating. Maybe he pulled himself together using the energies of chaos. Apollo himself isn't aware of this, due to a suspicious memory gap between him clawing up from the cliff and him waking up next to Artemis.

And this adds to another headcanon of mine, the fates choose Apollo to be the god of prophecy on purpose. At first glance, this is a horrible match. If they wanted a good servant, why would they choose someone so closely tied to his heart and so likely to fight fate? Someone who dares get them drunk just to extend a human's lifespan? UNLESS... they WANT him to eventually try and defy fate??

Imagine if fate was a compass and Zeus had forcefully wrenched the needle point at a bleak dark future where Olympus falls with him. And this river direction has been set so deeply in stone and run on for so long, it has worn a grove and become the mostly likely future.

you need someone willing to fight, someone to wrench the needle out. SOMEONE FAMILAR WITH FATE AND Prophecy. Someone who has the power to fight it and win. Someone who has the will. Perhaps a baby god who was willing to fight Python, and who would have likely died there. But if he successfully did take on the powers of prophecy, one day that same godling would fight Python again, would absorb the powers of chaos to recreate himself.

Perhaps not today and maybe not even for the next four thousand years

but one day that godling would stare down at that wretched compass hand and decide to yank the flow out of its place. And maybe, that godling means a chance for Olympus to have a different future.

Anyways that's my crazy theory i hope it wasn't too confusing. It also links up with my other story theme idea about fate, hope and apollo blah blah blah, which i rambled about in a different post.

Edit: just remembered my other crazy thought, what if ZEUS PURPOSEFULLY TRIED TO GET RID OF APOLLO NOT ONLY CAUSE HE IS A THREAT TO THE THRONE BUT ALSO BECAUSE AS THE GOD OF PROPHECY HE IS MOST LIKELY TO REALIZE SOMETHING IS WRONG AND THAT ZEUS IS MESSING WITH FATE?!???? Basically pulling a imma say you're the murderer before u realise im the murderer. (i cant remember the actual saying Lmaoo)

[supernovanetwork]

10 Tips for New Stray Kids Fanfic Writers

Do you ever sit there staring at your Stray Kids draft and think:

“Is this even good?” “What if no one reads it?” “How the heck do I post fics on Tumblr anyway??”

But the truth is—everyone starts somewhere, and Tumblr’s full of people who do want to read what you’re writing (yes, even that fluff fic where Chan is your barista).

This guide is for you—the new fic writer, the quiet reader finally ready to post, the person overthinking everything.

Tip 1: Set up your space

You don’t need a fancy theme or 10k followers. But having a cozy blog setup helps people find and follow your work.

Pick a username you like (bonus if it hints at SKZ or writing).

In your bio, mention your fics, SKZ biases, and any ships or genres you focus on.

Pin a post!!! Link your intro, a masterlist, or a WIP schedule—your call. The most important thing is that this stays ORGANIZED. If people cannot find your fics , they wont be able to read them.

Tip 2: Use tags like your fic depends on it (because it does)

Tags = Tumblr SEO. The first 20 matter most.

Here’s how to tag smart:

Fandom: #stray kids, #skz, #stray kids fanfic

Member: #han jisung, #bang chan, etc.

Ship (if any): #hyunlix, #minchan, etc.

Genre/tropes: #fluff, #angst, #hurt comfort, #roommates au

Format: #oneshot, #smau, #drabble, #fic series

This helps the right readers find your stuff!

🛑 Important: Don’t tag members, ships, or tropes that aren’t in your fic just for reach. That’s called false tagging, and it breaks trust with readers. Someone clicking #seungmin isn’t expecting a Jeongin x reader fic with zero Seungmin content 😅

Keep your tags accurate and relevant—it builds a loyal reader base way faster than overtagging ever will.

Tip 3: Use the “Read More” feature

If your fic is more than a few paragraphs, add a Read More break (the little scissors ✂️ in the editor). It keeps dashboards clean and your post looking tidy.

Bonus: You can add a fun header, a quote, or tags before the cut to hook readers in!

Tip 4: Make a Masterlist (even if you only have 1 fic)

It’s your fic menu! This is where people will go to read your work. Be proud of it!! List your stories by member, ship, or type. Add emojis for ✨aesthetic✨. Update it as you go.

Even if you’ve only posted once—put it on there. You’re a writer now. 🫶

Tip 5: Engage with other SKZ fic writers

Tumblr isn’t a one-way street. You’ll build a reader base faster (and have more fun!) if you:

Reblog others’ fics and leave comments on their work.

Answer asks. Send asks.

Join writing events or tag games.

Hype up your mutuals!!

The stray kids community is super supportive—don’t be shy.

Tip 6: Use content warnings + proper tags

Keep your readers safe and informed by tagging:

Sensitive themes: #tw abuse, #death, #mental health

NSFW: Always tag it clearly, and don’t forget the 18+ warning

Major spoilers: if it’s plot heavy, give a heads up

It’s respectful and helps build trust.

Tip 7 : Reminder: Notes ≠ Worth

Got 7 notes on your fic? That’s seven whole people who took the time to read your words. That’s a small group reading circle. Intimate. Intentional. Beautiful.

20 notes? That’s a classroom full of people listening to the story you created.

100 notes? You just filled a conference room. Imagine standing at the front, reading your fic out loud to everyone in that space.

500+ notes? That’s a theater audience. All eyes on you. Applauding your imagination.

No matter the number, your story reached someone. That matters.

✨ Some fics blow up overnight. Some quietly change someone’s whole day. Both are real impact.

Write because you love it. Write because it’s in you. Write for the one person who needed that exact scene, line, or character—and found it in your words.

Tip 8 : Make your blog feel you

Tumblr loves writers who:

Share WIP snippets or headcanons

Post silly tag games

Talk about writing struggles (we all relate)

Make moodboards or fic memes

People connect with your words and your personality. Let that shine.

Tip 9: Start small—and keep it fun

You don’t need to drop a 10k word masterpiece your first time out. Write a drabble. A blurb. A tiny scene that makes you smile.

Low-pressure writing builds consistency and helps you find your voice. The best part? Those small fics often get the most love because they’re easy to read and reblog.

Tip 10: Reblog. Your. Own. Fic.

Tumblr moves fast. Your post can get buried in hours. So reblog it! More than once. With:

A different teaser line

A fun tag (like #if you like pain, read this)

A “thank you” or “I can’t believe I wrote this” moment

It’s not annoying. It’s smart. People are in different time zones and scroll at different hours. Let your fic breathe.

If you don’t hype yourself up, who will?

Did this help you?

Or maybe you have some tips that helped you as a new writer?

Feel free to leave them in the comments — we’d love to hear from you!

[corazondebeskar-reads]

side by side with me (a tlou x hunger games au)

joel miller x f!reader

words: 3.6k

summary:

After FEDRA finally laid waste to the Fireflies and snuffed out the light, they devised a system to keep the QZs in line.

75 years later, the violence is commemorated with a special Quarter Quell edition of the Hunger Games. It gives FEDRA a chance to kill the nation's favorite victor - Ellie Williams, who they have a very good reason for wanting dead.

After all, would the QZs still obey if they knew most of the kids born in the outside world were immune now? Or would one little girl tear the fabric of their control apart?

To find out, she'll have to win the games again. And the odds were never in her favor.

warnings: major character death, suicidal ideation, reference to suicide attempt, canon-typical violence, canon-typical systems of oppression, we hate fedra in this house, i look liberties with tlou and hg, p in v, oral, ellie is the mockingjay basically, there's far less plot here and mostly just angst, bittersweet ending, dead dove do not eat

for @guiltyasdave who was enabling me and whose own hunger games au with joel i CANNOT fucking wait for.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

are you—are you comin' to the tree?  wear a necklace of rope side by side with me.

I. 

He knows, somehow. He’s toward the back of the crowd, still in his work clothes, faded and filthy jeans with a denim shirt, soil-caked boots and all. Sweat from the sun drags mud down his brow. The bandana around his neck is saturated from the heat.

He didn’t bother to change, didn’t see a point in dressing up. The cameras knew who he was. And he knew for certain he was about to be on that little stage. 

It shouldn’t have been a sure thing. There were three other male victors there. But he knew. 

There were two female victors—one older than him and one far too young. So when they called for Ellie Williams, two years out from her victory at twelve, there was no question. 

The year she’d won, he hadn’t mentored. Couldn’t stand in that room again and watch another little girl die. He stayed home like a coward and threw up every time the bell tolled, and he didn’t know where she was. Each time, he caught himself prayin’ to no one, begging forgiveness that he didn’t try harder. Should have gone and schmoozed, should have got her a better chance.

In the end, she didn’t need him. 

He wasn’t going to let her go alone again. Didn’t need to know a damn thing about her other than she had been promised survival and then this. The fuckin’ Quarter Quell. 

So when they called out for Mitch, Joel stepped forward instead. 

“I volunteer,” he said. He didn’t wait for the peacekeepers or the crowd’s gasps to fade. He strolled right on up to the stage. 

And that was that. 

Your fate was sealed when they announced the Quell. As the only surviving female victor, you were going back in that arena. You took a day to mourn and rage and let the numbness overtake you. 

Nothing to be done about it. 

So, while you wait, you live. You swim each day until your skin is stretched dry from the salt and let your waterlogged legs drag you home. Sometimes you sleep there, near the water. You know you’ll never see it again. 

It does occur to you to give in to the call you’ve heard since you returned the first time. The lapping waves whisper a song: come home, come home. The crinkle of the water under the heavy belly of the setting sun reminds you of your mama’s old quilt, and a tug in your navel urges you to paddle out and let it tuck you in. 

Instead, you let the sun hold you, warm and safe. On the last day, you bring what’s left of your food and have a feast upon a rocky ledge jutting out over the water. You spread butter thick on soft bread, nibble at rich cheese, and sink your teeth into melon so juicy it bathes you in red. Practice for the arena, you think, and your raw laughter gets carried away on the breeze.

As the only living female victor, you have a man for a mentor. It all feels stupid, anyway. You didn’t need someone to tell you how to do this dance. You barely listen as he droned reassurances about securing sponsors. When he starts suggesting you encourage them on your knees, you stop listening entirely.

That is, until you hear the other mentor tell Nick, your male tribute counterpart, to “steer clear of Miller at all costs.” 

You sit up. “Miller? As in Joel Miller?” 

“Yeah, didn’t you hear? He volunteered,” Nick says.

You hadn’t heard. “Huh,” is all you say, leaning back against the window. 

Joel Miller won his games only to lose his daughter, Sarah, to them at 14.

You won yours not so long after Joel. Close enough that you remember his viciousness. Close enough that you remember watching him mentor his daughter in the arena. Close enough that you remember the crack and the blood and the ensuing screaming after he tried to join her. 

“Back off,” he growls when you approach him in the training rooms. 

“I want to make an alliance,” you offer instead. 

“Nope.” He turns to walk away.

You grab him by the shoulder, and he flings you, but you anticipate that, curling your body when you hit the ground so you can roll right out of it. 

There’s a buzz, and a speaker crackles to life. “Save it for the arena,” the voice reminds you.

He’s glaring at you, and you step closer anyway. “Let me help you,” you say quietly.

“I don’t need your help.”

“No. But she does. You’re only here to save her, right?”

He’s scowling, but he nods. 

“I don’t plan on walking away from this. Not if she can,” you say. 

You remember Ellie’s games. There was something broken inside of her before it even started, you think, something with the potential to be wicked. She could have let it fester and grow, and no one would have blamed her.

She was feral and violent, but wicked she was not. 

On cue, she popped up at Joel’s elbow. She clearly didn’t trust him, but she trusted you even less, eyes narrowed. “The fuck do you want?” she snapped. 

But Joel puts a hand up to quiet her, watching as you hold steady under his scrutiny. 

He remembered your games. He’d already been mentoring by then. You didn’t win by brute force, but that didn’t mean you didn’t kill. No, in fact, the final shot of your games was you soaked in blood, having slit your last competitor open from below. 

He had done whatever was necessary in his. Tommy was alone back home, and if Joel didn’t make it back, the chances Tommy would meet the same fate were monumental. 

But he remembered enough to know you had skills he didn’t. He was a brute; you were a survivalist. Ellie would need both.

They don’t want to interview him. There are a lot of attempts at coaching that he ignores. 

But it’s not just him. The general sense of injustice has settled in on the stage tonight. 

He goes along with minimal fuss; it doesn’t matter what he looks like or says. He’s already a ghost. They dress him in a grotesque facsimile of his real work clothes—inappropriately tight jeans, a silk guayabera with too many buttons undone, an ornate belt buckle, and unbroken leather boots. They even put a stupid hat on him, so he looks like he stepped out of a textbook about cowboys. 

At least it’s better than the dress they forced Ellie into. One look at her, and you’d know it wasn’t right, wasn’t her. Two years ago, they had shoved her on stage in a plaid frock and pink riding boots. Now, they’ve clearly decided the cutesy, innocent look is over. They dolled her up like a goddamn southern belle, complete with a very padded corset. 

It didn’t bode well for their plans for her if she won, but Joel knows there’s nothin’ he can do when he’s dead and gone. All he can do is get her out of there and hope.

You’re already on stage when they go up. He watched from the sides as your droll counterpart tried to make himself seem charming and handsome. They’d put him in skin-tight leggings covered in glittering scales, and a billowy white blouse left open to his navel. 

You were dressed like a fucking mermaid. It was a gown, still, but your midriff was only covered by thin netting. The bottom clung tight to your curves before flaring out at the train. It was��also covered in scales. 

“You’re prettier than a picture,” the host oozes. “You could sing us a siren song, and all the men’d follow you into the sea. And some of the women!” 

“Don’t you know what happens to those sailors?” you scold. Your voice is playful, but your eyes are cold.

The host, Flipper-something or some other absurd name Joel can’t remember, leans in conspiratorially. “They win the fishing tournament?”

You laugh. “They get their heads bashed against the rocks, silly.” You aren’t smiling anymore. 

Joel found he was, though. Grinning with sharp teeth, a look Ellie returned. Yeah, you just might have a chance for her, he thinks.

You sneak into his room the night before. It’s against the rules and probably a bad idea in general. Might have been smarter to seek your satisfaction with a future enemy rather than risking this.

But you don’t want any of them. You want Joel, who, for all his brutality and intimidation, is going to die for a kid he doesn’t know. 

You don’t want him to walk into it alone. Nor do you want to be alone. So you’ll follow him there, maybe stand beside him at the end of your time, so long as you fulfill your mission. 

It’s funny, you think, in the way of things that aren’t funny but leave you nothing to do but laugh, that you had sex for the first time just like this. At the end of the world, the noose all but wrapped around your neck, just to say you had. 

The other tribute from your district had also been a fumbling virgin, so it had gone about as well as it could. But you had done it, and no one could take that from you.

So tonight, you’ll offer, you’ll feed that desperate ache to feel something of your own volition, with another dead man. The irony that you might have to kill this one, too, doesn’t escape you. 

He knows, when he answers the door. He’s in low-slung gray sweatpants and nothing more. But he takes your arm and pulls you inside without a word, locking the door behind him. 

You appreciate that there’s no need for words. It’s on your faces, behind your eyes. His hand around your wrist draws you close before slipping to your waist, the other already wrapped around the nape of your neck as you meet. The first kiss is gentle, sorrowful. It’s all of your “what could have beens” until it turns sharp and hungry.

He peels your t-shirt and shorts from your body, hands gliding over every inch of you. You sink to your knees on the plush carpet and mouth at the line of him before tugging his pants to his ankles. He steps out of the loose trap, and you toss them to the side before taking him as far into your mouth as you can.

Together, you and Joel sink into the finality of your lives like gelatin. The last cock you’ll taste, the last mouth he’ll fuck. The last cunt he’ll devour, the last god you’ll cry out to. 

Except the god you cry out to isn’t there. There is only Joel. Broad and hardened, marred by the cruel lick of the world and his own misfire. You offer yourself at his altar, and he drinks of you until he’s satiated, knowing the last of his days will be spent starving. 

For all the clashing teeth and hurried hands, he’s slow when he climbs up over you. You think he might be frightening in any other moment, the intensity and sheer dominance imposed by his physical form and his soul. 

He’s beautiful like this, though. He’s got you caged in, sweat dripping from his brow, and as he sinks into your cunt, he imparts the apologies he cannot say. They’re in his kisses and in his slow, torturous thrusts. They’re in the way he keeps closing his eyes, as if it’s too much to see his reflection in yours. 

His mouth makes its way to your neck, and he leaves his assurances there. That it’ll be okay, when you come to the end. That no forgiveness is needed when you kill him. He’s sure that will be the way of things, that his cowardice that shook his hand so long ago will crest, and you’ll have to be the brave one. 

He bites and sucks as blood bursts under your skin; each blossom left to tell you this was real, this happened, for one last moment, we were alive. That for one last moment, you each mattered to someone as more than a meat shield. As more than a martyr. 

His rough fingers pluck at your clit and nipples. His mouth works its way down to your breasts as you writhe before he pulls his cock out completely.

“No,” you gasp, breaking the bargain. 

He says nothing, eyes shining, as he bows to your core and drinks again. It’ll all be over soon, and he needs one last taste, needs to feel you shake under his tongue one more time.

When he’s taken you apart, he climbs back up into the welcoming heat of your cunt. The gentleness is gone; you’re too wrecked for it now. Each of you aches to hurt and be hurt, and so he takes, bruising hands on your hips as he pounds into you.

He gives you a look, the unspoken question plain as his tongue dips out to wet his lips. You nod, and he brings a hand up to tangle in your hair, searing your lips together as he fills you. 

In the end, there’s one last moment. The last tenderness you’ll feel. He presses your sweaty foreheads together, cradling your head, and you take turns pulling kisses from one another, chaste but aching, swollen lips trying desperately not to part. 

For a moment, he cups your face in his hand, a finger brushing over your cheek. The hurt is too raw, and you turn away from his pretty brown eyes that hang heavy with grief. 

He rolls off you, and you sit up, legs swinging off the edge of the bed. His hand lingers on your back for a moment, and when you stand up, you feel the brand of it there for hours. Silently, you slip back into your clothes and pad out of the room. Though his gaze falls heavy on your back, you don’t look over your shoulder. 

II. 

You don’t like it, but it’s not up for negotiation. When the chime sounds, you bolt to Ellie and Joel to the cornucopia. You can’t watch, not without losing ground, so you beeline to Ellie and grab her by the arm, dragging the both of you off to the woods. 

Right before the bell tolled, you had shared one dart of the eyes with Joel, looking to each other and then to the copse on the cliffside at the northeast corner. 

It’s nightfall before he finds you. The two of you have tucked away behind an outcropping. There’s solid rock behind you, scaling higher than you can see. The rocks near the cliff’s edge are tall enough to hide you, and there are paths on either side. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do for the first night.

Almost everyone will still be getting their bearings, but you’ll need something better in the morning. 

Ellie is wide-eyed, eyes darting at every whisper of a snow drift or creaking of a spindly branch. She’s tucked up against your side, failing to comply with your order to sleep. 

When there’s a sudden crack, she full-body flinches, and you’re up in a flash, crouched and ready. 

Then you hear it. The tell-tale tick, like a film reel kicking on.

A Clicker.

It’s enough to choke you up, fear colder than the tundra around you holding you in place. Long-forgotten instincts. 

When you hear it again, wandering further, your brain kicks back into action, and you copy the sound. 

“Shh, what the fuck are you doing?” Ellie hisses. 

Joel comes around the corner. “S’that your idea of being quiet?” he whispers to her. 

She jumps again, clutching a hand to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

Joel shoots you a glare, and you grimace.

“I forgot to warn her,” you say. “Sorry, El. That’s our signal.”

And impossibly, somehow, he’s holding a backpack. It has a sleeping bag hooked to the bottom. He sees your stare and hands you the bag; no need for even a glance between you before you immediately give the bedding to Ellie. 

“Dunno what else is in there,” Joel murmurs. “Didn’t have time to check.” 

But he has a bow. And arrows. And a sleek little knife that he hands to Ellie. 

Holy shit. You might just be able to do this. 

You don’t think about it; you just throw your arms around Joel. You realize your mistake right away and take several steps back, out of the range of his fists. But he’s frozen in place, eyebrows raised. 

“This is amazing. Thank you.” Your gratitude doubles when you finally realize he’s covered in blood. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not mine,” he says, shaking his head. 

“How many?”

“Three. Plus eight from others.” 

Later, the guilt will eat at you, but for now, the relief is euphoric. Every body now is a body you don’t have to fight later. Eleven down is amazing. Minus the three of you, that means there are ten tributes between Ellie and freedom. 

You don’t count yourself or Joel as bodies in her way. When the time comes, you know you’ll each make sure the other doesn’t chicken out, doesn’t make her bear that burden. 

It works, until it can't anymore. Until both of you are on borrowed time. Four bodies stand between Ellie and life. 

Two tributes, and the two of you. 

“Let go,” you hiss as you thrash in his grasp. 

He can’t make his fingers straighten. Can’t stop the way they dig into your arm, slippery as it is. 

You’re not even trying to scrabble for solid purchase. The roar of the river below must seem menacing to him, you think. 

“Not like this,” he pleads. 

You fall still. “Joel,” you say, shaking your head. “It’ll take me home. I want this.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” He snaps. “Drownin’ ain’t the way to go, darlin’.”

“It’ll take me home,” you repeat. 

You watch him understand. The clarity doesn’t help, not really. But he closes his eyes and nods. You’re starting to slip, now, and he’s starting to let you. 

It’s not a long fall, but the water is deep. It’s cold, colder than you’ve ever been, and when you gasp in shock, you suck in water. 

Just like you knew you would. If it doesn’t fill your lungs, then the cold will steal you. If that’s not quick enough, the powerful current will strike your body against the stone. 

You always thought it’d be peaceful, when the water took you. But this is okay, too. 

“What are you doing?” Ellie yells.

He looks away from where you’ve been lost. She doesn’t know he let go, he realizes. All he can do is stare at her. 

“We’ve gotta help her, we have to—“

“Ellie.” It’s soft but horrible. Maybe the worst sound she’s ever heard. Joel shouldn’t sound like that, shouldn’t sound sad. 

“You have to do something,” she says, but it’s devoid of all hope. 

“She’s gone, baby girl. It was always gonna be this way, you know that. We said we’d get you out alive.”

As soon as the words leave his chapped lips, the world around them bursts.

When Joel wakes up, he sits straight up on the gurney. One wrist is bound to the rail in a velcro strap, IV piped into the back of his hand. He peels the tape away and removes it, pressing down on the puncture to ebb the flow. He yanks the sticky monitor pads from his chest and swings his legs over the side, only to find himself wobbling when he tries to stand.

He ends up grabbing at the gurney to stay vertical, releasing the wound and letting blood drip down his arm.

A strangely familiar blurry shape comes through the doors, and Joel panics, rearing back and balling a fist.

“Joel! It’s me, stop, please. It’s me. It’s Tommy.”

Joel faints.

When he wakes up the second time, he has the sense to stay down. He blinks up at the now solid shape of his brother.

“Y’know,” he says, reaching up a hand to see if it connects or if he’s hallucinating. “I never really thought hell would be a hospital. Makes sense, though.” 

“What’re you talking about?” Tommy asks, swatting Joel’s hand away. It’s still bleeding, after all.

“Said it makes sense. Wakin’ up to the time I lost ya.” He closes his eyes, the sting already bringing tears. At least, he thinks, it’s not the most painful memory he could’ve been forced to re-live. 

Tommy makes a wounded sound. “Joel, you’re not dead.” 

“S’that part of the trick?” 

“Look at me,” Tommy says, sitting down on the sliver of unoccupied padding. “This is real. That was ten years ago. I'm not leaving you here, not this time, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

Joel blinks. He tries to sit up on his elbows, but Tommy pushes him back down.

“Where’s Ellie? Did she—” he chokes on the thought.

“We got her. She’s okay. She’s gonna be just fine.” 

“What do you mean you got her?”

“Ah shit, this ain’t really the time or place to tell you everything. You’re just gonna have to trust me. We got y’all out of the arena, and we’re safe.” 

“No,” he croaks. “I wasn’t supposed to make it out.”

“But you did. We got you,” Tommy says reassuringly.

Joel closes his eyes, brows pinching. “I let go. You’re tellin’ me I let go, and if I’d have just held on for one more minute…”

"I'm sorry," Tommy croaks. "There was nothing we could do." 

[theconstantsidekick]

Avengers: Age Of Ultron ft. Static (4) | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Lots of angst with some little fluff

Summary: Tony Stark's brilliant plan to save the world has given birth to the Terminator. What does Y/n Stark have to save about that?

(These scenes incorporate y/n, yet to be codenamed—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Violence, Some Actual Violence, but nothing too bloody

a/n: i'm hungry for love and attention. please comment below and let me know what you think.

Avengers : Age of Ultron ft. Static (3) | Avengers: Age of Ultron ft. Static (5) | Series Masterlist | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

Here’s the thing—and yeah, it’s going to sound a little crazy, but here’s the thing—she should have seen this coming a mile away. She really should have. If she looks at it long enough, objectively and long enough, she realises, she really should have seen this coming because anyone with half a mind should have been able to. She definitely should have been able to.

And she should have stopped it before it happened. 

Because now, her brother—the resident mad scientist—Tony Stark has gone full Frankenstein, built himself a murderbot, and, surprise surprise, it immediately decided patricide wasn’t enough. Nope, this one’s aiming to wipe out the Avengers first, then move on to the whole damn planet. Talk about an overachiever.

Like creator, like creation, she thinks to herself.

So, yeah, she should have stopped it before it happened.

Y/n stands near the back of the lab, arms crossed, shoulders tense. The room is bright, bathed in the glow of screens and flickering projections, but the energy inside is electric—tight with frustration, dread, and something else she can’t quite name yet.

Her eyes are stuck on one single person in the room. 

Tony.

And Tony is standing over a table that lays bare the carcass of his creation.

“All our work is gone,” Bruce lets them all know, shaking his head.“Ultron cleared out. Used the internet as an escape hatch.” He hovers over the console, eyes flicking across the empty data streams, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. His hands twitch like he wants to reach out, do something, fix something, but there’s nothing left to fix. 

Steve stands rigid, one hand on his hip, the other resting atop the table which he leans against. “Ultron.” He shakes his head, like he cannot believe the stupidity of the situation, like he’s admonishing a child. And fuck if she doesn’t agree with him.

Natasha, standing near one of the workstations, tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “He’s been in everything,” she says, sharp but calm. “Files, surveillance. Probably knows more about us than we know about each other.”

Now, that’s a comforting thought.

However, she has to give herself some credit. Her own blinding panic doesn’t stop her from noticing Natasha’s eyes fly up to meet Clint, who seems… she can’t place it, but he seems jarred by this. 

Interesting.

She watches Rhodes pace a few steps, left hand gripping and massaging his right shoulder. “He’s in your files, he’s in the internet. What if he decides to access something a little more exciting?”

Maria Hill doesn’t even blink, but her motion halts where she sits. She stops plucking out the shards of glass from her foot. She already knows what he means. “Nuclear codes.” 

Rhodey nods, his voice heavier now. “Nuclear codes.” He looks around the room, and his voice is softer when he says, “Look, we need to make some calls… assuming we still can.”

Natasha tilts her head, considering. “Nukes?” There’s something skeptical in her voice. “He said he wanted us dead—”

Steve cuts her off. “He didn’t say ‘dead’. He said ‘extinct’.”

Y/n clenches her jaw, a cold weight settling in her stomach. The words sit there, in the middle of the lab, suffocating.

Clint exhales through his nose, taking a few steps forward. “He also said he killed somebody.”

Sam finally chimes in, “But there wasn’t anyone else in the building.”

Tony, with slow, measured steps, walks over to the centre of the room, “Yes, there was.” For demonstration purposes, he brings up the now broken remnants of J.A.R.V.I.S. for all to see. The AI’s consciousness, once fluid and full of personality, now sits in front of them, in shattered fragments.

The hologram keeps glitching as Bruce walks over to assess the damage. “What?” Bruce remarks almost to himself, in utter disbelief. And he looks over at Tony, “This is insane.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S. was the first line of defense,” Steve states, arms crossed, head fallen. “He would’ve shut Ultron down. It makes sense.”

“No,” Bruce counters, “Ultron could’ve assimilated J.A.R.V.I.S…. This isn’t strategy—this is… rage.”

The sound of heavy footsteps makes everyone turn to look at the door. 

She  doesn’t even have time to react before Thor storms in, his expression carved from fury itself. His eyes burn with betrayal, his cape billowing behind him as he moves like a storm given human form. Before anyone can stop him, he closes the distance in two long strides, grabs Tony by the throat, and lifts him clean off the ground.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Sam yells out, but that’s not gonna stop Thor. Nothing’s stopping Thor, right about now. 

“It’s going around,” Clint retorts from the viewing stands, hands on the railings.

Tony can’t really do much when the God of Thunder has him suspended mid air by his fucking neck. Well, other than run his mouth. So he says, “Come on. Use your words, buddy.”

Thor’s voice is low, thunderous. “I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark.” His fingers tighten around Tony’s throat.

Then, and only then, does she jump into action. 

“And I suggest you use them in a peaceful manner.” She has a blade aimed at Thor’s throat—close enough to draw blood—before anyone can even comprehend what’s happening.

“Y/n.” Steve must have been aiming for de-escalation, he must have been aiming to reprimand her, but the surprise in his voice reigns supreme. He sounds plain astonished. 

Thor, however, just chuckles, hand still gripping Tony's throat like a ragdoll. “You really want to do this, Little Stark?”

No, she doesn’t. “I don’t know? Do you?”

“He made that thing that attacked us, that wishes to see us dead,” Thor reasons, shaking her brother a little for emphasis. And fuck if that isn’t a great reason.

She shrugs, “So we both know a little bit about adopted brothers who have a habit of royally fucking up.” Thor looks at her then. “Still our brothers, aren’t they?”

Something passes between the two of them, an acknowledgement of a sentiment shared by Thor himself, earlier in the night—the bond of siblings is forged in the stars.

Thor puts him down. She takes the knife off his fucking neck. Tony goes stumbling back.

Steve, who’s been watching the entire exchange with unending curiosity, steps forward. “Thor, the Legionnaire?”

She makes her way back to her corner. 

“Trail went cold about a hundred miles out but it's headed north.” He glares daggers at Tony while adding, “And it has the scepter.” He addresses the room, “Now we have to retrieve it, again.”

“The genie's out of that bottle,” Natasha states. Nodding over to the table with Ultron’s remains, she adds, “Clear and present is Ultron.”

“I don't understand,” Helen Cho speaks up, looking at the robot of the hour’s leftovers, trying to understand it in some way, shape or form. “You built this program,” she says, turning to Tony. “Why is it trying to kill us? 

Tony, this fucker, starts laughing. 

Bruce subtly shakes his head at him to get him to stop, but it doesn’t do jack shit. 

“You think this is funny?” Thor asks him, annoyed.

“No,” Tony says, turning to face them. “It's probably not, right? Is this very terrible? Is it so…” He laughs again. “Is it so... it is! It's so terrible.”

“This could've been avoided if you hadn't played with something you don't understand,” Thor tells him.

Tony’s not in the listening mood, “No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It is funny.” He walks up to meet Thor head on, “It's a hoot that you don't get why we need this.”

Bruce, ever the peacekeeper, tries to reign him back in. “Tony, maybe this might not be the time to—”

“Really?!” Tony cuts him off. “That's it? You just roll over, show your belly, every time somebody snarls?”

“Only when I've created a murder bot,” Bruce bites back.

“We didn't!” Tony counters, arms wide. “We weren't even close. Were we close to an interface?”

While Bruce shrugs to indicate, ‘clearly, we must have been’, Steve’s had enough. “Well, you did something right,” he says, tone cutting. “And you did it right here.” Arms crossed, he takes a few steps closer to Tony. “The Avengers were supposed to be different than S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Anybody remember when I carried a nuke through a wormhole?”

“No, it's never come up,” Rhodey remarks, deadfaced and tired.

“Saved New York?” Tony adds.

“Never heard that,” Rhodey bites.

“Recall that?” Tony asks, voice loud as he stands in the centre of the room. “A hostile alien army came charging through a hole in space. We're standing three hundred feet below it.” He looks around the room, and then his voice softens, “We're the Avengers. We can bust arms dealers all the live long day, but, that up there? That's… that's the endgame.” He exhales. “How were you guys planning on beating that?” His eyes fall on Steve.

“Together.” 

“We'll lose.”

“Then we'll do that together, too.” 

Tony looks at him. He looks at Steve. 

And while she’s not sure what he sees, she knows it hurts him, because then he turns away.

“Thor's right,” Steve continues after a pause, turning away. “Ultron's calling us out. And I'd like to find him before he's ready for us. The world's a big place. Let's start making it smaller.”

Everyone slowly disperses.

Everyone leaves the lab.

Except for Y/n and Tony.

“Is there something you’re waiting for?” 

She cocks her head, but doesn’t respond.

“Is there a certain way the moon’s gotta be in the sky for you to start the ass-reaming of the century?” Tony challenges, like he knows what’s coming. Like he has any idea.

“Getting impatient, are we?” She bites back, easily, smoothly, without a hint of anger.

Clearly that hits a nerve, because he screams, “You’re mad at me! Be mad at me.”

“Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she tells him.

His jaw clenches. “I did this for us—for you.”

“Do not put this on me, Anthony.”

He clenches his fists, in an attempt to restrain himself. “If it had worked out we would’ve been able to retire, live out our lives in relative peace. You would be able to quit this gig you despise so much.”

That strikes a nerve too. “Except it didn’t work out!” She yells out. “It didn’t fucking work out! No! Not unless your end goal was always to give birth to fucking Skynet!” 

He inhales slowly. “I can acknowledge that I made a mistake. But my intentions—”

“You ever heard about the road to hell and good intentions?” 

Both of them are trying not to blow up. They are trying to maintain some semblance of civility. It’ll crash eventually, they know that. But they try regardless. 

She sighs, looking away. “Something happened on the last mission. Something happened—I don’t know what, you won’t tell me what. But something happened, that made you make Ultron.”

Tony puts his hand on the table in front of him, and leans on it. “I got a wake up call—that’s what happened.”

She crosses her arms, “Let me give you another one—this is what you do, it’s a pattern. It’s the Wallace situation all over again. You worry about the people you love and you go overboard. Now, the mayor’s kid might have been fine in the end, but I don’t think Howie’s money and an insincere apology is not going to fix whatever fucked up repercussion are going follow with Ultron.” She clicks her tongue. “You can’t keep doing this, Tony. You have to grow up at some point.”

He laughs at her, hollow and mocking. “Ironic, coming from you, isn’t it?”

“Tony,” she warns.

“Come on!” He chides. “Fess up! That’s what you’re really worried about—what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? That Ultron knows?”

She smiles then, “I may be a Stark, but I am not that self-centred. Ultron knowing is the least of my worries. What I am  afraid of is what he’s gonna do, to us—to the world.” She shakes her head, disappointed. “Do we even understand what he’s really capable of? Do we know what he can do? Do you?” She stares him down. “And what happens if he does it? If we can’t stop him, what happens then? Huh, Tones? Will you be able to live with that?” Her tone is very cutting. “Will you be able to live with all that blood on your hands?”

“I’ll do what I always do—I’ll learn from you,” he retorts instantly. And man, he really has learnt everything from her to a T, because his tone is just as cutting as hers. “You seem to be cruising by just fine.”

Here comes the blow out.

“You fucking self-aggrandising, cocksucker!” She says it slowly, but her voice is loud and booming in the empty lab. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you asshole!”

“No no no!” He shouts back. “Of course not! It revolves around you! What you think is right is the law! No one can ever go against Y/n Stark’s unimpeachable morals, that it?” 

“You’re getting dangerously close to saying something you’ll regret.”

“Am I? See, ‘cause I don’t think I am!” He laughs. “I think I’m just stating facts and they’re hurting your fragile little ego. ‘Cause these facts are in clear disharmony of whatever image you’ve created of yourself in your head!” He takes a few steps closer to her. “You cry about having to do this shit, the hero bullshit, all the damn time, and the one time I try to break you out of it, you want me to what? Apologise for it, because I didn’t tell you about it? I didn’t run it by you before I made Ultron, that’s the main issue here!” 

“It’s not the main issue, but it is an issue! Why didn’t you tell me?” She questions. “We tell each other fucking everything, so why not this?”

He claps his hands, “I am capable of individual thought, Y/n! Sometimes, I can make calls on my own, how about that?” He looks back at her, “I didn’t tell you about Ultron because you would have stopped me! He was necessary, and you would have stopped me!”

“No! No! You didn’t tell me ‘cause you knew it was a fucking risky idea to begin with—more than that it was absolutely stupid!”

“Science requires risk!”

“This was not a fucking lab experiment, man! There’s a robot out there in the world that wants the Avengers’ extinction! And that is on you!”

“You’re half the reason why we needed him to begin with! Without you, the Tesseract would’ve never been a factor, we wouldn’t have been subjugated to Loki’s fucking world ending nonsense. But no!” His words are laced with thick venom. “You wanted to be Daddy’s favorite, didn’t you? You wanted to impress the great Howard Stark!”

“Oh please, if there’s anyone in this room moved to make decisions based on Howard Stark’s fancies, it sure as shit ain’t me.” She meets him at the dead centre of the room. They are both fuming, panting, angrier than ever. “This is a result of your own fucking arrogance, Stark! No matter how much you try to pin this on me, this was all you! You wanted to be the hero! Well, guess what, Ozymandias? I’m looking at your work, ye Mighty, and I’ve got nothing but despair.”

He looks at her then, hurt clear in his eyes and he strikes. “Whatever our souls are made of—yours and mine are the same.”

That seems to be the last straw. 

Unbeknownst to them—downstairs, where there was once a party, now stands the team. 

Having heard the screaming and shouting from the lab, Rhodey’s eyes meet Steve’s.

“Are they—are they bickering?” Clint asks, sounding a little annoyed at the idea.

“No,” Rhodey states, grimly. “No, they’re fighting.”

He and Steve break into a run instantly, rushing up the stairs to get to the lab.

“They fight all the time,” Clint notes, confused at the rising tension.

“They bicker all the time,” Natasha corrects, following the two men. “This is not that.”

When they get to the lab, Steve goes towards Y/n while Rhodey moves to Tony. 

Thor, Hill, Clint and Natasha have followed suit, and now they get to witness this—

The Stark are at each other’s throat. 

Pushing, pulling, punching, biting, you name it.

They are cursing up a storm, trying to kill each other, with all the methods they can think of, except the ones that would work.

Steve and Rhodey try to pull them off of each other, but fail at it miserably.

“Being an asshole’s really a factory setting for you, isn't it?!”

“Takes one to know one!”

“You’re a fucking blind narcissist!” She screams, landing a punch on Tony’s jaw.

“And you’re a stupid little cry baby!” He kicks her. “You cry about having to do this all the fucking time. I try to give you a way out, now you’re crying about that too! Don’t you ever get tired of all this pathetic woe-is-me bullshit?”

“I don’t get time to dwell on it, seeing as I’m too preoccupied doing damage control for your unending fuck ups!”

“Guys! This is not helping anyone!” Steve tries, pulling her back.

But Tony takes that moment to escape Rhodey’s grasp and push her further into Steve’s arms. “I never asked you to clean up my messes!”

“Yeah well, Maria did!” She knees him in the stomach. 

He happily and eagerly returns the favor. “Do not bring my mom into this!”

My mom.

Ah.

Now, that seems normal enough. Maria was his mother. Y/n never calls her mom, never tries to either. But both of them know, despite the fucked up-ness of their family dynamic, she does at some level think of Maria as her mom too. So, whenever Tony talks about her, he calls her ‘mom’—just mom. Not his, not theirs. Just mom. Because it’s a thing, okay? It’s an unspoken thing, which makes Y/n feel like she’s family. And Tony just shat all over that.

The fight leaves her as quickly as it came. 

She deflates into Steve’s hold.

Tony, probably realising the weight of his words, halts his punch mid-air.

“You’re such a dick, Stark,” she says, voice small and broken. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony says, looking like a kicked puppy. “I hate you right back, Stark.”

With that, she storms out of the lab. 

Rushing down the stairs, she tries to compose herself.

Avengers Tower is a ruin of what it was just hours ago. The remnants of the party—the elegant decor, the glittering glasses of champagne—are now lost beneath destruction. Shattered glass litters the marble floor, crunching under her heels, mingling with the twisted remains of Ultron’s drones. The air is thick with smoke, the metallic tang of burnt circuitry, and something else—something sour, like the aftermath of a fight that shouldn't have happened.

"Doll," comes a smooth voice from behind her.

She didn’t even hear him. A goddamn feat, considering Steve Rogers is built like a tank. But then again, what is he if not a walking, talking miracle?

"Steve." She needs to be alone. She needs to lick her wounds, swallow back the lump in her throat, cry maybe—but not here. Not in front of him.

The space, once filled with warmth and celebration, feels eerily empty now. The sleek barstools are knocked askew, half-drunk glasses abandoned, and in the distance, a flickering light overhead struggles to hold on.

"Baby," he says all too fucking sweetly, stepping closer, reaching for her.

She shoves him back. "I can’t do this, right now, Steve."

His boots scuff against the floor as he stops himself, adjusting his stance like he's bracing for something heavier than just her words. His shield leans against a shattered table nearby, smudged with dust and streaks of something darker. His face is taut, unreadable, but his eyes—his goddamn eyes—are filled with nothing but concern.

"Just—baby, just talk to me. I’m here." He’s relentless. Steady.

Too steady.

Her dress is torn, barely hanging onto the elegance it once had, and she’s never felt more exposed. The fight with Tony is still fresh in her mind, the words hurled like knives, leaving wounds that haven't even begun to scab over. The weight of it presses against her ribs, making it hard to breathe.

She focuses on the exit. It's right there. A clear path. "I appreciate that. I do, but not right now, okay?"

Steve exhales, the kind of sigh that sounds like disappointment, and it makes her stomach twist.

Great. I’m a disappointment to both the men I—

"You’re never gonna let me in, are you?"

And that, stings.

If anyone’s learned anything from whatever the fuck’s happened tonight, it’s that Starks don’t  handle emotions with grace. They bury it. Ignore it. Or, more often than not, they explode.

So, she lashes out.

She turns to him, voice sharp. "You’re not the fucking Sun, Steve. Everything in my life doesn’t have to revolve around you. I just had a fight with my brother—I need a fucking second, alright? Sue me if that’s a goddamn crime!" Her voice echoes, bouncing off the steel and glass of the tower, filling the space that should have been filled with people—people who are long gone now.

She doesn’t want to do any more damage. There’s been enough of that for one night. She steps over broken debris, walking toward the exit, willing her body to move faster.

"I’m just asking my girl, who I—care about very, very much, to lean on me when she’s down. How is that a crime?" Steve’s voice is quieter now, but there’s something raw beneath it.

It makes her stop.

The silence between them is heavier than the wreckage around them. Outside, the city glows beyond the shattered windows, fractured reflections scattered across the floor.

"I—I," she what? She doesn’t fucking know. "I just need to be alone right now. Okay?"

With that, she leaves.

And Steve doesn’t try to stop her again.

Y/n Stark is a lot of things—a fighter, a cynic, a world-class expert in pretending she’s fine—but she’s not delusional enough to claim she doesn’t spend the rest of the night curled up in the dark, drowning in Leonard Cohen songs and crying like a goddamn idiot.

When she wakes up the next morning, she dresses her wound—both physical and emotional. And changes into a loose red, Led Zeppelin muscle-tee and a pair of light wash denims. 

And then, gathering up all her courage, she makes two quick stops before heading back to the Avengers Tower.

Y/n finds the first person on her apology tour quite easily.

He’s standing on the stairs, bathed in the soft glow of sunlight peeking in through the windows, his broad frame tense, hands braced against the railing. His shoulders rise and fall with a slow, measured breath. He’s engaged in conversation with Maria, no doubt about Ultron’s misadventures.

For a second, she hesitates. The weight of their last conversation still lingers, and for all her sharp edges, for all her Stark-ness, she doesn’t like hurting him.

Still, she squares her shoulders and steps forward.

"Mind if I steal him for a sec?" she asks as Maria Hill and her boyfriend head up the stairs.

Hill glances between them, then nods at Steve before walking past. "He's all yours."

Steve finally turns, his expression unreadable. Y/n exhales and pulls her hand from inside her bag, presenting him with her apology.

"Tulips?" he asks, a curious smile tugging at his lips, though there’s still something guarded in his eyes. His hand rests lightly on his hip, but she can see the tension in the set of his jaw.

She shrugs. "The guy at the flower shop said they’re supposed to evoke feelings of forgiveness." She holds the bouquet out to him.

His smile softens as he takes them. "Did he now?"

She nods, shifting on her feet. "Do they? Educe forgiveness?"

Steve studies her for a beat, then steps in close, his movements quiet, deliberate. His hands settle at her waist. "You’ve got nothing to ask forgiveness for, Doll."

"I do," she insists, pressing her forehead into his chest, finally allowing herself to lean into him. "I shouldn’t have blown up at you. You were just trying to help. I was mad at Tony, and I let that spill over into our conversation. That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry, handsome."

His lips brush against the top of her head, feather-light. "You told me you needed space, and I didn’t listen. I pushed when I shouldn’t have. That wasn’t fair either."

She tilts her head up, smirking slightly. "Still doesn’t give me the right to be a dick."

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. Then, he plucks a single tulip from the bouquet and holds it out to her. "I’ll forgive you if you forgive me?"

She takes it, twirling the stem between her fingers. "Alright."

He grins. "We’re good?"

She narrows her eyes playfully. "I don’t know... I don’t feel forgiven. There’s no proof."

Steve huffs a laugh, catching on immediately. "Oh, my girl needs proof, is that it?"

"How else can I be sure—" She’s cut off by his lips crashing into hers, firm and certain.

When he finally pulls back, he murmurs against her lips, "Proof enough, Doll?"

She smirks. "Proof? Yes. Enough? Never."

Steve laughs, lacing his fingers through hers. "Come on, the team’s waiting. I’ll prove it some more later."

Y/n hums, swaying a little as she walks with him. "How much proof are we talking, exactly?"

"As much as it takes," he promises, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "Could take hours, maybe even days. Real intensive process."

She gasps, mock scandalized. "Captain Rogers, are you suggesting homework?"

He smirks. "Extra credit, Doll."

She squeezes his hand, grinning as they near the hall. 

Then, he hesitates, squeezing back. "You and Tony gonna be okay? Or should I get ready to shield up?"

She exhales, rolling her shoulders. "I don’t know," she admits. "But worst case scenario, you’ll either need a new lawyer, or end up one Iron Man short on your team."

“Neither seem like a great outcome, you know?” Steve chides.

“And here I thought you’d be happy to wash your hands off the Starks,” she feigns surprise, smiling. 

Steve just rolls his eyes at her fondly. “Believe it or not, I’ve come around to not being able to imagine my life without the iconic Stark bickering.”

It makes her chuckle, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen!”

As they make their way through the hall, they spot Clint on their right. He’s on the phone talking to someone.

“Barton,” Steve calls out to him. “Might have something.”

“Gotta go,” Clint says into the phone and hangs up immediately.

“Who’s that?” Steve questions.

Clint, ever the spy, casually answers, “Girlfriend.”

And maybe Steve buys that, but she knows something’s fishy. She knows a liar when she sees one. Mostly because she is one. 

Back in the lab, the tension is… palpable, to say the least.

Tony stands to Bruce’s left, arms crossed, eyes locked onto Y/n like she just personally hacked into his bank account. Y/n, for her part, stares right back, standing beside Steve, who is currently—very seriously—trying to shove the tulips into a glass of water like some kind of floral MacGyver.

"Stark."

"Stark."

In perfect, eerie synchronicity, they both pull out a small box and offer it to the other.

The team watches as they eye each other’s offering with deep, almost surgical suspicion—like this is some high-stakes ransom deal where one wrong move could set off a diplomatic crisis. 

Then, in complete silence, they exchange boxes with the solemnity of two world leaders signing a peace treaty.

Y/n slings her bag onto the nearest table and flips open the box.

"They ran out of—"

"Plain glazed," Tony finishes around a bite of his donut. "I know."

She nods, and follows suit, taking a bite of hers.

And just like that—poof. Tension? Gone.

Clint blinks. "That’s it? That’s all it took? They were ready to rip each other’s guts out last night and now—one donut later—it’s all rainbows and butterflies?"

Natasha, without even looking up, "Don’t question it."

"But—"

"Trust me," she cuts in, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "It’s better than the alternative."

“Which is…?” Bruce asks.

“A civil-war,” both Starks, Natasha and Steve reply in unison. 

Satisfied with the answer, the team moves on to more pressing matters.

Steve presents the tablet with Strucker’s photo to the team. 

“What’s this?” Tony asks.

Thor grabs it.

“A message,” Steve answers.

Thor slams the tablet on Tony’s chest, in lieu of handing it over. 

“Ultron killed Strucker,” Steve states, gravely.

Tony takes the tablet, looks it over. “And he did a Banksy at the crime scene… just for us.”

Bruce looks curiously at the image, while Natasha cuts in, “This is a smoke screen. Why send a message when you’ve just given a speech?”

“Strucker knew something that Ultron wanted us to miss,” Steve surmises.

Natasha begins typing away where she sits on the computer, “Yeah, I bet he—” Computer beeps. “Yeah. Everything we had on Strucker’s been erased.”

“Not everything,” Y/n reminds them.

The team spreads out, looking through boxes and boxes of physical files.

Thor’s hurling them around like he’s in a frisbee throwing competition, meanwhile Steve brings up a box and sets it on the table.

“Known associates,” he states. 

Bruce is sitting off to Y/n’s side, while Tony comes to stand right next to her, wedging himself between Steve and her. 

“Baron Strucker had a lot of friends,” Steve notes, as they all begin to go through the files.

“Well, these people are all horrible,” Bruce says dryly, and the man’s not wrong. But come on, what was he expecting?

“Wait!” Y/n yelps when she sees the file in Bruce’s hand. She slaps Tony’s arm to grab his attention.

“I know that guy,” Tony points at the photo and Bruce passes him the file. “From back in the day,” he explains. “He operates off the African coast, black market arms.” Clint walks over to the them, hearing that while Tony passes his photo around.

Steve gives him an accusing look.

“There are conventions, alright? You meet people, I didn't sell him anything,” Tony dismisses easily. “He was—he kept talking about finding something new, right?” He turns to look at Y/n in question.

She nods, “A game changer, or whatever.”

“It was all very, ‘Ahab’,” Tony finishes.

“This?” Thor asks, pointing to the guy’s neck in the photo.

“Aahh, it’s a tattoo—I don’t think he had it,” Tony supplies. 

“No, this is a tattoo, this is a brand,” Thor corrects.

Now that piques her curiosity. She takes a step back, and comes to stand behind Steve and Thor to get a look at the photo. 

And she knows instantly.

Bruce, however, trying to be helpful looks it up on the computer.

The result comes up within seconds, “Oh yeah, it’s a word in an African dialect, meaning thief.”

She cannot help the chuckle that slips out. Staring at the symbol, she says, “In a—and I am underplaying it significantly here—much less friendly way.”

Clint and Bruce raise a questioning brow at her but she ignores it.

“What dialect?” Steve asks.

“Wakanada...? Wa...Wa...” Bruce fumbles.

“Wakandan,” she supplies.

Steve and Tony’s ears perk up instantly.

“If this guy got out of Wakanda with some of their trade goods���” Tony begins.

“I thought your father said he got the last of it?” Steve questions.

Y/n walks over to them, donut in hand, chewing. “Oh please! Howard didn’t get the last of it. He was gifted—some of it.” She points to the picture of the man in the files, “And Tony’s friend Ulysses Klaw here, stole a bunch of it.”

Meanwhile Bruce chimes in, “I don't follow. What comes out of Wakanda?”

Tony looks back over to Steve’s shield that’s sitting on the floor against a table, “The strongest metal on earth.”

“How much are we talking about it?” Natasha asks her.

“Clearly enough to be branded for it,” Thor remarks.

Y/n scoffs. “Oh, more than that, actually.” She looks at them then, “In Wakanda it is customary to brand the thief with that symbol before he’s taken to be executed.” Everyone’s face morphs into grim surprise. “Yeah, they take that shit really seriously. So much so, that I know for a fact he’s still being hunted by them through every corner of this world. Which means he’s been pretty underground ever since. He only comes up for air, once in a while to keep funding his under the surface escapades, but that’s about it.”

“How do you know all this?” Clint throws back, clearly confounded. “Why do you know all of this?”

She pulls a face, “You’re the former S.H.I.E.L.D. operative, why don’t you?”

“Do you know where this guy is now?” Steve asks, looking at Y/n.

She just smiles.

Read the next part here. Find the Static Verse Masterlist here. Read The Avengers (ft. Static) here.

[booksandabeer]

Thunderbolts Ramblings

Hi hey hello, I am back after a short self-imposed hiatus. Can I interest you in 2500 words of chaotic ramblings about the Thunderbolts movie? Fair warning: I only just saw it for the first time last night, so I'm still sorting through all my many, many thoughts. This is not a review or meta or anything really. I guess this is what people call A Reaction Post? Ew.

Maybe it's a little bit of everything.

First things first: I really enjoyed watching this movie. Yes, it is flawed. Yes, there are things that I would change, but it is a coherent and cohesive creative work that actually has ideas, features great performances, and that was obviously made with love and care—and that alone makes it easily the best thing the MCU has put out in years, and I'm glad I decided to go and see it in theaters.

(I will put the rest under a 'keep reading' for length and spoiler reasons)

TB is a good, very competently made movie that manages to be incredibly entertaining and funny, and at the same time takes its themes and characters seriously. It has great pacing and momentum, is tightly plotted (a lean 2 hours runtime; imagine that!), finds smart and organic ways to deliver exposition, and all the actors have great chemistry with each other. The score by Son Lux fucking slaps! Practical effects and stunts! Real locations! No 30-minute CGI slop battle at the end where the majority of the audience checks out after ten minutes and starts looking at their phones!

I have to say that for all the promo noise that was made in advance about how the movie was basically made by an all-star team of A24 below-the-line people, it is not able to shake the ugly-ass Marvel “house style” completely, but we get a sleeker, more stylish version of that dreaded flat grey aesthetic and it does actually work here because it makes sense within the context of the film’s plot and more importantly as a visual representation of its themes. The effect of the void looks extremely cool and scary—people actually gasped out loud in my theater when it took the little girl. (Honestly this was horrifying in the very best way because it interrupts a scene at the exact moment when I started to roll my eyes at the cheesiness of it all…and then it did THAT and HOLY SHIT.)   

Like I said above, this is a very funny film. It’s also a very sad one. It’s about sad, broken, lonely people and it deals with depression, isolation, and suicidal ideation in a way that is surprisingly nuanced. Could it be more nuanced? Of course. Is it at all subtle about its central metaphor? Absolutely not. But maybe let’s all calm the fuck down for a second here and remember that this is still a superhero movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and there are limits to what they can and are allowed to do within the narrative and commercial restraints of that world.

And honestly? The world is on fire right now and we are going through a real bleak fucking moment in time (to put it mildly), so I cannot find it in me to be a cynical asshole about a movie in which the Power of Friendship saves the day and evil is defeated via the most dramatic group hug in the history of ever. That said, while I loved this as the climax of the movie and the solution to the Bob/Void conflict, I wasn’t fully convinced as to how all of the characters actually got there. Yelena, sure. But that’s because they did some excellent character work to establish her connection with Bob, and it’s similarly very understandable why Alexei would follow her into the void immediately. But Ava? Walker?? And least of all, Bucky who has never even met Bob and just knows him as that weird Sentry dude with a bad bleach job and a suit that even Homelander would deem too tacky, and who, oh yeah, almost killed him literally five minutes ago? I don’t buy it.

And speaking of my pal, my buddy, my Bucky…I don’t really know what to say here, so let’s just get it over with. He’s barely in the movie. Seriously, it’s a CA:CW situation all over again. If you’ve watched the trailers then you’ve already seen 95% of his scenes. The remaining 5% of his screen time he pretty much spends standing around in the background making reaction faces. Look, I had no great hopes or expectations, so I’m not mad or even surprised at all, but I am still a little disappointed and, frankly, just confused as to what the thought process is here. I simply don’t understand what’s the deal with Mr. Baseball Cap and his Marvel Parliament (cannot believe I just typed that out, what a truly ridiculous & self-important name) continuing to refuse to give Bucky anything of substance to do in these projects. Just…why? You have this widely beloved character with so much juicy narrative potential, so much fascinating backstory to explore, whose own harrowingly traumatic journey makes him uniquely suited to the very story you’re trying to tell with this movie, AND you have a very popular and incredibly charismatic performer playing him who also just so happens to be riding an absolute career high at the moment…and you give him almost nothing meaningful to say or do? Why???

That said, every time he shows up and he actually gets A Moment? He’s fucking electric. I of all people shouldn’t be surprised by Sebastian Stan anymore and admittedly I am very biased—I’m not that far gone down the fangirl rabbit hole not to realize that—but it is truly wild how every time the camera is actually on him it’s like oh ok, hello, the movie star is here now, everybody else can shut up and melt into the background please. Every other actor just looks small by comparison (with Pugh being the only real exception). He brings both a razzle-dazzle and a gravitas to the role that feels completely at odds with the ridiculously little narrative weight that is afforded to his character. What a waste. No wonder Sebastian has seemed monosyllabic and quiet at best and listless and lowkey shady at worst during interviews. Because what really is there to talk about for him? Not much, really.

Let's just run through the other characters quickly because this already getting so long.

Yelena: Florence Pugh is the undisputed lead, and Yelena the beating heart of the movie. I love that she got such a central role here and got to show so many different facets of her character. She’s on fire. I don’t care how fucking cool and how checked out of the MCU you are (while simultaneously talking about nothing else and seeing this on opening weekend, lol), but if you seriously want to tell me that you don’t feel anything at all when she says “But I have so many [regrets]!” in a devastatingly tear-choked voice, then I think you’re either a liar or dead inside. I would also like to once again express my gratitude that they are dressing her in clothes that she can actually move and breathe and fight in. And guess what? She still looks unbelievably fucking hot. 

Ava: I’m not a big Ant-Man person (I’ve only seen the first two movies once and the little interest I had in the third one died the moment I saw that disastrous trailer), so I barely remembered her and therefore had no great expectations, but I liked her, I thought she was really interesting and a great counterweight to the more impulsive and abrasive Yelena. Hannah John-Kamen seems to be a graduate of that very particularly British School of Jaw-Acting. You know that kind of jaw-forward type of performing…very jaw-y…jaw-based? See also: Keira K., Hayley A., etc., you know the exact type of actress that people on this website keep insisting is somehow both uniquely and universally appealing to all bisexual women…and I just cannot confirm that. Sorry. Anyway, H J-K is good in the movie, I look forward to seeing her again and also congratulations to her agent for negotiating that special “with” billing in the end credits because…what. How? But hey, good for her.    

Bob: This is maybe unfair to the character, which is quite well-written, and to Lewis Pullman, who does a great job portraying the wildly different personalities (?) of Bob/Sentry/The Void and yet manages to hold on to an emotional throughline AND be endearingly funny at the same time, but all I could think about while watching this was that this guy is tailor-made (or, you know, genetically engineered…ha!) for the tumblr/AO3 whump girlies. The fanfic is going to be wild. Good character, good performance, GREAT decision to immediately depower him and therefore set him up for an “learning to control/balance your abilities with the darkness inside of you” arc in the next movie(s). Still, I will always wonder about what could've been if my beloved Steven Yeun hadn't had to drop out of the role.  

Alexei: I have very complicated feelings about this character. Objectively, he is an awful, awful person who has done terrible things to people—including the ones that he claims to love. Thanks to David Harbour, he’s also got a big boisterous personality, a striking physicality, and he’s legitimately and wildly hilarious. He made me laugh out loud multiple times! And yet, I cannot help but be very skeptical about this #GirlDadification of a character that literally trafficked human beings and was ultimately fine with handing his “daughters” over to an organization that enslaved them, mentally and physically abused them, groomed them to be child soldiers, forcibly sterilized them, and had them kill other little girls when, again, they were still children themselves. Idk, kind of makes the bile rise up in your throat while you’re still laughing at cute jokes about Wheaties boxes and pee wee soccer teams.      

Walker: Speaking of complicated characters…I have to say, I enjoyed him immensely in this movie. Which, mind you, is very much not the same as liking him. There’s already a lot of heated discourse about the character and if he deserves a redemption arc and whether or not he’s actually given one in this movie. I honestly neither understand the Walker stans who truly think he’s a poor little meow meow with a heart of gold and is really just misunderstood good guy nor his haters who are up in arms because they seem to think that the movie also genuinely believes that and portrays him as such. I think they’re both wrong and that the movie actually does a great job of showing that he’s a pathetic little asshole who blames everybody but himself for his failures and takes out his insecurities on other people that he perceives as weaker than him, while also not forgetting that he is still a human being worthy of some empathy. And bless Wyatt Russell for leaving behind any vanity and throwing himself into portraying this character as a deeply, deeply unpleasant person. Even his fighting style is ugly—all brute force and no finesse. The fact that any of the team members can stand to be in a room with this insufferable man for even just a few minutes without throwing a punch at him says much more about their humanity and innate goodness than it says about him and his supposed redeemability.        

Valentina: I realize that I’m probably the only person in the world who thinks so, but both Valentina as a character and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, as an actor, were the weak links for me in this movie. Despite having seen her appear in one tv show and two movies now, I still do not understand Valentina’s motivations in the slightest—there’s never any explanation given for why she does what she does or what she ultimately hopes to achieve with it (see also her assistant Mel, a complete non-character, whose reasons for working for her evil boss—and continuing to work for her even after she clearly recognizes her as evil and sort of kind of but not really "betrays" her to Bucky et al—are even more opaque). Valentina's shame-room scene only makes her less legible as a person and a villain, and except for one brief moment, she herself doesn’t seem to be bothered or affected by it at all, so I don’t even know why it was included. JLD did not work for me here, not because she isn’t a very talented actress, but because she’s simply miscast and/or misdirected. She clearly has a lot of fun dialing it up to eleven playing the hubristic comic book villain, but since all the other actors give performances that are at least to a certain degree grounded in an approximation of realism, she just comes across as tonally off and like she’s in a different movie than everyone else.    

Sidenote: I have to say that it did amuse me endlessly to see this awful woman who carelessly uses and abuses enhanced humans like they are little more than glorified dolls for her to play with under the guise of wanting to “protect the world” (lol) standing behind the bar of Avengers Tower pouring herself champagne in the very spot where a certain someone mixed his cocktails and monologued about his own greatness. Was this intentional? Honest-to-god lèse-majesté in an MCU movie? Please be serious, that’s never going to happen. But my god, did it make me cackle with glee!

Stray thoughts because omg this is so long:

If I was a Taskmaster/Antonia fan, I would be rioting in the streets right now. Why even bring her back if this is what you're going to do with her? I know the MCU iteration of the character wasn't exactly popular, but wow, to give her such an unceremonious and meaningless death was just mean, bordering on cruelty.

I was pleasantly surprised that aside from the dishwasher joke, the "disarming" Bucky scenes were handled sensitively and seriously. Yeah, sorry I just do not find disability jokes funny. Bonus points to Ava for immediately picking up Bucky's arm to return it to him.

I'm not going to touch the final end credits scene with a ten foot pole because the discourse about what happens in it and how a certain character is referenced/talked about is already absolutely bonkers unhinged in many different ways and I have no desire to wade into that. Folks are being real normal about it, that's for sure, and I would remind them that these are fictional characters, who cannot be blamed for stupid things they say or do or don't say or do. Blame the writers, directors, producers, executives, who are the ones who actually have agency and authority over what is shown and said on screen.

Ok, one thing about that scene because I was so distracted by it that I almost missed everything else: WHAT in the everloving 90s bodice ripper cover model hell is THAT HAIR??? I mean he looks good, because he always looks good, but wow. Yes, yes, I know most of you like that hair. It's fine. The new suit is badass though.

I have so many more things to say, but I will stop now. I'm not even sure if anybody will read this far, but hey thanks if you did and let me know what you thought of the movie.

Just to reiterate, in case this wasn't clear: I liked the movie. I liked it a lot, even. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to go shout from the rooftops that Marvel is so back!!! or something like that. But. This is a giant step in the right direction. More of this please.

[hadleysmis]

Palestine and Les Misérables parallel, told by Shahd Safi

From We Are Not Numbers (WANN)

Firstly, to establish the context for the article we will discuss: WANN is a project started from 2015 which collated experience from Palestinians living in Gaza to a wide English speaking audience.

There is even a book which is under the same name that tells of fifty-nine Palestinian youth voices from Gaza.

You can read about the book (by reading it of course) but also from this article written quite recently at the end of April this year.

The specific article I will be primarily focusing on this post, however, dates to 2021 by Shahd Safi; an article from WANN titled, 'Les misérables of Gaza: If you [became] one of les misérables, would you give up the fight or revolt?'

The article begins with the very applicable quote from Victor Hugo about the necessity of the book, and that as long as misery, injustice, and inequality exist on Earth; books like Les Misérables cannot be useless.

The first parallel that is pointed out is the imprisonment of Jean Valjean for the enormous years-long sentencing for stealing a loaf of bread. This is not far from the truth for Gazans.

The author, Safi, had faced three wars in the first decade of her life, and found her childhood to be filled with tragedy and pessimism despite having been born with enthusiastic and energetic personality.

A story of poverty itself can easily be paralleled to the contemporary situation in Gaza, in which Safi provides a chart for the percentage of poverty (as of 2017) in Palestine:

Poverty Percentages among Individuals according estimation of consumption and poverty for localities (small area estimation) by Governorate in Palestine 2017. Source: Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics   

Relating to the theme of misery and depression, Palestine ranks among the top three most depressed countries in the Arab world, with numbers of 37% of the Palestinian population reported to be struggling with depression.

'Hopelessness is the point where death starts to occupy and control one’s thoughts; it is the bridge between depression and death. Since 2015, the number of suicides in Gaza has been rising at a frightening rate – as a sensible response to unlivable conditions. Despite the fact that suicide is a major taboo in our society and an unforgivable sin in Islam, it has become the only way out for many Gazans.'

In Safi's original conclusion of the article, she sums up her thoughts:

'Les Misérables and the Gazan story may well have different plots and perspectives, but they both share themes of pain and grief. For instance, I’m sure that every single Gazan has experienced a young child running up to their side, begging for money to buy cheap biscuits or tissues. This causes feelings of embarrassment and hopelessness, to realize that you can’t even help these little miserable children in the street. In addition, both Les misérables of nineteenth-century Paris and Les misérables of today’s Gaza experience social prejudices, arbitrary detentions, and failed revolts.

Yet we also have in common positive experiences: stories of love, success, hope, and most importantly, the will and deep desire to overcome our oppressive circumstances.

Reading has always been my escape, and while it was hard for me to run from the pain I live in to pain I can only imagine, I don’t regret reading this novel. It gives me a large amount of hope, especially through the character of Jean Valjean. He was able to change from a bad person to a very kind-hearted angel, and I hope that happens to politicians and people in charge in Gaza and everywhere else.'

She ends her article with a poem, which she used a line from it for the title of the article.

To revolt, is to believe

in the music angry spirits

play, to let your heart listen to their

pain, and most importantly to take action whenever

Safi returns back to speak on the current assault on Palestine by Israel. The date is not shown in her revision.

If you became one of the miserables, would you give up the fight

or take the responsibility to change and revolt?

'... the story of Les Misérables is even more relevant to what’s happening now, which reveals the racism in the mentality and mindset of the Israeli occupation.'

In her last paragraph, she reaches out to the audience:

'Let me take this chance to appreciate the solidarity we receive from those of you who truly believe in humanity and to assure you that your support on social media is totally meaningful and powerful. From my desk in my room here in Gaza, where I am so freaking afraid from the noises of war and the airstrikes — I’m reaching out to ask you to also please, please boycott Israel and help end our misery.'

You can read the rest of the article here:

You can also to donate to WANN here:

You can read more articles relating to the voices of young Palestinians from WANN here:

[packleaderbriggan]

THE FANTABULOUS FUCK-UPS OF FANTASTIC BEASTS

Tagging @keepmeinmind-01 , as promised. Thank you for the lovely ask, friend 😁🫶

Alright, so to start off, I just want to get this out of the way: Fuck JK Rowling, trans rights are human rights, free Palestine, black lives matter, and bigotry of any kind is an absolutely disgusting use of free will.

I was going to throw all of my issues into the answer to your ask, but I got part way through the first section and went, "This is a lot. Maybe I should just make a post." So here we are.

I'm going to be breaking this post into sections, just to keep it a bit more cohesive and less wall-of-text-y. First up:

MAJOR PLOT HOLES AND INCONSISTENCIES

(More under the cut 😁🫶💝)

There is absolutely no mention of Credence at all in the original books. If he was such a pivotal character, especially one related to the Dumbledore's, how did he just disappear into obscurity (no pun intended) by the time the main series took place?

Gellert’s “Your brother abandoned you” comment at the end of CoG makes no sense. If Aberforth is the father, that would make Albus an uncle… and if Grindelwald knows oh-so-much about the Dumbledore family, you’d think he would know enough to not make that mistake

Jacob in Hogwarts is literally impossible... Unless he’s a squib. But if he is a squib, we should have gotten even a tiny hint of magical ancestry. Now, we're just assuming things to make the dots connect, and if your readers have to go through such mental gymnastics to understand the story you've written, you've done something wrong.

The Queenie/Jacob marriage at the end of SoD takes place in Queens, in Jacob’s bakery. But how are they getting married in the US? The laws regarding No-Maj/Wizarding relationships haven’t changed yet!

‘Vulnera Sanentur’ is the counter-curse for ‘Sectum Sempra’… A spell that was invented by the Half-Blood Prince… who has not been born yet. I mean, come on. That's just lazy writing.

Ariana’s death in the three-way duel between Gellert, Aberforth, and Albus directly goes against the blood pact! Killing curses were being exchanged, so why didn’t the pact have any effect then?

The whole blood pact in general makes no sense tbh. If thinking about harming the other is enough to activate the curse, why is murder by proxy allowed? They're still thinking of hurting each other, just by manipulating other people to do it for them. Is that not seen as "direct harm"???

Leta and Corvus Jr are very explicitly stated to be the last of the Lestrange line… But they’re obviously not? Where did Rabastian or Rudolphus come from? Did they just spawn in? Or could it be that the entire Lestrange plot line in CoG just meant absolutely nothing

The twin Qilin being dead means that it. Is. Dead. Magic cannot bring back the dead, which was the whole point of the OG books. So is it an inferi now? An animated corpse? But it apparently still uses magic to figure out who to bow to, which is something I'm pretty sure an inferi is incapable of. So what is it??

The future is the future is the future. Gellert saw the future. So anything that happens between the present and the point he saw was *always going to happen*. The whole “counter-sight” plot doesn’t make any sense because the only ones confused are the characters and us. The future has already been set!

In CoG, Albus is a DADA teacher… But he never taught Defense. He was the Transfiguration professor! We know this because it was stated in the original books that Tom Riddle asked for the Defense position when the previous teacher (who had been working there for 50 years) retired. So how on earth is albus teaching DADA 10 years before Tom starts school??

The Qilin bowing to Albus makes no sense. His entire arc in The Deathly Hallows was there to prove that he was not pure of heart, nor was he deserving of a powerful station.

After all the lead-up and hints that Jacob is pure and virtuous, it would have made more sense for it to bow to him… By which I mean, it still makes no sense, but it would have been a better twist than whatever bs they actually tried to pull.

Yusuf Kama going to Grindelwald serves no purpose other than to add suspense for the audience… As far as the others know, he was loyal to them for the entire time. The whole question of "will he, won't he" is totally irrelevant to the other characters because they know him to be on their side. It's not a surprise to them when he turns on the wizard nazis

There is absolutely 0 continuity with the Dumbledore/Phoenix thing. If Credence’s came to him because he was dying, then does that mean Ariana had one, too?

Honestly, on the topic of Credence, his entire story was just. Anticlimactic. You mean to tell me that after all that build-up, all those hints that his mother will finally be revealed... We get literally nothing about her?? Then he just dies??? Off-screen??? WTH Joanne??

If Yusuf couldn’t follow Corvus Jr because Irma’s magical signature was too weak, then WHY SEND LETA? Wouldn’t she have a magical presence he could trace? She could jeopardize the entire operation, all for what?? Some convoluted baby swap scheme? That also makes no sense??

AND WHY LEAVE HIM WITH A RANDOM LADY - no way to contact him, no way to find him, nothing - especially if that lady happens to be descended from the witch hunters responsible for the Salem witch trials??? Me thinks Corvus Sr put zero thought into this entire situation

Timeline Fucky Wuckys

I know this one comes up a lot, but how is Minerva McGonagall teaching at Hogwarts a full three decades before she was born?? Her birthday is in October of 1935, yet she's somehow teaching Newt and Leta in the 1910s??

SoD takes place sometime before 1939 because WW2 hadn’t started yet. BUT Tom Riddle starts school in 1938… And he needs his wand, which means Fawkes had to have been with Albus already in order to donate the two feathers for the brother wands. When did Fawkes come to Albus? How long was he with him? We have no answers!

Lally says it’s been, “... a little over a year,” since the events of the first movie. But it’s not? It’s been, at the very least, 5 years! Just more timeline confusion

FBaWtFT takes place in 1926. Credence is supposed to be 18 years old. But in SoD, it’s revealed that he was conceived in 1899… So either his mother (whoever she is, we still have no gd clue) was pregnant for about 8 years, or it just doesn’t make any sense period.

Minor Mistakes and General Questions

Mistakes

Tina and Theseus have the same job… So why could Theseus participate in the third movie but Tina somehow couldn’t?

There is some Portkey vs Floo Network confusion in SoD. Jacob comes whooshing onto the train *through the fireplace*, yet still calls that transportation a Port Key? Maybe he's just a little confused, or maybe the writers just overlooked it?

There are quite a few Vanishing Characters throughout the franchise, but 3 main ones: Abernathy, who they were implying was high-up in grindelwald's close circle; Nagini, apparently a shape shifter somehow; and Tina Goldstein?? A main protagonist???

Albus tells Jacob to, “Keep it close,” referring to his snake-wood wand. But why? Why go out of his way to instruct caution for absolutely no reason? As far as they know, it's just a stick! The wand doesn't have a core, so even if it is made out of a rare type of wood, it's still just a stick??

If the Swooping Evil venom from the first movie only works on “bad memories”, then Langdon Shaw wouldn’t be affected either. He was ecstatic to find out witches were real! Even if he was labeled as a crazy man and completely disregarded, it is entirely plausible that other people (ehem, Jacob) would have remembered the events of the last fight.

I hold very firmly to the idea that if Bunty had been introduced in the first movie, she and Newt would have ended up together. Instead, they're both just left pining with no resolution.

Questions

For a show called Fantastic Beasts, there really aren't a lot of beasts in the later films, are there? What happened to the whimsy of the first movie? Where did it go?

What is Aberforth's thing with mirrors? It was in the Deathly Hallows, and here it is again in SoD. Does he have a specific affinity for mirror magic?? Is that even a thing???

Speaking of Aberforth, what's with the goats? We have no explanation for any of that, even though it was an established piece of his character in the og book.

The whole "mirror dimension/inverse realm" in SoD also makes no sense? What kind of magic was that? Why does it never come up again? Is that just one of Albus Dumbledore's many talents, or was it just something the writers threw in because it looked cool?

On the topic of Albus, is he a seer or is he just really lucky?? In the books, it was implied that he was a very talented statistician, not a prophetic wizard. He could look at memories and easily distinguish patterns, thereby allowing him to guess at the most likely immediate future. But in SoD, it's pretty heavily implied that he saw some glimpse of the future and that's how he knows the counter-sight plan will work.

How do American muggle-borns get their letters to Ilvermorny if it’s literally illegal for any non-wizard to even know about the existence of magic? How does magic *work* in the US if it must all be kept strictly underground??

Bunty orders 6 identical cases, but only 4 of them are used in the plot. What happened to the other 2?

In the books, Aberforth hated Albus since the day Ariana was killed. That has already happened in the movies, and yet they get along relatively well? So what happened?

Why establish a connection between Newt and dragons in the first film, and then just abandon that detail to the void? Do you have any idea how cool it would be to have newt right in on the back of a Ukrainian Ironbelly to fight literal nazis?? That would have been SWEET

If you're cursed after killing a unicorn, the slaying of a being as pure as a Qilin would have a similar effect, yes? Apparently not.

I'm sure there are lots and lots that I overlooked, but I this is a pretty good list for now!! I think I might make another post for my theories and how I plan on fixing this whole mess in my rewrite... but that will be a project for another time.

Thanks for reading!! Feel free to scream at me about discrepancies I missed in the comments 🙏 I'm sure I missed some somewhere

[metanarrates]

the demon world arc centers itself primarily around four relationships that kim dokja has: his relationship with biyoo, his relationship with han myungoh, his relationship with jang hayoung, and his relationship with yoo joonghyuk. what I find very interesting about this is that the throughlines of all the first three relationships, as either introduced or recontexualized in this arc, have to do with parenthood/the responsibility of creation.

the last arc, dark castle, heavily examined kim dokja's relationship with his own mother. now, in this arc, he is taking on the role of a parent and the associated guilt and responsibility with it. let's take a look at the first three relationships mentioned.

biyoo - biyoo hatches this arc! though kim dokja needs her abilities as a dokkaebi to survive here, he feels some measure of guilt about bringing her into this world where she has no choice but to love the story. she's not a human infant, so their relationship isn't the same as a traditional parent and child bond, but he still views himself as her parent and feels responsible for her. her utility as a helping hand in his survival and his guilt towards both her and her past life as 41st shin yoosung are both major components of their interactions this arc.

jang hayoung- while kim dokja is emphatically not her parent, it was his comments on twsa that created her character. again, like biyoo, he feels some guilt and discomfort with his role in bringing her into the world. while it is plot-important that he helps her develop past her emotional problems this arc, I can't help but read his interest in helping her develop as being related to his personal sense of responsibility to her. he takes on the role of an older mentor to her in this arc. (you also super get the sense that kim dokja does not understand Kids These Days lmao)

these two relationships inform each other quite a bit. biyoo highlights kim dokja's responsibility as a parent, on a very mundane level. meanwhile, jang hayoung highlights kim dokja's responsibility as a story creator. both of these roles have things in common, and since biyoo is a story creator and jang hayoung is a real person rather than a fictional character, there's aspects of both roles present in both relationships.

kim dokja struggles quite a bit with viewing himself as an active party in the world. dark castle, as part of its setup in informing kdj's ongoing character, dealt quite heavily with how his mother's choices and his reliance on the fourth wall created this problem. now, he is forced to acknowledge his direct involvement in the creation of two separate people, and the veil of fiction cannot protect him. he is a parent. and his comments on twsa created a living person. he cannot easily deny, now, that his involvement with twsa is something that had no consequences. he hasn't quite processed all of that yet, but the feelings of guilt and responsibility are difficult to ignore. both of these relationships are priming him to deal with more difficult stuff down the line. we'll get to that in a minute.

meanwhile, han myungoh serves as an interesting parallel to kim dokja now! after learning that han myungoh has a daughter and was changed by his responsibilities as a parent, kim dokja is forced to reevaluate his relationship with someone who was formerly only his cruel boss. his presence in the story brings forward a lot of observations on parenthood that kim dokja would not have otherwise noticed. and... it also provides setup for kim dokja further coming to understand that people can grow past his impressions of them.

which brings us to yoo joonghyuk. THE focal point through the novel regarding kim dokja's involvement in the world of the scenarios. while his role in this arc is primarily dealing with his and kim dokja's relationship on a mundane level - and them literally impersonating each other - his presence is a reminder, something highlights those meditations on creation, responsibility, and involvement in one's story. if jang hayoung was created as a foil for yoo joonghyuk, and kim dokja is helping yoo joonghyuk develop in this timeline, can kim dokja really say that his reading of twsa did not have any consequences...? the thematic and emotional groundwork laid by this arc lays down a strong foundation for that question to be brought forward and explored more in future arcs.

[9w1ft]

so i was thinking about how the song chloe or sam or sophia or marcus is low key evoking “years of tearing down our banners” with the line “if you want to tear my world apart”

but first, here’s a link to a post of my thoughts on why cssm feels to me like a karlie perspective song. and this post plays off of this interpretation so please read this.

also ive written before (i think! but i cannot immediately locate!) about some of the parallels between ttpd (the titular track) and ccsm and how i think ttpd and ccsm are linked and encompass the time at karlie’s garden gate apartment, maybe with a focus on 2015, and with ccsm culminating perhaps with when she sold it in 2019.

okay so back to the idea that the line “if you want to tear my world apart” is related to the “years of tearing down our banners” motif of wcs and tgw. my thought started with, maybe the line is describing, from karlie’s perspective, an image of taylor wondering out loud, in karlie’s presence, about all the different things she might need to do to bury a path (to publicly reuniting) that they had been working towards up til the point of the song (maybe that’s the best laid plan?), and maybe the melancholy lyrics of ccsm stem from karlie feeling dissonance over the whole matter, as she is on the receiving end, carrying the majority of the weight of all these rewrites. so like maybe “your hologram stumbled into my apartment” is supposed to evoke any number of simulations taylor might be running, on ways of muddying the narrative by adding in lore connecting to any number of random ass people. so we have the imagery of a not-real scenario (or several) playing out in karlie’s real apartment. and maybe the line “so if i sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon like it never happened?” functions similarly, it could be like karlie exclaiming, to what extend would you need to create all these alternate narratives (plot twists and dynamite!) to actually stop people from being able to notice our true story? would you need to go as far as covering it up with some fling and kids? to rewind just a bit, we can easily connect these lines to maroon: “will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon like it never happened?” —it’s like saying, could you even do anything to cover up that legendary history? like in dbatc’s “trying to find a part of me that you didn’t touch,” insert the formidable and classic interpretation of dbatc as being a song about boarding up their public narrative and how it felt like death by a thousand cuts. (and just a sidenote, while i’m at it, that ccsm and maroon both include the saw/bones imagery).

she goes on to wonder, “could it be enough to just float in your orbit?” ie karlie in recent years annually coming in close public proximity to taylor but never fully publicly meeting her. would that amount of kaylor be enough to keep the lore alive? “can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses? cooler in theory, but not if you force it to be, it just didn't happen” also evokes the idea of trying to reimagine memories for the narrative in a new light which maybe sounds like a cool idea on paper but maybe not in practice. the loml “dancing phantoms on the terrace are they secondhand embarrassed” of it all

the image of karlie taking new forms of goddesses villains and fools or absorbing new narratives that knock out old lore, observing new rules and changed plans. being turned into an idea of sorts (the picasso of it all!) all to outrun each of these new narratives being killed off, and karlie just sitting there and watching it happen. maybe… she’s sitting and watching taylor… because she is the muse being painted and trying to sit still??

pardon me as i allow myself a moment to be lost in the sauce, as it were.

okay so now for the sequential aspect of my thought. after cssm, we have how did it end? and it made me think that it is (as i have noted before anyway) a song that really evokes for me fandom speculation over different ways that kaylor ended over the years and how everyone loves to make/receive/spread all these rumors and discuss it but how we (the two of them included) can’t pretend to understand how it ended because they never really make full sense (because they aren’t true). this all, i feel, is what’s meant by the “something counterfeit’s dead” of loml. a version of the truth (which was legendary).

and then the next track after how did it end is so high school and i had the thought of like, what if how did it end is a placeholder representing a tearing down of a banner at one point, and then so high school is the embodiment of the sudden appearance and reimagining of the next banner (next new narrative/new path to a public reunion). and i had the thought that perhaps (because of the theming of the song), how did it end could represent the ending of the 2013 kaylor start date narrative (following 2016? following 2019? i haven’t nailed that part down but maybe 2019?), but basically my idea is that so high school could be the resurgence in the fandom of thoughts surrounding early kaylor (what i sometimes call prequel kaylor). it had me reflecting on how, starting sometime around folklore era, i felt a loosening of the guidance being placed upon any of us (or maybe it was just all group think 🤪 hows one to know) in terms of observing the 2013 kaylor start date narrative. i’m not going to go into explaining that right now because i only know of it tangentially but maybe some og’s remember or understand what im talking about here. of course, the opening up of pre-2013 stuff is just as easily the product of taylor leaving tumblr and the diversification of platforms where people talk about kaylor and the various messengers of kaylor… migrating to different places as well, but i digress, upon listening to ccsm and then hdie in this new light, there was something suddenly glaring about the overloaded joyousness of so high school that felt almost jarring. partially because of the track placement (happy song after sad song), but upon reflection i think it kind of fits the theming of kaylor being suddenly reconceptualized. perhaps, “are you gonna marry kiss or kill me?” is a way of almost sarcastically saying (not unlike with imgonnagetyouback) so what’s gonna happen with the narrative this time? (am i gonna be your wife or is my bike getting smashed up again) and “bittersweet sixteen suddenly” is a reflection of how now, out of nowhere, kaylor can be seen as an unrequited love from way in the past. please note that i don’t think the ages or the term ‘high school’ should be taken entirely literally but i did want to note that these ages and high school imagery come up in a lot of thematic songs like maathp, ithk, betty, etcetera, and evoke the idea of a far off and more naive or idillic past all the same. also, and im not sure how to articulate it but under this new framework, so high school almost listens to me like those opening musical scenes from the barbie movie. where like… there’s metacommentary going on with the lyrics of the hey barbie song playing and also in the emotions that barbie is experiencing in the dance party scene (the part where she’s dancing and then all of a sudden has an existential crisis over her mortality)— just the idea of like, so high school is joyous (and i am a big big so high school stan!) but maybe we can all agree that it is a bit saccharine, where this version of events is being sung with true delight while at the same time there is this undercurrent of… knowingness?? as if the person singing it is also singing to the fourth wall?? like the increase in volume (of sound, of words) towards the end where she’s listing off more and more examples of feeling so high school, there’s just this insistence? that feels very meta to me?? idk if i’m making sense??? but that’s the epiphany i had 😂 and it felt really cool.

oh and so! i thought all this, and then wondered if maybe the lines “if the glint in my eye traced the depths of your sigh, down that passage in time back to the moment i crashed into you, like so many wrecks do too impaired by my youth to know what to do” are referring to just this. with glint in the eye being the blink of crinkling eye and the depths of your sigh being the im trying to stifle my sighs of it all. it’s her telling taylor, if you want to break my heart and tear my world apart, tell me you wonder if we can’t get to a public reunion by retelling things from a point further back in the past (just like i’d always hoped for in the first place). so tracks 20-22 is like, conceptualizing of the end of a narrative, its end, and its replacement with a new emerging narrative.

this all also connects to my thoughts on the alchemy that i had recently, an attempt to explain the vertigo that the song makes me feel… where it’s like, maybe it’s a song about august 2023 being a failed relaunch or maybe it was by design a singular event in a currently progressing line of events in the current narrative… but (and i think of it as a karlie perspective song) it’s like karlie is singing about planning to storm eras tour and win taylor back while at the same time being aware (through the football imagery of the song!) that actually travvy is about to enter the picture, and so there’s like, it’s not a hopeful song? it’s hard to explain. it’s like the song is almost perfectly positioned as a story about karlie going to eras tour becoming an essential event, but one that is intended to not fix things, which makes the whole thing feel fatal to karlie, and idk, this vibe is complemented by this sort of drudgery or echoey feeling to the acoustics of the song… whew, okay. so yeah. i hope there are still some people reading 😂

subsequent songs im not thinking too much about them being in chronological order with the above three. but i had some other thoughts about other tracks so here they are:

given the framework i have laid out above, what if thank you aimee is also in some part about kimye after all, where the consequences of snapchatgate pushed taylor into introducing the 2017 kaylor feud narrative, which ultimately led to a series of events that led her to abandoning the aforementioned 2013 kaylor start date narrative, and eventually landing upon reopening pre-kaylor speculation (the idea that they had pined for one another much earlier), which, if we assume is a narrative that is closer to the truth, may have ironically been healing in a way (ie, “but i can’t forget the way you made me heal”), getting the chance to turn the dial all the way back to their youth, which aimee (a high school classmate) is representative of as a sort of time demarcation.

also, maybe then cassandra is connected to this framework, with the lines “i was in my new house placing daydreams, patching up the cracks along the wall” refers to taylor crafting the 2013 kaylor start date narrative (a daydream) with “cause that’s where i was when i got the call” being the call from kanye / the beginnings of what would become snapchatgate, and “i was in my tower weaving nightmares” refers to her crafting the 2017 feud narrative and the line “they say what doesn’t kill you makes you aware, what happens if it becomes who you are?” works not just as a play on the lyrics from the kanye song stronger, but it also maybe connects to a realization on a part of taylor of the damage she has done. thematically, i am reminded of the song “my tears ricochet” and the lines “you turned into your worst fears” and “crossing out the good years”…and the black dog lines “that was intertwined in the magic fabric of our dreaming” and “tragic fabric of our dreaming” — not that im saying these songs are taylor singing about herself but that contemporarily these are similar themes she has worked with when writing. personally i’ve thought of both mtr and tbd as songs about scott b and i still hold on to those interpretations but there’s something about the themes that clicks for me in this narrative as well, if anybody feels like entertaining double meanings.

so tldr.. my basic thought is that tracks 20-22 could be cssm: karlie watching taylor brainstorm ways to destroy a failed kaylor narrative (my guess is the 2013 kaylor start narrative but it could be any one of a number of kaylor narratives), →how did it end: the destruction of the 2013 kaylor start date narrative (/ the tearing down of kaylor banners in general), →so high school: the introduction of a new narrative which is early kaylor inclusive. plus various other ideas about related songs on the album. thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far!!

[clean-casual-analysis]

When the villain is a philosophy

When you think of the word antagonist, the first thing that comes to mind is a villain. This is completely natural, given that stories of good vs evil tend to follow a heroic protagonist fighting against an evil antagonist. But once you get into the definition of the word, a person who actively opposes or is hostile to someone or something, moral alignment doesn’t dictate whether a character should be a protagonist or an antagonist. The most recognizable examples of this would be the likes of Invader Zim and Megamind, characters that are villainous in nature but are still the protagonists of their respective stories.

But villain protagonists and hero antagonists aren’t what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about the antagonists that aren’t entirely focused on, at least in the traditional sense. Antagonists that, despite being the source of conflict in the narrative, don’t actually show up a lot of the time. These antagonists, while characters in their own right, are more symbolic in nature. The protagonists of these stories aren’t just trying to defeat the antagonists, but the rotten philosophies that these antagonists have. The beliefs that push the antagonists to do their villainous acts.

White Diamond: Uniformity and the Status Quo

In the entirety of the original Steven Universe series, not counting the movie or SU Future, White Diamond appears in three episodes out of one hundred and sixty episodes. (Two if we don’t count White Pearl/Volleyball) That’s not even one percent of the series. In most series involving a good vs evil plot line, we usually switch perspectives between our heroes and villains to understand how they’re reacting to the events of the story. But SU is entirely told from Steven’s perspective. The audience only gets new information about gems, homeworld, Rose Quartz, etcetera, when Steven himself learns it. Because of this perspective, we don’t see the final antagonist of the series until the very end of the show.

But even though White Diamond is not present throughout the majority of the show, her homeworld subordinates and beliefs fill in the place of the hurdles that the protagonists must pass. Think about what the show is about and what lessons it teaches. Relationships are intricate and need mutual respect, being proud of who and what you are, and (most importantly) societal roles do not define you. The development of the main characters each involve acceptance of the self and bucking of what’s expected of them. Pearl fully moving on from Rose, Garnet improving her self-love, Amethyst fully accepting herself for what she is, Peridot’s disillusionment with Homeworld and growing appreciation for earth, Connie disobeying her mother’s strict rules, Steven slowly becoming someone better than even his own mother, I could go on. It’s honestly surprising, looking back, how most of the characters’ core issues stem from the lack of self-assurance and how homeworld views their flaws.

White Diamond and her Homeworld regime ultimately represent how systems put limits and stigma onto people for the sake of uniformity. The consequence of living inside your own head. A fusion cannot happen between two different gems, Pearls must be servants, Quartz gems must be big and strong, and Diamonds must be the perfect leaders. Why? Because that’s just what gems do. Because that’s how the system works. Homeworld’s status quo is one of creating an ever-expanding empire at the cost of independence, self-expression, unique lifeforms, and healthy relationships. The system can’t be wrong, White Diamond can’t be flawed, it’s how things have always been so why change what isn’t broken.

Sauron: Dominance and Corruption

While he has more screen presence and is a much more a significant part of the story of Lord of the Rings than White Diamond is to SU, the dark lord Sauron is similarly one small part of a larger tale. Heck, he doesn’t even have dialogue in the book trilogy. Also, like White Diamond, Sauron is best represented by his many underlings. Ruthless orcs with crude but effective weaponry, colossal beasts to crush his enemies underfoot, massive armies dedicated to the dark lord’s cause of dominating all life in Midde Earth. But what’s most notable about Sauron isn’t the great power he possesses or the armies he commands, it’s the way he corrupts and deceives those that stand against him.

The betrayal of Saruman the White, the nine Nazgûl once being great kings of men who were turned into terrible ringwraiths, and most notoriously, the enticing power of the one ring. Boromir, believing that Gondor can use this evil weapon for good. Smeagol, utterly degraded into a deceitful cave dwelling throttler named Gollum. Frodo, forced to carry a heavy burden that weighs him down both physically and mentally. To Sauron, the corruption of good is a weapon he wields with unmatched lethality.

The insidious nature of his villainy is what makes Sauron the great representative of dominance and corruption that he is. The promises of more enticing good people to do evil for the “right” reasons and the ruthless conquest for dominion over all is all too real an evil to ignore.

The Martians: Colonialism and Warfare

I debated with myself on whether or not the martians from War of the Worlds should be included here. Unlike Sauron or White Diamond, the martians are clear and present throughout the story. On the other hand, there isn’t a named martian general or a big bad that’s shown to lead the alien invaders into combat. In the end, the fact that the martians are made to purely represent the darkest parts of humanity outweighs the secondary theme of this essay.

One of, if not THE first alien invasion story, War of the Worlds messaging is clear and easy to understand. The tentacled beings from Mars are coldly intelligent, remorseless, and regard our world with envious eyes. They use human blood as sustenance when they aren’t vaporizing us by the hundreds, their tripods are horrific machines of mass destruction, and their invasion is one of slaughter and destruction. But the book is quick to remind us that humanity isn’t so morally innocent compared to the martians. The consumption of our blood seems horrific, but humans have also killed animals and each other for food and resources. Their tripods are colossal and terrifying, but humanity has made countless destructive war machines. The invaders are dead set on wiping out humanity, but humanity not only brought extinction to animals like the dodo bird but to entire groups of our own kind. The martians are not simply an alien invasion to fight back against, it’s a cautious look into our worst future. A humanity that prioritizes ruthless colonization and military might is a humanity doomed to be parasitic and heartless.

War of the Worlds also takes a critical view towards solving problems through warfare. Violence is sometimes needed to fight evil, but that does make violence a good thing. The action and battles in War of the Worlds are not thrilling or glorious, they are horrific and even bumbling to an extent. Much like the early British imperials that they represent, the martians are arrogant and only win because they have the better technology. Even the destruction of a tripod has severe consequences, a flaming wreckage falling into a lake and boiling the humans hiding there alive. There is nothing pride or goodness to found in destruction and death. Warfare and violence should be the last resort of those trying to survive, yet humanity and martians brandish their weapons without care or empathy for those beneath them.

The Truth, In-Fighting, and the Seemingly Insignificant

These antagonists all represent a morally dangerous part of humanity. The stubborn refusal to change a flawed status quo, the desire to dominate and corrupt those who don’t, needless conquest and bloody war. But despite all their power and influence, these philosophies that the villains believe in fail them in the end.

For White Diamond, her ultimate failure stems from the mortal enemy of all tyrannical systems: the truth. In the last episode of Steven Universe, White Diamond removes the gemstone from our protagonist’s body. Believing that the mischievous Pink Diamond is merely hiding in this human body, White seeks to end this silly game once and for all. But once the gemstone is removed, it does form into Pink Diamond or even Rose Quartz. It forms a bright pink Steven. In the final act of Change Your Mind, White Diamond is faced with reality and all its implications. This gemstone is Steven, it’s always been Steven. This half human is not the irrational or childish person, it’s White. The leader of Homeworld, the one who’s supposed to know all and make things better, is wrong. But in order to do that, she needs to leave her own head. One of the hardest things for a person to do is admit when they’re wrong, that their foundational beliefs holding up a status quo is deeply flawed and objectively false. But accepting that you were wrong, learning from and fixing your mistakes, and becoming something better than what you were before is the greatest reward anyone genuinely looking for redemption can ask for.

For Sauron, his victory over Middle Earth comes so close. Minas Tirith has been ravaged, the army of man outside the black gates are crumbling before his might, and the ring bearer has been corrupted. However, just when all hope is burned to ash, something unexpected happens. Gollum, the epitome of the corruptive power that the one ring possesses, attacks Frodo to get back his precious. Whether it’s through struggling with Frodo like in the movie or not paying attention like in the book, Gollum falls into the fires of Mount Doom with the ring in tow. In the movies, we’re told that the eye of Sauron can pierce through cloud and stone. Because of this detail, I personally wonder what was going through the dark lord’s mind as he watched Gollum plummet to his death. The one ring’s defense, Sauron’s greatest strength, corrupting others into fighting amongst each other, was what led to his ultimate downfall. This is not the first time something like this has happened. Think back to the orcs fighting amongst themselves, or when Wormtongue stabs Saruman in the back. Not to mention that the mercy of both Frodo and Bilbo is what led to Gollum reaching Mount Doom in the first place. Even with all his armies and power, Sauron underestimated the petty infighting amongst his followers and the little acts of kindness of his enemies. Even when the forces of darkness seemingly succeed, all they’ll have left is each other to destroy. As Frodo himself said in the Two Towers book, they can’t conquer forever.

For the martians, their demise comes outwardly from nowhere. Their Tripods fall silent and they all die due to sickness. The book states that the martians either never encountered bacteria like earth’s or they had wiped out all disease on Mars. In both scenarios, the martian’s belief in their untouchable superiority over earth led their death. As soon as their invasion started, they were doomed. War of the Worlds isn’t just a hard look at what humanity could become, but also a love letter to all types of life. Bacteria, the seemingly most insignificant part of our world, is our savior here. It is so, so easy to despise germs and how they make mankind ill. But they also decompose dead flesh, helps the human body digest food, and are just as vital to our world as so many other creatures’ humanity takes for granted. All forms of life has a place in this world and to undervalue, let alone actively want to eliminate, all of it is foolhardy and black-hearted.

It’s how these stories come to an end is why I’m attracted to the idea of villains representing abhorrent philosophies. They show the inherent flaws of such morally bankrupt ideas and how their failures are inevitable. The desire for uniformity and belief that your status quo is flawless cannot stand up to the truth of the situation. Great and powerful conquerors seeking to corrupt will find themselves destroying each other when there is nothing left to dominate, while small acts of generosity and sympathy keep their opponents afloat. Arrogant war lords with their mighty machines will crumble to the things they deem to be insignificant.

[lemotmo]

No clue if you're even open to receiving this since your inbox also has spirals but I thought I would send it just because it does make some decent points. Hope you have a lovely day!

Q. I don't understand why you all get so annoyed about people being anxious or nervous? It's normal. It's reasonable to spiral when we get news we don't like. We wanted Eddie movement and we now know there isn't any in this episode. We're allowed to be annoyed by that.

A. You've seen the episode? You've watched the episode in its entirety and saw nothing happen with Eddie whatsoever? Because unless the answer to both of those questions is yes, then you know absolutely nothing about this episode. And if your definition of movement is him coming out, telling off his parents, and confessing his love for Buck all within one episode, that's your problem, because that was never going to happen in one episode. Let alone the first episode of the Texas arc. I am truly baffled as to why this is something that is so hard for you all to understand. Any kind of movement on the Eddie and Christopher storyline is Eddie movement. Period. Because he cannot move forward without resolving things with Christopher. That is the main priority right now. Eddie has to deal with Christopher and his parents. The Buck stuff will simmer underneath those other plotlines for now. That's what the phone calls and FaceTime calls are for. This is not complicated story telling, people. They are being very intentional plot wise right now and as a result they are following a very basic story pattern.

The leak I got for last week's episode, and I cannot speak for anyone else, but what I received was one line.

Buck and Tommy hook up in Eddie's house.

That's it. That's all I got. Leaks provide no context whatsoever. The leak sounds not great. The context the actual scene provided though was amazing and changed what the leak implied all together. Yes, they hooked up, but that hookup had nothing to do with Tommy whatsoever. Do you understand that? Leaks are meaningless without the context. And I'm sorry but if it was a big leak, a super important leak they probably wouldn't have given it to literally hundreds of different people. Everyone had that freaking leak. She wanted as many people aware of it as possible. And it was a meaningless leak in the end. She leaked what she knew would cause problems. End of story. Which probably also indicates that she's not actually seeing the episodes early either, she's just getting a list of random events from the episode. And without the context of those events, what she's receiving and what she's sharing are meaningless. It is the first episode of the Texas arc. It's the first of the Eddie focus. It is long overdue and they have a shit ton to cover. If you are not capable of being patient and letting them tell the actual story that's your problem. Stop trying to make it mine and everyone else's problem. Because I'm having a blast. Look at the way Eddie is dressed in those stills. Does that look like Eddie to you? Clearly stuff is happening. And I'm sorry but if he's really selling the truck then that's major movement because that's the equivalent of Buck getting rid of his loft. There's clearly movement and things happening. Perhaps you should not listen to people who openly hate Eddie talk about Eddie. Because they have no actual interest in the Truth of anything. They only care about their one sided beef with a fictional character because he's not the plot device they decided to worship at the altar of.

Thank you Nonny! I'm actually good with this one, because Ali does make a few really good points. I agree.

The thing is that the dooming always starts because someone figured out one single fact about the coming episode. It's just one random thing. Like 'Buck hooks up with T in episode 11'. And then people will start speculating about this. They'll see some takes from the other side and run with them. Why? I do not know. 🤷‍♀️

It's important to keep using your common sense and critical thinking skills. For example: 'If Buck does hook up with T, why would he do that? How does it fit in the narrative we have so far? Because it's very clear from earlier episodes that Buddie is in the works. So why would this happen now?' Then you automatically come to some possible reasons of why this would happen.

I assure you that they'll be more accurate than whatever the Tommies are speculationg about. 🙄 In fact, episode 8x11 proved us right. Did they hook up? Yes. Was it a positive BT scene? No. Was it good for Buddie? HELL YES! 🤗

So let's also use that common sense and those critical thinking skills for 8x12. Eddie is back in El Paso. He won't be happy. He's cut off from his support system (aka Buck and the 118) by distance. He's probably going to have a hard time reconnecting with Chris. His parents might try to sabotage his attempts to reconnect with Chris. He is broke and can't find a job.

But we do know from Oliver, Ryan and Tim that Buck will keep in touch with him through FaceTime, so he will at least have that. If we do get to see one or two of those calls, we have to wonder what they're about and what the tone of their conversations will be.

So we know all of this. This is a wealth of knowledge. So who cares about some leak that might or might not be true? Let's stick with what we know and go from there without spinning out about it. 🤷‍♀️

I for one am thoroughly enjoying the Buddie arc as it progresses. Every single episode from 8b has been a banger so far. Let's just see what 12 brings us. It's an Eddie and Maddie episode. It can't miss. 😋

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[fenrysmoonbeamswife]

As someone who hates what sjm has done to all the girlies in ACOTAR (not one was spared from character assasination and simp syndrome) and could NOT hate any one of the girlies in TOG (love how they all had a moment to make their stand their own way), the absolute shift in writing is mind blowing.

I cannot take the excuse of fantasy vs romance because then the focus on the relationship SHOULD mean she takes time with all the traumas and ptsd and growth as a person instead of the mate bandaid.

oh don't even get me started honestly I talk about this too much

I think it's not so much the fantasy vs romance because as you said that should make the romances and characters better. I think the issue is that SJM really used ACOTAR as her self insert series, her biases towards the characters shine through so glaringly. And her plot lines get blurry because she's basing it on her own life, which is fine that's something a lot of authors do, but she doesn't seem to have a line, she doesn't have a sort of "okay this is getting messy, I need to step back and recalibrate" moment (editor who?). She is overly invested in some ways but not invested enough in the ways that are important to writing a good and concise story/characters. I mean majority of the fandom arguments are honestly pointless at the end of the day because you can't debate away bad writing, we can argue back and forth all we want but none of it changes if she refuses to write objectively (this is not the "xyz" is only bad because SJM wrote them that way argument, gtfoh with that lazy ass excuse). Just look at the TOG and CC fandoms, sure there are still debates and arguments but let's be real it's not even close to as vitriolic as the ACOTAR fandom. And SJM might have taken an understandable step back from the fandom but she also encourages the hatred that runs so deep and while majority of the fandom are grown adults and are responsible for their own actions I will always hold her partly responsible too

I think you can see that she's a lot more objective when it comes to TOG and CC, I mean look at the difference between the first two Crescent City books and HOFAS. That series was incredible and the second she brought ACOTAR into it she lost all sense. And Throne of Glass has many similarities to ACOTAR yet they're handled so much better. I remember reading TOG and thinking how great it was that there were so many female characters and they were all so significant, they were individuals, soft and strong in different ways, supportive of the women around them, etc. Then with ACOTAR I just couldn't understand where all of that went, but how is she going to be impartial when she's projecting? I don't know how accurate it is that she based Rhysand on her husband but I can imagine he's at the very least her fantasy man, if not Cassian who she seems to have switched to but isn't much better. Feyre could be a self insert for any woman if they tried hard enough and then Nesta goes from caricature "evil" step sister to "redeemed" scapegoat to a character she can take all her self hatred out on

Anyway long story short, sorry for the tangent, I absolutely agree

[culpeppercheckers721]

Turn OC Week 2025– Day 1: Not-So Short Bio

Character: Aileen Darcie O’Connor (Feat. One of the shittiest collages I’ve ever made so let’s ignore that! 🤪)

Ahh first and foremost, sorry this post is so late in the day! It’s been a busy one lol. Anyways, when this week was announced I was honestly rather nervous, because Turn fandom events have been SO fun for me every time I’ve done them so far, and I knew I’d love to contribute, but, despite all of the writing I do in this era and the amount of 18th century characters I have, I had never actually made a Turn OC! But, it reminded me that I’ve recently been thinking, as unfamiliar with this sort of shipping as I am, that I could DABBLE in some Ben Tallmadge/OC stuff, and to make a long story short, I decided I’d use this as an excuse to actually develop the OC I’ve had a vague idea of for too long now, so I introduce you all to Aileen O’Connor!

And because I physically cannot be concise apparently, more under the cut!

SO. For the longest time, my vision for Aileen did not go beyond “loud mouthed Irish woman”, but as decidedly accurate as that description is, having an excuse to flesh her out has given me something of an actual sorry I could pursue one day about her, falling pretty in line with that one Turnsgiving post about “what I’d do in Turn” (even though she’s not supposed to be a COMPLETE self-insert, but still)! 😂 Hence why I will try to condense this character to bullet points:

- Aileen O’Connor, like many Irish Americans of the time, never favored the British government. So, her eventual stance as a patriot is no surprise.

- She grew up in Long Island, where her family ended up establishing themselves in Montauk. Her aunt, Rylee O’Connor, ended up marrying a Woodhull related to the rest of the Woodhull family we all know and love(? Maybe not Richard though lmfao), and this is where her connection to the story comes in.

- When she suggests Aileen go on a family trip to Setauket to meet this new, extended family of Rylee’s, Aileen accompanies her because the two have a pretty nice relationship, and who doesn’t love hanging with their Cool Aunt, after all?

- Upon meeting Abraham Woodhull, she figures out (by chance or perhaps by investigation, I haven’t gotten into the intricacies of this part of her arc yet ahahah) his position as a rebel, sees her in to help the cause, and she fucking takes it.

- When she proclaims “Hi hello yes I’d like to offer my services as a spy, please!!” the majority of the ring is just like??? “No???” But Anna of course, who barely knows her, can appreciate a woman wanting to help the cause (despite how few options they would’ve had at the time), and is likely the force that pushed for Aileen to get an opportunity to help, however briefly.

- And what starts as her just being aware of the ring and wanting to shove her nose in everyone’s business (you all Aileen has NO regard for propriety 😭🤡) eventually escalates to her heading off to York City (not side by side with Abe per se but he was probably her way in), and eventually, finds herself— incidentally— at a business called Rivington’s.

- Honestly feel like she and Robert Townsend are like “platonic soulmates” lol, they have a surprising amount in common, and definitely some gay/bi solidarity there.

- To be completely honest with you, I don’t think she’d really change the plot that much, other than being a partner for Ben lmao. 🤡

- Anyhow, personality-wise, she most definitely is a bold, outspoken woman who isn’t skilled at keeping her opinions to herself. As fun as the classic “girlboss” personality trope is, though, unfortunately Aileen’s inability to stop talking is kind of a genuine character flaw of hers but we’ll save that for another day. ;)

Anyways this was definitely NOT short, so my deepest thanks if you actually read this UNIMAGINABLY cliche, cornball yapping! I’m trying to get better at being comfortable being “cringe”, because let’s be totally honest, I think we all have more fun when we spend less time worrying about how we’re perceived, right? ;D

Can’t wait to work out some details of Aileen’s character even further, and share with you other parts of her story that I DO already have a grasp of later on this week! 👀 Thank you SO much for reading once again! 💕